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diff --git a/1365-h/1365-h.htm b/1365-h/1365-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f10840b --- /dev/null +++ b/1365-h/1365-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,62320 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} +.mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} +pre { font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%;} + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.left {text-align: left; + margin-left: 20%; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1365 ***</div> + +<h1>THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS<br /> OF<br /> HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW</h1> + + <p class="mynote"> + (From the PUBLISHER’S NOTE: “The present Household Edition of Mr. + Longfellow’s Poetical Writings . . . contains all his original verse that + he wished to preserve, and all his translations except the Divina + Commedia. The poems are printed as nearly as possible in chronological + order . . . Boston, Autumn, 1902.” Houghton Mifflin Company.) + </p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">VOICES OF THE NIGHT.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">Prelude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">Hymn to the Night</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">A Psalm of Life</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">The Reaper and the Flowers</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">The Light of Stars</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">Footsteps of Angels</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">Flowers</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">The Beleaguered City</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">Midnight Mass for the Dying Year</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">EARLIER POEMS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">An April Day</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">Autumn</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">Woods in Winter</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">Sunrise on the Hills</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">The Spirit of Poetry</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">Burial of the Minnisink</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">L’Envoi</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">The Skeleton in Armor</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">The Wreck of the Hesperus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">The Village Blacksmith</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">Endymion</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">It is not Always May</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">The Rainy Day</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">God’s-Acre</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">To the River Charles</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">Blind Bartimeus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">The Goblet of Life</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">Maidenhood</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">Excelsior</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">POEMS ON SLAVERY.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">To William E. Channing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">The Slave’s Dream</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">The Good Part, that shall not be taken away</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">The Slave in the Dismal Swamp</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">The Slave singing at Midnight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap39">The Witnesses</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap40">The Quadroon Girl</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap41">The Warning</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap42">THE SPANISH STUDENT.</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap43">THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap44">Carillon</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap45">The Belfry of Bruges</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap46">A Gleam of Sunshine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap47">The Arsenal at Springfield</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap48">Nuremberg</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap49">The Norman Baron</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap50">Rain In Summer</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap51">To a Child</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap52">The Occultation of Orion</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap53">The Bridge</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap54">To the Driving Cloud</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap55">SONGS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap56">The Day Is done</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap57">Afternoon in February</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap58">To an Old Danish Song-Book</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap59">Walter von der Vogelweid</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap60">Drinking Song</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap61">The Old Clock on the Stairs</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap62">The Arrow and the Song</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap63">SONNETS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap64">Mezzo Cammin</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap65">The Evening Star</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap66">Autumn</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap67">Dante</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap68">Curfew</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap69">EVANGELINE: A TALE OF ACADIE.</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap70">THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap71">Dedication</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap72">BY THE SEASIDE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap73">The Building of the Ship</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap74">Seaweed</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap75">Chrysaor</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap76">The Secret of the Sea</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap77">Twilight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap78">Sir Humphrey Gilbert</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap79">The Lighthouse</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap80">The Fire of Drift-Wood</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap81">BY THE FIRESIDE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap82">Resignation</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap83">The Builders</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap84">Sand of the Desert In an Hour-Glass</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap85">The Open Window</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap86">King Witlaf’s Drinking-Horn</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap87">Gaspar Becerra</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap88">Pegasus in Pound</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap89">Tegnér’s Drapa</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap90">Sonnet on Mrs. Kemble’s Reading from Shakespeare</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap91">The Singers</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap92">Suspiria</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap93">Hymn for my Brother’s Ordination</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap94">THE SONG OF HIAWATHA.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap95">Introduction</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap96">I. The Peace-Pipe</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap97">II. The Four Winds</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap98">III. Hiawatha’s Childhood</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap99">IV. Hiawatha and Mudjekeewis</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap100">V. Hiawatha’s Fasting</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap101">VI. Hiawatha’s Friends</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap102">VII. Hiawatha’s Sailing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap103">VIII. Hiawatha’s Fishing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap104">IX. Hiawatha and the Pearl-Feather</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap105">X. Hiawatha’s Wooing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap106">XI. Hiawatha’s Wedding-Feast</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap107">XII. The Son of the Evening Star</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap108">XIII. Blessing the Cornfields</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap109">XIV. Picture-Writing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap110">XV. Hiawatha’s Lamentation</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap111">XVI. Pau-Puk-Keewis</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap112">XVII. The Hunting of Pau-Puk-Keewis</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap113">XVIII. The Death of Kwasind</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap114">XIX. The Ghosts</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap115">XX. The Famine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap116">XXI. The White Man’s Foot</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap117">XXII. Hiawatha’s Departure</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap118">[NOTES]</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap119">THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap120">I. Miles Standish</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap121">II. Love and Friendship</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap122">III. The Lover’s Errand</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap123">IV. John Alden</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap124">V. The Sailing of the May flower</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap125">VI. Priscilla</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap126">VII. The March of Miles Standish</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap127">VIII. The Spinning-Wheel</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap128">IX. The Wedding-Day</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap129">BIRDS OF PASSAGE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap130">FLIGHT THE FIRST.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap131">Birds of Passage</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap132">Prometheus, or the Poet’s Forethought</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap133">Epimetheus, or the Poet’s Afterthought</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap134">The Ladder of St. Augustine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap135">The Phantom Ship</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap136">The Warden of the Cinque Ports</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap137">Haunted Houses</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap138">In the Churchyard at Cambridge</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap139">The Emperor’s Bird’s-Nest</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap140">The Two Angels</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap141">Daylight and Moonlight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap142">The Jewish Cemetery at Newport</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap143">Oliver Basselin</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap144">Victor Galbraith</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap145">My Lost Youth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap146">The Ropewalk</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap147">The Golden Mile-Stone</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap148">Catawba Wine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap149">Santa Filomena</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap150">The Discoverer of the North Cape</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap151">Daybreak</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap152">The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap153">Children</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap154">Sandalphon</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap155">FLIGHT THE SECOND.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap156">The Children’s Hour</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap157">Enceladus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap158">The Cumberland</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap159">Snow-Flakes</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap160">A Day of Sunshine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap161">Something left Undone</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap162">Weariness</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap163">TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap164">Part First</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap165">Prelude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap166">The Wayside Inn</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap167">The Landlord’s Tale: Paul Revere’s Ride</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap168">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap169">The Student’s Tale: The Falcon of Ser Federigo</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap170">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap171">The Spanish Jew’s Tale: The Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap172">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap173">The Sicilian’s Tale: King Robert of Sicily</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap174">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap175">The Musician’s Tale: The Saga of King Olaf</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap176">I. The Challenge of Thor</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap177">II. King Olaf’s Return</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap178">III. Thora of Rimol</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap179">IV. Queen Sigrid the Haughty</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap180">V. The Skerry of Shrieks</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap181">VI. The Wraith of Odin</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap182">VII. Iron-Beard</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap183">VIII. Gudrun</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap184">IX. Thangbrand the Priest</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap185">X. Raud the Strong</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap186">XI. Bishop Sigurd at Salten Fiord</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap187">XII. King Olaf’s Christmas</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap188">XIII. The Building of the Long Serpent</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap189">XIV. The Crew of the Long Serpent</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap190">XV. A Little Bird in the Air</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap191">XVI. Queen Thyri and the Angelica Stalks</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap192">XVII. King Svend of the Forked Beard</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap193">XVIII. King Olaf and Earl Sigvald</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap194">XIX. King Olaf’s War-Horns</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap195">XX. Einar Tamberskelver</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap196">XXI. King Olaf’s Death-drink</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap197">XXII. The Nun of Nidaros</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap198">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap199">The Theologian’s Tale: Torquemada</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap200">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap201">The Poet’s Tale: The Birds of Killingworth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap202">Finale</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap203">PART SECOND.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap204">Prelude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap205">The Sicilian’s Tale: The Bell of Atri</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap206">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap207">The Spanish Jew’s Tale: Kambalu</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap208">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap209">The Student’s Tale: The Cobbler of Hagenau</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap210">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap211">The Musician’s Tale: The Ballad of Carmilhan</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap212">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap213">The Poet’s Tale: Lady Wentworth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap214">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap215">The Theologian’s Tale: The Legend Beautiful</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap216">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap217">The Student’s Second Tale: The Baron of St. Castine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap218">Finale</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap219">PART THIRD.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap220">Prelude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap221">The Spanish Jew’s Tale: Azrael</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap222">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap223">The Poet’s Tale: Charlemagne</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap224">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap225">The Student’s Tale: Emma and Eginhard</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap226">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap227">The Theologian’s Tale: Elizabeth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap228">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap229">The Sicilian’s Tale:The Monk of Casa-Maggiore</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap230">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap231">The Spanish Jew’s Second Tale: Scanderbeg</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap232">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap233">The Musician’s Tale: The Mother’s Ghost</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap234">Interlude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap235">The Landlord’s Tale: The Rhyme of Sir Christopher</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap236">Finale</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap237">FLOWER-DE-LUCE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap238">Flower-de-Luce</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap239">Palingenesis</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap240">The Bridge of Cloud</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap241">Hawthorne</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap242">Christmas Bells</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap243">The Wind over the Chimney</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap244">The Bells of Lynn</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap245">Killed at the Ford</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap246">Giotto’s Tower</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap247">To-morrow</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap248">Divina Commedia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap249">Noël</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap250">BIRDS OF PASSAGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap251">FLIGHT THE THIRD.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap252">Fata Morgana</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap253">The Haunted Chamber</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap254">The Meeting</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap255">Vox Populi</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap256">The Castle-Builder</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap257">Changed</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap258">The Challenge</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap259">The Brook and the Wave</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap260">Aftermath</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap261">THE MASQUE OF PANDORA.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap262">I. The Workshop of Hephæstus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap263">II. Olympus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap264">III. Tower of Prometheus on Mount Caucasus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap265">IV. The Air</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap266">V. The House of Epimetheus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap267">VI. In the Garden</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap268">VII. The House of Epimetheus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap269">VIII. In the Garden</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap270">THE HANGING OF THE CRANE</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap271">MORITURI SALUTAMUS</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap272">A BOOK OF SONNETS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap273">Three Friends of Mine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap274">Chaucer</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap275">Shakespeare</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap276">Milton</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap277">Keats</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap278">The Galaxy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap279">The Sound of the Sea</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap280">A Summer Day by the Sea</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap281">The Tides</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap282">A Shadow</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap283">A Nameless Grave</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap284">Sleep</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap285">The Old Bridge at Florence</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap286">Il Ponte Vecchio di Firenze</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap287">Nature</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap288">In the Churchyard at Tarrytown</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap289">Eliot’s Oak</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap290">The Descent of the Muses</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap291">Venice</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap292">The Poets</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap293">Parker Cleaveland</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap294">The Harvest Moon</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap295">To the River Rhone</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap296">The Three Silences of Molinos</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap297">The Two Rivers</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap298">Boston</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap299">St. John’s, Cambridge</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap300">Moods</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap301">Woodstock Park</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap302">The Four Princesses at Wilna</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap303">Holidays</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap304">Wapentake</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap305">The Broken Oar</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap306">The Cross of Snow</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap307">BIRDS OF PASSAGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap308">FLIGHT THE FOURTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap309">Charles Sumner</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap310">Travels by the Fireside</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap311">Cadenabbia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap312">Monte Cassino</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap313">Amalfi</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap314">The Sermon of St. Francis</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap315">Belisarius</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap316">Songo River</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap317">KERAMOS</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap318">BIRDS OF PASSAGE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap319">FLIGHT THE FIFTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap320">The Herons of Elmwood</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap321">A Dutch Picture</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap322">Castles in Spain</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap323">Vittoria Colonna</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap324">The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap325">To the River Yvette</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap326">The Emperor’s Glove</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap327">A Ballad or the French Fleet</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap328">The Leap of Roushan Beg</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap329">Haroun Al Raschid.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap330">King Trisanku</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap331">A Wraith in the Mist</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap332">The Three Kings</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap333">Song: “Stay, Stay at Home, my Heart, and Rest.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap334">The White Czar</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap335">Delia</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap336">ULTIMA THULE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap337">Dedication</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap338">Poems</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap339">Bayard Taylor</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap340">The Chamber over the Gate</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap341">From my Arm-Chair</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap342">Jugurtha</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap343">The Iron Pen</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap344">Robert Burns</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap345">Helen of Tyre</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap346">Elegiac</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap347">Old St. David’s at Radnor</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap348">FOLK-SONGS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap349">The Sifting of Peter</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap350">Maiden and Weathercock</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap351">The Windmill</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap352">The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap353">SONNETS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap354">My Cathedral</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap355">The Burial of the Poet</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap356">Night</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap357">L’ENVOI: The Poet and his Songs</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap358">IN THE HARBOR.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap359">Becalmed</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap360">The Poet’s Calendar</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap361">Autumn Within</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap362">The Four Lakes of Madison</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap363">Victor and Vanquished</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap364">Moonlight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap365">The Children’s Crusade</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap366">Sundown</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap367">Chimes</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap368">Four by the Clock</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap369">Auf Wiedersehen</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap370">Elegiac Verse</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap371">The City and the Sea</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap372">Memories</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap373">Hermes Trismegistus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap374">To the Avon</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap375">President Garfield</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap376">My Books</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap377">Mad River</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap378">Possibilities</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap379">Decoration Day</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap380">A Fragment</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap381">Loss and Gain</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap382">Inscription on the Shanklin Fountain</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap383">The Bells of San Blas</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap384">FRAGMENTS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap385">“Neglected record of a mind neglected”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap386">“O Faithful, indefatigable tides”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap387">“Soft through the silent air”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap388">“So from the bosom of darkness”</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap389">CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap390">Introitus</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap391">PART I. THE DIVINE TRAGEDY.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap392">The First Passover</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap393">I. Vox Clamantis</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap394">II. Mount Quarantania</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap395">III. The Marriage in Cana</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap396">IV. In the Cornfields</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap397">V. Nazareth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap398">VI. The Sea of Galilee</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap399">VII. The Demoniac of Gadara</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap400">VIII. Talitha Cumi</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap401">IX. The Tower of Magdala</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap402">X. The House of Simon the Pharisee</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap403">The Second Passover</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap404">I. Before the Gates of Machaerus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap405">II. Herod’s Banquet-Hall</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap406">III. Under the Wall of Machaerus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap407">IV. Nicodemus at Night</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap408">V. Blind Bartimeus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap409">VI. Jacob’s Well</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap410">VII. The Coasts of Caesarea Philippi</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap411">VIII. The Young Ruler</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap412">IX. At Bethany</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap413">X. Born Blind</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap414">XI. Simon Magus and Helen of Tyre</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap415">The Third Passover</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap416">I. The Entry into Jerusalem</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap417">II. Solomon’s Porch</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap418">III. Lord, is it I?</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap419">IV. The Garden of Gethsemane</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap420">V. The Palace of Caiaphas</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap421">VI. Pontius Pilate</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap422">VII. Barabbas in Prison</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap423">VIII. Ecce Homo</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap424">IX. Aceldama</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap425">X. The Three Crosses</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap426">XI. The Two Maries</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap427">XII. The Sea of Galilee</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap428">Epilogue. Symbolum Apostolorum</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap429">First Interlude. The Abbot Joachim</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap430">PART II. THE GOLDEN LEGEND.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap431">Prologue: The Spire of Strasburg Cathedral</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap432">I. The Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap433">Courtyard of the Castle</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap434">II. A Farm in the Odenwald</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap435">A Room in the Farmhouse</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap436">Elsie’s Chamber</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap437">The Chamber of Gottlieb and Ursula</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap438">A Village Church</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap439">A Room in the Farmhouse</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap440">In the Garden</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap441">III. A Street in Strasburg</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap442">Square in Front of the Cathedral</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap443">In the Cathedral</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap444">The Nativity: A Miracle-Play</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap445">Introitus</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap446">I. Heaven</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap447">II. Mary at the Well</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap448">III. The Angels of the Seven Planets</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap449">IV. The Wise Men of the East</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap450">V. The Flight into Egypt</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap451">VI. The Slaughter of the Innocents</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap452">VII. Jesus at Play with his Schoolmates</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap453">VIII. The Village School</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap454">IX. Crowned with Flowers</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap455">Epilogue</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap456">IV. The Road to Hirschau</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap457">The Convent of Hirschau in the Black Forest</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap458">The Scriptorium</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap459">The Cloisters</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap460">The Chapel</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap461">The Refectory</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap462">The Neighboring Nunnery</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap463">V. A Covered Bridge at Lucerne</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap464">The Devil’s Bridge</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap465">The St. Gothard Pass</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap466">At the Foot of the Alps</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap467">The Inn at Genoa</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap468">At Sea</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap469">VI. The School of Salerno</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap470">The Farm-house in the Odenwald</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap471">The Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap472">Epilogue. The Two Recording Angels Ascending</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap473">Second Interlude. Martin Luther</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap474">PART III. THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap475">John Endicott</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap476">Prologue</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap477">Act I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap478">Act II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap479">Act III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap480">Act IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap481">Act V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap482">Giles Corey of the Salem Farms</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap483">Prologue</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap484">Act I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap485">Act II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap486">Act III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap487">Act IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap488">Act V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap489">Finale. St. John</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap490">JUDAS MACCABAEUS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap491">Act I. The Citadel of Antiochus at Jerusalem</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap492">Act II. The Dungeons in the Citadel</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap493">Act III. The Battle-field of Beth-Horon</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap494">Act IV. The Outer Courts of the Temple at Jerusalem</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap495">Act V. The Mountains of Ecbatana</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap496">MICHAEL ANGELO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap497">Dedication</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap498">PART FIRST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap499">I. Prologue at Ischia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap500">Monologue : The Last Judgment</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap501">II. San Silvestro</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap502">III. Cardinal Ippolito</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap503">IV. Borgo delle Vergine at Naples</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap504">V. Vittoria Colonna</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap505">PART SECOND.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap506">I. Monologue</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap507">II. Viterbo</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap508">III. Michael Angelo and Benvenuto Cellini</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap509">IV. Fra Sebastiano del Piombo</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap510">V. Palazzo Belvedere</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap511">VI. Palazzo Cesarini</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap512">PART THIRD.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap513">I. Monologue</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap514">II. Vigna di Papa Giulio</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap515">III. Bindo Altoviti</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap516">IV. In the Coliseum</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap517">V. Macello de’ Corvi</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap518">VI. Michael Angelo’s Studio</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap519">VII. The Oaks of Monte Luca</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap520">VIII. The Dead Christ</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap521">TRANSLATIONS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap522">Prelude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap523">From the Spanish: Coplas de Manrique</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap524">Sonnets.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap525">I. The Good Shepherd</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap526">II. To-morrow</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap527">III. The Native Land</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap528">IV. The Image of God</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap529">V. The Brook</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap530">Ancient Spanish Ballads.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap531">I. Rio Verde, Rio Verde</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap532">II. Don Nuno, Count of Lara</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap533">III. The peasant leaves his plough afield</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap534">Vida de San Millan</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap535">San Miguel, the Convent</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap536">Song: “She is a maid of artless grace”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap537">Santa Teresa’s Book-Mark</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap538">From the Cancioneros</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap539">I. Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap540">II. Some day, some day</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap541">III. Come, O death, so silent flying</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap542">IV. Glove of black in white hand bare</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap543">From the Swedish and Danish.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap544">Passages from Frithiof’s Saga</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap545">I. Frithiof’s Homestead</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap546">II. A Sledge-Ride on the Ice</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap547">III. Frithiof’s Temptation</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap548">IV. Frithiof’s Farewell</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap549">The Children of the Lord’s Supper</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap550">King Christian</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap551">The Elected Knight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap552">Childhood</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap553">From the German.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap554">The Happiest Land</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap555">The Wave</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap556">The Dead</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap557">The Bird and the Ship</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap558">Whither?</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap559">Beware!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap560">Song of the Bell</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap561">The Castle by the Sea</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap562">The Black Knight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap563">Song of the Silent Land</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap564">The Luck of Edenhall</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap565">The Two Locks of Hair</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap566">The Hemlock Tree</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap567">Annie of Tharaw</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap568">The Statue over the Cathedral Door</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap569">The Legend of the Crossbill</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap570">The Sea hath its Pearls</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap571">Poetic Aphorisms</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap572">Silent Love</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap573">Blessed are the Dead</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap574">Wanderer’s Night-Songs</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap575">Remorse</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap576">Forsaken</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap577">Allah</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap578">From the Anglo-Saxon.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap579">The Grave</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap580">Beowulf’s Expedition to Heort</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap581">The Soul’s Complaint against the Body</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap582">From the French</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap583">Song: Hark! Hark!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap584">Song: “And whither goest thou, gentle sigh”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap585">The Return of Spring</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap586">Spring</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap587">The Child Asleep</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap588">Death of Archbishop Turpin</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap589">The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap590">A Christmas Carol</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap591">Consolation</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap592">To Cardinal Richelieu</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap593">The Angel and the Child</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap594">On the Terrace of the Aigalades</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap595">To my Brooklet</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap596">Barréges</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap597">Will ever the dear days come back again?</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap598">At La Chaudeau</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap599">A Quiet Life</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap600">The Wine of Jurançon</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap601">Friar Lubin</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap602">Rondel</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap603">My Secret</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap604">From the Italian.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap605">The Celestial Pilot</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap606">The Terrestrial Paradise</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap607">Beatrice</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap608">To Italy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap609">Seven Sonnets and a Canzone</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap610">I. The Artist</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap611">II. Fire.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap612">III. Youth and Age</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap613">IV. Old Age</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap614">V. To Vittoria Colonna</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap615">VI. To Vittoria Colonna</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap616">VII. Dante</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap617">VIII. Canzone</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap618">The Nature of Love</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap619">From the Portuguese.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap620">Song: If thou art sleeping, maiden</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap621">From Eastern sources.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap622">The Fugitive</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap623">The Siege of Kazan</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap624">The Boy and the Brook</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap625">To the Stork</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap626">From the Latin.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap627">Virgils First Eclogue</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap628">Ovid in Exile</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>VOICES OF THE NIGHT</h2> + +<p class="letter"> +Πότνια, πότνια νὺξ,<br /> +ὑπνοδότειρα τῶν +πολυπόνον βροτῶν,<br /> +Ἐρεβόθεν ἴθι +μόλε μόλε κατάπτερος<br /> +Ἀγαμεμνόνιον +ἐπὶ δόμον<br /> +ὑπὸ γὰρ ἀλγέων, +ὑπὸ τε συμφορᾶς<br /> +διοιχόμεθ’, +οἰχόμεθα. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +E<small>URIPIDES</small>. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap02"></a>PRELUDE</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +Pleasant it was, when woods were green,<br/> + And winds were soft and low,<br/> +To lie amid some sylvan scene.<br/> +Where, the long drooping boughs between,<br/> +Shadows dark and sunlight sheen<br/> + Alternate come and go;<br/> +<br/> +Or where the denser grove receives<br/> + No sunlight from above,<br/> +But the dark foliage interweaves<br/> +In one unbroken roof of leaves,<br/> +Underneath whose sloping eaves<br/> + The shadows hardly move.<br/> +<br/> +Beneath some patriarchal tree<br/> + I lay upon the ground;<br/> +His hoary arms uplifted he,<br/> +And all the broad leaves over me<br/> +Clapped their little hands in glee,<br/> + With one continuous sound;—<br/> +<br/> +A slumberous sound, a sound that brings<br/> + The feelings of a dream,<br/> +As of innumerable wings,<br/> +As, when a bell no longer swings,<br/> +Faint the hollow murmur rings<br/> + O’er meadow, lake, and stream.<br/> +<br/> +And dreams of that which cannot die,<br/> + Bright visions, came to me,<br/> +As lapped in thought I used to lie,<br/> +And gaze into the summer sky,<br/> +Where the sailing clouds went by,<br/> + Like ships upon the sea;<br/> +<br/> +Dreams that the soul of youth engage<br/> + Ere Fancy has been quelled;<br/> +Old legends of the monkish page,<br/> +Traditions of the saint and sage,<br/> +Tales that have the rime of age,<br/> + And chronicles of Eld.<br/> +<br/> +And, loving still these quaint old themes,<br/> + Even in the city’s throng<br/> +I feel the freshness of the streams,<br/> +That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams,<br/> +Water the green land of dreams,<br/> + The holy land of song.<br/> +<br/> +Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings<br/> + The Spring, clothed like a bride,<br/> +When nestling buds unfold their wings,<br/> +And bishop’s-caps have golden rings,<br/> +Musing upon many things,<br/> + I sought the woodlands wide.<br/> +<br/> +The green trees whispered low and mild;<br/> + It was a sound of joy!<br/> +They were my playmates when a child,<br/> +And rocked me in their arms so wild!<br/> +Still they looked at me and smiled,<br/> + As if I were a boy;<br/> +<br/> +And ever whispered, mild and low,<br/> + “Come, be a child once more!”<br/> +And waved their long arms to and fro,<br/> +And beckoned solemnly and slow;<br/> +O, I could not choose but go<br/> + Into the woodlands hoar,—<br/> +<br/> +Into the blithe and breathing air,<br/> + Into the solemn wood,<br/> +Solemn and silent everywhere<br/> +Nature with folded hands seemed there<br/> +Kneeling at her evening prayer!<br/> + Like one in prayer I stood.<br/> +<br/> +Before me rose an avenue<br/> + Of tall and sombrous pines;<br/> +Abroad their fan-like branches grew,<br/> +And, where the sunshine darted through,<br/> +Spread a vapor soft and blue,<br/> + In long and sloping lines.<br/> +<br/> +And, falling on my weary brain,<br/> + Like a fast-falling shower,<br/> +The dreams of youth came back again,<br/> +Low lispings of the summer rain,<br/> +Dropping on the ripened grain,<br/> + As once upon the flower.<br/> +<br/> +Visions of childhood! Stay, O stay!<br/> + Ye were so sweet and wild!<br/> +And distant voices seemed to say,<br/> +“It cannot be! They pass away!<br/> +Other themes demand thy lay;<br/> + Thou art no more a child!<br/> +<br/> +“The land of Song within thee lies,<br/> + Watered by living springs;<br/> +The lids of Fancy’s sleepless eyes<br/> +Are gates unto that Paradise,<br/> +Holy thoughts, like stars, arise,<br/> + Its clouds are angels’ wings.<br/> +<br/> +“Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be,<br/> + Not mountains capped with snow,<br/> +Nor forests sounding like the sea,<br/> +Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly,<br/> +Where the woodlands bend to see<br/> + The bending heavens below.<br/> +<br/> +“There is a forest where the din<br/> + Of iron branches sounds!<br/> +A mighty river roars between,<br/> +And whosoever looks therein<br/> +Sees the heavens all black with sin,<br/> + Sees not its depths, nor bounds.<br/> +<br/> +“Athwart the swinging branches cast,<br/> + Soft rays of sunshine pour;<br/> +Then comes the fearful wintry blast<br/> +Our hopes, like withered leaves, fail fast;<br/> +Pallid lips say, ‘It is past!<br/> + We can return no more!’<br/> +<br/> +“Look, then, into thine heart, and write!<br/> + Yes, into Life’s deep stream!<br/> +All forms of sorrow and delight,<br/> +All solemn Voices of the Night,<br/> +That can soothe thee, or affright,—<br/> + Be these henceforth thy theme.”<br/> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap03"></a>HYMN TO THE NIGHT</h3> + +<p class="letter"> +Ἀσπασίη, +τρίλλιστος +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +I heard the trailing garments of the Night<br/> + Sweep through her marble halls!<br/> +I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light<br/> + From the celestial walls!<br/> +<br/> +I felt her presence, by its spell of might,<br/> + Stoop o’er me from above;<br/> +The calm, majestic presence of the Night,<br/> + As of the one I love.<br/> +<br/> +I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,<br/> + The manifold, soft chimes,<br/> +That fill the haunted chambers of the Night<br/> + Like some old poet’s rhymes.<br/> +<br/> +From the cool cisterns of the midnight air<br/> + My spirit drank repose;<br/> +The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,—<br/> + From those deep cisterns flows.<br/> +<br/> +O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear<br/> + What man has borne before!<br/> +Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,<br/> + And they complain no more.<br/> +<br/> +Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!<br/> + Descend with broad-winged flight,<br/> +The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,<br/> + The best-beloved Night! +</p> + + <hr /> +<h3><a name="chap04"></a>A PSALM OF LIFE.</h3> + +<p class="center"> +WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"><br/> +Tell me not, in mournful numbers,<br/> + Life is but an empty dream!<br/> +For the soul is dead that slumbers,<br/> + And things are not what they seem.<br/> +<br/> +Life is real! Life is earnest!<br/> + And the grave is not its goal;<br/> +Dust thou art, to dust returnest,<br/> + Was not spoken of the soul.<br/> +<br/> +Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,<br/> + Is our destined end or way;<br/> +But to act, that each to-morrow<br/> + Find us farther than to-day.<br/> +<br/> +Art is long, and Time is fleeting,<br/> + And our hearts, though stout and brave,<br/> +Still, like muffled drums, are beating<br/> + Funeral marches to the grave.<br/> +<br/> +In the world’s broad field of battle,<br/> + In the bivouac of Life,<br/> +Be not like dumb, driven cattle!<br/> + Be a hero in the strife!<br/> +<br/> +Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!<br/> + Let the dead Past bury its dead!<br/> +Act,—act in the living Present!<br/> + Heart within, and God o’erhead!<br/> +<br/> +Lives of great men all remind us<br/> + We can make our lives sublime,<br/> +And, departing, leave behind us<br/> + Footprints on the sands of time;—<br/> +<br/> +Footprints, that perhaps another,<br/> + Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,<br/> +A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,<br/> + Seeing, shall take heart again.<br/> +<br/> +Let us, then, be up and doing,<br/> + With a heart for any fate;<br/> +Still achieving, still pursuing,<br/> + Learn to labor and to wait. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap05"></a>THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><br/> +There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,<br/> + And, with his sickle keen,<br/> +He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,<br/> + And the flowers that grow between.<br/> +<br/> +“Shall I have naught that is fair?” saith he;<br/> + “Have naught but the bearded grain?<br/> +Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,<br/> + I will give them all back again.”<br/> +<br/> +He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,<br/> + He kissed their drooping leaves;<br/> +It was for the Lord of Paradise<br/> + He bound them in his sheaves.<br/> +<br/> +“My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,”<br/> + The Reaper said, and smiled;<br/> +“Dear tokens of the earth are they,<br/> + Where he was once a child.<br/> +<br/> +“They shall all bloom in fields of light,<br/> + Transplanted by my care,<br/> +And saints, upon their garments white,<br/> + These sacred blossoms wear.”<br/> +<br/> +And the mother gave, in tears and pain,<br/> + The flowers she most did love;<br/> +She knew she should find them all again<br/> + In the fields of light above.<br/> +<br/> +O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,<br/> + The Reaper came that day;<br/> +’T was an angel visited the green earth,<br/> + And took the flowers away. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap06"></a>THE LIGHT OF STARS.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The night is come, but not too soon; + And sinking silently, +All silently, the little moon + Drops down behind the sky. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is no light in earth or heaven + But the cold light of stars; +And the first watch of night is given + To the red planet Mars. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Is it the tender star of love? + The star of love and dreams? +O no! from that blue tent above, + A hero's armor gleams. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And earnest thoughts within me rise, + When I behold afar, +Suspended in the evening skies, + The shield of that red star. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O star of strength! I see thee stand + And smile upon my pain; +Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, + And I am strong again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Within my breast there is no light + But the cold light of stars; +I give the first watch of the night + To the red planet Mars. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The star of the unconquered will, + He rises in my breast, +Serene, and resolute, and still, + And calm, and self-possessed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, + That readest this brief psalm, +As one by one thy hopes depart, + Be resolute and calm. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O fear not in a world like this, + And thou shalt know erelong, +Know how sublime a thing it is + To suffer and be strong. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap07"></a>FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When the hours of Day are numbered, + And the voices of the Night +Wake the better soul, that slumbered, + To a holy, calm delight; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ere the evening lamps are lighted, + And, like phantoms grim and tall, +Shadows from the fitful firelight + Dance upon the parlor wall; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then the forms of the departed + Enter at the open door; +The beloved, the true-hearted, + Come to visit me once more; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He, the young and strong, who cherished + Noble longings for the strife, +By the roadside fell and perished, + Weary with the march of life! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They, the holy ones and weakly, + Who the cross of suffering bore, +Folded their pale hands so meekly, + Spake with us on earth no more! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And with them the Being Beauteous, + Who unto my youth was given, +More than all things else to love me, + And is now a saint in heaven. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +With a slow and noiseless footstep + Comes that messenger divine, +Takes the vacant chair beside me, + Lays her gentle hand in mine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And she sits and gazes at me + With those deep and tender eyes, +Like the stars, so still and saint-like, + Looking downward from the skies. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Uttered not, yet comprehended, + Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, +Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, + Breathing from her lips of air. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oh, though oft depressed and lonely, + All my fears are laid aside, +If I but remember only + Such as these have lived and died! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap08"></a>FLOWERS.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, + One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, +When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, + Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Stars they are, wherein we read our history, + As astrologers and seers of eld; +Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, + Like the burning stars, which they beheld. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, + God hath written in those stars above; +But not less in the bright flowerets under us + Stands the revelation of his love. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Bright and glorious is that revelation, + Written all over this great world of ours; +Making evident our own creation, + In these stars of earth, these golden flowers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, + Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part +Of the self-same, universal being, + Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, + Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, +Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, + Buds that open only to decay; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, + Flaunting gayly in the golden light; +Large desires, with most uncertain issues, + Tender wishes, blossoming at night! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +These in flowers and men are more than seeming; + Workings are they of the self-same powers, +Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, + Seeth in himself and in the flowers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Everywhere about us are they glowing, + Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born; +Others, their blue eyes with tears o'er-flowing, + Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, + And in Summer's green-emblazoned field, +But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, + In the centre of his brazen shield; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not alone in meadows and green alleys, + On the mountain-top, and by the brink +Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, + Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not alone in her vast dome of glory, + Not on graves of bird and beast alone, +But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, + On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the cottage of the rudest peasant, + In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, +Speaking of the Past unto the Present, + Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In all places, then, and in all seasons, + Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, +Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, + How akin they are to human things. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And with childlike, credulous affection + We behold their tender buds expand; +Emblems of our own great resurrection, + Emblems of the bright and better land. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap09"></a>THE BELEAGUERED CITY.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I have read, in some old, marvellous tale, + Some legend strange and vague, +That a midnight host of spectres pale + Beleaguered the walls of Prague. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, + With the wan moon overhead, +There stood, as in an awful dream, + The army of the dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +White as a sea-fog, landward bound, + The spectral camp was seen, +And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, + The river flowed between. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No other voice nor sound was there, + No drum, nor sentry's pace; +The mist-like banners clasped the air, + As clouds with clouds embrace. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But when the old cathedral bell + Proclaimed the morning prayer, +The white pavilions rose and fell + On the alarmed air. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Down the broad valley fast and far + The troubled army fled; +Up rose the glorious morning star, + The ghastly host was dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, + That strange and mystic scroll, +That an army of phantoms vast and wan + Beleaguer the human soul. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, + In Fancy's misty light, +Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam + Portentous through the night. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Upon its midnight battle-ground + The spectral camp is seen, +And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, + Flows the River of Life between. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No other voice nor sound is there, + In the army of the grave; +No other challenge breaks the air, + But the rushing of Life's wave. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And when the solemn and deep churchbell + Entreats the soul to pray, +The midnight phantoms feel the spell, + The shadows sweep away. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Down the broad Vale of Tears afar + The spectral camp is fled; +Faith shineth as a morning star, + Our ghastly fears are dead. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap10"></a>MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Yes, the Year is growing old, + And his eye is pale and bleared! +Death, with frosty hand and cold, + Plucks the old man by the beard, + Sorely, sorely! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The leaves are falling, falling, + Solemnly and slow; +Caw! caw! the rooks are calling, + It is a sound of woe, + A sound of woe! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Through woods and mountain passes + The winds, like anthems, roll; +They are chanting solemn masses, + Singing, "Pray for this poor soul, + Pray, pray!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the hooded clouds, like friars, + Tell their beads in drops of rain, +And patter their doleful prayers; + But their prayers are all in vain, + All in vain! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There he stands in the foul weather, + The foolish, fond Old Year, +Crowned with wild flowers and with heather, + Like weak, despised Lear, + A king, a king! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then comes the summer-like day, + Bids the old man rejoice! +His joy! his last! O, the man gray + Loveth that ever-soft voice, + Gentle and low. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To the crimson woods he saith, + To the voice gentle and low +Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath, + "Pray do not mock me so! + Do not laugh at me!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And now the sweet day is dead; + Cold in his arms it lies; +No stain from its breath is spread + Over the glassy skies, + No mist or stain! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then, too, the Old Year dieth, + And the forests utter a moan, +Like the voice of one who crieth + In the wilderness alone, + "Vex not his ghost!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then comes, with an awful roar, + Gathering and sounding on, +The storm-wind from Labrador, + The wind Euroclydon, + The storm-wind! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Howl! howl! and from the forest + Sweep the red leaves away! +Would, the sins that thou abhorrest, + O Soul! could thus decay, + And be swept away! +For there shall come a mightier blast, + There shall be a darker day; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the stars, from heaven down-cast + Like red leaves be swept away! + Kyrie, eleyson! + Christe, eleyson! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>EARLIER POEMS</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap12"></a>AN APRIL DAY</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When the warm sun, that brings +Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, +'T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs + The first flower of the plain. + + I love the season well, +When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, +Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell + The coming-on of storms. + + From the earth's loosened mould +The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; +Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold, + The drooping tree revives. + + The softly-warbled song +Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings +Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along + The forest openings. + + When the bright sunset fills +The silver woods with light, the green slope throws +Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, + And wide the upland glows. + + And when the eve is born, +In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far, +Is hollowed out and the moon dips her horn, + And twinkles many a star. + + Inverted in the tide +Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, +And the fair trees look over, side by side, + And see themselves below. + + Sweet April! many a thought +Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; +Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, + Life's golden fruit is shed. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap13"></a>AUTUMN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +With what a glory comes and goes the year! +The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers +Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy +Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out; +And when the silver habit of the clouds +Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with +A sober gladness the old year takes up +His bright inheritance of golden fruits, +A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. + + There is a beautiful spirit breathing now +Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, +And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, +Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, +And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. +Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, +Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales +The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, +Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life +Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, +And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, +Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down +By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees +The golden robin moves. The purple finch, +That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, +A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, +And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud +From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings, +And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, +Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. + + O what a glory doth this world put on +For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth +Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks +On duties well performed, and days well spent! +For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, +Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. +He shall so hear the solemn hymn that Death +Has lifted up for all, that he shall go +To his long resting-place without a tear. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap14"></a>WOODS IN WINTER.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When winter winds are piercing chill, + And through the hawthorn blows the gale, +With solemn feet I tread the hill, + That overbrows the lonely vale. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O'er the bare upland, and away + Through the long reach of desert woods, +The embracing sunbeams chastely play, + And gladden these deep solitudes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where, twisted round the barren oak, + The summer vine in beauty clung, +And summer winds the stillness broke, + The crystal icicle is hung. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs + Pour out the river's gradual tide, +Shrilly the skater's iron rings, + And voices fill the woodland side. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Alas! how changed from the fair scene, + When birds sang out their mellow lay, +And winds were soft, and woods were green, + And the song ceased not with the day! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But still wild music is abroad, + Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; +And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, + Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear + Has grown familiar with your song; +I hear it in the opening year, + I listen, and it cheers me long. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap15"></a>HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM</h3> + +<p class="center"> +AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER. +</p> + + <p> + When the dying flame of day Through the chancel shot its ray, Far the + glimmering tapers shed Faint light on the cowled head; And the censer + burning swung, Where, before the altar, hung The crimson banner, that with + prayer Had been consecrated there. And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the + while, Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Take thy banner! May it wave + Proudly o'er the good and brave; + When the battle's distant wail + Breaks the sabbath of our vale. + When the clarion's music thrills + To the hearts of these lone hills, + When the spear in conflict shakes, + And the strong lance shivering breaks. + + "Take thy banner! and, beneath + The battle-cloud's encircling wreath, + Guard it, till our homes are free! + Guard it! God will prosper thee! + In the dark and trying hour, + In the breaking forth of power, + In the rush of steeds and men, + His right hand will shield thee then. + + "Take thy banner! But when night + Closes round the ghastly fight, + If the vanquished warrior bow, + Spare him! By our holy vow, + By our prayers and many tears, + By the mercy that endears, + Spare him! he our love hath shared! + Spare him! as thou wouldst be spared! + + "Take thy banner! and if e'er + Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, + And the muffled drum should beat + To the tread of mournful feet, + Then this crimson flag shall be + Martial cloak and shroud for thee." +</pre> + <p> + The warrior took that banner proud, And it was his martial cloak and + shroud! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap16"></a>SUNRISE ON THE HILLS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch +Was glorious with the sun's returning march, +And woods were brightened, and soft gales +Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. +The clouds were far beneath me; bathed in light, +They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, +And, in their fading glory, shone +Like hosts in battle overthrown. +As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance. +Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, +And rocking on the cliff was left +The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. +The veil of cloud was lifted, and below +Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow +Was darkened by the forest's shade, +Or glistened in the white cascade; +Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, +The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. + + I heard the distant waters dash, +I saw the current whirl and flash, +And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, +The woods were bending with a silent reach. +Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, +The music of the village bell +Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills; +And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, +Was ringing to the merry shout, +That faint and far the glen sent out, +Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, +Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke. + + If thou art worn and hard beset +With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, +If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep +Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, +Go to the woods and hills! No tears +Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap17"></a>THE SPIRIT OF POETRY</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is a quiet spirit in these woods, +That dwells where'er the gentle south-wind blows; +Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, +The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, +The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. +With what a tender and impassioned voice +It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, +When the fast ushering star of morning comes +O'er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf; +Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve, +In mourning weeds, from out the western gate, +Departs with silent pace! That spirit moves +In the green valley, where the silver brook, +From its full laver, pours the white cascade; +And, babbling low amid the tangled woods, +Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter. +And frequent, on the everlasting hills, +Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself +In all the dark embroidery of the storm, +And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid +The silent majesty of these deep woods, +Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, +As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air +Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards +Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. +For them there was an eloquent voice in all +The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, +The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, +Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds, +The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun +Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes, +Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, +Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale, +The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees, +In many a lazy syllable, repeating +Their old poetic legends to the wind. + + And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill +The world; and, in these wayward days of youth, +My busy fancy oft embodies it, +As a bright image of the light and beauty +That dwell in nature; of the heavenly forms +We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues +That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds +When the sun sets. Within her tender eye +The heaven of April, with its changing light, +And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, +And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair +Is like the summer tresses of the trees, +When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek +Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, +With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, +It is so like the gentle air of Spring, +As, front the morning's dewy flowers, it comes +Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy +To have it round us, and her silver voice +Is the rich music of a summer bird, +Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap18"></a>BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK</h3> + + <p> + On sunny slope and beechen swell, The shadowed light of evening fell; And, + where the maple's leaf was brown, With soft and silent lapse came down, + The glory, that the wood receives, At sunset, in its golden leaves. + </p> + <p> + Far upward in the mellow light Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, + Around a far uplifted cone, In the warm blush of evening shone; An image + of the silver lakes, By which the Indian's soul awakes. + </p> + <p> + But soon a funeral hymn was heard Where the soft breath of evening stirred + The tall, gray forest; and a band Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, + Came winding down beside the wave, To lay the red chief in his grave. + </p> + <p> + They sang, that by his native bowers He stood, in the last moon of + flowers, And thirty snows had not yet shed Their glory on the warrior's + head; But, as the summer fruit decays, So died he in those naked days. + </p> + <p> + A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin Covered the warrior, and within Its + heavy folds the weapons, made For the hard toils of war, were laid; The + cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, And the broad belt of shells and beads. + </p> + <p> + Before, a dark-haired virgin train Chanted the death dirge of the slain; + Behind, the long procession came Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, With + heavy hearts, and eyes of grief, Leading the war-horse of their chief. + </p> + <p> + Stripped of his proud and martial dress, Uncurbed, unreined, and + riderless, With darting eye, and nostril spread, And heavy and impatient + tread, He came; and oft that eye so proud Asked for his rider in the + crowd. + </p> + <p> + They buried the dark chief; they freed Beside the grave his battle steed; + And swift an arrow cleaved its way To his stern heart! One piercing neigh + Arose, and, on the dead man's plain, The rider grasps his steed again. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap19"></a>L' ENVOI</h3> + + <p> + Ye voices, that arose After the Evening's close, And whispered to my + restless heart repose! + </p> + <p> + Go, breathe it in the ear Of all who doubt and fear, And say to them, "Be + of good cheer!" + </p> + <p> + Ye sounds, so low and calm, That in the groves of balm Seemed to me like + an angel's psalm! + </p> + <p> + Go, mingle yet once more With the perpetual roar Of the pine forest dark + and hoar! + </p> + <p> + Tongues of the dead, not lost But speaking from deaths frost, Like fiery + tongues at Pentecost! + </p> + <p> + Glimmer, as funeral lamps, Amid the chills and damps Of the vast plain + where Death encamps! + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap21"></a>THE SKELETON IN ARMOR</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Speak! speak I thou fearful guest + Who, with thy hollow breast + Still in rude armor drest, + Comest to daunt me! + Wrapt not in Eastern balms, + Bat with thy fleshless palms + Stretched, as if asking alms, + Why dost thou haunt me?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then, from those cavernous eyes +Pale flashes seemed to rise, +As when the Northern skies + Gleam in December; +And, like the water's flow +Under December's snow, +Came a dull voice of woe + From the heart's chamber. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"I was a Viking old! +My deeds, though manifold, +No Skald in song has told, + No Saga taught thee! +Take heed, that in thy verse +Thou dost the tale rehearse, +Else dread a dead man's curse; + For this I sought thee. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Far in the Northern Land, +By the wild Baltic's strand, +I, with my childish hand, + Tamed the gerfalcon; +And, with my skates fast-bound, +Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, + That the poor whimpering hound +Trembled to walk on. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Oft to his frozen lair +Tracked I the grisly bear, +While from my path the hare + Fled like a shadow; +Oft through the forest dark +Followed the were-wolf's bark, +Until the soaring lark + Sang from the meadow. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"But when I older grew, +Joining a corsair's crew, +O'er the dark sea I flew + With the marauders. +Wild was the life we led; +Many the souls that sped, +Many the hearts that bled, + By our stern orders. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Many a wassail-bout +Wore the long Winter out; +Often our midnight shout + Set the cocks crowing, +As we the Berserk's tale +Measured in cups of ale, +Draining the oaken pail, + Filled to o'erflowing. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Once as I told in glee +Tales of the stormy sea, +Soft eyes did gaze on me, + Burning yet tender; +And as the white stars shine +On the dark Norway pine, +On that dark heart of mine + Fell their soft splendor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"I wooed the blue-eyed maid, +Yielding, yet half afraid, +And in the forest's shade + Our vows were plighted. +Under its loosened vest +Fluttered her little breast +Like birds within their nest + By the hawk frighted. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Bright in her father's hall +Shields gleamed upon the wall, +Loud sang the minstrels all, + Chanting his glory; +When of old Hildebrand +I asked his daughter's hand, +Mute did the minstrels stand + To hear my story. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"While the brown ale he quaffed, +Loud then the champion laughed, +And as the wind-gusts waft + The sea-foam brightly, +So the loud laugh of scorn, +Out of those lips unshorn, +From the deep drinking-horn + Blew the foam lightly. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"She was a Prince's child, +I but a Viking wild, +And though she blushed and smiled, + I was discarded! +Should not the dove so white +Follow the sea-mew's flight, +Why did they leave that night + Her nest unguarded? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Scarce had I put to sea, +Bearing the maid with me, +Fairest of all was she + Among the Norsemen! +When on the white sea-strand, +Waving his armed hand, +Saw we old Hildebrand, + With twenty horsemen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Then launched they to the blast, +Bent like a reed each mast, +Yet we were gaining fast, + When the wind failed us; +And with a sudden flaw +Came round the gusty Skaw, +So that our foe we saw + Laugh as he hailed us. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"And as to catch the gale +Round veered the flapping sail, +Death I was the helmsman's hail, + Death without quarter! +Mid-ships with iron keel +Struck we her ribs of steel +Down her black hulk did reel + Through the black water! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"As with his wings aslant, +Sails the fierce cormorant, +Seeking some rocky haunt + With his prey laden, +So toward the open main, +Beating to sea again, +Through the wild hurricane, + Bore I the maiden. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Three weeks we westward bore, +And when the storm was o'er, +Cloud-like we saw the shore + Stretching to leeward; +There for my lady's bower +Built I the lofty tower, +Which, to this very hour, + Stands looking seaward. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"There lived we many years; +Time dried the maiden's tears +She had forgot her fears, + She was a mother. +Death closed her mild blue eyes, +Under that tower she lies; +Ne'er shall the sun arise + On such another! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Still grew my bosom then. +Still as a stagnant fen! +Hateful to me were men, + The sunlight hateful! +In the vast forest here, +Clad in my warlike gear, +Fell I upon my spear, + O, death was grateful! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Thus, seamed with many scars, +Bursting these prison bars, +Up to its native stars + My soul ascended! +There from the flowing bowl +Deep drinks the warrior's soul, +Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!" + Thus the tale ended. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap22"></a>THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was the schooner Hesperus, + That sailed the wintry sea; +And the skipper had taken his little daughter, + To bear him company. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, + Her cheeks like the dawn of day, +And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, + That ope in the month of May. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The skipper he stood beside the helm, + His pipe was in his month, +And he watched how the veering flaw did blow + The smoke now West, now South. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then up and spake an old Sailor, + Had sailed to the Spanish Main, +"I pray thee, put into yonder port, + For I fear a hurricane. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Last night, the moon had a golden ring, + And to-night no moon we see!" +The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, + And a scornful laugh laughed he. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Colder and louder blew the wind, + A gale from the Northeast. +The snow fell hissing in the brine, + And the billows frothed like yeast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Down came the storm, and smote amain + The vessel in its strength; +She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, + Then leaped her cable's length. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, + And do not tremble so; +For I can weather the roughest gale + That ever wind did blow." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat + Against the stinging blast; +He cut a rope from a broken spar, + And bound her to the mast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"O father! I hear the church-bells ring, + O say, what may it be?" + "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"— + And he steered for the open sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"O father! I hear the sound of guns, + O say, what may it be?" +"Some ship in distress, that cannot live + In such an angry sea!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"O father! I see a gleaming light + O say, what may it be?" +But the father answered never a word, + A frozen corpse was he. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, + With his face turned to the skies, +The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow + On his fixed and glassy eyes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed + That saved she might be; +And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, + On the Lake of Galilee. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And fast through the midnight dark and drear, + Through the whistling sleet and snow, +Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept + Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And ever the fitful gusts between + A sound came from the land; +It was the sound of the trampling surf + On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The breakers were right beneath her bows, + She drifted a dreary wreck, +And a whooping billow swept the crew + Like icicles from her deck. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She struck where the white and fleecy waves + Looked soft as carded wool, +But the cruel rocks, they gored her side + Like the horns of an angry bull. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, + With the masts went by the board; +Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, + Ho! ho! the breakers roared! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, + A fisherman stood aghast, +To see the form of a maiden fair, + Lashed close to a drifting mast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The salt sea was frozen on her breast, + The salt tears in her eyes; +And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, + On the billows fall and rise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, + In the midnight and the snow! +Christ save us all from a death like this, + On the reef of Norman's Woe! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap23"></a>THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Under a spreading chestnut-tree + The village smithy stands; +The smith, a mighty man is he, + With large and sinewy hands; +And the muscles of his brawny arms + Are strong as iron bands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His hair is crisp, and black, and long, + His face is like the tan; +His brow is wet with honest sweat, + He earns whate'er he can, +And looks the whole world in the face, + For he owes not any man. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Week in, week out, from morn till night, + You can hear his bellows blow; +You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, + With measured beat and slow, +Like a sexton ringing the village bell, + When the evening sun is low. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And children coming home from school + Look in at the open door; +They love to see the flaming forge, + And bear the bellows roar, +And catch the burning sparks that fly + Like chaff from a threshing-floor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He goes on Sunday to the church, + And sits among his boys; +He hears the parson pray and preach, + He hears his daughter's voice, +Singing in the village choir, + And it makes his heart rejoice. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It sounds to him like her mother's voice, + Singing in Paradise! +He needs must think of her once more, + How in the grave she lies; +And with his hard, rough hand he wipes + A tear out of his eyes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing, + Onward through life he goes; +Each morning sees some task begin, + Each evening sees it close +Something attempted, something done, + Has earned a night's repose. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, +For the lesson thou hast taught! +Thus at the flaming forge of life + Our fortunes must be wrought; +Thus on its sounding anvil shaped + Each burning deed and thought. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap24"></a>ENDYMION</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The rising moon has hid the stars; +Her level rays, like golden bars, + Lie on the landscape green, + With shadows brown between. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And silver white the river gleams, +As if Diana, in her dreams, + Had dropt her silver bow + Upon the meadows low. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On such a tranquil night as this, +She woke Endymion with a kiss, + When, sleeping in the grove, + He dreamed not of her love. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, +Love gives itself, but is not bought; + Nor voice, nor sound betrays + Its deep, impassioned gaze. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It comes,—the beautiful, the free, +The crown of all humanity,— + In silence and alone + To seek the elected one. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep +Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, + And kisses the closed eyes + Of him, who slumbering lies. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! +O drooping souls, whose destinies + Are fraught with fear and pain, + Ye shall be loved again! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No one is so accursed by fate, +No one so utterly desolate, + But some heart, though unknown, + Responds unto his own. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Responds,—as if with unseen wings, +An angel touched its quivering strings; + And whispers, in its song, + "'Where hast thou stayed so long?" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap25"></a>IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No hay pajaros en los nidos de antano. + Spanish Proverb +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The sun is bright,—the air is clear, + The darting swallows soar and sing. +And from the stately elms I hear + The bluebird prophesying Spring. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So blue you winding river flows, + It seems an outlet from the sky, +Where waiting till the west-wind blows, + The freighted clouds at anchor lie. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All things are new;—the buds, the leaves, + That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, + And even the nest beneath the eaves;— + There are no birds in last year's nest! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All things rejoice in youth and love, + The fulness of their first delight! + And learn from the soft heavens above + The melting tenderness of night. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, + Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay; +Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, + For oh, it is not always May! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, + To some good angel leave the rest; +For Time will teach thee soon the truth, + There are no birds in last year's nest! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap26"></a>THE RAINY DAY</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The day is cold, and dark, and dreary +It rains, and the wind is never weary; +The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, +But at every gust the dead leaves fall, + And the day is dark and dreary. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; +It rains, and the wind is never weary; +My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, +But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, + And the days are dark and dreary. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; +Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; +Thy fate is the common fate of all, +Into each life some rain must fall, + Some days must be dark and dreary. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap27"></a>GOD'S-ACRE.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls + The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; +It consecrates each grave within its walls, + And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts + Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown +The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, + Their bread of life, alas! no more their own. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Into its furrows shall we all be cast, + In the sure faith, that we shall rise again +At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast + Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, + In the fair gardens of that second birth; +And each bright blossom mingle its perfume + With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, + And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; +This is the field and Acre of our God, + This is the place where human harvests grow! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap28"></a>TO THE RIVER CHARLES.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +River! that in silence windest + Through the meadows, bright and free, +Till at length thy rest thou findest + In the bosom of the sea! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Four long years of mingled feeling, + Half in rest, and half in strife, +I have seen thy waters stealing + Onward, like the stream of life. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thou hast taught me, Silent River! + Many a lesson, deep and long; +Thou hast been a generous giver; + I can give thee but a song. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oft in sadness and in illness, + I have watched thy current glide, +Till the beauty of its stillness + Overflowed me, like a tide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And in better hours and brighter, + When I saw thy waters gleam, +I have felt my heart beat lighter, + And leap onward with thy stream. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not for this alone I love thee, + Nor because thy waves of blue +From celestial seas above thee + Take their own celestial hue. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, + And thy waters disappear, +Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, + And have made thy margin dear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +More than this;—thy name reminds me + Of three friends, all true and tried; +And that name, like magic, binds me + Closer, closer to thy side. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Friends my soul with joy remembers! + How like quivering flames they start, +When I fan the living embers + On the hearth-stone of my heart! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'T is for this, thou Silent River! + That my spirit leans to thee; +Thou hast been a generous giver, + Take this idle song from me. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap29"></a>BLIND BARTIMEUS</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +Blind Bartimeus at the gates<br/> +Of Jericho in darkness waits;<br/> +He hears the crowd;—he hears a breath<br/> +Say, “It is Christ of Nazareth!”<br/> +And calls, in tones of agony,<br/> +Ἰησοῦ, ἐλέησόν +με!<br/> +<br/> +The thronging multitudes increase;<br/> +Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace!<br/> +But still, above the noisy crowd,<br/> +The beggar’s cry is shrill and loud;<br/> +Until they say, “He calleth thee!”<br/> +Θάρσει +ἔγειραι, φωνεῖ +δε!<br/> +<br/> +Then saith the Christ, as silent stands<br/> +The crowd, “What wilt thou at my hands?”<br/> +And he replies, “O give me light!<br/> +Rabbi, restore the blind man’s sight.”<br/> +And Jesus answers, Ὕπαγε<br/> +Ἡ πίστις σου +σέσωκέ δε!<br/> +<br/> +Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see,<br/> +In darkness and in misery,<br/> +Recall those mighty Voices Three,<br/> +Ἰησοῦ, ἐλέησόν +με!<br/> +Θάρσει ἔγειραι, +ὕπαγε!<br/> +Ἡ πίστις σου +σέσωκέ δε! +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap30"></a>THE GOBLET OF LIFE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Filled is Life's goblet to the brim; +And though my eyes with tears are dim, +I see its sparkling bubbles swim, +And chant a melancholy hymn + With solemn voice and slow. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No purple flowers,—no garlands green, +Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, +Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene, +Like gleams of sunshine, flash between + Thick leaves of mistletoe. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This goblet, wrought with curious art, +Is filled with waters, that upstart, +When the deep fountains of the heart, +By strong convulsions rent apart, + Are running all to waste. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And as it mantling passes round, +With fennel is it wreathed and crowned, +Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned +Are in its waters steeped and drowned, + And give a bitter taste. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Above the lowly plants it towers, +The fennel, with its yellow flowers, +And in an earlier age than ours +Was gifted with the wondrous powers, + Lost vision to restore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It gave new strength, and fearless mood; +And gladiators, fierce and rude, +Mingled it in their daily food; +And he who battled and subdued, + A wreath of fennel wore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then in Life's goblet freely press, +The leaves that give it bitterness, +Nor prize the colored waters less, +For in thy darkness and distress + New light and strength they give! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And he who has not learned to know +How false its sparkling bubbles show, +How bitter are the drops of woe, +With which its brim may overflow, + He has not learned to live. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The prayer of Ajax was for light; +Through all that dark and desperate fight +The blackness of that noonday night +He asked but the return of sight, + To see his foeman's face. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Let our unceasing, earnest prayer +Be, too, for light,—for strength to bear +Our portion of the weight of care, +That crushes into dumb despair + One half the human race. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O suffering, sad humanity! +O ye afflicted one; who lie +Steeped to the lips in misery, +Longing, and yet afraid to die, + Patient, though sorely tried! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I pledge you in this cup of grief, +Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf! +The Battle of our Life is brief +The alarm,—the struggle,—the relief, + Then sleep we side by side. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap31"></a>MAIDENHOOD</h3> + + <p> + Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies Like the + dusk in evening skies! + </p> + <p> + Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the + braided streamlets run! + </p> + <p> + Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood + and childhood fleet! + </p> + <p> + Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swift advance, On the + river's broad expanse! + </p> + <p> + Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the + river of a dream. + </p> + <p> + Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon + thee to fields Elysian? + </p> + <p> + Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with startled eye, Sees the + falcon's shadow fly? + </p> + <p> + Hearest thou voices on the shore, That our ears perceive no more, Deafened + by the cataract's roar? + </p> + <p> + O, thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands,—Life hath + snares Care and age come unawares! + </p> + <p> + Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon, May glides + onward into June. + </p> + <p> + Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered;— + Age, that bough with snows encumbered. + </p> + <p> + Gather, then, each flower that grows, When the young heart overflows, To + embalm that tent of snows. + </p> + <p> + Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that + magic wand. + </p> + <p> + Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On + thy lips the smile of truth! + </p> + <p> + O, that dew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds that cannot heal, Even as + sleep our eyes doth seal; + </p> + <p> + And that smile, like sunshine, dart Into many a sunless heart, For a smile + of God thou art. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap32"></a>EXCELSIOR</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The shades of night were falling fast, +As through an Alpine village passed +A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, +A banner with the strange device, + Excelsior! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His brow was sad; his eye beneath, +Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, +And like a silver clarion rung +The accents of that unknown tongue, + Excelsior! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In happy homes he saw the light +Of household fires gleam warm and bright; +Above, the spectral glaciers shone, +And from his lips escaped a groan, + Excelsior! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Try not the Pass!" the old man said: +"Dark lowers the tempest overhead, +The roaring torrent is deep and wide! +And loud that clarion voice replied, + Excelsior! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest +Thy weary head upon this breast!" +A tear stood in his bright blue eye, +But still he answered, with a sigh, + Excelsior! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! +Beware the awful avalanche!" +This was the peasant's last Good-night, +A voice replied, far up the height, + Excelsior! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At break of day, as heavenward +The pious monks of Saint Bernard +Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, +A voice cried through the startled air, + Excelsior! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A traveller, by the faithful hound, +Half-buried in the snow was found, +Still grasping in his hand of ice +That banner with the strange device, + Excelsior! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There in the twilight cold and gray, +Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, +And from the sky, serene and far, +A voice fell, like a falling star, + Excelsior! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a>POEMS ON SLAVERY.</h2> + + <p> + [The following poems, with one exception, were written at sea, in the + latter part of October, 1842. I had not then heard of Dr. Channing's + death. Since that event, the poem addressed to him is no longer + appropriate. I have decided, however, to let it remain as it was written, + in testimony of my admiration for a great and good man.] + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap34"></a>TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The pages of thy book I read, + And as I closed each one, +My heart, responding, ever said, + "Servant of God! well done!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Well done! Thy words are great and bold; + At times they seem to me, +Like Luther's, in the days of old, + Half-battles for the free. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Go on, until this land revokes + The old and chartered Lie, +The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes + Insult humanity. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A voice is ever at thy side + Speaking in tones of might, +Like the prophetic voice, that cried + To John in Patmos, "Write!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Write! and tell out this bloody tale; + Record this dire eclipse, +This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail, + This dread Apocalypse! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap35"></a>THE SLAVE'S DREAM</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Beside the ungathered rice he lay, + His sickle in his hand; +His breast was bare, his matted hair + Was buried in the sand. +Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, + He saw his Native Land. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wide through the landscape of his dreams + The lordly Niger flowed; +Beneath the palm-trees on the plain + Once more a king he strode; +And heard the tinkling caravans + Descend the mountain-road. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He saw once more his dark-eyed queen + Among her children stand; +They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, + They held him by the hand!— +A tear burst from the sleeper's lids + And fell into the sand. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And then at furious speed he rode + Along the Niger's bank; +His bridle-reins were golden chains, + And, with a martial clank, +At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel + Smiting his stallion's flank. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Before him, like a blood-red flag, + The bright flamingoes flew; +From morn till night he followed their flight, + O'er plains where the tamarind grew, +Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts, + And the ocean rose to view. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At night he heard the lion roar, + And the hyena scream, +And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds + Beside some hidden stream; +And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, + Through the triumph of his dream. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The forests, with their myriad tongues, + Shouted of liberty; +And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud, + With a voice so wild and free, +That he started in his sleep and smiled + At their tempestuous glee. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He did not feel the driver's whip, + Nor the burning heat of day; +For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep, + And his lifeless body lay +A worn-out fetter, that the soul + Had broken and thrown away! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap36"></a>THE GOOD PART<br/> +THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She dwells by Great Kenhawa's side, + In valleys green and cool; +And all her hope and all her pride + Are in the village school. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Her soul, like the transparent air + That robes the hills above, +Though not of earth, encircles there + All things with arms of love. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And thus she walks among her girls + With praise and mild rebukes; +Subduing e'en rude village churls + By her angelic looks. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She reads to them at eventide + Of One who came to save; +To cast the captive's chains aside + And liberate the slave. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And oft the blessed time foretells + When all men shall be free; +And musical, as silver bells, + Their falling chains shall be. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And following her beloved Lord, + In decent poverty, +She makes her life one sweet record + And deed of charity. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For she was rich, and gave up all + To break the iron bands +Of those who waited in her hall, + And labored in her lands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Long since beyond the Southern Sea + Their outbound sails have sped, +While she, in meek humility, + Now earns her daily bread. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It is their prayers, which never cease, + That clothe her with such grace; +Their blessing is the light of peace + That shines upon her face. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap37"></a>THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp + The hunted Negro lay; +He saw the fire of the midnight camp, +And heard at times a horse's tramp + And a bloodhound's distant bay. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-worms shine, + In bulrush and in brake; +Where waving mosses shroud the pine, +And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine + Is spotted like the snake; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where hardly a human foot could pass, + Or a human heart would dare, +On the quaking turf of the green morass +He crouched in the rank and tangled grass, + Like a wild beast in his lair. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A poor old slave, infirm and lame; + Great scars deformed his face; +On his forehead he bore the brand of shame, +And the rags, that hid his mangled frame, + Were the livery of disgrace. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All things above were bright and fair, + All things were glad and free; +Lithe squirrels darted here and there, +And wild birds filled the echoing air + With songs of Liberty! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On him alone was the doom of pain, + From the morning of his birth; +On him alone the curse of Cain +Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain, + And struck him to the earth! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap38"></a>THE SLAVE SINGING AT MIDNIGHT</h3> + + <p> + Loud he sang the psalm of David! He, a Negro and enslaved, Sang of + Israel's victory, Sang of Zion, bright and free. + </p> + <p> + In that hour, when night is calmest, Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist, In + a voice so sweet and clear That I could not choose but hear, + </p> + <p> + Songs of triumph, and ascriptions, Such as reached the swart Egyptians, + When upon the Red Sea coast Perished Pharaoh and his host. + </p> + <p> + And the voice of his devotion Filled my soul with strange emotion; For its + tones by turns were glad, Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. + </p> + <p> + Paul and Silas, in their prison, Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen, And an + earthquake's arm of might Broke their dungeon-gates at night. + </p> + <p> + But, alas! what holy angel Brings the Slave this glad evangel? And what + earthquake's arm of might Breaks his dungeon-gates at night? + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap39"></a>THE WITNESSES</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In Ocean's wide domains, + Half buried in the sands, +Lie skeletons in chains, + With shackled feet and hands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Beyond the fall of dews, + Deeper than plummet lies, +Float ships, with all their crews, + No more to sink nor rise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There the black Slave-ship swims, + Freighted with human forms, +Whose fettered, fleshless limbs + Are not the sport of storms. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +These are the bones of Slaves; + They gleam from the abyss; +They cry, from yawning waves, + "We are the Witnesses!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Within Earth's wide domains + Are markets for men's lives; +Their necks are galled with chains, + Their wrists are cramped with gyves. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dead bodies, that the kite + In deserts makes its prey; +Murders, that with affright + Scare school-boys from their play! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All evil thoughts and deeds; + Anger, and lust, and pride; +The foulest, rankest weeds, + That choke Life's groaning tide! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +These are the woes of Slaves; + They glare from the abyss; +They cry, from unknown graves, + "We are the Witnesses! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap40"></a>THE QUADROON GIRL</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Slaver in the broad lagoon + Lay moored with idle sail; +He waited for the rising moon, + And for the evening gale. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Under the shore his boat was tied, + And all her listless crew +Watched the gray alligator slide + Into the still bayou. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Odors of orange-flowers, and spice, + Reached them from time to time, +Like airs that breathe from Paradise + Upon a world of crime. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Planter, under his roof of thatch, + Smoked thoughtfully and slow; +The Slaver's thumb was on the latch, + He seemed in haste to go. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He said, "My ship at anchor rides + In yonder broad lagoon; +I only wait the evening tides, + And the rising of the moon. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Before them, with her face upraised, + In timid attitude, +Like one half curious, half amazed, + A Quadroon maiden stood. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Her eyes were large, and full of light, + Her arms and neck were bare; +No garment she wore save a kirtle bright, + And her own long, raven hair. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And on her lips there played a smile + As holy, meek, and faint, +As lights in some cathedral aisle + The features of a saint. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"The soil is barren,—the farm is old"; + The thoughtful planter said; +Then looked upon the Slaver's gold, + And then upon the maid. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His heart within him was at strife + With such accursed gains: +For he knew whose passions gave her life, + Whose blood ran in her veins. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the voice of nature was too weak; + He took the glittering gold! +Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek, + Her hands as icy cold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Slaver led her from the door, + He led her by the hand, +To be his slave and paramour + In a strange and distant land! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap41"></a>THE WARNING</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Beware! The Israelite of old, who tore + The lion in his path,—when, poor and blind, +He saw the blessed light of heaven no more, + Shorn of his noble strength and forced to grind +In prison, and at last led forth to be +A pander to Philistine revelry,— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Upon the pillars of the temple laid + His desperate hands, and in its overthrow +Destroyed himself, and with him those who made + A cruel mockery of his sightless woe; +The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all, +Expired, and thousands perished in the fall! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is a poor, blind Samson in this land, + Shorn of his strength and bound in bonds of steel, +Who may, in some grim revel, raise his hand, + And shake the pillars of this Commonweal, +Till the vast Temple of our liberties. +A shapeless mass of wreck and rubbish lies. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap42"></a>THE SPANISH STUDENT</h2> + + <h3> + DRAMATIS PERSONAE + </h3> + <p> + VICTORIAN HYPOLITO Students of Alcala. + </p> + <p> + THE COUNT OF LARA DON CARLOS Gentlemen of Madrid. + </p> + <p> + THE ARCHBISHOP OF TOLEDO. A CARDINAL. BELTRAN CRUZADO Count of the + Gypsies. BARTOLOME ROMAN A young Gypsy. THE PADRE CURA OF GUADARRAMA. + PEDRO CRESPO Alcalde. PANCHO Alguacil. FRANCISCO Lara's Servant. CHISPA + Victorian's Servant. BALTASAR Innkeeper. PRECIOSA A Gypsy Girl. ANGELICA A + poor Girl. MARTINA The Padre Cura's Niece. DOLORES Preciosa's Maid. + Gypsies, Musicians, etc. + </p> + <h3> + ACT I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE I.—The COUNT OF LARA'S chambers. Night. The COUNT in his +dressing-gown, smoking and conversing with DON CARLOS. + + Lara. You were not at the play tonight, Don Carlos; +How happened it? + + Don C. I had engagements elsewhere. +Pray who was there? + + Lara. Why all the town and court. +The house was crowded; and the busy fans +Among the gayly dressed and perfumed ladies +Fluttered like butterflies among the flowers. +There was the Countess of Medina Celi; +The Goblin Lady with her Phantom Lover, +Her Lindo Don Diego; Dona Sol, +And Dona Serafina, and her cousins. + + Don C. What was the play? + + Lara. It was a dull affair; +One of those comedies in which you see, +As Lope says, the history of the world +Brought down from Genesis to the Day of Judgment. +There were three duels fought in the first act, +Three gentlemen receiving deadly wounds, +Laying their hands upon their hearts, and saying, +"O, I am dead!" a lover in a closet, +An old hidalgo, and a gay Don Juan, +A Dona Inez with a black mantilla, +Followed at twilight by an unknown lover, +Who looks intently where he knows she is not! + + Don C. Of course, the Preciosa danced to-night? + + Lara. And never better. Every footstep fell +As lightly as a sunbeam on the water. +I think the girl extremely beautiful. + + Don C. Almost beyond the privilege of woman! +I saw her in the Prado yesterday. +Her step was royal,—queen-like,—and her face +As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise. + + Lara. May not a saint fall from her Paradise, +And be no more a saint? + + Don C. Why do you ask? + + Lara. Because I have heard it said this angel fell, +And though she is a virgin outwardly, +Within she is a sinner; like those panels +Of doors and altar-pieces the old monks +Painted in convents, with the Virgin Mary +On the outside, and on the inside Venus! + + Don C. You do her wrong; indeed, you do her wrong! +She is as virtuous as she is fair. + + Lara. How credulous you are! Why look you, friend, +There's not a virtuous woman in Madrid, +In this whole city! And would you persuade me +That a mere dancing-girl, who shows herself, +Nightly, half naked, on the stage, for money, +And with voluptuous motions fires the blood +Of inconsiderate youth, is to be held +A model for her virtue? + + Don C. You forget +She is a Gypsy girl. + + Lara. And therefore won +The easier. + + Don C. Nay, not to be won at all! +The only virtue that a Gypsy prizes +Is chastity. That is her only virtue. +Dearer than life she holds it. I remember +A Gypsy woman, a vile, shameless bawd, +Whose craft was to betray the young and fair; +And yet this woman was above all bribes. +And when a noble lord, touched by her beauty, +The wild and wizard beauty of her race, +Offered her gold to be what she made others, +She turned upon him, with a look of scorn, +And smote him in the face! + + Lara. And does that prove +That Preciosa is above suspicion? + + Don C. It proves a nobleman may be repulsed +When he thinks conquest easy. I believe +That woman, in her deepest degradation, +Holds something sacred, something undefiled, +Some pledge and keepsake of her higher nature, +And, like the diamond in the dark, retains +Some quenchless gleam of the celestial light! + + Lara. Yet Preciosa would have taken the gold. + + Don C. (rising). I do not think so. + + Lara. I am sure of it. +But why this haste? Stay yet a little longer, +And fight the battles of your Dulcinea. + + Don C. 'T is late. I must begone, for if I stay +You will not be persuaded. + + Lara. Yes; persuade me. + + Don C. No one so deaf as he who will not hear! + + Lara. No one so blind as he who will not see! + + Don C. And so good night. I wish you pleasant dreams, +And greater faith in woman. [Exit. + + Lara. Greater faith! +I have the greatest faith; for I believe +Victorian is her lover. I believe +That I shall be to-morrow; and thereafter +Another, and another, and another, +Chasing each other through her zodiac, +As Taurus chases Aries. +</pre> + <p> + (Enter FRANCISCO with a casket.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Well, Francisco, +What speed with Preciosa? + + Fran. None, my lord. +She sends your jewels back, and bids me tell you +She is not to be purchased by your gold. + + Lara. Then I will try some other way to win her. +Pray, dost thou know Victorian? + + Fran. Yes, my lord; +I saw him at the jeweller's to-day. + + Lara. What was he doing there? + + Fran. I saw him buy +A golden ring, that had a ruby in it. + + Lara. Was there another like it? + + Fran. One so like it +I could not choose between them. + + Lara. It is well. +To-morrow morning bring that ring to me. +Do not forget. Now light me to my bed. + [Exeunt. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE II. — A street in Madrid. Enter CHISPA, followed by +musicians, with a bagpipe, guitars, and other instruments. + + Chispa. Abernuncio Satanas! and a plague on all lovers who +ramble about at night, drinking the elements, instead of +sleeping quietly in their beds. Every dead man to his cemetery, +say I; and every friar to his monastery. Now, here's my master, +Victorian, yesterday a cow-keeper, and to-day a gentleman; +yesterday a student, and to-day a lover; and I must be up later +than the nightingale, for as the abbot sings so must the +sacristan respond. God grant he may soon be married, for then +shall all this serenading cease. Ay, marry! marry! marry! +Mother, what does marry mean? It means to spin, to bear +children, and to weep, my daughter! And, of a truth, there is +something more in matrimony than the wedding-ring. (To the +musicians.) And now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum! as the ass said to +the cabbages. Pray, walk this way; and don't hang down your +heads. It is no disgrace to have an old father and a ragged +shirt. Now, look you, you are gentlemen who lead the life of +crickets; you enjoy hunger by day and noise by night. Yet, I +beseech you, for this once be not loud, but pathetic; for it is a +serenade to a damsel in bed, and not to the Man in the Moon. +Your object is not to arouse and terrify, but to soothe and bring +lulling dreams. Therefore, each shall not play upon his +instrument as if it were the only one in the universe, but +gently, and with a certain modesty, according with the others. +Pray, how may I call thy name, friend? + + First Mus. Geronimo Gil, at your service. + + Chispa. Every tub smells of the wine that is in it. Pray, +Geronimo, is not Saturday an unpleasant day with thee? + + First Mus. Why so? + + Chispa. Because I have heard it said that Saturday is an +unpleasant day with those who have but one shirt. Moreover, I +have seen thee at the tavern, and if thou canst run as fast as +thou canst drink, I should like to hunt hares with thee. What +instrument is that? + + First Mus. An Aragonese bagpipe. + + Chispa. Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bujalance, +who asked a maravedi for playing, and ten for leaving off? + + First Mus. No, your honor. + + Chispa. I am glad of it. What other instruments have we? + + Second and Third Musicians. We play the bandurria. + + Chispa. A pleasing instrument. And thou? + + Fourth Mus. The fife. + + Chispa. I like it; it has a cheerful, soul-stirring sound, +that soars up to my lady's window like the song of a swallow. +And you others? + + Other Mus. We are the singers, please your honor. + + Chispa. You are too many. Do you think we are going to sing +mass in the cathedral of Cordova? Four men can make but little +use of one shoe, and I see not how you can all sing in one song. +But follow me along the garden wall. That is the way my master +climbs to the lady's window, it is by the Vicar's skirts that the +Devil climbs into the belfry. Come, follow me, and make no +noise. + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE III. — PRECIOSA'S chamber. She stands at the open window. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prec. How slowly through the lilac-scented air +Descends the tranquil moon! Like thistle-down +The vapory clouds float in the peaceful sky; +And sweetly from yon hollow vaults of shade +The nightingales breathe out their souls in song. +And hark! what songs of love, what soul-like sounds, +Answer them from below! +</pre> + <h3> + SERENADE. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Stars of the summer night! + Far in yon azure deeps, +Hide, hide your golden light! + She sleeps! +My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Moon of the summer night! + Far down yon western steeps, +Sink, sink in silver light! + She sleeps! +My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wind of the summer night! + Where yonder woodbine creeps, +Fold, fold thy pinions light! + She sleeps! +My lady sleeps! + Sleeps! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dreams of the summer night! + Tell her, her lover keeps +Watch! while in slumbers light + She sleeps +My lady sleeps + Sleeps! +</pre> + <p> + (Enter VICTORIAN by the balcony.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vict. Poor little dove! Thou tremblest like a leaf! + + Prec. I am so frightened! 'T is for thee I tremble! +I hate to have thee climb that wall by night! +Did no one see thee? + + Vict. None, my love, but thou. + + Prec. 'T is very dangerous; and when thou art gone +I chide myself for letting thee come here +Thus stealthily by night. Where hast thou been? +Since yesterday I have no news from thee. + + Vict. Since yesterday I have been in Alcala. +Erelong the time will come, sweet Preciosa, +When that dull distance shall no more divide us; +And I no more shall scale thy wall by night +To steal a kiss from thee, as I do now. + + Prec. An honest thief, to steal but what thou givest. + + Vict. And we shall sit together unmolested, +And words of true love pass from tongue to tongue, +As singing birds from one bough to another. + + Prec. That were a life to make time envious! +I knew that thou wouldst come to me to-night. +I saw thee at the play. + + Vict. Sweet child of air! +Never did I behold thee so attired +And garmented in beauty as to-night! +What hast thou done to make thee look so fair? + + Prec. Am I not always fair? + + Vict. Ay, and so fair +That I am jealous of all eyes that see thee, +And wish that they were blind. + + Prec. I heed them not; +When thou art present, I see none but thee! + + Vict. There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes +Something from thee, that makes it beautiful. + + Prec. And yet thou leavest me for those dusty books. + + Vict. Thou comest between me and those books too often! +I see thy face in everything I see! +The paintings in the chapel wear thy looks, +The canticles are changed to sarabands, +And with the leaned doctors of the schools +I see thee dance cachuchas. + + Prec. In good sooth, +I dance with learned doctors of the schools +To-morrow morning. + + Vict. And with whom, I pray? + + Prec. A grave and reverend Cardinal, and his Grace +The Archbishop of Toledo. + + Vict. What mad jest +Is this? + + Prec. It is no jest; indeed it is not. + + Vict. Prithee, explain thyself. + + Prec. Why, simply thus. +Thou knowest the Pope has sent here into Spain +To put a stop to dances on the stage. + + Vict. I have heard it whispered. + + Prec. Now the Cardinal, +Who for this purpose comes, would fain behold +With his own eyes these dances; and the Archbishop +Has sent for me— + + Vict. That thou mayst dance before them! +Now viva la cachucha! It will breathe +The fire of youth into these gray old men! +'T will be thy proudest conquest! + + Prec. Saving one. +And yet I fear these dances will be stopped, +And Preciosa be once more a beggar. + + Vict. The sweetest beggar that e'er asked for alms; +With such beseeching eyes, that when I saw thee +I gave my heart away! + + Prec. Dost thou remember +When first we met? + + Vict. It was at Cordova, +In the cathedral garden. Thou wast sitting +Under the orange-trees, beside a fountain. + + Prec. 'T was Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees +Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy. +The priests were singing, and the organ sounded, +And then anon the great cathedral bell. +It was the elevation of the Host. +We both of us fell down upon our knees, +Under the orange boughs, and prayed together. +I never had been happy till that moment. + + Vict. Thou blessed angel! + + Prec. And when thou wast gone +I felt an acting here. I did not speak +To any one that day. But from that day +Bartolome grew hateful unto me. + + Vict. Remember him no more. Let not his shadow +Come between thee and me. Sweet Preciosa! +I loved thee even then, though I was silent! + + Prec. I thought I ne'er should see thy face again. +Thy farewell had a sound of sorrow in it. + + Vict. That was the first sound in the song of love! +Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound. +Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings +Of that mysterious instrument, the soul, +And play the prelude of our fate. We hear +The voice prophetic, and are not alone. + + Prec. That is my faith. Dust thou believe these warnings? + + Vict. So far as this. Our feelings and our thoughts +Tend ever on, and rest not in the Present. +As drops of rain fall into some dark well, +And from below comes a scarce audible sound, +So fall our thoughts into the dark Hereafter, +And their mysterious echo reaches us. + + Prec. I have felt it so, but found no words to say it! +I cannot reason; I can only feel! +But thou hast language for all thoughts and feelings. +Thou art a scholar; and sometimes I think +We cannot walk together in this world! +The distance that divides us is too great! +Henceforth thy pathway lies among the stars; +I must not hold thee back. + + Vict. Thou little sceptic! +Dost thou still doubt? What I most prize in woman +Is her affections, not her intellect! +The intellect is finite; but the affections +Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted. +Compare me with the great men of the earth; +What am I? Why, a pygmy among giants! +But if thou lovest,—mark me! I say lovest, +The greatest of thy sex excels thee not! +The world of the affections is thy world, +Not that of man's ambition. In that stillness +Which most becomes a woman, calm and holy, +Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart, +Feeding its flame. The element of fire +Is pure. It cannot change nor hide its nature, +But burns as brightly in a Gypsy camp +As in a palace hall. Art thou convinced? + + Prec. Yes, that I love thee, as the good love heaven; +But not that I am worthy of that heaven. +How shall I more deserve it? + + Vict. Loving more. + + Prec. I cannot love thee more; my heart is full. + + Vict. Then let it overflow, and I will drink it, +As in the summer-time the thirsty sands +Drink the swift waters of the Manzanares, +And still do thirst for more. + + A Watchman (in the street). Ave Maria +Purissima! 'T is midnight and serene! + + Vict. Hear'st thou that cry? + + Prec. It is a hateful sound, +To scare thee from me! + + Vict. As the hunter's horn +Doth scare the timid stag, or bark of hounds +The moor-fowl from his mate. + + Prec. Pray, do not go! + + Vict. I must away to Alcala to-night. +Think of me when I am away. + + Prec. Fear not! +I have no thoughts that do not think of thee. + + Vict. (giving her a ring). +And to remind thee of my love, take this; +A serpent, emblem of Eternity; +A ruby,—say, a drop of my heart's blood. + + Prec. It is an ancient saying, that the ruby +Brings gladness to the wearer, and preserves +The heart pure, and, if laid beneath the pillow, +Drives away evil dreams. But then, alas! +It was a serpent tempted Eve to sin. + + Vict. What convent of barefooted Carmelites + Taught thee so much theology? + + Prec. (laying her hand upon his mouth). Hush! hush! +Good night! and may all holy angels guard thee! + + Vict. Good night! good night! Thou art my guardian angel! +I have no other saint than thou to pray to! +</pre> + <p> + (He descends by the balcony.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prec. Take care, and do not hurt thee. Art thou safe? + + Vict. (from the garden). +Safe as my love for thee! But art thou safe? +Others can climb a balcony by moonlight +As well as I. Pray shut thy window close; +I am jealous of the perfumed air of night +That from this garden climbs to kiss thy lips. + + Prec. (throwing down her handkerchief). +Thou silly child! Take this to blind thine eyes. +It is my benison! + + Vict. And brings to me +Sweet fragrance from thy lips, as the soft wind +Wafts to the out-bound mariner the breath +Of the beloved land he leaves behind. + + Prec. Make not thy voyage long. + + Vict. To-morrow night +Shall see me safe returned. Thou art the star +To guide me to an anchorage. Good night! +My beauteous star! My star of love, good night! + + Prec. Good night! + + Watchman (at a distance). Ave Maria Purissima! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Scene IV. — An inn on the road to Alcala. +BALTASAR asleep on a bench. Enter CHISPA. + + Chispa. And here we are, halfway to Alcala, between cocks and +midnight. Body o' me! what an inn this is! The lights out, and +the landlord asleep. Hola! ancient Baltasar! + + Bal. (waking). Here I am. + + Chispa. Yes, there you are, like a one-eyed Alcalde in a town +without inhabitants. Bring a light, and let me have supper. + + Bal. Where is your master? + + Chispo. Do not trouble yourself about him. We have stopped a +moment to breathe our horses; and, if he chooses to walk up and +down in the open air, looking into the sky as one who hears it +rain, that does not satisfy my hunger, you know. But be quick, +for I am in a hurry, and every man stretches his legs according +to the length of his coverlet. What have we here? + + Bal. (setting a light on the table). Stewed rabbit. + + Chispa (eating). Conscience of Portalegre! Stewed kitten, you +mean! + + Bal. And a pitcher of Pedro Ximenes, with a roasted pear in +it. + + Chispa (drinking). Ancient Baltasar, amigo! You know how to +cry wine and sell vinegar. I tell you this is nothing but Vino +Tinto of La Mancha, with a tang of the swine-skin. + + Bal. I swear to you by Saint Simon and Judas, it is all as I +say. + + Chispa. And I swear to you by Saint Peter and Saint Paul, that +it is no such thing. Moreover, your supper is like the hidalgo's +dinner, very little meat and a great deal of tablecloth. + + Bal. Ha! ha! ha! + + Chispa. And more noise than nuts. + + Bal. Ha! ha! ha! You must have your joke, Master Chispa. But +shall I not ask Don Victorian in, to take a draught of the Pedro +Ximenes? + + Chispa. No; you might as well say, "Don't-you-want-some?" to a +dead man. + + Bal. Why does he go so often to Madrid? + + Chispa. For the same reason that he eats no supper. He is in +love. Were you ever in love, Baltasar? + + Bal. I was never out of it, good Chispa. It has been the +torment of my life. + + Chispa. What! are you on fire, too, old hay-stack? Why, we +shall never be able to put you out. + + Vict. (without). Chispa! + + Chispa. Go to bed, Pero Grullo, for the cocks are crowing. + + Vict. Ea! Chispa! Chispa! + + Chispa. Ea! Senor. Come with me, ancient Baltasar, and bring +water for the horses. I will pay for the supper tomorrow. + [Exeunt. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE V. — VICTORIAN'S chambers at Alcala. HYPOLITO asleep in +an arm-chair. He awakes slowly. + + Hyp. I must have been asleep! ay, sound asleep! +And it was all a dream. O sleep, sweet sleep +Whatever form thou takest, thou art fair, +Holding unto our lips thy goblet filled +Out of Oblivion's well, a healing draught! +The candles have burned low; it must be late. +Where can Victorian be? Like Fray Carrillo, +The only place in which one cannot find him +Is his own cell. Here's his guitar, that seldom +Feels the caresses of its master's hand. +Open thy silent lips, sweet instrument! +And make dull midnight merry with a song. + + (He plays and sings.) +</pre> + <p> + Padre Francisco! Padre Francisco! What do you want of Padre Francisco? + Here is a pretty young maiden Who wants to confess her sins! Open the door + and let her come in, I will shrive her from every sin. + </p> + <p> + (Enter VICTORIAN.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vict. Padre Hypolito! Padre Hypolito! + + Hyp. What do you want of Padre Hypolito? + + Vict. Come, shrive me straight; for, if love be a sin, +I am the greatest sinner that doth live. +I will confess the sweetest of all crimes, +A maiden wooed and won. + + Hyp. The same old tale +Of the old woman in the chimney-corner, +Who, while the pot boils, says, "Come here, my child; +I'll tell thee a story of my wedding-day." + + Vict. Nay, listen, for my heart is full; so full +That I must speak. + + Hyp. Alas! that heart of thine +Is like a scene in the old play; the curtain +Rises to solemn music, and lo! enter +The eleven thousand virgins of Cologne! + + Vict. Nay, like the Sibyl's volumes, thou shouldst say; +Those that remained, after the six were burned, +Being held more precious than the nine together. +But listen to my tale. Dost thou remember +The Gypsy girl we saw at Cordova +Dance the Romalis in the market-place? + + Hyp. Thou meanest Preciosa. + + Vict. Ay, the same. +Thou knowest how her image haunted me +Long after we returned to Alcala. +She's in Madrid. + + Hyp. I know it. + + Vict. And I'm in love. + + Hyp. And therefore in Madrid when thou shouldst be +In Alcala. + + Vict. O pardon me, my friend, +If I so long have kept this secret from thee; +But silence is the charm that guards such treasures, +And, if a word be spoken ere the time, +They sink again, they were not meant for us. + + Hyp. Alas! alas! I see thou art in love. +Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak. +It serves for food and raiment. Give a Spaniard +His mass, his olla, and his Dona Luisa— +Thou knowest the proverb. But pray tell me, lover, +How speeds thy wooing? Is the maiden coy? +Write her a song, beginning with an Ave; +Sing as the monk sang to the Virgin Mary, + + Ave! cujus calcem clare + Nec centenni commendare + Sciret Seraph studio! + + Vict. Pray, do not jest! This is no time for it! +I am in earnest! + + Hyp. Seriously enamored? +What, ho! The Primus of great Alcala +Enamored of a Gypsy? Tell me frankly, +How meanest thou? + + Vict. I mean it honestly. + + Hyp. Surely thou wilt not marry her! + + Vict. Why not? + + Hyp. She was betrothed to one Bartolome, +If I remember rightly, a young Gypsy +Who danced with her at Cordova. + + Vict. They quarrelled, +And so the matter ended. + + Hyp. But in truth +Thou wilt not marry her. + + Vict. In truth I will. +The angels sang in heaven when she was born! +She is a precious jewel I have found +Among the filth and rubbish of the world. +I'll stoop for it; but when I wear it here, +Set on my forehead like the morning star, +The world may wonder, but it will not laugh. + + Hyp. If thou wear'st nothing else upon thy forehead, +'T will be indeed a wonder. + + Vict. Out upon thee +With thy unseasonable jests! Pray tell me, +Is there no virtue in the world? + + Hyp. Not much. +What, think'st thou, is she doing at this moment; +Now, while we speak of her? + + Vict. She lies asleep, +And from her parted lips her gentle breath +Comes like the fragrance from the lips of flowers. +Her tender limbs are still, and on her breast +The cross she prayed to, ere she fell asleep, +Rises and falls with the soft tide of dreams, +Like a light barge safe moored. + + Hyp. Which means, in prose, +She's sleeping with her mouth a little open! + + Vict. O, would I had the old magician's glass +To see her as she lies in childlike sleep! + + Hyp. And wouldst thou venture? + + Vict. Ay, indeed I would! + + Hyp. Thou art courageous. Hast thou e'er reflected +How much lies hidden in that one word, NOW? + + Vict. Yes; all the awful mystery of Life! +I oft have thought, my dear Hypolito, +That could we, by some spell of magic, change +The world and its inhabitants to stone, +In the same attitudes they now are in, +What fearful glances downward might we cast +Into the hollow chasms of human life! +What groups should we behold about the death-bed, +Putting to shame the group of Niobe! +What joyful welcomes, and what sad farewells! +What stony tears in those congealed eyes! +What visible joy or anguish in those cheeks! +What bridal pomps, and what funereal shows! +What foes, like gladiators, fierce and struggling! +What lovers with their marble lips together! + + Hyp. Ay, there it is! and, if I were in love, +That is the very point I most should dread. +This magic glass, these magic spells of thine, +Might tell a tale were better left untold. +For instance, they might show us thy fair cousin, +The Lady Violante, bathed in tears +Of love and anger, like the maid of Colchis, +Whom thou, another faithless Argonaut, +Having won that golden fleece, a woman's love, +Desertest for this Glauce. + + Vict. Hold thy peace! +She cares not for me. She may wed another, +Or go into a convent, and, thus dying, +Marry Achilles in the Elysian Fields. + + Hyp. (rising). And so, good night! Good morning, I should say. +</pre> + <p> + (Clock strikes three.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hark! how the loud and ponderous mace of Time +Knocks at the golden portals of the day! +And so, once more, good night! We'll speak more largely +Of Preciosa when we meet again. +Get thee to bed, and the magician, Sleep, +Shall show her to thee, in his magic glass, +In all her loveliness. Good night! + [Exit. + + Vict. Good night! +But not to bed; for I must read awhile. +</pre> + <p> + (Throws himself into the arm-chair which HYPOLITO has left, and lays a + large book open upon his knees.) + </p> + <p> + Must read, or sit in revery and watch The changing color of the waves that + break Upon the idle sea-shore of the mind! Visions of Fame! that once did + visit me, Making night glorious with your smile, where are ye? O, who + shall give me, now that ye are gone, Juices of those immortal plants that + bloom Upon Olympus, making us immortal? Or teach me where that wondrous + mandrake grows Whose magic root, torn from the earth with groans, At + midnight hour, can scare the fiends away, And make the mind prolific in + its fancies! I have the wish, but want the will, to act! Souls of great + men departed! Ye whose words Have come to light from the swift river of + Time, Like Roman swords found in the Tagus' bed, Where is the strength to + wield the arms ye bore? From the barred visor of Antiquity Reflected + shines the eternal light of Truth, As from a mirror! All the means of + action— The shapeless masses, the materials— Lie everywhere + about us. What we need Is the celestial fire to change the flint Into + transparent crystal, bright and clear. That fire is genius! The rude + peasant sits At evening in his smoky cot, and draws With charcoal uncouth + figures on the wall. The son of genius comes, foot-sore with travel, And + begs a shelter from the inclement night. He takes the charcoal from the + peasant's hand, And, by the magic of his touch at once Transfigured, all + its hidden virtues shine, And, in the eyes of the astonished clown, It + gleams a diamond! Even thus transformed, Rude popular traditions and old + tales Shine as immortal poems, at the touch Of some poor, houseless, + homeless, wandering bard, Who had but a night's lodging for his pains. But + there are brighter dreams than those of Fame, Which are the dreams of + Love! Out of the heart Rises the bright ideal of these dreams, As from + some woodland fount a spirit rises And sinks again into its silent deeps, + Ere the enamored knight can touch her robe! 'T is this ideal that the soul + of man, Like the enamored knight beside the fountain, Waits for upon the + margin of Life's stream; Waits to behold her rise from the dark waters, + Clad in a mortal shape! Alas! how many Must wait in vain! The stream flows + evermore, But from its silent deeps no spirit rises! Yet I, born under a + propitious star, Have found the bright ideal of my dreams. Yes! she is + ever with me. I can feel, Here, as I sit at midnight and alone, Her gentle + breathing! on my breast can feel The pressure of her head! God's benison + Rest ever on it! Close those beauteous eyes, Sweet Sleep! and all the + flowers that bloom at night With balmy lips breathe in her ears my name! + </p> + <p> + (Gradually sinks asleep.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + ACT II. + </h2> + <h3> + SCENE I. — PRECIOSA'S chamber. Morning. PRECIOSA and ANGELICA. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prec. Why will you go so soon? Stay yet awhile. +The poor too often turn away unheard +From hearts that shut against them with a sound +That will be heard in heaven. Pray, tell me more +Of your adversities. Keep nothing from me. +What is your landlord's name? + + Ang. The Count of Lara. + + Prec. The Count of Lara? O, beware that man! +Mistrust his pity,—hold no parley with him! +And rather die an outcast in the streets +Than touch his gold. + + Ang. You know him, then! + + Prec. As much +As any woman may, and yet be pure. +As you would keep your name without a blemish, +Beware of him! + + Ang. Alas! what can I do? +I cannot choose my friends. Each word of kindness, +Come whence it may, is welcome to the poor. + + Prec. Make me your friend. A girl so young and fair +Should have no friends but those of her own sex. +What is your name? + + Ang. Angelica. + + Prec. That name +Was given you, that you might be an angel +To her who bore you! When your infant smile +Made her home Paradise, you were her angel. +O, be an angel still! She needs that smile. +So long as you are innocent, fear nothing. +No one can harm you! I am a poor girl, +Whom chance has taken from the public streets. +I have no other shield than mine own virtue. +That is the charm which has protected me! +Amid a thousand perils, I have worn it +Here on my heart! It is my guardian angel. + + Ang. (rising). I thank you for this counsel, dearest lady. + + Prec. Thank me by following it. + + Ang. Indeed I will. + + Prec. Pray, do not go. I have much more to say. + + Ang. My mother is alone. I dare not leave her. + + Prec. Some other time, then, when we meet again. +You must not go away with words alone. +</pre> + <p> + (Gives her a purse.) + </p> + <p> + Take this. Would it were more. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ang. I thank you, lady. + + Prec. No thanks. To-morrow come to me again. +I dance to-night,—perhaps for the last time. +But what I gain, I promise shall be yours, +If that can save you from the Count of Lara. + + Ang. O, my dear lady! how shall I be grateful +For so much kindness? + + Prec. I deserve no thanks, +Thank Heaven, not me. + + Ang. Both Heaven and you. + + Prec. Farewell. +Remember that you come again tomorrow. + + Ang. I will. And may the Blessed Virgin guard you, +And all good angels. [Exit. + + Prec. May they guard thee too, +And all the poor; for they have need of angels. +Now bring me, dear Dolores, my basquina, +My richest maja dress,—my dancing dress, +And my most precious jewels! Make me look +Fairer than night e'er saw me! I've a prize +To win this day, worthy of Preciosa! +</pre> + <p> + (Enter BELTRAN CRUZADO.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Cruz. Ave Maria! + + Prec. O God! my evil genius! +What seekest thou here to-day? + + Cruz. Thyself,—my child. + + Prec. What is thy will with me? + + Cruz. Gold! gold! + + Prec. I gave thee yesterday; I have no more. + + Cruz. The gold of the Busne,—give me his gold! + + Prec. I gave the last in charity to-day. + + Cruz. That is a foolish lie. + + Prec. It is the truth. + + Cruz. Curses upon thee! Thou art not my child! +Hast thou given gold away, and not to me? +Not to thy father? To whom, then? + + Prec. To one +Who needs it more. + + Cruz. No one can need it more. + + Prec. Thou art not poor. + + Cruz. What, I, who lurk about +In dismal suburbs and unwholesome lanes +I, who am housed worse than the galley slave; +I, who am fed worse than the kennelled hound; +I, who am clothed in rags,—Beltran Cruzado,— +Not poor! + + Prec. Thou hast a stout heart and strong hands. +Thou canst supply thy wants; what wouldst thou more? + + Cruz. The gold of the Busne! give me his gold! + + Prec. Beltran Cruzado! hear me once for all. +I speak the truth. So long as I had gold, +I gave it to thee freely, at all times, +Never denied thee; never had a wish +But to fulfil thine own. Now go in peace! +Be merciful, be patient, and ere long +Thou shalt have more. + + Cruz. And if I have it not, +Thou shalt no longer dwell here in rich chambers, +Wear silken dresses, feed on dainty food, +And live in idleness; but go with me, +Dance the Romalis in the public streets, +And wander wild again o'er field and fell; +For here we stay not long. + + Prec. What! march again? + + Cruz. Ay, with all speed. I hate the crowded town! +I cannot breathe shut up within its gates +Air,—I want air, and sunshine, and blue sky, +The feeling of the breeze upon my face, +The feeling of the turf beneath my feet, +And no walls but the far-off mountain-tops. +Then I am free and strong,—once more myself, +Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales! + + Prec. God speed thee on thy march!—I cannot go. + + Cruz. Remember who I am, and who thou art +Be silent and obey! Yet one thing more. +Bartolome Roman— + + Prec. (with emotion). O, I beseech thee +If my obedience and blameless life, +If my humility and meek submission +In all things hitherto, can move in thee +One feeling of compassion; if thou art +Indeed my father, and canst trace in me +One look of her who bore me, or one tone +That doth remind thee of her, let it plead +In my behalf, who am a feeble girl, +Too feeble to resist, and do not force me +To wed that man! I am afraid of him! +I do not love him! On my knees I beg thee +To use no violence, nor do in haste +What cannot be undone! + + Cruz. O child, child, child! +Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as a bird +Betrays her nest, by striving to conceal it. +I will not leave thee here in the great city +To be a grandee's mistress. Make thee ready +To go with us; and until then remember +A watchful eye is on thee. [Exit. + + Prec. Woe is me! +I have a strange misgiving in my heart! +But that one deed of charity I'll do, +Befall what may; they cannot take that from me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE II — A room in the ARCHBISHOP'S Palace. The ARCHBISHOP +and a CARDINAL seated. + + Arch. Knowing how near it touched the public morals, +And that our age is grown corrupt and rotten +By such excesses, we have sent to Rome, +Beseeching that his Holiness would aid +In curing the gross surfeit of the time, +By seasonable stop put here in Spain +To bull-fights and lewd dances on the stage. +All this you know. + + Card. Know and approve. + + Arch. And further, +That, by a mandate from his Holiness, +The first have been suppressed. + + Card. I trust forever. +It was a cruel sport. + + Arch. A barbarous pastime, +Disgraceful to the land that calls itself +Most Catholic and Christian. + + Card. Yet the people +Murmur at this; and, if the public dances +Should be condemned upon too slight occasion, +Worse ills might follow than the ills we cure. +As Panem et Circenses was the cry +Among the Roman populace of old, +So Pan y Toros is the cry in Spain. +Hence I would act advisedly herein; +And therefore have induced your Grace to see +These national dances, ere we interdict them. +</pre> + <p> + (Enter a Servant) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Serv. The dancing-girl, and with her the musicians +Your Grace was pleased to order, wait without. + + Arch. Bid them come in. Now shall your eyes behold +In what angelic, yet voluptuous shape +The Devil came to tempt Saint Anthony. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +(Enter PRECIOSA, with a mantle thrown over her head. She +advances slowly, in modest, half-timid attitude.) + + Card. (aside). O, what a fair and ministering angel +Was lost to heaven when this sweet woman fell! + + Prec. (kneeling before the ARCHBISHOP). +I have obeyed the order of your Grace. +If I intrude upon your better hours, +I proffer this excuse, and here beseech +Your holy benediction. + + Arch. May God bless thee, +And lead thee to a better life. Arise. + + Card. (aside). Her acts are modest, and her words discreet! +I did not look for this! Come hither, child. +Is thy name Preciosa? + + Prec. Thus I am called. + + Card. That is a Gypsy name. Who is thy father? + + Prec. Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales. + + Arch. I have a dim remembrance of that man: +He was a bold and reckless character, +A sun-burnt Ishmael! + + Card. Dost thou remember +Thy earlier days? + + Prec. Yes; by the Darro's side +My childhood passed. I can remember still +The river, and the mountains capped with snow +The village, where, yet a little child, +I told the traveller's fortune in the street; +The smuggler's horse, the brigand and the shepherd; +The march across the moor; the halt at noon; +The red fire of the evening camp, that lighted +The forest where we slept; and, further back, +As in a dream or in some former life, +Gardens and palace walls. + + Arch. 'T is the Alhambra, +Under whose towers the Gypsy camp was pitched. +But the time wears; and we would see thee dance. + + Prec. Your Grace shall be obeyed. + + (She lays aside her mantilla. The music of the cachucha is +played, and the dance begins. The ARCHBISHOP and the CARDINAL +look on with gravity and an occasional frown; then make signs to +each other; and, as the dance continues, become more and more +pleased and excited; and at length rise from their seats, throw +their caps in the air, and applaud vehemently as the scene +closes.) +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + SCENE III. — The Prado. A long avenue of trees leading to the + </h2> + <p> + gate of Atocha. On the right the dome and spires of a convent. A fountain. + Evening, DON CARLOS and HYPOLITO meeting. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Don C. Hola! good evening, Don Hypolito. + + Hyp. And a good evening to my friend, Don Carlos. +Some lucky star has led my steps this way. +I was in search of you. + + Don. C. Command me always. + + Hyp. Do you remember, in Quevedo's Dreams, +The miser, who, upon the Day of Judgment, +Asks if his money-bags would rise? + + Don C. I do; +But what of that? + + Hyp. I am that wretched man. + + Don C. You mean to tell me yours have risen empty? + + Hyp. And amen! said my Cid the Campeador. + + Don C. Pray, how much need you? + + Hyp. Some half-dozen ounces, +Which, with due interest— + + Don C. (giving his purse). What, am I a Jew +To put my moneys out at usury? +Here is my purse. + + Hyp. Thank you. A pretty purse. +Made by the hand of some fair Madrilena; +Perhaps a keepsake. + + Don C. No, 't is at your service. + + Hyp. Thank you again. Lie there, good Chrysostom, +And with thy golden mouth remind me often, +I am the debtor of my friend. + + Don C. But tell me, +Come you to-day from Alcala? + + Hyp. This moment. + + Don C. And pray, how fares the brave Victorian? + + Hyp. Indifferent well; that is to say, not well. +A damsel has ensnared him with the glances +Of her dark, roving eyes, as herdsmen catch +A steer of Andalusia with a lazo. +He is in love. + + Don C. And is it faring ill +To be in love? + + Hyp. In his case very ill. + + Don C. Why so? + + Hyp. For many reasons. First and foremost, +Because he is in love with an ideal; +A creature of his own imagination; +A child of air; an echo of his heart; +And, like a lily on a river floating, +She floats upon the river of his thoughts! + + Don C. A common thing with poets. But who is +This floating lily? For, in fine, some woman, +Some living woman,—not a mere ideal,— +Must wear the outward semblance of his thought. +Who is it? Tell me. + + Hyp. Well, it is a woman! +But, look you, from the coffer of his heart +He brings forth precious jewels to adorn her, +As pious priests adorn some favorite saint +With gems and gold, until at length she gleams +One blaze of glory. Without these, you know, +And the priest's benediction, 't is a doll. + + Don C. Well, well! who is this doll? + + Hyp. Why, who do you think? + + Don C. His cousin Violante. + + Hyp. Guess again. +To ease his laboring heart, in the last storm +He threw her overboard, with all her ingots. + + Don C. I cannot guess; so tell me who it is. + + Hyp. Not I. + + Don. C. Why not? + + Hyp. (mysteriously). Why? Because Mari Franca +Was married four leagues out of Salamanca! + + Don C. Jesting aside, who is it? + + Hyp. Preciosa. + + Don C. Impossible! The Count of Lara tells me +She is not virtuous. + + Hyp. Did I say she was? +The Roman Emperor Claudius had a wife +Whose name was Messalina, as I think; +Valeria Messalina was her name. +But hist! I see him yonder through the trees, +Walking as in a dream. + + Don C. He comes this way. + + Hyp. It has been truly said by some wise man, +That money, grief, and love cannot be hidden. +</pre> + <p> + (Enter VICTORIAN in front.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vict. Where'er thy step has passed is holy ground! +These groves are sacred! I behold thee walking +Under these shadowy trees, where we have walked +At evening, and I feel thy presence now; +Feel that the place has taken a charm from thee, +And is forever hallowed. + + Hyp. Mark him well! +See how he strides away with lordly air, +Like that odd guest of stone, that grim Commander +Who comes to sup with Juan in the play. + + Don C. What ho! Victorian! + + Hyp. Wilt thou sup with us? + + Vict. Hola! amigos! Faith, I did not see you. +How fares Don Carlos? + + Don C. At your service ever. + + Vict. How is that young and green-eyed Gaditana +That you both wot of? + + Don C. Ay, soft, emerald eyes! +She has gone back to Cadiz. + + Hyp. Ay de mi! + + Vict. You are much to blame for letting her go back. +A pretty girl; and in her tender eyes +Just that soft shade of green we sometimes see +In evening skies. + + Hyp. But, speaking of green eyes, +Are thine green? + + Vict. Not a whit. Why so? + + Hyp. I think +The slightest shade of green would be becoming, +For thou art jealous. + + Vid. No, I am not jealous. + + Hyp. Thou shouldst be. + + Vict. Why? + + Hyp. Because thou art in love. +And they who are in love are always jealous. +Therefore thou shouldst be. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vict. Marry, is that all? +Farewell; I am in haste. Farewell, Don Carlos. +Thou sayest I should be jealous? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hyp. Ay, in truth +I fear there is reason. Be upon thy guard. +I hear it whispered that the Count of Lara +Lays siege to the same citadel. + + Vict. Indeed! +Then he will have his labor for his pains. + + Hyp. He does not think so, and Don Carlos tells me +He boasts of his success. + + Vict. How's this, Don Carlos? + + Don. C. Some hints of it I heard from his own lips. +He spoke but lightly of the lady's virtue, +As a gay man might speak. + + Vict. Death and damnation! +I'll cut his lying tongue out of his mouth, +And throw it to my dog! But no, no, no! +This cannot be. You jest, indeed you jest. +Trifle with me no more. For otherwise +We are no longer friends. And so, fare well! + [Exit. + + Hyp. Now what a coil is here! The Avenging Child +Hunting the traitor Quadros to his death, +And the Moor Calaynos, when he rode +To Paris for the ears of Oliver, +Were nothing to him! O hot-headed youth! +But come; we will not follow. Let us join +The crowd that pours into the Prado. There +We shall find merrier company; I see +The Marialonzos and the Almavivas, +And fifty fans, that beckon me already. + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + SCENE IV. — PRECIOSA'S chamber. She is sitting, with a book in + </h2> + <p> + her hand, near a table, on which are flowers. A bird singing in its cage. + The COUNT OF LARA enters behind unperceived. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prec. (reads). + All are sleeping, weary heart! + Thou, thou only sleepless art! +</pre> + <p> + Heigho! I wish Victorian were here. I know not what it is makes me so + restless! + </p> + <p> + (The bird sings.) + </p> + <p> + Thou little prisoner with thy motley coat, That from thy vaulted, wiry + dungeon singest, Like thee I am a captive, and, like thee, I have a gentle + jailer. Lack-a-day! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All are sleeping, weary heart! + Thou, thou only sleepless art! + All this throbbing, all this aching, + Evermore shall keep thee waking, + For a heart in sorrow breaking + Thinketh ever of its smart! +</pre> + <p> + Thou speakest truly, poet! and methinks More hearts are breaking in this + world of ours Than one would say. In distant villages And solitudes + remote, where winds have wafted The barbed seeds of love, or birds of + passage Scattered them in their flight, do they take root, And grow in + silence, and in silence perish. Who hears the falling of the forest leaf? + Or who takes note of every flower that dies? Heigho! I wish Victorian + would come. Dolores! + </p> + <p> + (Turns to lay down her boot and perceives the COUNT.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ha! + + Lara. Senora, pardon me. + + Prec. How's this? Dolores! + + Lara. Pardon me— + + Prec. Dolores! + + Lara. Be not alarmed; I found no one in waiting. +If I have been too bold— + + Prec. (turning her back upon him). You are too bold! +Retire! retire, and leave me! + + Lara. My dear lady, +First hear me! I beseech you, let me speak! +'T is for your good I come. + + Prec. (turning toward him with indignation). Begone! begone! +You are the Count of Lara, but your deeds +Would make the statues of your ancestors +Blush on their tombs! Is it Castilian honor, +Is it Castilian pride, to steal in here +Upon a friendless girl, to do her wrong? +O shame! shame! shame! that you, a nobleman, +Should be so little noble in your thoughts +As to send jewels here to win my love, +And think to buy my honor with your gold! +I have no words to tell you how I scorn you! +Begone! The sight of you is hateful to me! +Begone, I say! + + Lara. Be calm; I will not harm you. + + Prec. Because you dare not. + + Lara. I dare anything! +Therefore beware! You are deceived in me. +In this false world, we do not always know +Who are our friends and who our enemies. +We all have enemies, and all need friends. +Even you, fair Preciosa, here at court +Have foes, who seek to wrong you. + + Prec. If to this +I owe the honor of the present visit, +You might have spared the coming. Raving spoken, +Once more I beg you, leave me to myself. + + Lara. I thought it but a friendly part to tell you +What strange reports are current here in town. +For my own self, I do not credit them; +But there are many who, not knowing you, +Will lend a readier ear. + + Prec. There was no need +That you should take upon yourself the duty +Of telling me these tales. + + Lara. Malicious tongues +Are ever busy with your name. + + Prec. Alas! +I've no protectors. I am a poor girl, +Exposed to insults and unfeeling jests. +They wound me, yet I cannot shield myself. +I give no cause for these reports. I live +Retired; am visited by none. + + Lara. By none? +O, then, indeed, you are much wronged! + + Prec. How mean you? + + Lara. Nay, nay; I will not wound your gentle soul +By the report of idle tales. + + Prec. Speak out! +What are these idle tales? You need not spare me. + + Lara. I will deal frankly with you. Pardon me +This window, as I think, looks toward the street, +And this into the Prado, does it not? +In yon high house, beyond the garden wall,— +You see the roof there just above the trees,— +There lives a friend, who told me yesterday, +That on a certain night,—be not offended +If I too plainly speak,—he saw a man +Climb to your chamber window. You are silent! +I would not blame you, being young and fair— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +(He tries to embrace her. She starts back, and draws a dagger +from her bosom.) + + Prec. Beware! beware! I am a Gypsy girl! +Lay not your hand upon me. One step nearer +And I will strike! + + Lara. Pray you, put up that dagger. +Fear not. + + Prec. I do not fear. I have a heart +In whose strength I can trust. + + Lara. Listen to me +I come here as your friend,—I am your friend,— +And by a single word can put a stop +To all those idle tales, and make your name +Spotless as lilies are. Here on my knees, +Fair Preciosa! on my knees I swear, +I love you even to madness, and that love +Has driven me to break the rules of custom, +And force myself unasked into your presence. +</pre> + <p> + (VICTORIAN enters behind.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prec. Rise, Count of Lara! That is not the place +For such as you are. It becomes you not +To kneel before me. I am strangely moved +To see one of your rank thus low and humbled; +For your sake I will put aside all anger, +All unkind feeling, all dislike, and speak +In gentleness, as most becomes a woman, +And as my heart now prompts me. I no more +Will hate you, for all hate is painful to me. +But if, without offending modesty +And that reserve which is a woman's glory, +I may speak freely, I will teach my heart +To love you. + + Lara. O sweet angel! + + Prec. Ay, in truth, +Far better than you love yourself or me. + + Lara. Give me some sign of this,—the slightest token. +Let me but kiss your hand! + + Prec. Nay, come no nearer. +The words I utter are its sign and token. +Misunderstand me not! Be not deceived! +The love wherewith I love you is not such +As you would offer me. For you come here +To take from me the only thing I have, +My honor. You are wealthy, you have friends +And kindred, and a thousand pleasant hopes +That fill your heart with happiness; but I +Am poor, and friendless, having but one treasure, +And you would take that from me, and for what? +To flatter your own vanity, and make me +What you would most despise. O sir, such love, +That seeks to harm me, cannot be true love. +Indeed it cannot. But my love for you +Is of a different kind. It seeks your good. +It is a holier feeling. It rebukes +Your earthly passion, your unchaste desires, +And bids you look into your heart, and see +How you do wrong that better nature in you, +And grieve your soul with sin. + + Lara. I swear to you, +I would not harm you; I would only love you. +I would not take your honor, but restore it, +And in return I ask but some slight mark +Of your affection. If indeed you love me, +As you confess you do, O let me thus +With this embrace— + + Vict. (rushing forward). Hold! hold! This is too much. +What means this outrage? + + Lara. First, what right have you +To question thus a nobleman of Spain? + + Vict. I too am noble, and you are no more! +Out of my sight! + + Lara. Are you the master here? + + Vict. Ay, here and elsewhere, when the wrong of others +Gives me the right! + + Prec. (to LARA). Go! I beseech you, go! + + Vict. I shall have business with you, Count, anon! + + Lara. You cannot come too soon! + [Exit. + + Prec. Victorian! +O, we have been betrayed! + + Vict. Ha! ha! betrayed! +'T is I have been betrayed, not we!—not we! + + Prec. Dost thou imagine— + + Vict. I imagine nothing; +I see how 't is thou whilest the time away +When I am gone! + + Prec. O speak not in that tone! +It wounds me deeply. + + Vict. 'T was not meant to flatter. + + Prec. Too well thou knowest the presence of that man +Is hateful to me! + + Vict. Yet I saw thee stand +And listen to him, when he told his love. + + Prec. I did not heed his words. + + Vict. Indeed thou didst, +And answeredst them with love. + + Prec. Hadst thou heard all— + + Vict. I heard enough. + + Prec. Be not so angry with me. + + Vict. I am not angry; I am very calm. + + Prec. If thou wilt let me speak— + + Vict. Nay, say no more. +I know too much already. Thou art false! +I do not like these Gypsy marriages! +Where is the ring I gave thee? + + Prec. In my casket. + + Vict. There let it rest! I would not have thee wear it: +I thought thee spotless, and thou art polluted! + + Prec. I call the Heavens to witness— + + Vict. Nay, nay, nay! +Take not the name of Heaven upon thy lips! +They are forsworn! + + Prec. Victorian! dear Victorian! + + Vict. I gave up all for thee; myself, my fame, +My hopes of fortune, ay, my very soul! +And thou hast been my ruin! Now, go on! +Laugh at my folly with thy paramour, +And, sitting on the Count of Lara's knee, +Say what a poor, fond fool Victorian was! +</pre> + <p> + (He casts her from him and rushes out.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prec. And this from thee! +</pre> + <p> + (Scene closes.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + SCENE V. — The COUNT OF LARA'S rooms. Enter the COUNT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Lara. There's nothing in this world so sweet as love, +And next to love the sweetest thing is hate! +I've learned to hate, and therefore am revenged. +A silly girl to play the prude with me! +The fire that I have kindled— +</pre> + <p> + (Enter FRANCISCO.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Well, Francisco, +What tidings from Don Juan? + + Fran. Good, my lord; +He will be present. + + Lara. And the Duke of Lermos? + + Fran. Was not at home. + + Lara. How with the rest? + + Fran. I've found +The men you wanted. They will all be there, +And at the given signal raise a whirlwind +Of such discordant noises, that the dance +Must cease for lack of music. + + Lara. Bravely done. +Ah! little dost thou dream, sweet Preciosa, +What lies in wait for thee. Sleep shall not close +Thine eyes this night! Give me my cloak and sword. [Exeunt. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE VI. — A retired spot beyond the city gates. Enter +VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO. + + Vict. O shame! O shame! Why do I walk abroad +By daylight, when the very sunshine mocks me, +And voices, and familiar sights and sounds +Cry, "Hide thyself!" O what a thin partition +Doth shut out from the curious world the knowledge +Of evil deeds that have been done in darkness! +Disgrace has many tongues. My fears are windows, +Through which all eyes seem gazing. Every face +Expresses some suspicion of my shame, +And in derision seems to smile at me! + + Hyp. Did I not caution thee? Did I not tell thee +I was but half persuaded of her virtue? + + Vict. And yet, Hypolito, we may be wrong, +We may be over-hasty in condemning! +The Count of Lara is a cursed villain. + + Hyp. And therefore is she cursed, loving him. + + Vid. She does not love him! 'T is for gold! for gold! + + Hyp. Ay, but remember, in the public streets +He shows a golden ring the Gypsy gave him, +A serpent with a ruby in its mouth. + + Vict. She had that ring from me! God! she is false! +But I will be revenged! The hour is passed. +Where stays the coward? + + Hyp. Nay, he is no coward; +A villain, if thou wilt, but not a coward. +I've seen him play with swords; it is his pastime. +And therefore be not over-confident, +He'll task thy skill anon. Look, here he comes. +</pre> + <p> + (Enter LARA followed by FRNANCISCO) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Lara. Good evening, gentlemen. + + Hyp. Good evening, Count. + + Lara. I trust I have not kept you long in waiting. + + Vict. Not long, and yet too long. Are you prepared? + + Lara. I am. + + Hyp. It grieves me much to see this quarrel +Between you, gentlemen. Is there no way +Left open to accord this difference, +But you must make one with your swords? + + Vict. No! none! +I do entreat thee, dear Hypolito, +Stand not between me an my foe. Too long +Our tongues have spoken. Let these tongues of steel +End our debate. Upon your guard, Sir Count. +</pre> + <p> + (They fight. VICTORIAN disarms the COUNT.) + </p> + <p> + Your life is mine; and what shall now withhold me From sending your vile + soul to its account? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Lara. Strike! strike! + + Vict. You are disarmed. I will not kill you. +I will not murder you. Take up your sword. +</pre> + <p> + (FRANCISCO hands the COUNT his sword, and HYPOLITO interposes.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hyp. Enough! Let it end here! The Count of Lara +Has shown himself a brave man, and Victorian +A generous one, as ever. Now be friends. +Put up your swords; for, to speak frankly to you, +Your cause of quarrel is too slight a thing +To move you to extremes. + + Lara. I am content, +I sought no quarrel. A few hasty words, +Spoken in the heat of blood, have led to this. + + Vict. Nay, something more than that. + + Lara. I understand you. +Therein I did not mean to cross your path. +To me the door stood open, as to others. +But, had I known the girl belonged to you, +Never would I have sought to win her from you. +The truth stands now revealed; she has been false +To both of us. + + Vict. Ay, false as hell itself! + + Lara. In truth, I did not seek her; she sought me; +And told me how to win her, telling me +The hours when she was oftenest left alone. + + Vict. Say, can you prove this to me? O, pluck out +These awful doubts, that goad me into madness! +Let me know all! all! all! + + Lara. You shall know all. +Here is my page, who was the messenger +Between us. Question him. Was it not so, +Francisco? + + Fran. Ay, my lord. + + Lara. If further proof +Is needful, I have here a ring she gave me. + + Vict. Pray let me see that ring! It is the same! +</pre> + <p> + (Throws it upon the ground, and tramples upon it.) + </p> + <p> + Thus may she perish who once wore that ring! Thus do I spurn her from me; + do thus trample Her memory in the dust! O Count of Lara, We both have been + abused, been much abused! I thank you for your courtesy and frankness. + Though, like the surgeon's hand, yours gave me pain, Yet it has cured my + blindness, and I thank you. I now can see the folly I have done, Though 't + is, alas! too late. So fare you well! To-night I leave this hateful town + forever. Regard me as your friend. Once more farewell! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hyp. Farewell, Sir Count. + + [Exeunt VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO. + + Lara. Farewell! farewell! farewell! +Thus have I cleared the field of my worst foe! +I have none else to fear; the fight is done, +The citadel is stormed, the victory won! +</pre> + <p> + [Exit with FRANCISCO. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE VII. — A lane in the suburbs. Night. Enter CRUZADO and +BARTOLOME. + + Cruz. And so, Bartolome, the expedition failed. But where +wast thou for the most part? + + Bart. In the Guadarrama mountains, near San Ildefonso. + + Cruz. And thou bringest nothing back with thee? Didst thou +rob no one? + + Bart. There was no one to rob, save a party of students from +Segovia, who looked as if they would rob us; and a jolly little +friar, who had nothing in his pockets but a missal and a loaf of +bread. + + Cruz. Pray, then, what brings thee back to Madrid? + + Bart. First tell me what keeps thee here? + + Cruz. Preciosa. + + Bart. And she brings me back. Hast thou forgotten thy +promise? + + Cruz. The two years are not passed yet. Wait patiently. The +girl shall be thine. + + Bart. I hear she has a Busne lover. + + Cruz. That is nothing. + + Bart. I do not like it. I hate him,—the son of a Busne +harlot. He goes in and out, and speaks with her alone, and I +must stand aside, and wait his pleasure. + + Cruz. Be patient, I say. Thou shalt have thy revenge. When +the time comes, thou shalt waylay him. + + Bart. Meanwhile, show me her house. + + Cruz. Come this way. But thou wilt not find her. She dances +at the play to-night. + + Bart. No matter. Show me the house. + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + SCENE VIII. — The Theatre. The orchestra plays the cachucha. + </h2> + <p> + Sound of castanets behind the scenes. The curtain rises, and discovers + PRECIOSA in the attitude of commencing the dance. The cachucha. Tumult; + hisses; cries of "Brava!" and "Afuera!" She falters and pauses. The music + stops. General confusion. PRECIOSA faints. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE IX. — The COUNT OF LARA'S chambers. LARA and his friends +at supper. + + Lara. So, Caballeros, once more many thanks! +You have stood by me bravely in this matter. +Pray fill your glasses. + + Don J. Did you mark, Don Luis, +How pale she looked, when first the noise began, +And then stood still, with her large eyes dilated! +Her nostrils spread! her lips apart! Her bosom +Tumultuous as the sea! + + Don L. I pitied her. + + Lara. Her pride is humbled; and this very night +I mean to visit her. + + Don J. Will you serenade her? + + Lara. No music! no more music! + + Don L. Why not music? +It softens many hearts. + + Lara. Not in the humor +She now is in. Music would madden her. + + Don J. Try golden cymbals. + + Don L. Yes, try Don Dinero; +A mighty wooer is your Don Dinero. + + Lara. To tell the truth, then, I have bribed her maid. +But, Caballeros, you dislike this wine. +A bumper and away; for the night wears. +A health to Preciosa. +</pre> + <p> + (They rise and drink.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All. Preciosa. + + Lara. (holding up his glass). +Thou bright and flaming minister of Love! +Thou wonderful magician! who hast stolen +My secret from me, and mid sighs of passion +Caught from my lips, with red and fiery tongue, +Her precious name! O nevermore henceforth +Shall mortal lips press thine; and nevermore +A mortal name be whispered in thine ear. +Go! keep my secret! +</pre> + <p> + (Drinks and dashes the goblet down.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Don J. Ite! missa est! +</pre> + <p> + (Scene closes.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE X. — Street and garden wall. Night. Enter CRUZADO and +BARTOLOME. + + Cruz. This is the garden wall, and above it, yonder, is her +house. The window in which thou seest the light is her window. +But we will not go in now. + + Bart. Why not? + + Cruz. Because she is not at home. + + Bart. No matter; we can wait. But how is this? The gate is +bolted. (Sound of guitars and voices in a neighboring street.) +Hark! There comes her lover with his infernal serenade! Hark! +</pre> + <h3> + SONG. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Good night! Good night, beloved! + I come to watch o'er thee! +To be near thee,—to be near thee, + Alone is peace for me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thine eyes are stars of morning, + Thy lips are crimson flowers! +Good night! Good night beloved, + While I count the weary hours. + + Cruz. They are not coming this way. + + Bart. Wait, they begin again. +</pre> + <p> + SONG (coming nearer). + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah! thou moon that shinest + Argent-clear above! +All night long enlighten + My sweet lady-love! + Moon that shinest, +All night long enlighten! + + Bart. Woe be to him, if he comes this way! + + Cruz. Be quiet, they are passing down the street. +</pre> + <p> + SONG (dying away). + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The nuns in the cloister + Sang to each other; +For so many sisters + Is there not one brother! +Ay, for the partridge, mother! +The cat has run away with the partridge! + Puss! puss! puss! + + Bart. Follow that! follow that! +Come with me. Puss! puss! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +(Exeunt. On the opposite side enter the COUNT OF LARA and +gentlemen, with FRANCISCO.) + + Lara. The gate is fast. Over the wall, Francisco, +And draw the bolt. There, so, and so, and over. +Now, gentlemen, come in, and help me scale +Yon balcony. How now? Her light still burns. +Move warily. Make fast the gate, Francisco. +</pre> + <p> + (Exeunt. Re-enter CRUZADO and BARTOLOME.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Bart. They went in at the gate. Hark! I hear them in the +garden. (Tries the gate.) Bolted again! Vive Cristo! Follow me +over the wall. +</pre> + <p> + (They climb the wall.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + SCENE XI. — PRECIOSA'S bedchamber. Midnight. She is sleeping in + </h2> + <p> + an armchair, in an undress. DOLORES watching her. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dol. She sleeps at last! +</pre> + <p> + (Opens the window, and listens.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All silent in the street, +And in the garden. Hark! + + Prec. (in her sleep). I must go hence! +Give me my cloak! + + Dol. He comes! I hear his footsteps. + + Prec. Go tell them that I cannot dance to-night; +I am too ill! Look at me! See the fever +That burns upon my cheek! I must go hence. +I am too weak to dance. +</pre> + <p> + (Signal from the garden.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dol. (from the window). Who's there? + + Voice (from below). A friend. + + Dol. I will undo the door. Wait till I come. + + Prec. I must go hence. I pray you do not harm me! +Shame! shame! to treat a feeble woman thus! +Be you but kind, I will do all things for you. +I'm ready now,—give me my castanets. +Where is Victorian? Oh, those hateful lamps! +They glare upon me like an evil eye. +I cannot stay. Hark! how they mock at me! +They hiss at me like serpents! Save me! save me! +</pre> + <p> + (She wakes.) + </p> + <p> + How late is it, Dolores? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dol. It is midnight. + + Prec. We must be patient. Smooth this pillow for me. +</pre> + <p> + (She sleeps again. Noise from the garden, and voices.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Voice. Muera! + + Another Voice. O villains! villains! + + Lara. So! have at you! + + Voice. Take that! + + Lara. O, I am wounded! + + Dol. (shutting the window). Jesu Maria! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + ACT III. + </h2> + <p> + SCENE I. — A cross-road through a wood. In the background a distant + village spire. VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO, as travelling students, with + guitars, sitting under the trees. HYPOLITO plays and sings. + </p> + <h3> + SONG. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ah, Love! +Perjured, false, treacherous Love! + Enemy +Of all that mankind may not rue! + Most untrue +To him who keeps most faith with thee. + Woe is me! +The falcon has the eyes of the dove. + Ah, Love! +Perjured, false, treacherous Love! + + Vict. Yes, Love is ever busy with his shuttle, +Is ever weaving into life's dull warp +Bright, gorgeous flowers and scenes Arcadian; +Hanging our gloomy prison-house about +With tapestries, that make its walls dilate +In never-ending vistas of delight. + + Hyp. Thinking to walk in those Arcadian pastures, +Thou hast run thy noble head against the wall. +</pre> + <p> + SONG (continued). + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thy deceits +Give us clearly to comprehend, + Whither tend +All thy pleasures, all thy sweets! + They are cheats, +Thorns below and flowers above. + Ah, Love! +Perjured, false, treacherous Love! + + Vict. A very pretty song. I thank thee for it. + + Hyp. It suits thy case. + + Vict. Indeed, I think it does. +What wise man wrote it? + + Hyp. Lopez Maldonado. + + Vict. In truth, a pretty song. + + Hyp. With much truth in it. +I hope thou wilt profit by it; and in earnest +Try to forget this lady of thy love. + + Vict. I will forget her! All dear recollections +Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book, +Shall be torn out, and scattered to the winds! +I will forget her! But perhaps hereafter, +When she shall learn how heartless is the world, +A voice within her will repeat my name, +And she will say, "He was indeed my friend!" +O, would I were a soldier, not a scholar, +That the loud march, the deafening beat of drums, +The shattering blast of the brass-throated trumpet, +The din of arms, the onslaught and the storm, +And a swift death, might make me deaf forever +To the upbraidings of this foolish heart! + + Hyp. Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more! +To conquer love, one need but will to conquer. + + Vict. Yet, good Hypolito, it is in vain +I throw into Oblivion's sea the sword +That pierces me; for, like Excalibar, +With gemmed and flashing hilt, it will not sink. +There rises from below a hand that grasp it, +And waves it in the air; and wailing voices +Are heard along the shore. + + Hyp. And yet at last +Down sank Excalibar to rise no more. +This is not well. In truth, it vexes me. +Instead of whistling to the steeds of Time, +To make them jog on merrily with life's burden, +Like a dead weight thou hangest on the wheels. +Thou art too young, too full of lusty health +To talk of dying. + + Vict. Yet I fain would die! +To go through life, unloving and unloved; +To feel that thirst and hunger of the soul +We cannot still; that longing, that wild impulse, +And struggle after something we have not +And cannot have; the effort to be strong +And, like the Spartan boy, to smile, and smile, +While secret wounds do bleed beneath our cloaks +All this the dead feel not,—the dead alone! +Would I were with them! + + Hyp. We shall all be soon. + + Vict. It cannot be too soon; for I am weary +Of the bewildering masquerade of Life, +Where strangers walk as friends, and friends as strangers; +Where whispers overheard betray false hearts; +And through the mazes of the crowd we chase +Some form of loveliness, that smiles, and beckons, +And cheats us with fair words, only to leave us +A mockery and a jest; maddened,—confused,— +Not knowing friend from foe. + + Hyp. Why seek to know? +Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy youth! +Take each fair mask for what it gives itself, +Nor strive to look beneath it. + + Vict. I confess, +That were the wiser part. But Hope no longer +Comforts my soul. I am a wretched man, +Much like a poor and shipwrecked mariner, +Who, struggling to climb up into the boat, +Has both his bruised and bleeding hands cut off, +And sinks again into the weltering sea, +Helpless and hopeless! + + Hyp. Yet thou shalt not perish. +The strength of thine own arm is thy salvation. +Above thy head, through rifted clouds, there shines +A glorious star. Be patient. Trust thy star! +</pre> + <p> + (Sound of a village belt in the distance.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vict. Ave Maria! I hear the sacristan +Ringing the chimes from yonder village belfry! +A solemn sound, that echoes far and wide +Over the red roofs of the cottages, +And bids the laboring hind a-field, the shepherd, +Guarding his flock, the lonely muleteer, +And all the crowd in village streets, stand still, +And breathe a prayer unto the blessed Virgin! + + Hyp. Amen! amen! Not half a league from hence +The village lies. + + Vict. This path will lead us to it, +Over the wheat-fields, where the shadows sail +Across the running sea, now green, now blue, +And, like an idle mariner on the main, +Whistles the quail. Come, let us hasten on. + [Exeunt. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE II. — Public square in the village of Guadarrama. The Ave +Maria still tolling. A crowd of villagers, with their hats in +their hands, as if in prayer. In front, a group of Gypsies. The +bell rings a merrier peal. A Gypsy dance. Enter PANCHO, +followed by PEDRO CRESPO. + + Pancho. Make room, ye vagabonds and Gypsy thieves! +Make room for the Alcalde and for me! + + Pedro C. Keep silence all! I have an edict here +From our most gracious lord, the King of Spain, +Jerusalem, and the Canary Islands, +Which I shall publish in the market-place. +Open your ears and listen! +</pre> + <p> + (Enter the PADRE CURA at the door of his cottage.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Padre Cura, +Good day! and, pray you, hear this edict read. + + Padre C. Good day, and God be with you! Pray, what is it? + + Pedro C. An act of banishment against the Gypsies! +</pre> + <p> + (Agitation and murmurs in the crowd.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pancho. Silence! + + Pedro C. (reads). "I hereby order and command, +That the Egyptian an Chaldean strangers, +Known by the name of Gypsies, shall henceforth +Be banished from the realm, as vagabonds +And beggars; and if, after seventy days, +Any be found within our kingdom's bounds, +They shall receive a hundred lashes each; +The second time, shall have their ears cut off; +The third, be slaves for life to him who takes them, +Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I, the King." +Vile miscreants and creatures unbaptized! +You hear the law! Obey and disappear! + + Pancho. And if in seventy days you are not gone, +Dead or alive I make you all my slaves. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +(The Gypsies go out in confusion, showing signs of fear and +discontent. PANCHO follows.) + + Padre C. A righteous law! A very righteous law! +Pray you, sit down. +</pre> + <p> + Pedro C. I thank you heartily. + </p> + <p> + (They seat themselves on a bench at the PADRE CURAS door. Sound of guitars + heard at a distance, approaching during the dialogue which follows.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A very righteous judgment, as you say. +Now tell me, Padre Cura,—you know all things, +How came these Gypsies into Spain? + + Padre C. Why, look you; +They came with Hercules from Palestine, +And hence are thieves and vagrants, Sir Alcalde, +As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus, +And, look you, as Fray Jayme Bleda says, +There are a hundred marks to prove a Moor +Is not a Christian, so 't is with the Gypsies. +They never marry, never go to mass, +Never baptize their children, nor keep Lent, +Nor see the inside of a church,—nor—nor— + + Pedro C. Good reasons, good, substantial reasons all! +No matter for the other ninety-five. +They should be burnt, I see it plain enough, +They should be bunt. +</pre> + <p> + (Enter VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO playing.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Padre C. And pray, whom have we here? + + Pedro C. More vagrants! By Saint Lazarus, more vagrants! + + Hyp. Good evening, gentlemen! Is this Guadarrama? + + Padre C. Yes, Guadarrama, and good evening to you. + + Hyp. We seek the Padre Cura of the village; +And, judging from your dress and reverend mien, +You must be he. + + Padre C. I am. Pray, what's your pleasure? + + Hyp. We are poor students, traveling in vacation. +You know this mark? +</pre> + <p> + (Touching the wooden spoon in his hat-band. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Padre C. (joyfully). Ay, know it, and have worn it. + + Pedro C. (aside). Soup-eaters! by the mass! The worst of vagrants! +And there's no law against them. Sir, your servant. + [Exit. + + Padre C. Your servant, Pedro Crespo. + + Hyp. Padre Cura, +Front the first moment I beheld your face, +I said within myself, "This is the man!" +There is a certain something in your looks, +A certain scholar-like and studious something,— +You understand,—which cannot be mistaken; +Which marks you as a very learned man, +In fine, as one of us. + + Vict. (aside). What impudence! + + Hyp. As we approached, I said to my companion, +"That is the Padre Cura; mark my words!" +Meaning your Grace. "The other man," said I, +Who sits so awkwardly upon the bench, +Must be the sacristan." + + Padre C. Ah! said you so? +Why, that was Pedro Crespo, the alcalde! + + Hyp. Indeed! you much astonish me! His air +Was not so full of dignity and grace +As an alcalde's should be. + + Padre C. That is true. +He's out of humor with some vagrant Gypsies, +Who have their camp here in the neighborhood. +There's nothing so undignified as anger. + + Hyp. The Padre Cura will excuse our boldness, +If, from his well-known hospitality, +We crave a lodging for the night. + + Padre C. I pray you! +You do me honor! I am but too happy +To have such guests beneath my humble roof. +It is not often that I have occasion +To speak with scholars; and Emollit mores, +Nec sinit esse feros, Cicero says. + + Hyp. 'T is Ovid, is it not? + + Padre C. No, Cicero. + + Hyp. Your Grace is right. You are the better scholar. +Now what a dunce was I to think it Ovid! +But hang me if it is not! (Aside.) + + Padre C. Pass this way. +He was a very great man, was Cicero! +Pray you, go in, go in! no ceremony. + [Exeunt. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE III. — A room in the PADRE CURA'S house. Enter the PADRE +and HYPOLITO. + + Padre C. So then, Senor, you come from Alcala. +I am glad to hear it. It was there I studied. + + Hyp. And left behind an honored name, no doubt. +How may I call your Grace? + + Padre C. Geronimo +De Santillana, at your Honor's service. + + Hyp. Descended from the Marquis Santillana? +From the distinguished poet? + + Padre C. From the Marquis, +Not from the poet. + + Hyp. Why, they were the same. +Let me embrace you! O some lucky star +Has brought me hither! Yet once more!—once more! +Your name is ever green in Alcala, +And our professor, when we are unruly, +Will shake his hoary head, and say, "Alas! +It was not so in Santillana's time!" + + Padre C. I did not think my name remembered there. + + Hyp. More than remembered; it is idolized. + + Padre C. Of what professor speak you? + + Hyp. Timoneda. + + Padre C. I don't remember any Timoneda. + + Hyp. A grave and sombre man, whose beetling brow +O'erhangs the rushing current of his speech +As rocks o'er rivers hang. Have you forgotten? + + Padre C. Indeed, I have. O, those were pleasant days, +Those college days! I ne'er shall see the like! +I had not buried then so many hopes! +I had not buried then so many friends! +I've turned my back on what was then before me; +And the bright faces of my young companions +Are wrinkled like my own, or are no more. +Do you remember Cueva? + + Hyp. Cueva? Cueva? + + Padre C. Fool that I am! He was before your time. +You're a mere boy, and I am an old man. + + Hyp. I should not like to try my strength with you. + + Padre C. Well, well. But I forget; you must be hungry. +Martina! ho! Martina! 'T is my niece. +</pre> + <p> + (Enter MARTINA.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hyp. You may be proud of such a niece as that. +I wish I had a niece. Emollit mores. + (Aside.) +He was a very great man, was Cicero! +Your servant, fair Martina. + + Mart. Servant, sir. + + Padre C. This gentleman is hungry. See thou to it. +Let us have supper. + + Mart. 'T will be ready soon. + + Padre C. And bring a bottle of my Val-de-Penas +Out of the cellar. Stay; I'll go myself. +Pray you. Senor, excuse me. [Exit. + + Hyp. Hist! Martina! +One word with you. Bless me I what handsome eyes! +To-day there have been Gypsies in the village. +Is it not so? + + Mart. There have been Gypsies here. + + Hyp. Yes, and have told your fortune. + + Mart. (embarrassed). Told my fortune? + + Hyp. Yes, yes; I know they did. Give me your hand. +I'll tell you what they said. They said,—they said, +The shepherd boy that loved you was a clown, +And him you should not marry. Was it not? + + Mart. (surprised). How know you that? + + Hyp. O, I know more than that, +What a soft, little hand! And then they said, +A cavalier from court, handsome, and tall +And rich, should come one day to marry you, +And you should be a lady. Was it not! +He has arrived, the handsome cavalier. +</pre> + <p> + (Tries to kiss her. She runs off. Enter VICTORIAN, with a letter.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vict. The muleteer has come. + + Hyp. So soon? + + Vict. I found him +Sitting at supper by the tavern door, +And, from a pitcher that he held aloft +His whole arm's length, drinking the blood-red wine. + + Hyp. What news from Court? + + Vict. He brought this letter only. +</pre> + <p> + (Reads.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O cursed perfidy! Why did I let +That lying tongue deceive me! Preciosa, +Sweet Preciosa! how art thou avenged! + + Hyp. What news is this, that makes thy cheek turn pale, +And thy hand tremble? + + Vict. O, most infamous! +The Count of Lara is a worthless villain! + + Hyp. That is no news, forsooth. + + Vict. He strove in vain +To steal from me the jewel of my soul, +The love of Preciosa. Not succeeding, +He swore to be revenged; and set on foot +A plot to ruin her, which has succeeded. +She has been hissed and hooted from the stage, +Her reputation stained by slanderous lies +Too foul to speak of; and, once more a beggar, +She roams a wanderer over God's green earth +Housing with Gypsies! + + Hyp. To renew again +The Age of Gold, and make the shepherd swains +Desperate with love, like Gasper Gil's Diana. +Redit et Virgo! + + Vict. Dear Hypolito, +How have I wronged that meek, confiding heart! +I will go seek for her; and with my tears +Wash out the wrong I've done her! + + Hyp. O beware! +Act not that folly o'er again. + + Vict. Ay, folly, +Delusion, madness, call it what thou wilt, +I will confess my weakness,—I still love her! +Still fondly love her! +</pre> + <p> + (Enter the PADRE CURA.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hyp. Tell us, Padre Cura, +Who are these Gypsies in the neighborhood? + + Padre C. Beltran Cruzado and his crew. + + Vict. Kind Heaven, +I thank thee! She is found! is found again! + + Hyp. And have they with them a pale, beautiful girl, +Called Preciosa? + + Padre C. Ay, a pretty girl. +The gentleman seems moved. + + Hyp. Yes, moved with hunger, +He is half famished with this long day's journey. + + Padre C. Then, pray you, come this way. The supper waits. + [Exeunt. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE IV. — A post-house on the road to Segovia, not far from +the village of Guadarrama. Enter CHISPA, cracking a whip, and +singing the cachucha. + + Chispa. Halloo! Don Fulano! Let us have horses, and quickly. +Alas, poor Chispa! what a dog's life dost thou lead! I thought, +when I left my old master Victorian, the student, to serve my +new master Don Carlos, the gentleman, that I, too, should lead the +life of a gentleman; should go to bed early, and get up late. +For when the abbot plays cards, what can you expect of the +friars? But, in running away from the thunder, I have run into +the lightning. Here I am in hot chase after my master and his +Gypsy girl. And a good beginning of the week it is, as he said +who was hanged on Monday morning. +</pre> + <p> + (Enter DON CARLOS) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Don C. Are not the horses ready yet? + + Chispa. I should think not, for the hostler seems to be +asleep. Ho! within there! Horses! horses! horses! (He knocks at +the gate with his whip, and enter MOSQUITO, putting on his +jacket.) + + Mosq. Pray, have a little patience. I'm not a musket. + + Chispa. Health and pistareens! I'm glad to see you come on +dancing, padre! Pray, what's the news? + + Mosq. You cannot have fresh horses; because there are none. + + Chispa. Cachiporra! Throw that bone to another dog. Do I look +like your aunt? + + Mosq. No; she has a beard. + + Chispa. Go to! go to! + + Mosq. Are you from Madrid? + + Chispa. Yes; and going to Estramadura. Get us horses. + + Mosq. What's the news at Court? + + Chispa. Why, the latest news is, that I am going to set up a +coach, and I have already bought the whip. +</pre> + <p> + (Strikes him round the legs.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Mosq. Oh! oh! You hurt me! + + Don C. Enough of this folly. Let us have horses. (Gives +money to MOSQUITO.) It is almost dark; and we are in haste. But +tell me, has a band of Gypsies passed this way of late? + + Mosq. Yes; and they are still in the neighborhood. + + Don C. And where? + + Mosq. Across the fields yonder, in the woods near Guadarrama. + [Exit. + + Don C. Now this is lucky. We will visit the Gypsy camp. + + Chispa. Are you not afraid of the evil eye? Have you a stag's +horn with you? + + Don C. Fear not. We will pass the night at the village. + + Chispa. And sleep like the Squires of Hernan Daza, nine under +one blanket. + + Don C. I hope we may find the Preciosa among them. + + Chispa. Among the Squires? + + Don C. No; among the Gypsies, blockhead! + + Chispa. I hope we may; for we are giving ourselves trouble +enough on her account. Don't you think so? However, there is no +catching trout without wetting one's trousers. Yonder come the +horses. + [Exeunt. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCENE V. — The Gypsy camp in the forest. Night. Gypsies +working at a forge. Others playing cards by the firelight. + Gypsies (at the forge sing). +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the top of a mountain I stand, +With a crown of red gold in my hand, +Wild Moors come trooping over the lea +O how from their fury shall I flee, flee, flee? +O how from their fury shall I flee? + + First Gypsy (playing). Down with your John-Dorados, my pigeon. +Down with your John-Dorados, and let us make an end. +</pre> + <p> + Gypsies (at the forge sing). + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Loud sang the Spanish cavalier, + And thus his ditty ran; + God send the Gypsy lassie here, + And not the Gypsy man. + + First Gypsy (playing). There you are in your morocco! + + Second Gypsy. One more game. The Alcalde's doves against the +Padre Cura's new moon. + + First Gypsy. Have at you, Chirelin. +</pre> + <p> + Gypsies (at the forge sing). + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + At midnight, when the moon began + To show her silver flame, + There came to him no Gypsy man, + The Gypsy lassie came. +</pre> + <p> + (Enter BELTRAN CRUZADO.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Cruz. Come hither, Murcigalleros and Rastilleros; leave work, +leave play; listen to your orders for the night. (Speaking to +the right.) You will get you to the village, mark you, by the +stone cross. + + Gypsies. Ay! + + Cruz. (to the left). And you, by the pole with the hermit's +head upon it. + + Gypsies. Ay! + + Cruz. As soon as you see the planets are out, in with you, and +be busy with the ten commandments, under the sly, and Saint +Martin asleep. D'ye hear? + + Gypsies. Ay! + + Cruz. Keep your lanterns open, and, if you see a goblin or a +papagayo, take to your trampers. Vineyards and Dancing John is +the word. Am I comprehended? + + Gypsies. Ay! ay! + + Cruz. Away, then! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +(Exeunt severally. CRUZADO walks up the stage, and disappears +among the trees. Enter PRECIOSA.) + + Prec. How strangely gleams through the gigantic trees +The red light of the forge! Wild, beckoning shadows +Stalk through the forest, ever and anon +Rising and bending with the flickering flame, +Then flitting into darkness! So within me +Strange hopes and fears do beckon to each other, +My brightest hopes giving dark fears a being +As the light does the shadow. Woe is me +How still it is about me, and how lonely! +</pre> + <p> + (BARTOLOME rushes in.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Bart. Ho! Preciosa! + + Prec. O Bartolome! +Thou here? + + Bart. Lo! I am here. + + Prec. Whence comest thou? + + Bart. From the rough ridges of the wild Sierra, +From caverns in the rocks, from hunger, thirst, +And fever! Like a wild wolf to the sheepfold. +Come I for thee, my lamb. + + Prec. O touch me not! +The Count of Lara's blood is on thy hands! +The Count of Lara's curse is on thy soul! +Do not come near me! Pray, begone from here +Thou art in danger! They have set a price +Upon thy head! + + Bart. Ay, and I've wandered long +Among the mountains; and for many days +Have seen no human face, save the rough swineherd's. +The wind and rain have been my sole companions. +I shouted to them from the rocks thy name, +And the loud echo sent it back to me, +Till I grew mad. I could not stay from thee, +And I am here! Betray me, if thou wilt. + + Prec. Betray thee? I betray thee? + + Bart. Preciosa! +I come for thee! for thee I thus brave death! +Fly with me o'er the borders of this realm! +Fly with me! + + Prec. Speak of that no more. I cannot. +I'm thine no longer. + + Bart. O, recall the time +When we were children! how we played together, +How we grew up together; how we plighted +Our hearts unto each other, even in childhood! +Fulfil thy promise, for the hour has come. +I'm hunted from the kingdom, like a wolf! +Fulfil thy promise. + + Prec. 'T was my father's promise. +Not mine. I never gave my heart to thee, +Nor promised thee my hand! + + Bart. False tongue of woman! +And heart more false! + + Prec. Nay, listen unto me. +I will speak frankly. I have never loved thee; +I cannot love thee. This is not my fault, +It is my destiny. Thou art a man +Restless and violent. What wouldst thou with me, +A feeble girl, who have not long to live, +Whose heart is broken? Seek another wife, +Better than I, and fairer; and let not +Thy rash and headlong moods estrange her from thee. +Thou art unhappy in this hopeless passion, +I never sought thy love; never did aught +To make thee love me. Yet I pity thee, +And most of all I pity thy wild heart, +That hurries thee to crimes and deeds of blood, +Beware, beware of that. + + Bart. For thy dear sake +I will be gentle. Thou shalt teach me patience. + + Prec. Then take this farewell, and depart in peace. +Thou must not linger here. + + Bart. Come, come with me. + + Prec. Hark! I hear footsteps. + + Bart. I entreat thee, come! + + Prec. Away! It is in vain. + + Bart. Wilt thou not come? + + Prec. Never! + + Bart. Then woe, eternal woe, upon thee! +Thou shalt not be another's. Thou shalt die. + [Exit. + + Prec. All holy angels keep me in this hour! +Spirit of her who bore me, look upon me! +Mother of God, the glorified, protect me! +Christ and the saints, be merciful unto me! +Yet why should I fear death? What is it to die? +To leave all disappointment, care, and sorrow, +To leave all falsehood, treachery, and unkindness, +All ignominy, suffering, and despair, +And be at rest forever! O dull heart, +Be of good cheer! When thou shalt cease to beat, +Then shalt thou cease to suffer and complain! +</pre> + <p> + (Enter VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO behind.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vict. 'T is she! Behold, how beautiful she stands +Under the tent-like trees! + + Hyp. A woodland nymph! + + Vict. I pray thee, stand aside. Leave me. + + Hyp. Be wary. +Do not betray thyself too soon. + + Vict. (disguising his voice). Hist! Gypsy! + + Prec. (aside, with emotion). +That voice! that voice from heaven! O speak again! +Who is it calls? + + Vict. A friend. + + Prec. (aside). 'T is he! 'T is he! +I thank thee, Heaven, that thou hast heard my prayer, +And sent me this protector! Now be strong, +Be strong, my heart! I must dissemble here. +False friend or true? + + Vict. A true friend to the true; +Fear not; come hither. So; can you tell fortunes? + + Prec. Not in the dark. Come nearer to the fire. +Give me your hand. It is not crossed, I see. + + Vict. (putting a piece of gold into her hand). There is the +cross. + + Prec. Is 't silver? + + Vict. No, 't is gold. + + Prec. There's a fair lady at the Court, who loves you, +And for yourself alone. + + Vict. Fie! the old story! +Tell me a better fortune for my money; +Not this old woman's tale! + + Prec. You are passionate; +And this same passionate humor in your blood +Has marred your fortune. Yes; I see it now; +The line of life is crossed by many marks. +Shame! shame! O you have wronged the maid who loved you! +How could you do it? + + Vict. I never loved a maid; +For she I loved was then a maid no more. + + Prec. How know you that? + + Vict. A little bird in the air +Whispered the secret. + + Prec. There, take back your gold! +Your hand is cold, like a deceiver's hand! +There is no blessing in its charity! +Make her your wife, for you have been abused; +And you shall mend your fortunes, mending hers. + + Vict. (aside). How like an angel's speaks the tongue of woman, +When pleading in another's cause her own! +That is a pretty ring upon your finger. +Pray give it me. (Tries to take the ring.) + + Prec. No; never from my hand +Shall that be taken! + + Vict. Why, 't is but a ring. +I'll give it back to you; or, if I keep it, +Will give you gold to buy you twenty such. + + Prec. Why would you have this ring? + + Vict. A traveller's fancy, +A whim, and nothing more. I would fain keep it +As a memento of the Gypsy camp +In Guadarrama, and the fortune-teller +Who sent me back to wed a widowed maid. +Pray, let me have the ring. + + Prec. No, never! never! +I will not part with it, even when I die; +But bid my nurse fold my pale fingers thus, +That it may not fall from them. 'T is a token +Of a beloved friend, who is no more. + + Vict. How? dead? + + Prec. Yes; dead to me; and worse than dead. +He is estranged! And yet I keep this ring. +I will rise with it from my grave hereafter, +To prove to him that I was never false. + + Vict. (aside). Be still, my swelling heart! one moment, still! +Why, 't is the folly of a love-sick girl. +Come, give it me, or I will say 't is mine, +And that you stole it. + + Prec. O, you will not dare +To utter such a falsehood! + + Vict. I not dare? +Look in my face, and say if there is aught +I have not dared, I would not dare for thee! +</pre> + <p> + (She rushes into his arms.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prec. 'T is thou! 't is thou! Yes; yes; my heart's elected! +My dearest-dear Victorian! my soul's heaven! +Where hast thou been so long? Why didst thou leave me? + + Vict. Ask me not now, my dearest Preciosa. +Let me forget we ever have been parted! + + Prec. Hadst thou not come— + + Vict. I pray thee, do not chide me! + + Prec. I should have perished here among these Gypsies. + + Vict. Forgive me, sweet! for what I made thee suffer. +Think'st thou this heart could feel a moment's joy, +Thou being absent? O, believe it not! +Indeed, since that sad hour I have not slept, +For thinking of the wrong I did to thee +Dost thou forgive me? Say, wilt thou forgive me? + + Prec. I have forgiven thee. Ere those words of anger +Were in the book of Heaven writ down against thee, +I had forgiven thee. + + Vict. I'm the veriest fool +That walks the earth, to have believed thee false. +It was the Count of Lara— + + Prec. That bad man +Has worked me harm enough. Hast thou not heard— + + Vict. I have heard all. And yet speak on, speak on! +Let me but hear thy voice, and I am happy; +For every tone, like some sweet incantation, +Calls up the buried past to plead for me. +Speak, my beloved, speak into my heart, +Whatever fills and agitates thine own. +</pre> + <p> + (They walk aside.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hyp. All gentle quarrels in the pastoral poets, +All passionate love scenes in the best romances, +All chaste embraces on the public stage, +All soft adventures, which the liberal stars +Have winked at, as the natural course of things, +Have been surpassed here by my friend, the student, +And this sweet Gypsy lass, fair Preciosa! + + Prec. Senor Hypolito! I kiss your hand. +Pray, shall I tell your fortune? + + Hyp. Not to-night; +For, should you treat me as you did Victorian, +And send me back to marry maids forlorn, +My wedding day would last from now till Christmas. + + Chispa (within). What ho! the Gypsies, ho! Beltran Cruzado! +Halloo! halloo! halloo! halloo! +</pre> + <p> + (Enters booted, with a whip and lantern. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vict. What now +Why such a fearful din? Hast thou been robbed? + + Chispa. Ay, robbed and murdered; and good evening to you, +My worthy masters. + + Vict. Speak; what brings thee here? + + CHISPA (to PRECIOSA). +Good news from Court; good news! Beltran Cruzado, +The Count of the Cales, is not your father, +But your true father has returned to Spain +Laden with wealth. You are no more a Gypsy. + + Vict. Strange as a Moorish tale! + + Chispa. And we have all +Been drinking at the tavern to your health, +As wells drink in November, when it rains. + + Vict. Where is the gentlemen? + + Chispa. As the old song says, + His body is in Segovia, + His soul is in Madrid, + + Prec. Is this a dream? O, if it be a dream, +Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet! +Repeat thy story! Say I'm not deceived! +Say that I do not dream! I am awake; +This is the Gypsy camp; this is Victorian, +And this his friend, Hypolito! Speak! speak! +Let me not wake and find it all a dream! + + Vict. It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream, +A blissful certainty, a vision bright +Of that rare happiness, which even on earth +Heaven gives to those it loves. Now art thou rich, +As thou wast ever beautiful and good; +And I am now the beggar. + + Prec. (giving him her hand). I have still +A hand to give. + + Chispa (aside). And I have two to take. +I've heard my grandmother say, that Heaven gives almonds +To those who have no teeth. That's nuts to crack, +I've teeth to spare, but where shall I find almonds? + + Vict. What more of this strange story? + + Chispa. Nothing more. +Your friend, Don Carlos, is now at the village +Showing to Pedro Crespo, the Alcalde, +The proofs of what I tell you. The old hag, +Who stole you in your childhood, has confessed; +And probably they'll hang her for the crime, +To make the celebration more complete. + + Vict. No; let it be a day of general joy; +Fortune comes well to all, that comes not late. +Now let us join Don Carlos. + + Hyp. So farewell, +The student's wandering life! Sweet serenades, +Sung under ladies' windows in the night, +And all that makes vacation beautiful! +To you, ye cloistered shades of Alcala, +To you, ye radiant visions of romance, +Written in books, but here surpassed by truth, +The Bachelor Hypolito returns, +And leaves the Gypsy with the Spanish Student. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + SCENE VI. — A pass in the Guadarrama mountains. Early morning. + </h2> + <p> + A muleteer crosses the stage, sitting sideways on his mule and lighting a + paper cigar with flint and steel. + </p> + <h3> + SONG. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +If thou art sleeping, maiden, + Awake and open thy door, +'T is the break of day, and we must away, + O'er meadow, and mount, and moor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wait not to find thy slippers, + But come with thy naked feet; +We shall have to pass through the dewy grass, + And waters wide and fleet. +</pre> + <p> + (Disappears down the pass. Enter a Monk. A shepherd appears on the rocks + above.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Monk. Ave Maria, gratia plena. Ola! good man! + + Shep. Ola! + + Monk. Is this the road to Segovia? + + Shep. It is, your reverence. + + Monk. How far is it? + + Shep. I do not know. + + Monk. What is that yonder in the valley? + + Shep. San Ildefonso. + + Monk. A long way to breakfast. + + Shep. Ay, marry. + + Monk. Are there robbers in these mountains? + + Shep. Yes, and worse than that. + + Monk. What? + + Shep. Wolves. + + Monk. Santa Maria! Come with me to San Ildefonso, and thou +shalt be well rewarded. + + Shep. What wilt thou give me? + + Monk. An Agnus Dei and my benediction. +</pre> + <p> + (They disappear. A mounted Contrabandista passes, wrapped in his cloak, + and a gun at his saddle-bow. He goes down the pass singing.) + </p> + <h3> + SONG. + </h3> + <p> + Worn with speed is my good steed, And I march me hurried, worried; Onward, + caballito mio, With the white star in thy forehead! Onward, for here comes + the Ronda, And I hear their rifles crack! Ay, jaleo! Ay, ay, jaleo! Ay, + jaleo! They cross our track. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +(Song dies away. Enter PRECIOSA, on horseback, attended by +VICTORIAN, HYPOLITO, DON CARLOS, and CHISPA, on foot, and armed.) + + Vict. This is the highest point. Here let us rest. +See, Preciosa, see how all about us +Kneeling, like hooded friars, the misty mountains +Receive the benediction of the sun! +O glorious sight! + + Prec. Most beautiful indeed! + + Hyp. Most wonderful! + + Vict. And in the vale below, +Where yonder steeples flash like lifted halberds, +San Ildefonso, from its noisy belfries, +Sends up a salutation to the morn, +As if an army smote their brazen shields, +And shouted victory! + + Prec. And which way lies Segovia? + + Vict. At a great distance yonder. +Dost thou not see it? + + Prec. No. I do not see it. + + Vict. The merest flaw that dents the horizon's edge. +There, yonder! + + Hyp. 'T is a notable old town, +Boasting an ancient Roman aqueduct, +And an Alcazar, builded by the Moors, +Wherein, you may remember, poor Gil Blas +Was fed on Pan del Rey. O, many a time +Out of its grated windows have I looked +Hundreds of feet plumb down to the Eresma, +That, like a serpent through the valley creeping, +Glides at its foot. + + Prec. O yes! I see it now, +Yet rather with my heart than with mine eyes, +So faint it is. And all my thoughts sail thither, +Freighted with prayers and hopes, and forward urged +Against all stress of accident, as in +The Eastern Tale, against the wind and tide +Great ships were drawn to the Magnetic Mountains, +And there were wrecked, and perished in the sea! +(She weeps.) + + Vict. O gentle spirit! Thou didst bear unmoved +Blasts of adversity and frosts of fate! +But the first ray of sunshine that falls on thee +Melts thee to tears! O, let thy weary heart +Lean upon mine! and it shall faint no more, +Nor thirst, nor hunger; but be comforted +And filled with my affection. + + Prec. Stay no longer! +My father waits. Methinks I see him there, +Now looking from the window, and now watching +Each sound of wheels or footfall in the street, +And saying, "Hark! she comes!" O father! father! +</pre> + <p> + (They descend the pass. CHISPA remains behind.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Chispa. I have a father, too, but he is a dead one. Alas and +alack-a-day. Poor was I born, and poor do I remain. I neither +win nor lose. Thus I was, through the world, half the time on +foot, and the other half walking; and always as merry as a +thunder-storm in the night. And so we plough along, as the fly +said to the ox. Who knows what may happen? Patience, and +shuffle the cards! I am not yet so bald that you can see my +brains; and perhaps, after all, I shall some day go to Rome, and +come back Saint Peter. Benedicite! +[Exit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +(A pause. Then enter BARTOLOME wildly, as if in pursuit, with a +carbine in his hand.) + + Bart. They passed this way! I hear their horses' hoofs! +Yonder I see them! Come, sweet caramillo, +This serenade shall be the Gypsy's last! +</pre> + <p> + (Fires down the pass.) + </p> + <p> + Ha! ha! Well whistled, my sweet caramillo! Well whistled!—I have + missed her!—O my God! + </p> + <p> + (The shot is returned. BARTOLOME falls). + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap43"></a>THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap44"></a>CARILLON</h3> + + <p> + In the ancient town of Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city, As the + evening shades descended, Low and loud and sweetly blended, Low at times + and loud at times, And changing like a poet's rhymes, Rang the beautiful + wild chimes From the Belfry in the market Of the ancient town of Bruges. + </p> + <p> + Then, with deep sonorous clangor Calmly answering their sweet anger, When + the wrangling bells had ended, Slowly struck the clock eleven, And, from + out the silent heaven, Silence on the town descended. Silence, silence + everywhere, On the earth and in the air, Save that footsteps here and + there Of some burgher home returning, By the street lamps faintly burning, + For a moment woke the echoes Of the ancient town of Bruges. + </p> + <p> + But amid my broken slumbers Still I heard those magic numbers, As they + loud proclaimed the flight And stolen marches of the night; Till their + chimes in sweet collision Mingled with each wandering vision, Mingled with + the fortune-telling Gypsy-bands of dreams and fancies, Which amid the + waste expanses Of the silent land of trances Have their solitary dwelling; + All else seemed asleep in Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city. + </p> + <p> + And I thought how like these chimes Are the poet's airy rhymes, All his + rhymes and roundelays, His conceits, and songs, and ditties, From the + belfry of his brain, Scattered downward, though in vain, On the roofs and + stones of cities! For by night the drowsy ear Under its curtains cannot + hear, And by day men go their ways, Hearing the music as they pass, But + deeming it no more, alas! Than the hollow sound of brass. + </p> + <p> + Yet perchance a sleepless wight, Lodging at some humble inn In the narrow + lanes of life, When the dusk and hush of night Shut out the incessant din + Of daylight and its toil and strife, May listen with a calm delight To the + poet's melodies, Till he hears, or dreams he hears, Intermingled with the + song, Thoughts that he has cherished long; Hears amid the chime and + singing The bells of his own village ringing, And wakes, and finds his + slumberous eyes Wet with most delicious tears. + </p> + <p> + Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Ble, + Listening with a wild delight To the chimes that, through the night Bang + their changes from the Belfry Of that quaint old Flemish city. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap45"></a>THE BELFRY OF BRUGES</h3> + + <p> + In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown; Thrice + consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town. + </p> + <p> + As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood, And the + world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood. + </p> + <p> + Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray, + Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay. + </p> + <p> + At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there, Wreaths + of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air. + </p> + <p> + Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour, But I heard a + heart of iron beating in the ancient tower. + </p> + <p> + From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high; And + the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky. + </p> + <p> + Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times, With their + strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes, + </p> + <p> + Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir; + And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar. + </p> + <p> + Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain; They who + live in history only seemed to walk the earth again; + </p> + <p> + All the Foresters of Flanders,—mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, Lyderick + du Bucq and Cressy Philip, Guy de Dampierre. + </p> + <p> + I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old; Stately + dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece of Gold + </p> + <p> + Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies; Ministers from + twenty nations; more than royal pomp and ease. + </p> + <p> + I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground; I beheld the + gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound; + </p> + <p> + And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen, And the + armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between. + </p> + <p> + I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold, Marching + homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold; + </p> + <p> + Saw the light at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west, Saw great + Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest. + </p> + <p> + And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote; And again + the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat; + </p> + <p> + Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand, "I am + Roland! I am Roland! there is victory in the land!" + </p> + <p> + Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar Chased the + phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more. + </p> + <p> + Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware, Lo! the + shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap46"></a>A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This is the place. Stand still, my steed, + Let me review the scene, +And summon from the shadowy Past + The forms that once have been. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Past and Present here unite + Beneath Time's flowing tide, +Like footprints hidden by a brook, + But seen on either side. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Here runs the highway to the town; + There the green lane descends, +Through which I walked to church with thee, + O gentlest of my friends! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The shadow of the linden-trees + Lay moving on the grass; +Between them and the moving boughs, + A shadow, thou didst pass. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thy dress was like the lilies, + And thy heart as pure as they: +One of God's holy messengers + Did walk with me that day. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I saw the branches of the trees + Bend down thy touch to meet, +The clover-blossoms in the grass + Rise up to kiss thy feet, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, + Of earth and folly born!" +Solemnly sang the village choir + On that sweet Sabbath morn. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Through the closed blinds the golden sun + Poured in a dusty beam, +Like the celestial ladder seen + By Jacob in his dream. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And ever and anon, the wind, + Sweet-scented with the hay, +Turned o'er the hymn-book's fluttering leaves + That on the window lay. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Long was the good man's sermon, + Yet it seemed not so to me; +For he spake of Ruth the beautiful, + And still I thought of thee. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Long was the prayer he uttered, + Yet it seemed not so to me; +For in my heart I prayed with him, + And still I thought of thee. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But now, alas! the place seems changed; + Thou art no longer here: +Part of the sunshine of the scene + With thee did disappear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my heart, + Like pine-trees dark and high, +Subdue the light of noon, and breathe + A low and ceaseless sigh; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This memory brightens o'er the past, + As when the sun, concealed +Behind some cloud that near us hangs + Shines on a distant field. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap47"></a>THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, + Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; +But front their silent pipes no anthem pealing + Startles the villages with strange alarms. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, + When the death-angel touches those swift keys +What loud lament and dismal Miserere + Will mingle with their awful symphonies +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, + The cries of agony, the endless groan, +Which, through the ages that have gone before us, + In long reverberations reach our own. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer, + Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song, +And loud, amid the universal clamor, +O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I hear the Florentine, who from his palace + Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din, +And Aztec priests upon their teocallis + Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The tumult of each sacked and burning village; + The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns; +The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage; + The wail of famine in beleaguered towns; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, + The rattling musketry, the clashing blade; +And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, + The diapason of the cannonade. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, + With such accursed instruments as these, +Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices, + And jarrest the celestial harmonies? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, + Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, +Given to redeem the human mind from error, + There were no need of arsenals or forts: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The warrior's name would be a name abhorred! + And every nation, that should lift again +Its hand against a brother, on its forehead + Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Down the dark future, through long generations, + The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; +And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, + I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals + The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! +But beautiful as songs of the immortals, + The holy melodies of love arise. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap48"></a>NUREMBERG</h3> + + <p> + In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands Rise the + blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient, stands. + </p> + <p> + Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song, + Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them throng: + </p> + <p> + Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and bold, Had their + dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old; + </p> + <p> + And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth rhyme, That + their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime. + </p> + <p> + In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron hand, Stands the + mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde's hand; + </p> + <p> + On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days Sat the poet + Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian's praise. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art: Fountains + wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common mart; + </p> + <p> + And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in stone, By a + former age commissioned as apostles to our own. + </p> + <p> + In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust, And in + bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their trust; + </p> + <p> + In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare, Like the + foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted air. + </p> + <p> + Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent heart, Lived + and labored Albrecht Durer, the Evangelist of Art; + </p> + <p> + Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand, Like an + emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land. + </p> + <p> + Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies; Dead he is + not, but departed,—for the artist never dies. + </p> + <p> + Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair, That he + once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air! + </p> + <p> + Through these streets so broad and stately, these obscure and dismal + lanes, Walked of yore the Mastersingers, chanting rude poetic strains. + </p> + <p> + From remote and sunless suburbs came they to the friendly guild, Building + nests in Fame's great temple, as in spouts the swallows build. + </p> + <p> + As the weaver plied the shuttle, wove he too the mystic rhyme, And the + smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's chime; + </p> + <p> + Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy bloom In + the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom. + </p> + <p> + Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the gentle craft, Wisest of + the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and laughed. + </p> + <p> + But his house is now an ale-house, with a nicely sanded floor, And a + garland in the window, and his face above the door; + </p> + <p> + Painted by some humble artist, as in Adam Puschman's song, As the old man + gray and dove-like, with his great beard white and long. + </p> + <p> + And at night the swart mechanic comes to drown his cark and care, Quaffing + ale from pewter tankard; in the master's antique chair. + </p> + <p> + Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my dreamy eye Wave these + mingled shapes and figures, like a faded tapestry. + </p> + <p> + Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world's regard; But + thy painter, Albrecht Durer, and Hans Sachs thy cobbler-bard. + </p> + <p> + Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away, As he paced thy + streets and court-yards, sang in thought his careless lay: + </p> + <p> + Gathering from the pavement's crevice, as a floweret of the soil, The + nobility of labor,—the long pedigree of toil. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap49"></a>THE NORMAN BARON</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dans les moments de la vie ou la reflexion devient plus calme +et plus profonde, ou l'interet et l'avarice parlent moins haut +que la raison, dans les instants de chagrin domestique, de +maladie, et de peril de mort, les nobles se repentirent de +posseder des serfs, comme d'une chose peu agreable a Dieu, qui +avait cree tous les hommes a son image.—THIERRY, Conquete de +l'Angleterre. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In his chamber, weak and dying, +Was the Norman baron lying; +Loud, without, the tempest thundered + And the castle-turret shook, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In this fight was Death the gainer, +Spite of vassal and retainer, +And the lands his sires had plundered, + Written in the Doomsday Book. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By his bed a monk was seated, +Who in humble voice repeated +Many a prayer and pater-noster, + From the missal on his knee; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And, amid the tempest pealing, +Sounds of bells came faintly stealing, +Bells, that from the neighboring kloster + Rang for the Nativity. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the hall, the serf and vassal +Held, that night their Christmas wassail; +Many a carol, old and saintly, + Sang the minstrels and the waits; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And so loud these Saxon gleemen +Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, +That the storm was heard but faintly, + Knocking at the castle-gates. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till at length the lays they chanted +Reached the chamber terror-haunted, +Where the monk, with accents holy, + Whispered at the baron's ear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Tears upon his eyelids glistened, +As he paused awhile and listened, +And the dying baron slowly + Turned his weary head to hear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Wassail for the kingly stranger +Born and cradled in a manger! +King, like David, priest, like Aaron, + Christ is born to set us free!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the lightning showed the sainted +Figures on the casement painted, +And exclaimed the shuddering baron, + "Miserere, Domine!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In that hour of deep contrition +He beheld, with clearer vision, +Through all outward show and fashion, + Justice, the Avenger, rise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All the pomp of earth had vanished, +Falsehood and deceit were banished, +Reason spake more loud than passion, + And the truth wore no disguise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Every vassal of his banner, +Every serf born to his manor, +All those wronged and wretched creatures, + By his hand were freed again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And, as on the sacred missal +He recorded their dismissal, +Death relaxed his iron features, + And the monk replied, "Amen!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Many centuries have been numbered +Since in death the baron slumbered +By the convent's sculptured portal, + Mingling with the common dust: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the good deed, through the ages +Living in historic pages, +Brighter grows and gleams immortal, + Unconsumed by moth or rust +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap50"></a>RAIN IN SUMMER</h3> + + <p> + How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery + street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain! + </p> + <p> + How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs How it gushes and + struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! + </p> + <p> + Across the window-pane It pours and pours; And swift and wide, With a + muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain! + </p> + <p> + The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks; He can feel the + cool Breath of each little pool; His fevered brain Grows calm again, And + he breathes a blessing on the rain. + </p> + <p> + From the neighboring school Come the boys, With more than their wonted + noise And commotion; And down the wet streets Sail their mimic fleets, + Till the treacherous pool Ingulfs them in its whirling And turbulent + ocean. + </p> + <p> + In the country, on every side, Where far and wide, Like a leopard's tawny + and spotted hide, Stretches the plain, To the dry grass and the drier + grain How welcome is the rain! + </p> + <p> + In the furrowed land The toilsome and patient oxen stand; Lifting the yoke + encumbered head, With their dilated nostrils spread, They silently inhale + The clover-scented gale, And the vapors that arise From the well-watered + and smoking soil. For this rest in the furrow after toil Their large and + lustrous eyes Seem to thank the Lord, More than man's spoken word. + </p> + <p> + Near at hand, From under the sheltering trees, The farmer sees His + pastures, and his fields of grain, As they bend their tops To the + numberless beating drops Of the incessant rain. He counts it as no sin + That he sees therein Only his own thrift and gain. + </p> + <p> + These, and far more than these, The Poet sees! He can behold Aquarius old + Walking the fenceless fields of air; And from each ample fold Of the + clouds about him rolled Scattering everywhere The showery rain, As the + farmer scatters his grain. + </p> + <p> + He can behold Things manifold That have not yet been wholly told,— + Have not been wholly sung nor said. For his thought, that never stops, + Follows the water-drops Down to the graves of the dead, Down through + chasms and gulfs profound, To the dreary fountain-head Of lakes and rivers + under ground; And sees them, when the rain is done, On the bridge of + colors seven Climbing up once more to heaven, Opposite the setting sun. + </p> + <p> + Thus the Seer, With vision clear, Sees forms appear and disappear, In the + perpetual round of strange, Mysterious change From birth to death, from + death to birth, From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth; Till glimpses + more sublime Of things, unseen before, Unto his wondering eyes reveal The + Universe, as an immeasurable wheel Turning forevermore In the rapid and + rushing river of Time. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap51"></a>TO A CHILD</h3> + + <p> + Dear child! how radiant on thy mother's knee, With merry-making eyes and + jocund smiles, Thou gazest at the painted tiles, Whose figures grace, With + many a grotesque form and face. The ancient chimney of thy nursery! The + lady with the gay macaw, The dancing girl, the grave bashaw With bearded + lip and chin; And, leaning idly o'er his gate, Beneath the imperial fan of + state, The Chinese mandarin. + </p> + <p> + With what a look of proud command Thou shakest in thy little hand The + coral rattle with its silver bells, Making a merry tune! Thousands of + years in Indian seas That coral grew, by slow degrees, Until some deadly + and wild monsoon Dashed it on Coromandel's sand! Those silver bells + Reposed of yore, As shapeless ore, Far down in the deep-sunken wells Of + darksome mines, In some obscure and sunless place, Beneath huge + Chimborazo's base, Or Potosi's o'erhanging pines And thus for thee, O + little child, Through many a danger and escape, The tall ships passed the + stormy cape; For thee in foreign lands remote, Beneath a burning, tropic + clime, The Indian peasant, chasing the wild goat, Himself as swift and + wild, In falling, clutched the frail arbute, The fibres of whose shallow + root, Uplifted from the soil, betrayed The silver veins beneath it laid, + The buried treasures of the miser, Time. + </p> + <p> + But, lo! thy door is left ajar! Thou hearest footsteps from afar! And, at + the sound, Thou turnest round With quick and questioning eyes, Like one, + who, in a foreign land, Beholds on every hand Some source of wonder and + surprise! And, restlessly, impatiently, Thou strivest, strugglest, to be + free, The four walls of thy nursery Are now like prison walls to thee. No + more thy mother's smiles, No more the painted tiles, Delight thee, nor the + playthings on the floor, That won thy little, beating heart before; Thou + strugglest for the open door. + </p> + <p> + Through these once solitary halls Thy pattering footstep falls. The sound + of thy merry voice Makes the old walls Jubilant, and they rejoice With the + joy of thy young heart, O'er the light of whose gladness No shadows of + sadness From the sombre background of memory start. + </p> + <p> + Once, ah, once, within these walls, One whom memory oft recalls, The + Father of his Country, dwelt. And yonder meadows broad and damp The fires + of the besieging camp Encircled with a burning belt. Up and down these + echoing stairs, Heavy with the weight of cares, Sounded his majestic + tread; Yes, within this very room Sat he in those hours of gloom, Weary + both in heart and head. + </p> + <p> + But what are these grave thoughts to thee? Out, out! into the open air! + Thy only dream is liberty, Thou carest little how or where. I see thee + eager at thy play, Now shouting to the apples on the tree, With cheeks as + round and red as they; And now among the yellow stalks, Among the + flowering shrubs and plants, As restless as the bee. Along the garden + walks, The tracks of thy small carriage-wheels I trace; And see at every + turn how they efface Whole villages of sand-roofed tents, That rise like + golden domes Above the cavernous and secret homes Of wandering and nomadic + tribes of ants. Ah, cruel little Tamerlane, Who, with thy dreadful reign, + Dost persecute and overwhelm These hapless Troglodytes of thy realm! What! + tired already! with those suppliant looks, And voice more beautiful than a + poet's books, Or murmuring sound of water as it flows. Thou comest back to + parley with repose; This rustic seat in the old apple-tree, With its + o'erhanging golden canopy Of leaves illuminate with autumnal hues, And + shining with the argent light of dews, Shall for a season be our place of + rest. Beneath us, like an oriole's pendent nest, From which the laughing + birds have taken wing, By thee abandoned, hangs thy vacant swing. + Dream-like the waters of the river gleam; A sailless vessel drops adown + the stream, And like it, to a sea as wide and deep, Thou driftest gently + down the tides of sleep. + </p> + <p> + O child! O new-born denizen Of life's great city! on thy head The glory of + the morn is shed, Like a celestial benison! Here at the portal thou dost + stand, And with thy little hand Thou openest the mysterious gate Into the + future's undiscovered land. I see its valves expand, As at the touch of + Fate! Into those realms of love and hate, Into that darkness blank and + drear, By some prophetic feeling taught, I launch the bold, adventurous + thought, Freighted with hope and fear; As upon subterranean streams, In + caverns unexplored and dark, Men sometimes launch a fragile bark, Laden + with flickering fire, And watch its swift-receding beams, Until at length + they disappear, And in the distant dark expire. + </p> + <p> + By what astrology of fear or hope Dare I to cast thy horoscope! Like the + new moon thy life appears; A little strip of silver light, And widening + outward into night The shadowy disk of future years; And yet upon its + outer rim, A luminous circle, faint and dim, And scarcely visible to us + here, Rounds and completes the perfect sphere; A prophecy and intimation, + A pale and feeble adumbration, Of the great world of light, that lies + Behind all human destinies. + </p> + <p> + Ah! if thy fate, with anguish fraught, Should be to wet the dusty soil + With the hot tears and sweat of toil,— To struggle with imperious + thought, Until the overburdened brain, Weary with labor, faint with pain, + Like a jarred pendulum, retain Only its motion, not its power,— + Remember, in that perilous hour, When most afflicted and oppressed, From + labor there shall come forth rest. + </p> + <p> + And if a more auspicious fate On thy advancing steps await Still let it + ever be thy pride To linger by the laborer's side; With words of sympathy + or song To cheer the dreary march along Of the great army of the poor, + O'er desert sand, o'er dangerous moor. Nor to thyself the task shall be + Without reward; for thou shalt learn The wisdom early to discern True + beauty in utility; As great Pythagoras of yore, Standing beside the + blacksmith's door, And hearing the hammers, as they smote The anvils with + a different note, Stole from the varying tones, that hung Vibrant on every + iron tongue, The secret of the sounding wire. And formed the seven-chorded + lyre. + </p> + <p> + Enough! I will not play the Seer; I will no longer strive to ope The + mystic volume, where appear The herald Hope, forerunning Fear, And Fear, + the pursuivant of Hope. Thy destiny remains untold; For, like Acestes' + shaft of old, The swift thought kindles as it flies, And burns to ashes in + the skies. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap52"></a>THE OCCULTATION OF ORION</h3> + + <p> + I saw, as in a dream sublime, The balance in the hand of Time. O'er East + and West its beam impended; And day, with all its hours of light, Was + slowly sinking out of sight, While, opposite, the scale of night Silently + with the stars ascended. + </p> + <p> + Like the astrologers of eld, In that bright vision I beheld Greater and + deeper mysteries. I saw, with its celestial keys, Its chords of air, its + frets of fire, The Samian's great Aeolian lyre, Rising through all its + sevenfold bars, From earth unto the fixed stars. And through the dewy + atmosphere, Not only could I see, but hear, Its wondrous and harmonious + strings, In sweet vibration, sphere by sphere, From Dian's circle light + and near, Onward to vaster and wider rings. Where, chanting through his + beard of snows, Majestic, mournful, Saturn goes, And down the sunless + realms of space Reverberates the thunder of his bass. + </p> + <p> + Beneath the sky's triumphal arch This music sounded like a march, And with + its chorus seemed to be Preluding some great tragedy. Sirius was rising in + the east; And, slow ascending one by one, The kindling constellations + shone. Begirt with many a blazing star, Stood the great giant Algebar, + Orion, hunter of the beast! His sword hung gleaming by his side, And, on + his arm, the lion's hide Scattered across the midnight air The golden + radiance of its hair. + </p> + <p> + The moon was pallid, but not faint; And beautiful as some fair saint, + Serenely moving on her way In hours of trial and dismay. As if she heard + the voice of God, Unharmed with naked feet she trod Upon the hot and + burning stars, As on the glowing coals and bars, That were to prove her + strength, and try Her holiness and her purity. + </p> + <p> + Thus moving on, with silent pace, And triumph in her sweet, pale face, She + reached the station of Orion. Aghast he stood in strange alarm! And + suddenly from his outstretched arm Down fell the red skin of the lion Into + the river at his feet. His mighty club no longer beat The forehead of the + bull; but he Reeled as of yore beside the sea, When, blinded by Oenopion, + He sought the blacksmith at his forge, And, climbing up the mountain + gorge, Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun. + </p> + <p> + Then, through the silence overhead, An angel with a trumpet said, + "Forevermore, forevermore, The reign of violence is o'er!" And, like an + instrument that flings Its music on another's strings, The trumpet of the + angel cast Upon the heavenly lyre its blast, And on from sphere to sphere + the words Re-echoed down the burning chords,— "Forevermore, + forevermore, The reign of violence is o'er!" + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap53"></a>THE BRIDGE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I stood on the bridge at midnight, + As the clocks were striking the hour, +And the moon rose o'er the city, + Behind the dark church-tower. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I saw her bright reflection + In the waters under me, +Like a golden goblet falling + And sinking into the sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And far in the hazy distance + Of that lovely night in June, +The blaze of the flaming furnace + Gleamed redder than the moon. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Among the long, black rafters + The wavering shadows lay, +And the current that came from the ocean + Seemed to lift and bear them away; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As, sweeping and eddying through them, +Rose the belated tide, +And, streaming into the moonlight, + The seaweed floated wide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And like those waters rushing + Among the wooden piers, +A flood of thoughts came o'er me + That filled my eyes with tears. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How often, oh, how often, + In the days that had gone by, +I had stood on that bridge at midnight + And gazed on that wave and sky! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How often, oh, how often, + I had wished that the ebbing tide +Would bear me away on its bosom + O'er the ocean wild and wide! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For my heart was hot and restless, + And my life was full of care, +And the burden laid upon me + Seemed greater than I could bear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But now it has fallen from me, + It is buried in the sea; +And only the sorrow of others + Throws its shadow over me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Yet whenever I cross the river + On its bridge with wooden piers, +Like the odor of brine from the ocean + Comes the thought of other years. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And I think how many thousands + Of care-encumbered men, +Each bearing his burden of sorrow, + Have crossed the bridge since then. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I see the long procession + Still passing to and fro, +The young heart hot and restless, + And the old subdued and slow! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And forever and forever, + As long as the river flows, +As long as the heart has passions, + As long as life has woes; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The moon and its broken reflection + And its shadows shall appear, +As the symbol of love in heaven, + And its wavering image here. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap54"></a>TO THE DRIVING CLOUD</h3> + + <p> + Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omahas; Gloomy and dark as + the driving cloud, whose name thou hast taken! Wrapt in thy scarlet + blanket, I see thee stalk through the city's Narrow and populous streets, + as once by the margin of rivers Stalked those birds unknown, that have + left us only their footprints. What, in a few short years, will remain of + thy race but the footprints? + </p> + <p> + How canst thou walk these streets, who hast trod the green turf of the + prairies! How canst thou breathe this air, who hast breathed the sweet air + of the mountains! Ah! 't is in vain that with lordly looks of disdain thou + dost challenge Looks of disdain in return, and question these walls and + these pavements, Claiming the soil for thy hunting-grounds, while + down-trodden millions Starve in the garrets of Europe, and cry from its + caverns that they, too, Have been created heirs of the earth, and claim + its division! + </p> + <p> + Back, then, back to thy woods in the regions west of the Wabash! There as + a monarch thou reignest. In autumn the leaves of the maple Pave the floors + of thy palace-halls with gold, and in summer Pine-trees waft through its + chambers the odorous breath of their branches. There thou art strong and + great, a hero, a tamer of horses! There thou chasest the stately stag on + the banks of the Elkhorn, Or by the roar of the Running-Water, or where + the Omaha Calls thee, and leaps through the wild ravine like a brave of + the Blackfeet! + </p> + <p> + Hark! what murmurs arise from the heart of those mountainous deserts? Is + it the cry of the Foxes and Crows, or the mighty Behemoth, Who, unharmed, + on his tusks once caught the bolts of the thunder, And now lurks in his + lair to destroy the race of the red man? Far more fatal to thee and thy + race than the Crows and the Foxes, Far more fatal to thee and thy race + than the tread of Behemoth, Lo! the big thunder-canoe, that steadily + breasts the Missouri's Merciless current! and yonder, afar on the + prairies, the camp-fires Gleam through the night; and the cloud of dust in + the gray of the daybreak Marks not the buffalo's track, nor the Mandan's + dexterous horse-race; It is a caravan, whitening the desert where dwell + the Camanches! Ha! how the breath of these Saxons and Celts, like the + blast of the east-wind, Drifts evermore to the west the scanty smokes of + thy wigwams! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap55"></a>SONGS</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap56"></a>THE DAY IS DONE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The day is done, and the darkness + Falls from the wings of Night, +As a feather is wafted downward + From an eagle in his flight. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I see the lights of the village + Gleam through the rain and the mist, +And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me + That my soul cannot resist: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A feeling of sadness and longing, + That is not akin to pain, +And resembles sorrow only + As the mist resembles the rain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Come, read to me some poem, + Some simple and heartfelt lay, +That shall soothe this restless feeling, + And banish the thoughts of day. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not from the grand old masters, + Not from the bards sublime, +Whose distant footsteps echo + Through the corridors of Time. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For, like strains of martial music, + Their mighty thoughts suggest +Life's endless toil and endeavor; + And to-night I long for rest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Read from some humbler poet, + Whose songs gushed from his heart, +As showers from the clouds of summer, + Or tears from the eyelids start; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Who, through long days of labor, + And nights devoid of ease, +Still heard in his soul the music + Of wonderful melodies. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Such songs have power to quiet + The restless pulse of care, +And come like the benediction + That follows after prayer. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then read from the treasured volume + The poem of thy choice, +And lend to the rhyme of the poet + The beauty of thy voice. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the night shall be filled with music + And the cares, that infest the day, +Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, + And as silently steal away. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap57"></a>AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY</h3> + + <p> + The day is ending, The night is descending; The marsh is frozen, The river + dead. + </p> + <p> + Through clouds like ashes The red sun flashes On village windows That + glimmer red. + </p> + <p> + The snow recommences; The buried fences Mark no longer The road o'er the + plain; + </p> + <p> + While through the meadows, Like fearful shadows, Slowly passes A funeral + train. + </p> + <p> + The bell is pealing, And every feeling Within me responds To the dismal + knell; + </p> + <p> + Shadows are trailing, My heart is bewailing And tolling within Like a + funeral bell. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap58"></a>TO AN OLD DANISH SONG-BOOK</h3> + + <p> + Welcome, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside, While the sullen + gales of autumn Shake the windows. + </p> + <p> + The ungrateful world Has, it seems, dealt harshly with thee, Since, + beneath the skies of Denmark, First I met thee. + </p> + <p> + There are marks of age, There are thumb-marks on thy margin, Made by hands + that clasped thee rudely, At the alehouse. + </p> + <p> + Soiled and dull thou art; Yellow are thy time-worn pages, As the russet, + rain-molested Leaves of autumn. + </p> + <p> + Thou art stained with wine Scattered from hilarious goblets, As the leaves + with the libations Of Olympus. + </p> + <p> + Yet dost thou recall Days departed, half-forgotten, When in dreamy youth I + wandered By the Baltic,— + </p> + <p> + When I paused to hear The old ballad of King Christian Shouted from + suburban taverns In the twilight. + </p> + <p> + Thou recallest bards, Who in solitary chambers, And with hearts by passion + wasted, Wrote thy pages. + </p> + <p> + Thou recallest homes Where thy songs of love and friendship Made the + gloomy Northern winter Bright as summer. + </p> + <p> + Once some ancient Scald, In his bleak, ancestral Iceland, Chanted staves + of these old ballads To the Vikings. + </p> + <p> + Once in Elsinore, At the court of old King Hamlet Yorick and his boon + companions Sang these ditties. + </p> + <p> + Once Prince Frederick's Guard Sang them in their smoky barracks;— + Suddenly the English cannon Joined the chorus! + </p> + <p> + Peasants in the field, Sailors on the roaring ocean, Students, tradesmen, + pale mechanics, All have sung them. + </p> + <p> + Thou hast been their friend; They, alas! have left thee friendless! Yet at + least by one warm fireside Art thou welcome. + </p> + <p> + And, as swallows build In these wide, old-fashioned chimneys, So thy + twittering songs shall nestle In my bosom,— + </p> + <p> + Quiet, close, and warm, Sheltered from all molestation, And recalling by + their voices Youth and travel. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap59"></a>WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Vogelweid the Minnesinger, + When he left this world of ours, +Laid his body in the cloister, + Under Wurtzburg's minster towers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And he gave the monks his treasures, + Gave them all with this behest: +They should feed the birds at noontide + Daily on his place of rest; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Saying, "From these wandering minstrels + I have learned the art of song; +Let me now repay the lessons + They have taught so well and long." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus the bard of love departed; + And, fulfilling his desire, +On his tomb the birds were feasted + By the children of the choir. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Day by day, o'er tower and turret, + In foul weather and in fair, +Day by day, in vaster numbers, + Flocked the poets of the air. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the tree whose heavy branches + Overshadowed all the place, +On the pavement, on the tombstone, + On the poet's sculptured face, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the cross-bars of each window, + On the lintel of each door, +They renewed the War of Wartburg, + Which the bard had fought before. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There they sang their merry carols, + Sang their lauds on every side; +And the name their voices uttered + Was the name of Vogelweid. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till at length the portly abbot + Murmured, "Why this waste of food? +Be it changed to loaves henceforward + For our tasting brotherhood." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then in vain o'er tower and turret, + From the walls and woodland nests, +When the minster bells rang noontide, + Gathered the unwelcome guests. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then in vain, with cries discordant, + Clamorous round the Gothic spire, +Screamed the feathered Minnesingers + For the children of the choir. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Time has long effaced the inscriptions + On the cloister's funeral stones, +And tradition only tells us + Where repose the poet's bones. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But around the vast cathedral, + By sweet echoes multiplied, +Still the birds repeat the legend, + And the name of Vogelweid. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap60"></a>DRINKING SONG</h3> + +<p class="center"> +INSCRIPTION FOR AN ANTIQUE PITCHER +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Come, old friend! sit down and listen! + From the pitcher, placed between us, +How the waters laugh and glisten + In the head of old Silenus! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Old Silenus, bloated, drunken, + Led by his inebriate Satyrs; +On his breast his head is sunken, + Vacantly he leers and chatters. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow; + Ivy crowns that brow supernal +As the forehead of Apollo, + And possessing youth eternal. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Round about him, fair Bacchantes, + Bearing cymbals, flutes, and thyrses, +Wild from Naxian groves, or Zante's + Vineyards, sing delirious verses. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus he won, through all the nations, + Bloodless victories, and the farmer +Bore, as trophies and oblations, + Vines for banners, ploughs for armor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Judged by no o'erzealous rigor, + Much this mystic throng expresses: +Bacchus was the type of vigor, + And Silenus of excesses. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +These are ancient ethnic revels, + Of a faith long since forsaken; +Now the Satyrs, changed to devils, + Frighten mortals wine-o'ertaken. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now to rivulets from the mountains + Point the rods of fortune-tellers; +Youth perpetual dwells in fountains,— + Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Claudius, though he sang of flagons + And huge tankards filled with Rhenish, +From that fiery blood of dragons + Never would his own replenish. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Even Redi, though he chaunted + Bacchus in the Tuscan valleys, +Never drank the wine he vaunted + In his dithyrambic sallies. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then with water fill the pitcher + Wreathed about with classic fables; +Ne'er Falernian threw a richer + Light upon Lucullus' tables. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Come, old friend, sit down and listen + As it passes thus between us, +How its wavelets laugh and glisten + In the head of old Silenus! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap61"></a>THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS</h3> + + <p> + L'eternite est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse ces + deux mots seulement dans le silence des tombeaux: "Toujours! jamais! + Jamais! toujours!"—JACQUES BRIDAINE. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Somewhat back from the village street +Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. +Across its antique portico +Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw; +And from its station in the hall +An ancient timepiece says to all,— + "Forever—never! + Never—forever!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Half-way up the stairs it stands, +And points and beckons with its hands +From its case of massive oak, +Like a monk, who, under his cloak, +Crosses himself, and sighs, alas! +With sorrowful voice to all who pass,— + "Forever—never! + Never—forever!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By day its voice is low and light; +But in the silent dead of night, +Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, +It echoes along the vacant hall, +Along the ceiling, along the floor, +And seems to say, at each chamber-door,— + "Forever—never! + Never—forever!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Through days of sorrow and of mirth, +Through days of death and days of birth, +Through every swift vicissitude +Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, +And as if, like God, it all things saw, +It calmly repeats those words of awe,— + "Forever—never! + Never—forever!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In that mansion used to be +Free-hearted Hospitality; +His great fires up the chimney roared; +The stranger feasted at his board; +But, like the skeleton at the feast, +That warning timepiece never ceased,— + "Forever—never! + Never—forever!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There groups of merry children played, +There youths and maidens dreaming strayed; +O precious hours! O golden prime, +And affluence of love and time! +Even as a Miser counts his gold, +Those hours the ancient timepiece told,— + "Forever—never! + Never—forever!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From that chamber, clothed in white, +The bride came forth on her wedding night; +There, in that silent room below, +The dead lay in his shroud of snow; +And in the hush that followed the prayer, +Was heard the old clock on the stair,— + "Forever—never! + Never—forever!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All are scattered now and fled, +Some are married, some are dead; +And when I ask, with throbs of pain. +"Ah! when shall they all meet again?" +As in the days long since gone by, +The ancient timepiece makes reply,— + "Forever—never! + Never—forever!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Never here, forever there, +Where all parting, pain, and care, +And death, and time shall disappear,— +Forever there, but never here! +The horologe of Eternity +Sayeth this incessantly,— + "Forever—never! + Never—forever!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap62"></a>THE ARROW AND THE SONG</h3> + + <p> + I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so + swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. + </p> + <p> + I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For + who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song? + </p> + <p> + Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the + song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap63"></a>SONNETS</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap64"></a>MEZZO CAMMIN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Half of my life is gone, and I have let + The years slip from me and have not fulfilled + The aspiration of my youth, to build + Some tower of song with lofty parapet. +Not indolence, nor pleasure, nor the fret + Of restless passions chat would not be stilled, + But sorrow, and a care that almost killed, + Kept me from what I may accomplish yet; +Though, half way up the hill, I see the Past + Lying beneath me with its sounds and sights,— + A city in the twilight dim and vast, +With smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights.— + And hear above me on the autumnal blast + The cataract of Death far thundering from the heights. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap65"></a>THE EVENING STAR</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Lo! in the painted oriel of the West, + Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines, + Like a fair lady at her casement, shines + The evening star, the star of love and rest! +And then anon she doth herself divest + Of all her radiant garments, and reclines + Behind the sombre screen of yonder pines, + With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed. +O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus! + My morning and my evening star of love! + My best and gentlest lady! even thus, +As that fair planet in the sky above, + Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night, + And from thy darkened window fades the light. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap66"></a>AUTUMN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, + With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, + Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, + And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain! +Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, + Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand + Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, + Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain! +Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended + So long beneath the heaven's o'er-hanging eaves; + Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended; +Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves; + And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, + Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap67"></a>DANTE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Tuscan, that wanderest through the realms of gloom, + With thoughtful pace, and sad, majestic eyes, + Stern thoughts and awful from thy soul arise, + Like Farinata from his fiery tomb. +Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom; + Yet in thy heart what human sympathies, + What soft compassion glows, as in the skies + The tender stars their clouded lamps relume! +Methinks I see thee stand, with pallid cheeks, + By Fra Hilario in his diocese, + As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks, +The ascending sunbeams mark the day's decrease; + And, as he asks what there the stranger seeks, + Thy voice along the cloister whispers, "Peace!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap68"></a>CURFEW</h3> + + <h3> + I. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Solemnly, mournfully, + Dealing its dole, +The Curfew Bell + Is beginning to toll. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Cover the embers, + And put out the light; +Toil comes with the morning, + And rest with the night. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dark grow the windows, + And quenched is the fire; +Sound fades into silence,— + All footsteps retire. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No voice in the chambers, + No sound in the hall! +Sleep and oblivion + Reign over all! +</pre> + <h3> + II. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The book is completed, + And closed, like the day; +And the hand that has written it + Lays it away. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dim grow its fancies; + Forgotten they lie; +Like coals in the ashes, + They darken and die. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Song sinks into silence, + The story is told, +The windows are darkened, + The hearth-stone is cold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Darker and darker + The black shadows fall; +Sleep and oblivion + Reign over all. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap69"></a>EVANGELINE</h2> + +<h3>A TALE OF ACADIE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, +Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, +Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, +Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. +Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean +Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. + + This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it +Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman +Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,— +Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, +Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven? +Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed! +Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October +Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean +Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre. + + Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, +Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, +List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest; +List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + PART THE FIRST + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, +Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre +Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, +Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. +Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant, +Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates +Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. +West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields +Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward +Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains +Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic +Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended +There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. +Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock, +Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. +Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting +Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway. +There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset +Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, +Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles +Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden +Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors +Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens, +Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children +Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them. +Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens, +Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. +Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank +Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry +Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village +Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, +Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. +Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,— +Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from +Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. +Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; +But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of their owners; +There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. + + Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, +Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pre, +Dwelt on his goodly acres: and with him, directing his household, +Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. +Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters; +Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes; +White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves. +Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers. +Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside, +Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses! +Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows. +When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide +Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was the maiden, +Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret +Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop +Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, +Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads and her missal, +Wearing her Norman cap and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings, +Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heirloom, +Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. +But a celestial brightness—a more ethereal beauty— +Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, +Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. +When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. + + Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer +Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a shady +Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it. +Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a footpath +Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. +Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse, +Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the roadside, +Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. +Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss-grown +Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. +Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farm-yard, +There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the harrows; +There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his feathered seraglio, +Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame +Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. +Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one +Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; and a staircase, +Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft. +There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates +Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant breezes +Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. + + Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pre +Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. +Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal, +Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest devotion; +Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment! +Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended, +And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps, +Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron; +Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, +Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered +Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. +But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome; +Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, +Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men; +For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, +Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. +Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood +Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Felician, +Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters +Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song. +But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, +Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. +There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him +Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, +Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel +Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. +Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness +Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, +Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows, +And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes, +Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. +Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, +Down the hillside hounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. +Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, +Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow +Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings; +Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow! +Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children. +He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning, +Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action. +She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. +"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; for that was the sunshine +Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples +She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance, +Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + II + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, +And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. +Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound, +Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands, +Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds of September +Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. +All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. +Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey +Till the hives overflowed; and the Indian bunters asserted +Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. +Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season, +Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints! +Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape +Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. +Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean +Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. +Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, +Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, +All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun +Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him; +While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow, +Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest +Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and +jewels. + + Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness. +Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending +Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead. +Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, +And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. +Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, +Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar, +Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. +Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, +Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, +Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, +Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly +Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers; +Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector, +When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled. +Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, +Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. +Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks, +While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, +Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson, +Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. +Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders +Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence +Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. +Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, +Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness; +Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors, +Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. + + In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer +Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths +Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him, +Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fantastic, +Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. +Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair +Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser +Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. +Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, +Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him +Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards. +Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated, +Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. +Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle, +While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe, +Followed the old man's songs and united the fragments together. +As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases, +Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, +So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked. + + Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted, +Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. +Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith, +And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. +"Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold. +"Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy place on the settle +Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee; +Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco; +Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling +Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams +Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes." +Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, +Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside:— +"Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad! +Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are filled with +Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. +Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe." +Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him, +And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued:— +"Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors +Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. +What their design may be is unknown; but all are commanded +On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate +Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! in the mean time +Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people." +Then made answer the farmer:—"Perhaps some friendlier purpose +Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England +By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, +And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children." +"Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith, +Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving a sigh, he continued:— +"Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal. +Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, +Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. +Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds; +Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower." +Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer:— +"Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, +Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, +Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. +Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow +Fall on this house and hearth; for this is the night of the contract. +Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village +Strongly have built them and well; and, breaking the glebe round about them, +Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. +Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. +Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children?" +As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, +Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, +And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + III + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, +Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public; +Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung +Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bows +Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. +Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred +Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. +Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, +Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. +Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, +Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. +He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children; +For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, +And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, +And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened +Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children; +And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, +And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell, +And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, +With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. +Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, +Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, +"Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village, +And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand." +Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public,— +"Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser; +And what their errand may be I know not better than others. +Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention +Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then molest us?" +"God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith; +"Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore? +Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest!" +But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public,— +"Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice +Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, +When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." +This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it +When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. +"Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, +Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice +Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, +And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided +Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. +Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, +Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. +But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted; +Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty +Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace +That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a suspicion +Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. +She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, +Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. +As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, +Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder +Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand +Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, +And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, +Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." +Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith +Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language; +All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors +Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. + + Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, +Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed +Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pre; +While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, +Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, +Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. +Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, +And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. +Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table +Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver; +And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom, +Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. +Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, +While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, +Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. +Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men +Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuver, +Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row +Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, +Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise +Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows. +Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, +Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. + + Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry +Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway +Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household. +Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step +Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. +Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone, +And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. +Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. +Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, +Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. +Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. +Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press +Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded +Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. +This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage, +Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. +Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight +Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the maiden +Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. +Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with +Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber! +Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, +Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow. +Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness +Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight +Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. +And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass +Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, +As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar! +</pre> + <h3> + IV + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre. +Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, +Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. +Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor +Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. +Now from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets, +Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. +Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk +Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, +Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, +Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. +Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. +Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors +Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together. +Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted; +For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together, +All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. +Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abundant: +For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father; +Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness +Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she gave it. + + Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, +Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. +There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated; +There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. +Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and the beehives, +Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. +Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white +Hair, as it waved in the wind; and the jolly face of the fiddler +Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. +Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, +Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque, +And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. +Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances +Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows; +Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. +Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter! +Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith! + + So passed the morning away. And lo! with a summons sonorous +Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat. +Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard, +Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones +Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. +Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them +Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor +Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement,— +Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal +Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. +Then uprose their commander, and spoke from the steps of the altar, +Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. +"You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's orders. +Clement and kind has he been; but how you have answered his kindness, +Let your own hearts reply! To my natural make and my temper +Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. +Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch; +Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds +Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from this province +Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there +Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people! +Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty's pleasure!" +As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, +Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones +Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, +Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs, +Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures; +So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. +Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose +Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, +And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way. +Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations +Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the others +Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, +As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. +Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he shouted,— +"Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance! +Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!" +More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier +Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. + + In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, +Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician +Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. +Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence +All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people; +Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents measured and mournful +Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. +"What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you? +Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, +Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another! +Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations? +Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness? +This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it +Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred? +Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you! +See! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion! +Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, 'O Father, forgive them!' +Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, +Let us repeat it now, and say, 'O Father, forgive them!'" +Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people +Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, +While they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them!" + + Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the altar. +Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest and the people responded, +Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and the Ave Maria +Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion translated, +Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. + + Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides +Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. +Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand +Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, +Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each +Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows. +Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table; +There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild-flowers; +There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy; +And, at the head of the board, the great arm-chair of the farmer. +Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset +Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows. +Ah! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, +And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended,— +Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience! +Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village, +Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of the women, +As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed, +Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children. +Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors +Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. +Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. + + Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered. +All was silent within; and in vain at the door and the windows +Stood she, and listened and looked, till, overcome by emotion, +"Gabriel!" cried she aloud with tremulous voice; but no answer +Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living. +Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. +Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board was the supper untasted, +Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phantoms of terror. +Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. +In the dead of the night she heard the disconsolate rain fall +Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the window. +Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of the echoing thunder +Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created! +Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of Heaven; +Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slumbered till morning. +</pre> + <h3> + V + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Four times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth day +Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. +Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, +Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, +Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore, +Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings, +Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. +Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, +While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playthings. + + Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried; and there on the sea-beach +Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants. +All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply; +All day long the wains came laboring down from the village. +Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, +Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard. +Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church-doors +Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession +Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers. +Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country, +Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and wayworn, +So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended +Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. +Foremost the young men came; and, raising together their voices, +Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions:— +"Sacred heart of the Saviour! O inexhaustible fountain! +Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience!" +Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the wayside +Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them +Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed. + + Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence, +Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction,— +Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession approached her, +And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. +Team then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, +Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered,— +"Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one another +Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen!" +Smiling she spake these words; then suddenly paused, for her father +Saw she slowly advancing. Alas! how changed was his aspect! +Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his footstep +Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in his bosom. +But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, +Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. +Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. + + There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. +Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the confusion +Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children +Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. +So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, +While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father. +Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight +Deepened and darkened around; and in haste the refluent ocean +Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand-beach +Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed. +Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons, +Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, +All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them, +Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. +Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean, +Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving +Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. +Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures; +Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders; +Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-yard,— +Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid. +Silence reigned in the streets; from the church no Angelus sounded, +Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows. + + But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled, +Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest. +Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered, +Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children. +Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish, +Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering, +Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea-shore. +Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her father, +And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man, +Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion, +E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken. +Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him, +Vainly offered him food; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake not +But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire-light. +"Benedicite!" murmured the priest, in tones of compassion. +More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents +Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold, +Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. +Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, +Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that above them +Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals. +Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence. + + Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red +Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon +Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meadow, +Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows together. +Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, +Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead. +Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were +Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quivering hands of a martyr. +Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thatch, and, uplifting, +Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops +Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled. + + These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard. +Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, +"We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pre!" +Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards, +Thinking the day had dawned; and anon the lowing of cattle +Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs interrupted. +Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments +Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Nebraska, +When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed of the whirlwind, +Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river. +Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses +Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows. + + Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maiden +Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them; +And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion, +Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore +Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. +Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the maiden +Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror. +Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom. +Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber; +And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her. +Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her, +Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. +Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape, +Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her, +And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses. +Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people,— +"Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season +Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile, +Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard." +Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the sea-side, +Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, +But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pre. +And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow, +Lo! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation, +Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. +'T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean, +With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward. +Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking; +And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the harbor, +Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + PART THE SECOND + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + Many a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand-Pre, When on the + falling tide the freighted vessels departed, Bearing a nation, with all + its household gods, into exile. Exile without an end, and without an + example in story. Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed; + Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the northeast + Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfoundland. + Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, From the + cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas,— From the bleak + shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters Seizes the hills + in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, Deep in their sands to + bury the scattered bones of the mammoth. Friends they sought and homes; + and many, despairing, heart-broken, Asked of the earth but a grave, and no + longer a friend nor a fireside. Written their history stands on tablets of + stone in the churchyards. Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and + wandered, Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. + Fair was she and young; but, alas! before her extended, Dreary and vast + and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway Marked by the graves of + those who had sorrowed and suffered before her, Passions long + extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned, As the emigrant's way + o'er the Western desert is marked by Camp-fires long consumed, and bones + that bleach in the sunshine. Something there was in her life incomplete, + imperfect, unfinished; As if a morning of June, with all its music and + sunshine, Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended Into + the east again, from whence it late had arisen. Sometimes she lingered in + towns, till, urged by the fever within her, Urged by a restless longing, + the hunger and thirst of the spirit, She would commence again her endless + search and endeavor; Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the + crosses and tombstones, Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that + perhaps in its bosom He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber + beside him. Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper, Came + with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. Sometimes she spake + with those who had seen her beloved and known him, But it was long ago, in + some far-off place or forgotten. "Gabriel Lajeunesse!" they said; "yes! we + have seen him. He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the + prairies; Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers." + "Gabriel Lajeunesse!" said others; "O yes! we have seen him. He is a + Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." Then would they say, "Dear child! + why dream and wait for him longer? Are there not other youths as fair as + Gabriel? others Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal? + Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee Many a + tedious year; come, give him thy hand and be happy! Thou art too fair to + be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses." Then would Evangeline answer, + serenely but sadly, "I cannot! Whither my heart has gone, there follows my + hand, and not elsewhere. For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and + illumines the pathway, Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in + darkness." Thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor, Said, + with a smile, "O daughter! thy God thus speaketh within thee! Talk not of + wasted affection, affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart + of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, + shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the fountain sends forth + returns again to the fountain. Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish + thy work of affection! Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient + endurance is godlike. Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the + heart is made godlike, Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered + more worthy of heaven!" Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline + labored and waited. Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the + ocean, But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered, + "Despair not?" Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless + discomfort Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence. + Let me essay, O Muse! to follow the wanderer's footsteps;— Not + through each devious path, each changeful year of existence; But as a + traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley: Far from its + margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water Here and there, in some + open space, and at intervals only; Then drawing nearer its banks, through + sylvan glooms that conceal it, Though he behold it not, he can hear its + continuous murmur; Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches + an outlet. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + II + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful River, +Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash, +Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi, +Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen. +It was a band of exiles: a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked +Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together, +Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune; +Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay, +Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers +On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. +With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician. +Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness sombre with forests, +Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river; +Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders. +Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where plumelike +Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current, +Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand-bars +Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin, +Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans waded. +Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river, +Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens, +Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove-cots. +They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual summer, +Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron, +Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward. +They, too, swerved from their course; and, entering the Bayou of Plaquemine, +Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters, +Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction. +Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress +Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid-air +Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals. +Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons +Home to their roasts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset, +Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter. +Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, +Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches, +Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. +Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them; +And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness,— +Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed. +As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, +Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa, +So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, +Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it. +But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly +Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight. +It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom. +Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her, +And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. + + Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen, +And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure +Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. +Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang, +Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the forest. +Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music. +Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, +Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches; +But not a voice replied; no answer came from the darkness; +And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. +Then Evangeline slept; but the boatmen rowed through the midnight, +Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs, +Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers, +While through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert, +Far off,—indistinct,—as of wave or wind in the forest, +Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alligator. + + Thus ere another noon they emerged from the shades; and before them +Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafalaya. +Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations +Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus +Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. +Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia blossoms, +And with the heat of noon; and numberless sylvan islands, +Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges of roses, +Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. +Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were suspended. +Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the margin, +Safely their boat was moored; and scattered about on the greensward, +Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered. +Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. +Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the grapevine +Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, +On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, descending, +Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom. +Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it. +Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven +Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial. + + Nearer, ever nearer, among the numberless islands, +Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water, +Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and trappers. +Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver. +At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and careworn. +Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and a sadness +Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly written. +Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and restless, +Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. +Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the island, +But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of palmettos, +So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows, +All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, were the sleepers, +Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden. +Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. +After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance, +As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden +Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, "O Father Felician! +Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. +Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition? +Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit?" +Then, with a blush, she added, "Alas for my credulous fancy! +Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning." +But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered,— +"Daughter, thy words are not idle; nor are they to me without meaning. +Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the surface +Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. +Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. +Gabriel truly is near thee; for not far away to the southward, +On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. +There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom, +There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold. +Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees; +Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens +Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. +They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana." + + With these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey. +Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon +Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape; +Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest +Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. +Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, +Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water. +Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. +Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling +Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. +Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, +Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, +Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, +That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. +Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to madness +Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. +Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation; +Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, +As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops +Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. +With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, +Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the green Opelousas, +And, through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland, +Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwelling;— +Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. +</pre> + <h3> + III + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks, from whose branches +Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted, +Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide, +Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden +Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms, +Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers +Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together. +Large and low was the roof; and on slender columns supported, +Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda, +Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it. +At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden, +Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol, +Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. +Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine +Ran near the tops of the trees; but the house itself was in shadow, +And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding +Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. +In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway +Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie, +Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending. +Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas +Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics, +Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grapevines. + + Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie, +Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups, +Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin. +Broad and brown was the face that from under the Spanish sombrero +Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. +Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing +Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory freshness +That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. +Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding +Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded +Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening. +Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the cattle +Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean. +Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed o'er the prairie, +And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance. +Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the garden +Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him. +Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, and forward +Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder; +When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil the blacksmith. +Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden. +There in an arbor of roses with endless question and answer +Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces, +Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful. +Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark doubts and misgivings +Stole o'er the maiden's heart; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed, +Broke the silence and said, "If you came by the Atchafalaya, +How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on the bayous?" +Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade passed. +Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent, +"Gone? is Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her face on his shoulder, +All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept and lamented. +Then the good Basil said,—and his voice grew blithe as he said it,— +"Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day he departed. +Foolish boy! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses. +Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit +Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence. +Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever, +Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, +He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens, +Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him +Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. +Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains, +Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver. +Therefore be of good cheer; we will follow the fugitive lover; +He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. +Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning +We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison." + + Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river, +Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler. +Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus, +Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals. +Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle. +"Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave Acadian minstrel!" +As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; and straightway +Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man +Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured, +Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips, +Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters. +Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the cidevant blacksmith, +All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor; +Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate, +And of the prairie; whose numberless herds were his who would take them; +Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise. +Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the breezy veranda, +Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil +Waited his late return; and they rested and feasted together. + + Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended. +All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver, +Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars; but within doors, +Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight. +Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman +Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion. +Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco, +Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened:— +"Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been friendless and homeless, +Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than the old one! +Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers; +Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer. +Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a keel through the water. +All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom; and grass grows +More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. +Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies; +Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber +With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses. +After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests, +No King George of England shall drive you away from your homesteads, +Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your cattle." +Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, +While his huge, brown hand came thundering down on the table, +So that the guests all started; and Father Felician, astounded, +Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to his nostrils. +But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer:— +"Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever! +For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, +Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell!" +Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps approaching +Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda. +It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian planters, +Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the Herdsman. +Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neighbors: +Friend clasped friend in his arms; and they who before were as strangers, +Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other, +Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together. +But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, proceeding +From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle, +Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted, +All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening +Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, +Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. + + Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman +Sat, conversing together of past and present and future; +While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her +Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music +Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness +Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden. +Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, +Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river +Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight, +Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. +Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the garden +Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers and confessions +Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthusian. +Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night-dews, +Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight +Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longing; +As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade of the oak-trees, +Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. +Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies +Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers. +Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens, +Shone on the eyes of man who had ceased to marvel and worship, +Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, +As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, "Upharsin." +And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies, +Wandered alone, and she cried, "O Gabriel! O my beloved! +Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee? +Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not reach me? +Ah! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie! +Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me! +Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor, +Thou hast lain down to rest and to dream of me in thy slumbers! +When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee?" +Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill sounded +Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighboring thickets, +Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. +"Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness: +And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, "To-morrow!" + + Bright rose the sun next day; and all the flowers of the garden +Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses +With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal. +"Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold; +"See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, +And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming." +"Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended +Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. +Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sunshine, and gladness, +Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them, +Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert. +Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, +Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, +Nor, after many days, had they found him; but vague and uncertain +Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate Country; +Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, +Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord, +That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, +Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + IV + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains +Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits. +Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway, +Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, +Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee. +Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains, +Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska; +And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, +Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert, +Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean, +Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations. +Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies, +Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, +Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. +Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck; +Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of riderless horses; +Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel; +Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, +Staining the desert with blood; and above their terrible war-trails +Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, +Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle, +By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. +Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders; +Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers; +And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert, +Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side, +And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, +Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them. + + Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains, +Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. +Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil +Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him. +Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fire +Rise in the morning air from the distant plain; but at nightfall, +When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes. +And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, +Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana +Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. + + Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered +Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose features +Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow. +She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, +From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches, +Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been murdered. +Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest welcome +Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them +On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers. +But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions, +Worn with the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, +Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire-light +Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their blankets +Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated +Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent, +All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses. +Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another +Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed. +Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion, +Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her, +She in turn related her love and all its disasters. +Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended +Still was mute; but at length, as if a mysterious horror +Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis; +Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden, +But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam, +Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine, +Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. +Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation, +Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom, +That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight, +Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden, +Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest, +And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by her people. +Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened +To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her +Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress. +Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, +Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor +Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland. +With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches +Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers. +Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret, +Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, +As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. +It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits +Seemed to float in the air of night; and she felt for a moment +That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. +With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. + + Early upon the morrow the march was resumed; and the Shawnee +Said, as they journeyed along, "On the western slope of these mountains +Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission. +Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus; +Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him." +Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered, +"Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us!" +Thither they turned their steeds; and behind a spur of the mountains, +Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices, +And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, +Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit Mission. +Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, +Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened +High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grapevines, +Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. +This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches +Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, +Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. +Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, +Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. +But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen +Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower, +Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them +Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression, +Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest, +And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his wigwam. +There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-ear +Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. +Soon was their story told; and the priest with solemnity answered:— +"Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated +On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, +Told me this same sad tale then arose and continued his journey!" +Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness; +But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes +Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. +"Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest; "but in autumn, +When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." +Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, +"Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted." +So seemed it wise and well unto all; and betimes on the morrow, +Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions. +Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission. + + Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other,— +Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize that were springing +Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her, +Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming +Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squirrels. +Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens +Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, +But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the corn-field. +Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. +"Patience!" the priest would say; "have faith, and thy prayer will be answered! +Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, +See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet; +This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted +Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's journey +Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. +Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion, +Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, +But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. +Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter +Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe." + + So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter,—yet Gabriel came not; +Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird +Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. +But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was wafted +Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom. +Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, +Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw River, +And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, +Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. +When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, +She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, +Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin! + + Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places +Divers and distant far was seen the wandering maiden;— +Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, +Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army, +Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities. +Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremembered. +Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; +Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. +Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, +Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. +Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray o'er her forehead, +Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthy horizon, +As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h2> + V + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters, +Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle, +Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. +There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty, +And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest, +As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. +There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, +Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country. +There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he departed, +Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. +Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city, +Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger; +And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, +For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, +Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. +So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor, +Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining, +Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her footsteps. +As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning +Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, +Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets, +So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her, +Dark no longer, but all illumined with love; and the pathway +Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. +Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, +Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him, +Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and absence. +Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. +Over him years had no power; he was not changed, but transfigured; +He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent; +Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, +This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. +So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, +Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. +Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow +Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. +Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy; frequenting +Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, +Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, +Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected. +Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated +Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, +High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. +Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs +Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, +Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings. + + Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, +Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, +Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an acorn. +And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, +Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, +So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin, +Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of existence. +Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor; +But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger;— +Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, +Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. +Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands; +Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its gateway and wicket +Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to echo +Softly the words of the Lord:—"The poor ye always have with you." +Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying +Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there +Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendor, +Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, +Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. +Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, +Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would enter. + + Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, +Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. +Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden; +And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, +That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. +Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east-wind, +Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church, +While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted +Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wicaco. +Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit; +Something within her said, "At length thy trials are ended"; +And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness. +Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, +Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence +Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, +Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the roadside. +Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, +Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence +Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. +And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, +Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. +Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night time; +Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. + + Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, +Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder +Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her fingers, +And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. +Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish, +That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. +On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. +Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples; +But, as he lay in the in morning light, his face for a moment +Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood; +So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. +Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, +As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its portals, +That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. +Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit exhausted +Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness, +Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking. +Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, +Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded +Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, +"Gabriel! O my beloved!" and died away into silence. +Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood; +Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, +Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, walking under their shadow, +As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. +Tears came into his eyes; and as slowly he lifted his eyelids, +Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. +Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered +Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have spoken. +Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, +Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. +Sweet was the light of his eyes; but it suddenly sank into darkness, +As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. + + All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, +All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, +All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience! +And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, +Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I thank thee!" + + ——————- +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, +Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. +Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, +In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed. +Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, +Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever, +Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, +Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors, +Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey! + + Still stands the forest primeval; but under the shade of its branches +Dwells another race, with other customs and language. +Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic +Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile +Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom. +In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy; +Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, +And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, +While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean +Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap70"></a> +THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap71"></a>DEDICATION</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As one who, walking in the twilight gloom, + Hears round about him voices as it darkens, +And seeing not the forms from which they come, + Pauses from time to time, and turns and hearkens; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So walking here in twilight, O my friends! + I hear your voices, softened by the distance, +And pause, and turn to listen, as each sends + His words of friendship, comfort, and assistance. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +If any thought of mine, or sung or told, + Has ever given delight or consolation, +Ye have repaid me back a thousand-fold, + By every friendly sign and salutation. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thanks for the sympathies that ye have shown! + Thanks for each kindly word, each silent token, +That teaches me, when seeming most alone, + Friends are around us, though no word be spoken. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Kind messages, that pass from land to land; + Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, +In which we feel the pressure of a hand,— + One touch of fire,—and all the rest is mystery! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The pleasant books, that silently among + Our household treasures take familiar places, +And are to us as if a living tongue + Spice from the printed leaves or pictured faces! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Perhaps on earth I never shall behold, + With eye of sense, your outward form and semblance; +Therefore to me ye never will grow old, + But live forever young in my remembrance. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Never grow old, nor change, nor pass away! + Your gentle voices will flow on forever, + When life grows bare and tarnished with decay, + As through a leafless landscape flows a river. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, + Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, +But the endeavor for the selfsame ends, + With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Therefore I hope to join your seaside walk, + Saddened, and mostly silent, with emotion; +Not interrupting with intrusive talk + The grand, majestic symphonies of ocean. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome guest, + At your warm fireside, when the lamps are lighted, +To have my place reserved among the rest, + Nor stand as one unsought and uninvited! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap72"></a>BY THE SEASIDE</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap73"></a>THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Build me straight, O worthy Master! + Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, +That shall laugh at all disaster, + And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!" +</pre> + <p> + The merchant's word Delighted the Master heard; For his heart was in his + work, and the heart Giveth grace unto every Art. + </p> + <p> + A quiet smile played round his lips, As the eddies and dimples of the tide + Play round the bows of ships, That steadily at anchor ride. And with a + voice that was full of glee, He answered, "Erelong we will launch A vessel + as goodly, and strong, and stanch, As ever weathered a wintry sea!" And + first with nicest skill and art, Perfect and finished in every part, A + little model the Master wrought, Which should be to the larger plan What + the child is to the man, Its counterpart in miniature; That with a hand + more swift and sure The greater labor might be brought To answer to his + inward thought. And as he labored, his mind ran o'er The various ships + that were built of yore, And above them all, and strangest of all Towered + the Great Harry, crank and tall, Whose picture was hanging on the wall, + With bows and stern raised high in air, And balconies hanging here and + there, And signal lanterns and flags afloat, And eight round towers, like + those that frown From some old castle, looking down Upon the drawbridge + and the moat. And he said with a smile, "Our ship, I wis, Shall be of + another form than this!" It was of another form, indeed; Built for + freight, and yet for speed, A beautiful and gallant craft; Broad in the + beam, that the stress of the blast, Pressing down upon sail and mast, + Might not the sharp bows overwhelm; Broad in the beam, but sloping aft + With graceful curve and slow degrees, That she might be docile to the + helm, And that the currents of parted seas, Closing behind, with mighty + force, Might aid and not impede her course. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the ship-yard stood the Master, + With the model of the vessel, +That should laugh at all disaster, + And with wave and whirlwind wrestle! +</pre> + <p> + Covering many a rood of ground, Lay the timber piled around; Timber of + chestnut, and elm, and oak, And scattered here and there, with these, The + knarred and crooked cedar knees; Brought from regions far away, From + Pascagoula's sunny bay, And the banks of the roaring Roanoke! Ah! what a + wondrous thing it is To note how many wheels of toil One thought, one + word, can set in motion! There's not a ship that sails the ocean, But + every climate, every soil, Must bring its tribute, great or small, And + help to build the wooden wall! + </p> + <p> + The sun was rising o'er the sea, And long the level shadows lay, As if + they, too, the beams would be Of some great, airy argosy. Framed and + launched in a single day. That silent architect, the sun, Had hewn and + laid them every one, Ere the work of man was yet begun. Beside the Master, + when he spoke, A youth, against an anchor leaning, Listened, to catch his + slightest meaning. Only the long waves, as they broke In ripples on the + pebbly beach, Interrupted the old man's speech. + </p> + <p> + Beautiful they were, in sooth, The old man and the fiery youth! The old + man, in whose busy brain Many a ship that sailed the main Was modelled + o'er and o'er again;— The fiery youth, who was to be the heir of his + dexterity, The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand, When he had + built and launched from land What the elder head had planned. + </p> + <p> + "Thus," said he, "will we build this ship! Lay square the blocks upon the + slip, And follow well this plan of mine. Choose the timbers with greatest + care; Of all that is unsound beware; For only what is sound and strong to + this vessel stall belong. Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine Here together + shall combine. A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, And the UNION be her + name! For the day that gives her to the sea Shall give my daughter unto + thee!" + </p> + <p> + The Master's word Enraptured the young man heard; And as he turned his + face aside, With a look of joy and a thrill of pride, Standing before Her + father's door, He saw the form of his promised bride. The sun shone on her + golden hair, And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair, With the breath of + morn and the soft sea air. Like a beauteous barge was she, Still at rest + on the sandy beach, Just beyond the billow's reach; But he Was the + restless, seething, stormy sea! Ah, how skilful grows the hand That + obeyeth Love's command! It is the heart, and not the brain, That to the + highest doth attain, And he who followeth Love's behest Far excelleth all + the rest! + </p> + <p> + Thus with the rising of the sun Was the noble task begun And soon + throughout the ship-yard's bounds Were heard the intermingled sounds Of + axes and of mallets, plied With vigorous arms on every side; Plied so + deftly and so well, That, ere the shadows of evening fell, The keel of oak + for a noble ship, Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong Was lying ready, + and stretched along The blocks, well placed upon the slip. Happy, thrice + happy, every one Who sees his labor well begun, And not perplexed and + multiplied, By idly waiting for time and tide! + </p> + <p> + And when the hot, long day was o'er, The young man at the Master's door + Sat with the maiden calm and still. And within the porch, a little more + Removed beyond the evening chill, The father sat, and told them tales Of + wrecks in the great September gales, Of pirates coasting the Spanish Main, + And ships that never came back again, The chance and change of a sailor's + life, Want and plenty, rest and strife, His roving fancy, like the wind, + That nothing can stay and nothing can bind, And the magic charm of foreign + lands, With shadows of palms, and shining sands, Where the tumbling surf, + O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar, Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, + As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. And the trembling maiden held her + breath At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea, With all its terror and + mystery, The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death, That divides and yet + unites mankind! And whenever the old man paused, a gleam From the bowl of + his pipe would awhile illume The silent group in the twilight gloom, And + thoughtful faces, as in a dream; And for a moment one might mark What had + been hidden by the dark, That the head of the maiden lay at rest, + Tenderly, on the young man's breast! + </p> + <p> + Day by day the vessel grew, With timbers fashioned strong and true, + Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee, Till, framed with perfect symmetry, + A skeleton ship rose up to view! And around the bows and along the side + The heavy hammers and mallets plied, Till after many a week, at length, + Wonderful for form and strength, Sublime in its enormous bulk, Loomed + aloft the shadowy hulk! And around it columns of smoke, up-wreathing. Rose + from the boiling, bubbling, seething Caldron, that glowed, And overflowed + With the black tar, heated for the sheathing. And amid the clamors Of + clattering hammers, He who listened heard now and then The song of the + Master and his men:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Build me straight, O worthy Master. + Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, +That shall laugh at all disaster, + And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!" +</pre> + <p> + With oaken brace and copper band, Lay the rudder on the sand, That, like a + thought, should have control Over the movement of the whole; And near it + the anchor, whose giant hand Would reach down and grapple with the land, + And immovable and fast Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast! + And at the bows an image stood, By a cunning artist carved in wood, With + robes of white, that far behind Seemed to be fluttering in the wind. It + was not shaped in a classic mould, Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old, Or + Naiad rising from the water, But modelled from the Master's daughter! On + many a dreary and misty night, 'T will be seen by the rays of the signal + light, Speeding along through the rain and the dark, Like a ghost in its + snow-white sark, The pilot of some phantom bark, Guiding the vessel, in + its flight, By a path none other knows aright! Behold, at last, Each tall + and tapering mast Is swung into its place; Shrouds and stays Holding it + firm and fast! + </p> + <p> + Long ago, In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, When upon mountain and + plain Lay the snow, They fell,—those lordly pines! Those grand, + majestic pines! 'Mid shouts and cheers The jaded steers, Panting beneath + the goad, Dragged down the weary, winding road Those captive kings so + straight and tall, To be shorn of their streaming hair, And, naked and + bare, To feel the stress and the strain Of the wind and the reeling main, + Whose roar Would remind them forevermore Of their native forests they + should not see again. + </p> + <p> + And everywhere The slender, graceful spars Poise aloft in the air, And at + the mast-head, White, blue, and red, A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. + Ah! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless, In foreign harbors shall behold + That flag unrolled, 'T will be as a friendly hand Stretched out from his + native land, Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless! + </p> + <p> + All is finished! and at length Has come the bridal day Of beauty and of + strength. To-day the vessel shall be launched! With fleecy clouds the sky + is blanched, And o'er the bay, Slowly, in all his splendors dight, The + great sun rises to behold the sight. + </p> + <p> + The ocean old, Centuries old, Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, Paces + restless to and fro, Up and down the sands of gold. His beating heart is + not at rest; And far and wide, With ceaseless flow, His beard of snow + Heaves with the heaving of his breast. He waits impatient for his bride. + There she stands, With her foot upon the sands, Decked with flags and + streamers gay, In honor of her marriage day, Her snow-white signals + fluttering, blending, Round her like a veil descending, Ready to be The + bride of the gray old sea. + </p> + <p> + On the deck another bride Is standing by her lover's side. Shadows from + the flags and shrouds, Like the shadows cast by clouds, Broken by many a + sunny fleck, Fall around them on the deck. + </p> + <p> + The prayer is said, The service read, The joyous bridegroom bows his head; + And in tear's the good old Master Shakes the brown hand of his son, Kisses + his daughter's glowing cheek In silence, for he cannot speak, And ever + faster Down his own the tears begin to run. The worthy pastor— The + shepherd of that wandering flock, That has the ocean for its wold, That + has the vessel for its fold, Leaping ever from rock to rock— Spake, + with accents mild and clear, Words of warning, words of cheer, But tedious + to the bridegroom's ear. He knew the chart Of the sailor's heart, All its + pleasures and its griefs, All its shallows and rocky reefs, All those + secret currents, that flow With such resistless undertow, And lift and + drift, with terrible force, The will from its moorings and its course. + Therefore he spake, and thus said he:— "Like unto ships far off at + sea, Outward or homeward bound, are we. Before, behind, and all around, + Floats and swings the horizon's bound, Seems at its distant rim to rise + And climb the crystal wall of the skies, And then again to turn and sink, + As if we could slide from its outer brink. Ah! it is not the sea, It is + not the sea that sinks and shelves, But ourselves That rock and rise With + endless and uneasy motion, Now touching the very skies, Now sinking into + the depths of ocean. Ah! if our souls but poise and swing Like the compass + in its brazen ring, Ever level and ever true To the toil and the task we + have to do, We shall sail securely, and safely reach The Fortunate Isles, + on whose shining beach The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, Will be + those of joy and not of fear!" + </p> + <p> + Then the Master, With a gesture of command, Waved his hand; And at the + word, Loud and sudden there was heard, All around them and below, The + sound of hammers, blow on blow, Knocking away the shores and spurs. And + see! she stirs! She starts,—she moves,—she seems to feel The + thrill of life along her keel, And, spurning with her foot the ground, + With one exulting, joyous bound, She leaps into the ocean's arms! + </p> + <p> + And lo! from the assembled crowd There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, + That to the ocean seemed to say, "Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray, + Take her to thy protecting arms, With all her youth and all her charms!" + </p> + <p> + How beautiful she is! How fair She lies within those arms, that press Her + form with many a soft caress Of tenderness and watchful care! Sail forth + into the sea, O ship! Through wind and wave, right onward steer! The + moistened eye, the trembling lip, Are not the signs of doubt or fear. + </p> + <p> + Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe + from all adversity Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings + be! For gentleness and love and trust Prevail o'er angry wave and gust; + And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives! + </p> + <p> + Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great! + Humanity with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is + hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, What + Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, + What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge and what a heat Were + shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 'T + is of the wave and not the rock; 'T is but the flapping of the sail, And + not a rent made by the gale! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite + of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea Our + hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, + our tears, Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, Are all with thee,—are + all with thee! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap74"></a>SEAWEED</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When descends on the Atlantic + The gigantic +Storm-wind of the equinox, +Landward in his wrath he scourges + The toiling surges, +Laden with seaweed from the rocks: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From Bermuda's reefs; from edges + Of sunken ledges, +In some far-off, bright Azore; +From Bahama, and the dashing, + Silver-flashing +Surges of San Salvador; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the tumbling surf, that buries + The Orkneyan skerries, +Answering the hoarse Hebrides; +And from wrecks of ships, and drifting + Spars, uplifting +On the desolate, rainy seas;— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ever drifting, drifting, drifting + On the shifting +Currents of the restless main; +Till in sheltered coves, and reaches + Of sandy beaches, +All have found repose again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So when storms of wild emotion + Strike the ocean +Of the poet's soul, erelong +From each cave and rocky fastness, + In its vastness, +Floats some fragment of a song: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Front the far-off isles enchanted, + Heaven has planted +With the golden fruit of Truth; +From the flashing surf, whose vision + Gleams Elysian +In the tropic clime of Youth; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the strong Will, and the Endeavor + That forever +Wrestle with the tides of Fate +From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered, + Tempest-shattered, +Floating waste and desolate;— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ever drifting, drifting, drifting + On the shifting +Currents of the restless heart; +Till at length in books recorded, + They, like hoarded +Household words, no more depart. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap75"></a>CHRYSAOR</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Just above yon sandy bar, + As the day grows fainter and dimmer, +Lonely and lovely, a single star + Lights the air with a dusky glimmer +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Into the ocean faint and far + Falls the trail of its golden splendor, +And the gleam of that single star + Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Chrysaor, rising out of the sea, + Showed thus glorious and thus emulous, +Leaving the arms of Callirrhoe, + Forever tender, soft, and tremulous. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus o'er the ocean faint and far + Trailed the gleam of his falchion brightly; +Is it a God, or is it a star + That, entranced, I gaze on nightly! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap76"></a>THE SECRET OF THE SEA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me + As I gaze upon the sea! +All the old romantic legends, + All my dreams, come back to me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sails of silk and ropes of sandal, + Such as gleam in ancient lore; +And the singing of the sailors, + And the answer from the shore! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Most of all, the Spanish ballad + Haunts me oft, and tarries long, +Of the noble Count Arnaldos + And the sailor's mystic song. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like the long waves on a sea-beach, + Where the sand as silver shines, +With a soft, monotonous cadence, + Flow its unrhymed lyric lines:— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Telling how the Count Arnaldos, + With his hawk upon his hand, +Saw a fair and stately galley, + Steering onward to the land;— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How he heard the ancient helmsman + Chant a song so wild and clear, +That the sailing sea-bird slowly + Poised upon the mast to hear, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till his soul was full of longing, + And he cried, with impulse strong,— +"Helmsman! for the love of heaven, + Teach me, too, that wondrous song!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Wouldst thou,"—so the helmsman answered, + "Learn the secret of the sea? +Only those who brave its dangers + Comprehend its mystery!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In each sail that skims the horizon, + In each landward-blowing breeze, +I behold that stately galley, + Hear those mournful melodies; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till my soul is full of longing + For the secret of the sea, +And the heart of the great ocean + Sends a thrilling pulse through me. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap77"></a>TWILIGHT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The twilight is sad and cloudy, + The wind blows wild and free, +And like the wings of sea-birds + Flash the white caps of the sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But in the fisherman's cottage + There shines a ruddier light, +And a little face at the window + Peers out into the night. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Close, close it is pressed to the window, + As if those childish eyes +Were looking into the darkness, + To see some form arise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And a woman's waving shadow + Is passing to and fro, +Now rising to the ceiling, + Now bowing and bending low. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What tale do the roaring ocean, + And the night-wind, bleak and wild, +As they beat at the crazy casement, + Tell to that little child? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And why do the roaring ocean, + And the night-wind, wild and bleak, +As they beat at the heart of the mother, + Drive the color from her cheek? +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap78"></a>SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Southward with fleet of ice + Sailed the corsair Death; +Wild and fast blew the blast, + And the east-wind was his breath. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His lordly ships of ice + Glisten in the sun; +On each side, like pennons wide, + Flashing crystal streamlets run. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His sails of white sea-mist + Dripped with silver rain; +But where he passed there were cast + Leaden shadows o'er the main. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Eastward from Campobello + Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; +Three days or more seaward he bore, + Then, alas! the land-wind failed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Alas! the land-wind failed, + And ice-cold grew the night; +And nevermore, on sea or shore, + Should Sir Humphrey see the light. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He sat upon the deck, + The Book was in his hand +"Do not fear! Heaven is as near," + He said, "by water as by land!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the first watch of the night, + Without a signal's sound, +Out of the sea, mysteriously, + The fleet of Death rose all around. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The moon and the evening star + Were hanging in the shrouds; +Every mast, as it passed, + Seemed to rake the passing clouds. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They grappled with their prize, + At midnight black and cold! +As of a rock was the shock; + Heavily the ground-swell rolled. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Southward through day and dark, + They drift in close embrace, +With mist and rain, o'er the open main; + Yet there seems no change of place. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Southward, forever southward, + They drift through dark and day; +And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream + Sinking, vanish all away. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap79"></a>THE LIGHTHOUSE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, + And on its outer point, some miles away, +The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, + A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Even at this distance I can see the tides, + Upheaving, break unheard along its base, +A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides + In the white lip and tremor of the face. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright, + Through the deep purple of the twilight air, +Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light + With strange, unearthly splendor in the glare! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not one alone; from each projecting cape + And perilous reef along the ocean's verge, +Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape, + Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like the great giant Christopher it stands + Upon the brink of the tempestuous wave, +Wading far out among the rocks and sands, + The night-o'ertaken mariner to save. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the great ships sail outward and return, + Bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells, +And ever joyful, as they see it burn, + They wave their silent welcomes and farewells. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They come forth from the darkness, and their sails + Gleam for a moment only in the blaze, +And eager faces, as the light unveils, + Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The mariner remembers when a child, + On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink; +And when, returning from adventures wild, + He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same + Year after year, through all the silent night +Burns on forevermore that quenchless flame, + Shines on that inextinguishable light! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp + The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace; +It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, + And hold it up, and shake it like a fleece. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The startled waves leap over it; the storm + Smites it with all the scourges of the rain, +And steadily against its solid form + Press the great shoulders of the hurricane. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the din + Of wings and winds and solitary cries, +Blinded and maddened by the light within, + Dashes himself against the glare, and dies. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A new Prometheus, chained upon the rock, + Still grasping in his hand the fire of Jove, +It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock, + But hails the mariner with words of love. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Sail on!" it says, "sail on, ye stately ships! + And with your floating bridge the ocean span; +Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse, + Be yours to bring man nearer unto man!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap80"></a>THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD</h3> + +<p class="center"> +DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We sat within the farm-house old, + Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, +Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold, + An easy entrance, night and day. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not far away we saw the port, + The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, +The lighthouse, the dismantled fort, + The wooden houses, quaint and brown. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We sat and talked until the night, + Descending, filled the little room; +Our faces faded from the sight, + Our voices only broke the gloom. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We spake of many a vanished scene, + Of what we once had thought and said, +Of what had been, and might have been, + And who was changed, and who was dead; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And all that fills the hearts of friends, + When first they feel, with secret pain, +Their lives thenceforth have separate ends, + And never can be one again; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The first slight swerving of the heart, + That words are powerless to express, +And leave it still unsaid in part, + Or say it in too great excess. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The very tones in which we spake + Had something strange, I could but mark; +The leaves of memory seemed to make + A mournful rustling in the dark. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oft died the words upon our lips, + As suddenly, from out the fire +Built of the wreck of stranded ships, + The flames would leap and then expire. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And, as their splendor flashed and failed, + We thought of wrecks upon the main, +Of ships dismasted, that were hailed + And sent no answer back again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The windows, rattling in their frames, + The ocean, roaring up the beach, +The gusty blast, the bickering flames, + All mingled vaguely in our speech. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Until they made themselves a part + Of fancies floating through the brain, +The long-lost ventures of the heart, + That send no answers back again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned! + They were indeed too much akin, +The drift-wood fire without that burned, + The thoughts that burned and glowed within. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap81"></a>BY THE FIRESIDE</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap82"></a>RESIGNATION</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is no flock, however watched and tended, + But one dead lamb is there! +There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, + But has one vacant chair! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The air is full of farewells to the dying, + And mournings for the dead; +The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, + Will not be comforted! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Let us be patient! These severe afflictions + Not from the ground arise, +But oftentimes celestial benedictions + Assume this dark disguise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; + Amid these earthly damps +What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers + May be heaven's distant lamps. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is no Death! What seems so is transition; + This life of mortal breath +Is but a suburb of the life elysian, + Whose portal we call Death. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She is not dead,—the child of our affection,— + But gone unto that school +Where she no longer needs our poor protection, + And Christ himself doth rule. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, + By guardian angels led, +Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, + She lives, whom we call dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Day after day we think what she is doing + In those bright realms of air; +Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, + Behold her grown more fair. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken + The bond which nature gives, +Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, + May reach her where she lives. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not as a child shall we again behold her; + For when with raptures wild +In our embraces we again enfold her, + She will not be a child; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, + Clothed with celestial grace; +And beautiful with all the soul's expansion + Shall we behold her face. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And though at times impetuous with emotion + And anguish long suppressed, +The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, + That cannot be at rest,— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We will be patient, and assuage the feeling + We may not wholly stay; +By silence sanctifying, not concealing, + The grief that must have way. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap83"></a>THE BUILDERS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All are architects of Fate, + Working in these walls of Time; +Some with massive deeds and great, + Some with ornaments of rhyme. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nothing useless is, or low; + Each thing in its place is best; +And what seems but idle show + Strengthens and supports the rest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For the structure that we raise, + Time is with materials filled; +Our to-days and yesterdays + Are the blocks with which we build. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Truly shape and fashion these; + Leave no yawning gaps between; +Think not, because no man sees, + Such things will remain unseen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the elder days of Art, + Builders wrought with greatest care +Each minute and unseen part; + For the Gods see everywhere. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Let us do our work as well, + Both the unseen and the seen; +Make the house, where Gods may dwell, + Beautiful, entire, and clean. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Else our lives are incomplete, + Standing in these walls of Time, +Broken stairways, where the feet + Stumble as they seek to climb. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Build to-day, then, strong and sure, + With a firm and ample base; +And ascending and secure + Shall to-morrow find its place. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus alone can we attain + To those turrets, where the eye +Sees the world as one vast plain, + And one boundless reach of sky. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap84"></a>SAND OF THE DESERT IN AN HOUR-GLASS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A handful of red sand, from the hot clime + Of Arab deserts brought, +Within this glass becomes the spy of Time, + The minister of Thought. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How many weary centuries has it been + About those deserts blown! +How many strange vicissitudes has seen, + How many histories known! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite + Trampled and passed it o'er, +When into Egypt from the patriarch's sight + His favorite son they bore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and bare, + Crushed it beneath their tread; +Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the air + Scattered it as they sped; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth + Held close in her caress, +Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and faith + Illumed the wilderness; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Or anchorites beneath Engaddi's palms + Pacing the Dead Sea beach, +And singing slow their old Armenian psalms + In half-articulate speech; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Or caravans, that from Bassora's gate + With westward steps depart; +Or Mecca's pilgrims, confident of Fate, + And resolute in heart! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +These have passed over it, or may have passed! + Now in this crystal tower +Imprisoned by some curious hand at last, + It counts the passing hour, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And as I gaze, these narrow walls expand; + Before my dreamy eye +Stretches the desert with its shifting sand, + Its unimpeded sky. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And borne aloft by the sustaining blast, + This little golden thread +Dilates into a column high and vast, + A form of fear and dread. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And onward, and across the setting sun, + Across the boundless plain, +The column and its broader shadow run, + Till thought pursues in vain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The vision vanishes! These walls again + Shut out the lurid sun, +Shut out the hot, immeasurable plain; + The half-hour's sand is run! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap85"></a>THE OPEN WINDOW</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The old house by the lindens + Stood silent in the shade, +And on the gravelled pathway + The light and shadow played. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I saw the nursery windows + Wide open to the air; +But the faces of the children, + They were no longer there. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The large Newfoundland house-dog + Was standing by the door; +He looked for his little playmates, + Who would return no more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They walked not under the lindens, + They played not in the hall; +But shadow, and silence, and sadness + Were hanging over all. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The birds sang in the branches, + With sweet, familiar tone; +But the voices of the children + Will be heard in dreams alone! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the boy that walked beside me, + He could not understand +Why closer in mine, ah! closer, + I pressed his warm, soft hand! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap86"></a>KING WITLAF'S DRINKING-HORN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Witlaf, a king of the Saxons, + Ere yet his last he breathed, +To the merry monks of Croyland + His drinking-horn bequeathed,— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +That, whenever they sat at their revels, + And drank from the golden bowl, +They might remember the donor, + And breathe a prayer for his soul. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So sat they once at Christmas, + And bade the goblet pass; +In their beards the red wine glistened + Like dew-drops in the grass. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They drank to the soul of Witlaf, + They drank to Christ the Lord, +And to each of the Twelve Apostles, + Who had preached his holy word. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They drank to the Saints and Martyrs + Of the dismal days of yore, +And as soon as the horn was empty + They remembered one Saint more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the reader droned from the pulpit + Like the murmur of many bees, +The legend of good Saint Guthlac, + And Saint Basil's homilies; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till the great bells of the convent, + From their prison in the tower, +Guthlac and Bartholomaeus, + Proclaimed the midnight hour. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the Yule-log cracked in the chimney, + And the Abbot bowed his head, +And the flamelets flapped and flickered, + But the Abbot was stark and dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Yet still in his pallid fingers + He clutched the golden bowl, +In which, like a pearl dissolving, + Had sunk and dissolved his soul. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But not for this their revels + The jovial monks forbore, +For they cried, "Fill high the goblet! + We must drink to one Saint more!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap87"></a>GASPAR BECERRA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By his evening fire the artist + Pondered o'er his secret shame; +Baffled, weary, and disheartened, + Still he mused, and dreamed of fame. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'T was an image of the Virgin + That had tasked his utmost skill; +But, alas! his fair ideal + Vanished and escaped him still. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From a distant Eastern island + Had the precious wood been brought +Day and night the anxious master + At his toil untiring wrought; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till, discouraged and desponding, + Sat he now in shadows deep, +And the day's humiliation + Found oblivion in sleep. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then a voice cried, "Rise, O master! + From the burning brand of oak +Shape the thought that stirs within thee!" + And the startled artist woke,— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Woke, and from the smoking embers + Seized and quenched the glowing wood; +And therefrom he carved an image, + And he saw that it was good. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O thou sculptor, painter, poet! + Take this lesson to thy heart: +That is best which lieth nearest; + Shape from that thy work of art. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap88"></a>PEGASUS IN POUND</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Once into a quiet village, + Without haste and without heed, +In the golden prime of morning, + Strayed the poet's winged steed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was Autumn, and incessant + Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, +And, like living coals, the apples + Burned among the withering leaves. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Loud the clamorous bell was ringing + From its belfry gaunt and grim; +'T was the daily call to labor, + Not a triumph meant for him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not the less he saw the landscape, + In its gleaming vapor veiled; +Not the less he breathed the odors + That the dying leaves exhaled. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus, upon the village common, + By the school-boys he was found; +And the wise men, in their wisdom, + Put him straightway into pound. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then the sombre village crier, + Ringing loud his brazen bell, +Wandered down the street proclaiming + There was an estray to sell. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the curious country people, + Rich and poor, and young and old, +Came in haste to see this wondrous + Winged steed, with mane of gold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus the day passed, and the evening + Fell, with vapors cold and dim; +But it brought no food nor shelter, + Brought no straw nor stall, for him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Patiently, and still expectant, + Looked he through the wooden bars, +Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape, + Saw the tranquil, patient stars; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till at length the bell at midnight + Sounded from its dark abode, +And, from out a neighboring farm-yard + Loud the cock Alectryon crowed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then, with nostrils wide distended, + Breaking from his iron chain, +And unfolding far his pinions, + To those stars he soared again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the morrow, when the village + Woke to all its toil and care, +Lo! the strange steed had departed, + And they knew not when nor where. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But they found, upon the greensward + Where his straggling hoofs had trod, +Pure and bright, a fountain flowing + From the hoof-marks in the sod. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From that hour, the fount unfailing + Gladdens the whole region round, +Strengthening all who drink its waters, + While it soothes them with its sound. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap89"></a>TEGNÉR'S DRAPA</h3> + + <p> + I heard a voice, that cried, "Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead!" And + through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry Of sunward sailing + cranes. + </p> + <p> + I saw the pallid corpse Of the dead sun Borne through the Northern sky. + Blasts from Niffelheim Lifted the sheeted mists Around him as he passed. + </p> + <p> + And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead!" And + died away Through the dreary night, In accents of despair. + </p> + <p> + Balder the Beautiful, God of the summer sun, Fairest of all the Gods! + Light from his forehead beamed, Runes were upon his tongue, As on the + warrior's sword. + </p> + <p> + All things in earth and air Bound were by magic spell Never to do him + harm; Even the plants and stones; All save the mistletoe, The sacred + mistletoe! + </p> + <p> + Hoeder, the blind old God, Whose feet are shod with silence, Pierced + through that gentle breast With his sharp spear, by fraud Made of the + mistletoe, The accursed mistletoe! + </p> + <p> + They laid him in his ship, With horse and harness, As on a funeral pyre. + Odin placed A ring upon his finger, And whispered in his ear. + </p> + <p> + They launched the burning ship! It floated far away Over the misty sea, + Till like the sun it seemed, Sinking beneath the waves. Balder returned no + more! + </p> + <p> + So perish the old Gods! But out of the sea of Time Rises a new land of + song, Fairer than the old. Over its meadows green Walk the young bards and + sing. + </p> + <p> + Build it again, O ye bards, Fairer than before! Ye fathers of the new + race, Feed upon morning dew, Sing the new Song of Love! + </p> + <p> + The law of force is dead! The law of love prevails! Thor, the thunderer, + Shall rule the earth no more, No more, with threats, Challenge the meek + Christ. + </p> + <p> + Sing no more, O ye bards of the North, Of Vikings and of Jarls! Of the + days of Eld Preserve the freedom only, Not the deeds of blood! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap90"></a>SONNET<br /> +ON MRS. KEMBLE'S READINGS FROM SHAKESPEARE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O precious evenings! all too swiftly sped! + Leaving us heirs to amplest heritages + Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages, + And giving tongues unto the silent dead! +How our hearts glowed and trembled as she read, + Interpreting by tones the wondrous pages + Of the great poet who foreruns the ages, + Anticipating all that shall be said! +O happy Reader! having for thy text + The magic book, whose Sibylline leaves have caught + The rarest essence of all human thought! +O happy Poet! by no critic vext! + How must thy listening spirit now rejoice + To be interpreted by such a voice! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap91"></a>THE SINGERS</h3> + + <p> + God sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That + they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again. + </p> + <p> + The first, a youth, with soul of fire, Held in his hand a golden lyre; + Through groves he wandered, and by streams, Playing the music of our + dreams. + </p> + <p> + The second, with a bearded face, Stood singing in the market-place, And + stirred with accents deep and loud The hearts of all the listening crowd. + </p> + <p> + A gray old man, the third and last, Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, While + the majestic organ rolled Contrition from its mouths of gold. + </p> + <p> + And those who heard the Singers three Disputed which the best might be; + For still their music seemed to start Discordant echoes in each heart, + </p> + <p> + But the great Master said, "I see No best in kind, but in degree; I gave a + various gift to each, To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. + </p> + <p> + "These are the three great chords of might, And he whose ear is tuned + aright Will hear no discord in the three, But the most perfect harmony." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap92"></a>SUSPIRIA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Take them, O Death! and bear away + Whatever thou canst call thine own! +Thine image, stamped upon this clay, + Doth give thee that, but that alone! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Take them, O Grave! and let them lie + Folded upon thy narrow shelves, +As garments by the soul laid by, + And precious only to ourselves! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Take them, O great Eternity! + Our little life is but a gust +That bends the branches of thy tree, + And trails its blossoms in the dust! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap93"></a>HYMN<br /> +FOR MY BROTHER'S ORDINATION</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Christ to the young man said: "Yet one thing more; + If thou wouldst perfect be, +Sell all thou hast and give it to the poor, + And come and follow me!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Within this temple Christ again, unseen, + Those sacred words hath said, +And his invisible hands to-day have been + Laid on a young man's head. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And evermore beside him on his way + The unseen Christ shall move, +That he may lean upon his arm and say, + "Dost thou, dear Lord, approve?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Beside him at the marriage feast shall be, + To make the scene more fair; +Beside him in the dark Gethsemane + Of pain and midnight prayer. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O holy trust! O endless sense of rest! + Like the beloved John +To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, + And thus to journey on! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap94"></a>THE SONG OF HIAWATHA</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap95"></a>INTRODUCTION</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Should you ask me, whence these stories? +Whence these legends and traditions, +With the odors of the forest +With the dew and damp of meadows, +With the curling smoke of wigwams, +With the rushing of great rivers, +With their frequent repetitions, +And their wild reverberations +As of thunder in the mountains? + I should answer, I should tell you, +"From the forests and the prairies, +From the great lakes of the Northland, +From the land of the Ojibways, +From the land of the Dacotahs, +From the mountains, moors, and fen-lands +Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +Feeds among the reeds and rushes. +I repeat them as I heard them +From the lips of Nawadaha, +The musician, the sweet singer." + Should you ask where Nawadaha +Found these songs so wild and wayward, +Found these legends and traditions, +I should answer, I should tell you, +"In the bird's-nests of the forest, +In the lodges of the beaver, +In the hoof-prints of the bison, +In the eyry of the eagle! + "All the wild-fowl sang them to him, +In the moorlands and the fen-lands, +In the melancholy marshes; +Chetowaik, the plover, sang them, +Mahng, the loon, the wild-goose, Wawa, +The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +And the grouse, the Mushkodasa!" + If still further you should ask me, +Saying, "Who was Nawadaha? +Tell us of this Nawadaha," +I should answer your inquiries +Straightway in such words as follow. + "In the vale of Tawasentha, +In the green and silent valley, +By the pleasant water-courses, +Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. +Round about the Indian village +Spread the meadows and the corn-fields, +And beyond them stood the forest, +Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, +Green in Summer, white in Winter, +Ever sighing, ever singing. + "And the pleasant water-courses, +You could trace them through the valley, +By the rushing in the Spring-time, +By the alders in the Summer, +By the white fog in the Autumn, +By the black line in the Winter; +And beside them dwelt the singer, +In the vale of Tawasentha, +In the green and silent valley. + "There he sang of Hiawatha, +Sang the Song of Hiawatha, +Sang his wondrous birth and being, +How he prayed and how he fasted, +How he lived, and toiled, and suffered, +That the tribes of men might prosper, +That he might advance his people!" + Ye who love the haunts of Nature, +Love the sunshine of the meadow, +Love the shadow of the forest, +Love the wind among the branches, +And the rain-shower and the snow-storm, +And the rushing of great rivers +Through their palisades of pine-trees, +And the thunder in the mountains, +Whose innumerable echoes +Flap like eagles in their eyries;— +Listen to these wild traditions, +To this Song of Hiawatha! + Ye who love a nation's legends, +Love the ballads of a people, +That like voices from afar off +Call to us to pause and listen, +Speak in tones so plain and childlike, +Scarcely can the ear distinguish +Whether they are sung or spoken;— +Listen to this Indian Legend, +To this Song of Hiawatha! + Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, +Who have faith in God and Nature, +Who believe that in all ages +Every human heart is human, +That in even savage bosoms +There are longings, yearnings, strivings +For the good they comprehend not, +That the feeble hands and helpless, +Groping blindly in the darkness, +Touch God's right hand in that darkness +And are lifted up and strengthened;— +Listen to this simple story, +To this Song of Hiawatha! + Ye, who sometimes, in your rambles +Through the green lanes of the country, +Where the tangled barberry-bushes +Hang their tufts of crimson berries +Over stone walls gray with mosses, +Pause by some neglected graveyard, +For a while to muse, and ponder +On a half-effaced inscription, +Written with little skill of song-craft, +Homely phrases, but each letter +Full of hope and yet of heart-break, +Full of all the tender pathos +Of the Here and the Hereafter;— +Stay and read this rude inscription, +Read this Song of Hiawatha! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap96"></a>I<br /> +THE PEACE-PIPE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the Mountains of the Prairie, +On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, +Gitche Manito, the mighty, +He the Master of Life, descending, +On the red crags of the quarry +Stood erect, and called the nations, +Called the tribes of men together. + From his footprints flowed a river, +Leaped into the light of morning, +O'er the precipice plunging downward +Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet. +And the Spirit, stooping earthward, +With his finger on the meadow +Traced a winding pathway for it, +Saying to it, "Run in this way!" + From the red stone of the quarry +With his hand he broke a fragment, +Moulded it into a pipe-head, +Shaped and fashioned it with figures; +From the margin of the river +Took a long reed for a pipe-stem, +With its dark green leaves upon it; +Filled the pipe with bark of willow, +With the bark of the red willow; +Breathed upon the neighboring forest, +Made its great boughs chafe together, +Till in flame they burst and kindled; +And erect upon the mountains, +Gitche Manito, the mighty, +Smoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe, +As a signal to the nations. + And the smoke rose slowly, slowly, +Through the tranquil air of morning, +First a single line of darkness, +Then a denser, bluer vapor, +Then a snow-white cloud unfolding, +Like the tree-tops of the forest, +Ever rising, rising, rising, +Till it touched the top of heaven, +Till it broke against the heaven, +And rolled outward all around it. + From the Vale of Tawasentha, +From the Valley of Wyoming, +From the groves of Tuscaloosa, +From the far-off Rocky Mountains, +From the Northern lakes and rivers +All the tribes beheld the signal, +Saw the distant smoke ascending, +The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe. + And the Prophets of the nations +Said: "Behold it, the Pukwana! +By the signal of the Peace-Pipe, +Bending like a wand of willow, +Waving like a hand that beckons, +Gitche Manito, the mighty, +Calls the tribes of men together, +Calls the warriors to his council!" + Down the rivers, o'er the prairies, +Came the warriors of the nations, +Came the Delawares and Mohawks, +Came the Choctaws and Camanches, +Came the Shoshonies and Blackfeet, +Came the Pawnees and Omahas, +Came the Mandans and Dacotahs, +Came the Hurons and Ojibways, +All the warriors drawn together +By the signal of the Peace-Pipe, +To the Mountains of the Prairie, +To the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry. + And they stood there on the meadow, +With their weapons and their war-gear, +Painted like the leaves of Autumn, +Painted like the sky of morning, +Wildly glaring at each other; +In their faces stern defiance, +In their hearts the feuds of ages, +The hereditary hatred, +The ancestral thirst of vengeance. + Gitche Manito, the mighty, +The creator of the nations, +Looked upon them with compassion, +With paternal love and pity; +Looked upon their wrath and wrangling +But as quarrels among children, +But as feuds and fights of children! + Over them he stretched his right hand, +To subdue their stubborn natures, +To allay their thirst and fever, +By the shadow of his right hand; +Spake to them with voice majestic +As the sound of far-off waters, +Falling into deep abysses, +Warning, chiding, spake in this wise:— + "O my children! my poor children! +Listen to the words of wisdom, +Listen to the words of warning, +From the lips of the Great Spirit, +From the Master of Life, who made you! + "I have given you lands to hunt in, +I have given you streams to fish in, +I have given you bear and bison, +I have given you roe and reindeer, +I have given you brant and beaver, +Filled the marshes full of wild-fowl, +Filled the rivers full of fishes: +Why then are you not contented? +Why then will you hunt each other? + "I am weary of your quarrels, +Weary of your wars and bloodshed, +Weary of your prayers for vengeance, +Of your wranglings and dissensions; +All your strength is in your union, +All your danger is in discord; +Therefore be at peace henceforward, +And as brothers live together. + "I will send a Prophet to you, +A Deliverer of the nations, +Who shall guide you and shall teach you, +Who shall toil and suffer with you. +If you listen to his counsels, +You will multiply and prosper; +If his warnings pass unheeded, +You will fade away and perish! + "Bathe now in the stream before you, +Wash the war-paint from your faces, +Wash the blood-stains from your fingers, +Bury your war-clubs and your weapons, +Break the red stone from this quarry, +Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes, +Take the reeds that grow beside you, +Deck them with your brightest feathers, +Smoke the calumet together, +And as brothers live henceforward!" + Then upon the ground the warriors +Threw their cloaks and shirts of deer-skin, +Threw their weapons and their war-gear, +Leaped into the rushing river, +Washed the war-paint from their faces. +Clear above them flowed the water, +Clear and limpid from the footprints +Of the Master of Life descending; +Dark below them flowed the water, +Soiled and stained with streaks of crimson, +As if blood were mingled with it! + From the river came the warriors, +Clean and washed from all their war-paint; +On the banks their clubs they buried, +Buried all their warlike weapons. +Gitche Manito, the mighty, +The Great Spirit, the creator, +Smiled upon his helpless children! + And in silence all the warriors +Broke the red stone of the quarry, +Smoothed and formed it into Peace-Pipes, +Broke the long reeds by the river, +Decked them with their brightest feathers, +And departed each one homeward, +While the Master of Life, ascending, +Through the opening of cloud-curtains, +Through the doorways of the heaven, +Vanished from before their faces, +In the smoke that rolled around him, +The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap97"></a>II<br /> +The Four Winds</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Honor be to Mudjekeewis!" +Cried the warriors, cried the old men, +When he came in triumph homeward +With the sacred Belt of Wampum, +From the regions of the North-Wind, +From the kingdom of Wabasso, +From the land of the White Rabbit. + He had stolen the Belt of Wampum +From the neck of Mishe-Mokwa, +From the Great Bear of the mountains, +From the terror of the nations, +As he lay asleep and cumbrous +On the summit of the mountains, +Like a rock with mosses on it, +Spotted brown and gray with mosses. + Silently he stole upon him, +Till the red nails of the monster +Almost touched him, almost scared him, +Till the hot breath of his nostrils +Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis, +As he drew the Belt of Wampum +Over the round ears, that heard not, +Over the small eyes, that saw not, +Over the long nose and nostrils, +The black muffle of the nostrils, +Out of which the heavy breathing +Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis. + Then he swung aloft his war-club, +Shouted loud and long his war-cry, +Smote the mighty Mishe-Mokwa +In the middle of the forehead, +Right between the eyes he smote him. + With the heavy blow bewildered, +Rose the Great Bear of the mountains; +But his knees beneath him trembled, +And he whimpered like a woman, +As he reeled and staggered forward, +As he sat upon his haunches; +And the mighty Mudjekeewis, +Standing fearlessly before him, +Taunted him in loud derision, +Spake disdainfully in this wise:— + "Hark you, Bear! you are a coward; +And no Brave, as you pretended; +Else you would not cry and whimper +Like a miserable woman! +Bear! you know our tribes are hostile, +Long have been at war together; +Now you find that we are strongest, +You go sneaking in the forest, +You go hiding in the mountains! +Had you conquered me in battle +Not a groan would I have uttered; +But you, Bear! sit here and whimper, +And disgrace your tribe by crying, +Like a wretched Shaugodaya, +Like a cowardly old woman!" + Then again he raised his war-club, +Smote again the Mishe-Mokwa +In the middle of his forehead, +Broke his skull, as ice is broken +When one goes to fish in Winter. +Thus was slain the Mishe-Mokwa, +He the Great Bear of the mountains, +He the terror of the nations. + "Honor be to Mudjekeewis!" +With a shout exclaimed the people, +"Honor be to Mudjekeewis! +Henceforth he shall be the West-Wind, +And hereafter and forever +Shall he hold supreme dominion +Over all the winds of heaven. +Call him no more Mudjekeewis, +Call him Kabeyun, the West-Wind!" + Thus was Mudjekeewis chosen +Father of the Winds of Heaven. +For himself he kept the West-Wind, +Gave the others to his children; +Unto Wabun gave the East-Wind, +Gave the South to Shawondasee, +And the North-Wind, wild and cruel, +To the fierce Kabibonokka. + Young and beautiful was Wabun; +He it was who brought the morning, +He it was whose silver arrows +Chased the dark o'er hill and valley; +He it was whose cheeks were painted +With the brightest streaks of crimson, +And whose voice awoke the village, +Called the deer, and called the hunter. + Lonely in the sky was Wabun; +Though the birds sang gayly to him, +Though the wild-flowers of the meadow +Filled the air with odors for him, +Though the forests and the rivers +Sang and shouted at his coming, +Still his heart was sad within him, +For he was alone in heaven. + But one morning, gazing earthward, +While the village still was sleeping, +And the fog lay on the river, +Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise, +He beheld a maiden walking +All alone upon a meadow, +Gathering water-flags and rushes +By a river in the meadow. + Every morning, gazing earthward, +Still the first thing he beheld there +Was her blue eyes looking at him, +Two blue lakes among the rushes. +And he loved the lonely maiden, +Who thus waited for his coming; +For they both were solitary, +She on earth and he in heaven. + And he wooed her with caresses, +Wooed her with his smile of sunshine, +With his flattering words he wooed her, +With his sighing and his singing, +Gentlest whispers in the branches, +Softest music, sweetest odors, +Till he drew her to his bosom, +Folded in his robes of crimson, +Till into a star he changed her, +Trembling still upon his bosom; +And forever in the heavens +They are seen together walking, +Wabun and the Wabun-Annung, +Wabun and the Star of Morning. + But the fierce Kabibonokka +Had his dwelling among icebergs, +In the everlasting snow-drifts, +In the kingdom of Wabasso, +In the land of the White Rabbit. +He it was whose hand in Autumn +Painted all the trees with scarlet, +Stained the leaves with red and yellow; +He it was who sent the snow-flake, +Sifting, hissing through the forest, +Froze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers, +Drove the loon and sea-gull southward, +Drove the cormorant and curlew +To their nests of sedge and sea-tang +In the realms of Shawondasee. + Once the fierce Kabibonokka +Issued from his lodge of snow-drifts +From his home among the icebergs, +And his hair, with snow besprinkled, +Streamed behind him like a river, +Like a black and wintry river, +As he howled and hurried southward, +Over frozen lakes and moorlands. + There among the reeds and rushes +Found he Shingebis, the diver, +Trailing strings of fish behind him, +O'er the frozen fens and moorlands, +Lingering still among the moorlands, +Though his tribe had long departed +To the land of Shawondasee. + Cried the fierce Kabibonokka, +"Who is this that dares to brave me? +Dares to stay in my dominions, +When the Wawa has departed, +When the wild-goose has gone southward, +And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +Long ago departed southward? +I will go into his wigwam, +I will put his smouldering fire out!" + And at night Kabibonokka, +To the lodge came wild and wailing, +Heaped the snow in drifts about it, +Shouted down into the smoke-flue, +Shook the lodge-poles in his fury, +Flapped the curtain of the door-way. +Shingebis, the diver, feared not, +Shingebis, the diver, cared not; +Four great logs had he for firewood, +One for each moon of the winter, +And for food the fishes served him. +By his blazing fire he sat there, +Warm and merry, eating, laughing, +Singing, "O Kabibonokka, +You are but my fellow-mortal!" + Then Kabibonokka entered, +And though Shingebis, the diver, +Felt his presence by the coldness, +Felt his icy breath upon him, +Still he did not cease his singing, +Still he did not leave his laughing, +Only turned the log a little, +Only made the fire burn brighter, +Made the sparks fly up the smoke-flue. + From Kabibonokka's forehead, +From his snow-besprinkled tresses, +Drops of sweat fell fast and heavy, +Making dints upon the ashes, +As along the eaves of lodges, +As from drooping boughs of hemlock, +Drips the melting snow in spring-time, +Making hollows in the snow-drifts. + Till at last he rose defeated, +Could not bear the heat and laughter, +Could not bear the merry singing, +But rushed headlong through the door-way, +Stamped upon the crusted snow-drifts, +Stamped upon the lakes and rivers, +Made the snow upon them harder, +Made the ice upon them thicker, +Challenged Shingebis, the diver, +To come forth and wrestle with him, +To come forth and wrestle naked +On the frozen fens and moorlands. + Forth went Shingebis, the diver, +Wrestled all night with the North-Wind, +Wrestled naked on the moorlands +With the fierce Kabibonokka, +Till his panting breath grew fainter, +Till his frozen grasp grew feebler, +Till he reeled and staggered backward, +And retreated, baffled, beaten, +To the kingdom of Wabasso, +To the land of the White Rabbit, +Hearing still the gusty laughter, +Hearing Shingebis, the diver, +Singing, "O Kabibonokka, +You are but my fellow-mortal!" + Shawondasee, fat and lazy, +Had his dwelling far to southward, +In the drowsy, dreamy sunshine, +In the never-ending Summer. +He it was who sent the wood-birds, +Sent the robin, the Opechee, +Sent the bluebird, the Owaissa, +Sent the Shawshaw, sent the swallow, +Sent the wild-goose, Wawa, northward, +Sent the melons and tobacco, +And the grapes in purple clusters. + From his pipe the smoke ascending +Filled the sky with haze and vapor, +Filled the air with dreamy softness, +Gave a twinkle to the water, +Touched the rugged hills with smoothness, +Brought the tender Indian Summer +To the melancholy north-land, +In the dreary Moon of Snow-shoes. + Listless, careless Shawondasee! +In his life he had one shadow, +In his heart one sorrow had he. +Once, as he was gazing northward, +Far away upon a prairie +He beheld a maiden standing, +Saw a tall and slender maiden +All alone upon a prairie; +Brightest green were all her garments, +And her hair was like the sunshine. + Day by day he gazed upon her, +Day by day he sighed with passion, +Day by day his heart within him +Grew more hot with love and longing +For the maid with yellow tresses. +But he was too fat and lazy +To bestir himself and woo her; +Yes, too indolent and easy +To pursue her and persuade her; +So he only gazed upon her, +Only sat and sighed with passion +For the maiden of the prairie. + Till one morning, looking northward, +He beheld her yellow tresses +Changed and covered o'er with whiteness, +Covered as with whitest snow-flakes. +"Ah! my brother from the North-land, +From the kingdom of Wabasso, +From the land of the White Rabbit! +You have stolen the maiden from me, +You have laid your hand upon her, +You have wooed and won my maiden, +With your stories of the North-land!" + Thus the wretched Shawondasee +Breathed into the air his sorrow; +And the South-Wind o'er the prairie +Wandered warm with sighs of passion, +With the sighs of Shawondasee, +Till the air seemed full of snow-flakes, +Full of thistle-down the prairie, +And the maid with hair like sunshine +Vanished from his sight forever; +Never more did Shawondasee +See the maid with yellow tresses! + Poor, deluded Shawondasee! +'T was no woman that you gazed at, +'T was no maiden that you sighed for, +'T was the prairie dandelion +That through all the dreamy Summer +You had gazed at with such longing, +You had sighed for with such passion, +And had puffed away forever, +Blown into the air with sighing. +Ah! deluded Shawondasee! + Thus the Four Winds were divided; +Thus the sons of Mudjekeewis +Had their stations in the heavens, +At the corners of the heavens; +For himself the West-Wind only +Kept the mighty Mudjekeewis. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap98"></a>III<br /> +HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Downward through the evening twilight, +In the days that are forgotten, +In the unremembered ages, +From the full moon fell Nokomis, +Fell the beautiful Nokomis, +She a wife, but not a mother. + She was sporting with her women, +Swinging in a swing of grape-vines, +When her rival, the rejected, +Full of jealousy and hatred, +Cut the leafy swing asunder, +Cut in twain the twisted grape-vines, +And Nokomis fell affrighted +Downward through the evening twilight, +On the Muskoday, the meadow, +On the prairie full of blossoms. +"See! a star falls!" said the people; +"From the sky a star is falling!" + There among the ferns and mosses, +There among the prairie lilies, +On the Muskoday, the meadow, +In the moonlight and the starlight, +Fair Nokomis bore a daughter. +And she called her name Wenonah, +As the first-born of her daughters. +And the daughter of Nokomis +Grew up like the prairie lilies, +Grew a tall and slender maiden, +With the beauty of the moonlight, +With the beauty of the starlight. + And Nokomis warned her often, +Saying oft, and oft repeating, +"Oh, beware of Mudjekeewis, +Of the West-Wind, Mudjekeewis; +Listen not to what he tells you; +Lie not down upon the meadow, +Stoop not down among the lilies, +Lest the West-Wind come and harm you!" + But she heeded not the warning, +Heeded not those words of wisdom, +And the West-Wind came at evening, +Walking lightly o'er the prairie, +Whispering to the leaves and blossoms, +Bending low the flowers and grasses, +Found the beautiful Wenonah, +Lying there among the lilies, +Wooed her with his words of sweetness, +Wooed her with his soft caresses, +Till she bore a son in sorrow, +Bore a son of love and sorrow. + Thus was born my Hiawatha, +Thus was born the child of wonder; +But the daughter of Nokomis, +Hiawatha's gentle mother, +In her anguish died deserted +By the West-Wind, false and faithless, +By the heartless Mudjekeewis. + For her daughter long and loudly +Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis; +"Oh that I were dead!" she murmured, +"Oh that I were dead, as thou art! +No more work, and no more weeping, +Wahonowin! Wahonowin!" + By the shores of Gitche Gumee, +By the shining Big-Sea-Water, +Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, +Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. +Dark behind it rose the forest, +Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, +Rose the firs with cones upon them; +Bright before it beat the water, +Beat the clear and sunny water, +Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water. + There the wrinkled old Nokomis +Nursed the little Hiawatha, +Rocked him in his linden cradle, +Bedded soft in moss and rushes, +Safely bound with reindeer sinews; +Stilled his fretful wail by saying, +"Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!" +Lulled him into slumber, singing, +"Ewa-yea! my little owlet! +Who is this, that lights the wigwam? +With his great eyes lights the wigwam? +Ewa-yea! my little owlet!" + Many things Nokomis taught him +Of the stars that shine in heaven; +Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, +Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses; +Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, +Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs, +Flaring far away to northward +In the frosty nights of Winter; +Showed the broad white road in heaven, +Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, +Running straight across the heavens, +Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. + At the door on summer evenings +Sat the little Hiawatha; +Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, +Heard the lapping of the water, +Sounds of music, words of wonder; +'Minne-wawa!" said the Pine-trees, +Mudway-aushka!" said the water. + Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, +Flitting through the dusk of evening, +With the twinkle of its candle +Lighting up the brakes and bushes, +And he sang the song of children, +Sang the song Nokomis taught him: +"Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, +Little, flitting, white-fire insect, +Little, dancing, white-fire creature, +Light me with your little candle, +Ere upon my bed I lay me, +Ere in sleep I close my eyelids!" + Saw the moon rise from the water +Rippling, rounding from the water, +Saw the flecks and shadows on it, +Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" +And the good Nokomis answered: +"Once a warrior, very angry, +Seized his grandmother, and threw her +Up into the sky at midnight; +Right against the moon he threw her; +'T is her body that you see there." + Saw the rainbow in the heaven, +In the eastern sky, the rainbow, +Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" +And the good Nokomis answered: +"'T is the heaven of flowers you see there; +All the wild-flowers of the forest, +All the lilies of the prairie, +When on earth they fade and perish, +Blossom in that heaven above us." + When he heard the owls at midnight, +Hooting, laughing in the forest, +"What is that?" he cried in terror, +"What is that," he said, "Nokomis?" +And the good Nokomis answered: +"That is but the owl and owlet, +Talking in their native language, +Talking, scolding at each other." + Then the little Hiawatha +Learned of every bird its language, +Learned their names and all their secrets, +How they built their nests in Summer, +Where they hid themselves in Winter, +Talked with them whene'er he met them, +Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." + Of all beasts he learned the language, +Learned their names and all their secrets, +How the beavers built their lodges, +Where the squirrels hid their acorns, +How the reindeer ran so swiftly, +Why the rabbit was so timid, +Talked with them whene'er he met them, +Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers." + Then Iagoo, the great boaster, +He the marvellous story-teller, +He the traveller and the talker, +He the friend of old Nokomis, +Made a bow for Hiawatha; +From a branch of ash he made it, +From an oak-bough made the arrows, +Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers, +And the cord he made of deer-skin. + Then he said to Hiawatha: +"Go, my son, into the forest, +Where the red deer herd together, +Kill for us a famous roebuck, +Kill for us a deer with antlers!" + Forth into the forest straightway +All alone walked Hiawatha +Proudly, with his bow and arrows; +And the birds sang round him, o'er him, +"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" +Sang the robin, the Opechee, +Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, +"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" + Up the oak-tree, close beside him, +Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, +In and out among the branches, +Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree, +Laughed, and said between his laughing, +"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!" + And the rabbit from his pathway +Leaped aside, and at a distance +Sat erect upon his haunches, +Half in fear and half in frolic, +Saying to the little hunter, +"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!" + But he heeded not, nor heard them, +For his thoughts were with the red deer; +On their tracks his eyes were fastened, +Leading downward to the river, +To the ford across the river, +And as one in slumber walked he. + Hidden in the alder-bushes, +There he waited till the deer came, +Till he saw two antlers lifted, +Saw two eyes look from the thicket, +Saw two nostrils point to windward, +And a deer came down the pathway, +Flecked with leafy light and shadow. +And his heart within him fluttered, +Trembled like the leaves above him, +Like the birch-leaf palpitated, +As the deer came down the pathway. + Then, upon one knee uprising, +Hiawatha aimed an arrow; +Scarce a twig moved with his motion, +Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, +But the wary roebuck started, +Stamped with all his hoofs together, +Listened with one foot uplifted, +Leaped as if to meet the arrow; +Ah! the singing, fatal arrow, +Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him! + Dead he lay there in the forest, +By the ford across the river; +Beat his timid heart no longer, +But the heart of Hiawatha +Throbbed and shouted and exulted, +As he bore the red deer homeward, +And Iagoo and Nokomis +Hailed his coming with applauses. + From the red deer's hide Nokomis +Made a cloak for Hiawatha, +From the red deer's flesh Nokomis +Made a banquet to his honor. +All the village came and feasted, +All the guests praised Hiawatha, +Called him Strong-Heart, Soan-ge-taha! +Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap99"></a>IV<br /> +HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Out of childhood into manhood +Now had grown my Hiawatha, +Skilled in all the craft of hunters, +Learned in all the lore of old men, +In all youthful sports and pastimes, +In all manly arts and labors. + Swift of foot was Hiawatha; +He could shoot an arrow from him, +And run forward with such fleetness, +That the arrow fell behind him! +Strong of arm was Hiawatha; +He could shoot ten arrows upward, +Shoot them with such strength and swiftness, +That the tenth had left the bow-string +Ere the first to earth had fallen! + He had mittens, Minjekahwun, +Magic mittens made of deer-skin; +When upon his hands he wore them, +He could smite the rocks asunder, +He could grind them into powder. +He had moccasins enchanted, +Magic moccasins of deer-skin; +When he bound them round his ankles, +When upon his feet he tied them, +At each stride a mile he measured! + Much he questioned old Nokomis +Of his father Mudjekeewis; +Learned from her the fatal secret +Of the beauty of his mother, +Of the falsehood of his father; +And his heart was hot within him, +Like a living coal his heart was. + Then he said to old Nokomis, +"I will go to Mudjekeewis, +See how fares it with my father, +At the doorways of the West-Wind, +At the portals of the Sunset!" + From his lodge went Hiawatha, +Dressed for travel, armed for hunting; +Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings, +Richly wrought with quills and wampum; +On his head his eagle-feathers, +Round his waist his belt of wampum, +In his hand his bow of ash-wood, +Strung with sinews of the reindeer; +In his quiver oaken arrows, +Tipped with jasper, winged with feathers; +With his mittens, Minjekahwun, +With his moccasins enchanted. + Warning said the old Nokomis, +"Go not forth, O Hiawatha! +To the kingdom of the West-Wind, +To the realms of Mudjekeewis, +Lest he harm you with his magic, +Lest he kill you with his cunning!" + But the fearless Hiawatha +Heeded not her woman's warning; +Forth he strode into the forest, +At each stride a mile he measured; +Lurid seemed the sky above him, +Lurid seemed the earth beneath him, +Hot and close the air around him, +Filled with smoke and fiery vapors, +As of burning woods and prairies, +For his heart was hot within him, +Like a living coal his heart was. + So he journeyed westward, westward, +Left the fleetest deer behind him, +Left the antelope and bison; +Crossed the rushing Esconaba, +Crossed the mighty Mississippi, +Passed the Mountains of the Prairie, +Passed the land of Crows and Foxes, +Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet, +Came unto the Rocky Mountains, +To the kingdom of the West-Wind, +Where upon the gusty summits +Sat the ancient Mudjekeewis, +Ruler of the winds of heaven. + Filled with awe was Hiawatha +At the aspect of his father. +On the air about him wildly +Tossed and streamed his cloudy tresses, +Gleamed like drifting snow his tresses, +Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet, +Like the star with fiery tresses. + Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis +When he looked on Hiawatha, +Saw his youth rise up before him +In the face of Hiawatha, +Saw the beauty of Wenonah +From the grave rise up before him. + "Welcome!" said he, "Hiawatha, +To the kingdom of the West-Wind! +Long have I been waiting for you! +Youth is lovely, age is lonely, +Youth is fiery, age is frosty; +You bring back the days departed, +You bring back my youth of passion, +And the beautiful Wenonah!" + Many days they talked together, +Questioned, listened, waited, answered; +Much the mighty Mudjekeewis +Boasted of his ancient prowess, +Of his perilous adventures, +His indomitable courage, +His invulnerable body. + Patiently sat Hiawatha, +Listening to his father's boasting; +With a smile he sat and listened, +Uttered neither threat nor menace, +Neither word nor look betrayed him, +But his heart was hot within him, +Like a living coal his heart was. + Then he said, "O Mudjekeewis, +Is there nothing that can harm you? +Nothing that you are afraid of?" +And the mighty Mudjekeewis, +Grand and gracious in his boasting, +Answered, saying, "There is nothing, +Nothing but the black rock yonder, +Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek!" + And he looked at Hiawatha +With a wise look and benignant, +With a countenance paternal, +Looked with pride upon the beauty +Of his tall and graceful figure, +Saying, "O my Hiawatha! +Is there anything can harm you? +Anything you are afraid of?" + But the wary Hiawatha +Paused awhile, as if uncertain, +Held his peace, as if resolving, +And then answered, "There is nothing, +Nothing but the bulrush yonder, +Nothing but the great Apukwa!" + And as Mudjekeewis, rising, +Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush, +Hiawatha cried in terror, +Cried in well-dissembled terror, +"Kago! kago! do not touch it!" +"Ah, kaween!" said Mudjekeewis, +"No indeed, I will not touch it!" + Then they talked of other matters; +First of Hiawatha's brothers, +First of Wabun, of the East-Wind, +Of the South-Wind, Shawondasee, +Of the North, Kabibonokka; +Then of Hiawatha's mother, +Of the beautiful Wenonah, +Of her birth upon the meadow, +Of her death, as old Nokomis +Had remembered and related. + And he cried, "O Mudjekeewis, +It was you who killed Wenonah, +Took her young life and her beauty, +Broke the Lily of the Prairie, +Trampled it beneath your footsteps; +You confess it! you confess it!" +And the mighty Mudjekeewis +Tossed upon the wind his tresses, +Bowed his hoary head in anguish, +With a silent nod assented. + Then up started Hiawatha, +And with threatening look and gesture +Laid his hand upon the black rock, +On the fatal Wawbeek laid it, +With his mittens, Minjekahwun, +Rent the jutting crag asunder, +Smote and crushed it into fragments, +Hurled them madly at his father, +The remorseful Mudjekeewis, +For his heart was hot within him, +Like a living coal his heart was. + But the ruler of the West-Wind +Blew the fragments backward from him, +With the breathing of his nostrils, +With the tempest of his anger, +Blew them back at his assailant; +Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa, +Dragged it with its roots and fibres +From the margin of the meadow, +From its ooze the giant bulrush; +Long and loud laughed Hiawatha! + Then began the deadly conflict, +Hand to hand among the mountains; +From his eyry screamed the eagle, +The Keneu, the great war-eagle, +Sat upon the crags around them, +Wheeling flapped his wings above them. + Like a tall tree in the tempest +Bent and lashed the giant bulrush; +And in masses huge and heavy +Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek; +Till the earth shook with the tumult +And confusion of the battle, +And the air was full of shoutings, +And the thunder of the mountains, +Starting, answered, "Baim-wawa!" + Back retreated Mudjekeewis, +Rushing westward o'er the mountains, +Stumbling westward down the mountains, +Three whole days retreated fighting, +Still pursued by Hiawatha +To the doorways of the West-Wind, +To the portals of the Sunset, +To the earth's remotest border, +Where into the empty spaces +Sinks the sun, as a flamingo +Drops into her nest at nightfall, +In the melancholy marshes. + "Hold!" at length cried Mudjekeewis, +"Hold, my son, my Hiawatha! +'T is impossible to kill me, +For you cannot kill the immortal. +I have put you to this trial, +But to know and prove your courage; +Now receive the prize of valor! + "Go back to your home and people, +Live among them, toil among them, +Cleanse the earth from all that harms it, +Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers, +Slay all monsters and magicians, +All the Wendigoes, the giants, +All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, +As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa, +Slew the Great Bear of the mountains. + "And at last when Death draws near you, +When the awful eyes of Pauguk +Glare upon you in the darkness, +I will share my kingdom with you, +Ruler shall you be thenceforward +Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, +Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin." + Thus was fought that famous battle +In the dreadful days of Shah-shah, +In the days long since departed, +In the kingdom of the West-Wind. +Still the hunter sees its traces +Scattered far o'er hill and valley; +Sees the giant bulrush growing +By the ponds and water-courses, +Sees the masses of the Wawbeek +Lying still in every valley. + Homeward now went Hiawatha; +Pleasant was the landscape round him, +Pleasant was the air above him, +For the bitterness of anger +Had departed wholly from him, +From his brain the thought of vengeance, +From his heart the burning fever. + Only once his pace he slackened, +Only once he paused or halted, +Paused to purchase heads of arrows +Of the ancient Arrow-maker, +In the land of the Dacotahs, +Where the Falls of Minnehaha +Flash and gleam among the oak-trees, +Laugh and leap into the valley. + There the ancient Arrow-maker +Made his arrow-heads of sandstone, +Arrow-heads of chalcedony, +Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, +Smoothed and sharpened at the edges, +Hard and polished, keen and costly. + With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter, +Wayward as the Minnehaha, +With her moods of shade and sunshine, +Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate, +Feet as rapid as the river, +Tresses flowing like the water, +And as musical a laughter; +And he named her from the river, +From the water-fall he named her, +Minnehaha, Laughing Water. + Was it then for heads of arrows, +Arrow-heads of chalcedony, +Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, +That my Hiawatha halted +In the land of the Dacotahs? + Was it not to see the maiden, +See the face of Laughing Water +Peeping from behind the curtain, +Hear the rustling of her garments +From behind the waving curtain, +As one sees the Minnehaha +Gleaming, glancing through the branches, +As one hears the Laughing Water +From behind its screen of branches? + Who shall say what thoughts and visions +Fill the fiery brains of young men? +Who shall say what dreams of beauty +Filled the heart of Hiawatha? +All he told to old Nokomis, +When he reached the lodge at sunset, +Was the meeting with his father, +Was his fight with Mudjekeewis; +Not a word he said of arrows, +Not a word of Laughing Water. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap100"></a>V<br /> +HIAWATHA'S FASTING</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +You shall hear how Hiawatha +Prayed and fasted in the forest, +Not for greater skill in hunting, +Not for greater craft in fishing, +Not for triumphs in the battle, +And renown among the warriors, +But for profit of the people, +For advantage of the nations. + First he built a lodge for fasting, +Built a wigwam in the forest, +By the shining Big-Sea-Water, +In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time, +In the Moon of Leaves he built it, +And, with dreams and visions many, +Seven whole days and nights he fasted. + On the first day of his fasting +Through the leafy woods he wandered; +Saw the deer start from the thicket, +Saw the rabbit in his burrow, +Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming, +Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo, +Rattling in his hoard of acorns, +Saw the pigeon, the Omeme, +Building nests among the pine-trees, +And in flocks the wild-goose, Wawa, +Flying to the fen-lands northward, +Whirring, wailing far above him. +"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, +"Must our lives depend on these things?" + On the next day of his fasting +By the river's brink he wandered, +Through the Muskoday, the meadow, +Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee, +Saw the blueberry, Meenahga, +And the strawberry, Odahmin, +And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, +And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut, +Trailing o'er the alder-branches, +Filling all the air with fragrance! +"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, +"Must our lives depend on these things?" + On the third day of his fasting +By the lake he sat and pondered, +By the still, transparent water; +Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping, +Scattering drops like beads of wampum, +Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa, +Like a sunbeam in the water, +Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, +And the herring, Okahahwis, +And the Shawgashee, the crawfish! +"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, +"Must our lives depend on these things?" + On the fourth day of his fasting +In his lodge he lay exhausted; +From his couch of leaves and branches +Gazing with half-open eyelids, +Full of shadowy dreams and visions, +On the dizzy, swimming landscape, +On the gleaming of the water, +On the splendor of the sunset. + And he saw a youth approaching, +Dressed in garments green and yellow, +Coming through the purple twilight, +Through the splendor of the sunset; +Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead, +And his hair was soft and golden. + Standing at the open doorway, +Long he looked at Hiawatha, +Looked with pity and compassion +On his wasted form and features, +And, in accents like the sighing +Of the South-Wind in the tree-tops, +Said he, "O my Hiawatha! +All your prayers are heard in heaven, +For you pray not like the others; +Not for greater skill in hunting, +Not for greater craft in fishing, +Not for triumph in the battle, +Nor renown among the warriors, +But for profit of the people, +For advantage of the nations. + "From the Master of Life descending, +I, the friend of man, Mondamin, +Come to warn you and instruct you, +How by struggle and by labor +You shall gain what you have prayed for. +Rise up from your bed of branches, +Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me!" + Faint with famine, Hiawatha +Started from his bed of branches, +From the twilight of his wigwam +Forth into the flush of sunset +Came, and wrestled with Mondamin; +At his touch he felt new courage +Throbbing in his brain and bosom, +Felt new life and hope and vigor +Run through every nerve and fibre. + So they wrestled there together +In the glory of the sunset, +And the more they strove and struggled, +Stronger still grew Hiawatha; +Till the darkness fell around them, +And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +From her nest among the pine-trees, +Gave a cry of lamentation, +Gave a scream of pain and famine. + "'T is enough!" then said Mondamin, +Smiling upon Hiawatha, +"But tomorrow, when the sun sets, +I will come again to try you." +And he vanished, and was seen not; +Whether sinking as the rain sinks, +Whether rising as the mists rise, +Hiawatha saw not, knew not, +Only saw that he had vanished, +Leaving him alone and fainting, +With the misty lake below him, +And the reeling stars above him. + On the morrow and the next day, +When the sun through heaven descending, +Like a red and burning cinder +From the hearth of the Great Spirit, +Fell into the western waters, +Came Mondamin for the trial, +For the strife with Hiawatha; +Came as silent as the dew comes, +From the empty air appearing, +Into empty air returning, +Taking shape when earth it touches, +But invisible to all men +In its coming and its going. + Thrice they wrestled there together +In the glory of the sunset, +Till the darkness fell around them, +Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +From her nest among the pine-trees, +Uttered her loud cry of famine, +And Mondamin paused to listen. + Tall and beautiful he stood there, +In his garments green and yellow; +To and fro his plumes above him, +Waved and nodded with his breathing, +And the sweat of the encounter +Stood like drops of dew upon him. + And he cried, "O Hiawatha! +Bravely have you wrestled with me, +Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me, +And the Master of Life, who sees us, +He will give to you the triumph!" + Then he smiled, and said: "To-morrow +Is the last day of your conflict, +Is the last day of your fasting. +You will conquer and o'ercome me; +Make a bed for me to lie in, +Where the rain may fall upon me, +Where the sun may come and warm me; +Strip these garments, green and yellow, +Strip this nodding plumage from me, +Lay me in the earth, and make it +Soft and loose and light above me. + "Let no hand disturb my slumber, +Let no weed nor worm molest me, +Let not Kahgahgee, the raven, +Come to haunt me and molest me, +Only come yourself to watch me, +Till I wake, and start, and quicken, +Till I leap into the sunshine." + And thus saying, he departed; +Peacefully slept Hiawatha, +But he heard the Wawonaissa, +Heard the whippoorwill complaining, +Perched upon his lonely wigwam; +Heard the rushing Sebowisha, +Heard the rivulet rippling near him, +Talking to the darksome forest; +Heard the sighing of the branches, +As they lifted and subsided +At the passing of the night-wind, +Heard them, as one hears in slumber +Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers: +Peacefully slept Hiawatha. + On the morrow came Nokomis, +On the seventh day of his fasting, +Came with food for Hiawatha, +Came imploring and bewailing, +Lest his hunger should o'ercome him, +Lest his fasting should be fatal. + But he tasted not, and touched not, +Only said to her, "Nokomis, +Wait until the sun is setting, +Till the darkness falls around us, +Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +Crying from the desolate marshes, +Tells us that the day is ended." + Homeward weeping went Nokomis, +Sorrowing for her Hiawatha, +Fearing lest his strength should fail him, +Lest his fasting should be fatal. +He meanwhile sat weary waiting +For the coming of Mondamin, +Till the shadows, pointing eastward, +Lengthened over field and forest, +Till the sun dropped from the heaven, +Floating on the waters westward, +As a red leaf in the Autumn +Falls and floats upon the water, +Falls and sinks into its bosom. + And behold! the young Mondamin, +With his soft and shining tresses, +With his garments green and yellow, +With his long and glossy plumage, +Stood and beckoned at the doorway. +And as one in slumber walking, +Pale and haggard, but undaunted, +From the wigwam Hiawatha +Came and wrestled with Mondamin. + Round about him spun the landscape, +Sky and forest reeled together, +And his strong heart leaped within him, +As the sturgeon leaps and struggles +In a net to break its meshes. +Like a ring of fire around him +Blazed and flared the red horizon, +And a hundred suns seemed looking +At the combat of the wrestlers. + Suddenly upon the greensward +All alone stood Hiawatha, +Panting with his wild exertion, +Palpitating with the struggle; +And before him breathless, lifeless, +Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled, +Plumage torn, and garments tattered, +Dead he lay there in the sunset. + And victorious Hiawatha +Made the grave as he commanded, +Stripped the garments from Mondamin, +Stripped his tattered plumage from him, +Laid him in the earth, and made it +Soft and loose and light above him; +And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +From the melancholy moorlands, +Gave a cry of lamentation, +Gave a cry of pain and anguish! + Homeward then went Hiawatha +To the lodge of old Nokomis, +And the seven days of his fasting +Were accomplished and completed. +But the place was not forgotten +Where he wrestled with Mondamin; +Nor forgotten nor neglected +Was the grave where lay Mondamin, +Sleeping in the rain and sunshine, +Where his scattered plumes and garments +Faded in the rain and sunshine. + Day by day did Hiawatha +Go to wait and watch beside it; +Kept the dark mould soft above it, +Kept it clean from weeds and insects, +Drove away, with scoffs and shoutings, +Kahgahgee, the king of ravens. + Till at length a small green feather +From the earth shot slowly upward, +Then another and another, +And before the Summer ended +Stood the maize in all its beauty, +With its shining robes about it, +And its long, soft, yellow tresses; +And in rapture Hiawatha +Cried aloud, "It is Mondamin! +Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!" + Then he called to old Nokomis +And Iagoo, the great boaster, +Showed them where the maize was growing, +Told them of his wondrous vision, +Of his wrestling and his triumph, +Of this new gift to the nations, +Which should be their food forever. + And still later, when the Autumn +Changed the long, green leaves to yellow, +And the soft and juicy kernels +Grew like wampum hard and yellow, +Then the ripened ears he gathered, +Stripped the withered husks from off them, +As he once had stripped the wrestler, +Gave the first Feast of Mondamin, +And made known unto the people +This new gift of the Great Spirit. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap101"></a>VI<br /> +HIAWATHA'S FRIENDS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Two good friends had Hiawatha, +Singled out from all the others, +Bound to him in closest union, +And to whom he gave the right hand +Of his heart, in joy and sorrow; +Chibiabos, the musician, +And the very strong man, Kwasind. + Straight between them ran the pathway, +Never grew the grass upon it; +Singing birds, that utter falsehoods, +Story-tellers, mischief-makers, +Found no eager ear to listen, +Could not breed ill-will between them, +For they kept each other's counsel, +Spake with naked hearts together, +Pondering much and much contriving +How the tribes of men might prosper. + Most beloved by Hiawatha +Was the gentle Chibiabos, +He the best of all musicians, +He the sweetest of all singers. +Beautiful and childlike was he, +Brave as man is, soft as woman, +Pliant as a wand of willow, +Stately as a deer with antlers. + When he sang, the village listened; +All the warriors gathered round him, +All the women came to hear him; +Now he stirred their souls to passion, +Now he melted them to pity. + From the hollow reeds he fashioned +Flutes so musical and mellow, +That the brook, the Sebowisha, +Ceased to murmur in the woodland, +That the wood-birds ceased from singing, +And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, +Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree, +And the rabbit, the Wabasso, +Sat upright to look and listen. + Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha, +Pausing, said, "O Chibiabos, +Teach my waves to flow in music, +Softly as your words in singing!" + Yes, the bluebird, the Owaissa, +Envious, said, "O Chibiabos, +Teach me tones as wild and wayward, +Teach me songs as full of frenzy!" + Yes, the robin, the Opechee, +Joyous, said, "O Chibiabos, +Teach me tones as sweet and tender, +Teach me songs as full of gladness!" + And the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa, +Sobbing, said, "O Chibiabos, +Teach me tones as melancholy, +Teach me songs as full of sadness!" + All the many sounds of nature +Borrowed sweetness from his singing; +All the hearts of men were softened +By the pathos of his music; +For he sang of peace and freedom, +Sang of beauty, love, and longing; +Sang of death, and life undying +In the Islands of the Blessed, +In the kingdom of Ponemah, +In the land of the Hereafter. + Very dear to Hiawatha +Was the gentle Chibiabos, +He the best of all musicians, +He the sweetest of all singers; +For his gentleness he loved him, +And the magic of his singing. + Dear, too, unto Hiawatha +Was the very strong man, Kwasind, +He the strongest of all mortals, +He the mightiest among many; +For his very strength he loved him, +For his strength allied to goodness. + Idle in his youth was Kwasind, +Very listless, dull, and dreamy, +Never played with other children, +Never fished and never hunted, +Not like other children was he; +But they saw that much he fasted, +Much his Manito entreated, +Much besought his Guardian Spirit. + "Lazy Kwasind!" said his mother, +"In my work you never help me! +In the Summer you are roaming +Idly in the fields and forests; +In the Winter you are cowering +O'er the firebrands in the wigwam! +In the coldest days of Winter +I must break the ice for fishing; +With my nets you never help me! +At the door my nets are hanging, +Dripping, freezing with the water; +Go and wring them, Yenadizze! +Go and dry them in the sunshine!" + Slowly, from the ashes, Kwasind +Rose, but made no angry answer; +From the lodge went forth in silence, +Took the nets, that hung together, +Dripping, freezing at the doorway; +Like a wisp of straw he wrung them, +Like a wisp of straw he broke them, +Could not wring them without breaking, +Such the strength was in his fingers. + "Lazy Kwasind!" said his father, +"In the hunt you never help me; +Every bow you touch is broken, +Snapped asunder every arrow; +Yet come with me to the forest, +You shall bring the hunting homeward." + Down a narrow pass they wandered, +Where a brooklet led them onward, +Where the trail of deer and bison +Marked the soft mud on the margin, +Till they found all further passage +Shut against them, barred securely +By the trunks of trees uprooted, +Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise, +And forbidding further passage. + "We must go back," said the old man, +"O'er these logs we cannot clamber; +Not a woodchuck could get through them, +Not a squirrel clamber o'er them!" +And straightway his pipe he lighted, +And sat down to smoke and ponder. +But before his pipe was finished, +Lo! the path was cleared before him; +All the trunks had Kwasind lifted, +To the right hand, to the left hand, +Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows, +Hurled the cedars light as lances. + "Lazy Kwasind!" said the young men, +As they sported in the meadow: +"Why stand idly looking at us, +Leaning on the rock behind you? +Come and wrestle with the others, +Let us pitch the quoit together!" + Lazy Kwasind made no answer, +To their challenge made no answer, +Only rose, and slowly turning, +Seized the huge rock in his fingers, +Tore it from its deep foundation, +Poised it in the air a moment, +Pitched it sheer into the river, +Sheer into the swift Pauwating, +Where it still is seen in Summer. + Once as down that foaming river, +Down the rapids of Pauwating, +Kwasind sailed with his companions, +In the stream he saw a beaver, +Saw Ahmeek, the King of Beavers, +Struggling with the rushing currents, +Rising, sinking in the water. + Without speaking, without pausing, +Kwasind leaped into the river, +Plunged beneath the bubbling surface, +Through the whirlpools chased the beaver, +Followed him among the islands, +Stayed so long beneath the water, +That his terrified companions +Cried, "Alas! good-by to Kwasind! +We shall never more see Kwasind!" +But he reappeared triumphant, +And upon his shining shoulders +Brought the beaver, dead and dripping, +Brought the King of all the Beavers. + And these two, as I have told you, +Were the friends of Hiawatha, +Chibiabos, the musician, +And the very strong man, Kwasind. +Long they lived in peace together, +Spake with naked hearts together, +Pondering much and much contriving +How the tribes of men might prosper. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap102"></a>VII<br /> +HIAWATHA'S SAILING</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree! +Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree! +Growing by the rushing river, +Tall and stately in the valley! +I a light canoe will build me, +Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, +That shall float on the river, +Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, +Like a yellow water-lily! + "Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree! +Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, +For the Summer-time is coming, +And the sun is warm in heaven, +And you need no white-skin wrapper!" + Thus aloud cried Hiawatha +In the solitary forest, +By the rushing Taquamenaw, +When the birds were singing gayly, +In the Moon of Leaves were singing, +And the sun, from sleep awaking, +Started up and said, "Behold me! +Gheezis, the great Sun, behold me!" + And the tree with all its branches +Rustled in the breeze of morning, +Saying, with a sigh of patience, +"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!" + With his knife the tree he girdled; +Just beneath its lowest branches, +Just above the roots, he cut it, +Till the sap came oozing outward; +Down the trunk, from top to bottom, +Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, +With a wooden wedge he raised it, +Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. + "Give me of your boughs, O Cedar! +Of your strong and pliant branches, +My canoe to make more steady, +Make more strong and firm beneath me!" + Through the summit of the Cedar +Went a sound, a cry of horror, +Went a murmur of resistance; +But it whispered, bending downward, +'Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!" + Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, +Shaped them straightway to a framework, +Like two bows he formed and shaped them, +Like two bended bows together. + "Give me of your roots, O Tamarack! +Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree! +My canoe to bind together, +So to bind the ends together +That the water may not enter, +That the river may not wet me!" + And the Larch, with all its fibres, +Shivered in the air of morning, +Touched his forehead with its tassels, +Slid, with one long sigh of sorrow. +"Take them all, O Hiawatha!" + From the earth he tore the fibres, +Tore the tough roots of the Larch-tree, +Closely sewed the bark together, +Bound it closely to the frame-work. + "Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree! +Of your balsam and your resin, +So to close the seams together +That the water may not enter, +That the river may not wet me!" + And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre, +Sobbed through all its robes of darkness, +Rattled like a shore with pebbles, +Answered wailing, answered weeping, +"Take my balm, O Hiawatha!" + And he took the tears of balsam, +Took the resin of the Fir-tree, +Smeared therewith each seam and fissure, +Made each crevice safe from water. + "Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog! +All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog! +I will make a necklace of them, +Make a girdle for my beauty, +And two stars to deck her bosom!" + From a hollow tree the Hedgehog +With his sleepy eyes looked at him, +Shot his shining quills, like arrows, +Saying with a drowsy murmur, +Through the tangle of his whiskers, +"Take my quills, O Hiawatha!" + From the ground the quills he gathered, +All the little shining arrows, +Stained them red and blue and yellow, +With the juice of roots and berries; +Into his canoe he wrought them, +Round its waist a shining girdle, +Round its bows a gleaming necklace, +On its breast two stars resplendent. + Thus the Birch Canoe was builded +In the valley, by the river, +In the bosom of the forest; +And the forest's life was in it, +All its mystery and its magic, +All the lightness of the birch-tree, +All the toughness of the cedar, +All the larch's supple sinews; +And it floated on the river +Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, +Like a yellow water-lily. + Paddles none had Hiawatha, +Paddles none he had or needed, +For his thoughts as paddles served him, +And his wishes served to guide him; +Swift or slow at will he glided, +Veered to right or left at pleasure. + Then he called aloud to Kwasind, +To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, +Saying, "Help me clear this river +Of its sunken logs and sand-bars." + Straight into the river Kwasind +Plunged as if he were an otter, +Dived as if he were a beaver, +Stood up to his waist in water, +To his arm-pits in the river, +Swam and scouted in the river, +Tugged at sunken logs and branches, +With his hands he scooped the sand-bars, +With his feet the ooze and tangle. + And thus sailed my Hiawatha +Down the rushing Taquamenaw, +Sailed through all its bends and windings, +Sailed through all its deeps and shallows, +While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, +Swam the deeps, the shallows waded. + Up and down the river went they, +In and out among its islands, +Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar, +Dragged the dead trees from its channel, +Made its passage safe and certain, +Made a pathway for the people, +From its springs among the mountains, +To the waters of Pauwating, +To the bay of Taquamenaw. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap103"></a>VIII<br /> +HIAWATHA'S FISHING</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, +On the shining Big-Sea-Water, +With his fishing-line of cedar, +Of the twisted bark of cedar, +Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, +Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, +In his birch canoe exulting +All alone went Hiawatha. + Through the clear, transparent water +He could see the fishes swimming +Far down in the depths below him; +See the yellow perch, the Sahwa, +Like a sunbeam in the water, +See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish, +Like a spider on the bottom, +On the white and sandy bottom. + At the stern sat Hiawatha, +With his fishing-line of cedar; +In his plumes the breeze of morning +Played as in the hemlock branches; +On the bows, with tail erected, +Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo; +In his fur the breeze of morning +Played as in the prairie grasses. + On the white sand of the bottom +Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, +Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes; +Through his gills he breathed the water, +With his fins he fanned and winnowed, +With his tail he swept the sand-floor. + There he lay in all his armor; +On each side a shield to guard him, +Plates of bone upon his forehead, +Down his sides and back and shoulders +Plates of bone with spines projecting +Painted was he with his war-paints, +Stripes of yellow, red, and azure, +Spots of brown and spots of sable; +And he lay there on the bottom, +Fanning with his fins of purple, +As above him Hiawatha +In his birch canoe came sailing, +With his fishing-line of cedar. + "Take my bait," cried Hiawatha, +Down into the depths beneath him, +"Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma! +Come up from below the water, +Let us see which is the stronger!" +And he dropped his line of cedar +Through the clear, transparent water, +Waited vainly for an answer, +Long sat waiting for an answer, +And repeating loud and louder, +"Take my bait, O King of Fishes!" + Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma, +Fanning slowly in the water, +Looking up at Hiawatha, +Listening to his call and clamor, +His unnecessary tumult, +Till he wearied of the shouting; +And he said to the Kenozha, +To the pike, the Maskenozha, +"Take the bait of this rude fellow, +Break the line of Hiawatha!" + In his fingers Hiawatha +Felt the loose line jerk and tighten; +As he drew it in, it tugged so +That the birch canoe stood endwise, +Like a birch log in the water, +With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, +Perched and frisking on the summit. +Full of scorn was Hiawatha +When he saw the fish rise upward, +Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, +Coming nearer, nearer to him, +And he shouted through the water, +"Esa! esa! shame upon you! +You are but the pike, Kenozha, +You are not the fish I wanted, +You are not the King of Fishes!" + Reeling downward to the bottom +Sank the pike in great confusion, +And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, +Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish, +To the bream, with scales of crimson, +"Take the bait of this great boaster, +Break the line of Hiawatha!" + Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming, +Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, +Seized the line of Hiawatha, +Swung with all his weight upon it, +Made a whirlpool in the water, +Whirled the birch canoe in circles, +Round and round in gurgling eddies, +Till the circles in the water +Reached the far-off sandy beaches, +Till the water-flags and rushes +Nodded on the distant margins. + But when Hiawatha saw him +Slowly rising through the water, +Lifting up his disk refulgent, +Loud he shouted in derision, +"Esa! esa! shame upon you! +You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish, +You are not the fish I wanted, +You are not the King of Fishes!" + Slowly downward, wavering, gleaming, +Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, +And again the sturgeon, Nahma, +Heard the shout of Hiawatha, +Heard his challenge of defiance, +The unnecessary tumult, +Ringing far across the water. + From the white sand of the bottom +Up he rose with angry gesture, +Quivering in each nerve and fibre, +Clashing all his plates of armor, +Gleaming bright with all his war-paint; +In his wrath he darted upward, +Flashing leaped into the sunshine, +Opened his great jaws, and swallowed +Both canoe and Hiawatha. + Down into that darksome cavern +Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, +As a log on some black river +Shoots and plunges down the rapids, +Found himself in utter darkness, +Groped about in helpless wonder, +Till he felt a great heart beating, +Throbbing in that utter darkness. + And he smote it in his anger, +With his fist, the heart of Nahma, +Felt the mighty King of Fishes +Shudder through each nerve and fibre, +Heard the water gurgle round him +As he leaped and staggered through it, +Sick at heart, and faint and weary. + Crosswise then did Hiawatha +Drag his birch-canoe for safety, +Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, +In the turmoil and confusion, +Forth he might be hurled and perish. +And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, +Frisked and chatted very gayly, +Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha +Till the labor was completed. + Then said Hiawatha to him, +"O my little friend, the squirrel, +Bravely have you toiled to help me; +Take the thanks of Hiawatha, +And the name which now he gives you; +For hereafter and forever +Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, +Tail-in-air the boys shall call you!" + And again the sturgeon, Nahma, +Gasped and quivered in the water, +Then was still, and drifted landward +Till he grated on the pebbles, +Till the listening Hiawatha +Heard him grate upon the margin, +Felt him strand upon the pebbles, +Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, +Lay there dead upon the margin. + Then he heard a clang and flapping, +As of many wings assembling, +Heard a screaming and confusion, +As of birds of prey contending, +Saw a gleam of light above him, +Shining through the ribs of Nahma, +Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls, +Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering, +Gazing at him through the opening, +Heard them saying to each other, +"'T is our brother, Hiawatha!" + And he shouted from below them, +Cried exulting from the caverns: +"O ye sea-gulls! O my brothers! +I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma; +Make the rifts a little larger, +With your claws the openings widen, +Set me free from this dark prison, +And henceforward and forever +Men shall speak of your achievements, +Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, +Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers!" + And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls +Toiled with beak and claws together, +Made the rifts and openings wider +In the mighty ribs of Nahma, +And from peril and from prison, +From the body of the sturgeon, +From the peril of the water, +They released my Hiawatha. + He was standing near his wigwam, +On the margin of the water, +And he called to old Nokomis, +Called and beckoned to Nokomis, +Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma, +Lying lifeless on the pebbles, +With the sea-gulls feeding on him. + "I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, +Slain the King of Fishes!" said he; +"Look! the sea-gulls feed upon him, +Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls; +Drive them not away, Nokomis, +They have saved me from great peril +In the body of the sturgeon, +Wait until their meal is ended, +Till their craws are full with feasting, +Till they homeward fly, at sunset, +To their nests among the marshes; +Then bring all your pots and kettles, +And make oil for us in Winter." + And she waited till the sun set, +Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun, +Rose above the tranquil water, +Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls, +From their banquet rose with clamor, +And across the fiery sunset +Winged their way to far-off islands, +To their nests among the rushes. + To his sleep went Hiawatha, +And Nokomis to her labor, +Toiling patient in the moonlight, +Till the sun and moon changed places, +Till the sky was red with sunrise, +And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, +Came back from the reedy islands, +Clamorous for their morning banquet. + Three whole days and nights alternate +Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls +Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, +Till the waves washed through the rib-bones, +Till the sea-gulls came no longer, +And upon the sands lay nothing +But the skeleton of Nahma. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap104"></a>IX<br /> +HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the shores of Gitche Gumee, +Of the shining Big-Sea-Water, +Stood Nokomis, the old woman, +Pointing with her finger westward, +O'er the water pointing westward, +To the purple clouds of sunset. + Fiercely the red sun descending +Burned his way along the heavens, +Set the sky on fire behind him, +As war-parties, when retreating, +Burn the prairies on their war-trail; +And the moon, the Night-sun, eastward, +Suddenly starting from his ambush, +Followed fast those bloody footprints, +Followed in that fiery war-trail, +With its glare upon his features. + And Nokomis, the old woman, +Pointing with her finger westward, +Spake these words to Hiawatha: +"Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather, +Megissogwon, the Magician, +Manito of Wealth and Wampum, +Guarded by his fiery serpents, +Guarded by the black pitch-water. +You can see his fiery serpents, +The Kenabeek, the great serpents, +Coiling, playing in the water; +You can see the black pitch-water +Stretching far away beyond them, +To the purple clouds of sunset! + "He it was who slew my father, +By his wicked wiles and cunning, +When he from the moon descended, +When he came on earth to seek me. +He, the mightiest of Magicians, +Sends the fever from the marshes, +Sends the pestilential vapors, +Sends the poisonous exhalations, +Sends the white fog from the fen-lands, +Sends disease and death among us! + "Take your bow, O Hiawatha, +Take your arrows, jasper-headed, +Take your war-club, Puggawaugun, +And your mittens, Minjekahwun, +And your birch-canoe for sailing, +And the oil of Mishe-Nahma, +So to smear its sides, that swiftly +You may pass the black pitch-water; +Slay this merciless magician, +Save the people from the fever +That he breathes across the fen-lands, +And avenge my father's murder!" + Straightway then my Hiawatha +Armed himself with all his war-gear, +Launched his birch-canoe for sailing; +With his palm its sides he patted, +Said with glee, "Cheemaun, my darling, +O my Birch-canoe! leap forward, +Where you see the fiery serpents, +Where you see the black pitch-water!" + Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting, +And the noble Hiawatha +Sang his war-song wild and woful, +And above him the war-eagle, +The Keneu, the great war-eagle, +Master of all fowls with feathers, +Screamed and hurtled through the heavens. + Soon he reached the fiery serpents, +The Kenabeek, the great serpents, +Lying huge upon the water, +Sparkling, rippling in the water, +Lying coiled across the passage, +With their blazing crests uplifted, +Breathing fiery fogs and vapors, +So that none could pass beyond them. + But the fearless Hiawatha +Cried aloud, and spake in this wise: +"Let me pass my way, Kenabeek, +Let me go upon my journey!" +And they answered, hissing fiercely, +With their fiery breath made answer: +"Back, go back! O Shaugodaya! +Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!" + Then the angry Hiawatha +Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree, +Seized his arrows, jasper-headed, +Shot them fast among the serpents; +Every twanging of the bow-string +Was a war-cry and a death-cry, +Every whizzing of an arrow +Was a death-song of Kenabeek. + Weltering in the bloody water, +Dead lay all the fiery serpents, +And among them Hiawatha +Harmless sailed, and cried exulting: +"Onward, O Cheemaun, my darling! +Onward to the black pitch-water!" + Then he took the oil of Nahma, +And the bows and sides anointed, +Smeared them well with oil, that swiftly +He might pass the black pitch-water. + All night long he sailed upon it, +Sailed upon that sluggish water, +Covered with its mould of ages, +Black with rotting water-rushes, +Rank with flags and leaves of lilies, +Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, +Lighted by the shimmering moonlight, +And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined, +Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled, +In their weary night-encampments. + All the air was white with moonlight, +All the water black with shadow, +And around him the Suggema, +The mosquito, sang his war-song, +And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee, +Waved their torches to mislead him; +And the bull-frog, the Dahinda, +Thrust his head into the moonlight, +Fixed his yellow eyes upon him, +Sobbed and sank beneath the surface; +And anon a thousand whistles, +Answered over all the fen-lands, +And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +Far off on the reedy margin, +Heralded the hero's coming. + Westward thus fared Hiawatha, +Toward the realm of Megissogwon, +Toward the land of the Pearl-Feather, +Till the level moon stared at him, +In his face stared pale and haggard, +Till the sun was hot behind him, +Till it burned upon his shoulders, +And before him on the upland +He could see the Shining Wigwam +Of the Manito of Wampum, +Of the mightiest of Magicians. + Then once more Cheemaun he patted, +To his birch-canoe said, "Onward!" +And it stirred in all its fibres, +And with one great bound of triumph +Leaped across the water-lilies, +Leaped through tangled flags and rushes, +And upon the beach beyond them +Dry-shod landed Hiawatha. + Straight he took his bow of ash-tree, +On the sand one end he rested, +With his knee he pressed the middle, +Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter, +Took an arrow, jasper-headed, +Shot it at the Shining Wigwam, +Sent it singing as a herald, +As a bearer of his message, +Of his challenge loud and lofty: +"Come forth from your lodge, Pearl-Feather! +Hiawatha waits your coming!" + Straightway from the Shining Wigwam +Came the mighty Megissogwon, +Tall of stature, broad of shoulder, +Dark and terrible in aspect, +Clad from head to foot in wampum, +Armed with all his warlike weapons, +Painted like the sky of morning, +Streaked with crimson, blue, and yellow, +Crested with great eagle-feathers, +Streaming upward, streaming outward. + "Well I know you, Hiawatha!" +Cried he in a voice of thunder, +In a tone of loud derision. +"Hasten back, O Shaugodaya! +Hasten back among the women, +Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart! +I will slay you as you stand there, +As of old I slew her father!" + But my Hiawatha answered, +Nothing daunted, fearing nothing: +"Big words do not smite like war-clubs, +Boastful breath is not a bow-string, +Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, +Deeds are better things than words are, +Actions mightier than boastings!" + Then began the greatest battle +That the sun had ever looked on, +That the war-birds ever witnessed. +All a Summer's day it lasted, +From the sunrise to the sunset; +For the shafts of Hiawatha +Harmless hit the shirt of wampum, +Harmless fell the blows he dealt it +With his mittens, Minjekahwun, +Harmless fell the heavy war-club; +It could dash the rocks asunder, +But it could not break the meshes +Of that magic shirt of wampum. + Till at sunset Hiawatha, +Leaning on his bow of ash-tree, +Wounded, weary, and desponding, +With his mighty war-club broken, +With his mittens torn and tattered, +And three useless arrows only, +Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree, +From whose branches trailed the mosses, +And whose trunk was coated over +With the Dead-man's Moccasin-leather, +With the fungus white and yellow. + Suddenly from the boughs above him +Sang the Mama, the woodpecker: +"Aim your arrows, Hiawatha, +At the head of Megissogwon, +Strike the tuft of hair upon it, +At their roots the long black tresses; +There alone can he be wounded!" + Winged with feathers, tipped with jasper, +Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow, +Just as Megissogwon, stooping, +Raised a heavy stone to throw it. +Full upon the crown it struck him, +At the roots of his long tresses, +And he reeled and staggered forward, +Plunging like a wounded bison, +Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison, +When the snow is on the prairie. + Swifter flew the second arrow, +In the pathway of the other, +Piercing deeper than the other, +Wounding sorer than the other; +And the knees of Megissogwon +Shook like windy reeds beneath him, +Bent and trembled like the rushes. + But the third and latest arrow +Swiftest flew, and wounded sorest, +And the mighty Megissogwon +Saw the fiery eyes of Pauguk, +Saw the eyes of Death glare at him, +Heard his voice call in the darkness; +At the feet of Hiawatha +Lifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather, +Lay the mightiest of Magicians. + Then the grateful Hiawatha +Called the Mama, the woodpecker, +From his perch among the branches +Of the melancholy pine-tree, +And, in honor of his service, +Stained with blood the tuft of feathers +On the little head of Mama; +Even to this day he wears it, +Wears the tuft of crimson feathers, +As a symbol of his service. + Then he stripped the shirt of wampum +From the back of Megissogwon, +As a trophy of the battle, +As a signal of his conquest. +On the shore he left the body, +Half on land and half in water, +In the sand his feet were buried, +And his face was in the water. +And above him, wheeled and clamored +The Keneu, the great war-eagle, +Sailing round in narrower circles, +Hovering nearer, nearer, nearer. + From the wigwam Hiawatha +Bore the wealth of Megissogwon, +All his wealth of skins and wampum, +Furs of bison and of beaver, +Furs of sable and of ermine, +Wampum belts and strings and pouches, +Quivers wrought with beads of wampum, +Filled with arrows, silver-headed. + Homeward then he sailed exulting, +Homeward through the black pitch-water, +Homeward through the weltering serpents, +With the trophies of the battle, +With a shout and song of triumph. + On the shore stood old Nokomis, +On the shore stood Chibiabos, +And the very strong man, Kwasind, +Waiting for the hero's coming, +Listening to his songs of triumph. +And the people of the village +Welcomed him with songs and dances, +Made a joyous feast, and shouted: +"Honor be to Hiawatha! +He has slain the great Pearl-Feather, +Slain the mightiest of Magicians, +Him, who sent the fiery fever, +Sent the white fog from the fen-lands, +Sent disease and death among us!" + Ever dear to Hiawatha +Was the memory of Mama! +And in token of his friendship, +As a mark of his remembrance, +He adorned and decked his pipe-stem +With the crimson tuft of feathers, +With the blood-red crest of Mama. +But the wealth of Megissogwon, +All the trophies of the battle, +He divided with his people, +Shared it equally among them. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap105"></a>X<br /> +HIAWATHA'S WOOING</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"As unto the bow the cord is, +So unto the man is woman; +Though she bends him, she obeys him, +Though she draws him, yet she follows, +Useless each without the other!" + Thus the youthful Hiawatha +Said within himself and pondered, +Much perplexed by various feelings, +Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, +Dreaming still of Minnehaha, +Of the lovely Laughing Water, +In the land of the Dacotahs. + "Wed a maiden of your people," +Warning said the old Nokomis; +"Go not eastward, go not westward, +For a stranger, whom we know not! +Like a fire upon the hearth-stone +Is a neighbor's homely daughter, +Like the starlight or the moonlight +Is the handsomest of strangers!" + Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, +And my Hiawatha answered +Only this: "Dear old Nokomis, +Very pleasant is the firelight, +But I like the starlight better, +Better do I like the moonlight!" + Gravely then said old Nokomis: +"Bring not here an idle maiden, +Bring not here a useless woman, +Hands unskilful, feet unwilling; +Bring a wife with nimble fingers, +Heart and hand that move together, +Feet that run on willing errands!" + Smiling answered Hiawatha: +"In the land of the Dacotahs +Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter, +Minnehaha, Laughing Water, +Handsomest of all the women. +I will bring her to your wigwam, +She shall run upon your errands, +Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, +Be the sunlight of my people!" + Still dissuading said Nokomis: +"Bring not to my lodge a stranger +From the land of the Dacotahs! +Very fierce are the Dacotahs, +Often is there war between us, +There are feuds yet unforgotten, +Wounds that ache and still may open!" + Laughing answered Hiawatha: +"For that reason, if no other, +Would I wed the fair Dacotah, +That our tribes might be united, +That old feuds might be forgotten, +And old wounds be healed forever!" + Thus departed Hiawatha +To the land of the Dacotahs, +To the land of handsome women; +Striding over moor and meadow, +Through interminable forests, +Through uninterrupted silence. + With his moccasins of magic, +At each stride a mile he measured; +Yet the way seemed long before him, +And his heart outran his footsteps; +And he journeyed without resting, +Till he heard the cataract's laughter, +Heard the Falls of Minnehaha +Calling to him through the silence. +"Pleasant is the sound!" he murmured, +"Pleasant is the voice that calls me!" + On the outskirts of the forests, +'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, +Herds of fallow deer were feeding, +But they saw not Hiawatha; +To his bow he whispered, "Fail not!" +To his arrow whispered, "Swerve not!" +Sent it singing on its errand, +To the red heart of the roebuck; +Threw the deer across his shoulder, +And sped forward without pausing. + At the doorway of his wigwam +Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, +In the land of the Dacotahs, +Making arrow-heads of jasper, +Arrow-heads of chalcedony. +At his side, in all her beauty, +Sat the lovely Minnehaha, +Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, +Plaiting mats of flags and rushes +Of the past the old man's thoughts were, +And the maiden's of the future. + He was thinking, as he sat there, +Of the days when with such arrows +He had struck the deer and bison, +On the Muskoday, the meadow; +Shot the wild goose, flying southward +On the wing, the clamorous Wawa; +Thinking of the great war-parties, +How they came to buy his arrows, +Could not fight without his arrows. +Ah, no more such noble warriors +Could be found on earth as they were! +Now the men were all like women, +Only used their tongues for weapons! + She was thinking of a hunter, +From another tribe and country, +Young and tall and very handsome, +Who one morning, in the Spring-time, +Came to buy her father's arrows, +Sat and rested in the wigwam, +Lingered long about the doorway, +Looking back as he departed. +She had heard her father praise him, +Praise his courage and his wisdom; +Would he come again for arrows +To the Falls of Minnehaha? +On the mat her hands lay idle, +And her eyes were very dreamy. + Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, +Heard a rustling in the branches, +And with glowing cheek and forehead, +With the deer upon his shoulders, +Suddenly from out the woodlands +Hiawatha stood before them. + Straight the ancient Arrow-maker +Looked up gravely from his labor, +Laid aside the unfinished arrow, +Bade him enter at the doorway, +Saying, as he rose to meet him, +'Hiawatha, you are welcome!" + At the feet of Laughing Water +Hiawatha laid his burden, +Threw the red deer from his shoulders; +And the maiden looked up at him, +Looked up from her mat of rushes, +Said with gentle look and accent, +"You are welcome, Hiawatha!" + Very spacious was the wigwam, +Made of deer-skins dressed and whitened, +With the Gods of the Dacotahs +Drawn and painted on its curtains, +And so tall the doorway, hardly +Hiawatha stooped to enter, +Hardly touched his eagle-feathers +As he entered at the doorway. + Then uprose the Laughing Water, +From the ground fair Minnehaha, +Laid aside her mat unfinished, +Brought forth food and set before them, +Water brought them from the brooklet, +Gave them food in earthen vessels, +Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, +Listened while the guest was speaking, +Listened while her father answered, +But not once her lips she opened, +Not a single word she uttered. + Yes, as in a dream she listened +To the words of Hiawatha, +As he talked of old Nokomis, +Who had nursed him in his childhood, +As he told of his companions, +Chibiabos, the musician, +And the very strong man, Kwasind, +And of happiness and plenty +In the land of the Ojibways, +In the pleasant land and peaceful. + "After many years of warfare, +Many years of strife and bloodshed, +There is peace between the Ojibways +And the tribe of the Dacotahs." +Thus continued Hiawatha, +And then added, speaking slowly, +"That this peace may last forever, +And our hands be clasped more closely, +And our hearts be more united, +Give me as my wife this maiden, +Minnehaha, Laughing Water, +Loveliest of Dacotah women!" + And the ancient Arrow-maker +Paused a moment ere he answered, +Smoked a little while in silence, +Looked at Hiawatha proudly, +Fondly looked at Laughing Water, +And made answer very gravely: +"Yes, if Minnehaha wishes; +Let your heart speak, Minnehaha!" + And the lovely Laughing Water +Seemed more lovely as she stood there, +Neither willing nor reluctant, +As she went to Hiawatha, +Softly took the seat beside him, +While she said, and blushed to say it, +"I will follow you, my husband!" + This was Hiawatha's wooing! +Thus it was he won the daughter +Of the ancient Arrow-maker, +In the land of the Dacotahs! + From the wigwam he departed, +Leading with him Laughing Water; +Hand in hand they went together, +Through the woodland and the meadow, +Left the old man standing lonely +At the doorway of his wigwam, +Heard the Falls of Minnehaha +Calling to them from the distance, +Crying to them from afar off, +"Fare thee well, O Minnehaha!" + And the ancient Arrow-maker +Turned again unto his labor, +Sat down by his sunny doorway, +Murmuring to himself, and saying: +"Thus it is our daughters leave us, +Those we love, and those who love us! +Just when they have learned to help us, +When we are old and lean upon them, +Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, +With his flute of reeds, a stranger +Wanders piping through the village, +Beckons to the fairest maiden, +And she follows where he leads her, +Leaving all things for the stranger!" + Pleasant was the journey homeward, +Through interminable forests, +Over meadow, over mountain, +Over river, hill, and hollow. +Short it seemed to Hiawatha, +Though they journeyed very slowly, +Though his pace he checked and slackened +To the steps of Laughing Water. + Over wide and rushing rivers +In his arms he bore the maiden; +Light he thought her as a feather, +As the plume upon his head-gear; +Cleared the tangled pathway for her, +Bent aside the swaying branches, +Made at night a lodge of branches, +And a bed with boughs of hemlock, +And a fire before the doorway +With the dry cones of the pine-tree. + All the travelling winds went with them, +O'er the meadows, through the forest; +All the stars of night looked at them, +Watched with sleepless eyes their slumber; +From his ambush in the oak-tree +Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, +Watched with eager eyes the lovers; +And the rabbit, the Wabasso, +Scampered from the path before them, +Peering, peeping from his burrow, +Sat erect upon his haunches, +Watched with curious eyes the lovers. + Pleasant was the journey homeward! +All the birds sang loud and sweetly +Songs of happiness and heart's-ease; +Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, +"Happy are you, Hiawatha, +Having such a wife to love you!" +Sang the robin, the Opechee, +"Happy are you, Laughing Water, +Having such a noble husband!" + From the sky the sun benignant +Looked upon them through the branches, +Saying to them, "O my children, +Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, +Life is checkered shade and sunshine, +Rule by love, O Hiawatha!" + From the sky the moon looked at them, +Filled the lodge with mystic splendors, +Whispered to them, "O my children, +Day is restless, night is quiet, +Man imperious, woman feeble; +Half is mine, although I follow; +Rule by patience, Laughing Water!" + Thus it was they journeyed homeward; +Thus it was that Hiawatha +To the lodge of old Nokomis +Brought the moonlight, starlight, firelight, +Brought the sunshine of his people, +Minnehaha, Laughing Water, +Handsomest of all the women +In the land of the Dacotahs, +In the land of handsome women. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap106"></a>XI<br /> +HIAWATHA'S WEDDING-FEAST</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, +How the handsome Yenadizze +Danced at Hiawatha's wedding; +How the gentle Chibiabos, +He the sweetest of musicians, +Sang his songs of love and longing; +How Iagoo, the great boaster, +He the marvellous story-teller, +Told his tales of strange adventure, +That the feast might be more joyous, +That the time might pass more gayly, +And the guests be more contented. + Sumptuous was the feast Nokomis +Made at Hiawatha's wedding; +All the bowls were made of bass-wood, +White and polished very smoothly, +All the spoons of horn of bison, +Black and polished very smoothly. + She had sent through all the village +Messengers with wands of willow, +As a sign of invitation, +As a token of the feasting; +And the wedding guests assembled, +Clad in all their richest raiment, +Robes of fur and belts of wampum, +Splendid with their paint and plumage, +Beautiful with beads and tassels. + First they ate the sturgeon, Nahma, +And the pike, the Maskenozha, +Caught and cooked by old Nokomis; +Then on pemican they feasted, +Pemican and buffalo marrow, +Haunch of deer and hump of bison, +Yellow cakes of the Mondamin, +And the wild rice of the river. + But the gracious Hiawatha, +And the lovely Laughing Water, +And the careful old Nokomis, +Tasted not the food before them, +Only waited on the others +Only served their guests in silence. + And when all the guests had finished, +Old Nokomis, brisk and busy, +From an ample pouch of otter, +Filled the red-stone pipes for smoking +With tobacco from the South-land, +Mixed with bark of the red willow, +And with herbs and leaves of fragrance. + Then she said, "O Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Dance for us your merry dances, +Dance the Beggar's Dance to please us, +That the feast may be more joyous, +That the time may pass more gayly, +And our guests be more contented!" + Then the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, +He the idle Yenadizze, +He the merry mischief-maker, +Whom the people called the Storm-Fool, +Rose among the guests assembled. + Skilled was he in sports and pastimes, +In the merry dance of snow-shoes, +In the play of quoits and ball-play; +Skilled was he in games of hazard, +In all games of skill and hazard, +Pugasaing, the Bowl and Counters, +Kuntassoo, the Game of Plum-stones. + Though the warriors called him Faint-Heart, +Called him coward, Shaugodaya, +Idler, gambler, Yenadizze, +Little heeded he their jesting, +Little cared he for their insults, +For the women and the maidens +Loved the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis. + He was dressed in shirt of doeskin, +White and soft, and fringed with ermine, +All inwrought with beads of wampum; +He was dressed in deer-skin leggings, +Fringed with hedgehog quills and ermine, +And in moccasins of buck-skin, +Thick with quills and beads embroidered. +On his head were plumes of swan's down, +On his heels were tails of foxes, +In one hand a fan of feathers, +And a pipe was in the other. + Barred with streaks of red and yellow, +Streaks of blue and bright vermilion, +Shone the face of Pau-Puk-Keewis. +From his forehead fell his tresses, +Smooth, and parted like a woman's, +Shining bright with oil, and plaited, +Hung with braids of scented grasses, +As among the guests assembled, +To the sound of flutes and singing, +To the sound of drums and voices, +Rose the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, +And began his mystic dances. + First he danced a solemn measure, +Very slow in step and gesture, +In and out among the pine-trees, +Through the shadows and the sunshine, +Treading softly like a panther. +Then more swiftly and still swifter, +Whirling, spinning round in circles, +Leaping o'er the guests assembled, +Eddying round and round the wigwam, +Till the leaves went whirling with him, +Till the dust and wind together +Swept in eddies round about him. + Then along the sandy margin +Of the lake, the Big-Sea-Water, +On he sped with frenzied gestures, +Stamped upon the sand, and tossed it +Wildly in the air around him; +Till the wind became a whirlwind, +Till the sand was blown and sifted +Like great snowdrifts o'er the landscape, +Heaping all the shores with Sand Dunes, +Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo! + Thus the merry Pau-Puk-Keewis +Danced his Beggar's Dance to please them, +And, returning, sat down laughing +There among the guests assembled, +Sat and fanned himself serenely +With his fan of turkey-feathers. + Then they said to Chibiabos, +To the friend of Hiawatha, +To the sweetest of all singers, +To the best of all musicians, +"Sing to us, O Chibiabos! +Songs of love and songs of longing, +That the feast may be more joyous, +That the time may pass more gayly, +And our guests be more contented!" + And the gentle Chibiabos +Sang in accents sweet and tender, +Sang in tones of deep emotion, +Songs of love and songs of longing; +Looking still at Hiawatha, +Looking at fair Laughing Water, +Sang he softly, sang in this wise: + "Onaway! Awake, beloved! +Thou the wild-flower of the forest! +Thou the wild-bird of the prairie! +Thou with eyes so soft and fawn-like! + "If thou only lookest at me, +I am happy, I am happy, +As the lilies of the prairie, +When they feel the dew upon them! + "Sweet thy breath is as the fragrance +Of the wild-flowers in the morning, +As their fragrance is at evening, +In the Moon when leaves are falling. + "Does not all the blood within me +Leap to meet thee, leap to meet thee, +As the springs to meet the sunshine, +In the Moon when nights are brightest? + "Onaway! my heart sings to thee, +Sings with joy when thou art near me, +As the sighing, singing branches +In the pleasant Moon of Strawberries! + "When thou art not pleased, beloved, +Then my heart is sad and darkened, +As the shining river darkens +When the clouds drop shadows on it! + "When thou smilest, my beloved, +Then my troubled heart is brightened, +As in sunshine gleam the ripples +That the cold wind makes in rivers. + "Smiles the earth, and smile the waters, +Smile the cloudless skies above us, +But I lose the way of smiling +When thou art no longer near me! + "I myself, myself! behold me! +Blood of my beating heart, behold me! +Oh awake, awake, beloved! +Onaway! awake, beloved!" + Thus the gentle Chibiabos +Sang his song of love and longing; +And Iagoo, the great boaster, +He the marvellous story-teller, +He the friend of old Nokomis, +Jealous of the sweet musician, +Jealous of the applause they gave him, +Saw in all the eyes around him, +Saw in all their looks and gestures, +That the wedding guests assembled +Longed to hear his pleasant stories, +His immeasurable falsehoods. + Very boastful was Iagoo; +Never heard he an adventure +But himself had met a greater; +Never any deed of daring +But himself had done a bolder; +Never any marvellous story +But himself could tell a stranger. + Would you listen to his boasting, +Would you only give him credence, +No one ever shot an arrow +Half so far and high as he had; +Ever caught so many fishes, +Ever killed so many reindeer, +Ever trapped so many beaver! + None could run so fast as he could, +None could dive so deep as he could, +None could swim so far as he could; +None had made so many journeys, +None had seen so many wonders, +As this wonderful Iagoo, +As this marvellous story-teller! + Thus his name became a by-word +And a jest among the people; +And whene'er a boastful hunter +Praised his own address too highly, +Or a warrior, home returning, +Talked too much of his achievements, +All his hearers cried, "Iagoo! +Here's Iagoo come among us!" + He it was who carved the cradle +Of the little Hiawatha, +Carved its framework out of linden, +Bound it strong with reindeer sinews; +He it was who taught him later +How to make his bows and arrows, +How to make the bows of ash-tree, +And the arrows of the oak-tree. +So among the guests assembled +At my Hiawatha's wedding +Sat Iagoo, old and ugly, +Sat the marvellous story-teller. + And they said, "O good Iagoo, +Tell us now a tale of wonder, +Tell us of some strange adventure, +That the feast may be more joyous, +That the time may pass more gayly, +And our guests be more contented!" + And Iagoo answered straightway, +"You shall hear a tale of wonder, +You shall hear the strange adventures +Of Osseo, the Magician, +From the Evening Star descending." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap107"></a>XII<br /> +THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Can it be the sun descending +O'er the level plain of water? +Or the Red Swan floating, flying, +Wounded by the magic arrow, +Staining all the waves with crimson, +With the crimson of its life-blood, +Filling all the air with splendor, +With the splendor of its plumage? + Yes; it is the sun descending, +Sinking down into the water; +All the sky is stained with purple, +All the water flushed with crimson! +No; it is the Red Swan floating, +Diving down beneath the water; +To the sky its wings are lifted, +With its blood the waves are reddened! + Over it the Star of Evening +Melts and trembles through the purple, +Hangs suspended in the twilight. +No; it is a bead of wampum +On the robes of the Great Spirit +As he passes through the twilight, +Walks in silence through the heavens. + This with joy beheld Iagoo +And he said in haste: "Behold it! +See the sacred Star of Evening! +You shall hear a tale of wonder, +Hear the story of Osseo, +Son of the Evening Star, Osseo! + "Once, in days no more remembered, +Ages nearer the beginning, +When the heavens were closer to us, +And the Gods were more familiar, +In the North-land lived a hunter, +With ten young and comely daughters, +Tall and lithe as wands of willow; +Only Oweenee, the youngest, +She the wilful and the wayward, +She the silent, dreamy maiden, +Was the fairest of the sisters. + "All these women married warriors, +Married brave and haughty husbands; +Only Oweenee, the youngest, +Laughed and flouted all her lovers, +All her young and handsome suitors, +And then married old Osseo, +Old Osseo, poor and ugly, +Broken with age and weak with coughing, +Always coughing like a squirrel. + "Ah, but beautiful within him +Was the spirit of Osseo, +From the Evening Star descended, +Star of Evening, Star of Woman, +Star of tenderness and passion! +All its fire was in his bosom, +All its beauty in his spirit, +All its mystery in his being, +All its splendor in his language! + "And her lovers, the rejected, +Handsome men with belts of wampum, +Handsome men with paint and feathers. +Pointed at her in derision, +Followed her with jest and laughter. +But she said: 'I care not for you, +Care not for your belts of wampum, +Care not for your paint and feathers, +Care not for your jests and laughter; +I am happy with Osseo!' + "Once to some great feast invited, +Through the damp and dusk of evening, +Walked together the ten sisters, +Walked together with their husbands; +Slowly followed old Osseo, +With fair Oweenee beside him; +All the others chatted gayly, +These two only walked in silence. + "At the western sky Osseo +Gazed intent, as if imploring, +Often stopped and gazed imploring +At the trembling Star of Evening, +At the tender Star of Woman; +And they heard him murmur softly, +'Ah, showain nemeshin, Nosa! +Pity, pity me, my father!' + "'Listen!' said the eldest sister, +'He is praying to his father! +What a pity that the old man +Does not stumble in the pathway, +Does not break his neck by falling!' +And they laughed till all the forest +Rang with their unseemly laughter. + "On their pathway through the woodlands +Lay an oak, by storms uprooted, +Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree, +Buried half in leaves and mosses, +Mouldering, crumbling, huge and hollow. +And Osseo, when he saw it, +Gave a shout, a cry of anguish, +Leaped into its yawning cavern, +At one end went in an old man, +Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly; +From the other came a young man, +Tall and straight and strong and handsome. + "Thus Osseo was transfigured, +Thus restored to youth and beauty; +But, alas for good Osseo, +And for Oweenee, the faithful! +Strangely, too, was she transfigured. +Changed into a weak old woman, +With a staff she tottered onward, +Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly! +And the sisters and their husbands +Laughed until the echoing forest +Rang with their unseemly laughter. + "But Osseo turned not from her, +Walked with slower step beside her, +Took her hand, as brown and withered +As an oak-leaf is in Winter, +Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha, +Soothed her with soft words of kindness, +Till they reached the lodge of feasting, +Till they sat down in the wigwam, +Sacred to the Star of Evening, +To the tender Star of Woman. + "Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming, +At the banquet sat Osseo; +All were merry, all were happy, +All were joyous but Osseo. +Neither food nor drink he tasted, +Neither did he speak nor listen; +But as one bewildered sat he, +Looking dreamily and sadly, +First at Oweenee, then upward +At the gleaming sky above them. + "Then a voice was heard, a whisper, +Coming from the starry distance, +Coming from the empty vastness, +Low, and musical, and tender; +And the voice said: 'O Osseo! +O my son, my best beloved! +Broken are the spells that bound you, +All the charms of the magicians, +All the magic powers of evil; +Come to me; ascend, Osseo! + "'Taste the food that stands before you: +It is blessed and enchanted, +It has magic virtues in it, +It will change you to a spirit. +All your bowls and all your kettles +Shall be wood and clay no longer; +But the bowls be changed to wampum, +And the kettles shall be silver; +They shall shine like shells of scarlet, +Like the fire shall gleam and glimmer. + "'And the women shall no longer +Bear the dreary doom of labor, +But be changed to birds, and glisten +With the beauty of the starlight, +Painted with the dusky splendors +Of the skies and clouds of evening!' + "What Osseo heard as whispers, +What as words he comprehended, +Was but music to the others, +Music as of birds afar off, +Of the whippoorwill afar off, +Of the lonely Wawonaissa +Singing in the darksome forest. + "Then the lodge began to tremble, +Straight began to shake and tremble, +And they felt it rising, rising, +Slowly through the air ascending, +From the darkness of the tree-tops +Forth into the dewy starlight, +Till it passed the topmost branches; +And behold! the wooden dishes +All were changed to shells of scarlet! +And behold! the earthen kettles +All were changed to bowls of silver! +And the roof-poles of the wigwam +Were as glittering rods of silver, +And the roof of bark upon them +As the shining shards of beetles. + "Then Osseo gazed around him, +And he saw the nine fair sisters, +All the sisters and their husbands, +Changed to birds of various plumage. +Some were jays and some were magpies, +Others thrushes, others blackbirds; +And they hopped, and sang, and twittered, +Perked and fluttered all their feathers, +Strutted in their shining plumage, +And their tails like fans unfolded. + "Only Oweenee, the youngest, +Was not changed, but sat in silence, +Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly, +Looking sadly at the others; +Till Osseo, gazing upward, +Gave another cry of anguish, +Such a cry as he had uttered +By the oak-tree in the forest. + "Then returned her youth and beauty, +And her soiled and tattered garments +Were transformed to robes of ermine, +And her staff became a feather, +Yes, a shining silver feather! + "And again the wigwam trembled, +Swayed and rushed through airy currents, +Through transparent cloud and vapor, +And amid celestial splendors +On the Evening Star alighted, +As a snow-flake falls on snow-flake, +As a leaf drops on a river, +As the thistledown on water. + "Forth with cheerful words of welcome +Came the father of Osseo, +He with radiant locks of silver, +He with eyes serene and tender. +And he said: 'My son, Osseo, +Hang the cage of birds you bring there, +Hang the cage with rods of silver, +And the birds with glistening feathers, +At the doorway of my wigwam.' + "At the door he hung the bird-cage, +And they entered in and gladly +Listened to Osseo's father, +Ruler of the Star of Evening, +As he said: 'O my Osseo! +I have had compassion on you, +Given you back your youth and beauty, +Into birds of various plumage +Changed your sisters and their husbands; +Changed them thus because they mocked you +In the figure of the old man, +In that aspect sad and wrinkled, +Could not see your heart of passion, +Could not see your youth immortal; +Only Oweenee, the faithful, +Saw your naked heart and loved you. + "'In the lodge that glimmers yonder, +In the little star that twinkles +Through the vapors, on the left hand, +Lives the envious Evil Spirit, +The Wabeno, the magician, +Who transformed you to an old man. +Take heed lest his beams fall on you, +For the rays he darts around him +Are the power of his enchantment, +Are the arrows that he uses.' + "Many years, in peace and quiet, +On the peaceful Star of Evening +Dwelt Osseo with his father; +Many years, in song and flutter, +At the doorway of the wigwam, +Hung the cage with rods of silver, +And fair Oweenee, the faithful, +Bore a son unto Osseo, +With the beauty of his mother, +With the courage of his father. + "And the boy grew up and prospered, +And Osseo, to delight him, +Made him little bows and arrows, +Opened the great cage of silver, +And let loose his aunts and uncles, +All those birds with glossy feathers, +For his little son to shoot at. + "Round and round they wheeled and darted, +Filled the Evening Star with music, +With their songs of joy and freedom +Filled the Evening Star with splendor, +With the fluttering of their plumage; +Till the boy, the little hunter, +Bent his bow and shot an arrow, +Shot a swift and fatal arrow, +And a bird, with shining feathers, +At his feet fell wounded sorely. + "But, O wondrous transformation! +'T was no bird he saw before him, +'T was a beautiful young woman, +With the arrow in her bosom! + "When her blood fell on the planet, +On the sacred Star of Evening, +Broken was the spell of magic, +Powerless was the strange enchantment, +And the youth, the fearless bowman, +Suddenly felt himself descending, +Held by unseen hands, but sinking +Downward through the empty spaces, +Downward through the clouds and vapors, +Till he rested on an island, +On an island, green and grassy, +Yonder in the Big-Sea-Water. + "After him he saw descending +All the birds with shining feathers, +Fluttering, falling, wafted downward, +Like the painted leaves of Autumn; +And the lodge with poles of silver, +With its roof like wings of beetles, +Like the shining shards of beetles, +By the winds of heaven uplifted, +Slowly sank upon the island, +Bringing back the good Osseo, +Bringing Oweenee, the faithful. + "Then the birds, again transfigured, +Reassumed the shape of mortals, +Took their shape, but not their stature; +They remained as Little People, +Like the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies, +And on pleasant nights of Summer, +When the Evening Star was shining, +Hand in hand they danced together +On the island's craggy headlands, +On the sand-beach low and level. + "Still their glittering lodge is seen there, +On the tranquil Summer evenings, +And upon the shore the fisher +Sometimes hears their happy voices, +Sees them dancing in the starlight!" + When the story was completed, +When the wondrous tale was ended, +Looking round upon his listeners, +Solemnly Iagoo added: +"There are great men, I have known such, +Whom their people understand not, +Whom they even make a jest of, +Scoff and jeer at in derision. +From the story of Osseo +Let us learn the fate of jesters!" + All the wedding guests delighted +Listened to the marvellous story, +Listened laughing and applauding, +And they whispered to each other: +"Does he mean himself, I wonder? +And are we the aunts and uncles?" + Then again sang Chibiabos, +Sang a song of love and longing, +In those accents sweet and tender, +In those tones of pensive sadness, +Sang a maiden's lamentation +For her lover, her Algonquin. + "When I think of my beloved, +Ah me! think of my beloved, +When my heart is thinking of him, +O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! + "Ah me! when I parted from him, +Round my neck he hung the wampum, +As a pledge, the snow-white wampum, +O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! + "I will go with you, he whispered, +Ah me! to your native country; +Let me go with you, he whispered, +O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! + "Far away, away, I answered, +Very far away, I answered, +Ah me! is my native country, +O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! + "When I looked back to behold him, +Where we parted, to behold him, +After me he still was gazing, +O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! + "By the tree he still was standing, +By the fallen tree was standing, +That had dropped into the water, +O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! + "When I think of my beloved, +Ah me! think of my beloved, +When my heart is thinking of him, +O my sweetheart, my Algonquin!" + Such was Hiawatha's Wedding, +Such the dance of Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Such the story of Iagoo, +Such the songs of Chibiabos; +Thus the wedding banquet ended, +And the wedding guests departed, +Leaving Hiawatha happy +With the night and Minnehaha. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap108"></a>XIII<br /> +BLESSING THE CORNFIELDS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sing, O Song of Hiawatha, +Of the happy days that followed, +In the land of the Ojibways, +In the pleasant land and peaceful! +Sing the mysteries of Mondamin, +Sing the Blessing of the Cornfields! + Buried was the bloody hatchet, +Buried was the dreadful war-club, +Buried were all warlike weapons, +And the war-cry was forgotten. +There was peace among the nations; +Unmolested roved the hunters, +Built the birch canoe for sailing, +Caught the fish in lake and river, +Shot the deer and trapped the beaver; +Unmolested worked the women, +Made their sugar from the maple, +Gathered wild rice in the meadows, +Dressed the skins of deer and beaver. + All around the happy village +Stood the maize-fields, green and shining, +Waved the green plumes of Mondamin, +Waved his soft and sunny tresses, +Filling all the land with plenty. +'T was the women who in Spring-time +Planted the broad fields and fruitful, +Buried in the earth Mondamin; +'T was the women who in Autumn +Stripped the yellow husks of harvest, +Stripped the garments from Mondamin, +Even as Hiawatha taught them. + Once, when all the maize was planted, +Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful, +Spake and said to Minnehaha, +To his wife, the Laughing Water: +"You shall bless to-night the cornfields, +Draw a magic circle round them, +To protect them from destruction, +Blast of mildew, blight of insect, +Wagemin, the thief of cornfields, +Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear! + "In the night, when all is silence, +In the night, when all is darkness, +When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, +Shuts the doors of all the wigwams, +So that not an ear can hear you, +So that not an eye can see you, +Rise up from your bed in silence, +Lay aside your garments wholly, +Walk around the fields you planted, +Round the borders of the cornfields, +Covered by your tresses only, +Robed with darkness as a garment. + "Thus the fields shall be more fruitful, +And the passing of your footsteps +Draw a magic circle round them, +So that neither blight nor mildew, +Neither burrowing worm nor insect, +Shall pass o'er the magic circle; +Not the dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she, +Nor the spider, Subbekashe, +Nor the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena; +Nor the mighty caterpillar, +Way-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin, +King of all the caterpillars!" + On the tree-tops near the cornfields +Sat the hungry crows and ravens, +Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, +With his band of black marauders. +And they laughed at Hiawatha, +Till the tree-tops shook with laughter, +With their melancholy laughter, +At the words of Hiawatha. +"Hear him!" said they; "hear the Wise Man, +Hear the plots of Hiawatha!" + When the noiseless night descended +Broad and dark o'er field and forest, +When the mournful Wawonaissa +Sorrowing sang among the hemlocks, +And the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, +Shut the doors of all the wigwams, +From her bed rose Laughing Water, +Laid aside her garments wholly, +And with darkness clothed and guarded, +Unashamed and unaffrighted, +Walked securely round the cornfields, +Drew the sacred, magic circle +Of her footprints round the cornfields. + No one but the Midnight only +Saw her beauty in the darkness, +No one but the Wawonaissa +Heard the panting of her bosom; +Guskewau, the darkness, wrapped her +Closely in his sacred mantle, +So that none might see her beauty, +So that none might boast, "I saw her!" + On the morrow, as the day dawned, +Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, +Gathered all his black marauders, +Crows and blackbirds, jays and ravens, +Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops, +And descended, fast and fearless, +On the fields of Hiawatha, +On the grave of the Mondamin. + "We will drag Mondamin," said they, +"From the grave where he is buried, +Spite of all the magic circles +Laughing Water draws around it, +Spite of all the sacred footprints +Minnehaha stamps upon it!" + But the wary Hiawatha, +Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful, +Had o'erheard the scornful laughter +When they mocked him from the tree-tops. +"Kaw!" he said, "my friends the ravens! +Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens! +I will teach you all a lesson +That shall not be soon forgotten!" + He had risen before the daybreak, +He had spread o'er all the cornfields +Snares to catch the black marauders, +And was lying now in ambush +In the neighboring grove of pine-trees, +Waiting for the crows and blackbirds, +Waiting for the jays and ravens. + Soon they came with caw and clamor, +Rush of wings and cry of voices, +To their work of devastation, +Settling down upon the cornfields, +Delving deep with beak and talon, +For the body of Mondamin. +And with all their craft and cunning, +All their skill in wiles of warfare, +They perceived no danger near them, +Till their claws became entangled, +Till they found themselves imprisoned +In the snares of Hiawatha. + From his place of ambush came he, +Striding terrible among them, +And so awful was his aspect +That the bravest quailed with terror. +Without mercy he destroyed them +Right and left, by tens and twenties, +And their wretched, lifeless bodies +Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows +Round the consecrated cornfields, +As a signal of his vengeance, +As a warning to marauders. + Only Kahgahgee, the leader, +Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, +He alone was spared among them +As a hostage for his people. +With his prisoner-string he bound him, +Led him captive to his wigwam, +Tied him fast with cords of elm-bark +To the ridge-pole of his wigwam. + "Kahgahgee, my raven!" said he, +"You the leader of the robbers, +You the plotter of this mischief, +The contriver of this outrage, +I will keep you, I will hold you, +As a hostage for your people, +As a pledge of good behavior!" + And he left him, grim and sulky, +Sitting in the morning sunshine +On the summit of the wigwam, +Croaking fiercely his displeasure, +Flapping his great sable pinions, +Vainly struggling for his freedom, +Vainly calling on his people! + Summer passed, and Shawondasee +Breathed his sighs o'er all the landscape, +From the South-land sent his ardor, +Wafted kisses warm and tender; +And the maize-field grew and ripened, +Till it stood in all the splendor +Of its garments green and yellow, +Of its tassels and its plumage, +And the maize-ears full and shining +Gleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure. + Then Nokomis, the old woman, +Spake, and said to Minnehaha: +"'T is the Moon when leaves are falling; +All the wild-rice has been gathered, +And the maize is ripe and ready; +Let us gather in the harvest, +Let us wrestle with Mondamin, +Strip him of his plumes and tassels, +Of his garments green and yellow!" + And the merry Laughing Water +Went rejoicing from the wigwam, +With Nokomis, old and wrinkled, +And they called the women round them, +Called the young men and the maidens, +To the harvest of the cornfields, +To the husking of the maize-ear. + On the border of the forest, +Underneath the fragrant pine-trees, +Sat the old men and the warriors +Smoking in the pleasant shadow. +In uninterrupted silence +Looked they at the gamesome labor +Of the young men and the women; +Listened to their noisy talking, +To their laughter and their singing, +Heard them chattering like the magpies, +Heard them laughing like the blue-jays, +Heard them singing like the robins. + And whene'er some lucky maiden +Found a red ear in the husking, +Found a maize-ear red as blood is, +"Nushka!" cried they all together, +"Nushka! you shall have a sweetheart, +You shall have a handsome husband!" +"Ugh!" the old men all responded +From their seats beneath the pine-trees. + And whene'er a youth or maiden +Found a crooked ear in husking, +Found a maize-ear in the husking +Blighted, mildewed, or misshapen, +Then they laughed and sang together, +Crept and limped about the cornfields, +Mimicked in their gait and gestures +Some old man, bent almost double, +Singing singly or together: +"Wagemin, the thief of cornfields! +Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear!" + Till the cornfields rang with laughter, +Till from Hiawatha's wigwam +Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, +Screamed and quivered in his anger, +And from all the neighboring tree-tops +Cawed and croaked the black marauders. +"Ugh!" the old men all responded, +From their seats beneath the pine-trees! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap109"></a>XIV<br /> +PICTURE-WRITING</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In those days said Hiawatha, +"Lo! how all things fade and perish! +From the memory of the old men +Pass away the great traditions, +The achievements of the warriors, +The adventures of the hunters, +All the wisdom of the Medas, +All the craft of the Wabenos, +All the marvellous dreams and visions +Of the Jossakeeds, the Prophets! + "Great men die and are forgotten, +Wise men speak; their words of wisdom +Perish in the ears that hear them, +Do not reach the generations +That, as yet unborn, are waiting +In the great, mysterious darkness +Of the speechless days that shall be! + "On the grave-posts of our fathers +Are no signs, no figures painted; +Who are in those graves we know not, +Only know they are our fathers. +Of what kith they are and kindred, +From what old, ancestral Totem, +Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver, +They descended, this we know not, +Only know they are our fathers. + "Face to face we speak together, +But we cannot speak when absent, +Cannot send our voices from us +To the friends that dwell afar off; +Cannot send a secret message, +But the bearer learns our secret, +May pervert it, may betray it, +May reveal it unto others." + Thus said Hiawatha, walking +In the solitary forest, +Pondering, musing in the forest, +On the welfare of his people. + From his pouch he took his colors, +Took his paints of different colors, +On the smooth bark of a birch-tree +Painted many shapes and figures, +Wonderful and mystic figures, +And each figure had a meaning, +Each some word or thought suggested. + Gitche Manito the Mighty, +He, the Master of Life, was painted +As an egg, with points projecting +To the four winds of the heavens. +Everywhere is the Great Spirit, +Was the meaning of this symbol. + Mitche Manito the Mighty, +He the dreadful Spirit of Evil, +As a serpent was depicted, +As Kenabeek, the great serpent. +Very crafty, very cunning, +Is the creeping Spirit of Evil, +Was the meaning of this symbol. + Life and Death he drew as circles, +Life was white, but Death was darkened; +Sun and moon and stars he painted, +Man and beast, and fish and reptile, +Forests, mountains, lakes, and rivers. + For the earth he drew a straight line, +For the sky a bow above it; +White the space between for daytime, +Filled with little stars for night-time; +On the left a point for sunrise, +On the right a point for sunset, +On the top a point for noontide, +And for rain and cloudy weather +Waving lines descending from it. + Footprints pointing towards a wigwam +Were a sign of invitation, +Were a sign of guests assembling; +Bloody hands with palms uplifted +Were a symbol of destruction, +Were a hostile sign and symbol. + All these things did Hiawatha +Show unto his wondering people, +And interpreted their meaning, +And he said: "Behold, your grave-posts +Have no mark, no sign, nor symbol, +Go and paint them all with figures; +Each one with its household symbol, +With its own ancestral Totem; +So that those who follow after +May distinguish them and know them." + And they painted on the grave-posts +On the graves yet unforgotten, +Each his own ancestral Totem, +Each the symbol of his household; +Figures of the Bear and Reindeer, +Of the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver, +Each inverted as a token +That the owner was departed, +That the chief who bore the symbol +Lay beneath in dust and ashes. + And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, +The Wabenos, the Magicians, +And the Medicine-men, the Medas, +Painted upon bark and deer-skin +Figures for the songs they chanted, +For each song a separate symbol, +Figures mystical and awful, +Figures strange and brightly colored; +And each figure had its meaning, +Each some magic song suggested. + The Great Spirit, the Creator, +Flashing light through all the heaven; +The Great Serpent, the Kenabeek, +With his bloody crest erected, +Creeping, looking into heaven; +In the sky the sun, that listens, +And the moon eclipsed and dying; +Owl and eagle, crane and hen-hawk, +And the cormorant, bird of magic; +Headless men, that walk the heavens, +Bodies lying pierced with arrows, +Bloody hands of death uplifted, +Flags on graves, and great war-captains +Grasping both the earth and heaven! + Such as these the shapes they painted +On the birch-bark and the deer-skin; +Songs of war and songs of hunting, +Songs of medicine and of magic, +All were written in these figures, +For each figure had its meaning, +Each its separate song recorded. + Nor forgotten was the Love-Song, +The most subtle of all medicines, +The most potent spell of magic, +Dangerous more than war or hunting! +Thus the Love-Song was recorded, +Symbol and interpretation. + First a human figure standing, +Painted in the brightest scarlet; +'T is the lover, the musician, +And the meaning is, "My painting +Makes me powerful over others." + Then the figure seated, singing, +Playing on a drum of magic, +And the interpretation, "Listen! +'T is my voice you hear, my singing!" + Then the same red figure seated +In the shelter of a wigwam, +And the meaning of the symbol, +"I will come and sit beside you +In the mystery of my passion!" + Then two figures, man and woman, +Standing hand in hand together +With their hands so clasped together +That they seemed in one united, +And the words thus represented +Are, "I see your heart within you, +And your cheeks are red with blushes!" + Next the maiden on an island, +In the centre of an island; +And the song this shape suggested +Was, "Though you were at a distance, +Were upon some far-off island, +Such the spell I cast upon you, +Such the magic power of passion, +I could straightway draw you to me!" + Then the figure of the maiden +Sleeping, and the lover near her, +Whispering to her in her slumbers, +Saying, "Though you were far from me +In the land of Sleep and Silence, +Still the voice of love would reach you!" + And the last of all the figures +Was a heart within a circle, +Drawn within a magic circle; +And the image had this meaning: +"Naked lies your heart before me, +To your naked heart I whisper!" + Thus it was that Hiawatha, +In his wisdom, taught the people +All the mysteries of painting, +All the art of Picture-Writing, +On the smooth bark of the birch-tree, +On the white skin of the reindeer, +On the grave-posts of the village. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap110"></a>XV<br /> +HIAWATHA'S LAMENTATION</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In those days the Evil Spirits, +All the Manitos of mischief, +Fearing Hiawatha's wisdom, +And his love for Chibiabos, +Jealous of their faithful friendship, +And their noble words and actions, +Made at length a league against them, +To molest them and destroy them. + Hiawatha, wise and wary, +Often said to Chibiabos, +"O my brother! do not leave me, +Lest the Evil Spirits harm you!" +Chibiabos, young and heedless, +Laughing shook his coal-black tresses, +Answered ever sweet and childlike, +"Do not fear for me, O brother! +Harm and evil come not near me!" + Once when Peboan, the Winter, +Roofed with ice the Big-Sea-Water, +When the snow-flakes, whirling downward, +Hissed among the withered oak-leaves, +Changed the pine-trees into wigwams, +Covered all the earth with silence,— +Armed with arrows, shod with snow-shoes, +Heeding not his brother's warning, +Fearing not the Evil Spirits, +Forth to hunt the deer with antlers +All alone went Chibiabos. + Right across the Big-Sea-Water +Sprang with speed the deer before him. +With the wind and snow he followed, +O'er the treacherous ice he followed, +Wild with all the fierce commotion +And the rapture of the hunting. + But beneath, the Evil Spirits +Lay in ambush, waiting for him, +Broke the treacherous ice beneath him, +Dragged him downward to the bottom, +Buried in the sand his body. +Unktahee, the god of water, +He the god of the Dacotahs, +Drowned him in the deep abysses +Of the lake of Gitche Gumee. + From the headlands Hiawatha +Sent forth such a wail of anguish, +Such a fearful lamentation, +That the bison paused to listen, +And the wolves howled from the prairies, +And the thunder in the distance +Starting answered "Baim-wawa!" + Then his face with black he painted, +With his robe his head he covered, +In his wigwam sat lamenting, +Seven long weeks he sat lamenting, +Uttering still this moan of sorrow:— + "He is dead, the sweet musician! +He the sweetest of all singers! +He has gone from us forever, +He has moved a little nearer +To the Master of all music, +To the Master of all singing! +O my brother, Chibiabos!" + And the melancholy fir-trees +Waved their dark green fans above him, +Waved their purple cones above him, +Sighing with him to console him, +Mingling with his lamentation +Their complaining, their lamenting. + Came the Spring, and all the forest +Looked in vain for Chibiabos; +Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha, +Sighed the rushes in the meadow. + From the tree-tops sang the bluebird, +Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, +"Chibiabos! Chibiabos! +He is dead, the sweet musician!" + From the wigwam sang the robin, +Sang the robin, the Opechee, +"Chibiabos! Chibiabos! +He is dead, the sweetest singer!" + And at night through all the forest +Went the whippoorwill complaining, +Wailing went the Wawonaissa, +"Chibiabos! Chibiabos! +He is dead, the sweet musician! +He the sweetest of all singers!" + Then the Medicine-men, the Medas, +The magicians, the Wabenos, +And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, +Came to visit Hiawatha; +Built a Sacred Lodge beside him, +To appease him, to console him, +Walked in silent, grave procession, +Bearing each a pouch of healing, +Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter, +Filled with magic roots and simples, +Filled with very potent medicines. + When he heard their steps approaching, +Hiawatha ceased lamenting, +Called no more on Chibiabos; +Naught he questioned, naught he answered, +But his mournful head uncovered, +From his face the mourning colors +Washed he slowly and in silence, +Slowly and in silence followed +Onward to the Sacred Wigwam. + There a magic drink they gave him, +Made of Nahma-wusk, the spearmint, +And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow, +Roots of power, and herbs of healing; +Beat their drums, and shook their rattles; +Chanted singly and in chorus, +Mystic songs like these, they chanted. + "I myself, myself! behold me! +'T is the great Gray Eagle talking; +Come, ye white crows, come and hear him! +The loud-speaking thunder helps me; +All the unseen spirits help me; +I can hear their voices calling, +All around the sky I hear them! +I can blow you strong, my brother, +I can heal you, Hiawatha!" + "Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus, +"Way-ha-way!" the mystic chorus. + "Friends of mine are all the serpents! +Hear me shake my skin of hen-hawk! +Mahng, the white loon, I can kill him; +I can shoot your heart and kill it! +I can blow you strong, my brother, +I can heal you, Hiawatha!" + "Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus, +"Way-ha-way!" the mystic chorus. + "I myself, myself! the prophet! +When I speak the wigwam trembles, +Shakes the Sacred Lodge with terror, +Hands unseen begin to shake it! +When I walk, the sky I tread on +Bends and makes a noise beneath me! +I can blow you strong, my brother! +Rise and speak, O Hiawatha!" + "Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus, +"Way-ha-way!" the mystic chorus. + Then they shook their medicine-pouches +O'er the head of Hiawatha, +Danced their medicine-dance around him; +And upstarting wild and haggard, +Like a man from dreams awakened, +He was healed of all his madness. +As the clouds are swept from heaven, +Straightway from his brain departed +All his moody melancholy; +As the ice is swept from rivers, +Straightway from his heart departed +All his sorrow and affliction. + Then they summoned Chibiabos +From his grave beneath the waters, +From the sands of Gitche Gumee +Summoned Hiawatha's brother. +And so mighty was the magic +Of that cry and invocation, +That he heard it as he lay there +Underneath the Big-Sea-Water; +From the sand he rose and listened, +Heard the music and the singing, +Came, obedient to the summons, +To the doorway of the wigwam, +But to enter they forbade him. + Through a chink a coal they gave him, +Through the door a burning fire-brand; +Ruler in the Land of Spirits, +Ruler o'er the dead, they made him, +Telling him a fire to kindle +For all those that died thereafter, +Camp-fires for their night encampments +On their solitary journey +To the kingdom of Ponemah, +To the land of the Hereafter. + From the village of his childhood, +From the homes of those who knew him, +Passing silent through the forest, +Like a smoke-wreath wafted sideways, +Slowly vanished Chibiabos! +Where he passed, the branches moved not, +Where he trod, the grasses bent not, +And the fallen leaves of last year +Made no sound beneath his footstep. + Four whole days he journeyed onward +Down the pathway of the dead men; +On the dead-man's strawberry feasted, +Crossed the melancholy river, +On the swinging log he crossed it, +Came unto the Lake of Silver, +In the Stone Canoe was carried +To the Islands of the Blessed, +To the land of ghosts and shadows. + On that journey, moving slowly, +Many weary spirits saw he, +Panting under heavy burdens, +Laden with war-clubs, bows and arrows, +Robes of fur, and pots and kettles, +And with food that friends had given +For that solitary journey. + "Ay! why do the living," said they, +"Lay such heavy burdens on us! +Better were it to go naked, +Better were it to go fasting, +Than to bear such heavy burdens +On our long and weary journey!" +Forth then issued Hiawatha, +Wandered eastward, wandered westward, +Teaching men the use of simples +And the antidotes for poisons, +And the cure of all diseases. +Thus was first made known to mortals +All the mystery of Medamin, +All the sacred art of healing. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap111"></a>XVI<br /> +PAU-PUK-KEEWIS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, +He, the handsome Yenadizze, +Whom the people called the Storm-Fool, +Vexed the village with disturbance; +You shall hear of all his mischief, +And his flight from Hiawatha, +And his wondrous transmigrations, +And the end of his adventures. + On the shores of Gitche Gumee, +On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, +By the shining Big-Sea-Water +Stood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Keewis. +It was he who in his frenzy +Whirled these drifting sands together, +On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, +When, among the guests assembled, +He so merrily and madly +Danced at Hiawatha's wedding, +Danced the Beggar's Dance to please them. + Now, in search of new adventures, +From his lodge went Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Came with speed into the village, +Found the young men all assembled +In the lodge of old Iagoo, +Listening to his monstrous stories, +To his wonderful adventures. + He was telling them the story +Of Ojeeg, the Summer-Maker, +How he made a hole in heaven, +How he climbed up into heaven, +And let out the summer-weather, +The perpetual, pleasant Summer; +How the Otter first essayed it; +How the Beaver, Lynx, and Badger +Tried in turn the great achievement, +From the summit of the mountain +Smote their fists against the heavens, +Smote against the sky their foreheads, +Cracked the sky, but could not break it; +How the Wolverine, uprising, +Made him ready for the encounter, +Bent his knees down, like a squirrel, +Drew his arms back, like a cricket. + "Once he leaped," said old Iagoo, +"Once he leaped, and lo! above him +Bent the sky, as ice in rivers +When the waters rise beneath it; +Twice he leaped, and lo! above him +Cracked the sky, as ice in rivers +When the freshet is at highest! +Thrice he leaped, and lo! above him +Broke the shattered sky asunder, +And he disappeared within it, +And Ojeeg, the Fisher Weasel, +With a bound went in behind him!" + "Hark you!" shouted Pau-Puk-Keewis +As he entered at the doorway; +"I am tired of all this talking, +Tired of old Iagoo's stories, +Tired of Hiawatha's wisdom. +Here is something to amuse you, +Better than this endless talking." + Then from out his pouch of wolf-skin +Forth he drew, with solemn manner, +All the game of Bowl and Counters, +Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces. +White on one side were they painted, +And vermilion on the other; +Two Kenabeeks or great serpents, +Two Ininewug or wedge-men, +One great war-club, Pugamaugun, +And one slender fish, the Keego, +Four round pieces, Ozawabeeks, +And three Sheshebwug or ducklings. +All were made of bone and painted, +All except the Ozawabeeks; +These were brass, on one side burnished, +And were black upon the other. + In a wooden bowl he placed them, +Shook and jostled them together, +Threw them on the ground before him, +Thus exclaiming and explaining: +"Red side up are all the pieces, +And one great Kenabeek standing +On the bright side of a brass piece, +On a burnished Ozawabeek; +Thirteen tens and eight are counted." + Then again he shook the pieces, +Shook and jostled them together, +Threw them on the ground before him, +Still exclaiming and explaining: +"White are both the great Kenabeeks, +White the Ininewug, the wedge-men, +Red are all the other pieces; +Five tens and an eight are counted." + Thus he taught the game of hazard, +Thus displayed it and explained it, +Running through its various chances, +Various changes, various meanings: +Twenty curious eyes stared at him, +Full of eagerness stared at him. + "Many games," said old Iagoo, +"Many games of skill and hazard +Have I seen in different nations, +Have I played in different countries. +He who plays with old Iagoo +Must have very nimble fingers; +Though you think yourself so skilful, +I can beat you, Pau-Puk-Keewis, +I can even give you lessons +In your game of Bowl and Counters!" + So they sat and played together, +All the old men and the young men, +Played for dresses, weapons, wampum, +Played till midnight, played till morning, +Played until the Yenadizze, +Till the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Of their treasures had despoiled them, +Of the best of all their dresses, +Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, +Belts of wampum, crests of feathers, +Warlike weapons, pipes and pouches. +Twenty eyes glared wildly at him, +Like the eyes of wolves glared at him. + Said the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis: +"In my wigwam I am lonely, +In my wanderings and adventures +I have need of a companion, +Fain would have a Meshinauwa, +An attendant and pipe-bearer. +I will venture all these winnings, +All these garments heaped about me, +All this wampum, all these feathers, +On a single throw will venture +All against the young man yonder!" +'T was a youth of sixteen summers, +'T was a nephew of Iagoo; +Face-in-a-Mist, the people called him. + As the fire burns in a pipe-head +Dusky red beneath the ashes, +So beneath his shaggy eyebrows +Glowed the eyes of old Iagoo. +"Ugh!" he answered very fiercely; +"Ugh!" they answered all and each one. + Seized the wooden bowl the old man, +Closely in his bony fingers +Clutched the fatal bowl, Onagon, +Shook it fiercely and with fury, +Made the pieces ring together +As he threw them down before him. + Red were both the great Kenabeeks, +Red the Ininewug, the wedge-men, +Red the Sheshebwug, the ducklings, +Black the four brass Ozawabeeks, +White alone the fish, the Keego; +Only five the pieces counted! + Then the smiling Pau-Puk-Keewis +Shook the bowl and threw the pieces; +Lightly in the air he tossed them, +And they fell about him scattered; +Dark and bright the Ozawabeeks, +Red and white the other pieces, +And upright among the others +One Ininewug was standing, +Even as crafty Pau-Puk-Keewis +Stood alone among the players, +Saying, "Five tens! mine the game is!" + Twenty eyes glared at him fiercely, +Like the eyes of wolves glared at him, +As he turned and left the wigwam, +Followed by his Meshinauwa, +By the nephew of Iagoo, +By the tall and graceful stripling, +Bearing in his arms the winnings, +Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, +Belts of wampum, pipes and weapons. + "Carry them," said Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Pointing with his fan of feathers, +"To my wigwam far to eastward, +On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo!" + Hot and red with smoke and gambling +Were the eyes of Pau-Puk-Keewis +As he came forth to the freshness +Of the pleasant Summer morning. +All the birds were singing gayly, +All the streamlets flowing swiftly, +And the heart of Pau-Puk-Keewis +Sang with pleasure as the birds sing, +Beat with triumph like the streamlets, +As he wandered through the village, +In the early gray of morning, +With his fan of turkey-feathers, +With his plumes and tufts of swan's down, +Till he reached the farthest wigwam, +Reached the lodge of Hiawatha. + Silent was it and deserted; +No one met him at the doorway, +No one came to bid him welcome; +But the birds were singing round it, +In and out and round the doorway, +Hopping, singing, fluttering, feeding, +And aloft upon the ridge-pole +Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, +Sat with fiery eyes, and, screaming, +Flapped his wings at Pau-Puk-Keewis. + "All are gone! the lodge is empty!" +Thus it was spake Pau-Puk-Keewis, +In his heart resolving mischief;— +"Gone is wary Hiawatha, +Gone the silly Laughing Water, +Gone Nokomis, the old woman, +And the lodge is left unguarded!" + By the neck he seized the raven, +Whirled it round him like a rattle, +Like a medicine-pouch he shook it, +Strangled Kahgahgee, the raven, +From the ridge-pole of the wigwam +Left its lifeless body hanging, +As an insult to its master, +As a taunt to Hiawatha. + With a stealthy step he entered, +Round the lodge in wild disorder +Threw the household things about him, +Piled together in confusion +Bowls of wood and earthen kettles, +Robes of buffalo and beaver, +Skins of otter, lynx, and ermine, +As an insult to Nokomis, +As a taunt to Minnehaha. + Then departed Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Whistling, singing through the forest, +Whistling gayly to the squirrels, +Who from hollow boughs above him +Dropped their acorn-shells upon him, +Singing gayly to the wood birds, +Who from out the leafy darkness +Answered with a song as merry. + Then he climbed the rocky headlands, +Looking o'er the Gitche Gumee, +Perched himself upon their summit, +Waiting full of mirth and mischief +The return of Hiawatha. + Stretched upon his back he lay there; +Far below him plashed the waters, +Plashed and washed the dreamy waters; +Far above him swam the heavens, +Swam the dizzy, dreamy heavens; +Round him hovered, fluttered, rustled +Hiawatha's mountain chickens, +Flock-wise swept and wheeled about him, +Almost brushed him with their pinions. + And he killed them as he lay there, +Slaughtered them by tens and twenties, +Threw their bodies down the headland, +Threw them on the beach below him, +Till at length Kayoshk, the sea-gull, +Perched upon a crag above them, +Shouted: "It is Pau-Puk-Keewis! +He is slaying us by hundreds! +Send a message to our brother, +Tidings send to Hiawatha!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap112"></a>XVII<br /> +THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Full of wrath was Hiawatha +When he came into the village, +Found the people in confusion, +Heard of all the misdemeanors, +All the malice and the mischief, +Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis. + Hard his breath came through his nostrils, +Through his teeth he buzzed and muttered +Words of anger and resentment, +Hot and humming, like a hornet. +"I will slay this Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Slay this mischief-maker!" said he. +"Not so long and wide the world is, +Not so rude and rough the way is, +That my wrath shall not attain him, +That my vengeance shall not reach him!" + Then in swift pursuit departed +Hiawatha and the hunters +On the trail of Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Through the forest, where he passed it, +To the headlands where he rested; +But they found not Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Only in the trampled grasses, +In the whortleberry-bushes, +Found the couch where he had rested, +Found the impress of his body. + From the lowlands far beneath them, +From the Muskoday, the meadow, +Pau-Puk-Keewis, turning backward, +Made a gesture of defiance, +Made a gesture of derision; +And aloud cried Hiawatha, +From the summit of the mountains: +"Not so long and wide the world is, +Not so rude and rough the way is, +But my wrath shall overtake you, +And my vengeance shall attain you!" + Over rock and over river, +Through bush, and brake, and forest, +Ran the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis; +Like an antelope he bounded, +Till he came unto a streamlet +In the middle of the forest, +To a streamlet still and tranquil, +That had overflowed its margin, +To a dam made by the beavers, +To a pond of quiet water, +Where knee-deep the trees were standing, +Where the water lilies floated, +Where the rushes waved and whispered. + On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, +On the dam of trunks and branches, +Through whose chinks the water spouted, +O'er whose summit flowed the streamlet. +From the bottom rose the beaver, +Looked with two great eyes of wonder, +Eyes that seemed to ask a question, +At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis. + On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, +O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet, +Flowed the bright and silvery water, +And he spake unto the beaver, +With a smile he spake in this wise: + "O my friend Ahmeek, the beaver, +Cool and pleasant is the water; +Let me dive into the water, +Let me rest there in your lodges; +Change me, too, into a beaver!" + Cautiously replied the beaver, +With reserve he thus made answer: +"Let me first consult the others, +Let me ask the other beavers." +Down he sank into the water, +Heavily sank he, as a stone sinks, +Down among the leaves and branches, +Brown and matted at the bottom. + On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, +O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet, +Spouted through the chinks below him, +Dashed upon the stones beneath him, +Spread serene and calm before him, +And the sunshine and the shadows +Fell in flecks and gleams upon him, +Fell in little shining patches, +Through the waving, rustling branches. + From the bottom rose the beavers, +Silently above the surface +Rose one head and then another, +Till the pond seemed full of beavers, +Full of black and shining faces. + To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis +Spake entreating, said in this wise: +"Very pleasant is your dwelling, +O my friends! and safe from danger; +Can you not, with all your cunning, +All your wisdom and contrivance, +Change me, too, into a beaver?" + "Yes!" replied Ahmeek, the beaver, +He the King of all the beavers, +"Let yourself slide down among us, +Down into the tranquil water." + Down into the pond among them +Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis; +Black became his shirt of deer-skin, +Black his moccasins and leggings, +In a broad black tail behind him +Spread his fox-tails and his fringes; +He was changed into a beaver. + "Make me large," said Pau-Puk-Keewis, +"Make me large and make me larger, +Larger than the other beavers." +"Yes," the beaver chief responded, +"When our lodge below you enter, +In our wigwam we will make you +Ten times larger than the others." + Thus into the clear, brown water +Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis: +Found the bottom covered over +With the trunks of trees and branches, +Hoards of food against the winter, +Piles and heaps against the famine; +Found the lodge with arching doorway, +Leading into spacious chambers. + Here they made him large and larger, +Made him largest of the beavers, +Ten times larger than the others. +"You shall be our ruler," said they; +"Chief and King of all the beavers." + But not long had Pau-Puk-Keewis +Sat in state among the beavers, +When there came a voice of warning +From the watchman at his station +In the water-flags and lilies, +Saying, "Here Is Hiawatha! +Hiawatha with his hunters!" + Then they heard a cry above them, +Heard a shouting and a tramping, +Heard a crashing and a rushing, +And the water round and o'er them +Sank and sucked away in eddies, +And they knew their dam was broken. + On the lodge's roof the hunters +Leaped, and broke it all asunder; +Streamed the sunshine through the crevice, +Sprang the beavers through the doorway, +Hid themselves in deeper water, +In the channel of the streamlet; +But the mighty Pau-Puk-Keewis +Could not pass beneath the doorway; +He was puffed with pride and feeding, +He was swollen like a bladder. + Through the roof looked Hiawatha, +Cried aloud, "O Pau-Puk-Keewis +Vain are all your craft and cunning, +Vain your manifold disguises! +Well I know you, Pau-Puk-Keewis!" + With their clubs they beat and bruised him, +Beat to death poor Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Pounded him as maize is pounded, +Till his skull was crushed to pieces. + Six tall hunters, lithe and limber, +Bore him home on poles and branches, +Bore the body of the beaver; +But the ghost, the Jeebi in him, +Thought and felt as Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Still lived on as Pau-Puk-Keewis. + And it fluttered, strove, and struggled, +Waving hither, waving thither, +As the curtains of a wigwam +Struggle with their thongs of deer-skin, +When the wintry wind is blowing; +Till it drew itself together, +Till it rose up from the body, +Till it took the form and features +Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis +Vanishing into the forest. + But the wary Hiawatha +Saw the figure ere it vanished, +Saw the form of Pau-Puk-Keewis +Glide into the soft blue shadow +Of the pine-trees of the forest; +Toward the squares of white beyond it, +Toward an opening in the forest. +Like a wind it rushed and panted, +Bending all the boughs before it, +And behind it, as the rain comes, +Came the steps of Hiawatha. + To a lake with many islands +Came the breathless Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Where among the water-lilies +Pishnekuh, the brant, were sailing; +Through the tufts of rushes floating, +Steering through the reedy islands. +Now their broad black beaks they lifted, +Now they plunged beneath the water, +Now they darkened in the shadow, +Now they brightened in the sunshine. + "Pishnekuh!" cried Pau-Puk-Keewis, +"Pishnekuh! my brothers!" said he, +"Change me to a brant with plumage, +With a shining neck and feathers, +Make me large, and make me larger, +Ten times larger than the others." + Straightway to a brant they changed him, +With two huge and dusky pinions, +With a bosom smooth and rounded, +With a bill like two great paddles, +Made him larger than the others, +Ten times larger than the largest, +Just as, shouting from the forest, +On the shore stood Hiawatha. + Up they rose with cry and clamor, +With a whir and beat of pinions, +Rose up from the reedy Islands, +From the water-flags and lilies. +And they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis: +"In your flying, look not downward, +Take good heed and look not downward, +Lest some strange mischance should happen, +Lest some great mishap befall you!" + Fast and far they fled to northward, +Fast and far through mist and sunshine, +Fed among the moors and fen-lands, +Slept among the reeds and rushes. + On the morrow as they journeyed, +Buoyed and lifted by the South-wind, +Wafted onward by the South-wind, +Blowing fresh and strong behind them, +Rose a sound of human voices, +Rose a clamor from beneath them, +From the lodges of a village, +From the people miles beneath them. + For the people of the village +Saw the flock of brant with wonder, +Saw the wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis +Flapping far up in the ether, +Broader than two doorway curtains. + Pau-Puk-Keewis heard the shouting, +Knew the voice of Hiawatha, +Knew the outcry of Iagoo, +And, forgetful of the warning, +Drew his neck in, and looked downward, +And the wind that blew behind him +Caught his mighty fan of feathers, +Sent him wheeling, whirling downward! + All in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis +Struggle to regain his balance! +Whirling round and round and downward, +He beheld in turn the village +And in turn the flock above him, +Saw the village coming nearer, +And the flock receding farther, +Heard the voices growing louder, +Heard the shouting and the laughter; +Saw no more the flocks above him, +Only saw the earth beneath him; +Dead out of the empty heaven, +Dead among the shouting people, +With a heavy sound and sullen, +Fell the brant with broken pinions. + But his soul, his ghost, his shadow, +Still survived as Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Took again the form and features +Of the handsome Yenadizze, +And again went rushing onward, +Followed fast by Hiawatha, +Crying: "Not so wide the world is, +Not so long and rough the way is, +But my wrath shall overtake you, +But my vengeance shall attain you!" + And so near he came, so near him, +That his hand was stretched to seize him, +His right hand to seize and hold him, +When the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis +Whirled and spun about in circles, +Fanned the air into a whirlwind, +Danced the dust and leaves about him, +And amid the whirling eddies +Sprang into a hollow oak-tree, +Changed himself into a serpent, +Gliding out through root and rubbish. + With his right hand Hiawatha +Smote amain the hollow oak-tree, +Rent it into shreds and splinters, +Left it lying there in fragments. +But in vain; for Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Once again in human figure, +Full in sight ran on before him, +Sped away in gust and whirlwind, +On the shores of Gitche Gumee, +Westward by the Big-Sea-Water, +Came unto the rocky headlands, +To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone, +Looking over lake and landscape. + And the Old Man of the Mountain, +He the Manito of Mountains, +Opened wide his rocky doorways, +Opened wide his deep abysses, +Giving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter +In his caverns dark and dreary, +Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome +To his gloomy lodge of sandstone. + There without stood Hiawatha, +Found the doorways closed against him, +With his mittens, Minjekahwun, +Smote great caverns in the sandstone, +Cried aloud in tones of thunder, +"Open! I am Hiawatha!" +But the Old Man of the Mountain +Opened not, and made no answer +From the silent crags of sandstone, +From the gloomy rock abysses. + Then he raised his hands to heaven, +Called imploring on the tempest, +Called Waywassimo, the lightning, +And the thunder, Annemeekee; +And they came with night and darkness, +Sweeping down the Big-Sea-Water +From the distant Thunder Mountains; +And the trembling Pau-Puk-Keewis +Heard the footsteps of the thunder, +Saw the red eyes of the lightning, +Was afraid, and crouched and trembled. + Then Waywassimo, the lightning, +Smote the doorways of the caverns, +With his war-club smote the doorways, +Smote the jutting crags of sandstone, +And the thunder, Annemeekee, +Shouted down into the caverns, +Saying, "Where is Pau-Puk-Keewis!" +And the crags fell, and beneath them +Dead among the rocky ruins +Lay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Lay the handsome Yenadizze, +Slain in his own human figure. + Ended were his wild adventures, +Ended were his tricks and gambols, +Ended all his craft and cunning, +Ended all his mischief-making, +All his gambling and his dancing, +All his wooing of the maidens. + Then the noble Hiawatha +Took his soul, his ghost, his shadow, +Spake and said: "O Pau-Puk-Keewis, +Never more in human figure +Shall you search for new adventures; +Never more with jest and laughter +Dance the dust and leaves in whirlwinds; +But above there in the heavens +You shall soar and sail in circles; +I will change you to an eagle, +To Keneu, the great war-eagle, +Chief of all the fowls with feathers, +Chief of Hiawatha's chickens." + And the name of Pau-Puk-Keewis +Lingers still among the people, +Lingers still among the singers, +And among the story-tellers; +And in Winter, when the snow-flakes +Whirl in eddies round the lodges, +When the wind in gusty tumult +O'er the smoke-flue pipes and whistles, +"There," they cry, "comes Pau-Puk-Keewis; +He is dancing through the village, +He is gathering in his harvest!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap113"></a>XVIII<br /> +THE DEATH OF KWASIND</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Far and wide among the nations +Spread the name and fame of Kwasind; +No man dared to strive with Kwasind, +No man could compete with Kwasind. +But the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, +They the envious Little People, +They the fairies and the pygmies, +Plotted and conspired against him. + "If this hateful Kwasind," said they, +"If this great, outrageous fellow +Goes on thus a little longer, +Tearing everything he touches, +Rending everything to pieces, +Filling all the world with wonder, +What becomes of the Puk-Wudjies? +Who will care for the Puk-Wudjies? +He will tread us down like mushrooms, +Drive us all into the water, +Give our bodies to be eaten +By the wicked Nee-ba-naw-baigs, +By the Spirits of the water! + So the angry Little People +All conspired against the Strong Man, +All conspired to murder Kwasind, +Yes, to rid the world of Kwasind, +The audacious, overbearing, +Heartless, haughty, dangerous Kwasind! + Now this wondrous strength of Kwasind +In his crown alone was seated; +In his crown too was his weakness; +There alone could he be wounded, +Nowhere else could weapon pierce him, +Nowhere else could weapon harm him. + Even there the only weapon +That could wound him, that could slay him, +Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, +Was the blue cone of the fir-tree. +This was Kwasind's fatal secret, +Known to no man among mortals; +But the cunning Little People, +The Puk-Wudjies, knew the secret, +Knew the only way to kill him. + So they gathered cones together, +Gathered seed-cones of the pine-tree, +Gathered blue cones of the fir-tree, +In the woods by Taquamenaw, +Brought them to the river's margin, +Heaped them in great piles together, +Where the red rocks from the margin +Jutting overhang the river. +There they lay in wait for Kwasind, +The malicious Little People. + 'T was an afternoon in Summer; +Very hot and still the air was, +Very smooth the gliding river, +Motionless the sleeping shadows: +Insects glistened in the sunshine, +Insects skated on the water, +Filled the drowsy air with buzzing, +With a far resounding war-cry. + Down the river came the Strong Man, +In his birch canoe came Kwasind, +Floating slowly down the current +Of the sluggish Taquamenaw, +Very languid with the weather, +Very sleepy with the silence. + From the overhanging branches, +From the tassels of the birch-trees, +Soft the Spirit of Sleep descended; +By his airy hosts surrounded, +His invisible attendants, +Came the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin; +Like a burnished Dush-kwo-ne-she, +Like a dragon-fly, he hovered +O'er the drowsy head of Kwasind. + To his ear there came a murmur +As of waves upon a sea-shore, +As of far-off tumbling waters, +As of winds among the pine-trees; +And he felt upon his forehead +Blows of little airy war-clubs, +Wielded by the slumbrous legions +Of the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, +As of some one breathing on him. + At the first blow of their war-clubs, +Fell a drowsiness on Kwasind; +At the second blow they smote him, +Motionless his paddle rested; +At the third, before his vision +Reeled the landscape into darkness, +Very sound asleep was Kwasind. + So he floated down the river, +Like a blind man seated upright, +Floated down the Taquamenaw, +Underneath the trembling birch-trees, +Underneath the wooded headlands, +Underneath the war encampment +Of the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies. + There they stood, all armed and waiting, +Hurled the pine-cones down upon him, +Struck him on his brawny shoulders, +On his crown defenceless struck him. +"Death to Kwasind!" was the sudden +War-cry of the Little People. + And he sideways swayed and tumbled, +Sideways fell into the river, +Plunged beneath the sluggish water +Headlong, as an otter plunges; +And the birch canoe, abandoned, +Drifted empty down the river, +Bottom upward swerved and drifted: +Nothing more was seen of Kwasind. + But the memory of the Strong Man +Lingered long among the people, +And whenever through the forest +Raged and roared the wintry tempest, +And the branches, tossed and troubled, +Creaked and groaned and split asunder, +"Kwasind!" cried they; "that is Kwasind! +He is gathering in his fire-wood!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap114"></a>XIX<br /> +THE GHOSTS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Never stoops the soaring vulture +On his quarry in the desert, +On the sick or wounded bison, +But another vulture, watching +From his high aerial look-out, +Sees the downward plunge, and follows; +And a third pursues the second, +Coming from the invisible ether, +First a speck, and then a vulture, +Till the air is dark with pinions. + So disasters come not singly; +But as if they watched and waited, +Scanning one another's motions, +When the first descends, the others +Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise +Round their victim, sick and wounded, +First a shadow, then a sorrow, +Till the air is dark with anguish. + Now, o'er all the dreary North-land, +Mighty Peboan, the Winter, +Breathing on the lakes and rivers, +Into stone had changed their waters. +From his hair he shook the snow-flakes, +Till the plains were strewn with whiteness, +One uninterrupted level, +As if, stooping, the Creator +With his hand had smoothed them over. +Through the forest, wide and wailing, +Roamed the hunter on his snow-shoes; +In the village worked the women, +Pounded maize, or dressed the deer-skin; +And the young men played together +On the ice the noisy ball-play, +On the plain the dance of snow-shoes. + One dark evening, after sundown, +In her wigwam Laughing Water +Sat with old Nokomis, waiting +For the steps of Hiawatha +Homeward from the hunt returning. + On their faces gleamed the firelight, +Painting them with streaks of crimson, +In the eyes of old Nokomis +Glimmered like the watery moonlight, +In the eyes of Laughing Water +Glistened like the sun in water; +And behind them crouched their shadows +In the corners of the wigwam, +And the smoke in wreaths above them +Climbed and crowded through the smoke-flue. + Then the curtain of the doorway +From without was slowly lifted; +Brighter glowed the fire a moment, +And a moment swerved the smoke-wreath, +As two women entered softly, +Passed the doorway uninvited, +Without word of salutation, +Without sign of recognition, +Sat down in the farthest corner, +Crouching low among the shadows. + From their aspect and their garments, +Strangers seemed they in the village; +Very pale and haggard were they, +As they sat there sad and silent, +Trembling, cowering with the shadows. + Was it the wind above the smoke-flue, +Muttering down into the wigwam? +Was it the owl, the Koko-koho, +Hooting from the dismal forest? +Sure a voice said in the silence: +"These are corpses clad in garments, +These are ghosts that come to haunt you, +From the kingdom of Ponemah, +From the land of the Hereafter!" + Homeward now came Hiawatha +From his hunting in the forest, +With the snow upon his tresses, +And the red deer on his shoulders. +At the feet of Laughing Water +Down he threw his lifeless burden; +Nobler, handsomer she thought him, +Than when first he came to woo her, +First threw down the deer before her, +As a token of his wishes, +As a promise of the future. + Then he turned and saw the strangers, +Cowering, crouching with the shadows; +Said within himself, "Who are they? +What strange guests has Minnehaha?" +But he questioned not the strangers, +Only spake to bid them welcome +To his lodge, his food, his fireside. + When the evening meal was ready, +And the deer had been divided, +Both the pallid guests, the strangers, +Springing from among the shadows, +Seized upon the choicest portions, +Seized the white fat of the roebuck, +Set apart for Laughing Water, +For the wife of Hiawatha; +Without asking, without thanking, +Eagerly devoured the morsels, +Flitted back among the shadows +In the corner of the wigwam. + Not a word spake Hiawatha, +Not a motion made Nokomis, +Not a gesture Laughing Water; +Not a change came o'er their features; +Only Minnehaha softly +Whispered, saying, "They are famished; +Let them do what best delights them; +Let them eat, for they are famished." + Many a daylight dawned and darkened, +Many a night shook off the daylight +As the pine shakes off the snow-flakes +From the midnight of its branches; +Day by day the guests unmoving +Sat there silent in the wigwam; +But by night, in storm or starlight, +Forth they went into the forest, +Bringing fire-wood to the wigwam, +Bringing pine-cones for the burning, +Always sad and always silent. + And whenever Hiawatha +Came from fishing or from hunting, +When the evening meal was ready, +And the food had been divided, +Gliding from their darksome corner, +Came the pallid guests, the strangers, +Seized upon the choicest portions +Set aside for Laughing Water, +And without rebuke or question +Flitted back among the shadows. + Never once had Hiawatha +By a word or look reproved them; +Never once had old Nokomis +Made a gesture of impatience; +Never once had Laughing Water +Shown resentment at the outrage. +All had they endured in silence, +That the rights of guest and stranger, +That the virtue of free-giving, +By a look might not be lessened, +By a word might not be broken. + Once at midnight Hiawatha, +Ever wakeful, ever watchful, +In the wigwam, dimly lighted +By the brands that still were burning, +By the glimmering, flickering firelight +Heard a sighing, oft repeated, +Heard a sobbing, as of sorrow. + From his couch rose Hiawatha, +From his shaggy hides of bison, +Pushed aside the deer-skin curtain, +Saw the pallid guests, the shadows, +Sitting upright on their couches, +Weeping in the silent midnight. + And he said: "O guests! why is it +That your hearts are so afflicted, +That you sob so in the midnight? +Has perchance the old Nokomis, +Has my wife, my Minnehaha, +Wronged or grieved you by unkindness, +Failed in hospitable duties?" + Then the shadows ceased from weeping, +Ceased from sobbing and lamenting, +And they said, with gentle voices: +"We are ghosts of the departed, +Souls of those who once were with you. +From the realms of Chibiabos +Hither have we come to try you, +Hither have we come to warn you. + "Cries of grief and lamentation +Reach us in the Blessed Islands; +Cries of anguish from the living, +Calling back their friends departed, +Sadden us with useless sorrow. +Therefore have we come to try you; +No one knows us, no one heeds us. +We are but a burden to you, +And we see that the departed +Have no place among the living. + "Think of this, O Hiawatha! +Speak of it to all the people, +That henceforward and forever +They no more with lamentations +Sadden the souls of the departed +In the Islands of the Blessed. + "Do not lay such heavy burdens +In the graves of those you bury, +Not such weight of furs and wampum, +Not such weight of pots and kettles, +For the spirits faint beneath them. +Only give them food to carry, +Only give them fire to light them. + "Four days is the spirit's journey +To the land of ghosts and shadows, +Four its lonely night encampments; +Four times must their fires be lighted. +Therefore, when the dead are buried, +Let a fire, as night approaches, +Four times on the grave be kindled, +That the soul upon its journey +May not lack the cheerful firelight, +May not grope about in darkness. + "Farewell, noble Hiawatha! +We have put you to the trial, +To the proof have put your patience, +By the insult of our presence, +By the outrage of our actions. +We have found you great and noble. +Fail not in the greater trial, +Faint not in the harder struggle." + When they ceased, a sudden darkness +Fell and filled the silent wigwam. +Hiawatha heard a rustle +As of garments trailing by him, +Heard the curtain of the doorway +Lifted by a hand he saw not, +Felt the cold breath of the night air, +For a moment saw the starlight; +But he saw the ghosts no longer, +Saw no more the wandering spirits +From the kingdom of Ponemah, +From the land of the Hereafter. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap115"></a>XX<br /> +THE FAMINE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oh the long and dreary Winter! +Oh the cold and cruel Winter! +Ever thicker, thicker, thicker +Froze the ice on lake and river, +Ever deeper, deeper, deeper +Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, +Fell the covering snow, and drifted +Through the forest, round the village. +Hardly from his buried wigwam +Could the hunter force a passage; +With his mittens and his snow-shoes +Vainly walked he through the forest, +Sought for bird or beast and found none, +Saw no track of deer or rabbit, +In the snow beheld no footprints, +In the ghastly, gleaming forest +Fell, and could not rise from weakness, +Perished there from cold and hunger. + Oh the famine and the fever! +Oh the wasting of the famine! +Oh the blasting of the fever! +Oh the wailing of the children! +Oh the anguish of the women! + All the earth was sick and famished; +Hungry was the air around them, +Hungry was the sky above them, +And the hungry stars in heaven +Like the eyes of wolves glared at them! + Into Hiawatha's wigwam +Came two other guests, as silent +As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, +Waited not to be invited +Did not parley at the doorway +Sat there without word of welcome +In the seat of Laughing Water; +Looked with haggard eyes and hollow +At the face of Laughing Water. + And the foremost said: "Behold me! +I am Famine, Bukadawin!" +And the other said: "Behold me! +I am Fever, Ahkosewin!" + And the lovely Minnehaha +Shuddered as they looked upon her, +Shuddered at the words they uttered, +Lay down on her bed in silence, +Hid her face, but made no answer; +Lay there trembling, freezing, burning +At the looks they cast upon her, +At the fearful words they uttered. + Forth into the empty forest +Rushed the maddened Hiawatha; +In his heart was deadly sorrow, +In his face a stony firmness; +On his brow the sweat of anguish +Started, but it froze and fell not. + Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting, +With his mighty bow of ash-tree, +With his quiver full of arrows, +With his mittens, Minjekahwun, +Into the vast and vacant forest +On his snow-shoes strode he forward. + "Gitche Manito, the Mighty!" +Cried he with his face uplifted +In that bitter hour of anguish, +"Give your children food, O father! +Give us food, or we must perish! +Give me food for Minnehaha, +For my dying Minnehaha!" + Through the far-resounding forest, +Through the forest vast and vacant +Rang that cry of desolation, +But there came no other answer +Than the echo of his crying, +Than the echo of the woodlands, +"Minnehaha! Minnehaha!" + All day long roved Hiawatha +In that melancholy forest, +Through the shadow of whose thickets, +In the pleasant days of Summer, +Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, +He had brought his young wife homeward +From the land of the Dacotahs; +When the birds sang in the thickets, +And the streamlets laughed and glistened, +And the air was full of fragrance, +And the lovely Laughing Water +Said with voice that did not tremble, +"I will follow you, my husband!" + In the wigwam with Nokomis, +With those gloomy guests that watched her, +With the Famine and the Fever, +She was lying, the Beloved, +She, the dying Minnehaha. + "Hark!" she said; "I hear a rushing, +Hear a roaring and a rushing, +Hear the Falls of Minnehaha +Calling to me from a distance!" +"No, my child!" said old Nokomis, +"'T is the night-wind in the pine-trees!" +"Look!" she said; "I see my father +Standing lonely at his doorway, +Beckoning to me from his wigwam +In the land of the Dacotahs!" +"No, my child!" said old Nokomis. +"'T is the smoke, that waves and beckons!" +"Ah!" said she, "the eyes of Pauguk +Glare upon me in the darkness, +I can feel his icy fingers +Clasping mine amid the darkness! +Hiawatha! Hiawatha!" + And the desolate Hiawatha, +Far away amid the forest, +Miles away among the mountains, +Heard that sudden cry of anguish, +Heard the voice of Minnehaha +Calling to him in the darkness, +"Hiawatha! Hiawatha!" + Over snow-fields waste and pathless, +Under snow-encumbered branches, +Homeward hurried Hiawatha, +Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, +Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing: +"Wahonowin! Wahonowin! +Would that I had perished for you, +Would that I were dead as you are! +Wahonowin! Wahonowin!" + And he rushed into the wigwam, +Saw the old Nokomis slowly +Rocking to and fro and moaning, +Saw his lovely Minnehaha +Lying dead and cold before him, +And his bursting heart within him +Uttered such a cry of anguish, +That the forest moaned and shuddered, +That the very stars in heaven +Shook and trembled with his anguish. + Then he sat down, still and speechless, +On the bed of Minnehaha, +At the feet of Laughing Water, +At those willing feet, that never +More would lightly run to meet him, +Never more would lightly follow. + With both hands his face he covered, +Seven long days and nights he sat there, +As if in a swoon he sat there, +Speechless, motionless, unconscious +Of the daylight or the darkness. + Then they buried Minnehaha; +In the snow a grave they made her +In the forest deep and darksome +Underneath the moaning hemlocks; +Clothed her in her richest garments +Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, +Covered her with snow, like ermine; +Thus they buried Minnehaha. + And at night a fire was lighted, +On her grave four times was kindled, +For her soul upon its journey +To the Islands of the Blessed. +From his doorway Hiawatha +Saw it burning in the forest, +Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks; +From his sleepless bed uprising, +From the bed of Minnehaha, +Stood and watched it at the doorway, +That it might not be extinguished, +Might not leave her in the darkness. + "Farewell!" said he, "Minnehaha! +Farewell, O my Laughing Water! +All my heart is buried with you, +All my thoughts go onward with you! +Come not back again to labor, +Come not back again to suffer, +Where the Famine and the Fever +Wear the heart and waste the body. +Soon my task will be completed, +Soon your footsteps I shall follow +To the Islands of the Blessed, +To the Kingdom of Ponemah, +To the Land of the Hereafter!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap116"></a>XXI<br /> +THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In his lodge beside a river, +Close beside a frozen river, +Sat an old man, sad and lonely. +White his hair was as a snow-drift; +Dull and low his fire was burning, +And the old man shook and trembled, +Folded in his Waubewyon, +In his tattered white-skin-wrapper, +Hearing nothing but the tempest +As it roared along the forest, +Seeing nothing but the snow-storm, +As it whirled and hissed and drifted. + All the coals were white with ashes, +And the fire was slowly dying, +As a young man, walking lightly, +At the open doorway entered. +Red with blood of youth his cheeks were, +Soft his eyes, as stars in Spring-time, +Bound his forehead was with grasses; +Bound and plumed with scented grasses, +On his lips a smile of beauty, +Filling all the lodge with sunshine, +In his hand a bunch of blossoms +Filling all the lodge with sweetness. + "Ah, my son!" exclaimed the old man, +"Happy are my eyes to see you. +Sit here on the mat beside me, +Sit here by the dying embers, +Let us pass the night together, +Tell me of your strange adventures, +Of the lands where you have travelled; +I will tell you of my prowess, +Of my many deeds of wonder." + From his pouch he drew his peace-pipe, +Very old and strangely fashioned; +Made of red stone was the pipe-head, +And the stem a reed with feathers; +Filled the pipe with bark of willow, +Placed a burning coal upon it, +Gave it to his guest, the stranger, +And began to speak in this wise: +"When I blow my breath about me, +When I breathe upon the landscape, +Motionless are all the rivers, +Hard as stone becomes the water!" + And the young man answered, smiling: +"When I blow my breath about me, +When I breathe upon the landscape, +Flowers spring up o'er all the meadows, +Singing, onward rush the rivers!" + "When I shake my hoary tresses," +Said the old man darkly frowning, +"All the land with snow is covered; +All the leaves from all the branches +Fall and fade and die and wither, +For I breathe, and lo! they are not. +From the waters and the marshes, +Rise the wild goose and the heron, +Fly away to distant regions, +For I speak, and lo! they are not. +And where'er my footsteps wander, +All the wild beasts of the forest +Hide themselves in holes and caverns, +And the earth becomes as flintstone!" + "When I shake my flowing ringlets," +Said the young man, softly laughing, +"Showers of rain fall warm and welcome, +Plants lift up their heads rejoicing, +Back into their lakes and marshes +Come the wild goose and the heron, +Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow, +Sing the bluebird and the robin, +And where'er my footsteps wander, +All the meadows wave with blossoms, +All the woodlands ring with music, +All the trees are dark with foliage!" + While they spake, the night departed: +From the distant realms of Wabun, +From his shining lodge of silver, +Like a warrior robed and painted, +Came the sun, and said, "Behold me +Gheezis, the great sun, behold me!" + Then the old man's tongue was speechless +And the air grew warm and pleasant, +And upon the wigwam sweetly +Sang the bluebird and the robin, +And the stream began to murmur, +And a scent of growing grasses +Through the lodge was gently wafted. + And Segwun, the youthful stranger, +More distinctly in the daylight +Saw the icy face before him; +It was Peboan, the Winter! + From his eyes the tears were flowing, +As from melting lakes the streamlets, +And his body shrunk and dwindled +As the shouting sun ascended, +Till into the air it faded, +Till into the ground it vanished, +And the young man saw before him, +On the hearth-stone of the wigwam, +Where the fire had smoked and smouldered, +Saw the earliest flower of Spring-time, +Saw the Beauty of the Spring-time, +Saw the Miskodeed in blossom. + Thus it was that in the North-land +After that unheard-of coldness, +That intolerable Winter, +Came the Spring with all its splendor, +All its birds and all its blossoms, +All its flowers and leaves and grasses. + Sailing on the wind to northward, +Flying in great flocks, like arrows, +Like huge arrows shot through heaven, +Passed the swan, the Mahnahbezee, +Speaking almost as a man speaks; +And in long lines waving, bending +Like a bow-string snapped asunder, +Came the white goose, Waw-be-wawa; +And in pairs, or singly flying, +Mahng the loon, with clangorous pinions, +The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +And the grouse, the Mushkodasa. + In the thickets and the meadows +Piped the bluebird, the Owaissa, +On the summit of the lodges +Sang the robin, the Opechee, +In the covert of the pine-trees +Cooed the pigeon, the Omemee; +And the sorrowing Hiawatha, +Speechless in his infinite sorrow, +Heard their voices calling to him, +Went forth from his gloomy doorway, +Stood and gazed into the heaven, +Gazed upon the earth and waters. + From his wanderings far to eastward, +From the regions of the morning, +From the shining land of Wabun, +Homeward now returned Iagoo, +The great traveller, the great boaster, +Full of new and strange adventures, +Marvels many and many wonders. + And the people of the village +Listened to him as he told them +Of his marvellous adventures, +Laughing answered him in this wise: +"Ugh! it is indeed Iagoo! +No one else beholds such wonders!" + He had seen, he said, a water +Bigger than the Big-Sea-Water, +Broader than the Gitche Gumee, +Bitter so that none could drink it! +At each other looked the warriors, +Looked the women at each other, +Smiled, and said, "It cannot be so!" +Kaw!" they said, it cannot be so!" + O'er it, said he, o'er this water +Came a great canoe with pinions, +A canoe with wings came flying, +Bigger than a grove of pine-trees, +Taller than the tallest tree-tops! +And the old men and the women +Looked and tittered at each other; +"Kaw!" they said, "we don't believe it!" + From its mouth, he said, to greet him, +Came Waywassimo, the lightning, +Came the thunder, Annemeekee! +And the warriors and the women +Laughed aloud at poor Iagoo; +"Kaw!" they said, "what tales you tell us!" + In it, said he, came a people, +In the great canoe with pinions +Came, he said, a hundred warriors; +Painted white were all their faces +And with hair their chins were covered! +And the warriors and the women +Laughed and shouted in derision, +Like the ravens on the tree-tops, +Like the crows upon the hemlocks. +"Kaw!" they said, "what lies you tell us! +Do not think that we believe them!" + Only Hiawatha laughed not, +But he gravely spake and answered +To their jeering and their jesting: +"True is all Iagoo tells us; +I have seen it in a vision, +Seen the great canoe with pinions, +Seen the people with white faces, +Seen the coming of this bearded +People of the wooden vessel +From the regions of the morning, +From the shining land of Wabun. + "Gitche Manito, the Mighty, +The Great Spirit, the Creator, +Sends them hither on his errand. +Sends them to us with his message. +Wheresoe'er they move, before them +Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo, +Swarms the bee, the honey-maker; +Wheresoe'er they tread, beneath them +Springs a flower unknown among us, +Springs the White-man's Foot in blossom. + "Let us welcome, then, the strangers, +Hail them as our friends and brothers, +And the heart's right hand of friendship +Give them when they come to see us. +Gitche Manito, the Mighty, +Said this to me in my vision. + "I beheld, too, in that vision +All the secrets of the future, +Of the distant days that shall be. +I beheld the westward marches +Of the unknown, crowded nations. +All the land was full of people, +Restless, struggling, toiling, striving, +Speaking many tongues, yet feeling +But one heart-beat in their bosoms. +In the woodlands rang their axes, +Smoked their towns in all the valleys, +Over all the lakes and rivers +Rushed their great canoes of thunder. + "Then a darker, drearier vision +Passed before me, vague and cloud-like; +I beheld our nation scattered, +All forgetful of my counsels, +Weakened, warring with each other; +Saw the remnants of our people +Sweeping westward, wild and woful, +Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, +Like the withered leaves of Autumn!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap117"></a>XXII<br /> +HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By the shore of Gitche Gumee, +By the shining Big-Sea-Water, +At the doorway of his wigwam, +In the pleasant Summer morning, +Hiawatha stood and waited. +All the air was full of freshness, +All the earth was bright and joyous, +And before him, through the sunshine, +Westward toward the neighboring forest +Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo, +Passed the bees, the honey-makers, +Burning, singing in the sunshine. + Bright above him shone the heavens, +Level spread the lake before him; +From its bosom leaped the sturgeon, +Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine; +On its margin the great forest +Stood reflected in the water, +Every tree-top had its shadow, +Motionless beneath the water. + From the brow of Hiawatha +Gone was every trace of sorrow, +As the fog from off the water, +As the mist from off the meadow. +With a smile of joy and triumph, +With a look of exultation, +As of one who in a vision +Sees what is to be, but is not, +Stood and waited Hiawatha. + Toward the sun his hands were lifted, +Both the palms spread out against it, +And between the parted fingers +Fell the sunshine on his features, +Flecked with light his naked shoulders, +As it falls and flecks an oak-tree +Through the rifted leaves and branches. + O'er the water floating, flying, +Something in the hazy distance, +Something in the mists of morning, +Loomed and lifted from the water, +Now seemed floating, now seemed flying, +Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. + Was it Shingebis the diver? +Or the pelican, the Shada? +Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah? +Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa, +With the water dripping, flashing, +From its glossy neck and feathers? + It was neither goose nor diver, +Neither pelican nor heron, +O'er the water floating, flying, +Through the shining mist of morning, +But a birch canoe with paddles, +Rising, sinking on the water, +Dripping, flashing in the sunshine; +And within it came a people +From the distant land of Wabun, +From the farthest realms of morning +Came the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet, +He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face, +With his guides and his companions. + And the noble Hiawatha, +With his hands aloft extended, +Held aloft in sign of welcome, +Waited, full of exultation, +Till the birch canoe with paddles +Grated on the shining pebbles, +Stranded on the sandy margin, +Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, +With the cross upon his bosom, +Landed on the sandy margin. + Then the joyous Hiawatha +Cried aloud and spake in this wise: +"Beautiful is the sun, O strangers, +When you come so far to see us! +All our town in peace awaits you, +All our doors stand open for you; +You shall enter all our wigwams, +For the heart's right hand we give you. + "Never bloomed the earth so gayly, +Never shone the sun so brightly, +As to-day they shine and blossom +When you come so far to see us! +Never was our lake so tranquil, +Nor so free from rocks, and sand-bars; +For your birch canoe in passing +Has removed both rock and sand-bar. + "Never before had our tobacco +Such a sweet and pleasant flavor, +Never the broad leaves of our cornfields +Were so beautiful to look on, +As they seem to us this morning, +When you come so far to see us!' + And the Black-Robe chief made answer, +Stammered in his speech a little, +Speaking words yet unfamiliar: +"Peace be with you, Hiawatha, +Peace be with you and your people, +Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon, +Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary!" + Then the generous Hiawatha +Led the strangers to his wigwam, +Seated them on skins of bison, +Seated them on skins of ermine, +And the careful old Nokomis +Brought them food in bowls of basswood, +Water brought in birchen dippers, +And the calumet, the peace-pipe, +Filled and lighted for their smoking. + All the old men of the village, +All the warriors of the nation, +All the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, +The magicians, the Wabenos, +And the Medicine-men, the Medas, +Came to bid the strangers welcome; +"It is well", they said, "O brothers, +That you come so far to see us!" + In a circle round the doorway, +With their pipes they sat in silence, +Waiting to behold the strangers, +Waiting to receive their message; +Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, +From the wigwam came to greet them, +Stammering in his speech a little, +Speaking words yet unfamiliar; +"It is well," they said, "O brother, +That you come so far to see us!" + Then the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet, +Told his message to the people, +Told the purport of his mission, +Told them of the Virgin Mary, +And her blessed Son, the Saviour, +How in distant lands and ages +He had lived on earth as we do; +How he fasted, prayed, and labored; +How the Jews, the tribe accursed, +Mocked him, scourged him, crucified him; +How he rose from where they laid him, +Walked again with his disciples, +And ascended into heaven. + And the chiefs made answer, saying: +"We have listened to your message, +We have heard your words of wisdom, +We will think on what you tell us. +It is well for us, O brothers, +That you come so far to see us!" + Then they rose up and departed +Each one homeward to his wigwam, +To the young men and the women +Told the story of the strangers +Whom the Master of Life had sent them +From the shining land of Wabun. + Heavy with the heat and silence +Grew the afternoon of Summer; +With a drowsy sound the forest +Whispered round the sultry wigwam, +With a sound of sleep the water +Rippled on the beach below it; +From the cornfields shrill and ceaseless +Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena; +And the guests of Hiawatha, +Weary with the heat of Summer, +Slumbered in the sultry wigwam. + Slowly o'er the simmering landscape +Fell the evening's dusk and coolness, +And the long and level sunbeams +Shot their spears into the forest, +Breaking through its shields of shadow, +Rushed into each secret ambush, +Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow; +Still the guests of Hiawatha +Slumbered in the silent wigwam. + From his place rose Hiawatha, +Bade farewell to old Nokomis, +Spake in whispers, spake in this wise, +Did not wake the guests, that slumbered. + "I am going, O Nokomis, +On a long and distant journey, +To the portals of the Sunset. +To the regions of the home-wind, +Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin. +But these guests I leave behind me, +In your watch and ward I leave them; +See that never harm comes near them, +See that never fear molests them, +Never danger nor suspicion, +Never want of food or shelter, +In the lodge of Hiawatha!" + Forth into the village went he, +Bade farewell to all the warriors, +Bade farewell to all the young men, +Spake persuading, spake in this wise: + "I am going, O my people, +On a long and distant journey; +Many moons and many winters +Will have come, and will have vanished, +Ere I come again to see you. +But my guests I leave behind me; +Listen to their words of wisdom, +Listen to the truth they tell you, +For the Master of Life has sent them +From the land of light and morning!" + On the shore stood Hiawatha, +Turned and waved his hand at parting; +On the clear and luminous water +Launched his birch canoe for sailing, +From the pebbles of the margin +Shoved it forth into the water; +Whispered to it, "Westward! westward!" +And with speed it darted forward. + And the evening sun descending +Set the clouds on fire with redness, +Burned the broad sky, like a prairie, +Left upon the level water +One long track and trail of splendor, +Down whose stream, as down a river, +Westward, westward Hiawatha +Sailed into the fiery sunset, +Sailed into the purple vapors, +Sailed into the dusk of evening: + And the people from the margin +Watched him floating, rising, sinking, +Till the birch canoe seemed lifted +High into that sea of splendor, +Till it sank into the vapors +Like the new moon slowly, slowly +Sinking in the purple distance. + And they said, "Farewell forever!" +Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" +And the forests, dark and lonely, +Moved through all their depths of darkness, +Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" +And the waves upon the margin +Rising, rippling on the pebbles, +Sobbed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" +And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, +From her haunts among the fen-lands, +Screamed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" + Thus departed Hiawatha, +Hiawatha the Beloved, +In the glory of the sunset,. +In the purple mists of evening, +To the regions of the home-wind, +Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, +To the Islands of the Blessed, +To the Kingdom of Ponemah, +To the Land of the Hereafter! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap118"></a>NOTES<br /> +THE SONG OF HIAWATHA.</h3> + + <p> + This Indian Edda—if I may so call it—is founded on a tradition + prevalent among the North American Indians, of a personage of miraculous + birth, who was sent among them to clear their rivers, forests, and + fishing-grounds, and to teach them the arts of peace. + </p> + <p> + He was known among different tribes by the several names of Michabou, + Chiabo, Manabozo, Tarenyawagon, and Hiawatha. Mr. Schoolcraft gives an + account of him in his Algic Researches, Vol. I. p. 134; and in his + History, Condition, and Prospects of the Indian Tribes of the United + States, Part III. p. 314, may be found the Iroquois form of the tradition, + derived from the verbal narrations of an Onondaga chief. + </p> + <p> + Into this old tradition I have woven other curious Indian legends, drawn + chiefly from the various and valuable writings of Mr. Schoolcraft, to whom + the literary world is greatly indebted for his indefatigable zeal in + rescuing from oblivion so much of the legendary lore of the Indians. + </p> + <p> + The scene of the poem is among the Ojibways on the southern shore of Lake + Superior, in the region between the Pictured Rocks and the Grand Sable. + </p> + <h3> + VOCABULARY + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Adjidau'mo, the red squirrel. +Ahdeek', the reindeer. +Ahkose'win, fever. +Ahmeek', the beaver. +Algon'quin, Ojibway. +Annemee'kee, the thunder. +Apuk'wa. a bulrush. +Baim-wa'wa, the sound of the thunder. +Bemah'gut, the grapevine. +Be'na, the pheasant. +Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior. +Bukada'win, famine. +Chemaun', a birch canoe. +Chetowaik', the plover. +Chibia'bos, a musician; friend of Hiawatha; ruler in the Land of Spirits. +Dahin'da, the bull frog. +Dush-kwo-ne'she or Kwo-ne'she, the dragon fly. +Esa, shame upon you. +Ewa-yea', lullaby. +Ghee'zis, the sun. +Gitche Gu'mee, The Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior. +Gitche Man'ito, the Great Spirit, the Master of Life. +Gushkewau', the darkness. +Hiawa'tha, the Wise Man, the Teacher, son of Mudjekeewis, the + WestWind and Wenonah, daughter of Nokomis. +Ia'goo, a great boaster and story-teller. +Inin'ewug, men, or pawns in the Game of the Bowl. +Ishkoodah', fire, a comet. +Jee'bi, a ghost, a spirit. +Joss'akeed, a prophet. +Kabibonok'ka, the North-Wind. +Kagh, the hedge-hog. +Ka'go, do not. +Kahgahgee', the raven. +Kaw, no. +Kaween', no indeed. +Kayoshk', the sea-gull. +Kee'go, a fish. +Keeway'din, the Northwest wind, the Home-wind. +Kena'beek, a serpent. +Keneu', the great war-eagle. +Keno'zha, the pickerel. +Ko'ko-ko'ho, the owl. +Kuntasoo', the Game of Plum-stones. +Kwa'sind, the Strong Man. +Kwo-ne'she, or Dush-kwo-ne'she, the dragon-fly. +Mahnahbe'zee, the swan. +Mahng, the loon. +Mahn-go-tay'see, loon-hearted, brave. +Mahnomo'nee, wild rice. +Ma'ma, the woodpecker. +Maskeno'zha, the pike. +Me'da, a medicine-man. +Meenah'ga, the blueberry. +Megissog'won, the great Pearl-Feather, a magician, and the Manito + of Wealth. +Meshinau'wa, a pipe-bearer. +Minjekah'wun, Hiawatha's mittens. +Minneha'ha, Laughing Water; wife of Hiawatha; a water-fall in a +stream running into the Mississippi between Fort Snelling and the + Falls of St. Anthony. +Minne-wa'wa, a pleasant sound, as of the wind in the trees. +Mishe-Mo'kwa, the Great Bear. +Mishe-Nah'ma, the Great Sturgeon. +Miskodeed', the Spring-Beauty, the Claytonia Virginica. +Monda'min, Indian corn. +Moon of Bright Nights, April. +Moon of Leaves, May. +Moon of Strawberries, June. +Moon of the Falling Leaves, September. +Moon of Snow-shoes, November. +Mudjekee'wis, the West-Wind; father of Hiawatha. +Mudway-aush'ka, sound of waves on a shore. +Mushkoda'sa, the grouse. +Nah'ma, the sturgeon. +Nah'ma-wusk, spearmint. +Na'gow Wudj'oo, the Sand Dunes of Lake Superior. +Nee-ba-naw'-baigs, water-spirits. +Nenemoo'sha, sweetheart. +Nepah'win, sleep. +Noko'mis, a grandmother, mother of Wenonah. +No'sa, my father. +Nush'ka, look! look! +Odah'min, the strawberry. +Okahah'wis, the fresh-water herring. +Ome'me, the pigeon. +Ona'gon, a bowl. +Onaway', awake. +Ope'chee, the robin. +Osse'o, Son of the Evening Star. +Owais'sa, the bluebird. +Oweenee', wife of Osseo. +Ozawa'beek, a round piece of brass or copper in the Game of the + Bowl. +Pah-puk-kee'na, the grasshopper. +Pau'guk, death. +Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the handsome Yenadizze, the son of Storm Fool. +Pauwa'ting, Saut Sainte Marie. +Pe'boan, Winter. +Pem'ican, meat of the deer or buffalo dried and pounded. +Pezhekee', the bison. +Pishnekuh', the brant. +Pone'mah, hereafter. +Pugasaing', Game of the Bowl. +Puggawau'gun, a war-club. +Puk-Wudj'ies, little wild men of the woods; pygmies. +Sah-sah-je'wun, rapids. +Sah'wa, the perch. +Segwun', Spring. +Sha'da, the pelican. +Shahbo'min, the gooseberry. +Shah-shah, long ago. +Shaugoda'ya, a coward. +Shawgashee', the craw-fish. +Shawonda'see, the South-Wind. +Shaw-shaw, the swallow. +Shesh'ebwug, ducks; pieces in the Game of the Bowl. +Shin'gebis, the diver, or grebe. +Showain' neme'shin, pity me. +Shuh-shuh'gah, the blue heron. +Soan-ge-ta'ha, strong-hearted. +Subbeka'she, the spider. +Sugge'me, the mosquito. +To'tem, family coat-of-arms. +Ugh, yes. +Ugudwash', the sun-fish. +Unktahee', the God of Water. +Wabas'so, the rabbit, the North. +Wabe'no, a magician, a juggler. +Wabe'no-wusk, yarrow. +Wa'bun, the East-Wind. +Wa'bun An'nung, the Star of the East, the Morning Star. +Wahono'win, a cry of lamentation. +Wah-wah-tay'see, the fire-fly. +Wam'pum, beads of shell. +Waubewy'on, a white skin wrapper. +Wa'wa, the wild goose. +Waw'beek, a rock. +Waw-be-wa'wa, the white goose. +Wawonais'sa, the whippoorwill. +Way-muk-kwa'na, the caterpillar. +Wen'digoes, giants. +Weno'nah, Hiawatha's mother, daughter of Nokomis. +Yenadiz'ze, an idler and gambler; an Indian dandy. +</pre> + <p> + In the Vale of Tawasentha. + </p> + <p> + This valley, now called Norman's Kill; is in Albany County, New York. + </p> + <p> + On the Mountains of the Prairie. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Catlin, in his Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs, and + </p> + <p> + Condition of the North American Indians, Vol. II p. 160, gives an + interesting account of the Coteau des Prairies, and the Red Pipestone + Quarry. He says:— + </p> + <p> + "Here (according to their traditions) happened the mysterious birth of the + red pipe, which has blown its fumes of peace and war to the remotest + corners of the continent; which has visited every warrior, and passed + through its reddened stem the irrevocable oath of war and desolation. And + here, also, the peace-breathing calumet was born, and fringed with the + eagle's quills, which has shed its thrilling fumes over the land, and + soothed the fury of the relentless savage. + </p> + <p> + "The Great Spirit at an ancient period here called the Indian nations + together, and, standing on the precipice of the red pipe- stone rock, + broke from its wall a piece, and made a huge pipe by turning it in his + hand, which he smoked over them, and to the North, the South, the East, + and the West, and told them that this stone was red,—that it was + their flesh,—that they must use it for their pipes of peace,—that + it belonged to them all, and that the war-club and scalping-knife must not + be raised on its ground. At the last whiff of his pipe his head went into + a great cloud, and the whole surface of the rock for several miles was + melted and glazed; two great ovens were opened beneath, and two women + (guardian spirits of the place) entered them in a blaze of fire; and they + are heard there yet (Tso-mec-cos-tee aud Tso-me-cos-te-won-dee), answering + to the invocations of the high-priests or medicine-men, who consult them + when they are visitors to this sacred place." + </p> + <p> + Hark you, Bear! you are a coward. + </p> + <p> + This anecdote is from Heckewelder. In his account of the Indian Nations, + he describes an Indian hunter as addressing a bear in nearly these words. + "I was present," he says, "at the delivery of this curious invective; when + the hunter had despatched the bear, I asked him how he thought that poor + animal could understand what he said to it. 'O,' said he in answer, 'the + bear understood me very well; did you not observe how ashamed he looked + while I was upbraiding him?"'—Transactions of the American + Philosophical Society, Vol. I. p. 240. + </p> + <p> + Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee! + </p> + <p> + Heckewelder, in a letter published in the Transactions of the American + Philosophical Society, Vol. IV. p. 260, speaks of this tradition as + prevalent among the Mohicans and Delawares. + </p> + <p> + "Their reports," he says, "run thus: that among all animals that had been + formerly in this country, this was the most ferocious; that it was much + larger than the largest of the common bears, and remarkably long-bodied; + all over (except a spot of hair on its back of a white color) naked. . . . + . + </p> + <p> + "The history of this animal used to be a subject of conversation among the + Indians, especially when in the woods a hunting. I have also heard them + say to their children when crying: 'Hush! the naked bear will hear you, be + upon you, and devour you,'" + </p> + <p> + Where the Falls of Minnehaha, etc. + </p> + <p> + "The scenery about Fort Snelling is rich in beauty. The Falls of St. + Anthony are familiar to travellers, and to readers of Indian sketches. + Between the fort and these falls are the 'Little Falls,' forty feet in + height, on a stream that empties into the Mississippi. The Indians called + them Mine-hah-hah, or 'laughing waters.'" — MRS. EASTMAN'S Dacotah, + or Legends of the Sioux, Introd., p. ii. + </p> + <p> + Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo. + </p> + <p> + A description of the Grand Sable, or great sand-dunes of Lake Superior, is + given in Foster and Whitney's Report on the Geology of the Lake Superior + Land District, Part II. p. 131. + </p> + <p> + "The Grand Sable possesses a scenic interest little inferior to that of + the Pictured Rocks. The explorer passes abruptly from a coast of + consolidated sand to one of loose materials; and although in the one case + the cliffs are less precipitous, yet in the other they attain a higher + altitude. He sees before him a long reach of coast, resembling a vast + sand-bank, more than three hundred and fifty feet in height, without a + trace of vegetation. Ascending to the top, rounded hillocks of blown sand + are observed, with occasional clumps of trees standing out like oases in + the desert." + </p> + <p> + Onaway! Awake, beloved! + </p> + <p> + The original of this song may be found in Littell's Living Age, Vol. XXV. + p. 45. + </p> + <p> + On the Red Swan floating, flying. + </p> + <p> + The fanciful tradition of the Red Swan may be found in Schoolcraft's Algic + Researches, Vol. II. p. 9. Three brothers were hunting on a wager to see + who would bring home the first game. + </p> + <p> + "They were to shoot no other animal," so the legend says, "but such as + each was in the habit of killing. They set out different ways: Odjibwa, + the youngest, had not gone far before he saw a bear, an animal he was not + to kill, by the agreement. He followed him close, and drove an arrow + through him, which brought him to the ground. Although contrary to the + bet, he immediately commenced skinning him, when suddenly something red + tinged all the air around him. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was perhaps + deceived; but without effect, for the red hue continued. At length he + heard a strange noise at a distance. It first appeared like a human voice, + but after following the sound for some distance, he reached the shores of + a lake, and soon saw the object he was looking for. At a distance out in + the lake sat a most beautiful Red Swan, whose plumage glittered in the + sun, and who would now and then make the same noise he had heard. He was + within long bow-shot, and, pulling the arrow from the bowstring up to his + ear, took deliberate aim and shot. The arrow took no effect; and he shot + and shot again till his quiver was empty. Still the swan remained, moving + round and round, stretching its long neck and dipping its bill into the + water, as if heedless of the arrows shot at it. Odjibwa ran home, and got + all his own and his brother's arrows and shot them all away. He then stood + and gazed at the beautiful bird. While standing, he remembered his + brother's saying that in their deceased father's medicine-sack were three + magic arrows. Off he started, his anxiety to kill the swan overcoming all + scruples. At any other time, he would have deemed it sacrilege to open his + father's medicine-sack; but now he hastily seized the three arrows and ran + back, leaving the other contents of the sack scattered over the lodge. The + swan was still there. He shot the first arrow with great precision, and + came very near to it. The second came still closer; as he took the last + arrow, he felt his arm firmer, and, drawing it up with vigor, saw it pass + through the neck of the swan a little above the breast. Still it did not + prevent the bird from flying off, which it did, however, at first slowly, + flapping its wings and rising gradually into the airs and teen flying off + toward the sinking of the sun." — pp.10-12. + </p> + <p> + When I think of my beloved. + </p> + <p> + The original of this song may be found in Oneota, p. 15. + </p> + <p> + Sing the mysteries of Mondamin. The Indians hold the maize, or Indian + corn, in great veneration. + </p> + <p> + "They esteem it so important and divine a grain," says Schoolcraft, "that + their story-tellers invented various tales, in which this idea is + symbolized under the form of a special gift from the Great Spirit. The + Odjibwa-Algonquins, who call it Mon-da-min, that is, the Spirit's grain or + berry, have a pretty story of this kind, in which the stalk in full tassel + is represented as descending from the sky, under the guise of a handsome + youth, in answer to the prayers of a young man at his fast of virility, or + coming to manhood. + </p> + <p> + "It is well known that corn-planting and corn-gathering, at least among + all the still uncolonized tribes, are left entirely to the females and + children, and a few superannuated old men. It is not generally known, + perhaps, that this labor is not compulsory, and that it is assumed by the + females as a just equivalent, in their view, for the onerous and + continuous labor of the other sex, in providing meats, and skins for + clothing, by the chase, and in defending their villages against their + enemies, and keeping intruders off their territories. A good Indian + housewife deems this a part of her prerogative, and prides herself to have + a store of corn to exercise her hospitality, or duly honor her husband's + hospitality, in the entertainment of the lodge guests." — Oneota, p. + 82. + </p> + <p> + Thus the fields shall be more fruitful. + </p> + <p> + "A singular proof of this belief, in both sexes, of the mysterious + influence of the steps of a woman on the vegetable and in sect creation, + is found in an ancient custom, which was related to me, respecting + corn-planting. It was the practice of the hunter's wife, when the field of + corn had been planted, to choose the first dark or overclouded evening to + perform a secret circuit, sans habillement, around the field. For this + purpose she slipped out of the lodge in the evening, unobserved, to some + obscure nook, where she completely disrobed. Then, taking her matchecota, + or principal garment, in one hand, she dragged it around the field. This + was thought to insure a prolific crop, and to prevent the assaults of + insects and worms upon the grain. It was supposed they could not creep + over the charmed line." — Oneota, p. 83. + </p> + <p> + With his prisoner-string he bound him. + </p> + <p> + "These cords," says Mr. Tanner "are made of the bark of the elm- tree, by + boiling and then immersing it in cold water. . . . The leader of a war + party commonly carries several fastened about his waist, and if, in the + course of the fight, any one of his young men take a prisoner, it is his + duty to bring him immediately to the chief, to be tied, and the latter is + responsible for his safe keeping." — Narrative of Captivity and + Adventures, p. 412. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wagemin, the thief of cornfields, + Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear. +</pre> + <p> + "If one of the young female huskers finds a red ear of corn, it is typical + of a brave admirer, and is regarded as a fitting present to some young + warrior. But if the ear be crooked, and tapering to a point, no matter + what color, the whole circle is set in a roar, and wa-ge-min is the word + shouted aloud. It is the symbol of a thief in the cornfield. It is + considered as the image of an old man stooping as he enters the lot. Had + the chisel of Praxiteles been employed to produce this image, it could not + more vividly bring to the minds of the merry group the idea of a pilferer + of their favorite mondamin. . . . + </p> + <p> + "The literal meaning of the term is, a mass, or crooked ear of grain; but + the ear of corn so called is a conventional type of a little old man + pilfering ears of corn in a cornfield. It is in this manner that a single + word or term, in these curious languages, becomes the fruitful parent of + many ideas. And we can thus perceive why it is that the word wagemin is + alone competent to excite merriment in the husking circle. + </p> + <p> + "This term is taken as the basis of the cereal chorus, or corn song, as + sung by the Northern Algonquin tribes. It is coupled with the phrase + Paimosaid,—a permutative form of the Indian substantive, made from + the verb pim-o-sa, to walk. Its literal meaning is, he who walks, or the + walker; but the ideas conveyed by it are, he who walks by night to pilfer + corn. It offers, therefore, a kind of parallelism in expression to the + preceding term." — Oneota, p. 254. + </p> + <p> + Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces. + </p> + <p> + This Game of the Bowl is the principal game of hazard among the Northern + tribes of Indians. Mr. Schoolcraft gives a particular account of it in + Oneota, p. 85. "This game," he says, "is very fascinating to some portions + of the Indians. They stake at it their ornaments, weapons, clothing, + canoes, horses, everything in fact they possess; and have been known, it + is said, to set up their wives and children and even to forfeit their own + liberty. Of such desperate stakes I have seen no examples, nor do I think + the game itself in common use. It is rather confined to certain persons, + who hold the relative rank of gamblers in Indian society,—men who + are not noted as hunters or warriors, or steady providers for their + families. Among these are persons who bear the term of Iena-dizze- wug, + that is, wanderers about the country, braggadocios, or fops. It can hardly + be classed with the popular games of amusement, by which skill and + dexterity are acquired. I have generally found the chiefs and graver men + of the tribes, who encouraged the young men to play ball, and are sure to + be present at the customary sports, to witness, and sanction, and applaud + them, speak lightly and disparagingly of this game of hazard. Yet it + cannot be denied that some of the chiefs, distinguished in war and the + chase, at the West, can be referred to as lending their example to its + fascinating power." + </p> + <p> + See also his history, Condition, and Prospects of the Indian Tribes, Part + II, p. 72. + </p> + <p> + To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone. + </p> + <p> + The reader will find a long description of the Pictured Rocks in Foster + and Whitney's Report on the Geology of the Lake Superior Land District, + Part II. p. 124. From this I make the following extract:— + </p> + <p> + "The Pictured Rocks may be described, in general terms, as a series of + sandstone bluffs extending along the shore of Lake Superior for about five + miles, and rising, in most places, vertically from the water, without any + beach at the base, to a height varying from fifty to nearly two hundred + feet. Were they simply a line of cliffs, they might not, so far as relates + to height or extent, be worthy of a rank among great natural curiosities, + although such an assemblage of rocky strata, washed by the waves of the + great lake, would not, under any circumstances, be destitute of grandeur. + To the voyager, coasting along their base in his frail canoe, they would, + at all times, be an object of dread; the recoil of the surf, the + rock-bound coast, affording, for miles, no place of refuge,—the + lowering sky, the rising wind,—all these would excite his + apprehension, and induce him to ply a vigorous oar until the dreaded wall + was passed. But in the Pictured Rocks there are two features which + communicate to the scenery a wonderful and almost unique character. These + are, first, the curious manner in which the cliffs have been excavated and + worn away by the action of the lake, which, for centuries, has dashed an + ocean-like surf against their base; and, second, the equally curious + manner in which large portions of the surface have been colored by bands + of brilliant hues. + </p> + <p> + "It is from the latter circumstance that the name, by which these cliffs + are known to the American traveller, is derived; while that applied to + them by the French voyageurs ('Les Portails') is derived from the former, + and by far the most striking peculiarity. + </p> + <p> + "The term Pictured Rocks has been in use for a great length of time; but + when it was first applied, we have been unable to discover. It would seem + that the first travellers were more impressed with the novel and striking + distribution of colors on the surface than with the astonishing variety of + form into which the cliffs themselves have been worn. . . . + </p> + <p> + "Our voyageurs had many legends to relate of the pranks of the Menni-bojou + in these caverns, and, in answer to our inquiries, seemed disposed to + fabricate stories, without end, of the achievements of this Indian deity." + </p> + <p> + Toward the Sun his hands were lifted. + </p> + <p> + In this manner, and with such salutations, was Father Marquette received + by the Illinois. See his Voyages et Decouvertes, Section V. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +[END HIAWATHA NOTES] +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap119"></a>THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap120"></a>I<br/> +MILES STANDISH</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, +To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, +Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather, +Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain. +Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing +Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, +Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber,— +Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus, +Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence, +While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock. +Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, +Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron; +Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already +Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November. +Near him was seated John Alden, his friend, and household companion, +Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window; +Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion, +Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives +Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels." +Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower. + + Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting, +Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth. +"Look at these arms," he said, "the warlike weapons that hang here +Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection! +This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate, +Well I remember the day! once saved my life in a skirmish; +Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet +Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero. +Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish +Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses." +Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing: +"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet; +He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!" +Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling: +"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging; +That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others. +Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage; +So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn. +Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army, +Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock, +Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage, +And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!" +This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams +Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment. +Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued: +"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted +High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks to the purpose, +Steady, straight-forward, and strong, with irresistible logic, +Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen. +Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians; +Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the better,— +Let them come if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or pow-wow, +Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamon!" + + Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the landscape, +Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east-wind, +Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of the ocean, +Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine. +Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the landscape, +Gloom intermingled with light; and his voice was subdued with emotion, +Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded: +"Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Standish; +Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the wayside! +She was the first to die of all who came in the Mayflower! +Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have sown there, +Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people, +Lest they should count them and see how many already have perished!" +Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful. + + Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them +Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for binding; +Bariffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of Caesar, +Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of London, +And, as if guarded by these, between them was standing the Bible. +Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful +Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort, +Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the Romans, +Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Christians. +Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous Roman, +Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, and in silence +Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks thick on the margin, +Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was hottest. +Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, +Busily writing epistles important, to go by the Mayflower, +Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing! +Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible winter, +Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Priscilla, +Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap121"></a>II<br/> +LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, +Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain, +Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Caesar. +After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm downwards, +Heavily on the page: "A wonderful man was this Caesar! +You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow +Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful!" +Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the youthful: +"Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his weapons. +Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate +Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs." +"Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the other, +"Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Caesar! +Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village, +Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it. +Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times after; +Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he conquered; +He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded; +Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus! +Now, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in Flanders, +When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving way too, +And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so closely together +There was no room for their swords? Why, he seized a shield from a soldier, +Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded the captains, +Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns; +Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their weapons; +So he won the day, the battle of something-or-other. +That's what I always say; if you wish a thing to be well done, +You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!" + + All was silent again; the Captain continued his reading. +Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling +Writing epistles important to go next day by the Mayflower, +Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla; +Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla, +Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the secret, +Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla! +Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous cover, +Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding his musket, +Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth: +"When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell you. +Be not however in haste; I can wait; I shall not be impatient!" +Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters, +Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention: +"Speak; for whenever you speak, I am always ready to listen, +Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish." +Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his phrases: +"'T is not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures. +This I have said before, and again and again I repeat it; +Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and say it. +Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary and dreary; +Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of friendship. +Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priscilla. +She is alone in the world; her father and mother and brother +Died in the winter together; I saw her going and coming, +Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the dying, +Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, that if ever +There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heaven, +Two have I seen and known; and the angel whose name is Priscilla +Holds in my desolate life the place which the other abandoned. +Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it, +Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most part. +Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth, +Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of actions, +Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. +Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning; +I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. +You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant language, +Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, +Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a maiden." + + When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, taciturn stripling, +All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered, +Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with lightness, +Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom, +Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by lightning, +Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than answered: +"Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it; +If you would have it well done,—I am only repeating your maxim,— +You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!" +But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from his purpose, +Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of Plymouth: +"Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it; +But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for nothing. +Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases. +I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender, +But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not. +I'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a cannon, +But of a thundering "No!" point-blank from the mouth of a woman, +That I confess I'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it! +So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant scholar, +Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning of phrases." +Taking the hand of his friend, who still was reluctant and doubtful, +Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he added: +"Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the feeling that prompts me; +Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our friendship!" +Then made answer John Alden: "The name of friendship is sacred; +What you demand in that name, I have not the power to deny you!" +So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding the gentler, +Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap122"></a>III<br/> +THE LOVER'S ERRAND</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his errand, +Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of the forest, +Into the tranquil woods, where blue-birds and robins were building +Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of verdure, +Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom. +All around him was calm, but within him commotion and conflict, +Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. +To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, +As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel, +Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean! +"Must I relinquish it all," he cried with a wild lamentation, +"Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the illusion? +Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and worshipped in silence? +Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the shadow +Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New England? +Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of corruption +Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of passion; +Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions of Satan. +All is clear to me now; I feel it, I see it distinctly! +This is the hand of the Lord; it is laid upon me in anger, +For I have followed too much the heart's desires and devices, +Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious idols of Baal. +This is the cross I must bear; the sin and the swift retribution." + + So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand; +Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled over pebble and shallow, +Gathering still, as he went, the May-flowers blooming around him, +Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and wonderful sweetness, +Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in their slumber. +"Puritan flowers," he said, "and the type of Puritan maidens, +Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla! +So I will take them to her; to Priscilla the May-flower of Plymouth, +Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I take them; +Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and wither and perish, +Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the giver." +So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand; +Came to an open space, and saw the disk of the ocean, +Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfortless breath of the east-wind; +Saw the new-built house and people at work in a meadow; +Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of Priscilla +Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan anthem, +Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of the Psalmist, +Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting many. +Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden +Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift +Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle, +While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion. +Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of Ainsworth, +Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together, +Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard, +Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. +Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan anthem, +She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest, +Making the humble house and the modest apparel of home-spun +Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of her being! +Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold and relentless, +Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe of his errand; +All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that had vanished, +All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion, +Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces. +Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he said it, +"Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look backwards; +Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers of life to its fountains, +Though it pass o'er the graves of the dead and the hearths of the living, +It is the will of the Lord; and his mercy endureth for ever!" + + So he entered the house: and the hum of the wheel and the singing +Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold, +Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in signal of welcome, +Saying, "I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage; +For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning." +Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had been mingled +Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the maiden, +Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an answer, +Finding no words for his thought. He remembered that day in the winter, +After the first great snow, when he broke a path from the village, +Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that encumbered the doorway, +Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the house, and Priscilla +Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by the fireside, +Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in the snow-storm. +Had he but spoken then! perhaps not in vain had he spoken; +Now it was all too late; the golden moment had vanished! +So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers for an answer. + + Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the beautiful Spring-time, +Talked of their friends at home, and the Mayflower that sailed on the morrow. +"I have been thinking all day," said gently the Puritan maiden, +"Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedge-rows of England,— +They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a garden; +Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the linnet, +Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbors +Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together, +And, at the end of the street, the village church, with the ivy +Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in the churchyard. +Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my religion; +Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back in Old England. +You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it: I almost +Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely and wretched." + + Thereupon answered the youth:—"Indeed I do not condemn you; +Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this terrible winter. +Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to lean on; +So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer of marriage +Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth!" + + Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of letters,— +Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful phrases, +But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a schoolboy; +Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly. +Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden +Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder, +Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered her speechless; +Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: +"If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, +Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me? +If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!" +Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the matter, +Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy,— +Had no time for such things;—such things! the words grating harshly +Fell on the ear of Priscilla; and swift as a flash she made answer: +"Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is married, +Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the wedding? +That is the way with you men; you don't understand us, you cannot. +When you have made up your minds, after thinking of this one and that one, +Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with another, +Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and sudden avowal, +And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, that a woman +Does not respond at once to a love that she never suspected, +Does not attain at a bound the height to which you have been climbing. +This is not right nor just: for surely a woman's affection +Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only the asking. +When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but shows it. +Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed that he loved me, +Even this Captain of yours—who knows?—at last might have won me, +Old and rough as he is; but now it never can happen." + + Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of Priscilla, +Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, expanding; +Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his battles in Flanders, +How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer affliction, +How, in return for his zeal, they had made him Captain of Plymouth; +He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree plainly +Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lancashire, England, +Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of Thurston de Standish; +Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely defrauded, +Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a cock argent +Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the blazon. +He was a man of honor, of noble and generous nature; +Though he was rough, he was kindly; she knew how during the winter +He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as woman's; +Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and headstrong, +Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable always, +Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little of stature; +For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, courageous; +Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England, +Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles Standish! + + But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language, +Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, +Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes over-running with laughter, +Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap123"></a>IV<br/> +JOHN ALDEN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewildered, +Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the sea-side; +Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to the east-wind, +Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and fever within him. +Slowly as out of the heavens, with apocalyptical splendors, +Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the Apostle, +So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and sapphire, +Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets uplifted +Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured the city. + + "Welcome, O wind of the East!" he exclaimed in his wild exultation, +"Welcome, O wind of the East, from the caves of the misty Atlantic! +Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless meadows of sea-grass, +Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos and gardens of ocean! +Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, and wrap me +Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within me!" + + Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moaning and tossing, +Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of the sea-shore. +Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions contending; +Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleeding, +Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pleadings of duty! +"Is it my fault," he said, "that the maiden has chosen between us? +Is it my fault that he failed,—my fault that I am the victor?" +Then within him there thundered a voice, like the voice of the Prophet: +"It hath displeased the Lord!"—and he thought of David's transgression, +Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the front of the battle! +Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and self-condemnation, +Overwhelmed him at once; and he cried in the deepest contrition: +"It hath displeased the Lord! It is the temptation of Satan!" + + Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and beheld there +Dimly the shadowy form of the Mayflower riding at anchor, +Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the morrow; +Heard the voices of men through the mist, the rattle of cordage +Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the sailors' "Ay, ay, Sir!" +Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air of the twilight. +Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and stared at the vessel, +Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a phantom, +Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the beckoning shadow. +"Yes, it is plain to me now," he murmured; "the hand of the Lord is +Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bondage of error, +Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its waters around me, +Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts that pursue me. +Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land will abandon, +Her whom I may not love, and him whom my heart has offended. +Better to be in my grave in the green old churchyard in England, +Close by my mother's side, and among the dust of my kindred; +Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame and dishonor! +Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow chamber +With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel that glimmers +Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of silence and darkness,— +Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal hereafter!" + + Thus as he spake, he turned, in the strength of his strong resolution, +Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along in the twilight, +Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent and sombre, +Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses of Plymouth, +Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of the evening. +Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubtable Captain +Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of Caesar, +Fighting some great campaign in Hainault or Brabant or Flanders. +"Long have you been on your errand," he said with a cheery demeanor, +Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears not the issue. +"Not far off is the house, although the woods are between us; +But you have lingered so long, that while you were going and coming +I have fought ten battles and sacked and demolished a city. +Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that has happened." + + Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous adventure, +From beginning to end, minutely, just as it happened; +How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in his courtship, +Only smoothing a little, and softening down her refusal. +But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had spoken, +Words so tender and cruel: "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?" +Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor, till his armor +Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister omen. +All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion, +Even as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction around it. +Wildly he shouted, and loud: "John Alden! you have betrayed me! +Me, Miles Standish, your friend! have supplanted, defrauded, betrayed me! +One of my ancestors ran his sword through the heart of Wat Tyler; +Who shall prevent me from running my own through the heart of a traitor? +Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason to friendship! +You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and loved as a brother; +You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my cup, to whose keeping +I have intrusted my honor, my thoughts the most sacred and secret,— +You too, Brutus! ah woe to the name of friendship hereafter! +Brutus was Caesar's friend, and you were mine, but henceforward +Let there be nothing between us save war, and implacable hatred!" + + So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the chamber, +Chafing and choking with rage; like cords were the veins on his temples. +But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorway, +Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent importance, +Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians! +Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further question or parley, +Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its scabbard of iron, +Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, departed. +Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the scabbard +Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the distance. +Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the darkness, +Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with the insult, +Lifted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his hands as in childhood, +Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who seeth in secret. + + Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful away to the council, +Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting his coming; +Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in deportment, +Only one of them old, the hill that was nearest to heaven, +Covered with snow, but erect, the excellent Elder of Plymouth. +God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for this planting, +Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a nation; +So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the people! +Near them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern and defiant, +Naked down to the waist, and grim and ferocious in aspect; +While on the table before them was lying unopened a Bible, +Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in Holland, +And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattle-snake glittered, +Filled, like a quiver, with arrows; a signal and challenge of warfare, +Brought by the Indian, and speaking with arrowy tongues of defiance. +This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard them debating +What were an answer befitting the hostile message and menace, +Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, objecting; +One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the Elder, +Judging it wise and well that some at least were converted, +Rather than any were slain, for this was but Christian behavior! +Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart Captain of Plymouth, +Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky with anger, +"What! do you mean to make war with milk and the water of roses? +Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer planted +There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red devils? +Truly the only tongue that is understood by a savage +Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth of the cannon!" +Thereupon answered and said the excellent Elder of Plymouth, +Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent language: +"Not so thought Saint Paul, nor yet the other Apostles; +Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of fire they spake with!" +But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, +Who had advanced to the table, and thus continued discoursing: +"Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it pertaineth. +War is a terrible trade; but in the cause that is righteous, +Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the challenge!" + + Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden, contemptuous gesture, +Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets +Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage, +Saying, in thundering tones: "Here, take it! this is your answer!" +Silently out of the room then glided the glistening savage, +Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a serpent, +Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap124"></a>V<br/> +THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the meadows, +There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village of Plymouth; +Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order imperative, "Forward!" +Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then silence. +Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the village. +Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous army, +Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the white men, +Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. +Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of King David; +Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the Bible,— +Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and Philistines. +Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morning; +Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, advancing, +Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. + + Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Plymouth +Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold labors. +Sweet was the air and soft; and slowly the smoke from the chimneys +Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily eastward; +Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked of the weather, +Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair for the Mayflower; +Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dangers that menaced, +He being gone, the town, and what should be done in his absence. +Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women +Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the household. +Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at his coming; +Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the mountains; +Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at anchor, +Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of the winter. +Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping her canvas, +Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of the sailors. +Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean, +Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward; anon rang +Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and the echoes +Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of departure! +Ah! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the people! +Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from the Bible, +Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent entreaty! +Then from their houses in haste came forth the Pilgrims of Plymouth, +Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the sea-shore, +Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the Mayflower, +Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving them here in the desert. + + Foremost among them was Alden. All night he had lain without slumber, +Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest of his fever. +He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back late from the council, +Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and murmur, +Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes it sounded like swearing. +Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a moment in silence; +Then he had turned away, and said: "I will not awake him; +Let him sleep on, it is best; for what is the use of more talking!" +Then he extinguished the light, and threw himself down on his pallet, +Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break of the morning,— +Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in his campaigns in Flanders,— +Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready for action. +But with the dawn he arose; in the twilight Alden beheld him +Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of his armor, +Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, +Take from the corner his musket, and so stride out of the chamber. +Often the heart of the youth had burned and yearned to embrace him, +Often his lips had essayed to speak, imploring for pardon; +All the old friendship came back, with its tender and grateful emotions; +But his pride overmastered the nobler nature within him,— +Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the burning fire of the insult. +So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake not, +Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, and he spake not! +Then he arose from his bed, and heard what the people were saying, +Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and Richard and Gilbert, +Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of Scripture, +And, with the others, in haste went hurrying down to the sea-shore, +Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet as a door-step +Into a world unknown,—the corner-stone of a nation! + + There with his boat was the Master, already a little impatient +Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to the eastward, +Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of ocean about him, +Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters and parcels +Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled together +Into his narrow brain, till at last he was wholly bewildered. +Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on the gunwale, +One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with the sailors, +Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for starting. +He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to his anguish, +Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is or canvas, +Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise and pursue him. +But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of Priscilla +Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that was passing. +Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his intention, +Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, and patient, +That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its purpose, +As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is destruction. +Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysterious instincts! +Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are moments, +Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall adamantine! +"Here I remain!" he exclaimed, as he looked at the heavens above him, +Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist and the madness, +Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering headlong. +"Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether above me, +Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over the ocean. +There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost-like, +Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for protection. +Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether! +Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me; I heed not +Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil! +There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so wholesome, +As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by her footsteps. +Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible presence +Hover around her for ever, protecting, supporting her weakness; +Yes! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock at the landing, +So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leaving!" + + Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air and important, +Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and the weather, +Walked about on the sands; and the people crowded around him +Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful remembrance. +Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping a tiller, +Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his vessel, +Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry, +Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and sorrow, +Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but Gospel! +Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of the Pilgrims. +O strong hearts and true! not one went back in the Mayflower! +No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this ploughing! + + Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the sailors +Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponderous anchor. +Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the west-wind, +Blowing steady and strong; and the Mayflower sailed from the harbor, +Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the southward +Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First Encounter, +Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic, +Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling hearts of the Pilgrims. + + Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the vessel, +Much endeared to them all, as something living and human; +Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in a vision prophetic, +Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plymouth +Said, "Let us pray!" and they prayed, and thanked the Lord and took courage. +Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, and above them +Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, and their kindred +Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the prayer that they uttered. +Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of the ocean +Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in a graveyard; +Buried beneath it lay for ever all hope of escaping. +Lo! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an Indian, +Watching them from the hill; but while they spake with each other, +Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, "Look!" he had vanished. +So they returned to their homes; but Alden lingered a little, +Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of the billows +Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash of the sunshine, +Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the waters. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap125"></a>VI<br/> +PRISCILLA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus for a while he stood, and mused by the shore of the ocean, +Thinking of many things, and most of all of Priscilla; +And as if thought had the power to draw to itself, like the loadstone, +Whatsoever it touches, by subtile laws of its nature, +Lo! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing beside him. + + "Are you so much offended, you will not speak to me?" said she. +"Am I so much to blame, that yesterday, when you were pleading +Warmly the cause of another, my heart, impulsive and wayward, +Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful perhaps of decorum? +Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so frankly, for saying +What I ought not to have said, yet now I can never unsay it; +For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion, +That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble +Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, +Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together. +Yesterday I was shocked, when I heard you speak of Miles Standish, +Praising his virtues, transforming his very defects into virtues, +Praising his courage and strength, and even his fighting in Flanders, +As if by fighting alone you could win the heart of a woman, +Quite overlooking yourself and the rest, in exalting your hero. +Therefore I spake as I did, by an irresistible impulse. +You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of the friendship between us, +Which is too true and too sacred to be so easily broken!" +Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, the friend of Miles Standish: +"I was not angry with you, with myself alone I was angry, +Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had in my keeping." +"No!" interrupted the maiden, with answer prompt and decisive; +"No; you were angry with me, for speaking so frankly and freely. +It was wrong, I acknowledge; for it is the fate of a woman +Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, +Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. +Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women +Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers +Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, unseen, and unfruitful, +Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and profitless murmurs." +Thereupon answered John Alden, the young man, the lover of women: +"Heaven forbid it, Priscilla; and truly they seem to me always +More like the beautiful rivers that watered the garden of Eden, +More like the river Euphrates, through deserts of Havilah flowing, +Filling the land with delight, and memories sweet of the garden!" +"Ah, by these words, I can see," again interrupted the maiden, +"How very little you prize me, or care for what I am saying. +When from the depths of my heart, in pain and with secret misgiving, +Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy only and kindness, +Straightway you take up my words, that are plain and direct and in earnest, +Turn them away from their meaning, and answer with flattering phrases. +This is not right, is not just, is not true to the best that is in you; +For I know and esteem you, and feel that your nature is noble, +Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal level. +Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it perhaps the more keenly +If you say aught that implies I am only as one among many, +If you make use of those common and complimentary phrases +Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking with women, +But which women reject as insipid, if not as insulting." + + Mute and amazed was Alden; and listened and looked at Priscilla, +Thinking he never had seen her more fair, more divine in her beauty. +He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the cause of another, +Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking in vain for an answer. +So the maiden went on, and little divined or imagined +What was at work in his heart, that made him so awkward and speechless. +"Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all things +Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred professions of friendship. +It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare it: +I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak with you always. +So I was hurt at your words, and a little affronted to hear you +Urge me to marry your friend, though he were the Captain Miles Standish. +For I must tell you the truth: much more to me is your friendship +Than all the love he could give, were he twice the hero you think him." +Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who eagerly grasped it, +Felt all the wounds in his heart, that were aching and bleeding so sorely, +Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said, with a voice full of feeling: +"Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship +Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest!" + + Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail of the Mayflower, +Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the horizon, +Homeward together they walked, with a strange, indefinite feeling, +That all the rest had departed and left them alone in the desert. +But, as they went through the fields in the blessing and smile of the sunshine, +Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very archly: +"Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pursuit of the Indians, +Where he is happier far than he would be commanding a household, +You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that happened between you, +When you returned last night, and said how ungrateful you found me." +Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the whole of the story,— +Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath of Miles Standish. +Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between laughing and earnest, +"He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a moment!" +But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how much he had suffered,— +How he had even determined to sail that day in the Mayflower, +And had remained for her sake, on hearing the dangers that threatened,— +All her manner was changed, and she said with a faltering accent, +"Truly I thank you for this: how good you have been to me always!" + + Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jerusalem journeys, +Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly backward, +Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs of contrition; +Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever advancing, +Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy Land of his longings, +Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by remorseful misgivings. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap126"></a>VII<br/> +THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching steadily northward, +Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of the sea-shore, +All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his anger +Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odor of powder +Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the forest. +Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort; +He who was used to success, and to easy victories always, +Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden, +Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he had trusted! +Ah! 't was too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed in his armor! + + "I alone am to blame," he muttered, "for mine was the folly. +What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gray in the harness, +Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing of maidens? +'T was but a dream,—let it pass,—let it vanish like so many others! +What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is worthless; +Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, and henceforward +Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers!" +Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and discomfort, +While he was marching by day or lying at night in the forest, +Looking up at the trees, and the constellations beyond them. + + After a three days' march he came to an Indian encampment +Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest; +Women at work by the tents, and the warriors, horrid with war-paint, +Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking together; +Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach of the white men, +Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate and sabre and musket, +Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them advancing, +Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as a present; +Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was hatred. +Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers gigantic in stature, +Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king of Bashan; +One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wattawamat. +Round their necks were suspended their knives in scabbards of wampum, +Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle. +Other arms had they none, for they were cunning and crafty. +"Welcome, English!" they said,—these words they had learned from the traders +Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer for peltries. +Then in their native tongue they began to parley with Standish, +Through his guide and interpreter Hobomok, friend of the white man, +Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder, +Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his cellars, +Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man! +But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the Bible, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to bluster. +Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other, +And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain: +"Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain, +Angry is he in his heart; but the heart of the brave Wattawamat +Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a woman, +But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven by lightning, +Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about him, +Shouting, 'Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat?'" +Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand, +Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle, +Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning: +"I have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle; +By and by they shall marry; and there will be plenty of children!" + + Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting Miles Standish: +While with his fingers he petted the knife that hung at his bosom, +Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, as he muttered, +"By and by it shall see; it shall eat; ah, ha! but shall speak not! +This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us! +He is a little man; let him go and work with the women!" + + Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians +Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, +Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bow-strings, +Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their ambush. +But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them smoothly; +So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the fathers. +But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt, and the insult, +All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston de Standish, +Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples. +Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his knife from its scabbard, +Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the savage +Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness upon it. +Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the war-whoop, +And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December, +Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows, +Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the lightning, +Out of the lightning thunder, and death unseen ran before it. +Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket, +Hotly pursued and beset; but their sachem, the brave Wattawamat, +Fled not; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet +Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutching the greensward, +Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his fathers. + + There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors lay, and above them, +Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of the white man. +Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain of Plymouth: +"Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his strength, and his stature,— +Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man; but I see now +Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before you!" + + Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles Standish. +When the tidings thereof were brought to the village of Plymouth, +And as a trophy of war the head of the brave Wattawamat +Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once was a church and a fortress, +All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and took courage. +Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre of terror, +Thanking God in her heart that she had not married Miles Standish; +Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his battles, +He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and reward of his valor. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap127"></a>VIII<br/> +THE SPINNING-WHEEL</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Month after month passed away, and in Autumn the ships of the merchants +Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn for the Pilgrims. +All in the village was peace; the men were intent on their labors, +Busy with hewing and building, with garden-plot and with merestead, +Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the grass in the meadows, +Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in the forest. +All in the village was peace; but at times the rumor of warfare +Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension of danger. +Bravely the stalwart Miles Standish was scouring the land with his forces, +Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien armies, +Till his name had become a sound of fear to the nations. +Anger was still in his heart, but at times the remorse and contrition +Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate outbreak, +Came like a rising tide, that encounters the rush of a river, +Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter and brackish. + + Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new habitation, +Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the firs of the forest. +Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was covered with rushes; +Latticed the windows were, and the window-panes were of paper, +Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were excluded. +There too he dug a well, and around it planted an orchard: +Still may be seen to this day some trace of the well and the orchard. +Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and secure from annoyance, +Raghorn, the snow-white steer, that had fallen to Alden's allotment +In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the night-time +Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by sweet pennyroyal. + + Oft when his labor was finished, with eager feet would the dreamer +Follow the pathway that ran through the woods to the house of Priscilla, +Led by illusions romantic and subtile deceptions of fancy, +Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance of friendship. +Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walls of his dwelling; +Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the soil of his garden; +Ever of her he thought, when he read in his Bible on Sunday +Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described in the Proverbs,— +How the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her always, +How all the days of her life she will do him good, and not evil, +How she seeketh the wool and the flax and worketh with gladness, +How she layeth her hand to the spindle and holdeth the distaff, +How she is not afraid of the snow for herself or her household, +Knowing her household are clothed with the scarlet cloth of her weaving! + + So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in the Autumn, +Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexterous fingers, +As if the thread she was spinning were that of his life and his fortune, +After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the sound of the spindle. +"Truly, Priscilla," he said, "when I see you spinning and spinning, +Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others, +Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in a moment; +You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the Beautiful Spinner." +Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and swifter; the spindle +Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short in her fingers; +While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, continued: +"You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen of Helvetia; +She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of Southampton, +Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and meadow and mountain, +Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to her saddle. +She was so thrifty and good, that her name passed into a proverb. +So shall it be with your own, when the spinning-wheel shall no longer +Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its chambers with music. +Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it was in their childhood, +Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla the spinner!" +Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan maiden, +Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him whose praise was the sweetest, +Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her spinning, +Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering phrases of Alden: +"Come, you must not be idle; if I am a pattern for housewives, +Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of husbands. +Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, ready for knitting; +Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have changed and the manners, +Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times of John Alden!" +Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his hands she adjusted, +He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms extended before him, +She standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread from his fingers, +Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding, +Sometimes touching his hands, as she disentangled expertly +Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares—for how could she help it?— +Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his body. + + Lo! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messenger entered, +Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from the village. +Yes; Miles Standish was dead!—an Indian had brought them the tidings,— +Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the front of the battle, +Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole of his forces; +All the town would be burned, and all the people be murdered! +Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the hearts of the hearers. +Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face looking backward +Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in horror; +But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of the arrow +Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his own, and had sundered +Once and for ever the bonds that held him bound as a captive, +Wild with excess of sensation, the awful delight of his freedom, +Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of what he was doing, +Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form of Priscilla, +Pressing her close to his heart, as for ever his own, and exclaiming: +"Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put them asunder!" + + Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate sources, +Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the rocks, and pursuing +Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer, +Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest; +So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels, +Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing asunder, +Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer, +Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap128"></a>IX<br/> +THE WEDDING-DAY</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and scarlet, +Issued the sun, the great High-Priest, in his garments resplendent, +Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his forehead, +Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pomegranates. +Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor beneath him +Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet was a laver! + + This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden. +Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate also +Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and the Gospel, +One with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of heaven. +Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and of Boaz. +Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal, +Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate's presence, +After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland. +Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth +Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded that day in affection, +Speaking of life and of death, and imploring divine benedictions. + + Lo! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold, +Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure! +Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition? +Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder? +Is it a phantom of air,—a bodiless, spectral illusion? +Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal? +Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed; +Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression +Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them, +As when across the sky the driving rack of the rain-cloud +Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its brightness. +Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent, +As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention. +But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benediction, +Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with amazement +Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth! +Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, "Forgive me! +I have been angry and hurt,—too long have I cherished the feeling; +I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God! it is ended. +Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish, +Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. +Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden." +Thereupon answered the bridegroom: "Let all be forgotten between us,— +All save the dear, old friendship, and that shall grow older and dearer!" +Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla, +Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in England, +Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, commingled, +Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her husband. +Then he said with a smile: "I should have remembered the adage,— +If you would be well served, you must serve yourself; and moreover, +No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas!" + + Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing, +Thus to behold once more the sun-burnt face of their Captain, +Whom they had mourned as dead; and they gathered and crowded about him, +Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom, +Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other, +Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and bewildered, +He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, +Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited. + + Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride at the doorway, +Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. +Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine, +Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation; +There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste of the sea-shore, +There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows; +But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden, +Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound of the ocean. + + Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of departure, +Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer delaying, +Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was left uncompleted. +Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, +Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, +Brought out his snow-white steer, obeying the hand of its master, +Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, +Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. +She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday; +Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. +Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, +Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband, +Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. +"Nothing is wanting now," he said with a smile, "but the distaff; +Then you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful Bertha!" + + Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new habitation, +Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. +Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the ford in the forest, +Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love through its bosom, +Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure abysses. +Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his splendors, +Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended, +Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and the fir-tree, +Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Eshcol. +Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, +Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac, +Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, +Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers, +So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap129"></a>BIRDS OF PASSAGE.</h2> + + <p> + . . come i gru van cantando lor lai, Facendo in aer di se lunga riga. + — DANTE + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap130"></a>FLIGHT THE FIRST</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap131"></a>BIRDS OF PASSAGE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Black shadows fall +From the lindens tall, +That lift aloft their massive wall + Against the southern sky; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And from the realms +Of the shadowy elms +A tide-like darkness overwhelms + The fields that round us lie. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the night is fair, +And everywhere +A warm, soft vapor fills the air, + And distant sounds seem near, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And above, in the light +Of the star-lit night, +Swift birds of passage wing their flight + Through the dewy atmosphere. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I hear the beat +Of their pinions fleet, +As from the land of snow and sleet + They seek a southern lea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I hear the cry +Of their voices high +Falling dreamily through the sky, + But their forms I cannot see. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O, say not so! +Those sounds that flow +In murmurs of delight and woe + Come not from wings of birds. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They are the throngs +Of the poet's songs, +Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs, + The sound of winged words. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This is the cry +Of souls, that high +On toiling, beating pinions, fly, + Seeking a warmer clime, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From their distant flight +Through realms of light +It falls into our world of night, + With the murmuring sound of rhyme. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap132"></a>PROMETHEUS<br /> +OR THE POET'S FORETHOUGHT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Of Prometheus, how undaunted + On Olympus' shining bastions +His audacious foot he planted, +Myths are told and songs are chanted, + Full of promptings and suggestions. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Beautiful is the tradition + Of that flight through heavenly portals, +The old classic superstition +Of the theft and the transmission + Of the fire of the Immortals! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +First the deed of noble daring, + Born of heavenward aspiration, +Then the fire with mortals sharing, +Then the vulture,—the despairing + Cry of pain on crags Caucasian. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All is but a symbol painted + Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer; +Only those are crowned and sainted +Who with grief have been acquainted, + Making nations nobler, freer. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In their feverish exultations, + In their triumph and their yearning, +In their passionate pulsations, +In their words among the nations, + The Promethean fire is burning. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Shall it, then, be unavailing, + All this toil for human culture? +Through the cloud-rack, dark and trailing, +Must they see above them sailing + O'er life's barren crags the vulture? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Such a fate as this was Dante's, + By defeat and exile maddened; +Thus were Milton and Cervantes, +Nature's priests and Corybantes, + By affliction touched and saddened. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the glories so transcendent + That around their memories cluster, +And, on all their steps attendant, +Make their darkened lives resplendent + With such gleams of inward lustre! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All the melodies mysterious, + Through the dreary darkness chanted; +Thoughts in attitudes imperious, +Voices soft, and deep, and serious, + Words that whispered, songs that haunted! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All the soul in rapt suspension, + All the quivering, palpitating +Chords of life in utmost tension, +With the fervor of invention, + With the rapture of creating! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah, Prometheus! heaven-scaling! + In such hours of exultation +Even the faintest heart, unquailing, +Might behold the vulture sailing + Round the cloudy crags Caucasian! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Though to all there is not given + Strength for such sublime endeavor, +Thus to scale the walls of heaven, +And to leaven with fiery leaven + All the hearts of men for ever; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted + Honor and believe the presage, +Hold aloft their torches lighted, +Gleaming through the realms benighted, + As they onward bear the message! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap133"></a>EPIMETHEUS<br /> +OR THE POET'S AFTERTHOUGHT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Have I dreamed? or was it real, + What I saw as in a vision, +When to marches hymeneal +In the land of the Ideal + Moved my thought o'er Fields Elysian? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What! are these the guests whose glances + Seemed like sunshine gleaming round me? +These the wild, bewildering fancies, +That with dithyrambic dances + As with magic circles bound me? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah! how cold are their caresses! + Pallid cheeks, and haggard bosoms! +Spectral gleam their snow-white dresses, +And from loose dishevelled tresses + Fall the hyacinthine blossoms! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O my songs! whose winsome measures + Filled my heart with secret rapture! +Children of my golden leisures! +Must even your delights and pleasures + Fade and perish with the capture? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Fair they seemed, those songs sonorous, + When they came to me unbidden; +Voices single, and in chorus, +Like the wild birds singing o'er us + In the dark of branches hidden. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Disenchantment! Disillusion! + Must each noble aspiration +Come at last to this conclusion, +Jarring discord, wild confusion, + Lassitude, renunciation? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not with steeper fall nor faster, + From the sun's serene dominions, +Not through brighter realms nor vaster, +In swift ruin and disaster, + Icarus fell with shattered pinions! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sweet Pandora! dear Pandora! + Why did mighty Jove create thee +Coy as Thetis, fair as Flora, +Beautiful as young Aurora, + If to win thee is to hate thee? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No, not hate thee! for this feeling + Of unrest and long resistance +Is but passionate appealing, +A prophetic whisper stealing + O'er the chords of our existence. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Him whom thou dost once enamour, + Thou, beloved, never leavest; +In life's discord, strife, and clamor, +Still he feels thy spell of glamour; + Him of Hope thou ne'er bereavest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Weary hearts by thee are lifted, + Struggling souls by thee are strengthened, +Clouds of fear asunder rifted, +Truth from falsehood cleansed and sifted, + Lives, like days in summer, lengthened! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Therefore art thou ever clearer, + O my Sibyl, my deceiver! +For thou makest each mystery clearer, +And the unattained seems nearer, + When thou fillest my heart with fever! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Muse of all the Gifts and Graces! + Though the fields around us wither, +There are ampler realms and spaces, +Where no foot has left its traces: + Let us turn and wander thither! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap134"></a>THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, + That of our vices we can frame +A ladder, if we will but tread + Beneath our feet each deed of shame! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All common things, each day's events, + That with the hour begin and end, +Our pleasures and our discontents, + Are rounds by which we may ascend. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The low desire, the base design, + That makes another's virtues less; +The revel of the ruddy wine, + And all occasions of excess; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The longing for ignoble things; + The strife for triumph more than truth; +The hardening of the heart, that brings + Irreverence for the dreams of youth; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds, + That have their root in thoughts of ill; +Whatever hinders or impedes + The action of the nobler will;— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All these must first be trampled down + Beneath our feet, if we would gain +In the bright fields of fair renown + The right of eminent domain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We have not wings, we cannot soar; + But we have feet to scale and climb +By slow degrees, by more and more, + The cloudy summits of our time. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The mighty pyramids of stone + That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, +When nearer seen, and better known, + Are but gigantic flights of stairs. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The distant mountains, that uprear + Their solid bastions to the skies, +Are crossed by pathways, that appear + As we to higher levels rise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The heights by great men reached and kept + Were not attained by sudden flight, +But they, while their companions slept, + Were toiling upward in the night. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Standing on what too long we bore + With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, +We may discern—unseen before— + A path to higher destinies. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nor deem the irrevocable Past, + As wholly wasted, wholly vain, +If, rising on its wrecks, at last + To something nobler we attain. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap135"></a>THE PHANTOM SHIP</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In Mather's Magnalia Christi, + Of the old colonial time, +May be found in prose the legend + That is here set down in rhyme. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A ship sailed from New Haven, + And the keen and frosty airs, +That filled her sails at parting, + Were heavy with good men's prayers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"O Lord! if it be thy pleasure"— + Thus prayed the old divine— +"To bury our friends in the ocean, + Take them, for they are thine!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But Master Lamberton muttered, + And under his breath said he, +"This ship is so crank and walty + I fear our grave she will be!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the ships that came from England, + When the winter months were gone, +Brought no tidings of this vessel + Nor of Master Lamberton. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This put the people to praying + That the Lord would let them hear +What in his greater wisdom +He had done with friends so dear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And at last their prayers were answered:— + It was in the month of June, +An hour before the sunset + Of a windy afternoon, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When, steadily steering landward, + A ship was seen below, +And they knew it was Lamberton, Master, + Who sailed so long ago. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On she came, with a cloud of canvas, + Right against the wind that blew, +Until the eye could distinguish + The faces of the crew. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then fell her straining topmasts, + Hanging tangled in the shrouds, +And her sails were loosened and lifted, + And blown away like clouds. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the masts, with all their rigging, + Fell slowly, one by one, +And the hulk dilated and vanished, + As a sea-mist in the sun! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the people who saw this marvel + Each said unto his friend, +That this was the mould of their vessel, + And thus her tragic end. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the pastor of the village + Gave thanks to God in prayer, +That, to quiet their troubled spirits, + He had sent this Ship of Air. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap136"></a>THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A mist was driving down the British Channel, + The day was just begun, +And through the window-panes, on floor and panel, + Streamed the red autumn sun. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon, + And the white sails of ships; +And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon + Hailed it with feverish lips. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and Dover + Were all alert that day, +To see the French war-steamers speeding over, + When the fog cleared away. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, + Their cannon, through the night, +Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance, + The sea-coast opposite. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations + On every citadel; +Each answering each, with morning salutations, + That all was well. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And down the coast, all taking up the burden, + Replied the distant forts, +As if to summon from his sleep the Warden + And Lord of the Cinque Ports. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure, + No drum-beat from the wall, +No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure, + Awaken with its call! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No more, surveying with an eye impartial + The long line of the coast, +Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal + Be seen upon his post! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, + In sombre harness mailed, +Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, + The rampart wall has scaled. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, + The dark and silent room, +And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, + The silence and the gloom. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He did not pause to parley or dissemble, + But smote the Warden hoar; +Ah! what a blow! that made all England tremble + And groan from shore to shore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, + The sun rose bright o'erhead; +Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated + That a great man was dead. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap137"></a>HAUNTED HOUSES</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All houses wherein men have lived and died + Are haunted houses. Through the open doors +The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, + With feet that make no sound upon the floors. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We meet them at the door-way, on the stair, + Along the passages they come and go, +Impalpable impressions on the air, + A sense of something moving to and fro. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There are more guests at table, than the hosts + Invited; the illuminated hall +Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, + As silent as the pictures on the wall. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The stranger at my fireside cannot see + The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; +He but perceives what is; while unto me + All that has been is visible and clear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We have no title-deeds to house or lands; + Owners and occupants of earlier dates +From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands, + And hold in mortmain still their old estates. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The spirit-world around this world of sense + Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere +Wafts through these earthly mists and vapors dense + A vital breath of more ethereal air. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Our little lives are kept in equipoise + By opposite attractions and desires; +The struggle of the instinct that enjoys, + And the more noble instinct that aspires. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +These perturbations, this perpetual jar + Of earthly wants and aspirations high, +Come from the influence of an unseen star, + An undiscovered planet in our sky. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud + Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge of light, +Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd + Into the realm of mystery and night,— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So from the world of spirits there descends + A bridge of light, connecting it with this, +O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends, + Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap138"></a>IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the village churchyard she lies, +Dust is in her beautiful eyes, + No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs; +At her feet and at her head +Lies a slave to attend the dead, + But their dust is white as hers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Was she a lady of high degree, +So much in love with the vanity + And foolish pomp of this world of ours? +Or was it Christian charity, +And lowliness and humility, + The richest and rarest of all dowers? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Who shall tell us? No one speaks; +No color shoots into those cheeks, + Either of anger or of pride, +At the rude question we have asked; +Nor will the mystery be unmasked + By those who are sleeping at her side. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hereafter?—And do you think to look +On the terrible pages of that Book + To find her failings, faults, and errors? +Ah, you will then have other cares, +In your own short-comings and despairs, + In your own secret sins and terrors! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap139"></a>THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, + With his swarthy, grave commanders, +I forget in what campaign, +Long besieged, in mud and rain, + Some old frontier town of Flanders. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Up and down the dreary camp, + In great boots of Spanish leather, +Striding with a measured tramp, +These Hidalgos, dull and damp, + Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus as to and fro they went, + Over upland and through hollow, +Giving their impatience vent, +Perched upon the Emperor's tent, + In her nest, they spied a swallow. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Yes, it was a swallow's nest, + Built of clay and hair of horses, +Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest, +Found on hedge-rows east and west, + After skirmish of the forces. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then an old Hidalgo said, + As he twirled his gray mustachio, +"Sure this swallow overhead +Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed, + And the Emperor but a Macho!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hearing his imperial name + Coupled with those words of malice, +Half in anger, half in shame, +Forth the great campaigner came + Slowly from his canvas palace. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Let no hand the bird molest," + Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her!" +Adding then, by way of jest, +"Golondrina is my guest, + 'Tis the wife of some deserter!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft, + Through the camp was spread the rumor, +And the soldiers, as they quaffed +Flemish beer at dinner, laughed + At the Emperor's pleasant humor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So unharmed and unafraid + Sat the swallow still and brooded, +Till the constant cannonade +Through the walls a breach had made, + And the siege was thus concluded. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then the army, elsewhere bent, + Struck its tents as if disbanding, +Only not the Emperor's tent, +For he ordered, ere he went, + Very curtly, "Leave it standing!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So it stood there all alone, + Loosely flapping, torn and tattered, +Till the brood was fledged and flown, +Singing o'er those walls of stone + Which the cannon-shot had shattered. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap140"></a>THE TWO ANGELS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Two angels, one of Life and one of Death, + Passed o'er our village as the morning broke; +The dawn was on their faces, and beneath, + The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Their attitude and aspect were the same, + Alike their features and their robes of white; +But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame, + And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I saw them pause on their celestial way; + Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed, +"Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray + The place where thy beloved are at rest!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And he who wore the crown of asphodels, + Descending, at my door began to knock, +And my soul sank within me, as in wells + The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I recognized the nameless agony, + The terror and the tremor and the pain, +That oft before had filled or haunted me, + And now returned with threefold strength again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The door I opened to my heavenly guest, + And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice; +And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best, + Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, + "My errand is not Death, but Life," he said; +And ere I answered, passing out of sight, + On his celestial embassy he sped. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'T was at thy door, O friend! and not at mine, + The angel with the amaranthine wreath, +Pausing, descended, and with voice divine, + Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, + A shadow on those features fair and thin; +And softly, from that hushed and darkened room, + Two angels issued, where but one went in. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All is of God! If he but wave his hand, + The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud, +Till, with a smile of light on sea and land, + Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Angels of Life and Death alike are his; + Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er; +Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this, + Against his messengers to shut the door? +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap141"></a>DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT</h3> + + <p> + In broad daylight, and at noon, Yesterday I saw the moon Sailing high, but + faint and white, As a school-boy's paper kite. + </p> + <p> + In broad daylight, yesterday, I read a Poet's mystic lay; And it seemed to + me at most As a phantom, or a ghost. + </p> + <p> + But at length the feverish day Like a passion died away, And the night, + serene and still, Fell on village, vale, and hill. + </p> + <p> + Then the moon, in all her pride, Like a spirit glorified, Filled and + overflowed the night With revelations of her light. + </p> + <p> + And the Poet's song again Passed like music through my brain; Night + interpreted to me All its grace and mystery. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap142"></a>THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves, + Close by the street of this fair seaport town, +Silent beside the never-silent waves, + At rest in all this moving up and down! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep + Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, +While underneath such leafy tents they keep + The long, mysterious Exodus of Death. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And these sepulchral stones, so old and brown, + That pave with level flags their burial-place, +Seem like the tablets of the Law, thrown down + And broken by Moses at the mountain's base. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The very names recorded here are strange, + Of foreign accent, and of different climes; +Alvares and Rivera interchange + With Abraham and Jacob of old times. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Blessed be God! for he created Death!" + The mourners said, "and Death is rest and peace"; +Then added, in the certainty of faith, + "And giveth Life that never more shall cease." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Closed are the portals of their Synagogue, + No Psalms of David now the silence break, +No Rabbi reads the ancient Decalogue + In the grand dialect the Prophets spake. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Gone are the living, but the dead remain, + And not neglected; for a hand unseen, +Scattering its bounty, like a summer rain, + Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How came they here? What burst of Christian hate, + What persecution, merciless and blind, +Drove o'er the sea—that desert desolate— + These Ishmaels and Hagars of mankind? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They lived in narrow streets and lanes obscure, + Ghetto and Judenstrass, in mirk and mire; +Taught in the school of patience to endure + The life of anguish and the death of fire. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All their lives long, with the unleavened bread + And bitter herbs of exile and its fears, +The wasting famine of the heart they fed, + And slaked its thirst with marah of their tears. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Anathema maranatha! was the cry + That rang from town to town, from street to street; +At every gate the accursed Mordecai + Was mocked and jeered, and spurned by Christian feet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Pride and humiliation hand in hand + Walked with them through the world where'er they went; +Trampled and beaten were they as the sand, + And yet unshaken as the continent. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For in the background figures vague and vast + Of patriarchs and of prophets rose sublime, +And all the great traditions of the Past + They saw reflected in the coming time. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And thus for ever with reverted look + The mystic volume of the world they read, +Spelling it backward, like a Hebrew book, + Till life became a Legend of the Dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But ah! what once has been shall be no more! + The groaning earth in travail and in pain +Brings forth its races, but does not restore, + And the dead nations never rise again. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap143"></a>OLIVER BASSELIN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the Valley of the Vire + Still is seen an ancient mill, +With its gables quaint and queer, + And beneath the window-sill, + On the stone, + These words alone: +"Oliver Basselin lived here." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Far above it, on the steep, + Ruined stands the old Chateau; +Nothing but the donjon-keep + Left for shelter or for show. + Its vacant eyes + Stare at the skies, +Stare at the valley green and deep. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Once a convent, old and brown, + Looked, but ah! it looks no more, +From the neighboring hillside down + On the rushing and the roar + Of the stream + Whose sunny gleam +Cheers the little Norman town. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In that darksome mill of stone, + To the water's dash and din, +Careless, humble, and unknown, + Sang the poet Basselin + Songs that fill + That ancient mill +With a splendor of its own. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Never feeling of unrest + Broke the pleasant dream he dreamed; +Only made to be his nest, + All the lovely valley seemed; + No desire + Of soaring higher +Stirred or fluttered in his breast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +True, his songs were not divine; + Were not songs of that high art, +Which, as winds do in the pine, + Find an answer in each heart; + But the mirth + Of this green earth +Laughed and revelled in his line. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the alehouse and the inn, + Opening on the narrow street, +Came the loud, convivial din, + Singing and applause of feet, + The laughing lays + That in those days +Sang the poet Basselin. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the castle, cased in steel, + Knights, who fought at Agincourt, +Watched and waited, spur on heel; + But the poet sang for sport + Songs that rang + Another clang, +Songs that lowlier hearts could feel. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the convent, clad in gray, + Sat the monks in lonely cells, +Paced the cloisters, knelt to pray, + And the poet heard their bells; + But his rhymes + Found other chimes, +Nearer to the earth than they. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Gone are all the barons bold, + Gone are all the knights and squires, +Gone the abbot stern and cold, + And the brotherhood of friars; + Not a name + Remains to fame, +From those mouldering days of old! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the poet's memory here + Of the landscape makes a part; +Like the river, swift and clear, + Flows his song through many a heart; + Haunting still + That ancient mill, +In the Valley of the Vire. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap144"></a>VICTOR GALBRAITH</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Under the walls of Monterey +At daybreak the bugles began to play, + Victor Galbraith! +In the mist of the morning damp and gray, +These were the words they seemed to say: + "Come forth to thy death, + Victor Galbraith!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Forth he came, with a martial tread; +Firm was his step, erect his head; + Victor Galbraith, +He who so well the bugle played, +Could not mistake the words it said: + "Come forth to thy death, + Victor Galbraith!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He looked at the earth, he looked at the sky, +He looked at the files of musketry, + Victor Galbraith! +And he said, with a steady voice and eye, +"Take good aim; I am ready to die!" + Thus challenges death + Victor Galbraith. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight and red, +Six leaden balls on their errand sped; + Victor Galbraith +Falls to the ground, but he is not dead; +His name was not stamped on those balls of lead, + And they only scath + Victor Galbraith. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Three balls are in his breast and brain, +But he rises out of the dust again, + Victor Galbraith! +The water he drinks has a bloody stain; +"O kill me, and put me out of my pain!" + In his agony prayeth + Victor Galbraith. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Forth dart once more those tongues of flame, +And the bugler has died a death of shame, + Victor Galbraith! +His soul has gone back to whence it came, +And no one answers to the name, + When the Sergeant saith, + "Victor Galbraith!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Under the walls of Monterey +By night a bugle is heard to play, + Victor Galbraith! +Through the mist of the valley damp and gray +The sentinels hear the sound, and say, + "That is the wraith + Of Victor Galbraith!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap145"></a>MY LOST YOUTH</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Often I think of the beautiful town + That is seated by the sea; +Often in thought go up and down +The pleasant streets of that dear old town, + And my youth comes back to me. + And a verse of a Lapland song + Is haunting my memory still: + "A boy's will is the wind's will, +And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, + And catch, in sudden gleams, +The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, +And islands that were the Hersperides + Of all my boyish dreams. + And the burden of that old song, + It murmurs and whispers still: + "A boy's will is the wind's will, +And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I remember the black wharves and the slips, + And the sea-tides tossing free; +And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, +And the beauty and mystery of the ships, + And the magic of the sea. + And the voice of that wayward song + Is singing and saying still: + "A boy's will is the wind's will, +And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I remember the bulwarks by the shore, + And the fort upon the hill; +The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, +The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, + And the bugle wild and shrill. + And the music of that old song + Throbs in my memory still: + "A boy's will is the wind's will, +And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I remember the sea-fight far away, + How it thundered o'er the tide! +And the dead captains, as they lay +In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay, + Where they in battle died. + And the sound of that mournful song + Goes through me with a thrill: + "A boy's will is the wind's will, +And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I can see the breezy dome of groves, + The shadows of Deering's Woods; +And the friendships old and the early loves +Come back with a sabbath sound, as of doves + In quiet neighborhoods. + And the verse of that sweet old song, + It flutters and murmurs still: + "A boy's will is the wind's will, +And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I remember the gleams and glooms that dart + Across the schoolboy's brain; +The song and the silence in the heart, +That in part are prophecies, and in part + Are longings wild and vain. + And the voice of that fitful song + Sings on, and is never still: + "A boy's will is the wind's will, +And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There are things of which I may not speak; + There are dreams that cannot die; +There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, +And bring a pallor into the cheek, + And a mist before the eye. + And the words of that fatal song + Come over me like a chill: + "A boy's will is the wind's will, +And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Strange to me now are the forms I meet + When I visit the dear old town; +But the native air is pure and sweet, +And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street, + As they balance up and down, + Are singing the beautiful song, + Are sighing and whispering still: + "A boy's will is the wind's will, +And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, + And with joy that is almost pain +My heart goes back to wander there, +And among the dreams of the days that were, + I find my lost youth again. + And the strange and beautiful song, + The groves are repeating it still: + "A boy's will is the wind's will, +And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap146"></a>THE ROPEWALK</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In that building, long and low, +With its windows all a-row, + Like the port-holes of a hulk, +Human spiders spin and spin, +Backward down their threads so thin + Dropping, each a hempen bulk. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At the end, an open door; +Squares of sunshine on the floor + Light the long and dusky lane; +And the whirring of a wheel, +Dull and drowsy, makes me feel + All its spokes are in my brain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As the spinners to the end +Downward go and reascend, + Gleam the long threads in the sun; +While within this brain of mine +Cobwebs brighter and more fine + By the busy wheel are spun. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Two fair maidens in a swing, +Like white doves upon the wing, + First before my vision pass; +Laughing, as their gentle hands +Closely clasp the twisted strands, + At their shadow on the grass. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then a booth of mountebanks, +With its smell of tan and planks, + And a girl poised high in air +On a cord, in spangled dress, +With a faded loveliness, + And a weary look of care. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then a homestead among farms, +And a woman with bare arms + Drawing water from a well; +As the bucket mounts apace, +With it mounts her own fair face, + As at some magician's spell. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then an old man in a tower, +Ringing loud the noontide hour, + While the rope coils round and round +Like a serpent at his feet, +And again, in swift retreat, + Nearly lifts him from the ground. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then within a prison-yard, +Faces fixed, and stern, and hard, + Laughter and indecent mirth; +Ah! it is the gallows-tree! +Breath of Christian charity, + Blow, and sweep it from the earth! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then a school-boy, with his kite +Gleaming in a sky of light, + And an eager, upward look; +Steeds pursued through lane and field; +Fowlers with their snares concealed; + And an angler by a brook. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ships rejoicing in the breeze, +Wrecks that float o'er unknown seas, + Anchors dragged through faithless sand; +Sea-fog drifting overhead, +And, with lessening line and lead, + Sailors feeling for the land. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All these scenes do I behold, +These, and many left untold, + In that building long and low; +While the wheel goes round and round, +With a drowsy, dreamy sound, + And the spinners backward go. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap147"></a>THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Leafless are the trees; their purple branches +Spread themselves abroad, like reefs of coral, + Rising silent +In the Red Sea of the Winter sunset. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the hundred chimneys of the village, +Like the Afreet in the Arabian story, + Smoky columns +Tower aloft into the air of amber. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At the window winks the flickering fire-light; +Here and there the lamps of evening glimmer, + Social watch-fires +Answering one another through the darkness. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the hearth the lighted logs are glowing, +And like Ariel in the cloven pine-tree + For its freedom +Groans and sighs the air imprisoned in them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By the fireside there are old men seated, +Seeing ruined cities in the ashes, + Asking sadly +Of the Past what it can ne'er restore them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By the fireside there are youthful dreamers, +Building castles fair, with stately stairways, + Asking blindly +Of the Future what it cannot give them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By the fireside tragedies are acted +In whose scenes appear two actors only, + Wife and husband, +And above them God the sole spectator. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By the fireside there are peace and comfort, +Wives and children, with fair, thoughtful faces, + Waiting, watching +For a well-known footstep in the passage. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Each man's chimney is his Golden Mile-stone; +Is the central point, from which he measures + Every distance +Through the gateways of the world around him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In his farthest wanderings still he sees it; +Hears the talking flame, the answering night-wind, + As he heard them +When he sat with those who were, but are not. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Happy he whom neither wealth nor fashion, +Nor the march of the encroaching city, + Drives an exile +From the hearth of his ancestral homestead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We may build more splendid habitations, +Fill our rooms with paintings and with sculptures, + But we cannot +Buy with gold the old associations! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap148"></a>CATAWBA WINE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This song of mine + Is a Song of the Vine, +To be sung by the glowing embers + Of wayside inns, + When the rain begins +To darken the drear Novembers. + + It is not a song + Of the Scuppernong, +From warm Carolinian valleys, + Nor the Isabel + And the Muscadel +That bask in our garden alleys. + + Nor the red Mustang, + Whose clusters hang +O'er the waves of the Colorado, + And the fiery flood + Of whose purple blood +Has a dash of Spanish bravado. + + For richest and best + Is the wine of the West, +That grows by the Beautiful River; + Whose sweet perfume + Fills all the room +With a benison on the giver. + + And as hollow trees + Are the haunts of bees, +For ever going and coming; + So this crystal hive + Is all alive +With a swarming and buzzing and humming. + + Very good in its way + Is the Verzenay, +Or the Sillery soft and creamy; + But Catawba wine + Has a taste more divine, +More dulcet, delicious, and dreamy. + + There grows no vine + By the haunted Rhine, +By Danube or Guadalquivir, + Nor on island or cape, + That bears such a grape +As grows by the Beautiful River. + + Drugged is their juice + For foreign use, +When shipped o'er the reeling Atlantic, + To rack our brains + With the fever pains, +That have driven the Old World frantic. + + To the sewers and sinks + With all such drinks, +And after them tumble the mixer; + For a poison malign + Is such Borgia wine, +Or at best but a Devil's Elixir. + + While pure as a spring + Is the wine I sing, +And to praise it, one needs but name it; + For Catawba wine + Has need of no sign, +No tavern-bush to proclaim it. + + And this Song of the Vine, + This greeting of mine, +The winds and the birds shall deliver + To the Queen of the West, + In her garlands dressed, +On the banks of the Beautiful River. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap149"></a>SANTA FILOMENA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, +Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, + Our hearts, in glad surprise, + To higher levels rise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The tidal wave of deeper souls +Into our inmost being rolls, + And lifts us unawares + Out of all meaner cares. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Honor to those whose words or deeds +Thus help us in our daily needs, + And by their overflow + Raise us from what is low! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus thought I, as by night I read +Of the great army of the dead, + The trenches cold and damp, + The starved and frozen camp,— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The wounded from the battle-plain, +In dreary hospitals of pain, + The cheerless corridors, + The cold and stony floors. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Lo! in that house of misery +A lady with a lamp I see + Pass through the glimmering gloom, + And flit from room to room. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And slow, as in a dream of bliss, +The speechless sufferer turns to kiss + Her shadow, as it falls + Upon the darkening walls. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As if a door in heaven should be +Opened and then closed suddenly, + The vision came and went, + The light shone and was spent. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On England's annals, through the long +Hereafter of her speech and song, + That light its rays shall cast + From portals of the past. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A Lady with a Lamp shall stand +In the great history of the land, + A noble type of good, + Heroic womanhood. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nor even shall be wanting here +The palm, the lily, and the spear, + The symbols that of yore + Saint Filomena bore. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap150"></a>THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +A LEAF FROM KING ALFRED'S OROSIUS +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Othere, the old sea-captain, + Who dwelt in Helgoland, +To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth, +Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth, + Which he held in his brown right hand. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His figure was tall and stately, + Like a boy's his eye appeared; +His hair was yellow as hay, +But threads of a silvery gray + Gleamed in his tawny beard. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hearty and hale was Othere, + His cheek had the color of oak; +With a kind of laugh in his speech, +Like the sea-tide on a beach, + As unto the King he spoke. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And Alfred, King of the Saxons, + Had a book upon his knees, +And wrote down the wondrous tale +Of him who was first to sail + Into the Arctic seas. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"So far I live to the northward, + No man lives north of me; +To the east are wild mountain-chains; +And beyond them meres and plains; + To the westward all is sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"So far I live to the northward, + From the harbor of Skeringes-hale, +If you only sailed by day, +With a fair wind all the way, + More than a month would you sail. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"I own six hundred reindeer, + With sheep and swine beside; +I have tribute from the Finns, +Whalebone and reindeer-skins, + And ropes of walrus-hide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"I ploughed the land with horses, + But my heart was ill at ease, +For the old seafaring men +Came to me now and then, + With their sagas of the seas;— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Of Iceland and of Greenland, + And the stormy Hebrides, +And the undiscovered deep;— +I could not eat nor sleep + For thinking of those seas. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"To the northward stretched the desert, + How far I fain would know; +So at last I sallied forth, +And three days sailed due north, + As far as the whale-ships go. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"To the west of me was the ocean, + To the right the desolate shore, +But I did not slacken sail +For the walrus or the whale, + Till after three days more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"The days grew longer and longer, + Till they became as one, +And southward through the haze +I saw the sullen blaze + Of the red midnight sun. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"And then uprose before me, + Upon the water's edge, +The huge and haggard shape +Of that unknown North Cape, + Whose form is like a wedge. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"The sea was rough and stormy, + The tempest howled and wailed, +And the sea-fog, like a ghost, +Haunted that dreary coast, + But onward still I sailed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Four days I steered to eastward, + Four days without a night: +Round in a fiery ring +Went the great sun, O King, + With red and lurid light." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, + Ceased writing for a while; +And raised his eyes from his book, +With a strange and puzzled look, + And an incredulous smile. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But Othere, the old sea-captain, + He neither paused nor stirred, +Till the King listened, and then +Once more took up his pen, + And wrote down every word. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"And now the land," said Othere, + "Bent southward suddenly, +And I followed the curving shore +And ever southward bore + Into a nameless sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"And there we hunted the walrus, + The narwhale, and the seal; +Ha! 't was a noble game! +And like the lightning's flame + Flew our harpoons of steel. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"There were six of us all together, + Norsemen of Helgoland; +In two days and no more +We killed of them threescore, + And dragged them to the strand!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Here Alfred the Truth-Teller + Suddenly closed his book, +And lifted his blue eyes, +With doubt and strange surmise + Depicted in their look. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And Othere the old sea-captain + Stared at him wild and weird, +Then smiled, till his shining teeth +Gleamed white from underneath + His tawny, quivering beard. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And to the King of the Saxons, + In witness of the truth, +Raising his noble head, +He stretched his brown hand, and said, + "Behold this walrus-tooth!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap151"></a>DAYBREAK</h3> + + <p> + A wind came up out of the sea, And said, "O mists, make room for me." + </p> + <p> + It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." + </p> + <p> + And hurried landward far away, Crying, "Awake! it is the day." + </p> + <p> + It said unto the forest, "Shout! Hang all your leafy banners out!" + </p> + <p> + It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, And said, "O bird, awake and + sing." + </p> + <p> + And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer, Your clarion blow; the day is near." + </p> + <p> + It whispered to the fields of corn, "Bow down, and hail the coming morn." + </p> + <p> + It shouted through the belfry-tower, "Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour." + </p> + <p> + It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, And said, "Not yet! in quiet lie." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap152"></a>THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ</h3> + +<p class="center"> +MAY 28, 1857 +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was fifty years ago + In the pleasant month of May, +In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, + A child in its cradle lay. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And Nature, the old nurse, took + The child upon her knee, +Saying: "Here is a story-book + Thy Father has written for thee." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Come, wander with me," she said, + "Into regions yet untrod; +And read what is still unread + In the manuscripts of God." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And he wandered away and away + With Nature, the dear old nurse, +Who sang to him night and day + The rhymes of the universe. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And whenever the way seemed long, + Or his heart began to fail, +She would sing a more wonderful song, + Or tell a more marvellous tale. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So she keeps him still a child, + And will not let him go, +Though at times his heart beats wild + For the beautiful Pays de Vaud; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Though at times he hears in his dreams + The Ranz des Vaches of old, +And the rush of mountain streams + From glaciers clear and cold; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the mother at home says, "Hark! + For his voice I listen and yearn; +It is growing late and dark, + And my boy does not return!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap153"></a>CHILDREN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Come to me, O ye children! + For I hear you at your play, +And the questions that perplexed me + Have vanished quite away. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ye open the eastern windows, + That look towards the sun, +Where thoughts are singing swallows + And the brooks of morning run. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, + In your thoughts the brooklet's flow, +But in mine is the wind of Autumn + And the first fall of the snow. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah! what would the world be to us + If the children were no more? +We should dread the desert behind us + Worse than the dark before. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What the leaves are to the forest, + With light and air for food, +Ere their sweet and tender juices + Have been hardened into wood,— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +That to the world are children; + Through them it feels the glow +Of a brighter and sunnier climate + Than reaches the trunks below. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Come to me, O ye children! + And whisper in my ear +What the birds and the winds are singing + In your sunny atmosphere. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For what are all our contrivings, + And the wisdom of our books, +When compared with your caresses, + And the gladness of your looks? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ye are better than all the ballads + That ever were sung or said; +For ye are living poems, + And all the rest are dead. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap154"></a>SANDALPHON</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Have you read in the Talmud of old, +In the Legends the Rabbins have told + Of the limitless realms of the air,— +Have you read it,—the marvellous story +Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, + Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How, erect, at the outermost gates +Of the City Celestial he waits, + With his feet on the ladder of light, +That, crowded with angels unnumbered, +By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered + Alone in the desert at night? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Angels of Wind and of Fire +Chant only one hymn, and expire + With the song's irresistible stress; +Expire in their rapture and wonder, +As harp-strings are broken asunder + By music they throb to express. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But serene in the rapturous throng, +Unmoved by the rush of the song, + With eyes unimpassioned and slow, +Among the dead angels, the deathless +Sandalphon stands listening breathless + To sounds that ascend from below;— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the spirits on earth that adore, +From the souls that entreat and implore + In the fervor and passion of prayer; +From the hearts that are broken with losses, +And weary with dragging the crosses + Too heavy for mortals to bear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And he gathers the prayers as he stands, +And they change into flowers in his hands, + Into garlands of purple and red; +And beneath the great arch of the portal, +Through the streets of the City Immortal + Is wafted the fragrance they shed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It is but a legend, I know,— +A fable, a phantom, a show, + Of the ancient Rabbinical lore; +Yet the old mediaeval tradition, +The beautiful, strange superstition, + But haunts me and holds me the more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When I look from my window at night, +And the welkin above is all white, + All throbbing and panting with stars, +Among them majestic is standing +Sandalphon the angel, expanding + His pinions in nebulous bars. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the legend, I feel, is a part +Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, + The frenzy and fire of the brain, +That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, +The golden pomegranates of Eden, + To quiet its fever and pain. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap155"></a>FLIGHT THE SECOND</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap156"></a>THE CHILDREN'S HOUR</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Between the dark and the daylight, + When the night is beginning to lower, +Comes a pause in the day's occupations, + That is known as the Children's Hour. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I hear in the chamber above me + The patter of little feet, +The sound of a door that is opened, + And voices soft and sweet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From my study I see in the lamplight, + Descending the broad hall stair, +Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, + And Edith with golden hair. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A whisper, and then a silence: + Yet I know by their merry eyes +They are plotting and planning together + To take me by surprise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A sudden rush from the stairway, + A sudden raid from the hall! +By three doors left unguarded + They enter my castle wall! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They climb up into my turret + O'er the arms and back of my chair; +If I try to escape, they surround me; + They seem to be everywhere. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They almost devour me with kisses, + Their arms about me entwine, +Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen + In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Do you think, o blue-eyed banditti, + Because you have scaled the wall, +Such an old mustache as I am + Is not a match for you all! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I have you fast in my fortress, + And will not let you depart, +But put you down into the dungeon + In the round-tower of my heart. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And there will I keep you forever, + Yes, forever and a day, +Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, + And moulder in dust away! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap157"></a>ENCELADUS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Under Mount Etna he lies, + It is slumber, it is not death; +For he struggles at times to arise, +And above him the lurid skies + Are hot with his fiery breath. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The crags are piled on his breast, + The earth is heaped on his head; +But the groans of his wild unrest, +Though smothered and half suppressed, + Are heard, and he is not dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the nations far away + Are watching with eager eyes; +They talk together and say, +"To-morrow, perhaps to-day, + Euceladus will arise!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the old gods, the austere + Oppressors in their strength, +Stand aghast and white with fear +At the ominous sounds they hear, + And tremble, and mutter, "At length!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah me! for the land that is sown + With the harvest of despair! +Where the burning cinders, blown +From the lips of the overthrown + Enceladus, fill the air. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where ashes are heaped in drifts + Over vineyard and field and town, +Whenever he starts and lifts +His head through the blackened rifts + Of the crags that keep him down. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +See, see! the red light shines! + 'T is the glare of his awful eyes! +And the storm-wind shouts through the pines +Of Alps and of Apennines, + "Enceladus, arise!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap158"></a>THE CUMBERLAND</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, + On board of the cumberland, sloop-of-war; +And at times from the fortress across the bay + The alarum of drums swept past, + Or a bugle blast + From the camp on the shore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then far away to the south uprose + A little feather of snow-white smoke, +And we knew that the iron ship of our foes + Was steadily steering its course + To try the force + Of our ribs of oak. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Down upon us heavily runs, + Silent and sullen, the floating fort; +Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, + And leaps the terrible death, + With fiery breath, + From each open port. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We are not idle, but send her straight + Defiance back in a full broadside! +As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, + Rebounds our heavier hail + From each iron scale + Of the monster's hide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Strike your flag!" the rebel cries, + In his arrogant old plantation strain. +"Never!" our gallant Morris replies; + "It is better to sink than to yield!" + And the whole air pealed + With the cheers of our men. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then, like a kraken huge and black, + She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp! +Down went the Cumberland all a wrack, + With a sudden shudder of death, + And the cannon's breath + For her dying gasp. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, + Still floated our flag at the mainmast head. +Lord, how beautiful was Thy day! + Every waft of the air + Was a whisper of prayer, + Or a dirge for the dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas + Ye are at peace in the troubled stream; +Ho! brave land! with hearts like these, + Thy flag, that is rent in twain, + Shall be one again, + And without a seam! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap159"></a>SNOW-FLAKES</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Out of the bosom of the Air, + Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, +Over the woodlands brown and bare, + Over the harvest-fields forsaken, + Silent, and soft, and slow + Descends the snow. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Even as our cloudy fancies take + Suddenly shape in some divine expression, +Even as the troubled heart doth make + In the white countenance confession, + The troubled sky reveals + The grief it feels. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This is the poem of the air, + Slowly in silent syllables recorded; +This is the secret of despair, + Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, + Now whispered and revealed + To wood and field. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap160"></a>A DAY OF SUNSHINE</h3> + + <p> + O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but play; Whereon + it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be! + </p> + <p> + Through every fibre of my brain, Through every nerve, through every vein, + I feel the electric thrill, the touch Of life, that seems almost too much. + </p> + <p> + I hear the wind among the trees Playing celestial symphonies; I see the + branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument. + </p> + <p> + And over me unrolls on high The splendid scenery of the sky, Where though + a sapphire sea the sun Sails like a golden galleon, + </p> + <p> + Towards yonder cloud-land in the West, Towards yonder Islands of the + Blest, Whose steep sierra far uplifts Its craggy summits white with + drifts. + </p> + <p> + Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms The snow-flakes of the + cherry-blooms! Blow, winds! and bend within my reach The fiery blossoms of + the peach! + </p> + <p> + O Life and Love! O happy throng Of thoughts, whose only speech is song! O + heart of man! canst thou not be Blithe as the air is, and as free? + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap161"></a>SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Labor with what zeal we will, + Something still remains undone, +Something uncompleted still + Waits the rising of the sun. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By the bedside, on the stair, + At the threshold, near the gates, +With its menace or its prayer, + Like a mendicant it waits; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Waits, and will not go away; + Waits, and will not be gainsaid; +By the cares of yesterday + Each to-day is heavier made; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till at length the burden seems + Greater than our strength can bear, +Heavy as the weight of dreams, + Pressing on us everywhere. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And we stand from day to day, + Like the dwarfs of times gone by, +Who, as Northern legends say, + On their shoulders held the sky. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap162"></a>WEARINESS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O little feet! that such long years +Must wander on through hopes and fears, + Must ache and bleed beneath your load; +I, nearer to the wayside inn +Where toil shall cease and rest begin, + Am weary, thinking of your road! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O little hands! that, weak or strong, +Have still to serve or rule so long, + Have still so long to give or ask; +I, who so much with book and pen +Have toiled among my fellow-men, + Am weary, thinking of your task. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O little hearts! that throb and beat +With such impatient, feverish heat, + Such limitless and strong desires; +Mine that so long has glowed and burned, +With passions into ashes turned + Now covers and conceals its fires. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O little souls! as pure and white +And crystalline as rays of light + Direct from heaven, their source divine; +Refracted through the mist of years, +How red my setting sun appears, + How lurid looks this soul of mine! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap163"></a>TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap164"></a>PART FIRST</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap165"></a>PRELUDE</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap166"></a>THE WAYSIDE INN</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,<br/> +Across the meadows bare and brown,<br/> +The windows of the wayside inn<br/> +Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves<br/> +Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves<br/> +Their crimson curtains rent and thin.<br/> +<br/> +As ancient is this hostelry<br/> +As any in the land may be,<br/> +Built in the old Colonial day,<br/> +When men lived in a grander way,<br/> +With ampler hospitality;<br/> +A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall,<br/> +Now somewhat fallen to decay,<br/> +With weather-stains upon the wall,<br/> +And stairways worn, and crazy doors,<br/> +And creaking and uneven floors,<br/> +And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall.<br/> +<br/> +A region of repose it seems,<br/> +A place of slumber and of dreams,<br/> +Remote among the wooded hills!<br/> +For there no noisy railway speeds,<br/> +Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds;<br/> +But noon and night, the panting teams<br/> +Stop under the great oaks, that throw<br/> +Tangles of light and shade below,<br/> +On roofs and doors and window-sills.<br/> +Across the road the barns display<br/> +Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay,<br/> +Through the wide doors the breezes blow,<br/> +The wattled cocks strut to and fro,<br/> +And, half effaced by rain and shine,<br/> +The Red Horse prances on the sign.<br/> +Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode<br/> +Deep silence reigned, save when a gust<br/> +Went rushing down the county road,<br/> +And skeletons of leaves, and dust,<br/> +A moment quickened by its breath,<br/> +Shuddered and danced their dance of death,<br/> +And through the ancient oaks o’erhead<br/> +Mysterious voices moaned and fled.<br/> +<br/> +But from the parlor of the inn<br/> +A pleasant murmur smote the ear,<br/> +Like water rushing through a weir:<br/> +Oft interrupted by the din<br/> +Of laughter and of loud applause,<br/> +And, in each intervening pause,<br/> +The music of a violin.<br/> +The fire-light, shedding over all<br/> +The splendor of its ruddy glow,<br/> +Filled the whole parlor large and low;<br/> +It gleamed on wainscot and on wall,<br/> +It touched with more than wonted grace<br/> +Fair Princess Mary’s pictured face;<br/> +It bronzed the rafters overhead,<br/> +On the old spinet’s ivory keys<br/> +It played inaudible melodies,<br/> +It crowned the sombre clock with flame,<br/> +The hands, the hours, the maker’s name,<br/> +And painted with a livelier red<br/> +The Landlord’s coat-of-arms again;<br/> +And, flashing on the window-pane,<br/> +Emblazoned with its light and shade<br/> +The jovial rhymes, that still remain,<br/> +Writ near a century ago,<br/> +By the great Major Molineaux,<br/> +Whom Hawthorne has immortal made.<br/> +<br/> +Before the blazing fire of wood<br/> +Erect the rapt musician stood;<br/> +And ever and anon he bent<br/> +His head upon his instrument,<br/> +And seemed to listen, till he caught<br/> +Confessions of its secret thought,—<br/> +The joy, the triumph, the lament,<br/> +The exultation and the pain;<br/> +Then, by the magic of his art,<br/> +He soothed the throbbings of its heart,<br/> +And lulled it into peace again.<br/> +<br/> +Around the fireside at their ease<br/> +There sat a group of friends, entranced<br/> +With the delicious melodies<br/> +Who from the far-off noisy town<br/> +Had to the wayside inn come down,<br/> +To rest beneath its old oak-trees.<br/> +The fire-light on their faces glanced,<br/> +Their shadows on the wainscot danced,<br/> +And, though of different lands and speech,<br/> +Each had his tale to tell, and each<br/> +Was anxious to be pleased and please.<br/> +And while the sweet musician plays,<br/> +Let me in outline sketch them all,<br/> +Perchance uncouthly as the blaze<br/> +With its uncertain touch portrays<br/> +Their shadowy semblance on the wall.<br/> +<br/> +But first the Landlord will I trace;<br/> +Grave in his aspect and attire;<br/> +A man of ancient pedigree,<br/> +A Justice of the Peace was he,<br/> +Known in all Sudbury as “The Squire.”<br/> +Proud was he of his name and race,<br/> +Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh,<br/> +And in the parlor, full in view,<br/> +His coat-of-arms, well framed and glazed,<br/> +Upon the wall in colors blazed;<br/> +He beareth gules upon his shield,<br/> +A chevron argent in the field,<br/> +With three wolf’s heads, and for the crest<br/> +A Wyvern part-per-pale addressed<br/> +Upon a helmet barred; below<br/> +The scroll reads, “By the name of Howe.”<br/> +And over this, no longer bright,<br/> +Though glimmering with a latent light,<br/> +Was hung the sword his grandsire bore<br/> +In the rebellious days of yore,<br/> +Down there at Concord in the fight.<br/> +<br/> +A youth was there, of quiet ways,<br/> +A Student of old books and days,<br/> +To whom all tongues and lands were known<br/> +And yet a lover of his own;<br/> +With many a social virtue graced,<br/> +And yet a friend of solitude;<br/> +A man of such a genial mood<br/> +The heart of all things he embraced,<br/> +And yet of such fastidious taste,<br/> +He never found the best too good.<br/> +Books were his passion and delight,<br/> +And in his upper room at home<br/> +Stood many a rare and sumptuous tome,<br/> +In vellum bound, with gold bedight,<br/> +Great volumes garmented in white,<br/> +Recalling Florence, Pisa, Rome.<br/> +He loved the twilight that surrounds<br/> +The border-land of old romance;<br/> +Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance,<br/> +And banner waves, and trumpet sounds,<br/> +And ladies ride with hawk on wrist,<br/> +And mighty warriors sweep along,<br/> +Magnified by the purple mist,<br/> +The dusk of centuries and of song.<br/> +The chronicles of Charlemagne,<br/> +Of Merlin and the Mort d’Arthure,<br/> +Mingled together in his brain<br/> +With tales of Flores and Blanchefleur,<br/> +Sir Ferumbras, Sir Eglamour,<br/> +Sir Launcelot, Sir Morgadour,<br/> +Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain.<br/> +<br/> +A young Sicilian, too, was there;<br/> +In sight of Etna born and bred,<br/> +Some breath of its volcanic air<br/> +Was glowing in his heart and brain,<br/> +And, being rebellious to his liege,<br/> +After Palermo’s fatal siege,<br/> +Across the western seas he fled,<br/> +In good King Bomba’s happy reign.<br/> +His face was like a summer night,<br/> +All flooded with a dusky light;<br/> +His hands were small; his teeth shone white<br/> +As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke;<br/> +His sinews supple and strong as oak;<br/> +Clean shaven was he as a priest,<br/> +Who at the mass on Sunday sings,<br/> +Save that upon his upper lip<br/> +His beard, a good palm’s length least,<br/> +Level and pointed at the tip,<br/> +Shot sideways, like a swallow’s wings.<br/> +The poets read he o’er and o’er,<br/> +And most of all the Immortal Four<br/> +Of Italy; and next to those,<br/> +The story-telling bard of prose,<br/> +Who wrote the joyous Tuscan tales<br/> +Of the Decameron, that make<br/> +Fiesole’s green hills and vales<br/> +Remembered for Boccaccio’s sake.<br/> +Much too of music was his thought;<br/> +The melodies and measures fraught<br/> +With sunshine and the open air,<br/> +Of vineyards and the singing sea<br/> +Of his beloved Sicily;<br/> +And much it pleased him to peruse<br/> +The songs of the Sicilian muse,<br/> +Bucolic songs by Meli sung<br/> +In the familiar peasant tongue,<br/> +That made men say, “Behold! once more<br/> +The pitying gods to earth restore<br/> +Theocritus of Syracuse!”<br/> +<br/> +A Spanish Jew from Alicant<br/> +With aspect grand and grave was there;<br/> +Vender of silks and fabrics rare,<br/> +And attar of rose from the Levant.<br/> +Like an old Patriarch he appeared,<br/> +Abraham or Isaac, or at least<br/> +Some later Prophet or High-Priest;<br/> +With lustrous eyes, and olive skin,<br/> +And, wildly tossed from cheeks and chin,<br/> +The tumbling cataract of his beard.<br/> +His garments breathed a spicy scent<br/> +Of cinnamon and sandal blent,<br/> +Like the soft aromatic gales<br/> +That meet the mariner, who sails<br/> +Through the Moluccas, and the seas<br/> +That wash the shores of Celebes.<br/> +All stories that recorded are<br/> +By Pierre Alphonse he knew by heart,<br/> +And it was rumored he could say<br/> +The Parables of Sandabar,<br/> +And all the Fables of Pilpay,<br/> +Or if not all, the greater part!<br/> +Well versed was he in Hebrew books,<br/> +Talmud and Targum, and the lore<br/> +Of Kabala; and evermore<br/> +There was a mystery in his looks;<br/> +His eyes seemed gazing far away,<br/> +As if in vision or in trance<br/> +He heard the solemn sackbut play,<br/> +And saw the Jewish maidens dance.<br/> +<br/> +A Theologian, from the school<br/> +Of Cambridge on the Charles, was there;<br/> +Skilful alike with tongue and pen,<br/> +He preached to all men everywhere<br/> +The Gospel of the Golden Rule,<br/> +The New Commandment given to men,<br/> +Thinking the deed, and not the creed,<br/> +Would help us in our utmost need.<br/> +With reverent feet the earth he trod,<br/> +Nor banished nature from his plan,<br/> +But studied still with deep research<br/> +To build the Universal Church,<br/> +Lofty as in the love of God,<br/> +And ample as the wants of man.<br/> +<br/> +A Poet, too, was there, whose verse<br/> +Was tender, musical, and terse;<br/> +The inspiration, the delight,<br/> +The gleam, the glory, the swift flight,<br/> +Of thoughts so sudden, that they seem<br/> +The revelations of a dream,<br/> +All these were his; but with them came<br/> +No envy of another’s fame;<br/> +He did not find his sleep less sweet<br/> +For music in some neighboring street,<br/> +Nor rustling hear in every breeze<br/> +The laurels of Miltiades.<br/> +Honor and blessings on his head<br/> +While living, good report when dead,<br/> +Who, not too eager for renown,<br/> +Accepts, but does not clutch, the crown!<br/> +<br/> +Last the Musician, as he stood<br/> +Illumined by that fire of wood;<br/> +Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect blithe.<br/> +His figure tall and straight and lithe,<br/> +And every feature of his face<br/> +Revealing his Norwegian race;<br/> +A radiance, streaming from within,<br/> +Around his eyes and forehead beamed,<br/> +The Angel with the violin,<br/> +Painted by Raphael, he seemed.<br/> +He lived in that ideal world<br/> +Whose language is not speech, but song;<br/> +Around him evermore the throng<br/> +Of elves and sprites their dances whirled;<br/> +The Stromkarl sang, the cataract hurled<br/> +Its headlong waters from the height;<br/> +And mingled in the wild delight<br/> +The scream of sea-birds in their flight,<br/> +The rumor of the forest trees,<br/> +The plunge of the implacable seas,<br/> +The tumult of the wind at night,<br/> +Voices of eld, like trumpets blowing,<br/> +Old ballads, and wild melodies<br/> +Through mist and darkness pouring forth,<br/> +Like Elivagar’s river flowing<br/> +Out of the glaciers of the North.<br/> +<br/> +The instrument on which he played<br/> +Was in Cremona’s workshops made,<br/> +By a great master of the past,<br/> +Ere yet was lost the art divine;<br/> +Fashioned of maple and of pine,<br/> +That in Tyrolian forests vast<br/> +Had rocked and wrestled with the blast;<br/> +Exquisite was it in design,<br/> +Perfect in each minutest part.<br/> +A marvel of the lutist’s art;<br/> +And in its hollow chamber, thus,<br/> +The maker from whose hands it came<br/> +Had written his unrivalled name,—<br/> +“Antonius Stradivarius.”<br/> +<br/> +And when he played, the atmosphere<br/> +Was filled with magic, and the ear<br/> +Caught echoes of that Harp of Gold,<br/> +Whose music had so weird a sound,<br/> +The hunted stag forgot to bound,<br/> +The leaping rivulet backward rolled,<br/> +The birds came down from bush and tree,<br/> +The dead came from beneath the sea,<br/> +The maiden to the harper’s knee!<br/> +<br/> +The music ceased; the applause was loud,<br/> +The pleased musician smiled and bowed;<br/> +The wood-fire clapped its hands of flame,<br/> +The shadows on the wainscot stirred,<br/> +And from the harpsichord there came<br/> +A ghostly murmur of acclaim,<br/> +A sound like that sent down at night<br/> +By birds of passage in their flight,<br/> +From the remotest distance heard.<br/> +<br/> +Then silence followed; then began<br/> +A clamor for the Landlord’s tale,—<br/> +The story promised them of old,<br/> +They said, but always left untold;<br/> +And he, although a bashful man,<br/> +And all his courage seemed to fail,<br/> +Finding excuse of no avail,<br/> +Yielded; and thus the story ran. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap167"></a>THE LANDLORD’S TALE.<br/> +PAUL REVERE’S RIDE.</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +Listen, my children, and you shall hear<br/> +Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,<br/> +On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;<br/> +Hardly a man is now alive<br/> +Who remembers that famous day and year.<br/> +<br/> +He said to his friend, “If the British march<br/> +By land or sea from the town to-night,<br/> +Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch<br/> +Of the North Church tower as a signal light,—<br/> +One, if by land, and two, if by sea;<br/> +And I on the opposite shore will be,<br/> +Ready to ride and spread the alarm<br/> +Through every Middlesex village and farm<br/> +For the country folk to be up and to arm,”<br/> +<br/> +Then he said, “Good night!” and with muffled oar<br/> +Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,<br/> +Just as the moon rose over the bay,<br/> +Where swinging wide at her moorings lay<br/> +The Somerset, British man-of-war;<br/> +A phantom ship, with each mast and spar<br/> +Across the moon like a prison bar,<br/> +And a huge black hulk, that was magnified<br/> +By its own reflection in the tide.<br/> +<br/> +Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,<br/> +Wanders and watches with eager ears,<br/> +Till in the silence around him he hears<br/> +The muster of men at the barrack door,<br/> +The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,<br/> +And the measured tread of the grenadiers,<br/> +Marching down to their boats on the shore.<br/> +<br/> +Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,<br/> +By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,<br/> +To the belfry-chamber overhead,<br/> +And startled the pigeons from their perch<br/> +On the sombre rafters, that round him made<br/> +Masses and moving shapes of shade,—<br/> +By the trembling ladder, steep and tall<br/> +To the highest window in the wall,<br/> +Where he paused to listen and look down<br/> +A moment on the roofs of the town,<br/> +And the moonlight flowing over all.<br/> +<br/> +Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,<br/> +In their night-encampment on the hill,<br/> +Wrapped in silence so deep and still<br/> +That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,<br/> +The watchful night-wind, as it went<br/> +Creeping along from tent to tent<br/> +And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”<br/> +A moment only he feels the spell<br/> +Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread<br/> +Of the lonely belfry and the dead;<br/> +For suddenly all his thoughts are bent<br/> +On a shadowy something far away,<br/> +Where the river widens to meet the bay,—<br/> +A line of black that bends and floats<br/> +On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.<br/> +<br/> +Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,<br/> +Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride<br/> +On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.<br/> +Now he patted his horse’s side,<br/> +Now gazed at the landscape far and near,<br/> +Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,<br/> +And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;<br/> +But mostly he watched with eager search<br/> +The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,<br/> +As it rose above the graves on the hill,<br/> +Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.<br/> +And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height<br/> +A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!<br/> +He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,<br/> +But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight<br/> +A second lamp in the belfry burns!<br/> +<br/> +A hurry of hoofs in a village street,<br/> +A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,<br/> +And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark<br/> +Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:<br/> +That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,<br/> +The fate of a nation was riding that night;<br/> +And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,<br/> +Kindled the land into flame with its heat.<br/> +He has left the village and mounted the steep,<br/> +And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,<br/> +Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;<br/> +And under the alders, that skirt its edge,<br/> +Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,<br/> +Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.<br/> +<br/> +It was twelve by the village clock<br/> +When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.<br/> +He heard the crowing of the cock,<br/> +And the barking of the farmer’s dog,<br/> +And felt the damp of the river fog,<br/> +That rises after the sun goes down.<br/> +<br/> +It was one by the village clock,<br/> +When he galloped into Lexington.<br/> +He saw the gilded weathercock<br/> +Swim in the moonlight as he passed,<br/> +And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,<br/> +Gaze at him with a spectral glare,<br/> +As if they already stood aghast<br/> +At the bloody work they would look upon.<br/> +<br/> +It was two by the village clock,<br/> +When he came to the bridge in Concord town.<br/> +He heard the bleating of the flock,<br/> +And the twitter of birds among the trees,<br/> +And felt the breath of the morning breeze<br/> +Blowing over the meadows brown.<br/> +And one was safe and asleep in his bed<br/> +Who at the bridge would be first to fall,<br/> +Who that day would be lying dead,<br/> +Pierced by a British musket-ball.<br/> +<br/> +You know the rest. In the books you have read,<br/> +How the British Regulars fired and fled,—<br/> +How the farmers gave them ball for ball,<br/> +From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,<br/> +Chasing the red-coats down the lane,<br/> +Then crossing the fields to emerge again<br/> +Under the trees at the turn of the road,<br/> +And only pausing to fire and load.<br/> +<br/> +So through the night rode Paul Revere;<br/> +And so through the night went his cry of alarm<br/> +To every Middlesex village and farm,—<br/> +A cry of defiance and not of fear,<br/> +A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,<br/> +And a word that shall echo forevermore!<br/> +For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,<br/> +Through all our history, to the last,<br/> +In the hour of darkness and peril and need,<br/> +The people will waken and listen to hear<br/> +The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,<br/> +And the midnight message of Paul Revere. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap168"></a>INTERLUDE.</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +The Landlord ended thus his tale,<br/> +Then rising took down from its nail<br/> +The sword that hung there, dim with dust<br/> +And cleaving to its sheath with rust,<br/> +And said, “This sword was in the fight.”<br/> +The Poet seized it, and exclaimed,<br/> +“It is the sword of a good knight,<br/> +Though homespun was his coat-of-mail;<br/> +What matter if it be not named<br/> +Joyeuse, Colada, Durindale,<br/> +Excalibar, or Aroundight,<br/> +Or other name the books record?<br/> +Your ancestor, who bore this sword<br/> +As Colonel of the Volunteers,<br/> +Mounted upon his old gray mare,<br/> +Seen here and there and everywhere,<br/> +To me a grander shape appears<br/> +Than old Sir William, or what not,<br/> +Clinking about in foreign lands<br/> +With iron gauntlets on his hands,<br/> +And on his head an iron pot!”<br/> +<br/> +All laughed; the Landlord’s face grew red<br/> +As his escutcheon on the wall;<br/> +He could not comprehend at all<br/> +The drift of what the Poet said;<br/> +For those who had been longest dead<br/> +Were always greatest in his eyes;<br/> +And he was speechless with surprise<br/> +To see Sir William’s plumed head<br/> +Brought to a level with the rest,<br/> +And made the subject of a jest.<br/> +And this perceiving, to appease<br/> +The Landlord’s wrath, the others’ fears,<br/> +The Student said, with careless ease,<br/> +“The ladies and the cavaliers,<br/> +The arms, the loves, the courtesies,<br/> +The deeds of high emprise, I sing!<br/> +Thus Ariosto says, in words<br/> +That have the stately stride and ring<br/> +Of armed knights and clashing swords.<br/> +Now listen to the tale I bring<br/> +Listen! though not to me belong<br/> +The flowing draperies of his song,<br/> +The words that rouse, the voice that charms.<br/> +The Landlord’s tale was one of arms,<br/> +Only a tale of love is mine,<br/> +Blending the human and divine,<br/> +A tale of the Decameron, told<br/> +In Palmieri’s garden old,<br/> +By Fiametta, laurel-crowned,<br/> +While her companions lay around,<br/> +And heard the intermingled sound<br/> +Of airs that on their errands sped,<br/> +And wild birds gossiping overhead,<br/> +And lisp of leaves, and fountain’s fall,<br/> +And her own voice more sweet than all,<br/> +Telling the tale, which, wanting these,<br/> +Perchance may lose its power to please.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap169"></a>THE STUDENT’S TALE<br/> +THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +One summer morning, when the sun was hot,<br/> +Weary with labor in his garden-plot,<br/> +On a rude bench beneath his cottage eaves,<br/> +Ser Federigo sat among the leaves<br/> +Of a huge vine, that, with its arms outspread,<br/> +Hung its delicious clusters overhead.<br/> +Below him, through the lovely valley flowed<br/> +The river Arno, like a winding road,<br/> +And from its banks were lifted high in air<br/> +The spires and roofs of Florence called the Fair;<br/> +To him a marble tomb, that rose above<br/> +His wasted fortunes and his buried love.<br/> +For there, in banquet and in tournament,<br/> +His wealth had lavished been, his substance spent,<br/> +To woo and lose, since ill his wooing sped,<br/> +Monna Giovanna, who his rival wed,<br/> +Yet ever in his fancy reigned supreme,<br/> +The ideal woman of a young man’s dream.<br/> +<br/> +Then he withdrew, in poverty and pain,<br/> +To this small farm, the last of his domain,<br/> +His only comfort and his only care<br/> +To prune his vines, and plant the fig and pear;<br/> +His only forester and only guest<br/> +His falcon, faithful to him, when the rest,<br/> +Whose willing hands had found so light of yore<br/> +The brazen knocker of his palace door,<br/> +Had now no strength to lift the wooden latch,<br/> +That entrance gave beneath a roof of thatch.<br/> +Companion of his solitary ways,<br/> +Purveyor of his feasts on holidays,<br/> +On him this melancholy man bestowed<br/> +The love with which his nature overflowed.<br/> +<br/> +And so the empty-handed years went round,<br/> +Vacant, though voiceful with prophetic sound,<br/> +And so, that summer morn, he sat and mused<br/> +With folded, patient hands, as he was used,<br/> +And dreamily before his half-closed sight<br/> +Floated the vision of his lost delight.<br/> +Beside him, motionless, the drowsy bird<br/> +Dreamed of the chase, and in his slumber heard<br/> +The sudden, scythe-like sweep of wings, that dare<br/> +The headlong plunge thro’ eddying gulfs of air,<br/> +Then, starting broad awake upon his perch,<br/> +Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells in a church,<br/> +And, looking at his master, seemed to say,<br/> +“Ser Federigo, shall we hunt to-day?”<br/> +<br/> +Ser Federigo thought not of the chase;<br/> +The tender vision of her lovely face,<br/> +I will not say he seems to see, he sees<br/> +In the leaf-shadows of the trellises,<br/> +Herself, yet not herself; a lovely child<br/> +With flowing tresses, and eyes wide and wild,<br/> +Coming undaunted up the garden walk,<br/> +And looking not at him, but at the hawk.<br/> +“Beautiful falcon!” said he, “would that I<br/> +Might hold thee on my wrist, or see thee fly!”<br/> +The voice was hers, and made strange echoes start<br/> +Through all the haunted chambers of his heart,<br/> +As an æolian harp through gusty doors<br/> +Of some old ruin its wild music pours.<br/> +<br/> +“Who is thy mother, my fair boy?” he said,<br/> +His hand laid softly on that shining head.<br/> +“Monna Giovanna. Will you let me stay<br/> +A little while, and with your falcon play?<br/> +We live there, just beyond your garden wall,<br/> +In the great house behind the poplars tall.”<br/> +<br/> +So he spake on; and Federigo heard<br/> +As from afar each softly uttered word,<br/> +And drifted onward through the golden gleams<br/> +And shadows of the misty sea of dreams,<br/> +As mariners becalmed through vapors drift,<br/> +And feel the sea beneath them sink and lift,<br/> +And hear far off the mournful breakers roar,<br/> +And voices calling faintly from the shore!<br/> +Then, waking from his pleasant reveries<br/> +He took the little boy upon his knees,<br/> +And told him stories of his gallant bird,<br/> +Till in their friendship he became a third.<br/> +<br/> +Monna Giovanna, widowed in her prime,<br/> +Had come with friends to pass the summer time<br/> +In her grand villa, half-way up the hill,<br/> +O’erlooking Florence, but retired and still;<br/> +With iron gates, that opened through long lines<br/> +Of sacred ilex and centennial pines,<br/> +And terraced gardens, and broad steps of stone,<br/> +And sylvan deities, with moss o’ergrown,<br/> +And fountains palpitating in the heat,<br/> +And all Val d’Arno stretched beneath its feet.<br/> +Here in seclusion, as a widow may,<br/> +The lovely lady whiled the hours away,<br/> +Pacing in sable robes the statued hall,<br/> +Herself the stateliest statue among all,<br/> +And seeing more and more, with secret joy,<br/> +Her husband risen and living in her boy,<br/> +Till the lost sense of life returned again,<br/> +Not as delight, but as relief from pain.<br/> +Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in his strength,<br/> +Stormed down the terraces from length to length;<br/> +The screaming peacock chased in hot pursuit,<br/> +And climbed the garden trellises for fruit.<br/> +But his chief pastime was to watch the flight<br/> +Of a gerfalcon, soaring into sight,<br/> +Beyond the trees that fringed the garden wall,<br/> +Then downward stooping at some distant call;<br/> +And as he gazed full often wondered he<br/> +Who might the master of the falcon be,<br/> +Until that happy morning, when he found<br/> +Master and falcon in the cottage ground.<br/> +<br/> +And now a shadow and a terror fell<br/> +On the great house, as if a passing-bell<br/> +Tolled from the tower, and filled each spacious room<br/> +With secret awe, and preternatural gloom;<br/> +The petted boy grew ill, and day by day<br/> +Pined with mysterious malady away.<br/> +The mother’s heart would not be comforted;<br/> +Her darling seemed to her already dead,<br/> +And often, sitting by the sufferer’s side,<br/> +“What can I do to comfort thee?” she cried.<br/> +At first the silent lips made no reply,<br/> +But moved at length by her importunate cry,<br/> +“Give me,” he answered, with imploring tone,<br/> +“Ser Federigo’s falcon for my own!”<br/> +No answer could the astonished mother make;<br/> +How could she ask, e’en for her darling’s sake,<br/> +Such favor at a luckless lover’s hand,<br/> +Well knowing that to ask was to command?<br/> +Well knowing, what all falconers confessed,<br/> +In all the land that falcon was the best,<br/> +The master’s pride and passion and delight,<br/> +And the sole pursuivant of this poor knight.<br/> +But yet, for her child’s sake, she could no less<br/> +Than give assent to soothe his restlessness,<br/> +So promised, and then promising to keep<br/> +Her promise sacred, saw him fall asleep.<br/> +<br/> +The morrow was a bright September morn;<br/> +The earth was beautiful as if new-born;<br/> +There was that nameless splendor everywhere,<br/> +That wild exhilaration in the air,<br/> +Which makes the passers in the city street<br/> +Congratulate each other as they meet.<br/> +Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak and hood,<br/> +Passed through the garden gate into the wood,<br/> +Under the lustrous leaves, and through the sheen<br/> +Of dewy sunshine showering down between.<br/> +<br/> +The one, close-hooded, had the attractive grace<br/> +Which sorrow sometimes lends a woman’s face;<br/> +Her dark eyes moistened with the mists that roll<br/> +From the gulf-stream of passion in the soul;<br/> +The other with her hood thrown back, her hair<br/> +Making a golden glory in the air,<br/> +Her cheeks suffused with an auroral blush,<br/> +Her young heart singing louder than the thrush.<br/> +So walked, that morn, through mingled light and shade,<br/> +Each by the other’s presence lovelier made,<br/> +Monna Giovanna and her bosom friend,<br/> +Intent upon their errand and its end.<br/> +<br/> +They found Ser Federigo at his toil,<br/> +Like banished Adam, delving in the soil;<br/> +And when he looked and these fair women spied,<br/> +The garden suddenly was glorified;<br/> +His long-lost Eden was restored again,<br/> +And the strange river winding through the plain<br/> +No longer was the Arno to his eyes,<br/> +But the Euphrates watering Paradise!<br/> +<br/> +Monna Giovanna raised her stately head,<br/> +And with fair words of salutation said:<br/> +“Ser Federigo, we come here as friends,<br/> +Hoping in this to make some poor amends<br/> +For past unkindness. I who ne’er before<br/> +Would even cross the threshold of your door,<br/> +I who in happier days such pride maintained,<br/> +Refused your banquets, and your gifts disdained,<br/> +This morning come, a self-invited guest,<br/> +To put your generous nature to the test,<br/> +And breakfast with you under your own vine.”<br/> +To which he answered: “Poor desert of mine,<br/> +Not your unkindness call it, for if aught<br/> +Is good in me of feeling or of thought,<br/> +From you it comes, and this last grace outweighs<br/> +All sorrows, all regrets of other days.”<br/> +<br/> +And after further compliment and talk,<br/> +Among the asters in the garden walk<br/> +He left his guests; and to his cottage turned,<br/> +And as he entered for a moment yearned<br/> +For the lost splendors of the days of old,<br/> +The ruby glass, the silver and the gold,<br/> +And felt how piercing is the sting of pride,<br/> +By want embittered and intensified.<br/> +He looked about him for some means or way<br/> +To keep this unexpected holiday;<br/> +Searched every cupboard, and then searched again,<br/> +Summoned the maid, who came, but came in vain;<br/> +“The Signor did not hunt to-day,” she said,<br/> +“There’s nothing in the house but wine and bread.”<br/> +<br/> +Then suddenly the drowsy falcon shook<br/> +His little bells, with that sagacious look,<br/> +Which said, as plain as language to the ear,<br/> +“If anything is wanting, I am here!”<br/> +Yes, everything is wanting, gallant bird!<br/> +The master seized thee without further word.<br/> +Like thine own lure, he whirled thee round; ah me!<br/> +The pomp and flutter of brave falconry,<br/> +The bells, the jesses, the bright scarlet hood,<br/> +The flight and the pursuit o’er field and wood,<br/> +All these forevermore are ended now;<br/> +No longer victor, but the victim thou!<br/> +<br/> +Then on the board a snow-white cloth he spread,<br/> +Laid on its wooden dish the loaf of bread,<br/> +Brought purple grapes with autumn sunshine hot,<br/> +The fragrant peach, the juicy bergamot;<br/> +Then in the midst a flask of wine he placed,<br/> +And with autumnal flowers the banquet graced.<br/> +Ser Federigo, would not these suffice<br/> +Without thy falcon stuffed with cloves and spice?<br/> +<br/> +When all was ready, and the courtly dame<br/> +With her companion to the cottage came,<br/> +Upon Ser Federigo’s brain there fell<br/> +The wild enchantment of a magic spell!<br/> +The room they entered, mean and low and small,<br/> +Was changed into a sumptuous banquet-hall,<br/> +With fanfares by aerial trumpets blown;<br/> +The rustic chair she sat on was a throne;<br/> +He ate celestial food, and a divine<br/> +Flavor was given to his country wine,<br/> +And the poor falcon, fragrant with his spice,<br/> +A peacock was, or bird of paradise!<br/> +<br/> +When the repast was ended, they arose<br/> +And passed again into the garden-close.<br/> +Then said the lady, “Far too well I know<br/> +Remembering still the days of long ago,<br/> +Though you betray it not with what surprise<br/> +You see me here in this familiar wise.<br/> +You have no children, and you cannot guess<br/> +What anguish, what unspeakable distress<br/> +A mother feels, whose child is lying ill,<br/> +Nor how her heart anticipates his will.<br/> +And yet for this, you see me lay aside<br/> +All womanly reserve and check of pride,<br/> +And ask the thing most precious in your sight,<br/> +Your falcon, your sole comfort and delight,<br/> +Which if you find it in your heart to give,<br/> +My poor, unhappy boy perchance may live.”<br/> +<br/> +Ser Federigo listens, and replies,<br/> +With tears of love and pity in his eyes:<br/> +“Alas, dear lady! there can be no task<br/> +So sweet to me, as giving when you ask.<br/> +One little hour ago, if I had known<br/> +This wish of yours, it would have been my own.<br/> +But thinking in what manner I could best<br/> +Do honor to the presence of my guest,<br/> +I deemed that nothing worthier could be<br/> +Than what most dear and precious was to me,<br/> +And so my gallant falcon breathed his last<br/> +To furnish forth this morning our repast.”<br/> +<br/> +In mute contrition, mingled with dismay,<br/> +The gentle lady tuned her eyes away,<br/> +Grieving that he such sacrifice should make,<br/> +And kill his falcon for a woman’s sake,<br/> +Yet feeling in her heart a woman’s pride,<br/> +That nothing she could ask for was denied;<br/> +Then took her leave, and passed out at the gate<br/> +With footstep slow and soul disconsolate.<br/> +<br/> +Three days went by, and lo! a passing-bell<br/> +Tolled from the little chapel in the dell;<br/> +Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, and said,<br/> +Breathing a prayer, “Alas! her child is dead!”<br/> +Three months went by; and lo! a merrier chime<br/> +Rang from the chapel bells at Christmas time;<br/> +The cottage was deserted, and no more<br/> +Ser Federigo sat beside its door,<br/> +But now, with servitors to do his will,<br/> +In the grand villa, half-way up the hill,<br/> +Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his side<br/> +Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride,<br/> +Never so beautiful, so kind, so fair,<br/> +Enthroned once more in the old rustic chair,<br/> +High-perched upon the back of which there stood<br/> +The image of a falcon carved in wood,<br/> +And underneath the inscription, with date,<br/> +“All things come round to him who will but wait.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap170"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +Soon as the story reached its end,<br/> +One, over eager to commend,<br/> +Crowned it with injudicious praise;<br/> +And then the voice of blame found vent,<br/> +And fanned the embers of dissent<br/> +Into a somewhat lively blaze.<br/> +<br/> +The Theologian shook his head;<br/> +“These old Italian tales,” he said,<br/> +“From the much-praised Decameron down<br/> +Through all the rabble of the rest,<br/> +Are either trifling, dull, or lewd;<br/> +The gossip of a neighborhood<br/> +In some remote provincial town,<br/> +A scandalous chronicle at best!<br/> +They seem to me a stagnant fen,<br/> +Grown rank with rushes and with reeds,<br/> +Where a white lily, now and then,<br/> +Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds<br/> +And deadly nightshade on its banks.”<br/> +<br/> +To this the Student straight replied,<br/> +“For the white lily, many thanks!<br/> +One should not say, with too much pride,<br/> +Fountain, I will not drink of thee!<br/> +Nor were it grateful to forget,<br/> +That from these reservoirs and tanks<br/> +Even imperial Shakespeare drew<br/> +His Moor of Venice, and the Jew,<br/> +And Romeo and Juliet,<br/> +And many a famous comedy.”<br/> +<br/> +Then a long pause; till some one said,<br/> +“An Angel is flying overhead!”<br/> +At these words spake the Spanish Jew,<br/> +And murmured with an inward breath:<br/> +“God grant, if what you say be true,<br/> +It may not be the Angel of Death!”<br/> +And then another pause; and then,<br/> +Stroking his beard, he said again:<br/> +“This brings back to my memory<br/> +A story in the Talmud told,<br/> +That book of gems, that book of gold,<br/> +Of wonders many and manifold,<br/> +A tale that often comes to me,<br/> +And fills my heart, and haunts my brain,<br/> +And never wearies nor grows old.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap171"></a>THE SPANISH JEW’S TALE<br/> +THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read<br/> +A volume of the Law, in which it said,<br/> +“No man shall look upon my face and live.”<br/> +And as he read, he prayed that God would give<br/> +His faithful servant grace with mortal eye<br/> +To look upon His face and yet not die.<br/> +<br/> +Then fell a sudden shadow on the page,<br/> +And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age<br/> +He saw the Angel of Death before him stand,<br/> +Holding a naked sword in his right hand.<br/> +Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man,<br/> +Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran.<br/> +With trembling voice he said, “What wilt thou here?”<br/> +The angel answered, “Lo! the time draws near<br/> +When thou must die; yet first, by God’s decree,<br/> +Whate’er thou askest shall be granted thee.”<br/> +Replied the Rabbi, “Let these living eyes<br/> +First look upon my place in Paradise.”<br/> +<br/> +Then said the Angel, “Come with me and look.”<br/> +Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book,<br/> +And rising, and uplifting his gray head,<br/> +“Give me thy sword,” he to the Angel said,<br/> +“Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by the way.”<br/> +The angel smiled and hastened to obey,<br/> +Then led him forth to the Celestial Town,<br/> +And set him on the wall, whence, gazing down,<br/> +Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes,<br/> +Might look upon his place in Paradise.<br/> +<br/> +Then straight into the city of the Lord<br/> +The Rabbi leaped with the Death-Angel’s sword,<br/> +And through the streets there swept a sudden breath<br/> +Of something there unknown, which men call death.<br/> +Meanwhile the Angel stayed without and cried,<br/> +“Come back!” To which the Rabbi’s voice replied,<br/> +“No! in the name of God, whom I adore,<br/> +I swear that hence I will depart no more!”<br/> +<br/> +Then all the Angels cried, “O Holy One,<br/> +See what the son of Levi here hath done!<br/> +The kingdom of Heaven he takes by violence,<br/> +And in Thy name refuses to go hence!”<br/> +The Lord replied, “My Angels, be not wroth;<br/> +Did e’er the son of Levi break his oath?<br/> +Let him remain; for he with mortal eye<br/> +Shall look upon my face and yet not die.”<br/> +<br/> +Beyond the outer wall the Angel of Death<br/> +Heard the great voice, and said, with panting breath,<br/> +“Give back the sword, and let me go my way.”<br/> +Whereat the Rabbi paused, and answered, “Nay!<br/> +Anguish enough already hath it caused<br/> +Among the sons of men.” And while he paused<br/> +He heard the awful mandate of the Lord<br/> +Resounding through the air, “Give back the sword!”<br/> +<br/> +The Rabbi bowed his head in silent prayer;<br/> +Then said he to the dreadful Angel, “Swear,<br/> +No human eye shall look on it again;<br/> +But when thou takest away the souls of men,<br/> +Thyself unseen, and with an unseen sword,<br/> +Thou wilt perform the bidding of the Lord.”<br/> +The Angel took the sword again, and swore,<br/> +And walks on earth unseen forevermore. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap172"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +He ended: and a kind of spell<br/> +Upon the silent listeners fell.<br/> +His solemn manner and his words<br/> +Had touched the deep, mysterious chords,<br/> +That vibrate in each human breast<br/> +Alike, but not alike confessed.<br/> +The spiritual world seemed near;<br/> +And close above them, full of fear,<br/> +Its awful adumbration passed,<br/> +A luminous shadow, vague and vast.<br/> +They almost feared to look, lest there,<br/> +Embodied from the impalpable air,<br/> +They might behold the Angel stand,<br/> +Holding the sword in his right hand.<br/> +<br/> +At last, but in a voice subdued,<br/> +Not to disturb their dreamy mood,<br/> +Said the Sicilian: “While you spoke,<br/> +Telling your legend marvellous,<br/> +Suddenly in my memory woke<br/> +The thought of one, now gone from us,—<br/> +An old Abate, meek and mild,<br/> +My friend and teacher, when a child,<br/> +Who sometimes in those days of old<br/> +The legend of an Angel told,<br/> +Which ran, as I remember, thus.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap173"></a>THE SICILIAN’S TALE +KING ROBERT OF SICILY</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane<br/> +And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,<br/> +Apparelled in magnificent attire,<br/> +With retinue of many a knight and squire,<br/> +On St. John’s eve, at vespers, proudly sat<br/> +And heard the priests chant the Magnificat,<br/> +And as he listened, o’er and o’er again<br/> +Repeated, like a burden or refrain,<br/> +He caught the words, “<i>Deposuit potentes<br/> +De sede, et exaltavit humiles;</i>”<br/> +And slowly lifting up his kingly head<br/> +He to a learned clerk beside him said,<br/> +“What mean these words?” The clerk made answer meet,<br/> +“He has put down the mighty from their seat,<br/> +And has exalted them of low degree.”<br/> +Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully,<br/> +“’T is well that such seditious words are sung<br/> +Only by priests and in the Latin tongue;<br/> +For unto priests and people be it known,<br/> +There is no power can push me from my throne!”<br/> +And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep,<br/> +Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep.<br/> +<br/> +When he awoke, it was already night;<br/> +The church was empty, and there was no light,<br/> +Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint,<br/> +Lighted a little space before some saint.<br/> +He started from his seat and gazed around,<br/> +But saw no living thing and heard no sound.<br/> +He groped towards the door, but it was locked;<br/> +He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked,<br/> +And uttered awful threatenings and complaints,<br/> +And imprecations upon men and saints.<br/> +The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls<br/> +As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.<br/> +<br/> +At length the sexton, hearing from without<br/> +The tumult of the knocking and the shout,<br/> +And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer,<br/> +Came with his lantern, asking, “Who is there?”<br/> +Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,<br/> +“Open: ’tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?”<br/> +The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse,<br/> +“This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!”<br/> +Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;<br/> +A man rushed by him at a single stride,<br/> +Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak,<br/> +Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,<br/> +But leaped into the blackness of the night,<br/> +And vanished like a spectre from his sight.<br/> +<br/> +Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane<br/> +And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,<br/> +Despoiled of his magnificent attire,<br/> +Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire,<br/> +With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,<br/> +Strode on and thundered at the palace gate;<br/> +Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage<br/> +To right and left each seneschal and page,<br/> +And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,<br/> +His white face ghastly in the torches’ glare.<br/> +From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed;<br/> +Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed,<br/> +Until at last he reached the banquet-room,<br/> +Blazing with light and breathing with perfume.<br/> +<br/> +There on the dais sat another king,<br/> +Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring,<br/> +King Robert’s self in features, form, and height,<br/> +But all transfigured with angelic light!<br/> +It was an Angel; and his presence there<br/> +With a divine effulgence filled the air,<br/> +An exaltation, piercing the disguise,<br/> +Though none the hidden Angel recognize.<br/> +<br/> +A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,<br/> +The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed,<br/> +Who met his look of anger and surprise<br/> +With the divine compassion of his eyes;<br/> +Then said, “Who art thou? and why com’st thou here?”<br/> +To which King Robert answered, with a sneer,<br/> +“I am the King, and come to claim my own<br/> +From an impostor, who usurps my throne!”<br/> +And suddenly, at these audacious words,<br/> +Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords;<br/> +The Angel answered, with unruffled brow,<br/> +“Nay, not the King, but the King’s Jester, thou<br/> +Henceforth shall wear the bells and scalloped cape,<br/> +And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape;<br/> +Thou shalt obey my servants when they call,<br/> +And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!”<br/> +<br/> +Deaf to King Robert’s threats and cries and prayers,<br/> +They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs;<br/> +A group of tittering pages ran before,<br/> +And as they opened wide the folding door,<br/> +His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms,<br/> +The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,<br/> +And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring<br/> +With the mock plaudits of “Long live the King!”<br/> +<br/> +Next morning, waking with the day’s first beam,<br/> +He said within himself, “It was a dream!”<br/> +But the straw rustled as he turned his head,<br/> +There were the cap and bells beside his bed,<br/> +Around him rose the bare, discolored walls,<br/> +Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls,<br/> +And in the corner, a revolting shape,<br/> +Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape.<br/> +It was no dream; the world he loved so much<br/> +Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch!<br/> +<br/> +Days came and went; and now returned again<br/> +To Sicily the old Saturnian reign;<br/> +Under the Angel’s governance benign<br/> +The happy island danced with corn and wine,<br/> +And deep within the mountain’s burning breast<br/> +Enceladus, the giant, was at rest.<br/> +<br/> +Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate,<br/> +Sullen and silent and disconsolate.<br/> +Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear,<br/> +With look bewildered and a vacant stare,<br/> +Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn,<br/> +By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,<br/> +His only friend the ape, his only food<br/> +What others left,—he still was unsubdued.<br/> +And when the Angel met him on his way,<br/> +And half in earnest, half in jest, would say<br/> +Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel<br/> +The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel,<br/> +“Art thou the King?” the passion of his woe<br/> +Burst from him in resistless overflow,<br/> +And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling<br/> +The haughty answer back, “I am, I am the King!”<br/> +<br/> +Almost three years were ended; when there came<br/> +Ambassadors of great repute and name<br/> +From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,<br/> +Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane<br/> +By letter summoned them forthwith to come<br/> +On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome.<br/> +The Angel with great joy received his guests,<br/> +And gave them presents of embroidered vests,<br/> +And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined,<br/> +And rings and jewels of the rarest kind.<br/> +Then he departed with them o’er the sea<br/> +Into the lovely land of Italy,<br/> +Whose loveliness was more resplendent made<br/> +By the mere passing of that cavalcade,<br/> +With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir<br/> +Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur.<br/> +And lo! among the menials, in mock state,<br/> +Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait,<br/> +His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind,<br/> +The solemn ape demurely perched behind,<br/> +King Robert rode, making huge merriment<br/> +In all the country towns through which they went.<br/> +<br/> +The Pope received them with great pomp and blare<br/> +Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter’s square,<br/> +Giving his benediction and embrace,<br/> +Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.<br/> +While with congratulations and with prayers<br/> +He entertained the Angel unawares,<br/> +Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd,<br/> +Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud,<br/> +“I am the King! Look, and behold in me<br/> +Robert, your brother, King of Sicily!<br/> +This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes,<br/> +Is an impostor in a king’s disguise.<br/> +Do you not know me? does no voice within<br/> +Answer my cry, and say we are akin?”<br/> +The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,<br/> +Gazed at the Angel’s countenance serene;<br/> +The Emperor, laughing, said, “It is strange sport<br/> +To keep a mad man for thy Fool at court!”<br/> +And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace<br/> +Was hustled back among the populace.<br/> +<br/> +In solemn state the Holy Week went by,<br/> +And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;<br/> +The presence of the Angel, with its light,<br/> +Before the sun rose, made the city bright,<br/> +And with new fervor filled the hearts of men,<br/> +Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.<br/> +Even the Jester, on his bed of straw,<br/> +With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw,<br/> +He felt within a power unfelt before,<br/> +And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor,<br/> +He heard the rushing garments of the Lord<br/> +Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.<br/> +<br/> +And now the visit ending, and once more<br/> +Valmond returning to the Danube’s shore,<br/> +Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again<br/> +The land was made resplendent with his train,<br/> +Flashing along the towns of Italy<br/> +Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.<br/> +And when once more within Palermo’s wall,<br/> +And, seated on the throne in his great hall,<br/> +He heard the Angelus from convent towers,<br/> +As if the better world conversed with ours,<br/> +He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,<br/> +And with a gesture bade the rest retire;<br/> +And when they were alone, the Angel said,<br/> +“Art thou the King?” Then, bowing down his head,<br/> +King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,<br/> +And meekly answered him: “Thou knowest best!<br/> +My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,<br/> +And in some cloister’s school of penitence,<br/> +Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven,<br/> +Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!”<br/> +<br/> +The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face<br/> +A holy light illumined all the place,<br/> +And through the open window, loud and clear,<br/> +They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,<br/> +Above the stir and tumult of the street:<br/> +“He has put down the mighty from their seat,<br/> +And has exalted them of low degree!”<br/> +And through the chant a second melody<br/> +Rose like the throbbing of a single string:<br/> +“I am an Angel, and thou art the King!”<br/> +<br/> +King Robert, who was standing near the throne,<br/> +Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!<br/> +But all apparelled as in days of old,<br/> +With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold;<br/> +And when his courtiers came, they found him there<br/> +Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in, silent prayer. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap174"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +And then the blue-eyed Norseman told<br/> +A Saga of the days of old.<br/> +“There is,” said he, “a wondrous book<br/> +Of Legends in the old Norse tongue,<br/> +Of the dead kings of Norroway,—<br/> +Legends that once were told or sung<br/> +In many a smoky fireside nook<br/> +Of Iceland, in the ancient day,<br/> +By wandering Saga-man or Scald;<br/> +Heimskringla is the volume called;<br/> +And he who looks may find therein<br/> +The story that I now begin.”<br/> +<br/> +And in each pause the story made<br/> +Upon his violin he played,<br/> +As an appropriate interlude,<br/> +Fragments of old Norwegian tunes<br/> +That bound in one the separate runes,<br/> +And held the mind in perfect mood,<br/> +Entwining and encircling all<br/> +The strange and antiquated rhymes<br/> +with melodies of olden times;<br/> +As over some half-ruined wall,<br/> +Disjointed and about to fall,<br/> +Fresh woodbines climb and interlace,<br/> +And keep the loosened stones in place. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap175"></a>THE MUSICIAN’S TALE<br/> +THE SAGA OF KING OLAF</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap176"></a>I<br/> +THE CHALLENGE OF THOR</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +I am the God Thor,<br/> +I am the War God,<br/> +I am the Thunderer!<br/> +Here in my Northland,<br/> +My fastness and fortress,<br/> +Reign I forever!<br/> +<br/> +Here amid icebergs<br/> +Rule I the nations;<br/> +This is my hammer,<br/> +Miölner the mighty;<br/> +Giants and sorcerers<br/> +Cannot withstand it!<br/> +<br/> +These are the gauntlets<br/> +Wherewith I wield it,<br/> +And hurl it afar off;<br/> +This is my girdle;<br/> +Whenever I brace it,<br/> +Strength is redoubled!<br/> +<br/> +The light thou beholdest<br/> +Stream through the heavens,<br/> +In flashes of crimson,<br/> +Is but my red beard<br/> +Blown by the night-wind,<br/> +Affrighting the nations!<br/> +<br/> +Jove is my brother;<br/> +Mine eyes are the lightning;<br/> +The wheels of my chariot<br/> +Roll in the thunder,<br/> +The blows of my hammer<br/> +Ring in the earthquake!<br/> +<br/> +Force rules the world still,<br/> +Has ruled it, shall rule it;<br/> +Meekness is weakness,<br/> +Strength is triumphant,<br/> +Over the whole earth<br/> +Still is it Thor’s-Day!<br/> +<br/> +Thou art a God too,<br/> +O Galilean!<br/> +And thus single-handed<br/> +Unto the combat,<br/> +Gauntlet or Gospel,<br/> +Here I defy thee! +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap177"></a>II<br/> +KING OLAF’S RETURN</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +And King Olaf heard the cry,<br/> +Saw the red light in the sky,<br/> + Laid his hand upon his sword,<br/> +As he leaned upon the railing,<br/> +And his ships went sailing, sailing<br/> + Northward into Drontheim fiord.<br/> +<br/> +There he stood as one who dreamed;<br/> +And the red light glanced and gleamed<br/> + On the armor that he wore;<br/> +And he shouted, as the rifled<br/> +Streamers o’er him shook and shifted,<br/> + “I accept thy challenge, Thor!”<br/> +<br/> +To avenge his father slain,<br/> +And reconquer realm and reign,<br/> + Came the youthful Olaf home,<br/> +Through the midnight sailing, sailing,<br/> +Listening to the wild wind’s wailing,<br/> + And the dashing of the foam.<br/> +<br/> +To his thoughts the sacred name<br/> +Of his mother Astrid came,<br/> + And the tale she oft had told<br/> +Of her flight by secret passes<br/> +Through the mountains and morasses,<br/> + To the home of Hakon old.<br/> +<br/> +Then strange memories crowded back<br/> +Of Queen Gunhild’s wrath and wrack,<br/> + And a hurried flight by sea;<br/> +Of grim Vikings, and the rapture<br/> +Of the sea-fight, and the capture,<br/> + And the life of slavery.<br/> +<br/> +How a stranger watched his face<br/> +In the Esthonian market-place,<br/> + Scanned his features one by one,<br/> +Saying, “We should know each other;<br/> +I am Sigurd, Astrid’s brother,<br/> + Thou art Olaf, Astrid’s son!”<br/> +<br/> +Then as Queen Allogia’s page,<br/> +Old in honors, young in age,<br/> + Chief of all her men-at-arms;<br/> +Till vague whispers, and mysterious,<br/> +Reached King Valdemar, the imperious,<br/> + Filling him with strange alarms.<br/> +<br/> +Then his cruisings o’er the seas,<br/> +Westward to the Hebrides,<br/> + And to Scilly’s rocky shore;<br/> +And the hermit’s cavern dismal,<br/> +Christ’s great name and rites baptismal<br/> + in the ocean’s rush and roar.<br/> +<br/> +All these thoughts of love and strife<br/> +Glimmered through his lurid life,<br/> + As the stars’ intenser light<br/> +Through the red flames o’er him trailing,<br/> +As his ships went sailing, sailing,<br/> + Northward in the summer night.<br/> +<br/> +Trained for either camp or court,<br/> +Skilful in each manly sport,<br/> + Young and beautiful and tall;<br/> +Art of warfare, craft of chases,<br/> +Swimming, skating, snow-shoe races<br/> + Excellent alike in all.<br/> +<br/> +When at sea, with all his rowers,<br/> +He along the bending oars<br/> + Outside of his ship could run.<br/> +He the Smalsor Horn ascended,<br/> +And his shining shield suspended,<br/> +On its summit, like a sun.<br/> +<br/> +On the ship-rails he could stand,<br/> +Wield his sword with either hand,<br/> + And at once two javelins throw;<br/> +At all feasts where ale was strongest<br/> +Sat the merry monarch longest,<br/> + First to come and last to go.<br/> +<br/> +Norway never yet had seen<br/> +One so beautiful of mien,<br/> + One so royal in attire,<br/> +When in arms completely furnished,<br/> +Harness gold-inlaid and burnished,<br/> + Mantle like a flame of fire.<br/> +<br/> +Thus came Olaf to his own,<br/> +When upon the night-wind blown<br/> + Passed that cry along the shore;<br/> +And he answered, while the rifted<br/> +Streamers o’er him shook and shifted,<br/> + “I accept thy challenge, Thor!” +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap178"></a>III<br/> +THORA OF RIMOL</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Thora of Rimol! hide me! hide me! +Danger and shame and death betide me! +For Olaf the King is hunting me down +Through field and forest, through thorp and town!" + Thus cried Jarl Hakon + To Thora, the fairest of women. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hakon Jarl! for the love I bear thee +Neither shall shame nor death come near thee! +But the hiding-place wherein thou must lie +Is the cave underneath the swine in the sty." + Thus to Jarl Hakon + Said Thora, the fairest of women. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So Hakon Jarl and his base thrall Karker +Crouched in the cave, than a dungeon darker, +As Olaf came riding, with men in mail, +Through the forest roads into Orkadale, + Demanding Jarl Hakon + Of Thora, the fairest of women. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Rich and honored shall be whoever +The head of Hakon Jarl shall dissever!" +Hakon heard him, and Karker the slave, +Through the breathing-holes of the darksome cave. + Alone in her chamber + Wept Thora, the fairest of women. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Said Karker, the crafty, "I will not slay thee! +For all the king's gold I will never betray thee!" +"Then why dost thou turn so pale, O churl, +And then again black as the earth?" said the Earl. + More pale and more faithful + Was Thora, the fairest of women. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From a dream in the night the thrall started, saying, +"Round my neck a gold ring King Olaf was laying!" +And Hakon answered, "Beware of the king! +He will lay round thy neck a blood-red ring." + At the ring on her finger + Gazed Thora, the fairest of women. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At daybreak slept Hakon, with sorrows encumbered, +But screamed and drew up his feet as he slumbered; +The thrall in the darkness plunged with his knife, +And the Earl awakened no more in this life. + But wakeful and weeping + Sat Thora, the fairest of women. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At Nidarholm the priests are all singing, +Two ghastly heads on the gibbet are swinging; +One is Jarl Hakon's and one is his thrall's, +And the people are shouting from windows and walls; + While alone in her chamber + Swoons Thora, the fairest of women. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap179"></a>IV<br/> +QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Queen Sigrid the Haughty sat proud and aloft +In her chamber, that looked over meadow and croft. + Heart's dearest, + Why dost thou sorrow so? +</pre> + <p> + The floor with tassels of fir was besprent, Filling the room with their + fragrant scent. + </p> + <p> + She heard the birds sing, she saw the sun shine, The air of summer was + sweeter than wine. + </p> + <p> + Like a sword without scabbard the bright river lay Between her own kingdom + and Norroway. + </p> + <p> + But Olaf the King had sued for her hand, The sword would be sheathed, the + river be spanned. + </p> + <p> + Her maidens were seated around her knee, Working bright figures in + tapestry. + </p> + <p> + And one was singing the ancient rune Of Brynhilda's love and the wrath of + Gudrun. + </p> + <p> + And through it, and round it, and over it all Sounded incessant the + waterfall. + </p> + <p> + The Queen in her hand held a ring of gold, From the door of Lade's Temple + old. + </p> + <p> + King Olaf had sent her this wedding gift, But her thoughts as arrows were + keen and swift. + </p> + <p> + She had given the ring to her goldsmiths twain, Who smiled, as they handed + it back again. + </p> + <p> + And Sigrid the Queen, in her haughty way, Said, "Why do you smile, my + goldsmiths, say?" + </p> + <p> + And they answered: "O Queen! if the truth must be told, The ring is of + copper, and not of gold!" + </p> + <p> + The lightning flashed o'er her forehead and cheek, She only murmured, she + did not speak: + </p> + <p> + "If in his gifts he can faithless be, There will be no gold in his love to + me." + </p> + <p> + A footstep was heard on the outer stair, And in strode King Olaf with + royal air. + </p> + <p> + He kissed the Queen's hand, and he whispered of love, And swore to be true + as the stars are above. + </p> + <p> + But she smiled with contempt as she answered: "O King, Will you swear it, + as Odin once swore, on the ring?" + </p> + <p> + And the King: "O speak not of Odin to me, The wife of King Olaf a + Christian must be." + </p> + <p> + Looking straight at the King, with her level brows, She said, "I keep true + to my faith and my vows." + </p> + <p> + Then the face of King Olaf was darkened with gloom, He rose in his anger + and strode through the room. + </p> + <p> + "Why, then, should I care to have thee?" he said,— "A faded old + woman, a heathenish jade!" + </p> + <p> + His zeal was stronger than fear or love, And he struck the Queen in the + face with his glove. + </p> + <p> + Then forth from the chamber in anger he fled, And the wooden stairway + shook with his tread. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under her breath, +"This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy death!" + Heart's dearest, + Why dost thou sorrow so? +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap180"></a>V<br/> +THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now from all King Olaf's farms + His men-at-arms +Gathered on the Eve of Easter; +To his house at Angvalds-ness + Fast they press, +Drinking with the royal feaster. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Loudly through the wide-flung door + Came the roar +Of the sea upon the Skerry; +And its thunder loud and near + Reached the ear, +Mingling with their voices merry. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Hark!" said Olaf to his Scald, + Halfred the Bald, +"Listen to that song, and learn it! +Half my kingdom would I give, + As I live, +If by such songs you would earn it! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"For of all the runes and rhymes + Of all times, +Best I like the ocean's dirges, +When the old harper heaves and rocks, + His hoary locks +Flowing and flashing in the surges!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Halfred answered: "I am called + The Unappalled! +Nothing hinders me or daunts me. +Hearken to me, then, O King, + While I sing +The great Ocean Song that haunts me." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"I will hear your song sublime + Some other time," +Says the drowsy monarch, yawning, +And retires; each laughing guest + Applauds the jest; +Then they sleep till day is dawning. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Facing up and down the yard, + King Olaf's guard +Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping +O'er the sands, and up the hill, + Gathering still +Round the house where they were sleeping. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was not the fog he saw, + Nor misty flaw, +That above the landscape brooded; +It was Eyvind Kallda's crew + Of warlocks blue +With their caps of darkness hooded! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Round and round the house they go, + Weaving slow +Magic circles to encumber +And imprison in their ring + Olaf the King, +As he helpless lies in slumber. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then athwart the vapors dun + The Easter sun +Streamed with one broad track of splendor! +in their real forms appeared + The warlocks weird, +Awful as the Witch of Endor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Blinded by the light that glared, + They groped and stared +Round about with steps unsteady; +From his window Olaf gazed, + And, amazed, +"Who are these strange people?" said he. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Eyvind Kallda and his men!" + Answered then +From the yard a sturdy farmer; +While the men-at-arms apace + Filled the place, +Busily buckling on their armor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the gates they sallied forth, + South and north, +Scoured the island coast around them, +Seizing all the warlock band, + Foot and hand +On the Skerry's rocks they bound them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And at eve the king again + Called his train, +And, with all the candles burning, +Silent sat and heard once more + The sullen roar +Of the ocean tides returning. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Shrieks and cries of wild despair + Filled the air, +Growing fainter as they listened; +Then the bursting surge alone + Sounded on;— +Thus the sorcerers were christened! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Sing, O Scald, your song sublime, + Your ocean-rhyme," +Cried King Olaf: "it will cheer me!" +Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks, + "The Skerry of Shrieks +Sings too loud for you to hear me!" +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap181"></a>VI<br/> +THE WRAITH OF ODIN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The guests were loud, the ale was strong, +King Olaf feasted late and long; +The hoary Scalds together sang; +O'erhead the smoky rafters rang. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The door swung wide, with creak and din; +A blast of cold night-air came in, +And on the threshold shivering stood +A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The King exclaimed, "O graybeard pale! +Come warm thee with this cup of ale." +The foaming draught the old man quaffed, +The noisy guests looked on and laughed. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then spake the King: "Be not afraid; +Sit here by me." The guest obeyed, +And, seated at the table, told +Tales of the sea, and Sagas old. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And ever, when the tale was o'er, +The King demanded yet one more; +Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said, +"'T is late, O King, and time for bed." + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The King retired; the stranger guest +Followed and entered with the rest; +The lights were out, the pages gone, +But still the garrulous guest spake on. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As one who from a volume reads, +He spake of heroes and their deeds, +Of lands and cities he had seen, +And stormy gulfs that tossed between. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then from his lips in music rolled +The Havamal of Odin old, +With sounds mysterious as the roar +Of billows on a distant shore. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Do we not learn from runes and rhymes +Made by the gods in elder times, +And do not still the great Scalds teach +That silence better is than speech?" + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Smiling at this, the King replied, +"Thy lore is by thy tongue belied; +For never was I so enthralled +Either by Saga-man or Scald," + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Bishop said, "Late hours we keep! +Night wanes, O King! 't is time for sleep!" +Then slept the King, and when he woke +The guest was gone, the morning broke. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They found the doors securely barred, +They found the watch-dog in the yard, +There was no footprint in the grass, +And none had seen the stranger pass. + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +King Olaf crossed himself and said: +"I know that Odin the Great is dead; +Sure is the triumph of our Faith, +The one-eyed stranger was his wraith." + Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap182"></a>VII<br/> +IRON-BEARD</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Olaf the King, one summer morn, + Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, +Sending his signal through the land of Drontheim. + + And to the Hus-Ting held at Mere + Gathered the farmers far and near, +With their war weapons ready to confront him. + + Ploughing under the morning star, + Old Iron-Beard in Yriar +Heard the summons, chuckling with a low laugh. + + He wiped the sweat-drops from his brow, + Unharnessed his horses from the plough, +And clattering came on horseback to King Olaf. + + He was the churliest of the churls; + Little he cared for king or earls; +Bitter as home-brewed ale were his foaming passions. + + Hodden-gray was the garb he wore, + And by the Hammer of Thor he swore; +He hated the narrow town, and all its fashions. + + But he loved the freedom of his farm, + His ale at night, by the fireside warm, +Gudrun his daughter, with her flaxen tresses. + + He loved his horses and his herds, + The smell of the earth, and the song of birds, +His well-filled barns, his brook with its water-cresses. + + Huge and cumbersome was his frame; + His beard, from which he took his name, +Frosty and fierce, like that of Hymer the Giant. + + So at the Hus-Ting he appeared, + The farmer of Yriar, Iron-Beard, +On horseback, in an attitude defiant. + + And to King Olaf he cried aloud, + Out of the middle of the crowd, +That tossed about him like a stormy ocean: + + "Such sacrifices shalt thou bring; + To Odin and to Thor, O King, +As other kings have done in their devotion!" + + King Olaf answered: "I command + This land to be a Christian land; +Here is my Bishop who the folk baptizes! + + "But if you ask me to restore + Your sacrifices, stained with gore, +Then will I offer human sacrifices! + + "Not slaves and peasants shall they be, + But men of note and high degree, +Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar of Gryting!" + + Then to their Temple strode he in, + And loud behind him heard the din +Of his men-at-arms and the peasants fiercely fighting. + + There in the Temple, carved in wood, + The image of great Odin stood, +And other gods, with Thor supreme among them. + + King Olaf smote them with the blade + Of his huge war-axe, gold inlaid, +And downward shattered to the pavement flung them. + + At the same moment rose without, + From the contending crowd, a shout, +A mingled sound of triumph and of wailing. + + And there upon the trampled plain + The farmer iron-Beard lay slain, +Midway between the assailed and the assailing. + + King Olaf from the doorway spoke. + "Choose ye between two things, my folk, +To be baptized or given up to slaughter!" + + And seeing their leader stark and dead, + The people with a murmur said, +"O King, baptize us with thy holy water"; + + So all the Drontheim land became + A Christian land in name and fame, +In the old gods no more believing and trusting. + + And as a blood-atonement, soon + King Olaf wed the fair Gudrun; +And thus in peace ended the Drontheim Hus-Ting! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap183"></a>VIII<br/> +GUDRUN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On King Olaf's bridal night +Shines the moon with tender light, +And across the chamber streams + Its tide of dreams. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At the fatal midnight hour, +When all evil things have power, +In the glimmer of the moon + Stands Gudrun. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Close against her heaving breast +Something in her hand is pressed +Like an icicle, its sheen + Is cold and keen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the cairn are fixed her eyes +Where her murdered father lies, +And a voice remote and drear + She seems to hear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What a bridal night is this! +Cold will be the dagger's kiss; +Laden with the chill of death + Is its breath. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like the drifting snow she sweeps +To the couch where Olaf sleeps; +Suddenly he wakes and stirs, + His eyes meet hers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"What is that," King Olaf said, +"Gleams so bright above thy head? +Wherefore standest thou so white + In pale moonlight?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"'T is the bodkin that I wear +When at night I bind my hair; +It woke me falling on the floor; + 'T is nothing more." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Forests have ears, and fields have eyes; +Often treachery lurking lies +Underneath the fairest hair! + Gudrun beware!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ere the earliest peep of morn +Blew King Olaf's bugle-horn; +And forever sundered ride + Bridegroom and bride! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap184"></a>IX<br/> +THANGBRAND THE PRIEST</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Short of stature, large of limb, + Burly face and russet beard, +All the women stared at him, + When in Iceland he appeared. + "Look!" they said, + With nodding head, +"There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All the prayers he knew by rote, + He could preach like Chrysostome, +From the Fathers he could quote, + He had even been at Rome, + A learned clerk, + A man of mark, +Was this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He was quarrelsome and loud, + And impatient of control, +Boisterous in the market crowd, + Boisterous at the wassail-bowl, + Everywhere + Would drink and swear, +Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In his house this malcontent + Could the King no longer bear, +So to Iceland he was sent + To convert the heathen there, + And away + One summer day +Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There in Iceland, o'er their books + Pored the people day and night, +But he did not like their looks, + Nor the songs they used to write. + "All this rhyme + Is waste of time!" +Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To the alehouse, where he sat + Came the Scalds and Saga-men; +Is it to be wondered at, + That they quarrelled now and then, + When o'er his beer + Began to leer +Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All the folk in Altafiord + Boasted of their island grand; +Saying in a single word, + "Iceland is the finest land + That the sun + Doth shine upon!" +Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And he answered: "What's the use + Of this bragging up and down, +When three women and one goose + Make a market in your town!" + Every Scald + Satires scrawled +On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Something worse they did than that; + And what vexed him most of all +Was a figure in shovel hat, + Drawn in charcoal on the wall; + With words that go + Sprawling below, +"This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hardly knowing what he did, + Then he smote them might and main, +Thorvald Veile and Veterlid + Lay there in the alehouse slain. + "To-day we are gold, + To-morrow mould!" +Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Much in fear of axe and rope, + Back to Norway sailed he then. +"O, King Olaf! little hope + Is there of these Iceland men!" + Meekly said, + With bending head, +Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap185"></a>X<br/> +RAUD THE STRONG</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"All the old gods are dead, +All the wild warlocks fled; +But the White Christ lives and reigns, +And throughout my wide domains +His Gospel shall be spread!" + On the Evangelists + Thus swore King Olaf. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But still in dreams of the night +Beheld he the crimson light, +And heard the voice that defied +Him who was crucified, +And challenged him to the fight. + To Sigurd the Bishop + King Olaf confessed it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And Sigurd the Bishop said, +"The old gods are not dead, +For the great Thor still reigns, +And among the Jarls and Thanes +The old witchcraft still is spread." + Thus to King Olaf + Said Sigurd the Bishop. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Far north in the Salten Fiord, +By rapine, fire, and sword, +Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong; +All the Godoe Isles belong +To him and his heathen horde." + Thus went on speaking + Sigurd the Bishop. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"A warlock, a wizard is he, +And lord of the wind and the sea; +And whichever way he sails, +He has ever favoring gales, +By his craft in sorcery." + Here the sign of the cross + Made devoutly King Olaf. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"With rites that we both abhor, +He worships Odin and Thor; +So it cannot yet be said, +That all the old gods are dead, +And the warlocks are no more," + Flushing with anger + Said Sigurd the Bishop. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then King Olaf cried aloud: +"I will talk with this mighty Raud, +And along the Salten Fiord +Preach the Gospel with my sword, +Or be brought back in my shroud!" + So northward from Drontheim + Sailed King Olaf! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap186"></a>XI<br/> +BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Loud the angry wind was wailing +As King Olaf's ships came sailing +Northward out of Drontheim haven + To the mouth of Salten Fiord. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Though the flying sea-spray drenches +Fore and aft the rowers' benches, +Not a single heart is craven + Of the champions there on board. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All without the Fiord was quiet +But within it storm and riot, +Such as on his Viking cruises + Raud the Strong was wont to ride. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the sea through all its tide-ways +Swept the reeling vessels sideways, +As the leaves are swept through sluices, + When the flood-gates open wide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"'T is the warlock! 't is the demon +Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen; +"But the Lord is not affrighted + By the witchcraft of his foes." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To the ship's bow he ascended, +By his choristers attended, +Round him were the tapers lighted, + And the sacred incense rose. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, +In his robes, as one transfigured, +And the Crucifix he planted + High amid the rain and mist. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then with holy water sprinkled +All the ship; the mass-bells tinkled; +Loud the monks around him chanted, + Loud he read the Evangelist. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As into the Fiord they darted, +On each side the water parted; +Down a path like silver molten + Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Steadily burned all night the tapers, +And the White Christ through the vapors +Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten, + As through John's Apocalypse,— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling +On the little isle of Gelling; +Not a guard was at the doorway, + Not a glimmer of light was seen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But at anchor, carved and gilded, +Lay the dragon-ship he builded; +'T was the grandest ship in Norway, + With its crest and scales of green. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Up the stairway, softly creeping, +To the loft where Raud was sleeping, +With their fists they burst asunder + Bolt and bar that held the door. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Drunken with sleep and ale they found him, +Dragged him from his bed and bound him, +While he stared with stupid wonder, + At the look and garb they wore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then King Olaf said: "O Sea-King! +Little time have we for speaking, +Choose between the good and evil; + Be baptized, or thou shalt die! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But in scorn the heathen scoffer +Answered: "I disdain thine offer; +Neither fear I God nor Devil; + Thee and thy Gospel I defy!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then between his jaws distended, +When his frantic struggles ended, +Through King Olaf's horn an adder, + Touched by fire, they forced to glide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, +As he gnawed through bone and marrow; +But without a groan or shudder, + Raud the Strong blaspheming died. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then baptized they all that region, +Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian, +Far as swims the salmon, leaping, + Up the streams of Salten Fiord. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In their temples Thor and Odin +Lay in dust and ashes trodden, +As King Olaf, onward sweeping, + Preached the Gospel with his sword. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then he took the carved and gilded +Dragon-ship that Raud had builded, +And the tiller single-handed, + Grasping, steered into the main. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Southward sailed the sea-gulls o'er him, +Southward sailed the ship that bore him, +Till at Drontheim haven landed + Olaf and his crew again. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap187"></a>XII<br/> +KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At Drontheim, Olaf the King +Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring, + As he sat in his banquet-hall, +Drinking the nut-brown ale, +With his bearded Berserks hale + And tall. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Three days his Yule-tide feasts +He held with Bishops and Priests, + And his horn filled up to the brim; +But the ale was never too strong, +Nor the Saga-man's tale too long, + For him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O'er his drinking-horn, the sign +He made of the cross divine, +As he drank, and muttered his prayers; +But the Berserks evermore +Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor + Over theirs. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The gleams of the fire-light dance +Upon helmet and hauberk and lance, + And laugh in the eyes of the King; +And he cries to Halfred the Scald, +Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald, + "Sing!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Sing me a song divine, +With a sword in every line, + And this shall be thy reward." +And he loosened the belt at his waist, +And in front of the singer placed + His sword. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, +Wherewith at a stroke he hewed + The millstone through and through, +And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong, +Were neither so broad nor so long, + Nor so true." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then the Scald took his harp and sang, +And loud though the music rang + The sound of that shining word; +And the harp-strings a clangor made, +As if they were struck with the blade + Of a sword. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the Berserks round about +Broke forth into a shout + That made the rafters ring: +They smote with their fists on the board, +And shouted, "Long live the Sword, + And the King!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the King said, "O my son, +I miss the bright word in one + Of thy measures and thy rhymes." +And Halfred the Scald replied, +"In another 't was multiplied + Three times." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then King Olaf raised the hilt +Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, + And said, "Do not refuse; +Count well the gain and the loss, +Thor's hammer or Christ's cross: + Choose!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And Halfred the Scald said, "This +In the name of the Lord I kiss, + Who on it was crucified!" +And a shout went round the board, +"In the name of Christ the Lord, + Who died!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then over the waste of snows +The noonday sun uprose, + Through the driving mists revealed, +Like the lifting of the Host, +By incense-clouds almost + Concealed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the shining wall a vast +And shadowy cross was cast + From the hilt of the lifted sword, +And in foaming cups of ale +The Berserks drank "Was-hael! + To the Lord!" +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap188"></a>XIII<br/> +THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, + In his ship-yard by the sea, +Whistling, said, "It would bewilder +Any man but Thorberg Skafting, + Any man but me!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Near him lay the Dragon stranded, + Built of old by Raud the Strong, +And King Olaf had commanded +He should build another Dragon, + Twice as large and long. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting, + As he sat with half-closed eyes, +And his head turned sideways, drafting +That new vessel for King Olaf + Twice the Dragon's size. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Round him busily hewed and hammered + Mallet huge and heavy axe; +Workmen laughed and sang and clamored; +Whirred the wheels, that into rigging + Spun the shining flax! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All this tumult heard the master,— + It was music to his ear; +Fancy whispered all the faster, +"Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting + For a hundred year!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Workmen sweating at the forges + Fashioned iron bolt and bar, +Like a warlock's midnight orgies +Smoked and bubbled the black caldron + With the boiling tar. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Did the warlocks mingle in it, + Thorberg Skafting, any curse? +Could you not be gone a minute +But some mischief must be doing, + Turning bad to worse? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'T was an ill wind that came wafting, + From his homestead words of woe +To his farm went Thorberg Skafting, +Oft repeating to his workmen, + Build ye thus and so. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +After long delays returning + Came the master back by night +To his ship-yard longing, yearning, +Hurried he, and did not leave it + Till the morning's light. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Come and see my ship, my darling" + On the morrow said the King; +"Finished now from keel to carling; +Never yet was seen in Norway + Such a wondrous thing!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the ship-yard, idly talking, + At the ship the workmen stared: +Some one, all their labor balking, +Down her sides had cut deep gashes, + Not a plank was spared! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Death be to the evil-doer!" + With an oath King Olaf spoke; +"But rewards to his pursuer +And with wrath his face grew redder + Than his scarlet cloak. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Straight the master-builder, smiling, + Answered thus the angry King: +"Cease blaspheming and reviling, +Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting + Who has done this thing!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then he chipped and smoothed the planking, + Till the King, delighted, swore, +With much lauding and much thanking, +"Handsomer is now my Dragon + Than she was before!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Seventy ells and four extended + On the grass the vessel's keel; +High above it, gilt and splendid, +Rose the figure-head ferocious + With its crest of steel. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then they launched her from the tressels, + In the ship-yard by the sea; +She was the grandest of all vessels, +Never ship was built in Norway + Half so fine as she! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Long Serpent was she christened, + 'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer! +They who to the Saga listened +Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting + For a hundred year! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap189"></a>XIV<br/> +THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay +King Olaf's fleet assembled lay, + And, striped with white and blue, +Downward fluttered sail and banner, +As alights the screaming lanner; +Lustily cheered, in their wild manner, + The Long Serpent's crew +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red, +Like a wolf's was his shaggy head, + His teeth as large and white; +His beard, of gray and russet blended, +Round as a swallow's nest descended; +As standard-bearer he defended + Olaf's flag in the fight. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Near him Kolbiorn had his place, +Like the King in garb and face, + So gallant and so hale; +Every cabin-boy and varlet +Wondered at his cloak of scarlet; +Like a river, frozen and star-lit, + Gleamed his coat of mail. +</pre> + <p> + By the bulkhead, tall and dark, Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark, A figure + gaunt and grand; On his hairy arm imprinted Was an anchor, azure-tinted; + Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted Was his brawny hand. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Einar Tamberskelver, bare +To the winds his golden hair, + By the mainmast stood; +Graceful was his form, and slender, +And his eyes were deep and tender +As a woman's, in the splendor + Of her maidenhood. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork +Watched the sailors at their work: + Heavens! how they swore! +Thirty men they each commanded, +Iron-sinewed, horny-handed, +Shoulders broad, and chests expanded. + Tugging at the oar. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +These, and many more like these, +With King Olaf sailed the seas, + Till the waters vast +Filled them with a vague devotion, +With the freedom and the motion, +With the roll and roar of ocean + And the sounding blast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When they landed from the fleet, +How they roared through Drontheim's street, + Boisterous as the gale! +How they laughed and stamped and pounded, +Till the tavern roof resounded, +And the host looked on astounded + As they drank the ale! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Never saw the wild North Sea +Such a gallant company + Sail its billows blue! +Never, while they cruised and quarrelled, +Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald, +Owned a ship so well apparelled, + Boasted such a crew! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap190"></a>XV<br/> +A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A little bird in the air +Is singing of Thyri the fair, + The sister of Svend the Dane; +And the song of the garrulous bird +In the streets of the town is heard, + And repeated again and again. + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To King Burislaf, it is said, +Was the beautiful Thyri wed, + And a sorrowful bride went she; +And after a week and a day, +She has fled away and away, + From his town by the stormy sea. + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They say, that through heat and through cold, +Through weald, they say, and through wold, + By day and by night, they say, +She has fled; and the gossips report +She has come to King Olaf's court, + And the town is all in dismay. + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It is whispered King Olaf has seen, + Has talked with the beautiful Queen; + And they wonder how it will end; +For surely, if here she remain, +It is war with King Svend the Dane, + And King Burislaf the Vend! + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O, greatest wonder of all! +It is published in hamlet and hall, + It roars like a flame that is fanned! +The King—yes, Olaf the King— +Has wedded her with his ring, + And Thyri is Queen in the land! + Hoist up your sails of silk, + And flee away from each other. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap191"></a>XVI<br/> +QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Northward over Drontheim, +Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, +Sang the lark and linnet + From the meadows green; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Weeping in her chamber, +Lonely and unhappy, +Sat the Drottning Thyri, + Sat King Olaf's Queen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In at all the windows +Streamed the pleasant sunshine, +On the roof above her + Softly cooed the dove; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the sound she heard not, +Nor the sunshine heeded, +For the thoughts of Thyri + Were not thoughts of love, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then King Olaf entered, +Beautiful as morning, +Like the sun at Easter + Shone his happy face; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In his hand he carried +Angelicas uprooted, +With delicious fragrance + Filling all the place. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like a rainy midnight +Sat the Drottning Thyri, +Even the smile of Olaf + Could not cheer her gloom; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nor the stalks he gave her +With a gracious gesture, +And with words as pleasant + As their own perfume. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In her hands he placed them, +And her jewelled fingers +Through the green leaves glistened + Like the dews of morn; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But she cast them from her, +Haughty and indignant, +On the floor she threw them + With a look of scorn. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Richer presents," said she, +"Gave King Harald Gormson +To the Queen, my mother, + Than such worthless weeds; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"When he ravaged Norway, +Laying waste the kingdom, +Seizing scatt and treasure + For her royal needs. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"But thou darest not venture +Through the Sound to Vendland, +My domains to rescue + From King Burislaf; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Lest King Svend of Denmark, +Forked Beard, my brother, +Scatter all thy vessels + As the wind the chaff." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then up sprang King Olaf, +Like a reindeer bounding, +With an oath he answered + Thus the luckless Queen: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Never yet did Olaf +Fear King Svend of Denmark; +This right hand shall hale him + By his forked chin!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then he left the chamber, +Thundering through the doorway, +Loud his steps resounded + Down the outer stair. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Smarting with the insult, +Through the streets of Drontheim +Strode he red and wrathful, + With his stately air. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All his ships he gathered, +Summoned all his forces, +Making his war levy + In the region round; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Down the coast of Norway, +Like a flock of sea-gulls, +Sailed the fleet of Olaf + Through the Danish Sound. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +With his own hand fearless, +Steered he the Long Serpent, +Strained the creaking cordage, + Bent each boom and gaff; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till in Venland landing, +The domains of Thyri +He redeemed and rescued + From King Burislaf. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then said Olaf, laughing, +"Not ten yoke of oxen +Have the power to draw us + Like a woman's hair! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Now will I confess it, +Better things are jewels +Than angelica stalks are + For a Queen to wear." +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap192"></a>XVII<br/> +KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEAR</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Loudly the sailors cheered +Svend of the Forked Beard, +As with his fleet he steered + Southward to Vendland; +Where with their courses hauled +All were together called, +Under the Isle of Svald + Near to the mainland. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +After Queen Gunhild's death, +So the old Saga saith, +Plighted King Svend his faith + To Sigrid the Haughty; +And to avenge his bride, +Soothing her wounded pride, +Over the waters wide + King Olaf sought he. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Still on her scornful face, +Blushing with deep disgrace, +Bore she the crimson trace + Of Olaf's gauntlet; +Like a malignant star, +Blazing in heaven afar, +Red shone the angry scar + Under her frontlet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oft to King Svend she spake, +"For thine own honor's sake +Shalt thou swift vengeance take + On the vile coward!" +Until the King at last, +Gusty and overcast, +Like a tempestuous blast + Threatened and lowered. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Soon as the Spring appeared, +Svend of the Forked Beard +High his red standard reared, + Eager for battle; +While every warlike Dane, +Seizing his arms again, +Left all unsown the grain, + Unhoused the cattle. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Likewise the Swedish King +Summoned in haste a Thing, +Weapons and men to bring + In aid of Denmark; +Erie the Norseman, too, +As the war-tidings flew, +Sailed with a chosen crew + From Lapland and Finmark. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So upon Easter day +Sailed the three kings away, +Out of the sheltered bay, + In the bright season; +With them Earl Sigvald came, +Eager for spoil and fame; +Pity that such a name + Stooped to such treason! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Safe under Svald at last, +Now were their anchors cast, +Safe from the sea and blast, + Plotted the three kings; +While, with a base intent, +Southward Earl Sigvald went, +On a foul errand bent, + Unto the Sea-kings. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thence to hold on his course, +Unto King Olaf's force, +Lying within the hoarse + Mouths of Stet-haven; +Him to ensnare and bring, +Unto the Danish king, +Who his dead corse would fling + Forth to the raven! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap193"></a>XVIII<br/> +KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD</h3> + + <p> + On the gray sea-sands King Olaf stands, Northward and seaward He points + with his hands. + </p> + <p> + With eddy and whirl The sea-tides curl, Washing the sandals Of Sigvald the + Earl. + </p> + <p> + The mariners shout, The ships swing about, The yards are all hoisted, The + sails flutter out. + </p> + <p> + The war-horns are played, The anchors are weighed, Like moths in the + distance The sails flit and fade. + </p> + <p> + The sea is like lead The harbor lies dead, As a corse on the sea-shore, + Whose spirit has fled! + </p> + <p> + On that fatal day, The histories say, Seventy vessels Sailed out of the + bay. + </p> + <p> + But soon scattered wide O'er the billows they ride, While Sigvald and Olaf + Sail side by side. + </p> + <p> + Cried the Earl: "Follow me! I your pilot will be, For I know all the + channels Where flows the deep sea!" + </p> + <p> + So into the strait Where his foes lie in wait, Gallant King Olaf Sails to + his fate! + </p> + <p> + Then the sea-fog veils The ships and their sails; Queen Sigrid the + Haughty, Thy vengeance prevails! + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap194"></a>XIX<br/> +KING OLAF'S WAR-HORNS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Strike the sails!" King Olaf said; +"Never shall men of mine take flight; +Never away from battle I fled, +Never away from my foes! + Let God dispose +Of my life in the fight!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Sound the horns!" said Olaf the King; +And suddenly through the drifting brume +The blare of the horns began to ring, +Like the terrible trumpet shock + Of Regnarock, +On the Day of Doom! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Louder and louder the war-horns sang +Over the level floor of the flood; +All the sails came down with a clang, +And there in the mist overhead + The sun hung red +As a drop of blood. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Drifting down on the Danish fleet +Three together the ships were lashed, +So that neither should turn and retreat; +In the midst, but in front of the rest + The burnished crest +Of the Serpent flashed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, +With bow of ash and arrows of oak, +His gilded shield was without a fleck, +His helmet inlaid with gold, + And in many a fold +Hung his crimson cloak. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the forecastle Ulf the Red +Watched the lashing of the ships; +"If the Serpent lie so far ahead, +We shall have hard work of it here, + Said he with a sneer +On his bearded lips. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +King Olaf laid an arrow on string, +"Have I a coward on board?" said he. +"Shoot it another way, O King!" +Sullenly answered Ulf, + The old sea-wolf; +"You have need of me!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In front came Svend, the King of the Danes, +Sweeping down with his fifty rowers; +To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes; +And on board of the Iron Beard + Earl Eric steered +To the left with his oars. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King, +"At home with their wives had better stay, +Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting: +But where Eric the Norseman leads + Heroic deeds +Will be done to-day!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then as together the vessels crashed, +Eric severed the cables of hide, +With which King Olaf's ships were lashed, +And left them to drive and drift + With the currents swift +Of the outward tide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Louder the war-horns growl and snarl, +Sharper the dragons bite and sting! +Eric the son of Hakon Jarl +A death-drink salt as the sea + Pledges to thee, +Olaf the King! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap195"></a>XX<br/> +EINAR TAMBERSKELVER</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was Einar Tamberskelver + Stood beside the mast; +From his yew-bow, tipped with silver, + Flew the arrows fast; +Aimed at Eric unavailing, + As he sat concealed, +Half behind the quarter-railing, + Half behind his shield. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +First an arrow struck the tiller, + Just above his head; +"Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller," + Then Earl Eric said. +"Sing the song of Hakon dying, + Sing his funeral wail!" +And another arrow flying + Grazed his coat of mail. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Turning to a Lapland yeoman, + As the arrow passed, +Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowman + Standing by the mast." +Sooner than the word was spoken + Flew the yeoman's shaft; +Einar's bow in twain was broken, + Einar only laughed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"What was that?" said Olaf, standing + On the quarter-deck. +"Something heard I like the stranding + Of a shattered wreck." +Einar then, the arrow taking + From the loosened string, +Answered, "That was Norway breaking + From thy hand, O King!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Thou art but a poor diviner," + Straightway Olaf said; +"Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, + Let thy shafts be sped." +Of his bows the fairest choosing, + Reached he from above; +Einar saw the blood-drops oozing + Through his iron glove. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the bow was thin and narrow; + At the first assay, +O'er its head he drew the arrow, + Flung the bow away; +Said, with hot and angry temper + Flushing in his cheek, +"Olaf! for so great a Kamper + Are thy bows too weak!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then, with smile of joy defiant + On his beardless lip, +Scaled he, light and self-reliant, + Eric's dragon-ship. +Loose his golden locks were flowing, + Bright his armor gleamed; +Like Saint Michael overthrowing + Lucifer he seemed. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap196"></a>XXI<br/> +KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All day has the battle raged, +All day have the ships engaged, +But not yet is assuaged + The vengeance of Eric the Earl. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The decks with blood are red, +The arrows of death are sped, +The ships are filled with the dead, + And the spears the champions hurl. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They drift as wrecks on the tide, +The grappling-irons are plied, +The boarders climb up the side, + The shouts are feeble and few. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah! never shall Norway again +See her sailors come back o'er the main; +They all lie wounded or slain, + Or asleep in the billows blue! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the deck stands Olaf the King, +Around him whistle and sing +The spears that the foemen fling, + And the stones they hurl with their hands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the midst of the stones and the spears, +Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears, +His shield in the air he uprears, + By the side of King Olaf he stands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Over the slippery wreck +Of the Long Serpent's deck +Sweeps Eric with hardly a check, + His lips with anger are pale; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He hews with his axe at the mast, +Till it falls, with the sails overcast, +Like a snow-covered pine in the vast + Dim forests of Orkadale. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Seeking King Olaf then, +He rushes aft with his men, +As a hunter into the den + Of the bear, when he stands at bay. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Remember Jarl Hakon!" he cries; +When lo! on his wondering eyes, +Two kingly figures arise, + Two Olaf's in warlike array! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear +Of King Olaf a word of cheer, +In a whisper that none may hear, + With a smile on his tremulous lip; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Two shields raised high in the air, +Two flashes of golden hair, +Two scarlet meteors' glare, + And both have leaped from the ship. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Earl Eric's men in the boats +Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats, +And cry, from their hairy throats, + "See! it is Olaf the King!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +While far on the opposite side +Floats another shield on the tide, +Like a jewel set in the wide + Sea-current's eddying ring. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is told a wonderful tale, +How the King stripped off his mail, +Like leaves of the brown sea-kale, + As he swam beneath the main; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the young grew old and gray, +And never, by night or by day, +In his kingdom of Norroway + Was King Olaf seen again! +</pre> +<h3><a name="chap197"></a>XXII<br/> +THE NUN OF NIDAROS</h3> + + <p> + In the convent of Drontheim, Alone in her chamber Knelt Astrid the Abbess, + At midnight, adoring, Beseeching, entreating The Virgin and Mother. + </p> + <p> + She heard in the silence The voice of one speaking, Without in the + darkness, In gusts of the night-wind Now louder, now nearer, Now lost in + the distance. + </p> + <p> + The voice of a stranger It seemed as she listened, Of some one who + answered, Beseeching, imploring, A cry from afar off She could not + distinguish. + </p> + <p> + The voice of Saint John, The beloved disciple, Who wandered and waited The + Master's appearance. Alone in the darkness, Unsheltered and friendless. + </p> + <p> + "It is accepted The angry defiance The challenge of battle! It is + accepted, But not with the weapons Of war that thou wieldest! + </p> + <p> + "Cross against corselet, Love against hatred, Peace-cry for war-cry! + Patience is powerful; He that o'ercometh Hath power o'er the nations! + </p> + <p> + "As torrents in summer, Half dried in their channels, Suddenly rise, + though the Sky is still cloudless, For rain has been falling Far off at + their fountains; + </p> + <p> + So hearts that are fainting Grow full to o'erflowing, And they that behold + it Marvel, and know not That God at their fountains Far off has been + raining! + </p> + <p> + "Stronger than steel Is the sword of the Spirit; Swifter than arrows The + light of the truth is, Greater than anger Is love, and subdueth! + </p> + <p> + "Thou art a phantom, A shape of the sea-mist, A shape of the brumal Rain, + and the darkness Fearful and formless; Day dawns and thou art not! + </p> + <p> + "The dawn is not distant, Nor is the night starless; Love is eternal! God + is still God, and His faith shall not fail us Christ is eternal!" + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap198"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + A strain of music closed the tale, A low, monotonous, funeral wail, That + with its cadence, wild and sweet, Made the long Saga more complete. + </p> + <p> + "Thank God," the Theologian said, "The reign of violence is dead, Or dying + surely from the world; While Love triumphant reigns instead, And in a + brighter sky o'erhead His blessed banners are unfurled. And most of all + thank God for this: The war and waste of clashing creeds Now end in words, + and not in deeds, And no one suffers loss, or bleeds, For thoughts that + men call heresies. + </p> + <p> + "I stand without here in the porch, I hear the bell's melodious din, I + hear the organ peal within, I hear the prayer, with words that scorch Like + sparks from an inverted torch, I hear the sermon upon sin, With + threatenings of the last account. And all, translated in the air, Reach me + but as our dear Lord's Prayer, And as the Sermon on the Mount. + </p> + <p> + "Must it be Calvin, and not Christ? Must it be Athanasian creeds, Or holy + water, books, and beads? Must struggling souls remain content With + councils and decrees of Trend? And can it be enough for these The + Christian Church the year embalms With evergreens and boughs of palms, And + fills the air with litanies? + </p> + <p> + "I know that yonder Pharisee Thanks God that he is not like me; In my + humiliation dressed, I only stand and beat my breast, And pray for human + charity. + </p> + <p> + "Not to one church alone, but seven, The voice prophetic spake from + heaven; And unto each the promise came, Diversified, but still the same; + For him that overcometh are The new name written on the stone, The raiment + white, the crown, the throne, And I will give him the Morning Star! + </p> + <p> + "Ah! to how many Faith has been No evidence of things unseen, But a dim + shadow, that recasts The creed of the Phantasiasts, For whom no Man of + Sorrows died, For whom the Tragedy Divine Was but a symbol and a sign, And + Christ a phantom crucified! + </p> + <p> + "For others a diviner creed Is living in the life they lead. The passing + of their beautiful feet Blesses the pavement of the street And all their + looks and words repeat Old Fuller's saying, wise and sweet, Not as a + vulture, but a dove, The Holy Ghost came from above. + </p> + <p> + "And this brings back to me a tale So sad the hearer well may quail, And + question if such things can be; Yet in the chronicles of Spain Down the + dark pages runs this stain, And naught can wash them white again, So + fearful is the tragedy." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap199"></a>THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE<br/> +TORQUEMADA</h3> + + <p> + In the heroic days when Ferdinand And Isabella ruled the Spanish land, And + Torquemada, with his subtle brain, Ruled them, as Grand Inquisitor of + Spain, In a great castle near Valladolid, Moated and high and by fair + woodlands hid, There dwelt as from the chronicles we learn, An old Hidalgo + proud and taciturn, Whose name has perished, with his towers of stone, And + all his actions save this one alone; This one, so terrible, perhaps 't + were best If it, too, were forgotten with the rest; Unless, perchance, our + eyes can see therein The martyrdom triumphant o'er the sin; A double + picture, with its gloom and glow, The splendor overhead, the death below. + </p> + <p> + This sombre man counted each day as lost On which his feet no sacred + threshold crossed; And when he chanced the passing Host to meet, He knelt + and prayed devoutly in the street; Oft he confessed; and with each + mutinous thought, As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he fought. In deep + contrition scourged himself in Lent, Walked in processions, with his head + down bent, At plays of Corpus Christi oft was seen, And on Palm Sunday + bore his bough of green. His sole diversion was to hunt the boar Through + tangled thickets of the forest hoar, Or with his jingling mules to hurry + down To some grand bull-fight in the neighboring town, Or in the crowd + with lighted taper stand, When Jews were burned, or banished from the + land. Then stirred within him a tumultuous joy; The demon whose delight is + to destroy Shook him, and shouted with a trumpet tone, Kill! kill! and let + the Lord find out his own!" + </p> + <p> + And now, in that old castle in the wood, His daughters, in the dawn of + womanhood, Returning from their convent school, had made Resplendent with + their bloom the forest shade, Reminding him of their dead mother's face, + When first she came into that gloomy place,— A memory in his heart + as dim and sweet As moonlight in a solitary street, Where the same rays, + that lift the sea, are thrown Lovely but powerless upon walls of stone. + These two fair daughters of a mother dead Were all the dream had left him + as it fled. A joy at first, and then a growing care, As if a voice within + him cried, "Beware A vague presentiment of impending doom, Like ghostly + footsteps in a vacant room, Haunted him day and night; a formless fear + That death to some one of his house was near, With dark surmises of a + hidden crime, Made life itself a death before its time. Jealous, + suspicious, with no sense of shame, A spy upon his daughters he became; + With velvet slippers, noiseless on the floors, He glided softly through + half-open doors; Now in the room, and now upon the stair, He stood beside + them ere they were aware; He listened in the passage when they talked, He + watched them from the casement when they walked, He saw the gypsy haunt + the river's side, He saw the monk among the cork-trees glide; And, + tortured by the mystery and the doubt Of some dark secret, past his + finding out, Baffled he paused; then reassured again Pursued the flying + phantom of his brain. He watched them even when they knelt in church; And + then, descending lower in his search, Questioned the servants, and with + eager eyes Listened incredulous to their replies; The gypsy? none had seen + her in the wood! The monk? a mendicant in search of food! + </p> + <p> + At length the awful revelation came, Crushing at once his pride of birth + and name; The hopes his yearning bosom forward cast, And the ancestral + glories of the vast, All fell together, crumbling in disgrace, A turret + rent from battlement to base. His daughters talking in the dead of night + In their own chamber, and without a light, Listening, as he was wont, he + overheard, And learned the dreadful secret, word by word; And hurrying + from his castle, with a cry He raised his hands to the unpitying sky, + Repeating one dread word, till bush and tree Caught it, and shuddering + answered, "Heresy!" + </p> + <p> + Wrapped in his cloak, his hat drawn o'er his face, Now hurrying forward, + now with lingering pace, He walked all night the alleys of his park, With + one unseen companion in the dark, The Demon who within him lay in wait, + And by his presence turned his love to hate, Forever muttering in an + undertone, "Kill! kill! and let the Lord find out his own!" + </p> + <p> + Upon the morrow, after early Mass, While yet the dew was glistening on the + grass, And all the woods were musical with birds, The old Hidalgo, + uttering fearful words, Walked homeward with the Priest, and in his room + Summoned his trembling daughters to their doom. When questioned, with + brief answers they replied, Nor when accused evaded or denied; + Expostulations, passionate appeals, All that the human heart most fears or + feels, In vain the Priest with earnest voice essayed; In vain the father + threatened, wept, and prayed; Until at last he said, with haughty mien, + "The Holy Office, then, must intervene!" + </p> + <p> + And now the Grand Inquisitor of Spain, With all the fifty horsemen of his + train, His awful name resounding, like the blast Of funeral trumpets, as + he onward passed, Came to Valladolid, and there began To harry the rich + Jews with fire and ban. To him the Hidalgo went, and at the gate Demanded + audience on affairs of state, And in a secret chamber stood before A + venerable graybeard of fourscore, Dressed in the hood and habit of a + friar; Out of his eyes flashed a consuming fire, And in his hand the + mystic horn he held, Which poison and all noxious charms dispelled. He + heard in silence the Hidalgo's tale, Then answered in a voice that made + him quail: "Son of the Church! when Abraham of old To sacrifice his only + son was told, He did not pause to parley nor protest But hastened to obey + the Lord's behest. In him it was accounted righteousness; The Holy Church + expects of thee no less!" + </p> + <p> + A sacred frenzy seized the father's brain, And Mercy from that hour + implored in vain. Ah! who will e'er believe the words I say? His daughters + he accused, and the same day They both were cast into the dungeon's gloom, + That dismal antechamber of the tomb, Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced + to the flame, The secret torture and the public shame. + </p> + <p> + Then to the Grand Inquisitor once more The Hidalgo went, more eager than + before, And said: "When Abraham offered up his son, He clave the wood + wherewith it might be done. By his example taught, let me too bring Wood + from the forest for my offering!" And the deep voice, without a pause, + replied: "Son of the Church! by faith now justified, Complete thy + sacrifice, even as thou wilt; The Church absolves thy conscience from all + guilt!" + </p> + <p> + Then this most wretched father went his way Into the woods, that round his + castle lay, Where once his daughters in their childhood played With their + young mother in the sun and shade. Now all the leaves had fallen; the + branches bare Made a perpetual moaning in the air, And screaming from + their eyries overhead The ravens sailed athwart the sky of lead. With his + own hands he lopped the boughs and bound Fagots, that crackled with + foreboding sound, And on his mules, caparisoned and gay With bells and + tassels, sent them on their way. + </p> + <p> + Then with his mind on one dark purpose bent, Again to the Inquisitor he + went, And said: "Behold, the fagots I have brought, And now, lest my + atonement be as naught, Grant me one more request, one last desire,— + With my own hand to light the funeral fire!" And Torquemada answered from + his seat, "Son of the Church! Thine offering is complete; Her servants + through all ages shall not cease To magnify thy deed. Depart in peace!" + </p> + <p> + Upon the market-place, builded of stone The scaffold rose, whereon Death + claimed his own. At the four corners, in stern attitude, Four statues of + the Hebrew Prophets stood, Gazing with calm indifference in their eyes + Upon this place of human sacrifice, Round which was gathering fast the + eager crowd, With clamor of voices dissonant and loud, And every roof and + window was alive With restless gazers, swarming like a hive. + </p> + <p> + The church-bells tolled, the chant of monks drew near, Loud trumpets + stammered forth their notes of fear, A line of torches smoked along the + street, There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of feet, And, with its banners + floating in the air, Slowly the long procession crossed the square, And, + to the statues of the Prophets bound, The victims stood, with fagots piled + around. Then all the air a blast of trumpets shook, And louder sang the + monks with bell and book, And the Hidalgo, lofty, stern, and proud, Lifted + his torch, and, bursting through the crowd, Lighted in haste the fagots, + and then fled, Lest those imploring eyes should strike him dead! + </p> + <p> + O pitiless skies! why did your clouds retain For peasants' fields their + floods of hoarded rain? O pitiless earth! why open no abyss To bury in its + chasm a crime like this? + </p> + <p> + That night a mingled column of fire and smoke Prom the dark thickets of + the forest broke, And, glaring o'er the landscape leagues away, Made all + the fields and hamlets bright as day. Wrapped in a sheet of flame the + castle blazed, And as the villagers in terror gazed, They saw the figure + of that cruel knight Lean from a window in the turret's height, His + ghastly face illumined with the glare, His hands upraised above his head + in prayer, Till the floor sank beneath him, and he fell Down the black + hollow of that burning well. + </p> + <p> + Three centuries and more above his bones Have piled the oblivious years + like funeral stones; His name has perished with him, and no trace Remains + on earth of his afflicted race; But Torquemada's name, with clouds + o'ercast, Looms in the distant landscape of the Past, Like a burnt tower + upon a blackened heath, Lit by the fires of burning woods beneath! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap200"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + Thus closed the tale of guilt and gloom, That cast upon each listener's + face Its shadow, and for some brief space Unbroken silence filled the + room. The Jew was thoughtful and distressed; Upon his memory thronged and + pressed The persecution of his race, Their wrongs and sufferings and + disgrace; His head was sunk upon his breast, And from his eyes alternate + came Flashes of wrath and tears of shame. + </p> + <p> + The student first the silence broke, As one who long has lain in wait With + purpose to retaliate, And thus he dealt the avenging stroke. "In such a + company as this, A tale so tragic seems amiss, That by its terrible + control O'ermasters and drags down the soul Into a fathomless abyss. The + Italian Tales that you disdain, Some merry Night of Straparole, Or + Machiavelli's Belphagor, Would cheer us and delight us more, Give greater + pleasure and less pain Than your grim tragedies of Spain!" + </p> + <p> + And here the Poet raised his hand, With such entreaty and command, It + stopped discussion at its birth, And said: "The story I shall tell Has + meaning in it, if not mirth; Listen, and hear what once befell The merry + birds of Killingworth!" + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap201"></a>THE POET'S TALE<br/> +THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was the season, when through all the land + The merle and mavis build, and building sing +Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand, + Whom Saxon Caedmon calls the Blitheheart King; +When on the boughs the purple buds expand, + The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, +And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, +And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, + Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee; +The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud + Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; +And hungry crows assembled in a crowd, + Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, +Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said: +"Give us, O Lord, this day our daily bread!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, + Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet +Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed + The village with the cheers of all their fleet; +Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed + Like foreign sailors, landed in the street +Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise +Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls and boys. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, + In fabulous day; some hundred years ago; +And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, + Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, +That mingled with the universal mirth, + Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe; +They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words +To swift destruction the whole race of birds. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And a town-meeting was convened straightway + To set a price upon the guilty heads +Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay, + Levied black-mail upon the garden beds +And cornfields, and beheld without dismay + The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds; +The skeleton that waited at their feast, +Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then from his house, a temple painted white, + With fluted columns, and a roof of red, +The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight! + Slowly descending, with majestic tread, +Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, + Down the long street he walked, as one who said, +"A town that boasts inhabitants like me +Can have no lack of good society!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere, + The instinct of whose nature was to kill; +The wrath of God he preached from year to year, + And read, with fervor, Edwards on the Will; +His favorite pastime was to slay the deer + In Summer on some Adirondac hill; +E'en now, while walking down the rural lane, +He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the Academy, whose belfry crowned + The hill of Science with its vane of brass, +Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, + Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, +And all absorbed in reveries profound + Of fair Almira in the upper class, +Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, +As pure as water, and as good as bread. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And next the Deacon issued from his door, + In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow; +A suit of sable bombazine he wore; + His form was ponderous, and his step was slow; +There never was so wise a man before; + He seemed the incarnate "Well, I told you so!" +And to perpetuate his great renown +There was a street named after him in town. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +These came together in the new town-hall, + With sundry farmers from the region round. +The Squirt presided, dignified and tall, + His air impressive and his reasoning sound; +Ill fared it with the birds, both great and small; + Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, +But enemies enough, who every one +Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When they had ended, from his place apart, + Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong, +And, trembling like a steed before the start, + Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng; +Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart + To speak out what was in him, clear and strong, +Alike regardless of their smile or frown, +And quite determined not to be laughed down. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, + From his Republic banished without pity +The Poets; in this little town of yours, + You put to death, by means of a Committee, +The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, + The street-musicians of the heavenly city, +The birds, who make sweet music for us all +In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"The thrush that carols at the dawn of day + From the green steeples of the piny wood; +The oriole in the elm; the noisy jay, + Jargoning like a foreigner at his food; +The bluebird balanced on some topmost spray, + Flooding with melody the neighborhood; +Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng +That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"You slay them all! and wherefore! for the gain + Of a scant handful more or less of wheat, +Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, + Scratched up at random by industrious feet, +Searching for worm or weevil after rain! + Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet +As are the songs these uninvited guests, +Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? + Do you ne'er think who made them and who taught +The dialect they speak, where melodies + Alone are the interpreters of thought? +Whose household words are songs in many keys, + Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught! +Whose habitations in the tree-tops even +Are half-way houses on the road to heaven! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Think, every morning when the sun peeps through + The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, +How jubilant the happy birds renew + Their old, melodious madrigals of love! +And when you think of this, remember too + 'T is always morning somewhere, and above +The awakening continent; from shore to shore, +Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Think of your woods and orchards without birds! + Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams +As in an idiot's brain remembered words + Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams! +Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds + Make up for the lost music, when your teams +Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more +The feathered gleaners follow to your door? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"What! would you rather see the incessant stir + Of insects in the windrows of the hay, +And hear the locust and the grasshopper + Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play? +Is this more pleasant to you than the whir + Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roundelay, +Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take +Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"You call them thieves and pillagers; but know, + They are the winged wardens of your farms, +Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe, + And from your harvests keep a hundred harms; +Even the blackest of them all, the crow, + Renders good service as your man-at-arms, +Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, +And crying havoc on the slug and snail. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"How can I teach your children gentleness, + And mercy to the weak, and reverence +For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, + Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, +Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less + The selfsame light, although averted hence, +When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, +You contradict the very things I teach?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +With this he closed; and through the audience went + A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves; +The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent + Their yellow heads together like their sheaves; +Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment + Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves. +The birds were doomed; and, as the record shows, +A bounty offered for the heads of crows. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There was another audience out of reach, + Who had no voice nor vote in making laws, +But in the papers read his little speech, + And crowned his modest temples with applause; +They made him conscious, each one more than each, + He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. +Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee, +O fair Almira at the Academy! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And so the dreadful massacre began; + O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crests, +The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. + Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their breasts, +Or wounded crept away from sight of man, + While the young died of famine in their nests; +A slaughter to be told in groans, not words, +The very St. Bartholomew of Birds! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Summer came, and all the birds were dead; + The days were like hot coals; the very ground +Was burned to ashes; in the orchards fed + Myriads of caterpillars, and around +The cultivated fields and garden beds + Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found +No foe to check their march, till they had made +The land a desert without leaf or shade. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town, + Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly +Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down + The canker-worms upon the passers-by, +Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown, + Who shook them off with just a little cry +They were the terror of each favorite walk, +The endless theme of all the village talk. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The farmers grew impatient but a few + Confessed their error, and would not complain, +For after all, the best thing one can do + When it is raining, is to let it rain. +Then they repealed the law, although they knew + It would not call the dead to life again; +As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, +Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +That year in Killingworth the Autumn came + Without the light of his majestic look, +The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, + The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book. +A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, + And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, +While the wild wind went moaning everywhere, +Lamenting the dead children of the air! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen, + A sight that never yet by bard was sung, +As great a wonder as it would have been + If some dumb animal had found a tongue! +A wagon, overarched with evergreen, + Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, +All full of singing birds, came down the street, +Filling the air with music wild and sweet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From all the country round these birds were brought, + By order of the town, with anxious quest, +And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought + In woods and fields the places they loved best, +Singing loud canticles, which many thought + Were satires to the authorities addressed, +While others, listening in green lanes, averred +Such lovely music never had been heard! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But blither still and louder carolled they + Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know +It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, + And everywhere, around, above, below, +When the Preceptor bore his bride away, + Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, +And a new heaven bent over a new earth +Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap202"></a>FINALE</h3> + + <p> + The hour was late; the fire burned low, The Landlord's eyes were closed in + sleep, And near the story's end a deep Sonorous sound at times was heard, + As when the distant bagpipes blow. At this all laughed; the Landlord + stirred, As one awaking from a swound, And, gazing anxiously around, + Protested that he had not slept, But only shut his eyes, and kept His ears + attentive to each word. + </p> + <p> + Then all arose, and said "Good Night." Alone remained the drowsy Squire To + rake the embers of the fire, And quench the waning parlor light. While + from the windows, here and there, The scattered lamps a moment gleamed, + And the illumined hostel seemed The constellation of the Bear, Downward, + athwart the misty air, Sinking and setting toward the sun, Far off the + village clock struck one. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap203"></a>PART SECOND</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap204"></a>PRELUDE</h3> + <p> + A cold, uninterrupted rain, That washed each southern window-pane, And + made a river of the road; A sea of mist that overflowed The house, the + barns, the gilded vane, And drowned the upland and the plain, Through + which the oak-trees, broad and high, Like phantom ships went drifting by; + And, hidden behind a watery screen, The sun unseen, or only seen As a + faint pallor in the sky;— Thus cold and colorless and gray, The morn + of that autumnal day, As if reluctant to begin, Dawned on the silent + Sudbury Inn, And all the guests that in it lay. + </p> + <p> + Full late they slept. They did not hear The challenge of Sir Chanticleer, + Who on the empty threshing-floor, Disdainful of the rain outside, Was + strutting with a martial stride, As if upon his thigh he wore The famous + broadsword of the Squire, And said, "Behold me, and admire!" + </p> + <p> + Only the Poet seemed to hear, In drowse or dream, more near and near + Across the border-land of sleep The blowing of a blithesome horn, That + laughed the dismal day to scorn; A splash of hoofs and rush of wheels + Through sand and mire like stranding keels, As from the road with sudden + sweep The Mail drove up the little steep, And stopped beside the tavern + door; A moment stopped, and then again With crack of whip and bark of dog + Plunged forward through the sea of fog, And all was silent as before,— + All silent save the dripping rain. + </p> + <p> + Then one by one the guests came down, And greeted with a smile the Squire, + Who sat before the parlor fire, Reading the paper fresh from town. First + the Sicilian, like a bird, Before his form appeared, was heard Whistling + and singing down the stair; Then came the Student, with a look As placid + as a meadow-brook; The Theologian, still perplexed With thoughts of this + world and the next; The Poet then, as one who seems Walking in visions and + in dreams; Then the Musician, like a fair Hyperion from whose golden hair + The radiance of the morning streams; And last the aromatic Jew Of Alicant, + who, as he threw The door wide open, on the air Breathed round about him a + perfume Of damask roses in full bloom, Making a garden of the room. + </p> + <p> + The breakfast ended, each pursued The promptings of his various mood; + Beside the fire in silence smoked The taciturn, impassive Jew, Lost in a + pleasant revery; While, by his gravity provoked, His portrait the Sicilian + drew, And wrote beneath it "Edrehi, At the Red Horse in Sudbury." + </p> + <p> + By far the busiest of them all, The Theologian in the hall Was feeding + robins in a cage,— Two corpulent and lazy birds, Vagrants and + pilferers at best, If one might trust the hostler's words, Chief + instrument of their arrest; Two poets of the Golden Age, Heirs of a + boundless heritage Of fields and orchards, east and west, And sunshine of + long summer days, Though outlawed now and dispossessed!— Such was + the Theologian's phrase. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the Student held discourse With the Musician, on the source Of + all the legendary lore Among the nations, scattered wide Like silt and + seaweed by the force And fluctuation of the tide; The tale repeated o'er + and o'er, With change of place and change of name, Disguised, transformed, + and yet the same We've heard a hundred times before. + </p> + <p> + The Poet at the window mused, And saw, as in a dream confused, The + countenance of the Sun, discrowned, And haggard with a pale despair, And + saw the cloud-rack trail and drift Before it, and the trees uplift Their + leafless branches, and the air Filled with the arrows of the rain, And + heard amid the mist below, Like voices of distress and pain, That haunt + the thoughts of men insane, The fateful cawings of the crow. + </p> + <p> + Then down the road, with mud besprent, And drenched with rain from head to + hoof, The rain-drops dripping from his mane And tail as from a pent-house + roof, A jaded horse, his head down bent, Passed slowly, limping as he + went. + </p> + <p> + The young Sicilian—who had grown Impatient longer to abide A + prisoner, greatly mortified To see completely overthrown His plans for + angling in the brook, And, leaning o'er the bridge of stone, To watch the + speckled trout glide by, And float through the inverted sky, Still round + and round the baited hook— Now paced the room with rapid stride, + And, pausing at the Poet's side, Looked forth, and saw the wretched steed, + And said: "Alas for human greed, That with cold hand and stony eye Thus + turns an old friend out to die, Or beg his food from gate to gate! This + brings a tale into my mind, Which, if you are not disinclined To listen, I + will now relate." + </p> + <p> + All gave assent; all wished to hear, Not without many a jest and jeer, The + story of a spavined steed; And even the Student with the rest Put in his + pleasant little jest Out of Malherbe, that Pegasus Is but a horse that + with all speed Bears poets to the hospital; While the Sicilian, + self-possessed, After a moment's interval Began his simple story thus. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap205"></a>THE SICILIAN'S TALE<br/> +THE BELL OF ATRI</h3> + + <p> + At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown, + One of those little places that have run Half up the hill, beneath a + blazing sun, And then sat down to rest, as if to say, "I climb no farther + upward, come what may,"— The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame, So + many monarchs since have borne the name, Had a great bell hung in the + market-place Beneath a roof, projecting some small space, By way of + shelter from the sun and rain. Then rode he through the streets with all + his train, And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long, Made + proclamation, that whenever wrong Was done to any man, he should but ring + The great bell in the square, and he, the King, Would cause the Syndic to + decide thereon. Such was the proclamation of King John. + </p> + <p> + How swift the happy days in Atri sped, What wrongs were righted, need not + here be said. Suffice it that, as all things must decay, The hempen rope + at length was worn away, Unravelled at the end, and, strand by strand, + Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand, Till one, who noted this in + passing by, Mended the rope with braids of briony, So that the leaves and + tendrils of the vine Hung like a votive garland at a shrine. + </p> + <p> + By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt A knight, with spur on heel and + sword in belt, Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods, Who loved his + falcons with their crimson hoods, Who loved his hounds and horses, and all + sports And prodigalities of camps and courts;— Loved, or had loved + them; for at last, grown old, His only passion was the love of gold. + </p> + <p> + He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds, Rented his vineyards and + his garden-grounds, Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all, To + starve and shiver in a naked stall, And day by day sat brooding in his + chair, Devising plans how best to hoard and spare. + </p> + <p> + At length he said: "What is the use or need To keep at my own cost this + lazy steed, Eating his head off in my stables here, When rents are low and + provender is dear? Let him go feed upon the public ways; I want him only + for the holidays." So the old steed was turned into the heat Of the long, + lonely, silent, shadeless street; And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn, + Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, as in that sultry clime It is the custom in the summer + time, With bolted doors and window-shutters closed, The inhabitants of + Atri slept or dozed; When suddenly upon their senses fell The loud alarum + of the accusing bell! The Syndic started from his deep repose, Turned on + his couch, and listened, and then rose And donned his robes, and with + reluctant pace Went panting forth into the market-place, Where the great + bell upon its cross-beam swung Reiterating with persistent tongue, In + half-articulate jargon, the old song: "Some one hath done a wrong, hath + done a wrong!" + </p> + <p> + But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade He saw, or thought he saw, + beneath its shade, No shape of human form of woman born, But a poor steed + dejected and forlorn, Who with uplifted head and eager eye Was tugging at + the vines of briony. "Domeneddio!" cried the Syndie straight, "This is the + Knight of Atri's steed of state! He calls for justice, being sore + distressed, And pleads his cause as loudly as the best." + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd Had rolled together like a + summer cloud, And told the story of the wretched beast In five-and-twenty + different ways at least, With much gesticulation and appeal To heathen + gods, in their excessive zeal. The Knight was called and questioned; in + reply Did not confess the fact, did not deny; Treated the matter as a + pleasant jest, And set at naught the Syndic and the rest, Maintaining, in + an angry undertone, That he should do what pleased him with his own. + </p> + <p> + And thereupon the Syndic gravely read The proclamation of the King; then + said: "Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay, But cometh back on + foot, and begs its way; Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds, Of flowers + of chivalry and not of weeds! These are familiar proverbs; but I fear They + never yet have reached your knightly ear. What fair renown, what honor, + what repute Can come to you from starving this poor brute? He who serves + well and speaks not, merits more Than they who clamor loudest at the door. + Therefore the law decrees that as this steed Served you in youth, + henceforth you shall take heed To comfort his old age, and to provide + Shelter in stall an food and field beside." + </p> + <p> + The Knight withdrew abashed; the people all Led home the steed in triumph + to his stall. The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee And cried + aloud: "Right well it pleaseth me! Church-bells at best but ring us to the + door; But go not in to mass; my bell doth more: It cometh into court and + pleads the cause Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws; And this shall + make, in every Christian clime, The Bell of Atri famous for all time." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap206"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + "Yes, well your story pleads the cause Of those dumb mouths that have no + speech, Only a cry from each to each In its own kind, with its own laws; + Something that is beyond the reach Of human power to learn or teach,— + An inarticulate moan of pain, Like the immeasurable main Breaking upon an + unknown beach." + </p> + <p> + Thus spake the Poet with a sigh; Then added, with impassioned cry, As one + who feels the words he speaks, The color flushing in his cheeks, The + fervor burning in his eye: "Among the noblest in the land, Though he may + count himself the least, That man I honor and revere Who without favor, + without fear, In the great city dares to stand The friend of every + friendless beast, And tames with his unflinching hand The brutes that wear + our form and face, The were-wolves of the human race!" Then paused, and + waited with a frown, Like some old champion of romance, Who, having thrown + his gauntlet down, Expectant leans upon his lance; But neither Knight nor + Squire is found To raise the gauntlet from the ground, And try with him + the battle's chance. + </p> + <p> + "Wake from your dreams, O Edrehi! Or dreaming speak to us, and make A + feint of being half awake, And tell us what your dreams may be. Out of the + hazy atmosphere Of cloud-land deign to reappear Among us in this Wayside + Inn; Tell us what visions and what scenes Illuminate the dark ravines In + which you grope your way. Begin!" + </p> + <p> + Thus the Sicilian spake. The Jew Made no reply, but only smiled, As men + unto a wayward child, Not knowing what to answer, do. As from a cavern's + mouth, o'ergrown With moss and intertangled vines, A streamlet leaps into + the light And murmurs over root and stone In a melodious undertone; Or as + amid the noonday night Of sombre and wind-haunted pines, There runs a + sound as of the sea; So from his bearded lips there came A melody without + a name, A song, a tale, a history, Or whatsoever it may be, Writ and + recorded in these lines. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap207"></a>THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE<br/> +KAMBALU</h3> + + <p> + Into the city of Kambalu, By the road that leadeth to Ispahan, At the head + of his dusty caravan, Laden with treasure from realms afar, Baldacca and + Kelat and Kandahar, Rode the great captain Alau. + </p> + <p> + The Khan from his palace-window gazed, And saw in the thronging street + beneath, In the light of the setting sun, that blazed Through the clouds + of dust by the caravan raised, The flash of harness and jewelled sheath, + And the shining scymitars of the guard, And the weary camels that bared + their teeth, As they passed and passed through the gates unbarred Into the + shade of the palace-yard. + </p> + <p> + Thus into the city of Kambalu Rode the great captain Alau; And he stood + before the Khan, and said: "The enemies of my lord are dead; All the + Kalifs of all the West Bow and obey thy least behest; The plains are dark + with the mulberry-trees, The weavers are busy in Samarcand, The miners are + sifting the golden sand, The divers plunging for pearls in the seas, And + peace and plenty are in the land. + </p> + <p> + "Baldacca's Kalif, and he alone, Rose in revolt against thy throne: His + treasures are at thy palace-door, With the swords and the shawls and the + jewels he wore; His body is dust o'er the desert blown. + </p> + <p> + "A mile outside of Baldacca's gate I left my forces to lie in wait, + Concealed by forests and hillocks of sand, And forward dashed with a + handful of men, To lure the old tiger from his den Into the ambush I had + planned. Ere we reached the town the alarm was spread, For we heard the + sound of gongs from within; And with clash of cymbals and warlike din The + gates swung wide; and we turned and fled; And the garrison sallied forth + and pursued, With the gray old Kalif at their head, And above them the + banner of Mohammed: So we snared them all, and the town was subdued. + </p> + <p> + "As in at the gate we rode, behold, A tower that is called the Tower of + Gold! For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth, Heaped and hoarded and + piled on high, Like sacks of wheat in a granary; And thither the miser + crept by stealth To feel of the gold that gave him health, And to gaze and + gloat with his hungry eye On jewels that gleamed like a glow-worm's spark, + Or the eyes of a panther in the dark. + </p> + <p> + "I said to the Kalif: 'Thou art old, Thou hast no need of so much gold. + Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here, Till the breath of + battle was hot and near, But have sown through the land these useless + hoards To spring into shining blades of swords, And keep thine honor sweet + and clear. These grains of gold are not grains of wheat; These bars of + silver thou canst not eat; These jewels and pearls and precious stones + Cannot cure the aches in thy bones, Nor keep the feet of Death one hour + From climbing the stairways of thy tower!' + </p> + <p> + "Then into his dungeon I locked the drone, And left him to feed there all + alone In the honey-cells of his golden hive: Never a prayer, nor a cry, + nor a groan Was heard from those massive walls of stone, Nor again was the + Kalif seen alive! + </p> + <p> + "When at last we unlocked the door, We found him dead upon the floor; The + rings had dropped from his withered hands, His teeth were like bones in + the desert sands: Still clutching his treasure he had died; And as he lay + there, he appeared A statue of gold with a silver beard, His arms + outstretched as if crucified." + </p> + <p> + This is the story, strange and true, That the great captain Alau Told to + his brother the Tartar Khan, When he rode that day into Kambalu By the + road that leadeth to Ispahan. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap208"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + "I thought before your tale began," The Student murmured, "we should have + Some legend written by Judah Rav In his Gemara of Babylon; Or something + from the Gulistan,— The tale of the Cazy of Hamadan, Or of that King + of Khorasan Who saw in dreams the eyes of one That had a hundred years + been dead Still moving restless in his head, Undimmed, and gleaming with + the lust Of power, though all the rest was dust. + </p> + <p> + "But lo! your glittering caravan On the road that leadeth to Ispahan Hath + led us farther to the East Into the regions of Cathay. Spite of your Kalif + and his gold, Pleasant has been the tale you told, And full of color; that + at least No one will question or gainsay. And yet on such a dismal day We + need a merrier tale to clear The dark and heavy atmosphere. So listen, + Lordlings, while I tell, Without a preface, what befell A simple cobbler, + in the year — No matter; it was long ago; And that is all we need to + know." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap209"></a>THE STUDENT'S TALE<br/> +THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU</h3> + + <p> + I trust that somewhere and somehow You all have heard of Hagenau, A quiet, + quaint, and ancient town Among the green Alsatian hills, A place of + valleys, streams, and mills, Where Barbarossa's castle, brown With rust of + centuries, still looks down On the broad, drowsy land below,— On + shadowy forests filled with game, And the blue river winding slow Through + meadows, where the hedges grow That give this little town its name. + </p> + <p> + It happened in the good old times, While yet the Master-singers filled The + noisy workshop and the guild With various melodies and rhymes, That here + in Hagenau there dwelt A cobbler,—one who loved debate, And, arguing + from a postulate, Would say what others only felt; A man of forecast and + of thrift, And of a shrewd and careful mind In this world's business, but + inclined Somewhat to let the next world drift. + </p> + <p> + Hans Sachs with vast delight he read, And Regenbogen's rhymes of love, For + their poetic fame had spread Even to the town of Hagenau; And some Quick + Melody of the Plough, Or Double Harmony of the Dove, Was always running in + his head. He kept, moreover, at his side, Among his leathers and his + tools, Reynard the Fox, the Ship of Fools, Or Eulenspiegel, open wide; + With these he was much edified: He thought them wiser than the Schools. + </p> + <p> + His good wife, full of godly fear, Liked not these worldly themes to hear; + The Psalter was her book of songs; The only music to her ear Was that + which to the Church belongs, When the loud choir on Sunday chanted, And + the two angels carved in wood, That by the windy organ stood, Blew on + their trumpets loud and clear, And all the echoes, far and near, Gibbered + as if the church were haunted. Outside his door, one afternoon, This + humble votary of the muse Sat in the narrow strip of shade By a projecting + cornice made, Mending the Burgomaster's shoes, And singing a familiar + tune:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Our ingress into the world + Was naked and bare; + Our progress through the world + Is trouble and care; + Our egress from the world + Will be nobody knows where; + But if we do well here + We shall do well there; + And I could tell you no more, + Should I preach a whole year!" +</pre> + <p> + Thus sang the cobbler at his work; And with his gestures marked the time + Closing together with a jerk Of his waxed thread the stitch and rhyme. + Meanwhile his quiet little dame Was leaning o'er the window-sill, Eager, + excited, but mouse-still, Gazing impatiently to see What the great throng + of folk might be That onward in procession came, Along the unfrequented + street, With horns that blew, and drums that beat, And banners flying, and + the flame Of tapers, and, at times, the sweet Voices of nuns; and as they + sang Suddenly all the church-bells rang. + </p> + <p> + In a gay coach, above the crowd, There sat a monk in ample hood, Who with + his right hand held aloft A red and ponderous cross of wood, To which at + times he meekly bowed. In front three horsemen rode, and oft, With voice + and air importunate, A boisterous herald cried aloud: "The grace of God is + at your gate!" So onward to the church they passed. + </p> + <p> + The cobbler slowly tuned his last, And, wagging his sagacious head, Unto + his kneeling housewife said: "'Tis the monk Tetzel. I have heard The + cawings of that reverend bird. Don't let him cheat you of your gold; + Indulgence is not bought and sold." + </p> + <p> + The church of Hagenau, that night, Was full of people, full of light; An + odor of incense filled the air, The priest intoned, the organ groaned Its + inarticulate despair; The candles on the altar blazed, And full in front + of it upraised The red cross stood against the glare. Below, upon the + altar-rail Indulgences were set to sale, Like ballads at a country fair. A + heavy strong-box, iron-bound And carved with many a quaint device, + Received, with a melodious sound, The coin that purchased Paradise. + </p> + <p> + Then from the pulpit overhead, Tetzel the monk, with fiery glow, Thundered + upon the crowd below. "Good people all, draw near!" he said; "Purchase + these letters, signed and sealed, By which all sins, though unrevealed And + unrepented, are forgiven! Count but the gain, count not the loss Your gold + and silver are but dross, And yet they pave the way to heaven. I hear your + mothers and your sires Cry from their purgatorial fires, And will ye not + their ransom pay? O senseless people! when the gate Of heaven is open, + will ye wait? Will ye not enter in to-day? To-morrow it will be too late; + I shall be gone upon my way. Make haste! bring money while ye may!' + </p> + <p> + The women shuddered, and turned pale; Allured by hope or driven by fear, + With many a sob and many a tear, All crowded to the altar-rail. Pieces of + silver and of gold Into the tinkling strong-box fell Like pebbles dropped + into a well; And soon the ballads were all sold. The cobbler's wife among + the rest Slipped into the capacious chest A golden florin; then withdrew, + Hiding the paper in her breast; And homeward through the darkness went + Comforted, quieted, content; She did not walk, she rather flew, A dove + that settles to her nest, When some appalling bird of prey That scared her + has been driven away. + </p> + <p> + The days went by, the monk was gone, The summer passed, the winter came; + Though seasons changed, yet still the same The daily round of life went + on; The daily round of household care, The narrow life of toil and prayer. + But in her heart the cobbler's dame Had now a treasure beyond price, A + secret joy without a name, The certainty of Paradise. Alas, alas! Dust + unto dust! Before the winter wore away, Her body in the churchyard lay, + Her patient soul was with the Just! After her death, among the things That + even the poor preserve with care,— Some little trinkets and cheap + rings, A locket with her mother's hair, Her wedding gown, the faded + flowers She wore upon her wedding day,— Among these memories of past + hours, That so much of the heart reveal, Carefully kept and put away, The + Letter of Indulgence lay Folded, with signature and seal. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the Priest, aggrieved and pained, Waited and wondered that no + word Of mass or requiem he heard, As by the Holy Church ordained; Then to + the Magistrate complained, That as this woman had been dead A week or + more, and no mass said, It was rank heresy, or at least Contempt of + Church; thus said the Priest; And straight the cobbler was arraigned. + </p> + <p> + He came, confiding in his cause, But rather doubtful of the laws. The + Justice from his elbow-chair Gave him a look that seemed to say: "Thou + standest before a Magistrate, Therefore do not prevaricate!" Then asked + him in a business way, Kindly but cold: "Is thy wife dead?" The cobbler + meekly bowed his head; "She is," came struggling from his throat Scarce + audibly. The Justice wrote The words down in a book, and then Continued, + as he raised his pen: "She is; and hath a mass been said For the salvation + of her soul? Come, speak the truth! confess the whole!" The cobbler + without pause replied: "Of mass or prayer there was no need; For at the + moment when she died Her soul was with the glorified!" And from his pocket + with all speed He drew the priestly title-deed, And prayed the Justice he + would read. + </p> + <p> + The Justice read, amused, amazed; And as he read his mirth increased; At + times his shaggy brows he raised, Now wondering at the cobbler gazed, Now + archly at the angry Priest. "From all excesses, sins, and crimes Thou hast + committed in past times Thee I absolve! And furthermore, Purified from all + earthly taints, To the communion of the Saints And to the sacraments + restore! All stains of weakness, and all trace Of shame and censure I + efface; Remit the pains thou shouldst endure, And make thee innocent and + pure, So that in dying, unto thee The gates of heaven shall open be! + Though long thou livest, yet this grace Until the moment of thy death + Unchangeable continueth!" + </p> + <p> + Then said he to the Priest: "I find This document is duly signed Brother + John Tetzel, his own hand. At all tribunals in the land In evidence it may + be used; Therefore acquitted is the accused." Then to the cobbler turned: + "My friend, Pray tell me, didst thou ever read Reynard the Fox?"—"O + yes, indeed!"— "I thought so. Don't forget the end." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap210"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + "What was the end? I am ashamed Not to remember Reynard's fate; I have not + read the book of late; Was he not hanged?" the Poet said. The Student + gravely shook his head, And answered: "You exaggerate. There was a + tournament proclaimed, And Reynard fought with Isegrim The Wolf, and + having vanquished him, Rose to high honor in the State, And Keeper of the + Seals was named!" + </p> + <p> + At this the gay Sicilian laughed: "Fight fire with fire, and craft with + craft; Successful cunning seems to be The moral of your tale," said he. + "Mine had a better, and the Jew's Had none at all, that I could see; His + aim was only to amuse." + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile from out its ebon case His violin the Minstrel drew, And having + tuned its strings anew, Now held it close in his embrace, And poising in + his outstretched hand The bow, like a magician's wand, He paused, and + said, with beaming face: "Last night my story was too long; To-day I give + you but a song, An old tradition of the North; But first, to put you in + the mood, I will a little while prelude, And from this instrument draw + forth Something by way of overture." + </p> + <p> + He played; at first the tones were pure And tender as a summer night, The + full moon climbing to her height, The sob and ripple of the seas, The + flapping of an idle sail; And then by sudden and sharp degrees The + multiplied, wild harmonies Freshened and burst into a gale; A tempest + howling through the dark, A crash as of some shipwrecked bark. A loud and + melancholy wail. + </p> + <p> + Such was the prelude to the tale Told by the Minstrel; and at times He + paused amid its varying rhymes, And at each pause again broke in The music + of his violin, With tones of sweetness or of fear, Movements of trouble or + of calm, Creating their own atmosphere; As sitting in a church we hear + Between the verses of the psalm The organ playing soft and clear, Or + thundering on the startled ear. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap211"></a>THE MUSICIAN'S TALE<br/> +THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, + Within the sandy bar, +At sunset of a summer's day, +Ready for sea, at anchor lay + The good ship Valdemar. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The sunbeams danced upon the waves, + And played along her side; +And through the cabin windows streamed +In ripples of golden light, that seemed + The ripple of the tide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There sat the captain with his friends, + Old skippers brown and hale, +Who smoked and grumbled o'er their grog, +And talked of iceberg and of fog, + Of calm and storm and gale. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And one was spinning a sailor's yarn + About Klaboterman, +The Kobold of the sea; a spright +Invisible to mortal sight, + Who o'er the rigging ran. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sometimes he hammered in the hold, + Sometimes upon the mast, +Sometimes abeam, sometimes abaft, +Or at the bows he sang and laughed, + And made all tight and fast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He helped the sailors at their work, + And toiled with jovial din; +He helped them hoist and reef the sails, +He helped them stow the casks and bales, + And heave the anchor in. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But woe unto the lazy louts, + The idlers of the crew; +Them to torment was his delight, +And worry them by day and night, + And pinch them black and blue. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And woe to him whose mortal eyes + Klaboterman behold. +It is a certain sign of death!— +The cabin-boy here held his breath, + He felt his blood run cold. +</pre> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The jolly skipper paused awhile, + And then again began; +"There is a Spectre Ship," quoth he, +"A ship of the Dead that sails the sea, + And is called the Carmilhan. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew, + In tempests she appears; +And before the gale, or against the gale, +She sails without a rag of sail, + Without a helmsman steers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"She haunts the Atlantic north and south, + But mostly the mid-sea, +Where three great rocks rise bleak and bare +Like furnace-chimneys in the air, + And are called the Chimneys Three. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"And ill betide the luckless ship + That meets the Carmilhan; +Over her decks the seas will leap, +She must go down into the deep, + And perish mouse and man." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The captain of the Valdemar + Laughed loud with merry heart. +"I should like to see this ship," said he; +"I should like to find these Chimneys Three, + That are marked down in the chart. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"I have sailed right over the spot," he said + "With a good stiff breeze behind, +When the sea was blue, and the sky was clear,— +You can follow my course by these pinholes here,— + And never a rock could find." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And then he swore a dreadful oath, + He swore by the Kingdoms Three, +That, should he meet the Carmilhan, +He would run her down, although he ran + Right into Eternity! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All this, while passing to and fro, + The cabin-boy had heard; +He lingered at the door to hear, +And drank in all with greedy ear, + And pondered every word. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He was a simple country lad, + But of a roving mind. +"O, it must be like heaven," thought he, +"Those far-off foreign lands to see, + And fortune seek and find!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But in the fo'castle, when he heard + The mariners blaspheme, +He thought of home, he thought of God, +And his mother under the churchyard sod, + And wished it were a dream. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +One friend on board that ship had he; + 'T was the Klaboterman, +Who saw the Bible in his chest, +And made a sign upon his breast, + All evil things to ban. +</pre> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The cabin windows have grown blank + As eyeballs of the dead; +No more the glancing sunbeams burn +On the gilt letters of the stern, + But on the figure-head; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On Valdemar Victorious, + Who looketh with disdain +To see his image in the tide +Dismembered float from side to side, + And reunite again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"It is the wind," those skippers said, + "That swings the vessel so; +It is the wind; it freshens fast, +'T is time to say farewell at last + 'T is time for us to go." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They shook the captain by the hand, + "Goodluck! goodluck!" they cried; +Each face was like the setting sun, +As, broad and red, they one by one + Went o'er the vessel's side. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The sun went down, the full moon rose, + Serene o'er field and flood; +And all the winding creeks and bays +And broad sea-meadows seemed ablaze, + The sky was red as blood. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The southwest wind blew fresh and fair, + As fair as wind could be; +Bound for Odessa, o'er the bar, +With all sail set, the Valdemar + Went proudly out to sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The lovely moon climbs up the sky + As one who walks in dreams; +A tower of marble in her light, +A wall of black, a wall of white, + The stately vessel seems. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Low down upon the sandy coast + The lights begin to burn; +And now, uplifted high in air, +They kindle with a fiercer glare, + And now drop far astern. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The dawn appears, the land is gone, + The sea is all around; +Then on each hand low hills of sand +Emerge and form another land; + She steereth through the Sound. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Through Kattegat and Skager-rack + She flitteth like a ghost; +By day and night, by night and day, +She bounds, she flies upon her way + Along the English coast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Cape Finisterre is drawing near, + Cape Finisterre is past; +Into the open ocean stream +She floats, the vision of a dream + Too beautiful to last. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Suns rise and set, and rise, and yet + There is no land in sight; +The liquid planets overhead +Burn brighter now the moon is dead, + And longer stays the night. +</pre> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And now along the horizon's edge + Mountains of cloud uprose, +Black as with forests underneath, +Above their sharp and jagged teeth + Were white as drifted snows. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Unseen behind them sank the sun, + But flushed each snowy peak +A little while with rosy light +That faded slowly from the sight + As blushes from the cheek. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Black grew the sky,—all black, all black; + The clouds were everywhere; +There was a feeling of suspense +In nature, a mysterious sense + Of terror in the air. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And all on board the Valdemar + Was still as still could be; +Save when the dismal ship-bell tolled, +As ever and anon she rolled, + And lurched into the sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The captain up and down the deck + Went striding to and fro; +Now watched the compass at the wheel, +Now lifted up his hand to feel + Which way the wind might blow. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And now he looked up at the sails, + And now upon the deep; +In every fibre of his frame +He felt the storm before it came, + He had no thought of sleep. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Eight bells! and suddenly abaft, + With a great rush of rain, +Making the ocean white with spume, +In darkness like the day of doom, + On came the hurricane. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, + And rent the sky in two; +A jagged flame, a single jet +Of white fire, like a bayonet + That pierced the eyeballs through. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then all around was dark again, + And blacker than before; +But in that single flash of light +He had beheld a fearful sight, + And thought of the oath he swore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead, + The ghostly Carmilhan! +Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare, +And on her bowsprit, poised in air, + Sat the Klaboterman. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Her crew of ghosts was all on deck + Or clambering up the shrouds; +The boatswain's whistle, the captain's hail, +Were like the piping of the gale, + And thunder in the clouds. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And close behind the Carmilhan + There rose up from the sea, +As from a foundered ship of stone, +Three bare and splintered masts alone: + They were the Chimneys Three. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And onward dashed the Valdemar + And leaped into the dark; +A denser mist, a colder blast, +A little shudder, and she had passed + Right through the Phantom Bark. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk, + But cleft it unaware; +As when, careering to her nest, +The sea-gull severs with her breast + The unresisting air. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Again the lightning flashed; again + They saw the Carmilhan, +Whole as before in hull and spar; +But now on board of the Valdemar + Stood the Klaboterman. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And they all knew their doom was sealed; + They knew that death was near; +Some prayed who never prayed before, +And some they wept, and some they swore, + And some were mute with fear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then suddenly there came a shock, + And louder than wind or sea +A cry burst from the crew on deck, +As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck, + Upon the Chimneys Three. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The storm and night were passed, the light + To streak the east began; +The cabin-boy, picked up at sea, +Survived the wreck, and only he, + To tell of the Carmilhan. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap212"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + When the long murmur of applause That greeted the Musician's lay Had + slowly buzzed itself away, And the long talk of Spectre Ships That + followed died upon their lips And came unto a natural pause, "These tales + you tell are one and all Of the Old World," the Poet said, "Flowers + gathered from a crumbling wall, Dead leaves that rustle as they fall; Let + me present you in their stead Something of our New England earth, A tale + which, though of no great worth, Has still this merit, that it yields A + certain freshness of the fields, A sweetness as of home-made bread." + </p> + <p> + The Student answered: "Be discreet; For if the flour be fresh and sound, + And if the bread be light and sweet, Who careth in what mill 't was + ground, Or of what oven felt the heat, Unless, as old Cervantes said, You + are looking after better bread Than any that is made of wheat? You know + that people nowadays To what is old give little praise; All must be new in + prose and verse: They want hot bread, or something worse, Fresh every + morning, and half baked; The wholesome bread of yesterday, Too stale for + them, is thrown away, Nor is their thirst with water slaked. + </p> + <p> + As oft we see the sky in May Threaten to rain, and yet not rain, The + Poet's face, before so gay, Was clouded with a look of pain, But suddenly + brightened up again; And without further let or stay He told his tale of + yesterday. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap213"></a>THE POET'S TALE<br/> +LADY WENTWORTH.</h3> + + <p> + One hundred years ago, and something more, In Queen Street, Portsmouth, at + her tavern door, Neat as a pin, and blooming as a rose, Stood Mistress + Stavers in her furbelows, Just as her cuckoo-clock was striking nine. + Above her head, resplendent on the sign, The portrait of the Earl of + Halifax, In scarlet coat and periwig of flax, Surveyed at leisure all her + varied charms, Her cap, her bodice, her white folded arms, And half + resolved, though he was past his prime, And rather damaged by the lapse of + time, To fall down at her feet and to declare The passion that had driven + him to despair. For from his lofty station he had seen Stavers, her + husband, dressed in bottle-green, Drive his new Flying Stage-coach, four + in hand, Down the long lane, and out into the land, And knew that he was + far upon the way To Ipswich and to Boston on the Bay! + </p> + <p> + Just then the meditations of the Earl Were interrupted by a little girl, + Barefooted, ragged, with neglected hair, Eyes full of laughter, neck and + shoulders bare, A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon, Sure to be rounded + into beauty soon, A creature men would worship and adore, Though now in + mean habiliments she bore A pail of water, dripping, through the street + And bathing, as she went her naked feet. + </p> + <p> + It was a pretty picture, full of grace,— The slender form, the + delicate, thin face; The swaying motion, as she hurried by; The shining + feet, the laughter in her eye, That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and + glanced, As in her pail the shifting sunbeam danced: And with uncommon + feelings of delight The Earl of Halifax beheld the sight. Not so Dame + Stavers, for he heard her say These words, or thought he did, as plain as + day: "O Martha Hilton! Fie! how dare you go About the town half dressed, + and looking so!" At which the gypsy laughed, and straight replied: "No + matter how I look; I yet shall ride In my own chariot, ma'am." And on the + child The Earl of Halifax benignly smiled, As with her heavy burden she + passed on, Looked back, then turned the corner, and was gone. + </p> + <p> + What next, upon that memorable day, Arrested his attention was a gay And + brilliant equipage, that flashed and spun, The silver harness glittering + in the sun, Outriders with red jackets, lithe and lank, Pounding the + saddles as they rose and sank, While all alone within the chariot sat A + portly person with three-cornered hat, A crimson velvet coat, head high in + air, Gold-headed cane, and nicely powdered hair, And diamond buckles + sparkling at his knees, Dignified, stately, florid, much at ease. Onward + the pageant swept, and as it passed, Fair Mistress Stavers courtesied low + and fast; For this was Governor Wentworth, driving down To Little Harbor, + just beyond the town, Where his Great House stood looking out to sea, A + goodly place, where it was good to be. + </p> + <p> + It was a pleasant mansion, an abode Near and yet hidden from the great + high-road, Sequestered among trees, a noble pile, Baronial and colonial in + its style; Gables and dormer-windows everywhere, And stacks of chimneys + rising high in air,— Pandaean pipes, on which all winds that blew + Made mournful music the whole winter through. Within, unwonted splendors + met the eye, Panels, and floors of oak, and tapestry; Carved + chimney-pieces, where on brazen dogs Revelled and roared the Christmas + fires of logs; Doors opening into darkness unawares, Mysterious passages, + and flights of stairs; And on the walls, in heavy gilded frames, The + ancestral Wentworths with Old-Scripture names. + </p> + <p> + Such was the mansion where the great man dwelt. A widower and childless; + and he felt The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom, That like a presence + haunted ever room; For though not given to weakness, he could feel The + pain of wounds, that ache because they heal. + </p> + <p> + The years came and the years went,—seven in all, And passed in cloud + and sunshine o'er the Hall; The dawns their splendor through its chambers + shed, The sunsets flushed its western windows red; The snow was on its + roofs, the wind, the rain; Its woodlands were in leaf and bare again; + Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs bloomed and died, In the broad river + ebbed and flowed the tide, Ships went to sea, and ships came home from + sea, And the slow years sailed by and ceased to be. + </p> + <p> + And all these years had Martha Hilton served In the Great House, not + wholly unobserved: By day, by night, the silver crescent grew, Though + hidden by clouds, her light still shining through; A maid of all work, + whether coarse or fine, A servant who made service seem divine! Through + her each room was fair to look upon; The mirrors glistened, and the + brasses shone, The very knocker on the outer door, If she but passed, was + brighter than before. + </p> + <p> + And now the ceaseless turning of the mill Of Time, that never for an hour + stands still, Ground out the Governor's sixtieth birthday, And powdered + his brown hair with silver-gray. The robin, the forerunner of the spring, + The bluebird with his jocund carolling, The restless swallows building in + the eaves, The golden buttercups, the grass, the leaves, The lilacs + tossing in the winds of May, All welcomed this majestic holiday! He gave a + splendid banquet served on plate, Such as became the Governor of the + State, Who represented England and the King, And was magnificent in + everything. He had invited all his friends and peers,— The + Pepperels, the Langdons, and the Lears, The Sparhawks, the Penhallows, and + the rest; For why repeat the name of every guest? But I must mention one, + in bands and gown, The rector there, the Reverend Arthur Brown Of the + Established Church; with smiling face He sat beside the Governor and said + grace; And then the feast went on, as others do, But ended as none other I + e'er knew. + </p> + <p> + When they had drunk the King, with many a cheer, The Governor whispered in + a servant's ear, Who disappeared and presently there stood Within the + room, in perfect womanhood, A maiden, modest and yet self-possessed, + Youthful and beautiful, and simply dressed. Can this be Martha Hilton? It + must be! Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she! Dowered with the beauty of + her twenty years, How ladylike, how queenlike she appears; The pale, thin + crescent of the days gone by Is Dian now in all her majesty! Yet scarce a + guest perceived that she was there, Until the Governor, rising from his + chair, Played slightly with his ruffles, then looked down, And said unto + the Reverend Arthur Brown: "This is my birthday: it shall likewise be My + wedding-day; and you shall marry me!" + </p> + <p> + The listening guests were greatly mystified, None more so than the rector, + who replied: "Marry you? Yes, that were a pleasant task, Your Excellency; + but to whom? I ask." The Governor answered: "To this lady here" And + beckoned Martha Hilton to draw near. She came and stood, all blushes, at + his side. The rector paused. The impatient Governor cried: "This is the + lady; do you hesitate? Then I command you as Chief Magistrate." The rector + read the service loud and clear: "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here," + And so on to the end. At his command On the fourth finger of her fair left + hand The Governor placed the ring; and that was all: Martha was Lady + Wentworth of the Hall! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap214"></a>INTERLUDE.</h3> + + <p> + Well pleased the audience heard the tale. The Theologian said: "Indeed, To + praise you there is little need; One almost hears the farmers flail Thresh + out your wheat, nor does there fail A certain freshness, as you said, And + sweetness as of home-made bread. But not less sweet and not less fresh Are + many legends that I know, Writ by the monks of long-ago, Who loved to + mortify the flesh, So that the soul might purer grow, And rise to a + diviner state; And one of these—perhaps of all Most beautiful—I + now recall, And with permission will narrate; Hoping thereby to make + amends For that grim tragedy of mine, As strong and black as Spanish wine, + I told last night, and wish almost It had remained untold, my friends; For + Torquemada's awful ghost Came to me in the dreams I dreamed, And in the + darkness glared and gleamed Like a great lighthouse on the coast." + </p> + <p> + The Student laughing said: "Far more Like to some dismal fire of bale + Flaring portentous on a hill; Or torches lighted on a shore By wreckers in + a midnight gale. No matter; be it as you will, Only go forward with your + tale." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap215"></a>THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE<br/> +THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL</h3> + + <p> + "Hads't thou stayed, I must have fled!" That is what the Vision said. + </p> + <p> + In his chamber all alone, Kneeling on the floor of stone, Prayed the Monk + in deep contrition For his sins of indecision, Prayed for greater + self-denial In temptation and in trial; It was noonday by the dial, And + the Monk was all alone. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, as if it lightened, An unwonted splendor brightened All within + him and without him In that narrow cell of stone; And he saw the Blessed + Vision Of our Lord, with light Elysian Like a vesture wrapped about him, + Like a garment round him thrown. + </p> + <p> + Not as crucified and slain, Not in agonies of pain, Not with bleeding + hands and feet, Did the Monk his Master see; But as in the village street, + In the house or harvest-field, Halt and lame and blind he healed, When he + walked in Galilee. + </p> + <p> + In an attitude imploring, Hands upon his bosom crossed, Wondering, + worshipping, adoring, Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. Lord, he thought, in + heaven that reignest, Who am I, that thus thou deignest To reveal thyself + to me? Who am I, that from the centre Of thy glory thou shouldst enter + This poor cell, my guest to be? + </p> + <p> + Then amid his exaltation, Loud the convent bell appalling, From its belfry + calling, calling, Rang through court and corridor With persistent + iteration He had never heard before. It was now the appointed hour When + alike in shine or shower, Winter's cold or summer's heat, To the convent + portals came All the blind and halt and lame, All the beggars of the + street, For their daily dole of food Dealt them by the brotherhood; And + their almoner was he Who upon his bended knee, Rapt in silent ecstasy Of + divinest self-surrender, Saw the Vision and the Splendor. + </p> + <p> + Deep distress and hesitation Mingled with his adoration; Should he go, or + should he stay? Should he leave the poor to wait Hungry at the convent + gate, Till the Vision passed away? Should he slight his radiant guest, + Slight this visitant celestial, For a crowd of ragged, bestial Beggars at + the convent gate? Would the Vision there remain? Would the Vision come + again? Then a voice within his breast Whispered, audible and clear As if + to the outward ear: "Do thy duty; that is best; Leave unto thy Lord the + rest!" + </p> + <p> + Straightway to his feet he started, And with longing look intent On the + Blessed Vision bent, Slowly from his cell departed, Slowly on his errand + went. + </p> + <p> + At the gate the poor were waiting, Looking through the iron grating, With + that terror in the eye That is only seen in those Who amid their wants and + woes Hear the sound of doors that close, And of feet that pass them by; + Grown familiar with disfavor, Grown familiar with the savor Of the bread + by which men die! But to-day, they knew not why, Like the gate of Paradise + Seemed the convent sate to rise, Like a sacrament divine Seemed to them + the bread and wine. In his heart the Monk was praying, Thinking of the + homeless poor, What they suffer and endure; What we see not, what we see; + And the inward voice was saying: "Whatsoever thing thou doest To the least + of mine and lowest, That thou doest unto me!" + </p> + <p> + Unto me! but had the Vision Come to him in beggar's clothing, Come a + mendicant imploring, Would he then have knelt adoring, Or have listened + with derision, And have turned away with loathing. + </p> + <p> + Thus his conscience put the question, Full of troublesome suggestion, As + at length, with hurried pace, Towards his cell he turned his face, And + beheld the convent bright With a supernatural light, Like a luminous cloud + expanding Over floor and wall and ceiling. + </p> + <p> + But he paused with awe-struck feeling At the threshold of his door, For + the Vision still was standing As he left it there before, When the convent + bell appalling, From its belfry calling, calling, Summoned him to feed the + poor. Through the long hour intervening It had waited his return, And he + felt his bosom burn, Comprehending all the meaning, When the Blessed + Vision said, "Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!" + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap216"></a>INTERLUDE.</h3> + + <p> + All praised the Legend more or less; Some liked the moral, some the verse; + Some thought it better, and some worse Than other legends of the past; + Until, with ill-concealed distress At all their cavilling, at last The + Theologian gravely said: "The Spanish proverb, then, is right; Consult + your friends on what you do, And one will say that it is white, And others + say that it is red." And "Amen!" quoth the Spanish Jew. + </p> + <p> + "Six stories told! We must have seven, A cluster like the Pleiades, And + lo! it happens, as with these, That one is missing from our heaven. Where + is the Landlord? Bring him here; Let the Lost Pleiad reappear." + </p> + <p> + Thus the Sicilian cried, and went Forthwith to seek his missing star, But + did not find him in the bar, A place that landlords most frequent, Nor yet + beside the kitchen fire, Nor up the stairs, nor in the hall; It was in + vain to ask or call, There were no tidings of the Squire. + </p> + <p> + So he came back with downcast head, Exclaiming: "Well, our bashful host + Hath surely given up the ghost. Another proverb says the dead Can tell no + tales; and that is true. It follows, then, that one of you Must tell a + story in his stead. You must," he to the Student said, "Who know so many + of the best, And tell them better than the rest." Straight by these + flattering words beguiled, The Student, happy as a child When he is called + a little man, Assumed the double task imposed, And without more ado + unclosed His smiling lips, and thus began. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap217"></a>THE STUDENT'S SECOND TALE<br/> +THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE</h3> + + <p> + Baron Castine of St. Castine Has left his chateau in the Pyrenees, And + sailed across the western seas. When he went away from his fair demesne + The birds were building, the woods were green; And now the winds of winter + blow Round the turrets of the old chateau, The birds are silent and + unseen, The leaves lie dead in the ravine, And the Pyrenees are white with + snow. + </p> + <p> + His father, lonely, old, and gray, Sits by the fireside day by day, + Thinking ever one thought of care; Through the southern windows, narrow + and tall, The sun shines into the ancient hall, And makes a glory round + his hair. The house-dog, stretched beneath his chair, Groans in his sleep + as if in pain Then wakes, and yawns, and sleeps again, So silent is it + everywhere,— So silent you can hear the mouse Run and rummage along + the beams Behind the wainscot of the wall; And the old man rouses from his + dreams, And wanders restless through the house, As if he heard strange + voices call. + </p> + <p> + His footsteps echo along the floor Of a distant passage, and pause awhile; + He is standing by an open door Looking long, with a sad, sweet smile, Into + the room of his absent son. There is the bed on which he lay, There are + the pictures bright and gay, Horses and hounds and sun-lit seas; There are + his powder-flask and gun, And his hunting-knives in shape of a fan; The + chair by the window where he sat, With the clouded tiger-skin for a mat, + Looking out on the Pyrenees, Looking out on Mount Marbore And the Seven + Valleys of Lavedan. Ah me! he turns away and sighs; There is a mist before + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + At night whatever the weather be, Wind or rain or starry heaven, Just as + the clock is striking seven, Those who look from the windows see The + village Curate, with lantern and maid, Come through the gateway from the + park And cross the courtyard damp and dark,— A ring of light in a + ring of shade. + </p> + <p> + And now at the old man's side he stands, His voice is cheery, his heart + expands, He gossips pleasantly, by the blaze Of the fire of fagots, about + old days, And Cardinal Mazarin and the Fronde, And the Cardinal's nieces + fair and fond, And what they did, and what they said, When they heard his + Eminence was dead. + </p> + <p> + And after a pause the old man says, His mind still coming back again To + the one sad thought that haunts his brain, "Are there any tidings from + over sea? Ah, why has that wild boy gone from me?" And the Curate answers, + looking down, Harmless and docile as a lamb, "Young blood! young blood! It + must so be!" And draws from the pocket of his gown A handkerchief like an + oriflamb, And wipes his spectacles, and they play Their little game of + lansquenet In silence for an hour or so, Till the clock at nine strikes + loud and clear From the village lying asleep below, And across the + courtyard, into the dark Of the winding pathway in the park, Curate and + lantern disappear, And darkness reigns in the old chateau. + </p> + <p> + The ship has come back from over sea, She has been signalled from below, + And into the harbor of Bordeaux She sails with her gallant company. But + among them is nowhere seen The brave young Baron of St. Castine; He hath + tarried behind, I ween, In the beautiful land of Acadie! + </p> + <p> + And the father paces to and fro Through the chambers of the old chateau, + Waiting, waiting to hear the hum Of wheels on the road that runs below, Of + servants hurrying here and there, The voice in the courtyard, the step on + the stair, Waiting for some one who doth not come! But letters there are, + which the old man reads To the Curate, when he comes at night Word by + word, as an acolyte Repeats his prayers and tells his beads; Letters full + of the rolling sea, Full of a young man's joy to be Abroad in the world, + alone and free; Full of adventures and wonderful scenes Of hunting the + deer through forests vast In the royal grant of Pierre du Gast; Of nights + in the tents of the Tarratines; Of Madocawando the Indian chief, And his + daughters, glorious as queens, And beautiful beyond belief; And so soft + the tones of their native tongue, The words are not spoken, they are sung! + </p> + <p> + And the Curate listens, and smiling says: "Ah yes, dear friend! in our + young days We should have liked to hunt the deer All day amid those forest + scenes, And to sleep in the tents of the Tarratines; But now it is better + sitting here Within four walls, and without the fear Of losing our hearts + to Indian queens; For man is fire and woman is tow, And the Somebody comes + and begins to blow." Then a gleam of distrust and vague surmise Shines in + the father's gentle eyes, As fire-light on a window-pane Glimmers and + vanishes again; But naught he answers; he only sighs, And for a moment + bows his head; Then, as their custom is, they play Their little gain of + lansquenet, And another day is with the dead. + </p> + <p> + Another day, and many a day And many a week and month depart, When a fatal + letter wings its way Across the sea, like a bird of prey, And strikes and + tears the old man's heart. Lo! the young Baron of St. Castine, Swift as + the wind is, and as wild, Has married a dusky Tarratine, Has married + Madocawando's child! + </p> + <p> + The letter drops from the father's hand; Though the sinews of his heart + are wrung, He utters no cry, he breathes no prayer, No malediction falls + from his tongue; But his stately figure, erect and grand, Bends and sinks + like a column of sand In the whirlwind of his great despair. Dying, yes, + dying! His latest breath Of parley at the door of death Is a blessing on + his wayward son. Lower and lower on his breast Sinks his gray head; he is + at rest; No longer he waits for any one; + </p> + <p> + For many a year the old chateau Lies tenantless and desolate; Rank grasses + in the courtyard grow, About its gables caws the crow; Only the porter at + the gate Is left to guard it, and to wait The coming of the rightful heir; + No other life or sound is there; No more the Curate comes at night, No + more is seen the unsteady light, Threading the alleys of the park; The + windows of the hall are dark, The chambers dreary, cold, and bare! + </p> + <p> + At length, at last, when the winter is past, And birds are building, and + woods are green, With flying skirts is the Curate seen Speeding along the + woodland way, Humming gayly, "No day is so long But it comes at last to + vesper-song." He stops at the porter's lodge to say That at last the Baron + of St. Castine Is coming home with his Indian queen, Is coming without a + week's delay; And all the house must be swept and clean, And all things + set in good array! And the solemn porter shakes his head; And the answer + he makes is: "Lackaday! We will see, as the blind man said!" + </p> + <p> + Alert since first the day began, The cock upon the village church Looks + northward from his airy perch, As if beyond the ken of man To see the + ships come sailing on, And pass the isle of Oleron, And pass the Tower of + Cordouan. + </p> + <p> + In the church below is cold in clay The heart that would have leaped for + joy— O tender heart of truth and trust!— To see the coming of + that day; In the church below the lips are dust; Dust are the hands, and + dust the feet, That would have been so swift to meet The coming of that + wayward boy. + </p> + <p> + At night the front of the old chateau Is a blaze of light above and below; + There's a sound of wheels and hoofs in the street, A cracking of whips, + and scamper of feet, Bells are ringing, and horns are blown, And the Baron + hath come again to his own. The Curate is waiting in the hall, Most eager + and alive of all To welcome the Baron and Baroness; But his mind is full + of vague distress, For he hath read in Jesuit books Of those children of + the wilderness, And now, good, simple man! he looks To see a painted + savage stride Into the room, with shoulders bare, And eagle feathers in + her hair, And around her a robe of panther's hide. + </p> + <p> + Instead, he beholds with secret shame A form of beauty undefined, A + loveliness with out a name, Not of degree, but more of kind; Nor bold nor + shy, nor short nor tall, But a new mingling of them all. Yes, beautiful + beyond belief, Transfigured and transfused, he sees The lady of the + Pyrenees, The daughter of the Indian chief. + </p> + <p> + Beneath the shadow of her hair The gold-bronze color of the skin Seems + lighted by a fire within, As when a burst of sunlight shines Beneath a + sombre grove of pines,— A dusky splendor in the air. The two small + hands, that now are pressed In his, seem made to be caressed, They lie so + warm and soft and still, Like birds half hidden in a nest, Trustful, and + innocent of ill. And ah! he cannot believe his ears When her melodious + voice he hears Speaking his native Gascon tongue; The words she utters + seem to be Part of some poem of Goudouli, They are not spoken, they are + sung! And the Baron smiles, and says, "You see, I told you but the simple + truth; Ah, you may trust the eyes of youth!" + </p> + <p> + Down in the village day by day The people gossip in their way, And stare + to see the Baroness pass On Sunday morning to early Mass; And when she + kneeleth down to pray, They wonder, and whisper together, and say, "Surely + this is no heathen lass!" And in course of time they learn to bless The + Baron and the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + And in course of time the Curate learns A secret so dreadful, that by + turns He is ice and fire, he freezes and burns. The Baron at confession + hath said, That though this woman be his wife, He bath wed her as the + Indians wed, He hath bought her for a gun and a knife! And the Curate + replies: "O profligate, O Prodigal Son! return once more To the open arms + and the open door Of the Church, or ever it be too late. Thank God, thy + father did not live To see what he could not forgive; On thee, so reckless + and perverse, He left his blessing, not his curse. But the nearer the dawn + the darker the night, And by going wrong all things come right; Things + have been mended that were worse, And the worse, the nearer they are to + mend. For the sake of the living and the dead, Thou shalt be wed as + Christians wed, And all things come to a happy end." + </p> + <p> + O sun, that followest the night, In yon blue sky, serene and pure, And + pourest thine impartial light Alike on mountain and on moor, Pause for a + moment in thy course, And bless the bridegroom and the bride! O Gave, that + from thy hidden source In you mysterious mountain-side Pursuest thy + wandering way alone, And leaping down its steps of stone, Along the + meadow-lands demure Stealest away to the Adour, Pause for a moment in thy + course To bless the bridegroom and the bride! + </p> + <p> + The choir is singing the matin song, The doors of the church are opened + wide, The people crowd, and press, and throng To see the bridegroom and + the bride. They enter and pass along the nave; They stand upon the + father's grave; The bells are ringing soft and slow; The living above and + the dead below Give their blessing on one and twain; The warm wind blows + from the hills of Spain, The birds are building, the leaves are green, And + Baron Castine of St. Castine Hath come at last to his own again. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap218"></a>FINALE</h3> + + <p> + "Nunc plaudite!" the Student cried, When he had finished; "now applaud, As + Roman actors used to say At the conclusion of a play"; And rose, and + spread his hands abroad, And smiling bowed from side to side, As one who + bears the palm away. And generous was the applause and loud, But less for + him than for the sun, That even as the tale was done Burst from its canopy + of cloud, And lit the landscape with the blaze Of afternoon on autumn + days, And filled the room with light, and made The fire of logs a painted + shade. + </p> + <p> + A sudden wind from out the west Blew all its trumpets loud and shrill; The + windows rattled with the blast, The oak-trees shouted as it passed, And + straight, as if by fear possessed, The cloud encampment on the hill Broke + up, and fluttering flag and tent Vanished into the firmament, And down the + valley fled amain The rear of the retreating rain. + </p> + <p> + Only far up in the blue sky A mass of clouds, like drifted snow Suffused + with a faint Alpine glow, Was heaped together, vast and high, On which a + shattered rainbow hung, Not rising like the ruined arch Of some aerial + aqueduct, But like a roseate garland plucked From an Olympian god, and + flung Aside in his triumphal march. + </p> + <p> + Like prisoners from their dungeon gloom, Like birds escaping from a snare, + Like school-boys at the hour of play, All left at once the pent-up room, + And rushed into the open air; And no more tales were told that day. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap219"></a>PART THIRD</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap220"></a>PRELUDE</h3> + + <p> + The evening came; the golden vane A moment in the sunset glanced, Then + darkened, and then gleamed again, As from the east the moon advanced And + touched it with a softer light; While underneath, with flowing mane, Upon + the sign the Red Horse pranced, And galloped forth into the night. + </p> + <p> + But brighter than the afternoon That followed the dark day of rain, And + brighter than the golden vane That glistened in the rising moon, Within + the ruddy fire-light gleamed; And every separate window-pane, Backed by + the outer darkness, showed A mirror, where the flamelets gleamed And + flickered to and fro, and seemed A bonfire lighted in the road. + </p> + <p> + Amid the hospitable glow, Like an old actor on the stage, With the + uncertain voice of age, The singing chimney chanted low The homely songs + of long ago. + </p> + <p> + The voice that Ossian heard of yore, When midnight winds were in his hall; + A ghostly and appealing call, A sound of days that are no more! And dark + as Ossian sat the Jew, And listened to the sound, and knew The passing of + the airy hosts, The gray and misty cloud of ghosts In their interminable + flight; And listening muttered in his beard, With accent indistinct and + weird, "Who are ye, children of the Night?" + </p> + <p> + Beholding his mysterious face, "Tell me," the gay Sicilian said, "Why was + it that in breaking bread At supper, you bent down your head And, musing, + paused a little space, As one who says a silent grace?" + </p> + <p> + The Jew replied, with solemn air, "I said the Manichaean's prayer. It was + his faith,—perhaps is mine,— That life in all its forms is + one, And that its secret conduits run Unseen, but in unbroken line, From + the great fountain-head divine Through man and beast, through grain and + grass. Howe'er we struggle, strive, and cry, From death there can be no + escape, And no escape from life, alas Because we cannot die, but pass From + one into another shape: It is but into life we die. + </p> + <p> + "Therefore the Manichaean said This simple prayer on breaking bread, Lest + he with hasty hand or knife Might wound the incarcerated life, The soul in + things that we call dead: 'I did not reap thee, did not bind thee, I did + not thrash thee, did not grind thee, Nor did I in the oven bake thee! It + was not I, it was another Did these things unto thee, O brother; I only + have thee, hold thee, break thee!'" + </p> + <p> + "That birds have souls I can concede," The poet cried, with glowing + cheeks; "The flocks that from their beds of reed Uprising north or + southward fly, And flying write upon the sky The biforked letter of the + Greeks, As hath been said by Rucellai; All birds that sing or chirp or + cry, Even those migratory bands, The minor poets of the air, The plover, + peep, and sanderling, That hardly can be said to sing, But pipe along the + barren sands,— All these have souls akin to ours; So hath the lovely + race of flowers: Thus much I grant, but nothing more. The rusty hinges of + a door Are not alive because they creak; This chimney, with its dreary + roar, These rattling windows, do not speak!" "To me they speak," the Jew + replied; "And in the sounds that sink and soar, I hear the voices of a + tide That breaks upon an unknown shore!" + </p> + <p> + Here the Sicilian interfered: "That was your dream, then, as you dozed A + moment since, with eyes half-closed, And murmured something in your + beard." + </p> + <p> + The Hebrew smiled, and answered, "Nay; Not that, but something very near; + Like, and yet not the same, may seem The vision of my waking dream; Before + it wholly dies away, Listen to me, and you shall hear." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap221"></a>THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE<br/> +AZRAEL</h3> + + <p> + King Solomon, before his palace gate At evening, on the pavement + tessellate Was walking with a stranger from the East, Arrayed in rich + attire as for a feast, The mighty Runjeet-Sing, a learned man, And Rajah + of the realms of Hindostan. And as they walked the guest became aware Of a + white figure in the twilight air, Gazing intent, as one who with surprise + His form and features seemed to recognize; And in a whisper to the king he + said: "What is yon shape, that, pallid as the dead, Is watching me, as if + he sought to trace In the dim light the features of my face?" + </p> + <p> + The king looked, and replied: "I know him well; It is the Angel men call + Azrael, 'T is the Death Angel; what hast thou to fear?" And the guest + answered: "Lest he should come near, And speak to me, and take away my + breath! Save me from Azrael, save me from death! O king, that hast + dominion o'er the wind, Bid it arise and bear me hence to Ind." + </p> + <p> + The king gazed upward at the cloudless sky, Whispered a word, and raised + his hand on high, And lo! the signet-ring of chrysoprase On his uplifted + finger seemed to blaze With hidden fire, and rushing from the west There + came a mighty wind, and seized the guest And lifted him from earth, and on + they passed, His shining garments streaming in the blast, A silken banner + o'er the walls upreared, A purple cloud, that gleamed and disappeared. + Then said the Angel, smiling: "If this man Be Rajah Runjeet-Sing of + Hindostan, Thou hast done well in listening to his prayer; I was upon my + way to seek him there." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap222"></a>INTERLUDE.</h3> + + <p> + "O Edrehi, forbear to-night Your ghostly legends of affright, And let the + Talmud rest in peace; Spare us your dismal tales of death That almost take + away one's breath; So doing, may your tribe increase." + </p> + <p> + Thus the Sicilian said; then went And on the spinet's rattling keys Played + Marianina, like a breeze From Naples and the Southern seas, That brings us + the delicious scent Of citron and of orange trees, And memories of soft + days of ease At Capri and Amalfi spent. + </p> + <p> + "Not so," the eager Poet said; "At least, not so before I tell The story + of my Azrael, An angel mortal as ourselves, Which in an ancient tome I + found Upon a convent's dusty shelves, Chained with an iron chain, and + bound In parchment, and with clasps of brass, Lest from its prison, some + dark day, It might be stolen or steal away, While the good friars were + singing mass. + </p> + <p> + "It is a tale of Charlemagne, When like a thunder-cloud, that lowers And + sweeps from mountain-crest to coast, With lightning flaming through its + showers, He swept across the Lombard plain, Beleaguering with his warlike + train Pavia, the country's pride and boast, The City of the Hundred + Towers." Thus heralded the tale began, And thus in sober measure ran. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap223"></a>THE POET'S TALE<br/> +CHARLEMAGNE</h3> + + <p> + Olger the Dane and Desiderio, King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower Stood + gazing northward o'er the rolling plains, League after league of harvests, + to the foot Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach A mighty army, + thronging all the roads That led into the city. And the King Said unto + Olger, who had passed his youth As hostage at the court of France, and + knew The Emperor's form and face "Is Charlemagne Among that host?" And + Olger answered: "No." + </p> + <p> + And still the innumerable multitude Flowed onward and increased, until the + King Cried in amazement: "Surely Charlemagne Is coming in the midst of all + these knights!" And Olger answered slowly: "No; not yet; He will not come + so soon." Then much disturbed King Desiderio asked: "What shall we do, if + he approach with a still greater army!" And Olger answered: "When he shall + appear, You will behold what manner of man he is; But what will then + befall us I know not." + </p> + <p> + Then came the guard that never knew repose, The Paladins of France; and at + the sight The Lombard King o'ercome with terror cried: "This must be + Charlemagne!" and as before Did Olger answer: "No; not yet, not yet." + </p> + <p> + And then appeared in panoply complete The Bishops and the Abbots and the + Priests Of the imperial chapel, and the Counts And Desiderio could no more + endure The light of day, nor yet encounter death, But sobbed aloud and + said: "Let us go down And hide us in the bosom of the earth, Far from the + sight and anger of a foe So terrible as this!" And Olger said: "When you + behold the harvests in the fields Shaking with fear, the Po and the Ticino + Lashing the city walls with iron waves, Then may you know that Charlemagne + is come. And even as he spake, in the northwest, Lo! there uprose a black + and threatening cloud, Out of whose bosom flashed the light of arms Upon + the people pent up in the city; A light more terrible than any darkness; + And Charlemagne appeared;—a Man of Iron! + </p> + <p> + His helmet was of iron, and his gloves Of iron, and his breastplate and + his greaves And tassets were of iron, and his shield. In his left hand he + held an iron spear, In his right hand his sword invincible. The horse he + rode on had the strength of iron, And color of iron. All who went before + him Beside him and behind him, his whole host, Were armed with iron, and + their hearts within them Were stronger than the armor that they wore. The + fields and all the roads were filled with iron, And points of iron + glistened in the sun And shed a terror through the city streets. + </p> + <p> + This at a single glance Olger the Dane Saw from the tower, and turning to + the King Exclaimed in haste: "Behold! this is the man You looked for with + such eagerness!" and then Fell as one dead at Desiderio's feet. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap224"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + Well pleased all listened to the tale, That drew, the Student said, its + pith And marrow from the ancient myth Of some one with an iron flail; Or + that portentous Man of Brass Hephæstus made in days of yore, Who stalked + about the Cretan shore, And saw the ships appear and pass, And threw + stones at the Argonauts, Being filled with indiscriminate ire That tangled + and perplexed his thoughts; But, like a hospitable host, When strangers + landed on the coast, Heated himself red-hot with fire, And hugged them in + his arms, and pressed Their bodies to his burning breast. + </p> + <p> + The Poet answered: "No, not thus The legend rose; it sprang at first Out + of the hunger and the thirst In all men for the marvellous. And thus it + filled and satisfied The imagination of mankind, And this ideal to the + mind Was truer than historic fact. Fancy enlarged and multiplied The + tenors of the awful name Of Charlemagne, till he became Armipotent in + every act, And, clothed in mystery, appeared Not what men saw, but what + they feared. Besides, unless my memory fail, Your some one with an iron + flail Is not an ancient myth at all, But comes much later on the scene As + Talus in the Faerie Queene, The iron groom of Artegall, Who threshed out + falsehood and deceit, And truth upheld, and righted wrong, As was, as is + the swallow, fleet, And as the lion is, was strong." + </p> + <p> + The Theologian said: "Perchance Your chronicler in writing this Had in his + mind the Anabasis, Where Xenophon describes the advance Of Artaxerxes to + the fight; At first the low gray cloud of dust, And then a blackness o'er + the fields As of a passing thunder-gust, Then flash of brazen armor + bright, And ranks of men, and spears up-thrust, Bowmen and troops with + wicker shields, And cavalry equipped in white, And chariots ranged in + front of these With scythes upon their axle-trees." + </p> + <p> + To this the Student answered: "Well, I also have a tale to tell Of + Charlemagne; a tale that throws A softer light, more tinged with rose, + Than your grim apparition cast Upon the darkness of the past. Listen, and + hear in English rhyme What the good Monk of Lauresheim Gives as the gossip + of his time, In mediaeval Latin prose." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap225"></a>THE STUDENT'S TALE<br/> +EMMA AND EGINHARD</h3> + + <p> + When Alcuin taught the sons of Charlemagne, In the free schools of Aix, + how kings should reign, And with them taught the children of the poor How + subjects should be patient and endure, He touched the lips of some, as + best befit, With honey from the hives of Holy Writ; Others intoxicated + with the wine Of ancient history, sweet but less divine; Some with the + wholesome fruits of grammar fed; Others with mysteries of the stars + o'er-head, That hang suspended in the vaulted sky Like lamps in some fair + palace vast and high. + </p> + <p> + In sooth, it was a pleasant sight to see That Saxon monk, with hood and + rosary, With inkhorn at his belt, and pen and book, And mingled lore and + reverence in his look, Or hear the cloister and the court repeat The + measured footfalls of his sandaled feet, Or watch him with the pupils of + his school, Gentle of speech, but absolute of rule. + </p> + <p> + Among them, always earliest in his place. Was Eginhard, a youth of + Frankish race, Whose face was bright with flashes that forerun The + splendors of a yet unrisen sun. To him all things were possible, and + seemed Not what he had accomplished, but had dreamed, And what were tasks + to others were his play, The pastime of an idle holiday. + </p> + <p> + Smaragdo, Abbot of St. Michael's, said, With many a shrug and shaking of + the head, Surely some demon must possess the lad, Who showed more wit than + ever schoolboy had, And learned his Trivium thus without the rod; But + Alcuin said it was the grace of God. + </p> + <p> + Thus he grew up, in Logic point-device, Perfect in Grammar, and in + Rhetoric nice; Science of Numbers, Geometric art, And lore of Stars, and + Music knew by heart; A Minnesinger, long before the times Of those who + sang their love in Suabian rhymes. + </p> + <p> + The Emperor, when he heard this good report Of Eginhard much buzzed about + the court, Said to himself, "This stripling seems to be Purposely sent + into the world for me; He shall become my scribe, and shall be schooled In + all the arts whereby the world is ruled." Thus did the gentle Eginhard + attain To honor in the court of Charlemagne; Became the sovereign's + favorite, his right hand, So that his fame was great in all the land, And + all men loved him for his modest grace And comeliness of figure and of + face. An inmate of the palace, yet recluse, A man of books, yet sacred + from abuse Among the armed knights with spur on heel, The tramp of horses + and the clang of steel; And as the Emperor promised he was schooled In all + the arts by which the world is ruled. But the one art supreme, whose law + is fate, The Emperor never dreamed of till too late. + </p> + <p> + Home from her convent to the palace came The lovely Princess Emma, whose + sweet name, Whispered by seneschal or sung by bard, Had often touched the + soul of Eginhard. He saw her from his window, as in state She came, by + knights attended through the gate; He saw her at the banquet of that day, + Fresh as the morn, and beautiful as May; He saw her in the garden, as she + strayed Among the flowers of summer with her maid, And said to him, "O + Eginhard, disclose The meaning and the mystery of the rose"; And trembling + he made answer: "In good sooth, Its mystery is love, its meaning youth!" + </p> + <p> + How can I tell the signals and the signs By which one heart another heart + divines? How can I tell the many thousand ways By which it keeps the + secret it betrays? + </p> + <p> + O mystery of love! O strange romance! Among the Peers and Paladins of + France, Shining in steel, and prancing on gay steeds, Noble by birth, yet + nobler by great deeds, The Princess Emma had no words nor looks But for + this clerk, this man of thought and books. + </p> + <p> + The summer passed, the autumn came; the stalks Of lilies blackened in the + garden walks; The leaves fell, russet-golden and blood-red, Love-letters + thought the poet fancy-led, Or Jove descending in a shower of gold Into + the lap of Danae of old; For poets cherish many a strange conceit, And + love transmutes all nature by its heat. + </p> + <p> + No more the garden lessons, nor the dark And hurried meetings in the + twilight park; But now the studious lamp, and the delights Of firesides in + the silent winter nights, And watching from his window hour by hour The + light that burned in Princess Emma's tower. + </p> + <p> + At length one night, while musing by the fire, O'ercome at last by his + insane desire,— For what will reckless love not do and dare?— + He crossed the court, and climbed the winding stair, With some feigned + message in the Emperor's name; But when he to the lady's presence came He + knelt down at her feet, until she laid Her hand upon him, like a naked + blade, And whispered in his ear: "Arise, Sir Knight, To my heart's level, + O my heart's delight." + </p> + <p> + And there he lingered till the crowing cock, The Alectryon of the farmyard + and the flock, Sang his aubade with lusty voice and clear, To tell the + sleeping world that dawn was near. And then they parted; but at parting, + lo! They saw the palace courtyard white with snow, And, placid as a nun, + the moon on high Gazing from cloudy cloisters of the sky. "Alas!" he said, + "how hide the fatal line Of footprints leading from thy door to mine, And + none returning!" Ah, he little knew What woman's wit, when put to proof, + can do! + </p> + <p> + That night the Emperor, sleepless with the cares And troubles that attend + on state affairs, Had risen before the dawn, and musing gazed Into the + silent night, as one amazed To see the calm that reigned o'er all supreme, + When his own reign was but a troubled dream. The moon lit up the gables + capped with snow, And the white roofs, and half the court below, And he + beheld a form, that seemed to cower Beneath a burden, come from Emma's + tower,— A woman, who upon her shoulders bore Clerk Eginhard to his + own private door, And then returned in haste, but still essayed To tread + the footprints she herself had made; And as she passed across the lighted + space, The Emperor saw his daughter Emma's face! + </p> + <p> + He started not; he did not speak or moan, But seemed as one who hath been + turned to stone; And stood there like a statue, nor awoke Out of his + trance of pain, till morning broke, Till the stars faded, and the moon + went down, And o'er the towers and steeples of the town Came the gray + daylight; then the sun, who took The empire of the world with sovereign + look, Suffusing with a soft and golden glow All the dead landscape in its + shroud of snow, Touching with flame the tapering chapel spires, Windows + and roofs, and smoke of household fires, And kindling park and palace as + he came; The stork's nest on the chimney seemed in flame. And thus he + stood till Eginhard appeared, Demure and modest with his comely beard And + flowing flaxen tresses, come to ask, As was his wont, the day's appointed + task. + </p> + <p> + The Emperor looked upon him with a smile, And gently said: "My son, wait + yet awhile; This hour my council meets upon some great And very urgent + business of the state. Come back within the hour. On thy return The work + appointed for thee shalt thou learn. + </p> + <p> + Having dismissed this gallant Troubadour, He summoned straight his + council, and secure And steadfast in his purpose, from the throne All the + adventure of the night made known; Then asked for sentence; and with eager + breath Some answered banishment, and others death. + </p> + <p> + Then spake the king: "Your sentence is not mine; Life is the gift of God, + and is divine; Nor from these palace walls shall one depart Who carries + such a secret in his heart; My better judgment points another way. Good + Alcuin, I remember how one day When my Pepino asked you, 'What are men?' + You wrote upon his tablets with your pen, 'Guests of the grave and + travellers that pass!' This being true of all men, we, alas! Being all + fashioned of the selfsame dust, Let us be merciful as well as just; This + passing traveller, who hath stolen away The brightest jewel of my crown + to-day, Shall of himself the precious gem restore; By giving it, I make it + mine once more. Over those fatal footprints I will throw My ermine mantle + like another snow." + </p> + <p> + Then Eginhard was summoned to the hall, And entered, and in presence of + them all, The Emperor said: "My son, for thou to me Hast been a son, and + evermore shalt be, Long hast thou served thy sovereign, and thy zeal + Pleads to me with importunate appeal, While I have been forgetful to + requite Thy service and affection as was right. But now the hour is come, + when I, thy Lord, Will crown thy love with such supreme reward, A gift so + precious kings have striven in vain To win it from the hands of + Charlemagne." + </p> + <p> + Then sprang the portals of the chamber wide, And Princess Emma entered, in + the pride Of birth and beauty, that in part o'er-came The conscious terror + and the blush of shame. And the good Emperor rose up from his throne, And + taking her white hand within his own Placed it in Eginhard's, and said: + "My son This is the gift thy constant zeal hath won; Thus I repay the + royal debt I owe, And cover up the footprints in the snow." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap226"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + Thus ran the Student's pleasant rhyme Of Eginhard and love and youth; Some + doubted its historic truth, But while they doubted, ne'ertheless Saw in it + gleams of truthfulness, And thanked the Monk of Lauresheim. + </p> + <p> + This they discussed in various mood; Then in the silence that ensued Was + heard a sharp and sudden sound As of a bowstring snapped in air; And the + Musician with a bound Sprang up in terror from his chair, And for a moment + listening stood, Then strode across the room, and found His dear, his + darling violin Still lying safe asleep within Its little cradle, like a + child That gives a sudden cry of pain, And wakes to fall asleep again; And + as he looked at it and smiled, By the uncertain light beguiled, Despair! + two strings were broken in twain. + </p> + <p> + While all lamented and made moan, With many a sympathetic word As if the + loss had been their own, Deeming the tones they might have heard Sweeter + than they had heard before, They saw the Landlord at the door, The missing + man, the portly Squire! He had not entered, but he stood With both arms + full of seasoned wood, To feed the much-devouring fire, That like a lion + in a cage Lashed its long tail and roared with rage. + </p> + <p> + The missing man! Ah, yes, they said, Missing, but whither had he fled? + Where had he hidden himself away? No farther than the barn or shed; He had + not hidden himself, nor fled; How should he pass the rainy day But in his + barn with hens and hay, Or mending harness, cart, or sled? Now, having + come, he needs must stay And tell his tale as well as they. + </p> + <p> + The Landlord answered only: "These Are logs from the dead apple-trees Of + the old orchard planted here By the first Howe of Sudbury. Nor oak nor + maple has so clear A flame, or burns so quietly, Or leaves an ash so clean + and white"; Thinking by this to put aside The impending tale that + terrified; When suddenly, to his delight, The Theologian interposed, + Saying that when the door was closed, And they had stopped that draft of + cold, Unpleasant night air, he proposed To tell a tale world-wide apart + From that the Student had just told; World-wide apart, and yet akin, As + showing that the human heart Beats on forever as of old, As well beneath + the snow-white fold Of Quaker kerchief, as within Sendal or silk or cloth + of gold, And without preface would begin. + </p> + <p> + And then the clamorous clock struck eight, Deliberate, with sonorous chime + Slow measuring out the march of time, Like some grave Consul of old Rome + In Jupiter's temple driving home The nails that marked the year and date. + Thus interrupted in his rhyme, The Theologian needs must wait; But quoted + Horace, where he sings The dire Necessity of things, That drives into the + roofs sublime Of new-built houses of the great The adamantine nails of + Fate. + </p> + <p> + When ceased the little carillon To herald from its wooden tower The + important transit of the hour, The Theologian hastened on, Content to be + all owed at last To sing his Idyl of the Past. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap227"></a>THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE<br/> +ELIZABETH</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Ah, how short are the days! How soon the night overtakes us! +In the old country the twilight is longer; but here in the forest +Suddenly comes the dark, with hardly a pause in its coming, +Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and the lamplight; +Yet how grand is the winter! How spotless the snow is, and perfect!" + + Thus spake Elizabeth Haddon at nightfall to Hannah the housemaid, +As in the farm-house kitchen, that served for kitchen and parlor, +By the window she sat with her work, and looked on a landscape +White as the great white sheet that Peter saw in his vision, +By the four corners let down and descending out of the heavens. +Covered with snow were the forests of pine, and the fields and the meadows. +Nothing was dark but the sky, and the distant Delaware flowing +Down from its native hills, a peaceful and bountiful river. + + Then with a smile on her lips made answer Hannah the housemaid: +"Beautiful winter! yea, the winter is beautiful, surely, +If one could only walk like a fly with one's feet on the ceiling. +But the great Delaware River is not like the Thames, as we saw it +Out of our upper windows in Rotherhithe Street in the Borough, +Crowded with masts and sails of vessels coming and going; +Here there is nothing but pines, with patches of snow on their branches. +There is snow in the air, and see! it is falling already; +All the roads will be blocked, and I pity Joseph to-morrow, +Breaking his way through the drifts, with his sled and oxen; and then, too, +How in all the world shall we get to Meeting on First-Day?" + + But Elizabeth checked her, and answered, mildly reproving: +"Surely the Lord will provide; for unto the snow he sayeth, +Be thou on the earth, the good Lord sayeth; he is it +Giveth snow like wool, like ashes scatters the hoar-frost." +So she folded her work and laid it away in her basket. + + Meanwhile Hannah the housemaid had closed and fastened the shutters, +Spread the cloth, and lighted the lamp on the table, and placed there +Plates and cups from the dresser, the brown rye loaf, and the butter +Fresh from the dairy, and then, protecting her hand with a holder, +Took from the crane in the chimney the steaming and simmering kettle, +Poised it aloft in the air, and filled up the earthen teapot, +Made in Delft, and adorned with quaint and wonderful figures. + + Then Elizabeth said, "Lo! Joseph is long on his errand. +I have sent him away with a hamper of food and of clothing +For the poor in the village. A good lad and cheerful is Joseph; +In the right place is his heart, and his hand is ready and willing." + + Thus in praise of her servant she spake, and Hannah the housemaid +Laughed with her eyes, as she listened, but governed her tongue, and was silent, +While her mistress went on: "The house is far from the village; +We should be lonely here, were it not for Friends that in passing +Sometimes tarry o'ernight, and make us glad by their coming." + + Thereupon answered Hannah the housemaid, the thrifty, the frugal: +"Yea, they come and they tarry, as if thy house were a tavern; +Open to all are its doors, and they come and go like the pigeons +In and out of the holes of the pigeon-house over the hayloft, +Cooing and smoothing their feathers and basking themselves in the sunshine." + + But in meekness of spirit, and calmly, Elizabeth answered: +"All I have is the Lord's, not mine to give or withhold it; +I but distribute his gifts to the poor, and to those of his people +Who in journeyings often surrender their lives to his service. +His, not mine, are the gifts, and only so far can I make them +Mine, as in giving I add my heart to whatever is given. +Therefore my excellent father first built this house in the clearing; +Though he came not himself, I came; for the Lord was my guidance, +Leading me here for this service. We must not grudge, then, to others +Ever the cup of cold water, or crumbs that fall from our table." + + Thus rebuked, for a season was silent the penitent housemaid; +And Elizabeth said in tones even sweeter and softer: +"Dost thou remember, Hannah, the great May-Meeting in London, +When I was still a child, how we sat in the silent assembly, +Waiting upon the Lord in patient and passive submission? +No one spake, till at length a young man, a stranger, John Estaugh, +Moved by the Spirit, rose, as if he were John the Apostle, +Speaking such words of power that they bowed our hearts, as a strong wind +Bends the grass of the fields, or grain that is ripe for the sickle. +Thoughts of him to-day have been oft borne inward upon me, +Wherefore I do not know; but strong is the feeling within me +That once more I shall see a face I have never forgotten." +</pre> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +E'en as she spake they heard the musical jangle of sleigh-bells, +First far off, with a dreamy sound and faint in the distance, +Then growing nearer and louder, and turning into the farmyard, +Till it stopped at the door, with sudden creaking of runners. +Then there were voices heard as of two men talking together, +And to herself, as she listened, upbraiding said Hannah the housemaid, +"It is Joseph come back, and I wonder what stranger is with him?" + + Down from its nail she took and lighted the great tin lantern +Pierced with holes, and round, and roofed like the top of a lighthouse, +And went forth to receive the coming guest at the doorway, +Casting into the dark a network of glimmer and shadow +Over the falling snow, the yellow sleigh, and the horses, +And the forms of men, snow-covered, looming gigantic. +Then giving Joseph the lantern, she entered the house with the stranger. +Youthful he was and tall, and his cheeks aglow with the night air; +And as he entered, Elizabeth rose, and, going to meet him, +As if an unseen power had announced and preceded his presence, +And he had come as one whose coming had long been expected, +Quietly gave him her hand, and said, "Thou art welcome, John Estaugh." +And the stranger replied, with staid and quiet behavior, +"Dost thou remember me still, Elizabeth? After so many +Years have passed, it seemeth a wonderful thing that I find thee. +Surely the hand of the Lord conducted me here to thy threshold. +For as I journeyed along, and pondered alone and in silence +On his ways, that are past finding out, I saw in the snow-mist, +Seemingly weary with travel, a wayfarer, who by the wayside +Paused and waited. Forthwith I remembered Queen Candace's eunuch, +How on the way that goes down from Jerusalem unto Gaza, +Reading Esaias the Prophet, he journeyed, and spake unto Philip, +Praying him to come up and sit in his chariot with him. +So I greeted the man, and he mounted the sledge beside me, +And as we talked on the way he told me of thee and thy homestead, +How, being led by the light of the Spirit, that never deceiveth, +Full of zeal for the work of the Lord, thou hadst come to this country. +And I remembered thy name, and thy father and mother in England, +And on my journey have stopped to see thee, Elizabeth Haddon. +Wishing to strengthen thy hand in the labors of love thou art doing." + + And Elizabeth answered with confident voice, and serenely +Looking into his face with her innocent eyes as she answered, +"Surely the hand of the Lord is in it; his Spirit hath led thee +Out of the darkness and storm to the light and peace of my fireside." + + Then, with stamping of feet, the door was opened, and Joseph +Entered, bearing the lantern, and, carefully blowing the light out, +Rung it up on its nail, and all sat down to their supper; +For underneath that roof was no distinction of persons, +But one family only, one heart, one hearth and one household. + + When the supper was ended they drew their chairs to the fireplace, +Spacious, open-hearted, profuse of flame and of firewood, +Lord of forests unfelled, and not a gleaner of fagots, +Spreading its arms to embrace with inexhaustible bounty +All who fled from the cold, exultant, laughing at winter! +Only Hannah the housemaid was busy in clearing the table, +Coming and going, and hustling about in closet and chamber. + + Then Elizabeth told her story again to John Estaugh, +Going far back to the past, to the early days of her childhood; +How she had waited and watched, in all her doubts and besetments +Comforted with the extendings and holy, sweet inflowings +Of the spirit of love, till the voice imperative sounded, +And she obeyed the voice, and cast in her lot with her people +Here in the desert land, and God would provide for the issue. + + Meanwhile Joseph sat with folded hands, and demurely +Listened, or seemed to listen, and in the silence that followed +Nothing was heard for a while but the step of Hannah the housemaid +Walking the floor overhead, and setting the chambers in order. +And Elizabeth said, with a smile of compassion, "The maiden +Hath a light heart in her breast, but her feet are heavy and awkward." +Inwardly Joseph laughed, but governed his tongue, and was silent. + + Then came the hour of sleep, death's counterfeit, nightly rehearsal +Of the great Silent Assembly, the Meeting of shadows, where no man +Speaketh, but all are still, and the peace and rest are unbroken! +Silently over that house the blessing of slumber descended. +But when the morning dawned, and the sun uprose in his splendor, +Breaking his way through clouds that encumbered his path in the heavens, +Joseph was seen with his sled and oxen breaking a pathway +Through the drifts of snow; the horses already were harnessed, +And John Estaugh was standing and taking leave at the threshold, +Saying that he should return at the Meeting in May; while above them +Hannah the housemaid, the homely, was looking out of the attic, +Laughing aloud at Joseph, then suddenly closing the casement, +As the bird in a cuckoo-clock peeps out of its window, +Then disappears again, and closes the shutter behind it. +</pre> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now was the winter gone, and the snow; and Robin the Redbreast, +Boasted on bush and tree it was he, it was he and no other +That had covered with leaves the Babes in the Wood, and blithely +All the birds sang with him, and little cared for his boasting, +Or for his Babes in the Wood, or the Cruel Uncle, and only +Sang for the mates they had chosen, and cared for the nests they were building. +With them, but more sedately and meekly, Elizabeth Haddon +Sang in her inmost heart, but her lips were silent and songless. +Thus came the lovely spring with a rush of blossoms and music, +Flooding the earth with flowers, and the air with melodies vernal. + + Then it came to pass, one pleasant morning, that slowly +Up the road there came a cavalcade, as of pilgrims +Men and women, wending their way to the Quarterly Meeting +In the neighboring town; and with them came riding John Estaugh. +At Elizabeth's door they stopped to rest, and alighting +Tasted the currant wine, and the bread of rye, and the honey +Brought from the hives, that stood by the sunny wall of the garden; +Then remounted their horses, refreshed, and continued their journey, +And Elizabeth with them, and Joseph, and Hannah the housemaid. +But, as they started, Elizabeth lingered a little, and leaning +Over her horse's neck, in a whisper said to John Estaugh +"Tarry awhile behind, for I have something to tell thee, +Not to be spoken lightly, nor in the presence of others; +Them it concerneth not, only thee and me it concerneth." +And they rode slowly along through the woods, conversing together. +It was a pleasure to breathe the fragrant air of the forest; +It was a pleasure to live on that bright and happy May morning! + + Then Elizabeth said, though still with a certain reluctance, +As if impelled to reveal a secret she fain would have guarded: +"I will no longer conceal what is laid upon me to tell thee; +I have received from the Lord a charge to love thee, John Estaugh." + + And John Estaugh made answer, surprised by the words she had spoken, +"Pleasant to me are thy converse, thy ways, thy meekness of spirit; +Pleasant thy frankness of speech, and thy soul's immaculate whiteness, +Love without dissimulation, a holy and inward adorning. +But I have yet no light to lead me, no voice to direct me. +When the Lord's work is done, and the toil and the labor completed +He hath appointed to me, I will gather into the stillness +Of my own heart awhile, and listen and wait for his guidance." + + Then Elizabeth said, not troubled nor wounded in spirit, +"So is it best, John Estaugh. We will not speak of it further. +It hath been laid upon me to tell thee this, for to-morrow +Thou art going away, across the sea, and I know not +When I shall see thee more; but if the Lord hath decreed it, +Thou wilt return again to seek me here and to find me." +And they rode onward in silence, and entered the town with the others. +</pre> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, +Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; +So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, +Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. + + Now went on as of old the quiet life of the homestead. +Patient and unrepining Elizabeth labored, in all things +Mindful not of herself, but bearing the burdens of others, +Always thoughtful and kind and untroubled; and Hannah the housemaid +Diligent early and late, and rosy with washing and scouring, +Still as of old disparaged the eminent merits of Joseph, +And was at times reproved for her light and frothy behavior, +For her shy looks, and her careless words, and her evil surmisings, +Being pressed down somewhat like a cart with sheaves overladen, +As she would sometimes say to Joseph, quoting the Scriptures. + + Meanwhile John Estaugh departed across the sea, and departing +Carried hid in his heart a secret sacred and precious, +Filling its chambers with fragrance, and seeming to him in its sweetness +Mary's ointment of spikenard, that filled all the house with its odor. +O lost days of delight, that are wasted in doubting and waiting! +O lost hours and days in which we might have been happy! +But the light shone at last, and guided his wavering footsteps, +And at last came the voice, imperative, questionless, certain. + + Then John Estaugh came back o'er the sea for the gift that was offered, +Better than houses and lands, the gift of a woman's affection. +And on the First-Day that followed, he rose in the Silent Assembly, +Holding in his strong hand a hand that trembled a little, +Promising to be kind and true and faithful in all things. +Such were the marriage-rites of John and Elizabeth Estaugh. + + And not otherwise Joseph, the honest, the diligent servant, +Sped in his bashful wooing with homely Hannah the housemaid; +For when he asked her the question, she answered, "Nay"; and then added +"But thee may make believe, and see what will come of it, Joseph." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap228"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + "A pleasant and a winsome tale," The Student said, "though somewhat pale + And quiet in its coloring, As if it caught its tone and air From the gray + suits that Quakers wear; Yet worthy of some German bard, Hebel, or Voss, + or Eberhard, Who love of humble themes to sing, In humble verse; but no + more true Than was the tale I told to you." + </p> + <p> + The Theologian made reply, And with some warmth, "That I deny; 'T is no + invention of my own, But something well and widely known To readers of a + riper age, Writ by the skilful hand that wrote The Indian tale of Hobomok, + And Philothea's classic page. I found it like a waif afloat Or dulse + uprooted from its rock, On the swift tides that ebb and flow In daily + papers, and at flood Bear freighted vessels to and fro, But later, when + the ebb is low, Leave a long waste of sand and mud." + </p> + <p> + "It matters little," quoth the Jew; "The cloak of truth is lined with + lies, Sayeth some proverb old and wise; And Love is master of all arts, + And puts it into human hearts The strangest things to say and do." + </p> + <p> + And here the controversy closed Abruptly, ere 't was well begun; For the + Sicilian interposed With, "Lordlings, listen, every one That listen may, + unto a tale That's merrier than the nightingale; A tale that cannot boast, + forsooth, A single rag or shred of truth; That does not leave the mind in + doubt As to the with it or without; A naked falsehood and absurd As mortal + ever told or heard. Therefore I tell it; or, maybe, Simply because it + pleases me." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap229"></a>THE SICILIAN'S TALE<br/> +THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Once on a time, some centuries ago, + In the hot sunshine two Franciscan friars +Wended their weary way with footsteps slow + Back to their convent, whose white walls and spires +Gleamed on the hillside like a patch of snow; + Covered with dust they were, and torn by briers, +And bore like sumpter-mules upon their backs +The badge of poverty, their beggar's sacks. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The first was Brother Anthony, a spare + And silent man, with pallid cheeks and thin, +Much given to vigils, penance, fasting, prayer, + Solemn and gray, and worn with discipline, +As if his body but white ashes were, + Heaped on the living coals that glowed within; +A simple monk, like many of his day, +Whose instinct was to listen and obey. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A different man was Brother Timothy, + Of larger mould and of a coarser paste; +A rubicund and stalwart monk was he, + Broad in the shoulders, broader in the waist, +Who often filled the dull refectory + With noise by which the convent was disgraced, +But to the mass-book gave but little heed, +By reason he had never learned to read. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now, as they passed the outskirts of a wood, + They saw, with mingled pleasure and surprise, +Fast tethered to a tree an ass, that stood + Lazily winking his large, limpid eyes. +The farmer Gilbert of that neighborhood + His owner was, who, looking for supplies +Of fagots, deeper in the wood had strayed, +Leaving his beast to ponder in the shade. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As soon as Brother Timothy espied + The patient animal, he said: "Good-lack! +Thus for our needs doth Providence provide; + We'll lay our wallets on the creature's back." +This being done, he leisurely untied + From head and neck the halter of the jack, +And put it round his own, and to the tree +Stood tethered fast as if the ass were he. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And, bursting forth into a merry laugh, + He cried to Brother Anthony: "Away! +And drive the ass before you with your staff; + And when you reach the convent you may say +You left me at a farm, half tired and half + Ill with a fever, for a night and day, +And that the farmer lent this ass to bear +Our wallets, that are heavy with good fare." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now Brother Anthony, who knew the pranks + Of Brother Timothy, would not persuade +Or reason with him on his quirks and cranks, + But, being obedient, silently obeyed; +And, smiting with his staff the ass's flanks, + Drove him before him over hill and glade, +Safe with his provend to the convent gate, +Leaving poor Brother Timothy to his fate. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then Gilbert, laden with fagots for his fire, + Forth issued from the wood, and stood aghast +To see the ponderous body of the friar + Standing where he had left his donkey last. +Trembling he stood, and dared not venture nigher, + But stared, and gaped, and crossed himself full fast; +For, being credulous and of little wit, +He thought it was some demon from the pit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +While speechless and bewildered thus he gazed, + And dropped his load of fagots on the ground, +Quoth Brother Timothy: "Be not amazed + That where you left a donkey should be found +A poor Franciscan friar, half-starved and crazed, + Standing demure and with a halter bound; +But set me free, and hear the piteous story +Of Brother Timothy of Casal-Maggiore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"I am a sinful man, although you see + I wear the consecrated cowl and cape; +You never owned an ass, but you owned me, + Changed and transformed from my own natural shape +All for the deadly sin of gluttony, + From which I could not otherwise escape, +Than by this penance, dieting on grass, +And being worked and beaten as an ass. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Think of the ignominy I endured; + Think of the miserable life I led, +The toil and blows to which I was inured, + My wretched lodging in a windy shed, +My scanty fare so grudgingly procured, + The damp and musty straw that formed my bed! +But, having done this penance for my sins, +My life as man and monk again begins." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The simple Gilbert, hearing words like these, + Was conscience-stricken, and fell down apace +Before the friar upon his bended knees, + And with a suppliant voice implored his grace; +And the good monk, now very much at ease, + Granted him pardon with a smiling face, +Nor could refuse to be that night his guest, +It being late, and he in need of rest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Upon a hillside, where the olive thrives, + With figures painted on its white-washed walls, +The cottage stood; and near the humming hives + Made murmurs as of far-off waterfalls; +A place where those who love secluded lives + Might live content, and, free from noise and brawls, +Like Claudian's Old Man of Verona here +Measure by fruits the slow-revolving year. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And, coming to this cottage of content + They found his children, and the buxom wench +His wife, Dame Cicely, and his father, bent + With years and labor, seated on a bench, +Repeating over some obscure event + In the old wars of Milanese and French; +All welcomed the Franciscan, with a sense +Of sacred awe and humble reverence. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When Gilbert told them what had come to pass, + How beyond question, cavil, or surmise, +Good Brother Timothy had been their ass, + You should have seen the wonder in their eyes; +You should have heard them cry, "Alas! alas! + Have heard their lamentations and their sighs! +For all believed the story, and began +To see a saint in this afflicted man. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Forthwith there was prepared a grand repast, + To satisfy the craving of the friar +After so rigid and prolonged a fast; + The bustling housewife stirred the kitchen fire; +Then her two barnyard fowls, her best and last, + Were put to death, at her express desire, +And served up with a salad in a bowl, +And flasks of country wine to crown the whole. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It would not be believed should I repeat + How hungry Brother Timothy appeared; +It was a pleasure but to see him eat, + His white teeth flashing through his russet beard, +His face aglow and flushed with wine and meat, + His roguish eyes that rolled and laughed and leered! +Lord! how he drank the blood-red country wine +As if the village vintage were divine! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And all the while he talked without surcease, + And told his merry tales with jovial glee +That never flagged, but rather did increase, + And laughed aloud as if insane were he, +And wagged his red beard, matted like a fleece, + And cast such glances at Dame Cicely +That Gilbert now grew angry with his guest, +And thus in words his rising wrath expressed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Good father," said he, "easily we see + How needful in some persons, and how right, +Mortification of the flesh may be. + The indulgence you have given it to-night, +After long penance, clearly proves to me + Your strength against temptation is but slight, +And shows the dreadful peril you are in +Of a relapse into your deadly sin. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"To-morrow morning, with the rising sun, + Go back unto your convent, nor refrain +From fasting and from scourging, for you run + Great danger to become an ass again, +Since monkish flesh and asinine are one; + Therefore be wise, nor longer here remain, +Unless you wish the scourge should be applied +By other hands, that will not spare your hide." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When this the monk had heard, his color fled + And then returned, like lightning in the air, +Till he was all one blush from foot to head, + And even the bald spot in his russet hair +Turned from its usual pallor to bright red! + The old man was asleep upon his chair. +Then all retired, and sank into the deep +And helpless imbecility of sleep. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They slept until the dawn of day drew near, + Till the cock should have crowed, but did not crow, +For they had slain the shining chanticleer + And eaten him for supper, as you know. +The monk was up betimes and of good cheer, + And, having breakfasted, made haste to go, +As if he heard the distant matin bell, +And had but little time to say farewell. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Fresh was the morning as the breath of kine; + Odors of herbs commingled with the sweet +Balsamic exhalations of the pine; + A haze was in the air presaging heat; +Uprose the sun above the Apennine, + And all the misty valleys at its feet +Were full of the delirious song of birds, +Voices of men, and bells, and low of herds. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All this to Brother Timothy was naught; + He did not care for scenery, nor here +His busy fancy found the thing it sought; + But when he saw the convent walls appear, +And smoke from kitchen chimneys upward caught + And whirled aloft into the atmosphere, +He quickened his slow footsteps, like a beast +That scents the stable a league off at least. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And as he entered though the convent gate + He saw there in the court the ass, who stood +Twirling his ears about, and seemed to wait, + Just as he found him waiting in the wood; +And told the Prior that, to alleviate + The daily labors of the brotherhood, +The owner, being a man of means and thrift, +Bestowed him on the convent as a gift. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And thereupon the Prior for many days + Revolved this serious matter in his mind, +And turned it over many different ways, + Hoping that some safe issue he might find; +But stood in fear of what the world would say, + If he accepted presents of this kind, +Employing beasts of burden for the packs, +That lazy monks should carry on their backs. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then, to avoid all scandal of the sort, + And stop the mouth of cavil, he decreed +That he would cut the tedious matter short, + And sell the ass with all convenient speed, +Thus saving the expense of his support, + And hoarding something for a time of need. +So he despatched him to the neighboring Fair, +And freed himself from cumber and from care. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It happened now by chance, as some might say, + Others perhaps would call it destiny, +Gilbert was at the Fair; and heard a bray, + And nearer came, and saw that it was he, +And whispered in his ear, "Ah, lackaday! + Good father, the rebellious flesh, I see, +Has changed you back into an ass again, +And all my admonitions were in vain." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The ass, who felt this breathing in his ear, + Did not turn round to look, but shook his head, +As if he were not pleased these words to hear, + And contradicted all that had been said. +And this made Gilbert cry in voice more clear, + "I know you well; your hair is russet-red; +Do not deny it; for you are the same +Franciscan friar, and Timothy by name." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The ass, though now the secret had come out, + Was obstinate, and shook his head again; +Until a crowd was gathered round about + To hear this dialogue between the twain; +And raised their voices in a noisy shout + When Gilbert tried to make the matter plain, +And flouted him and mocked him all day long +With laughter and with jibes and scraps of song. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"If this be Brother Timothy," they cried, + "Buy him, and feed him on the tenderest grass; +Thou canst not do too much for one so tried + As to be twice transformed into an ass." +So simple Gilbert bought him, and untied + His halter, and o'er mountain and morass +He led him homeward, talking as he went +Of good behavior and a mind content. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The children saw them coming, and advanced, + Shouting with joy, and hung about his neck,— +Not Gilbert's, but the ass's,—round him danced, + And wove green garlands where-withal to deck +His sacred person; for again it chanced + Their childish feelings, without rein or check, +Could not discriminate in any way +A donkey from a friar of Orders Gray. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"O Brother Timothy," the children said, + "You have come back to us just as before; +We were afraid, and thought that you were dead, + And we should never see you any more." +And then they kissed the white star on his head, + That like a birth-mark or a badge he wore, +And patted him upon the neck and face, +And said a thousand things with childish grace. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thenceforward and forever he was known + As Brother Timothy, and led alway +A life of luxury, till he had grown + Ungrateful being stuffed with corn and hay, +And very vicious. Then in angry tone, + Rousing himself, poor Gilbert said one day +"When simple kindness is misunderstood +A little flagellation may do good." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His many vices need not here be told; + Among them was a habit that he had +Of flinging up his heels at young and old, + Breaking his halter, running off like mad +O'er pasture-lands and meadow, wood and wold, + And other misdemeanors quite as bad; +But worst of all was breaking from his shed +At night, and ravaging the cabbage-bed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So Brother Timothy went back once more + To his old life of labor and distress; +Was beaten worse than he had been before. + And now, instead of comfort and caress, +Came labors manifold and trials sore; + And as his toils increased his food grew less, +Until at last the great consoler, Death, +Ended his many sufferings with his breath. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Great was the lamentation when he died; + And mainly that he died impenitent; +Dame Cicely bewailed, the children cried, + The old man still remembered the event +In the French war, and Gilbert magnified + His many virtues, as he came and went, +And said: "Heaven pardon Brother Timothy, +And keep us from the sin of gluttony." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap230"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + "Signor Luigi," said the Jew, When the Sicilian's tale was told, "The + were-wolf is a legend old, But the were-ass is something new, And yet for + one I think it true. The days of wonder have not ceased If there are + beasts in forms of men, As sure it happens now and then, Why may not man + become a beast, In way of punishment at least? + </p> + <p> + "But this I will not now discuss, I leave the theme, that we may thus + Remain within the realm of song. The story that I told before, Though not + acceptable to all, At least you did not find too long. I beg you, let me + try again, With something in a different vein, Before you bid the curtain + fall. Meanwhile keep watch upon the door, Nor let the Landlord leave his + chair, Lest he should vanish into air, And thus elude our search once + more." + </p> + <p> + Thus saying, from his lips he blew A little cloud of perfumed breath, And + then, as if it were a clew To lead his footsteps safely through, Began his + tale as followeth. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap231"></a>THE SPANISH JEW'S SECOND TALE<br/> +SCANDERBEG</h3> + + <p> + The battle is fought and won By King Ladislaus the Hun, In fire of hell + and death's frost, On the day of Pentecost. And in rout before his path + From the field of battle red Flee all that are not dead Of the army of + Amurath. + </p> + <p> + In the darkness of the night Iskander, the pride and boast Of that mighty + Othman host, With his routed Turks, takes flight From the battle fought + and lost On the day of Pentecost; Leaving behind him dead The army of + Amurath, The vanguard as it led, The rearguard as it fled, Mown down in + the bloody swath Of the battle's aftermath. + </p> + <p> + But he cared not for Hospodars, Nor for Baron or Voivode, As on through + the night he rode And gazed at the fateful stars, That were shining + overhead But smote his steed with his staff, And smiled to himself, and + said; "This is the time to laugh." + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the night, In a halt of the hurrying flight, There came a + Scribe of the King Wearing his signet ring, And said in a voice severe: + "This is the first dark blot On thy name, George Castriot! Alas why art + thou here, And the army of Amurath slain, And left on the battle plain?" + </p> + <p> + And Iskander answered and said: "They lie on the bloody sod By the hoofs + of horses trod; But this was the decree Of the watchers overhead; For the + war belongeth to God, And in battle who are we, Who are we, that shall + withstand The wind of his lifted hand?" + </p> + <p> + Then he bade them bind with chains This man of books and brains; And the + Scribe said: "What misdeed Have I done, that, without need, Thou doest to + me this thing?" And Iskander answering Said unto him: "Not one Misdeed to + me hast thou done; But for fear that thou shouldst run And hide thyself + from me, Have I done this unto thee. + </p> + <p> + "Now write me a writing, O Scribe, And a blessing be on thy tribe! A + writing sealed with thy ring, To King Amurath's Pasha In the city of + Croia, The city moated and walled, That he surrender the same In the name + of my master, the King; For what is writ in his name Can never be + recalled." + </p> + <p> + And the Scribe bowed low in dread, And unto Iskander said: "Allah is great + and just, But we are as ashes and dust; How shall I do this thing, When I + know that my guilty head Will be forfeit to the King?" + </p> + <p> + Then swift as a shooting star The curved and shining blade Of Iskander's + scimetar From its sheath, with jewels bright, Shot, as he thundered: + "Write!" And the trembling Scribe obeyed, And wrote in the fitful glare Of + the bivouac fire apart, With the chill of the midnight air On his forehead + white and bare, And the chill of death in his heart. + </p> + <p> + Then again Iskander cried: "Now follow whither I ride, For here thou must + not stay. Thou shalt be as my dearest friend, And honors without end Shall + surround thee on every side, And attend thee night and day." But the + sullen Scribe replied "Our pathways here divide; Mine leadeth not thy + way." + </p> + <p> + And even as he spoke Fell a sudden scimetar-stroke, When no one else was + near; And the Scribe sank to the ground, As a stone, pushed from the brink + Of a black pool, might sink With a sob and disappear; And no one saw the + deed; And in the stillness around No sound was heard but the sound Of the + hoofs of Iskander's steed, As forward he sprang with a bound. + </p> + <p> + Then onward he rode and afar, With scarce three hundred men, Through river + and forest and fen, O'er the mountains of Argentar; And his heart was + merry within, When he crossed the river Drin, And saw in the gleam of the + morn The White Castle Ak-Hissar, The city Croia called, The city moated + and walled, The city where he was born,— And above it the morning + star. + </p> + <p> + Then his trumpeters in the van On their silver bugles blew, And in crowds + about him ran Albanian and Turkoman, That the sound together drew. And he + feasted with his friends, And when they were warm with wine, He said: "O + friends of mine, Behold what fortune sends, And what the fates design! + King Amurath commands That my father's wide domain, This city and all its + lands, Shall be given to me again." + </p> + <p> + Then to the Castle White He rode in regal state, And entered in at the + gate In all his arms bedight, And gave to the Pasha Who ruled in Croia The + writing of the King, Sealed with his signet ring. And the Pasha bowed his + head, And after a silence said: "Allah is just and great! I yield to the + will divine, The city and lands are thine; Who shall contend with fate?" + </p> + <p> + Anon from the castle walls The crescent banner falls, And the crowd + beholds instead, Like a portent in the sky, Iskander's banner fly, The + Black Eagle with double head; And a shout ascends on high, For men's souls + are tired of the Turks, And their wicked ways and works, That have made of + Ak-Hissar A city of the plague; And the loud, exultant cry That echoes + wide and far Is: "Long live Scanderbeg!" + </p> + <p> + It was thus Iskander came Once more unto his own; And the tidings, like + the flame Of a conflagration blown By the winds of summer, ran, Till the + land was in a blaze, And the cities far and near, Sayeth Ben Joshua Ben + Meir, In his Book of the Words of the Days, "Were taken as a man Would + take the tip of his ear." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap232"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + "Now that is after my own heart," The Poet cried; "one understands Your + swarthy hero Scanderbeg, Gauntlet on hand and boot on leg, And skilled in + every warlike art, Riding through his Albanian lands, And following the + auspicious star That shone for him o'er Ak-Hissar." + </p> + <p> + The Theologian added here His word of praise not less sincere, Although he + ended with a jibe; "The hero of romance and song Was born," he said, "to + right the wrong; And I approve; but all the same That bit of treason with + the Scribe Adds nothing to your hero's fame." + </p> + <p> + The Student praised the good old times And liked the canter of the rhymes, + That had a hoofbeat in their sound; But longed some further word to hear + Of the old chronicler Ben Meir, And where his volume might he found. The + tall Musician walked the room With folded arms and gleaming eyes, As if he + saw the Vikings rise, Gigantic shadows in the gloom; And much he talked of + their emprise, And meteors seen in Northern skies, And Heimdal's horn, and + day of doom But the Sicilian laughed again; "This is the time to laugh," + he said, For the whole story he well knew Was an invention of the Jew, + Spun from the cobwebs in his brain, And of the same bright scarlet thread + As was the Tale of Kambalu. + </p> + <p> + Only the Landlord spake no word; 'T was doubtful whether he had heard The + tale at all, so full of care Was he of his impending fate, That, like the + sword of Damocles, Above his head hung blank and bare, Suspended by a + single hair, So that he could not sit at ease, But sighed and looked + disconsolate, And shifted restless in his chair, Revolving how he might + evade The blow of the descending blade. + </p> + <p> + The Student came to his relief By saying in his easy way To the Musician: + "Calm your grief, My fair Apollo of the North, Balder the Beautiful and so + forth; Although your magic lyre or lute With broken strings is lying mute, + Still you can tell some doleful tale Of shipwreck in a midnight gale, Or + something of the kind to suit The mood that we are in to-night For what is + marvellous and strange; So give your nimble fancy range, And we will + follow in its flight." + </p> + <p> + But the Musician shook his head; "No tale I tell to-night," he said, + "While my poor instrument lies there, Even as a child with vacant stare + Lies in its little coffin dead." + </p> + <p> + Yet, being urged, he said at last: "There comes to me out of the Past A + voice, whose tones are sweet and wild, Singing a song almost divine, And + with a tear in every line; An ancient ballad, that my nurse Sang to me + when I was a child, In accents tender as the verse; And sometimes wept, + and sometimes smiled While singing it, to see arise The look of wonder in + my eyes, And feel my heart with tenor beat. This simple ballad I retain + Clearly imprinted on my brain, And as a tale will now repeat" + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap233"></a>THE MUSICIAN'S TALE<br/> +THE MOTHER'S GHOST</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade; + I myself was young! +There he hath wooed him so winsome a maid; + Fair words gladden so many a heart. +</pre> + <p> + Together were they for seven years, And together children six were theirs. + </p> + <p> + Then came Death abroad through the land, And blighted the beautiful + lily-wand. + </p> + <p> + Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade, And again hath he wooed him + another maid, + </p> + <p> + He hath wooed him a maid and brought home a bride, But she was bitter and + full of pride. + </p> + <p> + When she came driving into the yard, There stood the six children weeping + so hard. + </p> + <p> + There stood the small children with sorrowful heart; From before her feet + she thrust them apart. + </p> + <p> + She gave to them neither ale nor bread; "Ye shall suffer hunger and hate," + she said. + </p> + <p> + She took from them their quilts of blue, And said: "Ye shall lie on the + straw we strew." + </p> + <p> + She took from them the great waxlight; "Now ye shall lie in the dark at + night." + </p> + <p> + In the evening late they cried with cold; The mother heard it under the + mould. + </p> + <p> + The woman heard it the earth below: "To my little children I must go." + </p> + <p> + She standeth before the Lord of all: "And may I go to my children small?" + </p> + <p> + She prayed him so long, and would not cease, Until he bade her depart in + peace. + </p> + <p> + "At cock-crow thou shalt return again; Longer thou shalt not there + remain!" + </p> + <p> + She girded up her sorrowful bones, And rifted the walls and the marble + stones. + </p> + <p> + As through the village she flitted by, The watch-dogs howled aloud to the + sky. + </p> + <p> + When she came to the castle gate, There stood her eldest daughter in wait. + </p> + <p> + "Why standest thou here, dear daughter mine? How fares it with brothers + and sisters thine?" + </p> + <p> + "Never art thou mother of mine, For my mother was both fair and fine. + </p> + <p> + "My mother was white, with cheeks of red, But thou art pale, and like to + the dead." + </p> + <p> + "How should I be fair and fine? I have been dead; pale cheeks are mine. + </p> + <p> + "How should I be white and red, So long, so long have I been dead?" + </p> + <p> + When she came in at the chamber door, There stood the small children + weeping sore. + </p> + <p> + One she braided, another she brushed, The third she lifted, the fourth she + hushed. + </p> + <p> + The fifth she took on her lap and pressed, As if she would suckle it at + her breast. + </p> + <p> + Then to her eldest daughter said she, "Do thou bid Svend Dyring come + hither to me." + </p> + <p> + Into the chamber when he came She spake to him in anger and shame. + </p> + <p> + "I left behind me both ale and bread; My children hunger and are not fed. + </p> + <p> + "I left behind me quilts of blue; My children lie on the straw ye strew. + </p> + <p> + "I left behind me the great waxlight; My children lie in the dark at + night. + </p> + <p> + "If I come again unto your hall, As cruel a fate shall you befall! + </p> + <p> + "Now crows the cock with feathers red; Back to the earth must all the + dead. + </p> + <p> + "Now crows the cock with feathers swart; The gates of heaven fly wide + apart. + </p> + <p> + "Now crows the cock with feathers white; I can abide no longer to-night." + </p> + <p> + Whenever they heard the watch-dogs wail, They gave the children bread and + ale. + </p> + <p> + Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bay, They feared lest the dead were on + their way. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bark; + I myself was young! +They feared the dead out there in the dark. + Fair words gladden so many a heart. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap234"></a>INTERLUDE</h3> + + <p> + Touched by the pathos of these rhymes, The Theologian said: "All praise Be + to the ballads of old times And to the bards of simple ways, Who walked + with Nature hand in hand, Whose country was their Holy Land, Whose singing + robes were homespun brown From looms of their own native town, Which they + were not ashamed to wear, And not of silk or sendal gay, Nor decked with + fanciful array Of cockle-shells from Outre-Mer." + </p> + <p> + To whom the Student answered: "Yes; All praise and honor! I confess That + bread and ale, home-baked, home-brewed, Are wholesome and nutritious food, + But not enough for all our needs; Poets—the best of them—are + birds Of passage; where their instinct leads They range abroad for + thoughts and words, And from all climes bring home the seeds That + germinate in flowers or weeds. They are not fowls in barnyards born To + cackle o'er a grain of corn; And, if you shut the horizon down To the + small limits of their town, What do you but degrade your bard Till he at + last becomes as one Who thinks the all-encircling sun Rises and sets in + his back yard?" + </p> + <p> + The Theologian said again: "It may be so; yet I maintain That what is + native still is best, And little care I for the rest. 'T is a long story; + time would fail To tell it, and the hour is late; We will not waste it in + debate, But listen to our Landlord's tale." + </p> + <p> + And thus the sword of Damocles Descending not by slow degrees, But + suddenly, on the Landlord fell, Who blushing, and with much demur And many + vain apologies, Plucking up heart, began to tell The Rhyme of one Sir + Christopher. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap235"></a>THE LANDLORD'S TALE<br/> +THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER</h3> + + <p> + It was Sir Christopher Gardiner, Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, From Merry + England over the sea, Who stepped upon this continent As if his august + presence lent A glory to the colony. + </p> + <p> + You should have seen him in the street Of the little Boston of Winthrop's + time, His rapier dangling at his feet Doublet and hose and boots complete, + Prince Rupert hat with ostrich plume, Gloves that exhaled a faint perfume, + Luxuriant curls and air sublime, And superior manners now obsolete! + </p> + <p> + He had a way of saying things That made one think of courts and kings, And + lords and ladies of high degree; So that not having been at court Seemed + something very little short Of treason or lese-majesty, Such an + accomplished knight was he. + </p> + <p> + His dwelling was just beyond the town, At what he called his country-seat; + For, careless of Fortune's smile or frown, And weary grown of the world + and its ways, He wished to pass the rest of his days In a private life and + a calm retreat. + </p> + <p> + But a double life was the life he led, And, while professing to be in + search Of a godly course, and willing, he said, Nay, anxious to join the + Puritan church, He made of all this but small account, And passed his idle + hours instead With roystering Morton of Merry Mount, That pettifogger from + Furnival's Inn, Lord of misrule and riot and sin, Who looked on the wine + when it was red. + </p> + <p> + This country-seat was little more Than a cabin of log's; but in front of + the door A modest flower-bed thickly sown With sweet alyssum and columbine + Made those who saw it at once divine The touch of some other hand than his + own. And first it was whispered, and then it was known, That he in secret + was harboring there A little lady with golden hair, Whom he called his + cousin, but whom he had wed In the Italian manner, as men said, And great + was the scandal everywhere. + </p> + <p> + But worse than this was the vague surmise, Though none could vouch for it + or aver, That the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre Was only a Papist in + disguise; And the more to imbitter their bitter lives, And the more to + trouble the public mind, Came letters from England, from two other wives, + Whom he had carelessly left behind; Both of them letters of such a kind As + made the governor hold his breath; The one imploring him straight to send + The husband home, that he might amend; The other asking his instant death, + As the only way to make an end. + </p> + <p> + The wary governor deemed it right, When all this wickedness was revealed, + To send his warrant signed and sealed, And take the body of the knight. + Armed with this mighty instrument, The marshal, mounting his gallant + steed, Rode forth from town at the top of his speed, And followed by all + his bailiffs bold, As if on high achievement bent, To storm some castle or + stronghold, Challenge the warders on the wall, And seize in his ancestral + hall A robber-baron grim and old. + </p> + <p> + But when though all the dust and heat He came to Sir Christopher's + country-seat, No knight he found, nor warder there, But the little lady + with golden hair, Who was gathering in the bright sunshine The sweet + alyssum and columbine; While gallant Sir Christopher, all so gay, Being + forewarned, through the postern gate Of his castle wall had tripped away, + And was keeping a little holiday In the forests, that bounded his estate. + </p> + <p> + Then as a trusty squire and true The marshal searched the castle through, + Not crediting what the lady said; Searched from cellar to garret in vain, + And, finding no knight, came out again And arrested the golden damsel + instead, And bore her in triumph into the town, While from her eyes the + tears rolled down On the sweet alyssum and columbine, That she held in her + fingers white and fine. + </p> + <p> + The governor's heart was moved to see So fair a creature caught within The + snares of Satan and of sin, And he read her a little homily On the folly + and wickedness of the lives Of women, half cousins and half wives; But, + seeing that naught his words availed, He sent her away in a ship that + sailed For Merry England over the sea, To the other two wives in the old + countree, To search her further, since he had failed To come at the heart + of the mystery. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Sir Christopher wandered away Through pathless woods for a month + and a day, Shooting pigeons, and sleeping at night With the noble savage, + who took delight In his feathered hat and his velvet vest, His gun and his + rapier and the rest. But as soon as the noble savage heard That a bounty + was offered for this gay bird, He wanted to slay him out of hand, And + bring in his beautiful scalp for a show, Like the glossy head of a kite or + crow, Until he was made to understand They wanted the bird alive, not + dead; Then he followed him whithersoever he fled, Through forest and + field, and hunted him down, And brought him prisoner into the town. + </p> + <p> + Alas! it was a rueful sight, To see this melancholy knight In such a + dismal and hapless case; His hat deformed by stain and dent, His plumage + broken, his doublet rent, His beard and flowing locks forlorn, Matted, + dishevelled, and unshorn, His boots with dust and mire besprent; But + dignified in his disgrace, And wearing an unblushing face. And thus before + the magistrate He stood to hear the doom of fate. In vain he strove with + wonted ease To modify and extenuate His evil deeds in church and state, + For gone was now his power to please; And his pompous words had no more + weight Than feathers flying in the breeze. + </p> + <p> + With suavity equal to his own The governor lent a patient ear To the + speech evasive and highflown, In which he endeavored to make clear That + colonial laws were too severe When applied to a gallant cavalier, A + gentleman born, and so well known, And accustomed to move in a higher + sphere. + </p> + <p> + All this the Puritan governor heard, And deigned in answer never a word; + But in summary manner shipped away, In a vessel that sailed from Salem + bay, This splendid and famous cavalier, With his Rupert hat and his + popery, To Merry England over the sea, As being unmeet to inhabit here. + </p> + <p> + Thus endeth the Rhyme of Sir Christopher, Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, + The first who furnished this barren land With apples of Sodom and ropes of + sand. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap236"></a>FINALE</h3> + + <p> + These are the tales those merry guests Told to each other, well or ill; + Like summer birds that lift their crests Above the borders of their nests + And twitter, and again are still. + </p> + <p> + These are the tales, or new or old, In idle moments idly told; Flowers of + the field with petals thin, Lilies that neither toil nor spin, And tufts + of wayside weeds and gorse Hung in the parlor of the inn Beneath the sign + of the Red Horse. + </p> + <p> + And still, reluctant to retire, The friends sat talking by the fire And + watched the smouldering embers burn To ashes, and flash up again Into a + momentary glow, Lingering like them when forced to go, And going when they + would remain; For on the morrow they must turn Their faces homeward, and + the pain Of parting touched with its unrest A tender nerve in every + breast. + </p> + <p> + But sleep at last the victory won; They must be stirring with the sun, And + drowsily good night they said, And went still gossiping to bed, And left + the parlor wrapped in gloom. The only live thing in the room Was the old + clock, that in its pace Kept time with the revolving spheres And + constellations in their flight, And struck with its uplifted mace The + dark, unconscious hours of night, To senseless and unlistening ears. + </p> + <p> + Uprose the sun; and every guest, Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed + For journeying home and city-ward; The old stage-coach was at the door, + With horses harnessed, long before The sunshine reached the withered sward + Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar Murmured: "Farewell forevermore." + </p> + <p> + "Farewell!" the portly Landlord cried; "Farewell!" the parting guests + replied, But little thought that nevermore Their feet would pass that + threshold o'er; That nevermore together there Would they assemble, free + from care, To hear the oaks' mysterious roar, And breathe the wholesome + country air. + </p> + <p> + Where are they now? What lands and skies Paint pictures in their friendly + eyes? What hope deludes, what promise cheers, What pleasant voices fill + their ears? Two are beyond the salt sea waves, And three already in their + graves. Perchance the living still may look Into the pages of this book, + And see the days of long ago Floating and fleeting to and fro, As in the + well-remembered brook They saw the inverted landscape gleam, And their own + faces like a dream Look up upon them from below. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap237"></a>FLOWER-DE-LUCE</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap238"></a>FLOWER-DE-LUCE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Beautiful lily, dwelling by still rivers, + Or solitary mere, +Or where the sluggish meadow-brook delivers + Its waters to the weir! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thou laughest at the mill, the whir and worry + Of spindle and of loom, +And the great wheel that toils amid the hurry + And rushing of the flame. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Born in the purple, born to joy and pleasance, + Thou dost not toil nor spin, +But makest glad and radiant with thy presence + The meadow and the lin. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The wind blows, and uplifts thy drooping banner, + And round thee throng and run +The rushes, the green yeomen of thy manor, + The outlaws of the sun. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The burnished dragon-fly is thine attendant, + And tilts against the field, +And down the listed sunbeam rides resplendent + With steel-blue mail and shield. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thou art the Iris, fair among the fairest, + Who, armed with golden rod +And winged with the celestial azure, bearest + The message of some God. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thou art the Muse, who far from crowded cities + Hauntest the sylvan streams, +Playing on pipes of reed the artless ditties + That come to us as dreams. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river + Linger to kiss thy feet! +O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever + The world more fair and sweet. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap239"></a>PALINGENESIS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I lay upon the headland-height, and listened +To the incessant sobbing of the sea + In caverns under me, +And watched the waves, that tossed and fled and glistened, +Until the rolling meadows of amethyst + Melted away in mist. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then suddenly, as one from sleep, I started; +For round about me all the sunny capes + Seemed peopled with the shapes +Of those whom I had known in days departed, +Apparelled in the loveliness which gleams + On faces seen in dreams. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A moment only, and the light and glory +Faded away, and the disconsolate shore + Stood lonely as before; +And the wild-roses of the promontory +Around me shuddered in the wind, and shed + Their petals of pale red. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There was an old belief that in the embers +Of all things their primordial form exists, + And cunning alchemists +Could re-create the rose with all its members +From its own ashes, but without the bloom, + Without the lost perfume. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science +Can from the ashes in our hearts once more + The rose of youth restore? +What craft of alchemy can bid defiance +To time and change, and for a single hour + Renew this phantom-flower? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"O, give me back," I cried, "the vanished splendors, +The breath of morn, and the exultant strife, + When the swift stream of life +Bounds o'er its rocky channel, and surrenders +The pond, with all its lilies, for the leap + Into the unknown deep!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the sea answered, with a lamentation, +Like some old prophet wailing, and it said, + "Alas! thy youth is dead! +It breathes no more, its heart has no pulsation; +In the dark places with the dead of old + It lies forever cold!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then said I, "From its consecrated cerements +I will not drag this sacred dust again, + Only to give me pain; +But, still remembering all the lost endearments, +Go on my way, like one who looks before, + And turns to weep no more." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Into what land of harvests, what plantations +Bright with autumnal foliage and the glow + Of sunsets burning low; +Beneath what midnight skies, whose constellations +Light up the spacious avenues between + This world and the unseen! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Amid what friendly greetings and caresses, +What households, though not alien, yet not mine, + What bowers of rest divine; +To what temptations in lone wildernesses, +What famine of the heart, what pain and loss, + The bearing of what cross! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I do not know; nor will I vainly question +Those pages of the mystic book which hold + The story still untold, +But without rash conjecture or suggestion +Turn its last leaves in reverence and good heed, + Until "The End" I read. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap240"></a>THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Burn, O evening hearth, and waken + Pleasant visions, as of old! +Though the house by winds be shaken, + Safe I keep this room of gold! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah, no longer wizard Fancy + Builds her castles in the air, +Luring me by necromancy + Up the never-ending stair! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But, instead, she builds me bridges + Over many a dark ravine, +Where beneath the gusty ridges + Cataracts dash and roar unseen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And I cross them, little heeding + Blast of wind or torrent's roar, +As I follow the receding + Footsteps that have gone before. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Naught avails the imploring gesture, + Naught avails the cry of pain! +When I touch the flying vesture, + 'T is the gray robe of the rain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Baffled I return, and, leaning + O'er the parapets of cloud, +Watch the mist that intervening + Wraps the valley in its shroud. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the sounds of life ascending + Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear, +Murmur of bells and voices blending + With the rush of waters near. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Well I know what there lies hidden, + Every tower and town and farm, +And again the land forbidden + Reassumes its vanished charm. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Well I know the secret places, + And the nests in hedge and tree; +At what doors are friendly faces, + In what hearts are thoughts of me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Through the mist and darkness sinking, + Blown by wind and beaten by shower, +Down I fling the thought I'm thinking, + Down I toss this Alpine flower. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap241"></a>HAWTHORNE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +MAY 23, 1864 +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How beautiful it was, that one bright day + In the long week of rain! +Though all its splendor could not chase away + The omnipresent pain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The lovely town was white with apple-blooms, + And the great elms o'erhead +Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms + Shot through with golden thread. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Across the meadows, by the gray old manse, + The historic river flowed: +I was as one who wanders in a trance, + Unconscious of his road. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The faces of familiar friends seemed strange; + Their voices I could hear, +And yet the words they uttered seemed to change + Their meaning to my ear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For the one face I looked for was not there, + The one low voice was mute; +Only an unseen presence filled the air, + And baffled my pursuit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream + Dimly my thought defines; +I only see—a dream within a dream— + The hill-top hearsed with pines. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I only hear above his place of rest + Their tender undertone, +The infinite longings of a troubled breast, + The voice so like his own. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There in seclusion and remote from men + The wizard hand lies cold, +Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, + And left the tale half told. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power, + And the lost clew regain? +The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower + Unfinished must remain! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap242"></a>CHRISTMAS BELLS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I heard the bells on Christmas Day +Their old, familiar carols play, + And wild and sweet + The words repeat +Of peace on earth, good-will to men! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And thought how, as the day had come, +The belfries of all Christendom + Had rolled along + The unbroken song +Of peace on earth, good-will to men! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till, ringing, singing on its way, +The world revolved from night to day, + A voice, a chime, + A chant sublime +Of peace on earth, good-will to men! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then from each black, accursed mouth +The cannon thundered in the South, + And with the sound + The carols drowned +Of peace on earth, good-will to men! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was as if an earthquake rent +The hearth-stones of a continent, + And made forlorn + The households born +Of peace on earth, good-will to men! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And in despair I bowed my head; +"There is no peace on earth," I said: + "For hate is strong, + And mocks the song +Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: +"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep! + The Wrong shall fail, + The Right prevail, +With peace on earth, good-will to men!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap243"></a>THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +See, the fire is sinking low, +Dusky red the embers glow, + While above them still I cower, +While a moment more I linger, +Though the clock, with lifted finger, + Points beyond the midnight hour. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sings the blackened log a tune +Learned in some forgotten June + From a school-boy at his play, +When they both were young together, +Heart of youth and summer weather + Making all their holiday. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the night-wind rising, hark! +How above there in the dark, + In the midnight and the snow, +Ever wilder, fiercer, grander, +Like the trumpets of Iskander, + All the noisy chimneys blow! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Every quivering tongue of flame +Seems to murmur some great name, + Seems to say to me, "Aspire!" +But the night-wind answers, "Hollow +Are the visions that you follow, + Into darkness sinks your fire!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then the flicker of the blaze +Gleams on volumes of old days, + Written by masters of the art, +Loud through whose majestic pages +Rolls the melody of ages, + Throb the harp-strings of the heart. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And again the tongues of flame +Start exulting and exclaim: + "These are prophets, bards, and seers; +In the horoscope of nations, +Like ascendant constellations, + They control the coming years." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the night-wind cries: "Despair! +Those who walk with feet of air + Leave no long-enduring marks; +At God's forges incandescent +Mighty hammers beat incessant, + These are but the flying sparks. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Dust are all the hands that wrought; +Books are sepulchres of thought; + The dead laurels of the dead +Rustle for a moment only, +Like the withered leaves in lonely + Churchyards at some passing tread." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Suddenly the flame sinks down; +Sink the rumors of renown; + And alone the night-wind drear +Clamors louder, wilder, vaguer,— +"'T is the brand of Meleager + Dying on the hearth-stone here!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And I answer,—"Though it be, +Why should that discomfort me? + No endeavor is in vain; +Its reward is in the doing, +And the rapture of pursuing + Is the prize the vanquished gain." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap244"></a>THE BELLS OF LYNN</h3> + +<p class="center"> +HEARD AT NAHANT +</p> + + <p> + O curfew of the setting sun! O Bells of Lynn! O requiem of the dying day! + O Bells of Lynn! + </p> + <p> + From the dark belfries of yon cloud-cathedral wafted, Your sounds aerial + seem to float, O Bells of Lynn! + </p> + <p> + Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight, O'er land and sea + they rise and fall, O Bells of Lynn! + </p> + <p> + The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland, Listens, and + leisurely rows ashore, O Bells of Lynn! + </p> + <p> + Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward Follow each other at + your call, O Bells of Lynn! + </p> + <p> + The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming signal Answers you, + passing the watchword on, O Bells of Lynn! + </p> + <p> + And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges, And clap their + hands, and shout to you, O Bells of Lynn! + </p> + <p> + Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations, Ye summon up + the spectral moon, O Bells of Lynn! + </p> + <p> + And startled at the sight like the weird woman of Endor, Ye cry aloud, and + then are still, O Bells of Lynn! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap245"></a>KILLED AT THE FORD.</h3> + + <p> + He is dead, the beautiful youth, The heart of honor, the tongue of truth, + He, the life and light of us all, Whose voice was blithe as a bugle-call, + Whom all eyes followed with one consent, The cheer of whose laugh, and + whose pleasant word, Hushed all murmurs of discontent. + </p> + <p> + Only last night, as we rode along, Down the dark of the mountain gap, To + visit the picket-guard at the ford, Little dreaming of any mishap, He was + humming the words of some old song: "Two red roses he had on his cap, And + another he bore at the point of his sword." + </p> + <p> + Sudden and swift a whistling ball Came out of a wood, and the voice was + still; Something I heard in the darkness fall, And for a moment my blood + grew chill; I spake in a whisper, as he who speaks In a room where some + one is lying dead; But he made no answer to what I said. + </p> + <p> + We lifted him up to his saddle again, And through the mire and the mist + and the rain Carried him back to the silent camp, And laid him as if + asleep on his bed; And I saw by the light of the surgeon's lamp Two white + roses upon his cheeks, And one, just over his heart, blood-red! + </p> + <p> + And I saw in a vision how far and fleet That fatal bullet went speeding + forth, Till it reached a town in the distant North, Till it reached a + house in a sunny street, Till it reached a heart that ceased to beat + Without a murmur, without a cry; And a bell was tolled, in that far-off + town, For one who had passed from cross to crown, And the neighbors + wondered that she should die. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap246"></a>GIOTTO'S TOWER</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How many lives, made beautiful and sweet + By self-devotion and by self-restraint, + Whose pleasure is to run without complaint + On unknown errands of the Paraclete, +Wanting the reverence of unshodden feet, + Fail of the nimbus which the artists paint + Around the shining forehead of the saint, + And are in their completeness incomplete! +In the old Tuscan town stands Giotto's tower, + The lily of Florence blossoming in stone,— + A vision, a delight, and a desire,— +The builder's perfect and centennial flower, + That in the night of ages bloomed alone, + But wanting still the glory of the spire. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap247"></a>TO-MORROW</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'T is late at night, and in the realm of sleep + My little lambs are folded like the flocks; + From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks + Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep +Their solitary watch on tower and steep; + Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, + And through the opening door that time unlocks + Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep. +To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest, + Who cries to me: "Remember Barmecide, + And tremble to be happy with the rest." +And I make answer: "I am satisfied; + I dare not ask; I know not what is best; + God hath already said what shall betide." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap248"></a>DIVINA COMMEDIA</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oft have I seen at some cathedral door + A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat, + Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet + Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor +Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er; + Far off the noises of the world retreat; + The loud vociferations of the street + Become an undistinguishable roar. +So, as I enter here from day to day, + And leave my burden at this minster gate, + Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray, +The tumult of the time disconsolate + To inarticulate murmurs dies away, + While the eternal ages watch and wait. +</pre> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How strange the sculptures that adorn these towers! + This crowd of statues, in whose folded sleeves + Birds build their nests; while canopied with leaves + Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers, +And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers! + But fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves + Watch the dead Christ between the living thieves, + And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers! +Ah! from what agonies of heart and brain, + What exultations trampling on despair, + What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong, +What passionate outcry of a soul in pain, + Uprose this poem of the earth and air, + This medieval miracle of song! +</pre> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I enter, and I see thee in the gloom + Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine! + And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine. + The air is filled with some unknown perfume; +The congregation of the dead make room + For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine; + Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine + The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. +From the confessionals I hear arise + Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, + And lamentations from the crypts below; +And then a voice celestial, that begins + With the pathetic words, "Although your sins + As scarlet be," and ends with "as the snow." +</pre> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +With snow-white veil and garments as of flame, + She stands before thee, who so long ago + Filled thy young heart with passion and the woe + From which thy song and all its splendors came; +And while with stern rebuke she speaks thy name, + The ice about thy heart melts as the snow + On mountain height; and in swift overflow + Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs of shame. +Thou makest full confession; and a gleam, + As of the dawn on some dark forest cast, + Seems on thy lifted forehead to increase; +Lethe and Eunoe—the remembered dream + And the forgotten sorrow—bring at last + That perfect pardon which is perfect peace. +</pre> + +<h4>V</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze + With forms of saints and holy men who died, + Here martyred and hereafter glorified; + And the great Rose upon its leaves displays +Christ's Triumph, and the angelic roundelays, + With splendor upon splendor multiplied; + And Beatrice again at Dante's side + No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise. +And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs + Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love, + And benedictions of the Holy Ghost; +And the melodious bells among the spires + O'er all the house-tops and through heaven above + Proclaim the elevation of the Host! +</pre> + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O star of morning and of liberty! + O bringer of the light, whose splendor shines + Above the darkness of the Apennines, + Forerunner of the day that is to be! +The voices of the city and the sea, + The voices of the mountains and the pines, + Repeat thy song, till the familiar lines + Are footpaths for the thought of Italy! +Thy fame is blown abroad from all the heights, + Through all the nations, and a sound is heard, + As of a mighty wind, and men devout, +Strangers of Rome, and the new proselytes, + In their own language hear thy wondrous word, + And many are amazed and many doubt. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap249"></a>NOËL.</h3> + +<p class="center"> +ENVOYE A M. AGASSIZ, LA VEILLE DE NOËL 1864, AVEC UN PANIER DE VINS DIVERS +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +L'Academie en respect, +Nonobstant l'incorrection +A la faveur du sujet, + Ture-lure, +N'y fera point de rature; +Noël! ture-lure-lure. + — Gui Barozai +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Quand les astres de Noël +Brillaient, palpitaient au ciel, +Six gaillards, et chacun ivre, +Chantaient gaiment dans le givre, + "Bons amis, +Allons donc chez Agassiz!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ces illustres Pelerins +D'Outre-Mer adroits et fins, +Se donnant des airs de pretre, +A l'envi se vantaient d'etre + "Bons amis, +De Jean Rudolphe Agassiz!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oeil-de-Perdrix, grand farceur, +Sans reproche et sans pudeur, +Dans son patois de Bourgogne, +Bredouillait comme un ivrogne, + "Bons amis, +J'ai danse chez Agassiz!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Verzenay le Champenois, +Bon Francais, point New-Yorquois, +Mais des environs d'Avize, +Fredonne a mainte reprise, + "Bons amis, +J'ai chante chez Agassiz!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A cote marchait un vieux +Hidalgo, mais non mousseux; +Dans le temps de Charlemagne +Fut son pere Grand d'Espagne! + "Bons amis, +J'ai dine chez Agassiz!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Derriere eux un Bordelais, +Gascon, s'il en fut jamais, +Parfume de poesie +Riait, chantait, plein de vie, + "Bons amis, +J'ai soupe chez Agassiz!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Avec ce beau cadet roux, +Bras dessus et bras dessous, +Mine altiere et couleur terne, +Vint le Sire de Sauterne; + "Bons amis, +J'ai couche chez Agassiz!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Mais le dernier de ces preux, +Etait un pauvre Chartreux, +Qui disait, d'un ton robuste, +"Benedictions sur le Juste! + Bons amis, +Benissons Pere Agassiz!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ils arrivent trois a trois, +Montent l'escalier de bois +Clopin-clopant! quel gendarme +Peut permettre ce vacarme, + Bons amis, +A la porte d'Agassiz! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Ouvrer donc, mon bon Seigneur, +Ouvrez vite et n'ayez peur; +Ouvrez, ouvrez, car nous sommes +Gens de bien et gentilshommes, + Bons amis +De la famille Agassiz!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Chut, ganaches! taisez-vous! +C'en est trop de vos glouglous; +Epargnez aux Philosophes +Vos abominables strophes! + Bons amis, +Respectez mon Agassiz! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap250"></a>BIRDS OF PASSAGE</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap251"></a>FLIGHT THE THIRD</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap252"></a>FATA MORGANA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O sweet illusions of Song, + That tempt me everywhere, +In the lonely fields, and the throng + Of the crowded thoroughfare! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I approach, and ye vanish away, + I grasp you, and ye are gone; +But ever by nigh an day, + The melody soundeth on. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As the weary traveller sees + In desert or prairie vast, +Blue lakes, overhung with trees, + That a pleasant shadow cast; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Fair towns with turrets high, + And shining roofs of gold, +That vanish as he draws nigh, + Like mists together rolled,— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So I wander and wander along, + And forever before me gleams +The shining city of song, + In the beautiful land of dreams. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But when I would enter the gate + Of that golden atmosphere, +It is gone, and I wander and wait + For the vision to reappear. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap253"></a>THE HAUNTED CHAMBER</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Each heart has its haunted chamber, + Where the silent moonlight falls! +On the floor are mysterious footsteps, + There are whispers along the walls! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And mine at times is haunted + By phantoms of the Past +As motionless as shadows + By the silent moonlight cast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A form sits by the window, + That is not seen by day, +For as soon as the dawn approaches + It vanishes away. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It sits there in the moonlight + Itself as pale and still, +And points with its airy finger + Across the window-sill. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Without before the window, + There stands a gloomy pine, +Whose boughs wave upward and downward + As wave these thoughts of mine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And underneath its branches + Is the grave of a little child, +Who died upon life's threshold, + And never wept nor smiled. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What are ye, O pallid phantoms! + That haunt my troubled brain? +That vanish when day approaches, + And at night return again? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What are ye, O pallid phantoms! + But the statues without breath, +That stand on the bridge overarching + The silent river of death? +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap254"></a>THE MEETING</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +After so long an absence + At last we meet again: +Does the meeting give us pleasure, + Or does it give us pain? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The tree of life has been shaken, + And but few of us linger now, +Like the Prophet's two or three berries + In the top of the uppermost bough. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We cordially greet each other + In the old, familiar tone; +And we think, though we do not say it, + How old and gray he is grown! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We speak of a Merry Christmas + And many a Happy New Year +But each in his heart is thinking + Of those that are not here. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We speak of friends and their fortunes, + And of what they did and said, +Till the dead alone seem living, + And the living alone seem dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And at last we hardly distinguish + Between the ghosts and the guests; +And a mist and shadow of sadness + Steals over our merriest jests. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap255"></a>VOX POPULI</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When Mazarvan the Magician, + Journeyed westward through Cathay, +Nothing heard he but the praises + Of Badoura on his way. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the lessening rumor ended + When he came to Khaledan, +There the folk were talking only + Of Prince Camaralzaman, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So it happens with the poets: + Every province hath its own; +Camaralzaman is famous + Where Badoura is unknown. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap256"></a>THE CASTLE-BUILDER</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks + A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes, +A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks, + And towers that touch imaginary skies. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A fearless rider on his father's knee, + An eager listener unto stories told +At the Round Table of the nursery, + Of heroes and adventures manifold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There will be other towers for thee to build; + There will be other steeds for thee to ride; +There will be other legends, and all filled + With greater marvels and more glorified. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Build on, and make thy castles high and fair, + Rising and reaching upward to the skies; +Listen to voices in the upper air, + Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap257"></a>CHANGED</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the outskirts of the town + Where of old the mile-stone stood. +Now a stranger, looking down +I behold the shadowy crown + Of the dark and haunted wood. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Is it changed, or am I changed? + Ah! the oaks are fresh and green, +But the friends with whom I ranged +Through their thickets are estranged + By the years that intervene. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Bright as ever flows the sea, + Bright as ever shines the sun, +But alas! they seem to me +Not the sun that used to be, + Not the tides that used to run. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap258"></a>THE CHALLENGE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I have a vague remembrance + Of a story, that is told +In some ancient Spanish legend + Or chronicle of old. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was when brave King Sanchez + Was before Zamora slain, +And his great besieging army + Lay encamped upon the plain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Don Diego de Ordonez + Sallied forth in front of all, +And shouted loud his challenge + To the warders on the wall. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All the people of Zamora, + Both the born and the unborn, +As traitors did he challenge + With taunting words of scorn. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The living, in their houses, + And in their graves, the dead! +And the waters of their rivers, + And their wine, and oil, and bread! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is a greater army, + That besets us round with strife, +A starving, numberless army, + At all the gates of life. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The poverty-stricken millions + Who challenge our wine and bread, +And impeach us all as traitors, + Both the living and the dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And whenever I sit at the banquet, + Where the feast and song are high, +Amid the mirth and the music + I can hear that fearful cry. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And hollow and haggard faces + Look into the lighted hall, +And wasted hands are extended + To catch the crumbs that fall. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For within there is light and plenty, + And odors fill the air; +But without there is cold and darkness, + And hunger and despair. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And there in the camp of famine, + In wind and cold and rain, +Christ, the great Lord of the army, + Lies dead upon the plain! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap259"></a>THE BROOK AND THE WAVE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The brooklet came from the mountain, + As sang the bard of old, +Running with feet of silver + Over the sands of gold! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Far away in the briny ocean + There rolled a turbulent wave, +Now singing along the sea-beach, + Now howling along the cave. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the brooklet has found the billow + Though they flowed so far apart, +And has filled with its freshness and sweetness + That turbulent bitter heart! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap260"></a>AFTERMATH</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When the summer fields are mown, +When the birds are fledged and flown, + And the dry leaves strew the path; +With the falling of the snow, +With the cawing of the crow, +Once again the fields we mow + And gather in the aftermath. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not the sweet, new grass with flowers +Is this harvesting of ours; + Not the upland clover bloom; +But the rowen mired with weeds, +Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, +Where the poppy drops its seeds + In the silence and the gloom. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap261"></a>THE MASQUE OF PANDORA</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap262"></a>I<br/> +THE WORKSHOP OF HEPHÆSTUS</h3> + + <p> + HEPHÆSTUS (standing before the statue of Pandora.) Not fashioned out of + gold, like Hera's throne, Nor forged of iron like the thunderbolts Of Zeus + omnipotent, or other works Wrought by my hands at Lemnos or Olympus, But + moulded in soft clay, that unresisting Yields itself to the touch, this + lovely form Before me stands, perfect in every part. Not Aphrodite's self + appeared more fair, When first upwafted by caressing winds She came to + high Olympus, and the gods Paid homage to her beauty. Thus her hair Was + cinctured; thus her floating drapery Was like a cloud about her, and her + face Was radiant with the sunshine and the sea. + </p> + <p> + THE VOICE OF ZEUS. Is thy work done, Hephæstus? + </p> + <p> + HEPHÆSTUS. It is finished! + </p> + <p> + THE VOICE. Not finished till I breathe the breath of life Into her + nostrils, and she moves and speaks. + </p> + <p> + HEPHÆSTUS. Will she become immortal like ourselves? + </p> + <p> + THE VOICE. The form that thou hast fashioned out of clay Is of the earth + and mortal; but the spirit, The life, the exhalation of my breath, Is of + diviner essence and immortal. The gods shall shower on her their + benefactions, She shall possess all gifts: the gift of song, The gift of + eloquence, the gift of beauty, The fascination and the nameless charm That + shall lead all men captive. + </p> + <p> + HEPHÆSTUS. Wherefore? wherefore? + </p> + <p> + (A wind shakes the house.) + </p> + <p> + I hear the rushing of a mighty wind Through all the halls and chambers of + my house! Her parted lips inhale it, and her bosom Heaves with the + inspiration. As a reed Beside a river in the rippling current Bends to and + fro, she bows or lifts her head. She gazes round about as if amazed; She + is alive; she breathes, but yet she speaks not! + </p> + <p> + (PANDORA descends from the pedestal.) + </p> + <h3> + CHORUS OF THE GRACES + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +AGLAIA. +In the workshop of Hephæstus + What is this I see? +Have the Gods to four increased us + Who were only three? +Beautiful in form and feature, + Lovely as the day, +Can there be so fair a creature + Formed of common clay? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THALIA. +O sweet, pale face! O lovely eyes of azure, + Clear as the waters of a brook that run + Limpid and laughing in the summer sun! + O golden hair that like a miser's treasure +In its abundance overflows the measure! + O graceful form, that cloudlike floatest on + With the soft, undulating gait of one + Who moveth as if motion were a pleasure! +By what name shall I call thee? Nymph or Muse, + Callirrhoe or Urania? Some sweet name + Whose every syllable is a caress +Would best befit thee; but I cannot choose, + Nor do I care to choose; for still the same, + Nameless or named, will be thy loveliness. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EUPHROSYNE. +Dowered with all celestial gifts, + Skilled in every art +That ennobles and uplifts + And delights the heart, +Fair on earth shall be thy fame + As thy face is fair, +And Pandora be the name + Thou henceforth shalt bear. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap263"></a>II<br/> +OLYMPUS.</h3> + + <p> + HERMES (putting on his sandals.) Much must he toil who serves the Immortal + Gods, And I, who am their herald, most of all. No rest have I, nor + respite. I no sooner Unclasp the winged sandals from my feet, Than I again + must clasp them, and depart Upon some foolish errand. But to-day The + errand is not foolish. Never yet With greater joy did I obey the summons + That sends me earthward. I will fly so swiftly That my caduceus in the + whistling air Shall make a sound like the Pandaean pipes, Cheating the + shepherds; for to-day I go, Commissioned by high-thundering Zeus, to lead + A maiden to Prometheus, in his tower, And by my cunning arguments persuade + him To marry her. What mischief lies concealed In this design I know not; + but I know Who thinks of marrying hath already taken One step upon the + road to penitence. Such embassies delight me. Forth I launch On the + sustaining air, nor fear to fall Like Icarus, nor swerve aside like him + Who drove amiss Hyperion's fiery steeds. I sink, I fly! The yielding + element Folds itself round about me like an arm, And holds me as a mother + holds her child. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap264"></a>III<br/> +TOWER OF PROMETHEUS ON MOUNT CAUCASUS</h3> + + <p> + PROMETHEUS. I hear the trumpet of Alectryon Proclaim the dawn. The stars + begin to fade, And all the heavens are full of prophecies And evil + auguries. Blood-red last night I saw great Kronos rise; the crescent moon + Sank through the mist, as if it were the scythe His parricidal hand had + flung far down The western steeps. O ye Immortal Gods, What evil are ye + plotting and contriving? + </p> + <p> + (HERMES and PANDORA at the threshold.) + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. I cannot cross the threshold. An unseen And icy hand repels me. + These blank walls Oppress me with their weight! + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. Powerful ye are, But not omnipotent. Ye cannot fight Against + Necessity. The Fates control you, As they do us, and so far we are equals! + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Motionless, passionless, companionless, He sits there muttering + in his beard. His voice Is like a river flowing underground! + </p> + <p> + HERMES. Prometheus, hail! + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. Who calls me? + </p> + <p> + HERMES. It is I. Dost thou not know me? + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. By thy winged cap And winged heels I know thee. Thou art + Hermes, Captain of thieves! Hast thou again been stealing The heifers of + Admetus in the sweet Meadows of asphodel? or Hera's girdle? Or the + earth-shaking trident of Poseidon? + </p> + <p> + HERMES. And thou, Prometheus; say, hast thou again Been stealing fire from + Helios' chariot-wheels To light thy furnaces? + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. Why comest thou hither So early in the dawn? + </p> + <p> + HERMES. The Immortal Gods Know naught of late or early. Zeus himself The + omnipotent hath sent me. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. For what purpose? + </p> + <p> + HERMES. To bring this maiden to thee. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. I mistrust The Gods and all their gifts. If they have sent her + It is for no good purpose. + </p> + <p> + HERMES. What disaster Could she bring on thy house, who is a woman? + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. The Gods are not my friends, nor am I theirs. Whatever comes + from them, though in a shape As beautiful as this, is evil only. Who art + thou? + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. One who, though to thee unknown, Yet knoweth thee. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. How shouldst thou know me, woman? + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Who knoweth not Prometheus the humane? + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. Prometheus the unfortunate; to whom Both Gods and men have + shown themselves ungrateful. When every spark was quenched on every hearth + Throughout the earth, I brought to man the fire And all its ministrations. + My reward Hath been the rock and vulture. + </p> + <p> + HERMES. But the Gods At last relent and pardon. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. They relent not; They pardon not; they are implacable, + Revengeful, unforgiving! + </p> + <p> + HERMES. As a pledge Of reconciliation they have sent to thee This divine + being, to be thy companion, And bring into thy melancholy house The + sunshine and the fragrance of her youth. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. I need them not. I have within myself All that my heart + desires; the ideal beauty Which the creative faculty of mind Fashions and + follows in a thousand shapes More lovely than the real. My own thoughts + Are my companions; my designs and labors And aspirations are my only + friends. + </p> + <p> + HERMES. Decide not rashly. The decision made Can never be recalled. The + Gods implore not, Plead not, solicit not; they only offer Choice and + occasion, which once being passed Return no more. Dost thou accept the + gift? + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. No gift of theirs, in whatsoever shape It comes to me, with + whatsoever charm To fascinate my sense, will I receive. Leave me. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Let us go hence. I will not stay. + </p> + <p> + HERMES. We leave thee to thy vacant dreams, and all The silence and the + solitude of thought, The endless bitterness of unbelief, The loneliness of + existence without love. + </p> + <h3> + CHORUS OF THE FATES + </h3> + <p> + CLOTHO. How the Titan, the defiant, The self-centred, self-reliant, + Wrapped in visions and illusions, Robs himself of life's best gifts! Till + by all the storm-winds shaken, By the blast of fate o'ertaken, Hopeless, + helpless, and forsaken, In the mists of his confusions To the reefs of + doom he drifts! + </p> + <p> + LACHESIS. Sorely tried and sorely tempted, From no agonies exempted, In + the penance of his trial, And the discipline of pain; Often by illusions + cheated, Often baffled and defeated In the tasks to be completed, He, by + toil and self-denial, To the highest shall attain. + </p> + <p> + ATROPOS. Tempt no more the noble schemer; Bear unto some idle dreamer This + new toy and fascination, This new dalliance and delight! To the garden + where reposes Epimetheus crowned with roses, To the door that never closes + Upon pleasure and temptation, Bring this vision of the night! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap265"></a>IV<br/> +THE AIR</h3> + + <p> + HERMES (returning to Olympus.) As lonely as the tower that he inhabits, As + firm and cold as are the crags about him, Prometheus stands. The + thunderbolts of Zeus Alone can move him; but the tender heart Of + Epimetheus, burning at white heat, Hammers and flames like all his + brother's forges! Now as an arrow from Hyperion's bow, My errand done, I + fly, I float, I soar Into the air, returning to Olympus. O joy of motion! + O delight to cleave The infinite realms of space, the liquid ether, + Through the warm sunshine and the cooling cloud, Myself as light as + sunbeam or as cloud! With one touch of my swift and winged feet, I spurn + the solid earth, and leave it rocking As rocks the bough from which a bird + takes wing. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap266"></a>V<br/> +THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS</h3> + + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Beautiful apparition! go not hence! Surely thou art a Goddess, + for thy voice Is a celestial melody, and thy form Self-poised as if it + floated on the air! + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. No Goddess am I, nor of heavenly birth, But a mere woman + fashioned out of clay And mortal as the rest. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Thy face is fair; There is a wonder in thine azure eyes That + fascinates me. Thy whole presence seems A soft desire, a breathing thought + of love. Say, would thy star like Merope's grow dim If thou shouldst wed + beneath thee? + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Ask me not; I cannot answer thee. I only know The Gods have sent + me hither. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. I believe, And thus believing am most fortunate. It was not + Hermes led thee here, but Eros, And swifter than his arrows were thine + eyes In wounding me. There was no moment's space Between my seeing thee + and loving thee. O, what a telltale face thou hast! Again I see the wonder + in thy tender eyes. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. They do but answer to the love in thine, Yet secretly I wonder + thou shouldst love me. Thou knowest me not. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Perhaps I know thee better Than had I known thee longer. Yet + it seems That I have always known thee, and but now Have found thee. Ah, I + have been waiting long. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. How beautiful is this house! The atmosphere Breathes rest and + comfort, and the many chambers Seem full of welcomes. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. They not only seem, But truly are. This dwelling and its + master Belong to thee. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Here let me stay forever! There is a spell upon me. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Thou thyself Art the enchantress, and I feel thy power Envelop + me, and wrap my soul and sense In an Elysian dream. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA, O, let me stay. How beautiful are all things round about me, + Multiplied by the mirrors on the walls! What treasures hast thou here! Yon + oaken chest, Carven with figures and embossed with gold, Is wonderful to + look upon! What choice And precious things dost thou keep hidden in it? + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. I know not. 'T is a mystery. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Hast thou never Lifted the lid? + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. The oracle forbids. Safely concealed there from all mortal + eyes Forever sleeps the secret of the Gods. Seek not to know what they + have hidden from thee, Till they themselves reveal it. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. As thou wilt. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Let us go forth from this mysterious place. The garden walks + are pleasant at this hour; The nightingales among the sheltering boughs Of + populous and many-nested trees Shall teach me how to woo thee, and shall + tell me By what resistless charms or incantations They won their mates. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Thou dost not need a teacher. + </p> + <p> + (They go out.) + </p> + <p> + CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES. What the Immortals Confide to thy keeping, Tell + unto no man; Waking or sleeping, Closed be thy portals To friend as to + foeman. + </p> + <p> + Silence conceals it; The word that is spoken Betrays and reveals it; By + breath or by token The charm may be broken. + </p> + <p> + With shafts of their splendors The Gods unforgiving Pursue the offenders, + The dead and the living! Fortune forsakes them, Nor earth shall abide + them, Nor Tartarus hide them; Swift wrath overtakes them! + </p> + <p> + With useless endeavor, Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up + the mountain! Immersed in the fountain, Tantalus tastes not The water that + wastes not! Through ages increasing The pangs that afflict him, With + motion unceasing The wheel of Ixion Shall torture its victim! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap267"></a>VI<br/> +IN THE GARDEN</h3> + + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Yon snow-white cloud that sails sublime in ether Is but the + sovereign Zeus, who like a swan Flies to fair-ankled Leda! + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Or perchance Ixion's cloud, the shadowy shape of Hera, That bore + the Centaurs. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. The divine and human. + </p> + <p> + CHORUS OF BIRDS. Gently swaying to and fro, Rocked by all the winds that + blow, Bright with sunshine from above Dark with shadow from below, Beak to + beak and breast to breast In the cradle of their nest, Lie the fledglings + of our love. + </p> + <p> + ECHO. Love! love! + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Hark! listen! Hear how sweetly overhead The feathered + flute-players pipe their songs of love, And echo answers, love and only + love. + </p> + <p> + CHORUS OF BIRDS. Every flutter of the wing, Every note of song we sing, + Every murmur, every tone, Is of love and love alone. + </p> + <p> + ECHO. Love alone! + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Who would not love, if loving she might be Changed like + Callisto to a star in heaven? + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Ah, who would love, if loving she might be Like Semele consumed + and burnt to ashes? + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Whence knowest thou these stories? + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Hermes taught me; He told me all the history of the Gods. + </p> + <p> + CHORUS OF REEDS. Evermore a sound shall be In the reeds of Arcady, + Evermore a low lament Of unrest and discontent, As the story is retold Of + the nymph so coy and cold, Who with frightened feet outran The pursuing + steps of Pan. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. The pipe of Pan out of these reeds is made, And when he plays + upon it to the shepherds They pity him, so mournful is the sound. Be thou + not coy and cold as Syrinx was. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Nor thou as Pan be rude and mannerless. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS (without). Ho! Epimetheus! + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. 'T is my brother's voice; A sound unwelcome and inopportune As + was the braying of Silenus' ass, Once heard in Cybele's garden. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Let me go. I would not be found here. I would not see him. + </p> + <p> + (She escapes among the trees.) + </p> + <p> + CHORUS OF DRYADES. Haste and hide thee, Ere too late, In these thickets + intricate; Lest Prometheus See and chide thee, Lest some hurt Or harm + betide thee, Haste and hide thee! + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS (entering.) Who was it fled from here? I saw a shape Flitting + among the trees. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. It was Pandora. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. O Epimetheus! Is it then in vain That I have warned thee? Let + me now implore. Thou harborest in thy house a dangerous guest. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Whom the Gods love they honor with such guests. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. Whom the Gods would destroy they first make mad. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Shall I refuse the gifts they send to me? + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. Reject all gifts that come from higher powers. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Such gifts as this are not to be rejected. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. Make not thyself the slave of any woman. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Make not thyself the judge of any man. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. I judge thee not; for thou art more than man; Thou art + descended from Titanic race, And hast a Titan's strength, and faculties + That make thee godlike; and thou sittest here Like Heracles spinning + Omphale's flax, And beaten with her sandals. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. O my brother! Thou drivest me to madness with thy taunts. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. And me thou drivest to madness with thy follies. Come with me + to my tower on Caucasus: See there my forges in the roaring caverns, + Beneficent to man, and taste the joy That springs from labor. Read with me + the stars, And learn the virtues that lie hidden in plants, And all things + that are useful. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEU5. O my brother! I am not as thou art. Thou dost inherit Our + father's strength, and I our mother's weakness: The softness of the + Oceanides, The yielding nature that cannot resist. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. Because thou wilt not. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Nay; because I cannot. + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. Assert thyself; rise up to thy full height; Shake from thy + soul these dreams effeminate, These passions born of indolence and ease. + Resolve, and thou art free. But breathe the air Of mountains, and their + unapproachable summits Will lift thee to the level of themselves. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. The roar of forests and of waterfalls, The rushing of a mighty + wind, with loud And undistinguishable voices calling, Are in my ear! + </p> + <p> + PROMETHEUS. O, listen and obey. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Thou leadest me as a child, I follow thee. + </p> + <p> + (They go out.) + </p> + <p> + CHORUS OF OREADES. Centuries old are the mountains; Their foreheads + wrinkled and rifted Helios crowns by day, Pallid Selene by night; From + their bosoms uptossed The snows are driven and drifted, Like Tithonus' + beard Streaming dishevelled and white. + </p> + <p> + Thunder and tempest of wind Their trumpets blow in the vastness; Phantoms + of mist and rain, Cloud and the shadow of cloud, Pass and repass by the + gates Of their inaccessible fastness; Ever unmoved they stand, Solemn, + eternal, and proud, + </p> + <p> + VOICES OF THE WATERS. Flooded by rain and snow In their inexhaustible + sources, Swollen by affluent streams Hurrying onward and hurled Headlong + over the crags, The impetuous water-courses, Rush and roar and plunge Down + to the nethermost world. + </p> + <p> + Say, have the solid rocks Into streams of silver been melted, Flowing over + the plains, Spreading to lakes in the fields? Or have the mountains, the + giants, The ice-helmed, the forest-belted, Scattered their arms abroad; + Flung in the meadows their shields? + </p> + <p> + VOICES OF THE WINDS. High on their turreted cliffs That bolts of thunder + have shattered, Storm-winds muster and blow Trumpets of terrible breath; + Then from the gateways rush, And before them routed and scattered Sullen + the cloud-rack flies, Pale with the pallor of death. + </p> + <p> + Onward the hurricane rides, And flee for shelter the shepherds; White are + the frightened leaves, Harvests with terror are white; Panic seizes the + herds, And even the lions and leopards, Prowling no longer for prey, + Crouch in their caverns with fright. + </p> + <p> + VOICES OF THE FOREST. Guarding the mountains around Majestic the forests + are standing, Bright are their crested helms, Dark is their armor of + leaves; Filled with the breath of freedom Each bosom subsiding, expanding, + Now like the ocean sinks, Now like the ocean upheaves. + </p> + <p> + Planted firm on the rock, With foreheads stern and defiant, Loud they + shout to the winds, Loud to the tempest they call; Naught but Olympian + thunders, That blasted Titan and Giant, Them can uproot and o'erthrow, + Shaking the earth with their fall. + </p> + <p> + CHORUS OF OREADES. These are the Voices Three Of winds and forests and + fountains, Voices of earth and of air, Murmur and rushing of streams, + Making together one sound, The mysterious voice of the mountains, Waking + the sluggard that sleeps, Waking the dreamer of dreams. + </p> + <p> + These are the Voices Three, That speak of endless endeavor, Speak of + endurance and strength, Triumph and fulness of fame, Sounding about the + world, An inspiration forever, Stirring the hearts of men, Shaping their + end and their aim. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap268"></a>VII<br/> +THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS</h3> + + <p> + PANDORA. Left to myself I wander as I will, And as my fancy leads me, + through this house, Nor could I ask a dwelling more complete Were I indeed + the Goddess that he deems me. No mansion of Olympus, framed to be The + habitation of the Immortal Gods, Can be more beautiful. And this is mine + And more than this, the love wherewith he crowns me. As if impelled by + powers invisible And irresistible, my steps return Unto this spacious + hall. All corridors And passages lead hither, and all doors But open into + it. Yon mysterious chest Attracts and fascinates me. Would I knew What + there lies hidden! But the oracle Forbids. Ah me! The secret then is safe. + So would it be if it were in my keeping. A crowd of shadowy faces from the + mirrors That line these walls are watching me. I dare not Lift up the lid. + A hundred times the act Would be repeated, and the secret seen By twice a + hundred incorporeal eyes. + </p> + <p> + (She walks to the other side of the hall.) + </p> + <p> + My feet are weary, wandering to and fro, My eyes with seeing and my heart + with waiting. I will lie here and rest till he returns, Who is my dawn, my + day, my Helios. + </p> + <p> + (Throws herself upon a couch, and falls asleep.) + </p> + <p> + ZEPHYRUS. Come from thy caverns dark and deep. O son of Erebus and Night; + All sense of hearing and of sight Enfold in the serene delight And + quietude of sleep! + </p> + <p> + Set all the silent sentinels To bar and guard the Ivory Gate, And keep the + evil dreams of fate And falsehood and infernal hate Imprisoned in their + cells. + </p> + <p> + But open wide the Gate of Horn, Whence, beautiful as planets, rise The + dreams of truth, with starry eyes, And all the wondrous prophecies And + visions of the morn. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE IVORY GATE. + Ye sentinels of sleep, + It is in vain ye keep +Your drowsy watch before the Ivory Gate; + Though closed the portal seems, + The airy feet of dreams +Ye cannot thus in walls incarcerate. + + We phantoms are and dreams + Born by Tartarean streams, +As ministers of the infernal powers; + O son of Erebus + And Night, behold! we thus +Elude your watchful warders on the towers! + + From gloomy Tartarus + The Fates have summoned us +To whisper in her ear, who lies asleep, + A tale to fan the fire + Of her insane desire +To know a secret that the Gods would keep. + + This passion, in their ire, + The Gods themselves inspire, +To vex mankind with evils manifold, + So that disease and pain + O'er the whole earth may reign, +And nevermore return the Age of Gold. +</pre> + <p> + PANDORA (waking). A voice said in my sleep: "Do not delay: Do not delay; + the golden moments fly! The oracle hath forbidden; yet not thee Doth it + forbid, but Epimetheus only!" I am alone. These faces in the mirrors Are + but the shadows and phantoms of myself; They cannot help nor hinder. No + one sees me, Save the all-seeing Gods, who, knowing good And knowing evil, + have created me Such as I am, and filled me with desire Of knowing good + and evil like themselves. + </p> + <p> + (She approaches the chest.) + </p> + <p> + I hesitate no longer. Weal or woe, Or life or death, the moment shall + decide. + </p> + <p> + (She lifts the lid. A dense mist rises from the chest, and fills the room. + PANDORA falls senseless on the floor. Storm without.) + </p> + <p> + CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE GATE OF HORN. Yes, the moment shall decide! It + already hath decided; And the secret once confided To the keeping of the + Titan Now is flying far and wide, Whispered, told on every side, To + disquiet and to frighten. + </p> + <p> + Fever of the heart and brain, Sorrow, pestilence, and pain, Moans of + anguish, maniac laughter, All the evils that hereafter Shall afflict and + vex mankind, All into the air have risen From the chambers of their + prison; Only Hope remains behind. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap269"></a>VIII<br/> +IN THE GARDEN</h3> + + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. The storm is past, but it hath left behind it Ruin and + desolation. All the walks Are strewn with shattered boughs; the birds are + silent; The flowers, downtrodden by the wind, lie dead; The swollen + rivulet sobs with secret pain, The melancholy reeds whisper together As if + some dreadful deed had been committed They dare not name, and all the air + is heavy With an unspoken sorrow! Premonitions, Foreshadowings of some + terrible disaster Oppress my heart. Ye Gods, avert the omen! + </p> + <p> + PANDORA (coming from the house). O Epimetheus, I no longer dare To lift + mine eyes to thine, nor hear thy voice, Being no longer worthy of thy + love. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. What hast thou done? + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Forgive me not, but kill me. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. What hast thou done? + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. I pray for death, not pardon. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. What hast thou done? + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. I dare not speak of it. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Thy pallor and thy silence terrify me! + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. I have brought wrath and ruin on thy house! My heart hath braved + the oracle that guarded The fatal secret from us, and my hand Lifted the + lid of the mysterious chest! + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Then all is lost! I am indeed undone. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. I pray for punishment, and not for pardon. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Mine is the fault not thine. On me shall fall The vengeance of + the Gods, for I betrayed Their secret when, in evil hour, I said It was a + secret; when, in evil hour, I left thee here alone to this temptation. Why + did I leave thee? + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Why didst thou return? Eternal absence would have been to me The + greatest punishment. To be left alone And face to face with my own crime, + had been Just retribution. Upon me, ye Gods, Let all your vengeance fall! + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. On thee and me. I do not love thee less for what is done, And + cannot be undone. Thy very weakness Hath brought thee nearer to me, and + henceforth My love will have a sense of pity in it, Making it less a + worship than before. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Pity me not; pity is degradation. Love me and kill me. + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Beautiful Pandora! Thou art a Goddess still! + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. I am a woman; And the insurgent demon in my nature, That made me + brave the oracle, revolts At pity and compassion. Let me die; What else + remains for me? + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. Youth, hope, and love: To build a new life on a ruined life, + To make the future fairer than the past, And make the past appear a + troubled dream. Even now in passing through the garden walks Upon the + ground I saw a fallen nest Ruined and full of rain; and over me Beheld the + uncomplaining birds already Busy in building a new habitation. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Auspicious omen! + </p> + <p> + EPIMETHEUS. May the Eumenides Put out their torches and behold us not, And + fling away their whips of scorpions And touch us not. + </p> + <p> + PANDORA. Me let them punish. Only through punishment of our evil deeds, + Only through suffering, are we reconciled To the immortal Gods and to + ourselves. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES. + Never shall souls like these + Escape the Eumenides, +The daughters dark of Acheron and Night! + Unquenched our torches glare, + Our scourges in the air +Send forth prophetic sounds before they smite. + + Never by lapse of time + The soul defaced by crime +Into its former self returns again; + For every guilty deed + Holds in itself the seed +Of retribution and undying pain. + + Never shall be the loss + Restored, till Helios +Hath purified them with his heavenly fires; + Then what was lost is won, + And the new life begun, +Kindled with nobler passions and desires. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap270"></a>THE HANGING OF THE CRANE</h2> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The lights are out, and gone are all the guests +That thronging came with merriment and jests + To celebrate the Hanging of the Crane +In the new house,—into the night are gone; +But still the fire upon the hearth burns on, + And I alone remain. + + O fortunate, O happy day, + When a new household finds its place + Among the myriad homes of earth, + Like a new star just sprung to birth, + And rolled on its harmonious way + Into the boundless realms of space! +</pre> + <p> + So said the guests in speech and song, As in the chimney, burning bright, + We hung the iron crane to-night, And merry was the feast and long. + </p> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And now I sit and muse on what may be, +And in my vision see, or seem to see, + Through floating vapors interfused with light, +Shapes indeterminate, that gleam and fade, +As shadows passing into deeper shade + Sink and elude the sight. +</pre> + <p> + For two alone, there in the hall, As spread the table round and small; + Upon the polished silver shine The evening lamps, but, more divine, The + light of love shines over all; Of love, that says not mine and thine, But + ours, for ours is thine and mine. + </p> + <p> + They want no guests, to come between Their tender glances like a screen, + And tell them tales of land and sea, And whatsoever may betide The great, + forgotten world outside; They want no guests; they needs must be Each + other's own best company. + </p> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The picture fades; as at a village fair +A showman's views, dissolving into air, + Again appear transfigured on the screen, +So in my fancy this; and now once more, +In part transfigured, through the open door + Appears the selfsame scene. +</pre> + <p> + Seated, I see the two again, But not alone; they entertain A little angel + unaware, With face as round as is the moon; A royal guest with flaxen + hair, Who, throned upon his lofty chair, Drums on the table with his + spoon, Then drops it careless on the floor, To grasp at things unseen + before. + </p> + <p> + Are these celestial manners? these The ways that win, the arts that + please? Ah yes; consider well the guest, And whatsoe'er he does seems + best; He ruleth by the right divine Of helplessness, so lately born In + purple chambers of the morn, As sovereign over thee and thine. He speaketh + not; and yet there lies A conversation in his eyes; The golden silence of + the Greek, The gravest wisdom of the wise, Not spoken in language, but in + looks More legible than printed books, As if he could but would not speak. + And now, O monarch absolute, Thy power is put to proof; for, lo! + Resistless, fathomless, and slow, The nurse comes rustling like the sea, + And pushes back thy chair and thee, And so good night to King Canute. + </p> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As one who walking in a forest sees +A lovely landscape through the parted frees, + Then sees it not, for boughs that intervene +Or as we see the moon sometimes revealed +Through drifting clouds, and then again concealed, + So I behold the scene. +</pre> + <p> + There are two guests at table now; The king, deposed and older grown, No + longer occupies the throne,— The crown is on his sister's brow; A + Princess from the Fairy Isles, The very pattern girl of girls. All covered + and embowered in curls, Rose-tinted from the Isle of Flowers, And sailing + with soft, silken sails From far-off Dreamland into ours. Above their + bowls with rims of blue Four azure eyes of deeper hue Are looking, dreamy + with delight; Limpid as planets that emerge Above the ocean's rounded + verge, Soft-shining through the summer night. Steadfast they gaze, yet + nothing see Beyond the horizon of their bowls; Nor care they for the world + that rolls With all its freight of troubled souls Into the days that are + to be. + </p> + +<h4>V</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Again the tossing boughs shut out the scene, +Again the drifting vapors intervene, + And the moon's pallid disk is hidden quite; +And now I see the table wider grown, +As round a pebble into water thrown + Dilates a ring of light. +</pre> + <p> + I see the table wider grown, I see it garlanded with guests, As if fair + Ariadne's Crown Out of the sky had fallen down; Maidens within whose + tender breasts A thousand restless hopes and fears, Forth reaching to the + coming years, Flutter awhile, then quiet lie Like timid birds that fain + would fly, But do not dare to leave their nests;— And youths, who in + their strength elate Challenge the van and front of fate, Eager as + champions to be In the divine knight-errantry Of youth, that travels sea + and land Seeking adventures, or pursues, Through cities, and through + solitudes Frequented by the lyric Muse, The phantom with the beckoning + hand, That still allures and still eludes. O sweet illusions of the brain! + O sudden thrills of fire and frost! The world is bright while ye remain, + And dark and dead when ye are lost! + </p> + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The meadow-brook, that seemeth to stand still, +Quickens its current as it nears the mill; + And so the stream of Time that lingereth +In level places, and so dull appears, +Runs with a swifter current as it nears + The gloomy mills of Death. +</pre> + <p> + And now, like the magician's scroll, That in the owner's keeping shrinks + With every wish he speaks or thinks, Till the last wish consumes the + whole, The table dwindles, and again I see the two alone remain. The crown + of stars is broken in parts; Its jewels, brighter than the day, Have one + by one been stolen away To shine in other homes and hearts. One is a + wanderer now afar In Ceylon or in Zanzibar, Or sunny regions of Cathay; + And one is in the boisterous camp Mid clink of arms and horses' tramp, And + battle's terrible array. I see the patient mother read, With aching heart, + of wrecks that float Disabled on those seas remote, Or of some great + heroic deed On battle-fields where thousands bleed To lift one hero into + fame. Anxious she bends her graceful head Above these chronicles of pain, + And trembles with a secret dread Lest there among the drowned or slain She + find the one beloved name. + </p> + +<h4>VII</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +After a day of cloud and wind and rain +Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, + And touching all the darksome woods with light, +Smiles on the fields, until they laugh and sing, +Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring + Drops down into the night. +</pre> + <p> + What see I now? The night is fair, The storm of grief, the clouds of care, + The wind, the rain, have passed away; The lamps are lit, the fires burn + bright, The house is full of life and light: It is the Golden Wedding day. + The guests come thronging in once more, Quick footsteps sound along the + floor, The trooping children crowd the stair, And in and out and + everywhere Flashes along the corridor The sunshine of their golden hair. + On the round table in the hall Another Ariadne's Crown Out of the sky hath + fallen down; More than one Monarch of the Moon Is drumming with his silver + spoon; The light of love shines over all. + </p> + <p> + O fortunate, O happy day! The people sing, the people say. The ancient + bridegroom and the bride, Smiling contented and serene Upon the blithe, + bewildering scene, Behold, well pleased, on every side Their forms and + features multiplied, As the reflection of a light Between two burnished + mirrors gleams, Or lamps upon a bridge at night Stretch on and on before + the sight, Till the long vista endless seems. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap271"></a>MORITURI SALUTAMUS</h2> + +<p class="center"> +POEM FOR THE FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE CLASS OF 1825 IN BOWDOIN COLLEGE +</p> + + <p> + Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis, Et fugiunt freno non + remorante dies.—OVID, Fastorum, Lib. vi. + </p> + <p> + "O Caesar, we who are about to die Salute you!" was the gladiators' cry In + the arena, standing face to face With death and with the Roman populace. + </p> + <p> + O ye familiar scenes,—ye groves of pine, That once were mine and are + no longer mine,— Thou river, widening through the meadows green To + the vast sea, so near and yet unseen,— Ye halls, in whose seclusion + and repose Phantoms of fame, like exhalations, rose And vanished,—we + who are about to die Salute you; earth and air and sea and sky, And the + Imperial Sun that scatters down His sovereign splendors upon grove and + town. + </p> + <p> + Ye do not answer us! ye do not hear! We are forgotten; and in your austere + And calm indifference, ye little care Whether we come or go, or whence or + where. What passing generations fill these halls, What passing voices echo + front these walls, Ye heed not; we are only as the blast, A moment heard, + and then forever past. + </p> + <p> + Not so the teachers who in earlier days Led our bewildered feet through + learning's maze; They answer us—alas! what have I said? What + greetings come there from the voiceless dead? What salutation, welcome, or + reply? What pressure from the hands that lifeless lie? They are no longer + here; they all are gone Into the land of shadows,—all save one. + Honor and reverence, and the good repute That follows faithful service as + its fruit, Be unto him, whom living we salute. + </p> + <p> + The great Italian poet, when he made His dreadful journey to the realms of + shade, Met there the old instructor of his youth, And cried in tones of + pity and of ruth: "O, never from the memory of my heart Your dear, + paternal image shall depart, Who while on earth, ere yet by death + surprised, Taught me how mortals are immortalized; How grateful am I for + that patient care All my life long my language shall declare." + </p> + <p> + To-day we make the poet's words our own And utter them in plaintive + undertone; Nor to the living only be they said, But to the other living + called the dead, Whose dear, paternal images appear Not wrapped in gloom, + but robed in sunshine here; Whose simple lives, complete and without flaw, + Were part and parcel of great Nature's law; Who said not to their Lord, as + if afraid "Here is thy talent in a napkin laid," But labored in their + sphere, as men who live In the delight that work alone can give. Peace be + to them; eternal peace and rest, And the fulfilment of the great behest: + "Ye have been faithful over a few things, Over ten cities shall ye reign + as kings." + </p> + <p> + And ye who fill the places we once filled, And follow in the furrows that + we tilled, Young men, whose generous hearts are beating high, We who are + old, and are about to die, Salute you; hail you; take your hands in ours, + And crown you with our welcome as with flowers! How beautiful is youth! + how bright it gleams With its illusions, aspirations, dreams! Book of + Beginnings, Story without End, Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend! + Aladdin's Lamp, and Fortunatus' Purse, That holds the treasures of the + universe! All possibilities are in its hands, No danger daunts it, and no + foe withstands; In its sublime audacity of faith, "Be thou removed!" it to + the mountain saith, And with ambitious feet, secure and proud, Ascends the + ladder leaning on the cloud! + </p> + <p> + As ancient Priam at the Scaean gate Sat on the walls of Troy in regal + state With the old men, too old and weak to fight, Chirping like + grasshoppers in their delight To see the embattled hosts, with spear and + shield, Of Trojans and Achaians in the field; So from the snowy summits of + our years We see you in the plain, as each appears, And question of you; + asking, "Who is he That towers above the others? Which may be Atreides, + Menelaus, Odysseus, Ajax the great, or bold Idomeneus?" + </p> + <p> + Let him not boast who puts his armor on As he who puts it off, the battle + done. Study yourselves; and most of all note well Wherein kind Nature + meant you to excel. Not every blossom ripens into fruit; Minerva, the + inventress of the flute, Flung it aside, when she her face surveyed + Distorted in a fountain as she played; The unlucky Marsyas found it, and + his fate Was one to make the bravest hesitate. + </p> + <p> + Write on your doors the saying wise and old, "Be bold! be bold!" and + everywhere—"Be bold; Be not too bold!" Yet better the excess Than + the defect; better the more than less; Better like Hector in the field to + die, Than like a perfumed Paris turn and fly, + </p> + <p> + And now, my classmates; ye remaining few That number not the half of those + we knew, Ye, against whose familiar names not yet The fatal asterisk of + death is set, Ye I salute! The horologe of Time Strikes the half-century + with a solemn chime, And summons us together once again, The joy of + meeting not unmixed with pain. + </p> + <p> + Where are the others? Voices from the deep Caverns of darkness answer me: + "They sleep!" I name no names; instinctively I feel Each at some + well-remembered grave will kneel, And from the inscription wipe the weeds + and moss, For every heart best knoweth its own loss. I see their scattered + gravestones gleaming white Through the pale dusk of the impending night; + O'er all alike the impartial sunset throws Its golden lilies mingled with + the rose; We give to each a tender thought, and pass Out of the graveyards + with their tangled grass, Unto these scenes frequented by our feet When we + were young, and life was fresh and sweet. + </p> + <p> + What shall I say to you? What can I say Better than silence is? When I + survey This throng of faces turned to meet my own, Friendly and fair, and + yet to me unknown, Transformed the very landscape seems to be; It is the + same, yet not the same to me. So many memories crowd upon my brain, So + many ghosts are in the wooded plain, I fain would steal away, with + noiseless tread, As from a house where some one lieth dead. I cannot go;—I + pause;—I hesitate; My feet reluctant linger at the gate; As one who + struggles in a troubled dream To speak and cannot, to myself I seem. + </p> + <p> + Vanish the dream! Vanish the idle fears! Vanish the rolling mists of fifty + years! Whatever time or space may intervene, I will not be a stranger in + this scene. Here every doubt, all indecision, ends; Hail, my companions, + comrades, classmates, friends! + </p> + <p> + Ah me! the fifty years since last we met Seem to me fifty folios bound and + set By Time, the great transcriber, on his shelves, Wherein are written + the histories of ourselves. What tragedies, what comedies, are there; What + joy and grief, what rapture and despair! What chronicles of triumph and + defeat, Of struggle, and temptation, and retreat! What records of regrets, + and doubts, and fears What pages blotted, blistered by our tears! What + lovely landscapes on the margin shine, What sweet, angelic faces, what + divine And holy images of love and trust, Undimmed by age, unsoiled by + damp or dust! + </p> + <p> + Whose hand shall dare to open and explore These volumes, closed and + clasped forevermore? Not mine. With reverential feet I pass; I hear a + voice that cries, "Alas! alas! Whatever hath been written shall remain, + Nor be erased nor written o'er again; The unwritten only still belongs to + thee: Take heed, and ponder well what that shall be." + </p> + <p> + As children frightened by a thundercloud Are reassured if some one reads + aloud A tale of wonder, with enchantment fraught, Or wild adventure, that + diverts their thought, Let me endeavor with a tale to chase The gathering + shadows of the time and place, And banish what we all too deeply feel + Wholly to say, or wholly to conceal. + </p> + <p> + In mediaeval Rome, I know not where, There stood an image with its arm in + air, And on its lifted finger, shining clear, A golden ring with the + device, "Strike here!" Greatly the people wondered, though none guessed + The meaning that these words but half expressed, Until a learned clerk, + who at noonday With downcast eyes was passing on his way, Paused, and + observed the spot, and marked it well, Whereon the shadow of the finger + fell; And, coming back at midnight, delved, and found A secret stairway + leading under ground. Down this he passed into a spacious hall, Lit by a + flaming jewel on the wall; And opposite in threatening attitude With bow + and shaft a brazen statue stood. Upon its forehead, like a coronet, Were + these mysterious words of menace set: "That which I am, I am; my fatal aim + None can escape, not even yon luminous flame!" + </p> + <p> + Midway the hall was a fair table placed, With cloth of gold, and golden + cups enchased With rubies, and the plates and knives were gold, And gold + the bread and viands manifold. Around it, silent, motionless, and sad, + Were seated gallant knights in armor clad, And ladies beautiful with plume + and zone, But they were stone, their hearts within were stone; And the + vast hall was filled in every part With silent crowds, stony in face and + heart. + </p> + <p> + Long at the scene, bewildered and amazed The trembling clerk in speechless + wonder gazed; Then from the table, by his greed made bold, He seized a + goblet and a knife of gold, And suddenly from their seats the guests + upsprang, The vaulted ceiling with loud clamors rang, The archer sped his + arrow, at their call, Shattering the lambent jewel on the wall, And all + was dark around and overhead;— Stark on the door the luckless clerk + lay dead! + </p> + <p> + The writer of this legend then records Its ghostly application in these + words: The image is the Adversary old, Whose beckoning finger points to + realms of gold; Our lusts and passions are the downward stair That leads + the soul from a diviner air; The archer, Death; the flaming jewel, Life; + Terrestrial goods, the goblet and the knife; The knights and ladies, all + whose flesh and bone By avarice have been hardened into stone; The clerk, + the scholar whom the love of pelf Tempts from his books and from his + nobler self. + </p> + <p> + The scholar and the world! The endless strife, The discord in the + harmonies of life! The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all + the sweet serenity of books; The market-place, the eager love of gain, + Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain! + </p> + <p> + But why, you ask me, should this tale be told To men grown old, or who are + growing old? It is too late! Ah, nothing is too late Till the tired heart + shall cease to palpitate. Cato learned Greek at eighty; Sophocles Wrote + his grand Oedipus, and Simonides Bore off the prize of verse from his + compeers, When each had numbered more than fourscore years, And + Theophrastus, at fourscore and ten, Had but begun his Characters of Men. + Chaucer, at Woodstock with the nightingales, At sixty wrote the Canterbury + Tales; Goethe at Weimar, toiling to the last, Completed Faust when eighty + years were past. These are indeed exceptions; but they show How far the + gulf-stream of our youth may flow Into the arctic regions of our lives. + Where little else than life itself survives. + </p> + <p> + As the barometer foretells the storm While still the skies are clear, the + weather warm, So something in us, as old age draws near, Betrays the + pressure of the atmosphere. The nimble mercury, ere we are aware, Descends + the elastic ladder of the air; The telltale blood in artery and vein Sinks + from its higher levels in the brain; Whatever poet, orator, or sage May + say of it, old age is still old age. It is the waning, not the crescent + moon; The dusk of evening, not the blaze of noon: It is not strength, but + weakness; not desire, But its surcease; not the fierce heat of fire, The + burning and consuming element, But that of ashes and of embers spent, In + which some living sparks we still discern, Enough to warm, but not enough + to burn. + </p> + <p> + What then? Shall we sit idly down and say The night hath come; it is no + longer day? The night hath not yet come; we are not quite Cut off from + labor by the failing light; Something remains for us to do or dare; Even + the oldest tree some fruit may bear; Not Oedipus Coloneus, or Greek Ode, + Or tales of pilgrims that one morning rode Out of the gateway of the + Tabard inn, But other something, would we but begin; For age is + opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the + evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by + day. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap272"></a>A BOOK OF SONNETS</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap273"></a>THREE FRIENDS OF MINE</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When I remember them, those friends of mine, + Who are no longer here, the noble three, + Who half my life were more than friends to me, + And whose discourse was like a generous wine, +I most of all remember the divine + Something, that shone in them, and made us see + The archetypal man, and what might be + The amplitude of Nature's first design. +In vain I stretch my hands to clasp their hands; + I cannot find them. Nothing now is left + But a majestic memory. They meanwhile +Wander together in Elysian lands, + Perchance remembering me, who am bereft + Of their dear presence, and, remembering, smile. +</pre> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In Attica thy birthplace should have been, + Or the Ionian Isles, or where the seas + Encircle in their arms the Cyclades, + So wholly Greek wast thou in thy serene +And childlike joy of life, O Philhellene! + Around thee would have swarmed the Attic bees; + Homer had been thy friend, or Socrates, + And Plato welcomed thee to his demesne. +For thee old legends breathed historic breath; + Thou sawest Poseidon in the purple sea, + And in the sunset Jason's fleece of gold! +O, what hadst thou to do with cruel Death, + Who wast so full of life, or Death with thee, + That thou shouldst die before thou hadst grown old! +</pre> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I stand again on the familiar shore, + And hear the waves of the distracted sea + Piteously calling and lamenting thee, + And waiting restless at thy cottage door. +The rocks, the sea-weed on the ocean floor, + The willows in the meadow, and the free + Wild winds of the Atlantic welcome me; + Then why shouldst thou be dead, and come no more? +Ah, why shouldst thou be dead, when common men + Are busy with their trivial affairs, + Having and holding? Why, when thou hadst read +Nature's mysterious manuscript, and then + Wast ready to reveal the truth it bears, + Why art thou silent! Why shouldst thou be dead? +</pre> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +River, that stealest with such silent pace + Around the City of the Dead, where lies + A friend who bore thy name, and whom these eyes + Shall see no more in his accustomed place, +Linger and fold him in thy soft embrace + And say good night, for now the western skies + Are red with sunset, and gray mists arise + Like damps that gather on a dead man's face. +Good night! good night! as we so oft have said + Beneath this roof at midnight in the days + That are no more, and shall no more return. +Thou hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed; + I stay a little longer, as one stays + To cover up the embers that still burn. +</pre> + +<h4>V</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The doors are all wide open; at the gate + The blossomed lilacs counterfeit a blaze, + And seem to warm the air; a dreamy haze + Hangs o'er the Brighton meadows like a fate, +And on their margin, with sea-tides elate, + The flooded Charles, as in the happier days, + Writes the last letter of his name, and stays + His restless steps, as if compelled to wait. +I also wait; but they will come no more, + Those friends of mine, whose presence satisfied + The thirst and hunger of my heart. Ah me! +They have forgotten the pathway to my door! + Something is gone from nature since they died, + And summer is not summer, nor can be. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap274"></a>CHAUCER</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +An old man in a lodge within a park; + The chamber walls depicted all around + With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound. + And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark, +Whose song comes with the sunshine through the dark + Of painted glass in leaden lattice bound; + He listeneth and he laugheth at the sound, + Then writeth in a book like any clerk. +He is the poet of the dawn, who wrote + The Canterbury Tales, and his old age + Made beautiful with song; and as I read +I hear the crowing cock, I hear the note + Of lark and linnet, and from every page + Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap275"></a>SHAKESPEARE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A vision as of crowded city streets, + With human life in endless overflow; + Thunder of thoroughfares; trumpets that blow + To battle; clamor, in obscure retreats, +Of sailors landed from their anchored fleets; + Tolling of bells in turrets, and below + Voices of children, and bright flowers that throw + O'er garden-walls their intermingled sweets! +This vision comes to me when I unfold + The volume of the Poet paramount, + Whom all the Muses loved, not one alone;— +Into his hands they put the lyre of gold, + And, crowned with sacred laurel at their fount, + Placed him as Musagetes on their throne. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap276"></a>MILTON</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I pace the sounding sea-beach and behold + How the voluminous billows roll and run, + Upheaving and subsiding, while the sun + Shines through their sheeted emerald far unrolled, +And the ninth wave, slow gathering fold by fold + All its loose-flowing garments into one, + Plunges upon the shore, and floods the dun + Pale reach of sands, and changes them to gold. +So in majestic cadence rise and fall + The mighty undulations of thy song, + O sightless bard, England's Maeonides! +And ever and anon, high over all + Uplifted, a ninth wave superb and strong, + Floods all the soul with its melodious seas. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap277"></a>KEATS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The young Endymion sleeps Endymion's sleep; + The shepherd-boy whose tale was left half told! + The solemn grove uplifts its shield of gold + To the red rising moon, and loud and deep +The nightingale is singing from the steep; + It is midsummer, but the air is cold; + Can it be death? Alas, beside the fold + A shepherd's pipe lies shattered near his sheep. +Lo! in the moonlight gleams a marble white, + On which I read: "Here lieth one whose name + Was writ in water." And was this the meed +Of his sweet singing? Rather let me write: + "The smoking flax before it burst to flame + Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap278"></a>THE GALAXY</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Torrent of light and river of the air, + Along whose bed the glimmering stars are seen + Like gold and silver sands in some ravine + Where mountain streams have left their channels bare! +The Spaniard sees in thee the pathway, where + His patron saint descended in the sheen + Of his celestial armor, on serene + And quiet nights, when all the heavens were fair. +Not this I see, nor yet the ancient fable + Of Phaeton's wild course, that scorched the skies + Where'er the hoofs of his hot coursers trod; +But the white drift of worlds o'er chasms of sable, + The star-dust that is whirled aloft and flies + From the invisible chariot-wheels of God. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap279"></a>THE SOUND OF THE SEA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep, + And round the pebbly beaches far and wide + I heard the first wave of the rising tide + Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep; +A voice out of the silence of the deep, + A sound mysteriously multiplied + As of a cataract from the mountain's side, + Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep. +So comes to us at times, from the unknown + And inaccessible solitudes of being, + The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul; +And inspirations, that we deem our own, + Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing + Of things beyond our reason or control. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap280"></a>A SUMMER DAY BY THE SEA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The sun is set; and in his latest beams + Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold, + Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, + The falling mantle of the Prophet seems. +From the dim headlands many a lighthouse gleams, + The street-lamps of the ocean; and behold, + O'erhead the banners of the night unfold; + The day hath passed into the land of dreams. +O summer day beside the joyous sea! + O summer day so wonderful and white, + So full of gladness and so full of pain! +Forever and forever shalt thou be + To some the gravestone of a dead delight, + To some the landmark of a new domain. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap281"></a>THE TIDES</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I saw the long line of the vacant shore, + The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand, + And the brown rocks left bare on every hand, + As if the ebbing tide would flow no more. +Then heard I, more distinctly than before, + The ocean breathe and its great breast expand, + And hurrying came on the defenceless land + The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar. +All thought and feeling and desire, I said, + Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song + Have ebbed from me forever! Suddenly o'er me +They swept again from their deep ocean bed, + And in a tumult of delight, and strong + As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap282"></a>A SHADOW</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I said unto myself, if I were dead, + What would befall these children? What would be + Their fate, who now are looking up to me + For help and furtherance? Their lives, I said, +Would be a volume wherein I have read + But the first chapters, and no longer see + To read the rest of their dear history, + So full of beauty and so full of dread. +Be comforted; the world is very old, + And generations pass, as they have passed, + A troop of shadows moving with the sun; +Thousands of times has the old tale been told; + The world belongs to those who come the last, + They will find hope and strength as we have done. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap283"></a>A NAMELESS GRAVE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"A soldier of the Union mustered out," + Is the inscription on an unknown grave + At Newport News, beside the salt-sea wave, + Nameless and dateless; sentinel or scout +Shot down in skirmish, or disastrous rout + Of battle, when the loud artillery drave + Its iron wedges through the ranks of brave + And doomed battalions, storming the redoubt. +Thou unknown hero sleeping by the sea + In thy forgotten grave! with secret shame + I feel my pulses beat, my forehead burn, +When I remember thou hast given for me + All that thou hadst, thy life, thy very name, + And I can give thee nothing in return. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap284"></a>SLEEP</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound + Seems from some faint Aeolian harp-string caught; + Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes of thought + As Hermes with his lyre in sleep profound +The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus bound; + For I am weary, and am overwrought + With too much toil, with too much care distraught, + And with the iron crown of anguish crowned. +Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek, + O peaceful Sleep! until from pain released + I breathe again uninterrupted breath! +Ah, with what subtile meaning did the Greek + Call thee the lesser mystery at the feast + Whereof the greater mystery is death! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap285"></a>THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Taddeo Gaddi built me. I am old, + Five centuries old. I plant my foot of stone + Upon the Arno, as St. Michael's own + Was planted on the dragon. Fold by fold +Beneath me as it struggles. I behold + Its glistening scales. Twice hath it overthrown + My kindred and companions. Me alone + It moveth not, but is by me controlled, +I can remember when the Medici + Were driven from Florence; longer still ago + The final wars of Ghibelline and Guelf. +Florence adorns me with her jewelry; + And when I think that Michael Angelo + Hath leaned on me, I glory in myself. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap286"></a>IL PONTE VECCHIO DI FIRENZE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Gaddi mi fece; il Ponte Vecchio sono; + Cinquecent' anni gia sull' Arno pianto + Il piede, come il suo Michele Santo + Pianto sul draco. Mentre ch' io ragiono +Lo vedo torcere con flebil suono + Le rilucenti scaglie. Ha questi affranto + Due volte i miei maggior. Me solo intanto + Neppure muove, ed io non l' abbandono. +Io mi rammento quando fur cacciati + I Medici; pur quando Ghibellino + E Guelfo fecer pace mi rammento. +Fiorenza i suoi giojelli m' ha prestati; + E quando penso ch' Agnolo il divino + Su me posava, insuperbir mi sento. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap287"></a>NATURE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, + Leads by the hand her little child to bed, + Half willing, half reluctant to be led, + And leave his broken playthings on the floor, +Still gazing at them through the open door, + Nor wholly reassured and comforted + By promises of others in their stead, + Which, though more splendid, may not please him more; +So Nature deals with us, and takes away + Our playthings one by one, and by the hand + Leads us to rest so gently, that we go +Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, + Being too full of sleep to understand + How far the unknown transcends the what we know. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap288"></a>IN THE CHURCHYARD AT TARRYTOWN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Here lies the gentle humorist, who died + In the bright Indian Summer of his fame! + A simple stone, with but a date and name, + Marks his secluded resting-place beside +The river that he loved and glorified. + Here in the autumn of his days he came, + But the dry leaves of life were all aflame + With tints that brightened and were multiplied. +How sweet a life was his; how sweet a death! + Living, to wing with mirth the weary hours, + Or with romantic tales the heart to cheer; +Dying, to leave a memory like the breath + Of summers full of sunshine and of showers, + A grief and gladness in the atmosphere. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap289"></a>ELIOT'S OAK</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thou ancient oak! whose myriad leaves are loud + With sounds of unintelligible speech, + Sounds as of surges on a shingly beach, + Or multitudinous murmurs of a crowd; +With some mysterious gift of tongues endowed, + Thou speakest a different dialect to each; + To me a language that no man can teach, + Of a lost race, long vanished like a cloud. +For underneath thy shade, in days remote, + Seated like Abraham at eventide + Beneath the oaks of Mamre, the unknown +Apostle of the Indians, Eliot, wrote + His Bible in a language that hath died + And is forgotten, save by thee alone. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap290"></a>THE DESCENT OF THE MUSES</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nine sisters, beautiful in form and face, + Came from their convent on the shining heights + Of Pierus, the mountain of delights, + To dwell among the people at its base. +Then seemed the world to change. All time and space, + Splendor of cloudless days and starry nights, + And men and manners, and all sounds and sights, + Had a new meaning, a diviner grace. +Proud were these sisters, but were not too proud + To teach in schools of little country towns + Science and song, and all the arts that please; +So that while housewives span, and farmers ploughed, + Their comely daughters, clad in homespun gowns, + Learned the sweet songs of the Pierides. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap291"></a>VENICE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +White swan of cities, slumbering in thy nest + So wonderfully built among the reeds + Of the lagoon, that fences thee and feeds, + As sayeth thy old historian and thy guest! +White water-lily, cradled and caressed + By ocean streams, and from the silt and weeds + Lifting thy golden filaments and seeds, + Thy sun-illumined spires, thy crown and crest! +White phantom city, whose untrodden streets + Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting + Shadows of palaces and strips of sky; +I wait to see thee vanish like the fleets + Seen in mirage, or towers of cloud uplifting + In air their unsubstantial masonry. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap292"></a>THE POETS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O ye dead Poets, who are living still + Immortal in your verse, though life be fled, + And ye, O living Poets, who are dead + Though ye are living, if neglect can kill, +Tell me if in the darkest hours of ill, + With drops of anguish falling fast and red + From the sharp crown of thorns upon your head, + Ye were not glad your errand to fulfil? +Yes; for the gift and ministry of Song + Have something in them so divinely sweet, + It can assuage the bitterness of wrong; +Not in the clamor of the crowded street, + Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, + But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap293"></a>PARKER CLEAVELAND</h3> + +<p class="center"> +WRITTEN ON REVISITING BRUNSWICK IN THE SUMMER OF 1875 +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Among the many lives that I have known, + None I remember more serene and sweet, + More rounded in itself and more complete, + Than his, who lies beneath this funeral stone. +These pines, that murmur in low monotone, + These walks frequented by scholastic feet, + Were all his world; but in this calm retreat + For him the Teacher's chair became a throne. +With fond affection memory loves to dwell + On the old days, when his example made + A pastime of the toil of tongue and pen; +And now, amid the groves he loved so well + That naught could lure him from their grateful shade, + He sleeps, but wakes elsewhere, for God hath said, Amen! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap294"></a>THE HARVEST MOON</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes + And roofs of villages, on woodland crests + And their aerial neighborhoods of nests + Deserted, on the curtained window-panes +Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes + And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests! + Gone are the birds that were our summer guests, + With the last sheaves return the laboring wains! +All things are symbols: the external shows + Of Nature have their image in the mind, + As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves; +The song-birds leave us at the summer's close, + Only the empty nests are left behind, + And pipings of the quail among the sheaves. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap295"></a>TO THE RIVER RHONE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thou Royal River, born of sun and shower + In chambers purple with the Alpine glow, + Wrapped in the spotless ermine of the snow + And rocked by tempests!—at the appointed hour +Forth, like a steel-clad horseman from a tower, + With clang and clink of harness dost thou go + To meet thy vassal torrents, that below + Rush to receive thee and obey thy power. +And now thou movest in triumphal march, + A king among the rivers! On thy way + A hundred towns await and welcome thee; +Bridges uplift for thee the stately arch, + Vineyards encircle thee with garlands gay, + And fleets attend thy progress to the sea! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap296"></a>THE THREE SILENCES OF MOLINOS</h3> + +<p class="center"> +TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Three Silences there are: the first of speech, + The second of desire, the third of thought; + This is the lore a Spanish monk, distraught + With dreams and visions, was the first to teach. +These Silences, commingling each with each, + Made up the perfect Silence, that he sought + And prayed for, and wherein at times he caught + Mysterious sounds from realms beyond our reach. +O thou, whose daily life anticipates + The life to come, and in whose thought and word + The spiritual world preponderates. +Hermit of Amesbury! thou too hast heard + Voices and melodies from beyond the gates, + And speakest only when thy soul is stirred! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap297"></a>THE TWO RIVERS</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Slowly the hour-hand of the clock moves round; + So slowly that no human eye hath power + To see it move! Slowly in shine or shower + The painted ship above it, homeward bound, +Sails, but seems motionless, as if aground; + Yet both arrive at last; and in his tower + The slumberous watchman wakes and strikes the hour, + A mellow, measured, melancholy sound. +Midnight! the outpost of advancing day! + The frontier town and citadel of night! + The watershed of Time, from which the streams +Of Yesterday and To-morrow take their way, + One to the land of promise and of light, + One to the land of darkness and of dreams! +</pre> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O River of Yesterday, with current swift + Through chasms descending, and soon lost to sight, + I do not care to follow in their flight + The faded leaves, that on thy bosom drift! +O River of To-morrow, I uplift + Mine eyes, and thee I follow, as the night + Wanes into morning, and the dawning light + Broadens, and all the shadows fade and shift! +I follow, follow, where thy waters run + Through unfrequented, unfamiliar fields, + Fragrant with flowers and musical with song; +Still follow, follow; sure to meet the sun, + And confident, that what the future yields + Will be the right, unless myself be wrong. +</pre> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Yet not in vain, O River of Yesterday, + Through chasms of darkness to the deep descending, + I heard thee sobbing in the rain, and blending + Thy voice with other voices far away. +I called to thee, and yet thou wouldst not stay, + But turbulent, and with thyself contending, + And torrent-like thy force on pebbles spending, + Thou wouldst not listen to a poet's lay. +Thoughts, like a loud and sudden rush of wings, + Regrets and recollections of things past, + With hints and prophecies of things to be, +And inspirations, which, could they be things, + And stay with us, and we could hold them fast, + Were our good angels,—these I owe to thee. +</pre> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And thou, O River of To-morrow, flowing + Between thy narrow adamantine walls, + But beautiful, and white with waterfalls, + And wreaths of mist, like hands the pathway showing; +I hear the trumpets of the morning blowing, + I hear thy mighty voice, that calls and calls, + And see, as Ossian saw in Morven's halls, + Mysterious phantoms, coming, beckoning, going! +It is the mystery of the unknown + That fascinates us; we are children still, + Wayward and wistful; with one hand we cling +To the familiar things we call our own, + And with the other, resolute of will, + Grope in the dark for what the day will bring. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap298"></a>BOSTON</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +St. Bototlph's Town! Hither across the plains + And fens of Lincolnshire, in garb austere, + There came a Saxon monk, and founded here + A Priory, pillaged by marauding Danes, +So that thereof no vestige now remains; + Only a name, that, spoken loud and clear, + And echoed in another hemisphere, + Survives the sculptured walls and painted panes. +St. Botolph's Town! Far over leagues of land + And leagues of sea looks forth its noble tower, + And far around the chiming bells are heard; +So may that sacred name forever stand + A landmark, and a symbol of the power, + That lies concentred in a single word. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap299"></a>ST. JOHN'S, CAMBRIDGE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I stand beneath the tree, whose branches shade + Thy western window, Chapel of St. John! + And hear its leaves repeat their benison + On him, whose hand if thy stones memorial laid; +Then I remember one of whom was said + In the world's darkest hour, "Behold thy son!" + And see him living still, and wandering on + And waiting for the advent long delayed. +Not only tongues of the apostles teach + Lessons of love and light, but these expanding + And sheltering boughs with all their leaves implore, +And say in language clear as human speech, + "The peace of God, that passeth understanding, + Be and abide with you forevermore!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap300"></a>MOODS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oh that a Song would sing itself to me + Out of the heart of Nature, or the heart + Of man, the child of Nature, not of Art, + Fresh as the morning, salt as the salt sea, +With just enough of bitterness to be + A medicine to this sluggish mood, and start + The life-blood in my veins, and so impart + Healing and help in this dull lethargy! +Alas! not always doth the breath of song + Breathe on us. It is like the wind that bloweth + At its own will, not ours, nor tarries long; +We hear the sound thereof, but no man knoweth + From whence it comes, so sudden and swift and strong, + Nor whither in its wayward course it goeth. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap301"></a>WOODSTOCK PARK</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Here in a little rustic hermitage + Alfred the Saxon King, Alfred the Great, + Postponed the cares of king-craft to translate + The Consolations of the Roman sage. +Here Geoffrey Chaucer in his ripe old age + Wrote the unrivalled Tales, which soon or late + The venturous hand that strives to imitate + Vanquished must fall on the unfinished page. +Two kings were they, who ruled by right divine, + And both supreme; one in the realm of Truth, + One in the realm of Fiction and of Song. +What prince hereditary of their line, + Uprising in the strength and flush of youth, + Their glory shall inherit and prolong? +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap302"></a>THE FOUR PRINCESSES AT WILNA</h3> + +<p class="center"> +A PHOTOGRAPH +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sweet faces, that from pictured casements lean + As from a castle window, looking down + On some gay pageant passing through a town, + Yourselves the fairest figures in the scene; +With what a gentle grace, with what serene + Unconsciousness ye wear the triple crown + Of youth and beauty and the fair renown + Of a great name, that ne'er hath tarnished been! +From your soft eyes, so innocent and sweet, + Four spirits, sweet and innocent as they, + Gaze on the world below, the sky above; +Hark! there is some one singing in the street; + "Faith, Hope, and Love! these three," he seems to say; + "These three; and greatest of the three is Love." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap303"></a>HOLIDAYS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The holiest of all holidays are those + Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; + The secret anniversaries of the heart, + When the full river of feeling overflows;— +The happy days unclouded to their close; + The sudden joys that out of darkness start + As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart + Like swallows singing down each wind that blows! +White as the gleam of a receding sail, + White as a cloud that floats and fades in air, + White as the whitest lily on a stream, +These tender memories are;—a Fairy Tale + Of some enchanted land we know not where, + But lovely as a landscape in a dream. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap304"></a>WAPENTAKE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +TO ALFRED TENNYSON +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Poet! I come to touch thy lance with mine; + Not as a knight, who on the listed field + Of tourney touched his adversary's shield + In token of defiance, but in sign +Of homage to the mastery, which is thine, + In English song; nor will I keep concealed, + And voiceless as a rivulet frost-congealed, + My admiration for thy verse divine. +Not of the howling dervishes of song, + Who craze the brain with their delirious dance, + Art thou, O sweet historian of the heart! +Therefore to thee the laurel-leaves belong, + To thee our love and our allegiance, + For thy allegiance to the poet's art. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap305"></a>THE BROKEN OAR</h3> + + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Once upon Iceland's solitary strand + A poet wandered with his book and pen, + Seeking some final word, some sweet Amen, + Wherewith to close the volume in his hand. +The billows rolled and plunged upon the sand, + The circling sea-gulls swept beyond his ken, + And from the parting cloud-rack now and then + Flashed the red sunset over sea and land. +Then by the billows at his feet was tossed + A broken oar; and carved thereon he read, + "Oft was I weary, when I toiled at thee"; +And like a man, who findeth what was lost, + He wrote the words, then lifted up his head, + And flung his useless pen into the sea. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap306"></a>THE CROSS OF SNOW</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the long, sleepless watches of the night, + A gentle face—the face of one long dead— + Looks at me from the wall, where round its head + The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. +Here in this room she died; and soul more white + Never through martyrdom of fire was led + To its repose; nor can in books be read + The legend of a life more benedight. +There is a mountain in the distant West + That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines + Displays a cross of snow upon its side. +Such is the cross I wear upon my breast + These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes + And seasons, changeless since the day she died. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap307"></a>BIRDS OF PASSAGE</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap308"></a>FLIGHT THE FOURTH</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap309"></a>CHARLES SUMNER</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Garlands upon his grave, + And flowers upon his hearse, +And to the tender heart and brave + The tribute of this verse. + + His was the troubled life, + The conflict and the pain, +The grief, the bitterness of strife, + The honor without stain. + + Like Winkelried, he took + Into his manly breast +The sheaf of hostile spears, and broke + A path for the oppressed. + + Then from the fatal field + Upon a nation's heart +Borne like a warrior on his shield!— + So should the brave depart. + + Death takes us by surprise, + And stays our hurrying feet; +The great design unfinished lies, + Our lives are incomplete. + + But in the dark unknown + Perfect their circles seem, +Even as a bridge's arch of stone + Is rounded in the stream. + + Alike are life and death, + When life in death survives, +And the uninterrupted breath + Inspires a thousand lives. + + Were a star quenched on high, + For ages would its light, +Still travelling downward from the sky, + Shine on our mortal sight. + + So when a great man dies, + For years beyond our ken, +The light he leaves behind him lies + Upon the paths of men. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap310"></a>TRAVELS BY THE FIRESIDE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The ceaseless rain is falling fast, + And yonder gilded vane, +Immovable for three days past, + Points to the misty main, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It drives me in upon myself + And to the fireside gleams, +To pleasant books that crowd my shelf, + And still more pleasant dreams, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I read whatever bards have sung + Of lands beyond the sea, +And the bright days when I was young + Come thronging back to me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In fancy I can hear again + The Alpine torrent's roar, +The mule-bells on the hills of Spain, + The sea at Elsinore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I see the convent's gleaming wall + Rise from its groves of pine, +And towers of old cathedrals tall, + And castles by the Rhine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I journey on by park and spire, + Beneath centennial trees, +Through fields with poppies all on fire, + And gleams of distant seas. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I fear no more the dust and heat, + No more I feel fatigue, +While journeying with another's feet + O'er many a lengthening league. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Let others traverse sea and land, + And toil through various climes, +I turn the world round with my hand + Reading these poets' rhymes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From them I learn whatever lies + Beneath each changing zone, +And see, when looking with their eyes, + Better than with mine own. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap311"></a>CADENABBIA</h3> + +<p class="center"> +LAKE OF COMO +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks + The silence of the summer day, +As by the loveliest of all lakes + I while the idle hours away. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I pace the leafy colonnade + Where level branches of the plane +Above me weave a roof of shade + Impervious to the sun and rain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At times a sudden rush of air + Flutters the lazy leaves o'erhead, +And gleams of sunshine toss and flare + Like torches down the path I tread. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By Somariva's garden gate + I make the marble stairs my seat, +And hear the water, as I wait, + Lapping the steps beneath my feet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The undulation sinks and swells + Along the stony parapets, +And far away the floating bells + Tinkle upon the fisher's nets. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Silent and slow, by tower and town + The freighted barges come and go, +Their pendent shadows gliding down + By town and tower submerged below. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The hills sweep upward from the shore, + With villas scattered one by one +Upon their wooded spurs, and lower + Bellaggio blazing in the sun. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And dimly seen, a tangled mass + Of walls and woods, of light and shade, +Stands beckoning up the Stelvio Pass + Varenna with its white cascade. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I ask myself, Is this a dream? + Will it all vanish into air? +Is there a land of such supreme + And perfect beauty anywhere? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sweet vision! Do not fade away; + Linger until my heart shall take +Into itself the summer day, + And all the beauty of the lake. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Linger until upon my brain + Is stamped an image of the scene, +Then fade into the air again, + And be as if thou hadst not been. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap312"></a>MONTE CASSINO</h3> + +<p class="center"> +TERRA DI LAVORO +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Beautiful valley! through whose verdant meads + Unheard the Garigliano glides along;— +The Liris, nurse of rushes and of reeds, + The river taciturn of classic song. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Land of Labor and the Land of Rest, + Where mediaeval towns are white on all +The hillsides, and where every mountain's crest + Is an Etrurian or a Roman wall. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is Alagna, where Pope Boniface + Was dragged with contumely from his throne; +Sciarra Colonna, was that day's disgrace + The Pontiff's only, or in part thine own? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is Ceprano, where a renegade + Was each Apulian, as great Dante saith, +When Manfred by his men-at-arms betrayed + Spurred on to Benevento and to death. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is Aquinum, the old Volscian town, + Where Juvenal was born, whose lurid light +Still hovers o'er his birthplace like the crown + Of splendor seen o'er cities in the night. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Doubled the splendor is, that in its streets + The Angelic Doctor as a school-boy played, +And dreamed perhaps the dreams, that he repeats + In ponderous folios for scholastics made. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And there, uplifted, like a passing cloud + That pauses on a mountain summit high, +Monte Cassino's convent rears its proud + And venerable walls against the sky. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Well I remember how on foot I climbed + The stony pathway leading to its gate; +Above, the convent bells for vespers chimed, + Below, the darkening town grew desolate. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Well I remember the low arch and dark, + The court-yard with its well, the terrace wide, +From which, far down, the valley like a park + Veiled in the evening mists, was dim descried. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The day was dying, and with feeble hands + Caressed the mountain-tops; the vales between +Darkened; the river in the meadowlands + Sheathed itself as a sword, and was not seen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The silence of the place was like a sleep, + So full of rest it seemed; each passing tread +Was a reverberation from the deep + Recesses of the ages that are dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For, more than thirteen centuries ago, + Benedict fleeing from the gates of Rome, +A youth disgusted with its vice and woe, + Sought in these mountain solitudes a home. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He founded here his Convent and his Rule + Of prayer and work, and counted work as prayer; +The pen became a clarion, and his school + Flamed like a beacon in the midnight air. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What though Boccaccio, in his reckless way, + Mocking the lazy brotherhood, deplores +The illuminated manuscripts, that lay + Torn and neglected on the dusty floors? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Boccaccio was a novelist, a child + Of fancy and of fiction at the best! +This the urbane librarian said, and smiled + Incredulous, as at some idle jest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Upon such themes as these, with one young friar + I sat conversing late into the night, +Till in its cavernous chimney the woodfire + Had burnt its heart out like an anchorite. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And then translated, in my convent cell, + Myself yet not myself, in dreams I lay, +And, as a monk who hears the matin bell, + Started from sleep; already it was day. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the high window I beheld the scene + On which Saint Benedict so oft had gazed,— +The mountains and the valley in the sheen + Of the bright sun,—and stood as one amazed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Gray mists were rolling, rising, vanishing; + The woodlands glistened with their jewelled crowns; +Far off the mellow bells began to ring + For matins in the half-awakened towns. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The conflict of the Present and the Past, + The ideal and the actual in our life, +As on a field of battle held me fast, + Where this world and the next world were at strife. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For, as the valley from its sleep awoke, + I saw the iron horses of the steam +Toss to the morning air their plumes of smoke, + And woke, as one awaketh from a dream. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap313"></a>AMALFI</h3> + + <p> + Sweet the memory is to me Of a land beyond the sea, Where the waves and + mountains meet, Where, amid her mulberry-trees Sits Amalfi in the heat, + Bathing ever her white feet In the tideless summer seas. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the town, From its fountains in the hills, Tumbling + through the narrow gorge, The Canneto rushes down, Turns the great wheels + of the mills, Lifts the hammers of the forge. + </p> + <p> + 'T is a stairway, not a street, That ascends the deep ravine, Where the + torrent leaps between Rocky walls that almost meet. Toiling up from stair + to stair Peasant girls their burdens bear; Sunburnt daughters of the soil, + Stately figures tall and straight, What inexorable fate Dooms them to this + life of toil? + </p> + <p> + Lord of vineyards and of lands, Far above the convent stands. On its + terraced walk aloof Leans a monk with folded hands, Placid, satisfied, + serene, Looking down upon the scene Over wall and red-tiled roof; + Wondering unto what good end All this toil and traffic tend, And why all + men cannot be Free from care and free from pain, And the sordid love of + gain, And as indolent as he. + </p> + <p> + Where are now the freighted barks From the marts of east and west? Where + the knights in iron sarks Journeying to the Holy Land, Glove of steel upon + the hand, Cross of crimson on the breast? Where the pomp of camp and + court? Where the pilgrims with their prayers? Where the merchants with + their wares, And their gallant brigantines Sailing safely into port Chased + by corsair Algerines? + </p> + <p> + Vanished like a fleet of cloud, Like a passing trumpet-blast, Are those + splendors of the past, And the commerce and the crowd! Fathoms deep + beneath the seas Lie the ancient wharves and quays, Swallowed by the + engulfing waves; Silent streets and vacant halls, Ruined roofs and towers + and walls; Hidden from all mortal eyes Deep the sunken city lies: Even + cities have their graves! + </p> + <p> + This is an enchanted land! Round the headlands far away Sweeps the blue + Salernian bay With its sickle of white sand: Further still and furthermost + On the dim discovered coast Paestum with its ruins lies, And its roses all + in bloom Seem to tinge the fatal skies Of that lonely land of doom. + </p> + <p> + On his terrace, high in air, Nothing doth the good monk care For such + worldly themes as these, From the garden just below Little puffs of + perfume blow, And a sound is in his ears Of the murmur of the bees In the + shining chestnut-trees; Nothing else he heeds or hears. All the landscape + seems to swoon In the happy afternoon; Slowly o'er his senses creep The + encroaching waves of sleep, And he sinks as sank the town, Unresisting, + fathoms down, Into caverns cool and deep! + </p> + <p> + Walled about with drifts of snow, Hearing the fierce north-wind blow, + Seeing all the landscape white, And the river cased in ice, Comes this + memory of delight, Comes this vision unto me Of a long-lost Paradise In + the land beyond the sea. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap314"></a>THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS</h3> + + <p> + Up soared the lark into the air, A shaft of song, a winged prayer, As if a + soul, released from pain, Were flying back to heaven again. + </p> + <p> + St. Francis heard; it was to him An emblem of the Seraphim; The upward + motion of the fire, The light, the heat, the heart's desire. + </p> + <p> + Around Assisi's convent gate The birds, God's poor who cannot wait, From + moor and mere and darksome wood Came flocking for their dole of food. + </p> + <p> + "O brother birds," St. Francis said, "Ye come to me and ask for bread, But + not with bread alone to-day Shall ye be fed and sent away. + </p> + <p> + "Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds, With manna of celestial words; Not mine, + though mine they seem to be, Not mine, though they be spoken through me. + </p> + <p> + "O, doubly are ye bound to praise The great Creator in your lays; He + giveth you your plumes of down, Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown. + </p> + <p> + "He giveth you your wings to fly And breathe a purer air on high, And + careth for you everywhere, Who for yourselves so little care!" + </p> + <p> + With flutter of swift wings and songs Together rose the feathered throngs, + And singing scattered far apart; Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart. + </p> + <p> + He knew not if the brotherhood His homily had understood; He only knew + that to one ear The meaning of his words was clear. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap315"></a>BELISARIUS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I am poor and old and blind; +The sun burns me, and the wind + Blows through the city gate +And covers me with dust +From the wheels of the august + Justinian the Great. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was for him I chased +The Persians o'er wild and waste, + As General of the East; +Night after night I lay +In their camps of yesterday; + Their forage was my feast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For him, with sails of red, +And torches at mast-head, + Piloting the great fleet, +I swept the Afric coasts +And scattered the Vandal hosts, + Like dust in a windy street. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For him I won again +The Ausonian realm and reign, + Rome and Parthenope; +And all the land was mine +From the summits of Apennine + To the shores of either sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For him, in my feeble age, +I dared the battle's rage, + To save Byzantium's state, +When the tents of Zabergan, +Like snow-drifts overran + The road to the Golden Gate. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And for this, for this, behold! +Infirm and blind and old, + With gray, uncovered head, +Beneath the very arch +Of my triumphal march, + I stand and beg my bread! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Methinks I still can hear, +Sounding distinct and near, + The Vandal monarch's cry, +As, captive and disgraced, +With majestic step he paced,— + "All, all is Vanity!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah! vainest of all things +Is the gratitude of kings; + The plaudits of the crowd +Are but the clatter of feet +At midnight in the street, + Hollow and restless and loud. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the bitterest disgrace +Is to see forever the face + Of the Monk of Ephesus! +The unconquerable will +This, too, can bear;—I still + Am Belisarius! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap316"></a>SONGO RIVER</h3> + + <p> + Nowhere such a devious stream, Save in fancy or in dream, Winding slow + through bush and brake Links together lake and lake. + </p> + <p> + Walled with woods or sandy shelf, Ever doubling on itself Flows the + stream, so still and slow That it hardly seems to flow. + </p> + <p> + Never errant knight of old, Lost in woodland or on wold, Such a winding + path pursued Through the sylvan solitude. + </p> + <p> + Never school-boy in his quest After hazel-nut or nest, Through the forest + in and out Wandered loitering thus about. + </p> + <p> + In the mirror of its tide Tangled thickets on each side Hang inverted, and + between Floating cloud or sky serene. + </p> + <p> + Swift or swallow on the wing Seems the only living thing, Or the loon, + that laughs and flies Down to those reflected skies. + </p> + <p> + Silent stream! thy Indian name Unfamiliar is to fame; For thou hidest here + alone, Well content to be unknown. + </p> + <p> + But thy tranquil waters teach Wisdom deep as human speech, Moving without + haste or noise In unbroken equipoise. + </p> + <p> + Though thou turnest no busy mill, And art ever calm and still, Even thy + silence seems to say To the traveller on his way:— + </p> + <p> + "Traveller, hurrying from the heat Of the city, stay thy feet! Rest + awhile, nor longer waste Life with inconsiderate haste! + </p> + <p> + "Be not like a stream that brawls Loud with shallow waterfalls, But in + quiet self-control Link together soul and soul" + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap317"></a>KERAMOS</h2> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Turn, turn, my wheel? Turn round and round +Without a pause, without a sound: + So spins the flying world away! +This clay, well mixed with marl and sand, +Follows the motion of my hand; +Far some must follow, and some command, + Though all are made of clay! +</pre> + <p> + Thus sang the Potter at his task Beneath the blossoming hawthorn-tree, + While o'er his features, like a mask, The quilted sunshine and leaf-shade + Moved, as the boughs above him swayed, And clothed him, till he seemed to + be A figure woven in tapestry, So sumptuously was he arrayed In that + magnificent attire Of sable tissue flaked with fire. Like a magician he + appeared, A conjurer without book or beard; And while he plied his magic + art— For it was magical to me— I stood in silence and apart, + And wondered more and more to see That shapeless, lifeless mass of clay + Rise up to meet the master's hand, And now contract and now expand, And + even his slightest touch obey; While ever in a thoughtful mood He sang his + ditty, and at times Whistled a tune between the rhymes, As a melodious + interlude. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Turn, turn, my wheel! All things must change +To something new, to something strange; + Nothing that is can pause or stay; +The moon will wax, the moon will wane, +The mist and cloud will turn to rain, +The rain to mist and cloud again, + To-morrow be to-day. +</pre> + <p> + Thus still the Potter sang, and still, By some unconscious act of will, + The melody and even the words Were intermingled with my thought As bits of + colored thread are caught And woven into nests of birds. And thus to + regions far remote, Beyond the ocean's vast expanse, This wizard in the + motley coat Transported me on wings of song, And by the northern shores of + France Bore me with restless speed along. What land is this that seems to + be A mingling of the land and sea? This land of sluices, dikes, and dunes? + This water-net, that tessellates The landscape? this unending maze Of + gardens, through whose latticed gates The imprisoned pinks and tulips + gaze; Where in long summer afternoons The sunshine, softened by the haze, + Comes streaming down as through a screen; Where over fields and pastures + green The painted ships float high in air, And over all and everywhere The + sails of windmills sink and soar Like wings of sea-gulls on the shore? + </p> + <p> + What land is this? Yon pretty town Is Delft, with all its wares displayed; + The pride, the market-place, the crown And centre of the Potter's trade. + See! every house and room is bright With glimmers of reflected light From + plates that on the dresser shine; Flagons to foam with Flemish beer, Or + sparkle with the Rhenish wine, And pilgrim flasks with fleurs-de-lis, And + ships upon a rolling sea, And tankards pewter topped, and queer With comic + mask and musketeer! Each hospitable chimney smiles A welcome from its + painted tiles; The parlor walls, the chamber floors, The stairways and the + corridors, The borders of the garden walks, Are beautiful with fadeless + flowers, That never droop in winds or showers, And never wither on their + stalks. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Turn, turn, my wheel! All life is brief; +What now is bud wilt soon be leaf, + What now is leaf will soon decay; +The wind blows east, the wind blows west; +The blue eyes in the robin's nest +Will soon have wings and beak and breast, + And flutter and fly away. +</pre> + <p> + Now southward through the air I glide, The song my only pursuivant, And + see across the landscape wide The blue Charente, upon whose tide The + belfries and the spires of Saintes Ripple and rock from side to side, As, + when an earthquake rends its walls, A crumbling city reels and falls. + </p> + <p> + Who is it in the suburbs here, This Potter, working with such cheer, In + this mean house, this mean attire, His manly features bronzed with fire, + Whose figulines and rustic wares Scarce find him bread from day to day? + This madman, as the people say, Who breaks his tables and his chairs To + feed his furnace fires, nor cares Who goes unfed if they are fed, Nor who + may live if they are dead? This alchemist with hollow cheeks And sunken, + searching eyes, who seeks, By mingled earths and ores combined With + potency of fire, to find Some new enamel, hard and bright, His dream, his + passion, his delight? + </p> + <p> + O Palissy! within thy breast Burned the hot fever of unrest; Thine was the + prophets vision, thine The exultation, the divine Insanity of noble minds, + That never falters nor abates, But labors and endures and waits, Till all + that it foresees it finds, Or what it cannot find creates! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Turn, turn, my wheel! This earthen jar +A touch can make, a touch can mar; + And shall it to the Potter say, +What makest thou. Thou hast no hand? +As men who think to understand +A world by their Creator planned, + Who wiser is than they. +</pre> + <p> + Still guided by the dreamy song, As in a trance I float along Above the + Pyrenean chain, Above the fields and farms of Spain, Above the bright + Majorcan isle, That lends its softened name to art,— A spot, a dot + upon the chart, Whose little towns, red-roofed with tile, Are ruby-lustred + with the light Of blazing furnaces by night, And crowned by day with + wreaths of smoke. Then eastward, wafted in my flight On my enchanter's + magic cloak, I sail across the Tyrrhene Sea Into the land of Italy, And + o'er the windy Apennines, Mantled and musical with pines. + </p> + <p> + The palaces, the princely halls, The doors of houses and the walls Of + churches and of belfry towers, Cloister and castle, street and mart, Are + garlanded and gay with flowers That blossom in the fields of art. Here + Gubbio's workshops gleam and glow With brilliant, iridescent dyes, The + dazzling whiteness of the snow, The cobalt blue of summer skies; And vase + and scutcheon, cup and plate, In perfect finish emulate Faenza, Florence, + Pesaro. + </p> + <p> + Forth from Urbino's gate there came A youth with the angelic name Of + Raphael, in form and face Himself angelic, and divine In arts of color and + design. From him Francesco Xanto caught Something of his transcendent + grace, And into fictile fabrics wrought Suggestions of the master's + thought. Nor less Maestro Giorgio shines With madre-perl and golden lines + Of arabesques, and interweaves His birds and fruits and flowers and leaves + About some landscape, shaded brown, With olive tints on rock and town. + Behold this cup within whose bowl, Upon a ground of deepest blue With + yellow-lustred stars o'erlaid, Colors of every tint and hue Mingle in one + harmonious whole! With large blue eyes and steadfast gaze, Her yellow hair + in net and braid, Necklace and ear-rings all ablaze With golden lustre + o'er the glaze, A woman's portrait; on the scroll, Cana, the Beautiful! A + name Forgotten save for such brief fame As this memorial can bestow,— + A gift some lover long ago Gave with his heart to this fair dame. + </p> + <p> + A nobler title to renown Is thine, O pleasant Tuscan town, Seated beside + the Arno's stream; For Lucca della Robbia there Created forms so wondrous + fair, They made thy sovereignty supreme. These choristers with lips of + stone, Whose music is not heard, but seen, Still chant, as from their + organ-screen, Their Maker's praise; nor these alone, But the more fragile + forms of clay, Hardly less beautiful than they, These saints and angels + that adorn The walls of hospitals, and tell The story of good deeds so + well That poverty seems less forlorn, And life more like a holiday. + </p> + <p> + Here in this old neglected church, That long eludes the traveller's + search, Lies the dead bishop on his tomb; Earth upon earth he slumbering + lies, Life-like and death-like in the gloom; Garlands of fruit and flowers + in bloom And foliage deck his resting place; A shadow in the sightless + eyes, A pallor on the patient face, Made perfect by the furnace heat; All + earthly passions and desires Burnt out by purgatorial fires; Seeming to + say, "Our years are fleet, And to the weary death is sweet." + </p> + <p> + But the most wonderful of all The ornaments on tomb or wall That grace the + fair Ausonian shores Are those the faithful earth restores, Near some + Apulian town concealed, In vineyard or in harvest field,— Vases and + urns and bas-reliefs, Memorials of forgotten griefs, Or records of heroic + deeds Of demigods and mighty chiefs: Figures that almost move and speak, + And, buried amid mould and weeds, Still in their attitudes attest The + presence of the graceful Greek,— Achilles in his armor dressed, + Alcides with the Cretan bull, And Aphrodite with her boy, Or lovely Helena + of Troy, Still living and still beautiful. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Turn, turn, my wheel! 'T is nature's plan +The child should grow into the man, + The man grow wrinkled, old, and gray; +In youth the heart exults and sings, +The pulses leap, the feet have wings; +In age the cricket chirps, and brings + The harvest home of day. +</pre> + <p> + And now the winds that southward blow, And cool the hot Sicilian isle, + Bear me away. I see below The long line of the Libyan Nile, Flooding and + feeding the parched land With annual ebb and overflow, A fallen palm whose + branches lie Beneath the Abyssinian sky, Whose roots are in Egyptian + sands, On either bank huge water-wheels, Belted with jars and dripping + weeds, Send forth their melancholy moans, As if, in their gray mantles + hid, Dead anchorites of the Thebaid Knelt on the shore and told their + beads, Beating their breasts with loud appeals And penitential tears and + groans. + </p> + <p> + This city, walled and thickly set With glittering mosque and minaret, Is + Cairo, in whose gay bazaars The dreaming traveller first inhales The + perfume of Arabian gales, And sees the fabulous earthen jars, Huge as were + those wherein the maid Morgiana found the Forty Thieves Concealed in + midnight ambuscade; And seeing, more than half believes The fascinating + tales that run Through all the Thousand Nights and One, Told by the fair + Scheherezade. + </p> + <p> + More strange and wonderful than these Are the Egyptian deities, Ammonn, + and Emeth, and the grand Osiris, holding in his hand The lotus; Isis, + crowned and veiled; The sacred Ibis, and the Sphinx; Bracelets with blue + enamelled links; The Scarabee in emerald mailed, Or spreading wide his + funeral wings; Lamps that perchance their night-watch kept O'er Cleopatra + while she slept,— All plundered from the tombs of kings. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Turn, turn, my wheel! The human race, +Of every tongue, of every place, + Caucasian, Coptic, or Malay, +All that inhabit this great earth, +Whatever be their rank or worth, +Are kindred and allied by birth, + And made of the same clay. +</pre> + <p> + O'er desert sands, o'er gulf and bay, O'er Ganges and o'er Himalay, + Bird-like I fly, and flying sing, To flowery kingdoms of Cathay, And + bird-like poise on balanced wing Above the town of King-te-tching, A + burning town, or seeming so,— Three thousand furnaces that glow + Incessantly, and fill the air With smoke uprising, gyre on gyre And + painted by the lurid glare, Of jets and flashes of red fire. + </p> + <p> + As leaves that in the autumn fall, Spotted and veined with various hues, + Are swept along the avenues, And lie in heaps by hedge and wall, So from + this grove of chimneys whirled To all the markets of the world, These + porcelain leaves are wafted on,— Light yellow leaves with spots and + stains Of violet and of crimson dye, Or tender azure of a sky Just washed + by gentle April rains, And beautiful with celadon. + </p> + <p> + Nor less the coarser household wares,— The willow pattern, that we + knew In childhood, with its bridge of blue Leading to unknown + thoroughfares; The solitary man who stares At the white river flowing + through Its arches, the fantastic trees And wild perspective of the view; + And intermingled among these The tiles that in our nurseries Filled us + with wonder and delight, Or haunted us in dreams at night. + </p> + <p> + And yonder by Nankin, behold! The Tower of Porcelain, strange and old, + Uplifting to the astonished skies Its ninefold painted balconies, With + balustrades of twining leaves, And roofs of tile, beneath whose eaves Hang + porcelain bells that all the time Ring with a soft, melodious chime; While + the whole fabric is ablaze With varied tints, all fused in one Great mass + of color, like a maze Of flowers illumined by the sun. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Turn, turn, my wheel! What is begun +At daybreak must at dark be done, + To-morrow will be another day; +To-morrow the hot furnace flame +Will search the heart and try the frame, +And stamp with honor or with shame + These vessels made of clay. +</pre> + <p> + Cradled and rocked in Eastern seas, The islands of the Japanese Beneath me + lie; o'er lake and plain The stork, the heron, and the crane Through the + clear realms of azure drift, And on the hillside I can see The villages of + Imari, Whose thronged and flaming workshops lift Their twisted columns of + smoke on high, Cloud cloisters that in ruins lie, With sunshine streaming + through each rift, And broken arches of blue sky. + </p> + <p> + All the bright flowers that fill the land, Ripple of waves on rock or + sand, The snow on Fusiyama's cone, The midnight heaven so thickly sown + With constellations of bright stars, The leaves that rustle, the reeds + that make A whisper by each stream and lake, The saffron dawn, the sunset + red, Are painted on these lovely jars; Again the skylark sings, again The + stork, the heron, and the crane Float through the azure overhead, The + counterfeit and counterpart Of Nature reproduced in Art. + </p> + <p> + Art is the child of Nature; yes, Her darling child, in whom we trace The + features of the mother's face, Her aspect and her attitude, All her + majestic loveliness Chastened and softened and subdued Into a more + attractive grace, And with a human sense imbued. He is the greatest + artist, then, Whether of pencil or of pen, Who follows Nature. Never man, + As artist or as artisan, Pursuing his own fantasies, Can touch the human + heart, or please, Or satisfy our nobler needs, As he who sets his willing + feet In Nature's footprints, light and fleet, And follows fearless where + she leads. + </p> + <p> + Thus mused I on that morn in May, Wrapped in my visions like the Seer, + Whose eyes behold not what is near, But only what is far away, When, + suddenly sounding peal on peal, The church-bell from the neighboring town + Proclaimed the welcome hour of noon. The Potter heard, and stopped his + wheel, His apron on the grass threw down, Whistled his quiet little tune, + Not overloud nor overlong, And ended thus his simple song: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Stop, stop, my wheel! Too soon, too soon +The noon will be the afternoon, + Too soon to-day be yesterday; +Behind us in our path we cast +The broken potsherds of the past, +And all are ground to dust a last, + And trodden into clay! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap318"></a>BIRDS OF PASSAGE</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap319"></a>FLIGHT THE FIFTH</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap320"></a>THE HERONS OF ELMWOOD</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Warm and still is the summer night, + As here by the river's brink I wander; +White overhead are the stars, and white + The glimmering lamps on the hillside yonder. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Silent are all the sounds of day; + Nothing I hear but the chirp of crickets, +And the cry of the herons winging their way + O'er the poet's house in the Elmwood thickets. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Call to him, herons, as slowly you pass + To your roosts in the haunts of the exiled thrushes, +Sing him the song of the green morass; + And the tides that water the reeds and rushes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sing him the mystical Song of the Hern, + And the secret that baffles our utmost seeking; +For only a sound of lament we discern, + And cannot interpret the words you are speaking. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sing of the air, and the wild delight + Of wings that uplift and winds that uphold you, +The joy of freedom, the rapture of flight + Through the drift of the floating mists that infold you. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Of the landscape lying so far below, + With its towns and rivers and desert places; +And the splendor of light above, and the glow + Of the limitless, blue, ethereal spaces. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ask him if songs of the Troubadours, + Or of Minnesingers in old black-letter, +Sound in his ears more sweet than yours, + And if yours are not sweeter and wilder and better. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sing to him, say to him, here at his gate, + Where the boughs of the stately elms are meeting, +Some one hath lingered to meditate, + And send him unseen this friendly greeting; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +That many another hath done the same, + Though not by a sound was the silence broken; +The surest pledge of a deathless name + Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap321"></a>A DUTCH PICTURE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Simon Danz has come home again, + From cruising about with his buccaneers; +He has singed the beard of the King of Spain, +And carried away the Dean of Jaen + And sold him in Algiers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In his house by the Maese, with its roof of tiles, + And weathercocks flying aloft in air, +There are silver tankards of antique styles, +Plunder of convent and castle, and piles + Of carpets rich and rare. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In his tulip-garden there by the town, + Overlooking the sluggish stream, +With his Moorish cap and dressing-gown, +The old sea-captain, hale and brown, + Walks in a waking dream. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A smile in his gray mustachio lurks +Whenever he thinks of the King of Spain, +And the listed tulips look like Turks, +And the silent gardener as he works + Is changed to the Dean of Jaen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The windmills on the outermost + Verge of the landscape in the haze, +To him are towers on the Spanish coast, +With whiskered sentinels at their post, + Though this is the river Maese. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But when the winter rains begin, + He sits and smokes by the blazing brands, +And old seafaring men come in, +Goat-bearded, gray, and with double chin, + And rings upon their hands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They sit there in the shadow and shine + Of the flickering fire of the winter night; +Figures in color and design +Like those by Rembrandt of the Rhine, + Half darkness and half light. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And they talk of ventures lost or won, + And their talk is ever and ever the same, +While they drink the red wine of Tarragon, +From the cellars of some Spanish Don, + Or convent set on flame. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Restless at times with heavy strides + He paces his parlor to and fro; +He is like a ship that at anchor rides, +And swings with the rising and falling tides, + And tugs at her anchor-tow. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Voices mysterious far and near, + Sound of the wind and sound of the sea, +Are calling and whispering in his ear, +"Simon Danz! Why stayest thou here? + Come forth and follow me!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So he thinks he shall take to the sea again + For one more cruise with his buccaneers, +To singe the beard of the King of Spain, +And capture another Dean of Jaen + And sell him in Algiers. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap322"></a>CASTLES IN SPAIN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How much of my young heart, O Spain, + Went out to thee in days of yore! +What dreams romantic filled my brain, +And summoned back to life again +The Paladins of Charlemagne + The Cid Campeador! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And shapes more shadowy than these, + In the dim twilight half revealed; +Phoenician galleys on the seas, +The Roman camps like hives of bees, +The Goth uplifting from his knees + Pelayo on his shield. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was these memories perchance, + From annals of remotest eld, +That lent the colors of romance +To every trivial circumstance, +And changed the form and countenance + Of all that I beheld. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Old towns, whose history lies hid + In monkish chronicle or rhyme, +Burgos, the birthplace of the Cid, +Zamora and Valladolid, +Toledo, built and walled amid + The wars of Wamba's time; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The long, straight line of the high-way, + The distant town that seems so near, +The peasants in the fields, that stay +Their toil to cross themselves and pray, +When from the belfry at midday + The Angelus they hear; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +White crosses in the mountain pass, + Mules gay with tassels, the loud din +Of muleteers, the tethered ass +That crops the dusty wayside grass, +And cavaliers with spurs of brass + Alighting at the inn; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +White hamlets hidden in fields of wheat, + White cities slumbering by the sea, +White sunshine flooding square and street, +Dark mountain-ranges, at whose feet +The river-beds are dry with heat,— + All was a dream to me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Yet something sombre and severe + O'er the enchanted landscape reigned; +A terror in the atmosphere +As if King Philip listened near, +Or Torquemada, the austere, + His ghostly sway maintained. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The softer Andalusian skies + Dispelled the sadness and the gloom; +There Cadiz by the seaside lies, +And Seville's orange-orchards rise, +Making the land a paradise + Of beauty and of bloom. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There Cordova is hidden among + The palm, the olive, and the vine; +Gem of the South, by poets sung, +And in whose Mosque Ahmanzor hung +As lamps the bells that once had rung + At Compostella's shrine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But over all the rest supreme, + The star of stars, the cynosure, +The artist's and the poet's theme, +The young man's vision, the old man's dream,— +Granada by its winding stream, + The city of the Moor! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And there the Alhambra still recalls + Aladdin's palace of delight; +Allah il Allah! through its halls +Whispers the fountain as it falls, +The Darro darts beneath its walls, + The hills with snow are white. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah yes, the hills are white with snow, + And cold with blasts that bite and freeze; +But in the happy vale below +The orange and pomegranate grow, +And wafts of air toss to and fro + The blossoming almond-trees. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Vega cleft by the Xenil, + The fascination and allure +Of the sweet landscape chains the will; +The traveller lingers on the hill, +His parted lips are breathing still + The last sigh of the Moor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How like a ruin overgrown + With flower's that hide the rents of time, +Stands now the Past that I have known, +Castles in Spain, not built of stone +But of white summer clouds, and blown + Into this little mist of rhyme! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap323"></a>VITTORIA COLONNA.</h3> + + <p> + VITTORIA COLONNA, on the death of her hushand, the Marchese di Pescara, + retired to her castle at Ischia (Inarime), and there wrote the Ode upon + his death, which gained her the title of Divine. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Once more, once more, Inarime, + I see thy purple hills!—once more +I hear the billows of the bay + Wash the white pebbles on thy shore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +High o'er the sea-surge and the sands, + Like a great galleon wrecked and cast +Ashore by storms, thy castle stands, + A mouldering landmark of the Past. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Upon its terrace-walk I see + A phantom gliding to and fro; +It is Colonna,—it is she + Who lived and loved so long ago. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Pescara's beautiful young wife, + The type of perfect womanhood, +Whose life was love, the life of life, + That time and change and death withstood. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For death, that breaks the marriage band + In others, only closer pressed +The wedding-ring upon her hand + And closer locked and barred her breast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She knew the life-long martyrdom, + The weariness, the endless pain +Of waiting for some one to come + Who nevermore would come again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The shadows of the chestnut-trees, + The odor of the orange blooms, +The song of birds, and, more than these, + The silence of deserted rooms; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The respiration of the sea, + The soft caresses of the air, +All things in nature seemed to be + But ministers of her despair; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Till the o'erburdened heart, so long + Imprisoned in itself, found vent +And voice in one impassioned song + Of inconsolable lament. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then as the sun, though hidden from sight, + Transmutes to gold the leaden mist, +Her life was interfused with light, + From realms that, though unseen, exist, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Inarime! Inarime! + Thy castle on the crags above +In dust shall crumble and decay, + But not the memory of her love. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap324"></a>THE REVENGE OF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In that desolate land and lone, +Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone + Roar down their mountain path, +By their fires the Sioux Chiefs +Muttered their woes and griefs + And the menace of their wrath. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Revenge!" cried Rain-in-the-Face, +"Revenue upon all the race + Of the White Chief with yellow hair!" +And the mountains dark and high +From their crags re-echoed the cry + Of his anger and despair. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the meadow, spreading wide +By woodland and riverside + The Indian village stood; +All was silent as a dream, +Save the rushing a of the stream + And the blue-jay in the wood. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In his war paint and his beads, +Like a bison among the reeds, + In ambush the Sitting Bull +Lay with three thousand braves + Crouched in the clefts and caves, + Savage, unmerciful! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Into the fatal snare +The White Chief with yellow hair + And his three hundred men +Dashed headlong, sword in hand; +But of that gallant band + Not one returned again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The sudden darkness of death +Overwhelmed them like the breath + And smoke of a furnace fire: +By the river's bank, and between +The rocks of the ravine, + They lay in their bloody attire. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But the foemen fled in the night, +And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight + Uplifted high in air +As a ghastly trophy, bore +The brave heart, that beat no more, + Of the White Chief with yellow hair. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Whose was the right and the wrong? +Sing it, O funeral song, + With a voice that is full of tears, +And say that our broken faith +Wrought all this ruin and scathe, + In the Year of a Hundred Years. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap325"></a>TO THE RIVER YVETTE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O lovely river of Yvette! + O darling river! like a bride, +Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette, + Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Maincourt, and lordly Dampierre, + See and salute thee on thy way, +And, with a blessing and a prayer, + Ring the sweet bells of St. Forget. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The valley of Chevreuse in vain + Would hold thee in its fond embrace; +Thou glidest from its arms again + And hurriest on with swifter pace. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thou wilt not stay; with restless feet + Pursuing still thine onward flight, +Thou goest as one in haste to meet + Her sole desire, her head's delight. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O lovely river of Yvette! + O darling stream! on balanced wings +The wood-birds sang the chansonnette + That here a wandering poet sings. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap326"></a>THE EMPEROR'S GLOVE</h3> + + <p> + "Combien faudrait-il de peaux d'Espagne pour faire un gant de cette + grandeur?" A play upon the words gant, a glove, and Gand, the French for + Ghent. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On St. Baron's tower, commanding + Half of Flanders, his domain, +Charles the Emperor once was standing, +While beneath him on the landing + Stood Duke Alva and his train. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like a print in books of fables, + Or a model made for show, +With its pointed roofs and gables, +Dormer windows, scrolls and labels, + Lay the city far below. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Through its squares and streets and alleys + Poured the populace of Ghent; +As a routed army rallies, +Or as rivers run through valleys, + Hurrying to their homes they went +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Nest of Lutheran misbelievers!" + Cried Duke Alva as he gazed; +"Haunt of traitors and deceivers, +Stronghold of insurgent weavers, + Let it to the ground be razed!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the Emperor's cap the feather + Nods, as laughing he replies: +"How many skins of Spanish leather, +Think you, would, if stitched together + Make a glove of such a size?" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap327"></a>A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET</h3> + +<p class="center"> +OCTOBER, 1746 +</p> + <p> + MR. THOMAS PRINCE loquitur. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A fleet with flags arrayed + Sailed from the port of Brest, +And the Admiral's ship displayed + The signal: "Steer southwest." +For this Admiral D'Anville + Had sworn by cross and crown +To ravage with fire and steel + Our helpless Boston Town. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There were rumors in the street, + In the houses there was fear +Of the coming of the fleet, + And the danger hovering near. +And while from mouth to mouth + Spread the tidings of dismay, +I stood in the Old South, + Saying humbly: "Let us pray! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"O Lord! we would not advise; + But if in thy Providence +A tempest should arise + To drive the French fleet hence, +And scatter it far and wide, + Or sink it in the sea, +We should be satisfied, + And thine the glory be." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This was the prayer I made, + For my soul was all on flame, +And even as I prayed + The answering tempest came; +It came with a mighty power, + Shaking the windows and walls, +And tolling the bell in the tower, + As it tolls at funerals. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The lightning suddenly + Unsheathed its flaming sword, +And I cried: "Stand still, and see + The salvation of the Lord!" +The heavens were black with cloud, + The sea was white with hail, +And ever more fierce and loud + Blew the October gale. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The fleet it overtook, + And the broad sails in the van +Like the tents of Cushan shook, + Or the curtains of Midian. +Down on the reeling decks + Crashed the o'erwhelming seas; +Ah, never were there wrecks + So pitiful as these! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like a potter's vessel broke + The great ships of the line; +They were carried away as a smoke, + Or sank like lead in the brine. +O Lord! before thy path + They vanished and ceased to be, +When thou didst walk in wrath + With thine horses through the sea! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap328"></a>THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, +His chestnut steed with four white feet, + Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, +Son of the road and bandit chief, +Seeking refuge and relief, + Up the mountain pathway flew. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Such was Kyrat's wondrous speed, +Never yet could any steed + Reach the dust-cloud in his course. +More than maiden, more than wife, +More than gold and next to life + Roushan the Robber loved his horse. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the land that lies beyond +Erzeroum and Trebizond, + Garden-girt his fortress stood; +Plundered khan, or caravan +Journeying north from Koordistan, + Gave him wealth and wine and food. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Seven hundred and fourscore +Men at arms his livery wore, + Did his bidding night and day. +Now, through regions all unknown, +He was wandering, lost, alone, + Seeking without guide his way. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Suddenly the pathway ends, +Sheer the precipice descends, + Loud the torrent roars unseen; +Thirty feet from side to side +Yawns the chasm; on air must ride + He who crosses this ravine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Following close in his pursuit, +At the precipice's foot, + Reyhan the Arab of Orfah +Halted with his hundred men, +Shouting upward from the glen, + "La Illah illa Allah!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Gently Roushan Beg caressed +Kyrat's forehead, neck, and breast; + Kissed him upon both his eyes; +Sang to him in his wild way, +As upon the topmost spray + Sings a bird before it flies. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"O my Kyrat, O my steed, +Round and slender as a reed, + Carry me this peril through! +Satin housings shall be thine, +Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine, + O thou soul of Kurroglou! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Soft thy skin as silken skein, +Soft as woman's hair thy mane, + Tender are thine eyes and true; +All thy hoofs like ivory shine, +Polished bright; O, life of mine, + Leap, and rescue Kurroglou!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet, +Drew together his four white feet, + Paused a moment on the verge, +Measured with his eye the space, +And into the air's embrace + Leaped as leaps the ocean surge. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As the ocean surge o'er sand +Bears a swimmer safe to land, + Kyrat safe his rider bore; +Rattling down the deep abyss +Fragments of the precipice + Rolled like pebbles on a shore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Roushan's tasselled cap of red +Trembled not upon his head, + Careless sat he and upright; +Neither hand nor bridle shook, +Nor his head he turned to look, + As he galloped out of sight. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Flash of harness in the air, +Seen a moment like the glare + Of a sword drawn from its sheath; +Thus the phantom horseman passed, +And the shadow that he cast + Leaped the cataract underneath. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Reyhan the Arab held his breath +While this vision of life and death + Passed above him. "Allahu!" +Cried he. "In all Koordistan +Lives there not so brave a man + As this Robber Kurroglou!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap329"></a>HAROUN AL RASCHID</h3> + + <p> + One day, Haroun Al Raschid read A book wherein the poet said:— + </p> + <p> + "Where are the kings, and where the rest Of those who once the world + possessed? + </p> + <p> + "They're gone with all their pomp and show, They're gone the way that thou + shalt go. + </p> + <p> + "O thou who choosest for thy share The world, and what the world calls + fair, + </p> + <p> + "Take all that it can give or lend, But know that death is at the end!" + </p> + <p> + Haroun Al Raschid bowed his head: Tears fell upon the page he read. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap330"></a>KING TRISANKU</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Viswamitra the Magician, + By his spells and incantations, +Up to Indra's realms elysian + Raised Trisanku, king of nations. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Indra and the gods offended + Hurled him downward, and descending +In the air he hung suspended, + With these equal powers contending. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus by aspirations lifted, + By misgivings downward driven, +Human hearts are tossed and drifted + Midway between earth and heaven. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap331"></a>A WRAITH IN THE MIST</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Sir, I should build me a fortification, if I +came to live here." —BOSWELL'S Johnson. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the green little isle of Inchkenneth, + Who is it that walks by the shore, +So gay with his Highland blue bonnet, + So brave with his targe and claymore? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His form is the form of a giant, + But his face wears an aspect of pain; +Can this be the Laird of Inchkenneth? + Can this be Sir Allan McLean? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ah, no! It is only the Rambler, + The Idler, who lives in Bolt Court, +And who says, were he Laird of Inchkenneth, + He would wall himself round with a fort. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap332"></a>THE THREE KINGS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Three Kings came riding from far away, + Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar; +Three Wise Men out of the East were they, +And they travelled by night and they slept by day, + For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The star was so beautiful, large, and clear, + That all the other stars of the sky +Became a white mist in the atmosphere, +And by this they knew that the coming was near + Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows, + Three caskets of gold with golden keys; +Their robes were of crimson silk with rows +Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows, + Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And so the Three Kings rode into the West, + Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell, +And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast +And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest, + With the people they met at some wayside well. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar, + "Good people, I pray you, tell us the news; +For we in the East have seen his star, +And have ridden fast, and have ridden far, + To find and worship the King of the Jews." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the people answered, "You ask in vain; + We know of no king but Herod the Great!" +They thought the Wise Men were men insane, +As they spurred their horses across the plain, + Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And when they came to Jerusalem, + Herod the Great, who had heard this thing, +Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them; +And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem, + And bring me tidings of this new king." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So they rode away; and the star stood still, + The only one in the gray of morn +Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will, +Right over Bethlehem on the hill, + The city of David where Christ was born. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard, + Through the silent street, till their horses turned +And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard; +But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred, + And only a light in the stable burned. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And cradled there in the scented hay, + In the air made sweet by the breath of kine, +The little child in the manger lay, +The child, that would be king one day + Of a kingdom not human but divine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His mother Mary of Nazareth + Sat watching beside his place of rest, +Watching the even flow of his breath, +For the joy of life and the terror of death + Were mingled together in her breast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They laid their offerings at his feet: + The gold was their tribute to a King, +The frankincense, with its odor sweet, +Was for the Priest, the Paraclete, + The myrrh for the body's burying. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the mother wondered and bowed her head, + And sat as still as a statue of stone; +Her heart was troubled yet comforted, +Remembering what the Angel had said + Of an endless reign and of David's throne. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then the Kings rode out of the city gate, + With a clatter of hoofs in proud array; +But they went not back to Herod the Great, +For they knew his malice and feared his hate, + And returned to their homes by another way. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap333"></a>SONG</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest; +Home-keeping hearts are happiest, +For those that wander they know not where +Are full of trouble and full of care; + To stay at home is best. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Weary and homesick and distressed, +They wander east, they wander west, +And are baffled and beaten and blown about +By the winds of the wilderness of doubt; + To stay at home is best. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then stay at home, my heart, and rest; +The bird is safest in its nest; +O'er all that flutter their wings and fly +A hawk is hovering in the sky; + To stay at home is best. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap334"></a>THE WHITE CZAR</h3> + + <p> + The White Czar is Peter the Great. Batyushka, Father dear, and Gosudar, + Sovereign, are titles the Russian people are fond of giving to the Czar in + their popular songs. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dost thou see on the rampart's height +That wreath of mist, in the light +Of the midnight moon? O, hist! +It is not a wreath of mist; +It is the Czar, the White Czar, + Batyushka! Gosudar! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He has heard, among the dead, +The artillery roll o'erhead; +The drums and the tramp of feet +Of his soldiery in the street; +He is awake! the White Czar, + Batyushka! Gosudar! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He has heard in the grave the cries +Of his people: "Awake! arise!" +He has rent the gold brocade +Whereof his shroud was made; +He is risen! the White Czar, + Batyushka! Gosudar! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the Volga and the Don +He has led his armies on, +Over river and morass, +Over desert and mountain pass; +The Czar, the Orthodox Czar, + Batyushka! Gosudar! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He looks from the mountain-chain +Toward the seas, that cleave in twain +The continents; his hand +Points southward o'er the land +Of Roumili! O Czar, + Batyushka! Gosudar! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the words break from his lips: +"I am the builder of ships, +And my ships shall sail these seas +To the Pillars of Hercules! +I say it; the White Czar, + Batyushka! Gosudar! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"The Bosphorus shall be free; +It shall make room for me; +And the gates of its water-streets +Be unbarred before my fleets. +I say it; the White Czar, + Batyushka! Gosudar! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"And the Christian shall no more +Be crushed, as heretofore, +Beneath thine iron rule, +O Sultan of Istamboul! +I swear it; I the Czar, + Batyushka! Gosudar!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap335"></a>DELIA</h3> + + <p> + Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe + out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But + never will be sung to us again, Is thy remembrance. Now the hour of rest + Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling; it is best. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap336"></a>ULTIMA THULE</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap337"></a>DEDICATION</h3> + +<p class="center"> +TO G.W.G. +</p> + + <p> + With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas, We sailed for the Hesperides, The + land where golden apples grow; But that, ah! that was long ago. + </p> + <p> + How far, since then, the ocean streams Have swept us from that land of + dreams, That land of fiction and of truth, The lost Atlantis of our youth! + </p> + <p> + Whither, oh, whither? Are not these The tempest-haunted Hebrides, Where + sea gulls scream, and breakers roar, And wreck and sea-weed line the + shore? + </p> + <p> + Ultima Thule! Utmost Isle! Here in thy harbors for a while We lower our + sails; a while we rest From the unending, endless quest. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap338"></a>POEMS</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap339"></a>BAYARD TAYLOR</h3> + + <p> + Dead he lay among his books! The peace of God was in his looks. + </p> + <p> + As the statues in the gloom Watch o'er Maximilian's tomb, + </p> + <p> + So those volumes from their shelves Watched him, silent as themselves. + </p> + <p> + Ah! his hand will nevermore Turn their storied pages o'er; + </p> + <p> + Nevermore his lips repeat Songs of theirs, however sweet. + </p> + <p> + Let the lifeless body rest! He is gone, who was its guest; + </p> + <p> + Gone, as travellers haste to leave An inn, nor tarry until eve. + </p> + <p> + Traveller! in what realms afar, In what planet, in what star, + </p> + <p> + In what vast, aerial space, Shines the light upon thy face? + </p> + <p> + In what gardens of delight Rest thy weary feet to-night? + </p> + <p> + Poet! thou, whose latest verse Was a garland on thy hearse; + </p> + <p> + Thou hast sung, with organ tone, In Deukalion's life, thine own; + </p> + <p> + On the ruins of the Past Blooms the perfect flower at last. + </p> + <p> + Friend! but yesterday the bells Rang for thee their loud farewells; + </p> + <p> + And to-day they toll for thee, Lying dead beyond the sea; + </p> + <p> + Lying dead among thy books, The peace of God in all thy looks! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap340"></a>THE CHAMBER OVER THE GATE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Is it so far from thee +Thou canst no longer see, +In the Chamber over the Gate, +That old man desolate, +Weeping and wailing sore +For his son, who is no more? + O Absalom, my son! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Is it so long ago +That cry of human woe +From the walled city came, +Calling on his dear name, +That it has died away +In the distance of to-day? + O Absalom, my son! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is no far or near, +There is neither there nor here, +There is neither soon nor late, +In that Chamber over the Gate, +Nor any long ago +To that cry of human woe, + O Absalom, my son! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From the ages that are past +The voice sounds like a blast, +Over seas that wreck and drown, +Over tumult of traffic and town; +And from ages yet to be +Come the echoes back to me, + O Absalom, my son! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Somewhere at every hour +The watchman on the tower +Looks forth, and sees the fleet +Approach of the hurrying feet +Of messengers, that bear +The tidings of despair. + O Absalom, my son! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He goes forth from the door +Who shall return no more. +With him our joy departs; +The light goes out in our hearts; +In the Chamber over the Gate +We sit disconsolate. + O Absalom, my son! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +That 't is a common grief +Bringeth but slight relief; +Ours is the bitterest loss, +Ours is the heaviest cross; +And forever the cry will be +"Would God I had died for thee, + O Absalom, my son!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap341"></a>FROM MY ARM-CHAIR</h3> + +<p class="center"> +TO THE CHILDREN OF CAMBRIDGE +</p> + + <p> + Who presented to me on my Seventy-second Birth-day, February 27, 1879, + this Chair, made from the Wood of the Village Blacksmith's Chestnut Tree. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Am I a king, that I should call my own + This splendid ebon throne? +Or by what reason, or what right divine, + Can I proclaim it mine? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Only, perhaps, by right divine of song + It may to me belong; +Only because the spreading chestnut tree + Of old was sung by me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Well I remember it in all its prime, + When in the summer-time +The affluent foliage of its branches made + A cavern of cool shade. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There, by the blacksmith's forge, beside the street, + Its blossoms white and sweet +Enticed the bees, until it seemed alive, + And murmured like a hive. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And when the winds of autumn, with a shout, + Tossed its great arms about, +The shining chestnuts, bursting from the sheath, + Dropped to the ground beneath. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And now some fragments of its branches bare, + Shaped as a stately chair, +Have by my hearthstone found a home at last, + And whisper of the past. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Danish king could not in all his pride + Repel the ocean tide, +But, seated in this chair, I can in rhyme + Roll back the tide of Time. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I see again, as one in vision sees, + The blossoms and the bees, +And hear the children's voices shout and call, + And the brown chestnuts fall. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I see the smithy with its fires aglow, + I hear the bellows blow, +And the shrill hammers on the anvil beat + The iron white with heat! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And thus, dear children, have ye made for me + This day a jubilee, +And to my more than three-score years and ten + Brought back my youth again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The heart hath its own memory, like the mind, + And in it are enshrined +The precious keepsakes, into which is wrought + The giver's loving thought. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Only your love and your remembrance could + Give life to this dead wood, +And make these branches, leafless now so long, + Blossom again in song. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap342"></a>JUGURTHA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How cold are thy baths, Apollo! + Cried the African monarch, the splendid, +As down to his death in the hollow + Dark dungeons of Rome he descended, + Uncrowned, unthroned, unattended; +How cold are thy baths, Apollo! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How cold are thy baths, Apollo! + Cried the Poet, unknown, unbefriended, +As the vision, that lured him to follow, + With the mist and the darkness blended, + And the dream of his life was ended; +How cold are thy baths, Apollo! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap343"></a>THE IRON PEN</h3> + + <p> + Made from a fetter of Bonnivard, the Prisoner of Chillon; the handle of + wood from the Frigate Constitution, and bound with a circlet of gold, + inset with three precious stones from Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I thought this Pen would arise +From the casket where it lies— + Of itself would arise and write +My thanks and my surprise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When you gave it me under the pines, +I dreamed these gems from the mines + Of Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine +Would glimmer as thoughts in the lines; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +That this iron link from the chain +Of Bonnivard might retain + Some verse of the Poet who sang +Of the prisoner and his pain; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +That this wood from the frigate's mast +Might write me a rhyme at last, + As it used to write on the sky +The song of the sea and the blast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But motionless as I wait, +Like a Bishop lying in state + Lies the Pen, with its mitre of gold, +And its jewels inviolate. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then must I speak, and say +That the light of that summer day + In the garden under the pines +Shall not fade and pass away. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I shall see you standing there, +Caressed by the fragrant air, + With the shadow on your face, +And the sunshine on your hair. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I shall hear the sweet low tone +Of a voice before unknown, + Saying, "This is from me to you— +From me, and to you alone." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And in words not idle and vain +I shall answer and thank you again + For the gift, and the grace of the gift, +O beautiful Helen of Maine! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And forever this gift will be +As a blessing from you to me, + As a drop of the dew of your youth +On the leaves of an aged tree. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap344"></a>ROBERT BURNS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I see amid the fields of Ayr +A ploughman, who, in foul and fair, + Sings at his task +So clear, we know not if it is +The laverock's song we hear, or his, + Nor care to ask. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For him the ploughing of those fields +A more ethereal harvest yields + Than sheaves of grain; +Songs flush with Purple bloom the rye, +The plover's call, the curlew's cry, + Sing in his brain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Touched by his hand, the wayside weed +Becomes a flower; the lowliest reed + Beside the stream +Is clothed with beauty; gorse and grass +And heather, where his footsteps pass, + The brighter seem. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He sings of love, whose flame illumes +The darkness of lone cottage rooms; + He feels the force, +The treacherous undertow and stress +Of wayward passions, and no less + The keen remorse. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At moments, wrestling with his fate, +His voice is harsh, but not with hate; + The brushwood, hung +Above the tavern door, lets fall +Its bitter leaf, its drop of gall + Upon his tongue. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But still the music of his song +Rises o'er all elate and strong; + Its master-chords +Are Manhood, Freedom, Brotherhood, +Its discords but an interlude + Between the words. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And then to die so young and leave +Unfinished what he might achieve! + Yet better sure +Is this, than wandering up and down +An old man in a country town, + Infirm and poor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For now he haunts his native land +As an immortal youth; his hand + Guides every plough; +He sits beside each ingle-nook, +His voice is in each rushing brook, + Each rustling bough. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His presence haunts this room to-night, +A form of mingled mist and light + From that far coast. +Welcome beneath this roof of mine! +Welcome! this vacant chair is thine, + Dear guest and ghost! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap345"></a>HELEN OF TYRE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What phantom is this that appears +Through the purple mist of the years, + Itself but a mist like these? +A woman of cloud and of fire; +It is she; it is Helen of Tyre, + The town in the midst of the seas. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O Tyre! in thy crowded streets +The phantom appears and retreats, + And the Israelites that sell +Thy lilies and lions of brass, +Look up as they see her pass, + And murmur "Jezebel!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then another phantom is seen +At her side, in a gray gabardine, + With beard that floats to his waist; +It is Simon Magus, the Seer; +He speaks, and she pauses to hear + The words he utters in haste. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He says: "From this evil fame, +From this life of sorrow and shame, + I will lift thee and make thee mine; +Thou hast been Queen Candace, +And Helen of Troy, and shalt be + The Intelligence Divine!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oh, sweet as the breath of morn, +To the fallen and forlorn + Are whispered words of praise; +For the famished heart believes +The falsehood that tempts and deceives, + And the promise that betrays. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So she follows from land to land +The wizard's beckoning hand, + As a leaf is blown by the gust, +Till she vanishes into night. +O reader, stoop down and write + With thy finger in the dust. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O town in the midst of the seas, +With thy rafts of cedar trees, + Thy merchandise and thy ships, +Thou, too, art become as naught, +A phantom, a shadow, a thought, + A name upon men's lips. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap346"></a>ELEGIAC</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dark is the morning with mist; in the narrow mouth of the harbor + Motionless lies the sea, under its curtain of cloud; +Dreamily glimmer the sails of ships on the distant horizon, + Like to the towers of a town, built on the verge of the sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Slowly and stately and still, they sail forth into the ocean; + With them sail my thoughts over the limitless deep, +Farther and farther away, borne on by unsatisfied longings, + Unto Hesperian isles, unto Ausonian shores. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now they have vanished away, have disappeared in the ocean; + Sunk are the towers of the town into the depths of the sea! +AU have vanished but those that, moored in the neighboring +roadstead, + Sailless at anchor ride, looming so large in the mist. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Vanished, too, are the thoughts, the dim, unsatisfied longings; + Sunk are the turrets of cloud into the ocean of dreams; +While in a haven of rest my heart is riding at anchor, + Held by the chains of love, held by the anchors of trust! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap347"></a>OLD ST. DAVID'S AT RADNOR</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What an image of peace and rest + Is this little church among its graves! +All is so quiet; the troubled breast, +The wounded spirit, the heart oppressed, + Here may find the repose it craves. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +See, how the ivy climbs and expands + Over this humble hermitage, +And seems to caress with its little hands +The rough, gray stones, as a child that stands + Caressing the wrinkled cheeks of age! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +You cross the threshold; and dim and small + Is the space that serves for the Shepherd's Fold; +The narrow aisle, the bare, white wall, +The pews, and the pulpit quaint and tall, + Whisper and say: "Alas! we are old." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Herbert's chapel at Bemerton + Hardly more spacious is than this; +But Poet and Pastor, blent in one, +Clothed with a splendor, as of the sun, + That lowly and holy edifice. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It is not the wall of stone without + That makes the building small or great +But the soul's light shining round about, +And the faith that overcometh doubt, + And the love that stronger is than hate. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Were I a pilgrim in search of peace, + Were I a pastor of Holy Church, +More than a Bishop's diocese +Should I prize this place of rest, and release + From farther longing and farther search. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Here would I stay, and let the world + With its distant thunder roar and roll; +Storms do not rend the sail that is furled; +Nor like a dead leaf, tossed and whirled + In an eddy of wind, is the anchored soul. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap348"></a>FOLK SONGS</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap349"></a>THE SIFTING OF PETER</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In St. Luke's Gospel we are told +How Peter in the days of old + Was sifted; +And now, though ages intervene, +Sin is the same, while time and scene + Are shifted. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Satan desires us, great and small, +As wheat to sift us, and we all + Are tempted; +Not one, however rich or great, +Is by his station or estate + Exempted. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No house so safely guarded is +But he, by some device of his, + Can enter; +No heart hath armor so complete +But he can pierce with arrows fleet + Its centre. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For all at last the cock will crow, +Who hear the warning voice, but go + Unheeding, +Till thrice and more they have denied +The Man of Sorrows, crucified + And bleeding. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +One look of that pale suffering face +Will make us feel the deep disgrace + Of weakness; +We shall be sifted till the strength +Of self-conceit be changed at length + To meekness. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wounds of the soul, though healed will ache; +The reddening scars remain, and make + Confession; +Lost innocence returns no more; +We are not what we were before + Transgression. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But noble souls, through dust and heat, +Rise from disaster and defeat + The stronger, +And conscious still of the divine +Within them, lie on earth supine + No longer. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap350"></a>MAIDEN AND WEATHERCOCK</h3> + + <p> + MAIDEN O weathercock on the village spire, With your golden feathers all + on fire, Tell me, what can you see from your perch Above there over the + tower of the church? + </p> + <p> + WEATHERCOCK. I can see the roofs and the streets below, And the people + moving to and fro, And beyond, without either roof or street, The great + salt sea, and the fisherman's fleet. + </p> + <p> + I can see a ship come sailing in Beyond the headlands and harbor of Lynn, + And a young man standing on the deck, With a silken kerchief round his + neck. + </p> + <p> + Now he is pressing it to his lips, And now he is kissing his finger-tips, + And now he is lifting and waving his hand And blowing the kisses toward + the land. + </p> + <p> + MAIDEN. Ah, that is the ship from over the sea, That is bringing my lover + back to me, Bringing my lover so fond and true, Who does not change with + the wind like you. + </p> + <p> + WEATHERCOCK. If I change with all the winds that blow, It is only because + they made me so, And people would think it wondrous strange, If I, a + Weathercock, should not change. + </p> + <p> + O pretty Maiden, so fine and fair, With your dreamy eyes and your golden + hair, When you and your lover meet to-day You will thank me for looking + some other way. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap351"></a>THE WINDMILL</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Behold! a giant am I! + Aloft here in my tower, + With my granite jaws I devour +The maize, and the wheat, and the rye, + And grind them into flour. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I look down over the farms; + In the fields of grain I see + The harvest that is to be, +And I fling to the air my arms, + For I know it is all for me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I hear the sound of flails + Far off, from the threshing-floors + In barns, with their open doors, +And the wind, the wind in my sails, + Louder and louder roars. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I stand here in my place, + With my foot on the rock below, + And whichever way it may blow +I meet it face to face, + As a brave man meets his foe. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And while we wrestle and strive + My master, the miller, stands + And feeds me with his hands; +For he knows who makes him thrive, + Who makes him lord of lands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On Sundays I take my rest; + Church-going bells begin + Their low, melodious din; +I cross my arms on my breast, + And all is peace within. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap352"></a>THE TIDE RISES, THE TIDE FALLS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The tide rises, the tide falls, +The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; +Along the sea-sands damp and brown +The traveller hastens toward the town, + And the tide rises, the tide falls. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Darkness settles on roofs and walls, +But the sea in the darkness calls and calls; +The little waves, with their soft, white hands, +Efface the footprints in the sands, + And the tide rises, the tide falls. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls +Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls; +The day returns, but nevermore +Returns the traveller to the shore, + And the tide rises, the tide falls. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap353"></a>SONNETS</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap354"></a>MY CATHEDRAL</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like two cathedral towers these stately pines + Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones; + The arch beneath them is not built with stones, + Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines, +And carved this graceful arabesque of vines; + No organ but the wind here sighs and moans, + No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones. + No marble bishop on his tomb reclines. +Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves, + Gives back a softened echo to thy tread! + Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds, +In leafy galleries beneath the eaves, + Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled, + And learn there may be worship with out words. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap355"></a>THE BURIAL OF THE POET</h3> + +<p class="center"> +RICHARD HENRY DANA +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the old churchyard of his native town, + And in the ancestral tomb beside the wall, + We laid him in the sleep that comes to all, + And left him to his rest and his renown. +The snow was falling, as if Heaven dropped down + White flowers of Paradise to strew his pall;— + The dead around him seemed to wake, and call + His name, as worthy of so white a crown. +And now the moon is shining on the scene, + And the broad sheet of snow is written o'er + With shadows cruciform of leafless trees, +As once the winding-sheet of Saladin + With chapters of the Koran; but, ah! more + Mysterious and triumphant signs are these. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap356"></a>NIGHT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Into the darkness and the hush of night + Slowly the landscape sinks, and fades away, + And with it fade the phantoms of the day, + The ghosts of men and things, that haunt the light, +The crowd, the clamor, the pursuit, the flight, + The unprofitable splendor and display, + The agitations, and the cares that prey + Upon our hearts, all vanish out of sight. +The better life begins; the world no more + Molests us; all its records we erase + From the dull common-place book of our lives, +That like a palimpsest is written o'er + With trivial incidents of time and place, + And lo! the ideal, hidden beneath, revives. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap357"></a>L'ENVOI<br/> +THE POET AND HIS SONGS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As the birds come in the Spring, + We know not from where; +As the stars come at evening + From depths of the air; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As the rain comes from the cloud, + And the brook from the ground; +As suddenly, low or loud, + Out of silence a sound; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As the grape comes to the vine, + The fruit to the tree; +As the wind comes to the pine, + And the tide to the sea; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As come the white sails of ships + O'er the ocean's verge; +As comes the smile to the lips, + The foam to the surge; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So come to the Poet his songs, + All hitherward blown +From the misty realm, that belongs + To the vast unknown. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +His, and not his, are the lays + He sings; and their fame +Is his, and not his; and the praise + And the pride of a name. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For voices pursue him by day, + And haunt him by night, +And he listens, and needs must obey, + When the Angel says: "Write!" +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap358"></a>IN THE HARBOR</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap359"></a>BECALMED</h3> + + <p> + Becalmed upon the sea of Thought, Still unattained the land it sought, My + mind, with loosely-hanging sails, Lies waiting the auspicious gales. + </p> + <p> + On either side, behind, before, The ocean stretches like a floor,— A + level floor of amethyst, Crowned by a golden dome of mist. + </p> + <p> + Blow, breath of inspiration, blow! Shake and uplift this golden glow! And + fill the canvas of the mind With wafts of thy celestial wind. + </p> + <p> + Blow, breath of song! until I feel The straining sail, the lifting keel, + The life of the awakening sea, Its motion and its mystery! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap360"></a>THE POET'S CALENDAR</h3> + +<h4>JANUARY</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Janus am I; oldest of potentates; + Forward I look, and backward, and below +I count, as god of avenues and gates, + The years that through my portals come and go. +I block the roads, and drift the fields with snow; +I chase the wild-fowl from the frozen fen; +My frosts congeal the rivers in their flow, +My fires light up the hearths and hearts of men. +</pre> + +<h4>FEBRUARY</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I am lustration, and the sea is mine. + I wash the sands and headlands with my tide; +My brow is crowned with branches of the pine; + Before my chariot-wheels the fishes glide. +By me all things unclean are purified, + By me the souls of men washed white again; +E'en the unlovely tombs of those who died + Without a dirge, I cleanse from every stain. +</pre> + +<h4>MARCH</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I Martius am! Once first, and now the third! + To lead the Year was my appointed place; +A mortal dispossessed me by a word, + And set there Janus with the double face. +Hence I make war on all the human race; + I shake the cities with my hurricanes; +I flood the rivers and their banks efface, + And drown the farms and hamlets with my rains. +</pre> + +<h4>APRIL</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I open wide the portals of the Spring + To welcome the procession of the flowers, +With their gay banners, and the birds that sing + Their song of songs from their aerial towers. +I soften with my sunshine and my showers + The heart of earth; with thoughts of love I glide +Into the hearts of men; and with the Hours + Upon the Bull with wreathed horns I ride. +</pre> + +<h4>MAY</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hark! The sea-faring wild-fowl loud proclaim + My coming, and the swarming of the bees. +These are my heralds, and behold! my name + Is written in blossoms on the hawthorn-trees. +I tell the mariner when to sail the seas; + I waft o'er all the land from far away +The breath and bloom of the Hesperides, + My birthplace. I am Maia. I am May. +</pre> + +<h4>JUNE</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Mine is the Month of Roses; yes, and mine + The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights +And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine, + The foliage of the valleys and the heights. +Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights; + The mower's scythe makes music to my ear; +I am the mother of all dear delights; + I am the fairest daughter of the year. +</pre> + +<h4>JULY</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +My emblem is the Lion, and I breathe + The breath of Libyan deserts o'er the land; +My sickle as a sabre I unsheathe, + And bent before me the pale harvests stand. +The lakes and rivers shrink at my command, + And there is thirst and fever in the air; +The sky is changed to brass, the earth to sand; + I am the Emperor whose name I bear. +</pre> + +<h4>AUGUST</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Emperor Octavian, called the August, + I being his favorite, bestowed his name +Upon me, and I hold it still in trust, + In memory of him and of his fame. +I am the Virgin, and my vestal flame + Burns less intensely than the Lion's rage; +Sheaves are my only garlands, and I claim + The golden Harvests as my heritage. +</pre> + +<h4>SEPTEMBER</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I bear the Scales, where hang in equipoise + The night and day; and when unto my lips +I put my trumpet, with its stress and noise + Fly the white clouds like tattered sails of ships; +The tree-tops lash the air with sounding whips; + Southward the clamorous sea-fowl wing their flight; +The hedges are all red with haws and hips, + The Hunter's Moon reigns empress of the night. +</pre> + +<h4>OCTOBER</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +My ornaments are fruits; my garments leaves, + Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed; +I do not boast the harvesting of sheaves, + O'er orchards and o'er vineyards I preside. +Though on the frigid Scorpion I ride, + The dreamy air is full, and overflows +With tender memories of the summer-tide, + And mingled voices of the doves and crows. +</pre> + +<h4>NOVEMBER</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Centaur, Sagittarius, am I, + Born of Ixion's and the cloud's embrace; +With sounding hoofs across the earth I fly, + A steed Thessalian with a human face. +Sharp winds the arrows are with which I chase + The leaves, half dead already with affright; +I shroud myself in gloom; and to the race + Of mortals bring nor comfort nor delight. +</pre> + +<h4>DECEMBER</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Riding upon the Goat, with snow-white hair, + I come, the last of all. This crown of mine +Is of the holly; in my hand I bear + The thyrsus, tipped with fragrant cones of pine. +I celebrate the birth of the Divine, + And the return of the Saturnian reign;— +My songs are carols sung at every shrine, + Proclaiming "Peace on earth, good will to men." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap361"></a>AUTUMN WITHIN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It is autumn; not without, + But within me is the cold. +Youth and spring are all about; + It is I that have grown old. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Birds are darting through the air, + Singing, building without rest; +Life is stirring everywhere, + Save within my lonely breast. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There is silence: the dead leaves + Fall and rustle and are still; +Beats no flail upon the sheaves + Comes no murmur from the mill. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap362"></a>THE FOUR LAKES OF MADISON</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Four limpid lakes,—four Naiades +Or sylvan deities are these, + In flowing robes of azure dressed; +Four lovely handmaids, that uphold +Their shining mirrors, rimmed with gold, + To the fair city in the West. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By day the coursers of the sun +Drink of these waters as they run + Their swift diurnal round on high; +By night the constellations glow +Far down the hollow deeps below, + And glimmer in another sky. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Fair lakes, serene and full of light, +Fair town, arrayed in robes of white, + How visionary ye appear! +All like a floating landscape seems +In cloud-land or the land of dreams, + Bathed in a golden atmosphere! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap363"></a>VICTOR AND VANQUISHED</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As one who long hath fled with panting breath + Before his foe, bleeding and near to fall, + I turn and set my back against the wall, + And look thee in the face, triumphant Death, +I call for aid, and no one answereth; + I am alone with thee, who conquerest all; + Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall, + For thou art but a phantom and a wraith. +Wounded and weak, sword broken at the hilt, + With armor shattered, and without a shield, + I stand unmoved; do with me what thou wilt; +I can resist no more, but will not yield. + This is no tournament where cowards tilt; + The vanquished here is victor of the field. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap364"></a>MOONLIGHT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As a pale phantom with a lamp + Ascends some ruin's haunted stair, +So glides the moon along the damp + Mysterious chambers of the air. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed, + As if this phantom, full of pain, +Were by the crumbling walls concealed, + And at the windows seen again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Until at last, serene and proud + In all the splendor of her light, +She walks the terraces of cloud, + Supreme as Empress of the Night. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I look, but recognize no more + Objects familiar to my view; +The very pathway to my door + Is an enchanted avenue. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All things are changed. One mass of shade, + The elm-trees drop their curtains down; +By palace, park, and colonnade + I walk as in a foreign town. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The very ground beneath my feet + Is clothed with a diviner air; +White marble paves the silent street + And glimmers in the empty square. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Illusion! Underneath there lies + The common life of every day; +Only the spirit glorifies + With its own tints the sober gray. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In vain we look, in vain uplift + Our eyes to heaven, if we are blind, +We see but what we have the gift + Of seeing; what we bring we find. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap365"></a>THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +[A FRAGMENT.] +</p> + +<h4>I</h4> + + <p> + What is this I read in history, Full of marvel, full of mystery, Difficult + to understand? Is it fiction, is it truth? Children in the flower of + youth, Heart in heart, and hand in hand, Ignorant of what helps or harms, + Without armor, without arms, Journeying to the Holy Land! + </p> + <p> + Who shall answer or divine? Never since the world was made Such a + wonderful crusade Started forth for Palestine. Never while the world shall + last Will it reproduce the past; Never will it see again Such an army, + such a band, Over mountain, over main, Journeying to the Holy Land. + </p> + <p> + Like a shower of blossoms blown From the parent trees were they; Like a + flock of birds that fly Through the unfrequented sky, Holding nothing as + their own, Passed they into lands unknown, Passed to suffer and to die. + </p> + <p> + O the simple, child-like trust! O the faith that could believe What the + harnessed, iron-mailed Knights of Christendom had failed, By their + prowess, to achieve, They the children, could and must? + </p> + <p> + Little thought the Hermit, preaching Holy Wars to knight and baron, That + the words dropped in his teaching, His entreaty, his beseeching, Would by + children's hands be gleaned, And the staff on which he leaned Blossom like + the rod of Aaron. + </p> + <p> + As a summer wind upheaves The innumerable leaves In the bosom of a wood,— + Not as separate leaves, but massed All together by the blast,— So + for evil or for good His resistless breath upheaved All at once the + many-leaved, Many-thoughted multitude. + </p> + <p> + In the tumult of the air Rock the boughs with all the nests Cradled on + their tossing crests; By the fervor of his prayer Troubled hearts were + everywhere Rocked and tossed in human breasts. + </p> + <p> + For a century, at least, His prophetic voice had ceased; But the air was + heated still By his lurid words and will, As from fires in far-off woods, + In the autumn of the year, An unwonted fever broods In the sultry + atmosphere. + </p> + +<h4>II</h4> + + <p> + In Cologne the bells were ringing, In Cologne the nuns were singing Hymns + and canticles divine; Loud the monks sang in their stalls, And the + thronging streets were loud With the voices of the crowd;— + Underneath the city walls Silent flowed the river Rhine. + </p> + <p> + From the gates, that summer day, Clad in robes of hodden gray, With the + red cross on the breast, Azure-eyed and golden-haired, Forth the young + crusaders fared; While above the band devoted Consecrated banners floated, + Fluttered many a flag and streamer, And the cross o'er all the rest! + Singing lowly, meekly, slowly, "Give us, give us back the holy Sepulchre + of the Redeemer!" On the vast procession pressed, Youths and maidens. . . + . + </p> + +<h4>III</h4> + + <p> + Ah! what master hand shall paint How they journeyed on their way, How the + days grew long and dreary, How their little feet grew weary, How their + little hearts grew faint! + </p> + <p> + Ever swifter day by day Flowed the homeward river; ever More and more its + whitening current Broke and scattered into spray, Till the calmly-flowing + river Changed into a mountain torrent, Rushing from its glacier green Down + through chasm and black ravine. Like a phoenix in its nest, Burned the red + sun in the West, Sinking in an ashen cloud; In the East, above the crest + Of the sea-like mountain chain, Like a phoenix from its shroud, Came the + red sun back again. + </p> + <p> + Now around them, white with snow, Closed the mountain peaks. Below, + Headlong from the precipice Down into the dark abyss, Plunged the + cataract, white with foam; And it said, or seemed to say: "Oh return, + while yet you may, Foolish children, to your home, There the Holy City + is!" + </p> + <p> + But the dauntless leader said: "Faint not, though your bleeding feet O'er + these slippery paths of sleet Move but painfully and slowly; Other feet + than yours have bled; Other tears than yours been shed Courage! lose not + heart or hope; On the mountains' southern slope Lies Jerusalem the Holy!" + </p> + <p> + As a white rose in its pride, By the wind in summer-tide Tossed and + loosened from the branch, Showers its petals o'er the ground, From the + distant mountain's side, Scattering all its snows around, With mysterious, + muffled sound, Loosened, fell the avalanche. Voices, echoes far and near, + Roar of winds and waters blending, Mists uprising, clouds impending, + Filled them with a sense of fear, Formless, nameless, never ending. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap366"></a>SUNDOWN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The summer sun is sinking low; +Only the tree-tops redden and glow: +Only the weathercock on the spire +Of the neighboring church is a flame of fire; + All is in shadow below. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O beautiful, awful summer day, +What hast thou given, what taken away? +Life and death, and love and hate, +Homes made happy or desolate, + Hearts made sad or gay! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the road of life one mile-stone more! +In the book of life one leaf turned o'er! +Like a red seal is the setting sun +On the good and the evil men have done,— + Naught can to-day restore! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap367"></a>CHIMES</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sweet chimes! that in the loneliness of night + Salute the passing hour, and in the dark + And silent chambers of the household mark + The movements of the myriad orbs of light! +Through my closed eyelids, by the inner sight, + I see the constellations in the arc + Of their great circles moving on, and hark! + I almost hear them singing in their flight. +Better than sleep it is to lie awake + O'er-canopied by the vast starry dome + Of the immeasurable sky; to feel +The slumbering world sink under us, and make + Hardly an eddy,—a mere rush of foam + On the great sea beneath a sinking keel. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap368"></a>FOUR BY THE CLOCK.</h3> + + <p> + "NAHANT, September 8, 1880, Four o'clock in the morning." + </p> + <p> + Four by the clock! and yet not day; But the great world rolls and wheels + away, With its cities on land, and its ships at sea, Into the dawn that is + to be! + </p> + <p> + Only the lamp in the anchored bark Sends its glimmer across the dark, And + the heavy breathing of the sea Is the only sound that comes to me. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap369"></a>AUF WIEDERSEHEN.</h3> + +<p class="center"> +IN MEMORY OF J.T.F. +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Until we meet again! That is the meaning +Of the familiar words, that men repeat + At parting in the street. +Ah yes, till then! but when death intervening +Rends us asunder, with what ceaseless pain + We wait for the Again! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The friends who leave us do not feel the sorrow +Of parting, as we feel it, who must stay + Lamenting day by day, +And knowing, when we wake upon the morrow, +We shall not find in its accustomed place + The one beloved face. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It were a double grief, if the departed, +Being released from earth, should still retain + A sense of earthly pain; +It were a double grief, if the true-hearted, +Who loved us here, should on the farther shore + Remember us no more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Believing, in the midst of our afflictions, +That death is a beginning, not an end, + We cry to them, and send +Farewells, that better might be called predictions, +Being fore-shadowings of the future, thrown + Into the vast Unknown. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Faith overleaps the confines of our reason, +And if by faith, as in old times was said, + Women received their dead +Raised up to life, then only for a season +Our partings are, nor shall we wait in vain + Until we meet again! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap370"></a>ELEGIAC VERSE</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Peradventure of old, some bard in Ionian Islands, + Walking alone by the sea, hearing the wash of the waves, +Learned the secret from them of the beautiful verse elegiac, + Breathing into his song motion and sound of the sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For as the wave of the sea, upheaving in long undulations, + Plunges loud on the sands, pauses, and turns, and retreats, +So the Hexameter, rising and singing, with cadence sonorous, + Falls; and in refluent rhythm back the Pentameter flows? +</pre> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not in his youth alone, but in age, may the heart of the poet + Bloom into song, as the gorse blossoms in autumn and spring. +</pre> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not in tenderness wanting, yet rough are the rhymes of our poet; + Though it be Jacob's voice, Esau's, alas! are the hands. +</pre> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Let us be grateful to writers for what is left in the inkstand; + When to leave off is an art only attained by the few. +</pre> + +<h4>V</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How can the Three be One? you ask me; I answer by asking, + Hail and snow and rain, are they not three, and yet one? +</pre> + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By the mirage uplifted the land floats vague in the ether, + Ships and the shadows of ships hang in the motionless air; +So by the art of the poet our common life is uplifted, + So, transfigured, the world floats in a luminous haze. +</pre> + +<h4>VII</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like a French poem is Life; being only perfect in structure + When with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are. +</pre> + +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Down from the mountain descends the brooklet, rejoicing in +freedom; + Little it dreams of the mill hid in the valley below; +Glad with the joy of existence, the child goes singing and +laughing, + Little dreaming what toils lie in the future concealed. +</pre> + +<h4>IX</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As the ink from our pen, so flow our thoughts and our feelings + When we begin to write, however sluggish before. +</pre> + +<h4>X</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like the Kingdom of Heaven, the Fountain of Youth is within us; + If we seek it elsewhere, old shall we grow in the search. +</pre> + +<h4>XI</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it; + Every arrow that flies feels the attraction of earth. +</pre> + +<h4>XII</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wisely the Hebrews admit no Present tense in their language; + While we are speaking the word, it is is already the Past. +</pre> + +<h4>XIII</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In the twilight of age all things seem strange and phantasmal, + As between daylight and dark ghost-like the landscape appears. +</pre> + +<h4>XIV</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Great is the art of beginning, but greater the art is of ending; + Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap371"></a>THE CITY AND THE SEA</h3> + + <p> + The panting City cried to the Sea, "I am faint with heat,—O breathe + on me!" + </p> + <p> + And the Sea said, "Lo, I breathe! but my breath To some will be life, to + others death!" + </p> + <p> + As to Prometheus, bringing ease In pain, come the Oceanides, + </p> + <p> + So to the City, hot with the flame Of the pitiless sun, the east wind + came. + </p> + <p> + It came from the heaving breast of the deep, Silent as dreams are, and + sudden as sleep. + </p> + <p> + Life-giving, death-giving, which will it be; O breath of the merciful, + merciless Sea? + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap372"></a>MEMORIES</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oft I remember those whom I have known + In other days, to whom my heart was led + As by a magnet, and who are not dead, + But absent, and their memories overgrown +With other thoughts and troubles of my own, + As graves with grasses are, and at their head + The stone with moss and lichens so o'erspread, + Nothing is legible but the name alone. +And is it so with them? After long years, + Do they remember me in the same way, + And is the memory pleasant as to me? +I fear to ask; yet wherefore are my fears? + Pleasures, like flowers, may wither and decay, + And yet the root perennial may be. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap373"></a>HERMES TRISMEGISTUS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As Seleucus narrates, Hermes describes the principles that rank +as wholes in two myriads of books; or, as we are informed by +Manetho, he perfectly unfolded these principles in three myriads +six thousand five hundred and twenty-five volumes. . . . + . . . Our ancestors dedicated the inventions of their wisdom to +this deity, inscribing all their own writings with the name of +Hermes.—IAMBLICUS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Still through Egypt's desert places + Flows the lordly Nile, +From its banks the great stone faces + Gaze with patient smile. +Still the pyramids imperious + Pierce the cloudless skies, +And the Sphinx stares with mysterious, + Solemn, stony eyes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But where are the old Egyptian + Demi-gods and kings? +Nothing left but an inscription + Graven on stones and rings. +Where are Helios and Hephæstus, + Gods of eldest eld? +Where is Hermes Trismegistus, + Who their secrets held? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where are now the many hundred + Thousand books he wrote? +By the Thaumaturgists plundered, + Lost in lands remote; +In oblivion sunk forever, + As when o'er the land +Blows a storm-wind, in the river + Sinks the scattered sand. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Something unsubstantial, ghostly, + Seems this Theurgist, +In deep meditation mostly + Wrapped, as in a mist. +Vague, phantasmal, and unreal + To our thought he seems, +Walking in a world ideal, + In a land of dreams. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Was he one, or many, merging + Name and fame in one, +Like a stream, to which, converging + Many streamlets run? +Till, with gathered power proceeding, + Ampler sweep it takes, +Downward the sweet waters leading + From unnumbered lakes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +By the Nile I see him wandering, + Pausing now and then, +On the mystic union pondering + Between gods and men; +Half believing, wholly feeling, + With supreme delight, +How the gods, themselves concealing, + Lift men to their height. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Or in Thebes, the hundred-gated, + In the thoroughfare +Breathing, as if consecrated, + A diviner air; +And amid discordant noises, + In the jostling throng, +Hearing far, celestial voices + Of Olympian song. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Who shall call his dreams fallacious? + Who has searched or sought +All the unexplored and spacious + Universe of thought? +Who, in his own skill confiding, + Shall with rule and line +Mark the border-land dividing + Human and divine? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Trismegistus! three times greatest! + How thy name sublime +Has descended to this latest + Progeny of time! +Happy they whose written pages + Perish with their lives, +If amid the crumbling ages + Still their name survives! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thine, O priest of Egypt, lately + Found I in the vast, +Weed-encumbered sombre, stately, + Grave-yard of the Past; +And a presence moved before me + On that gloomy shore, +As a waft of wind, that o'er me + Breathed, and was no more. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap374"></a>TO THE AVON</h3> + + <p> + Flow on, sweet river! like his verse Who lies beneath this sculptured + hearse Nor wait beside the churchyard wall For him who cannot hear thy + call. + </p> + <p> + Thy playmate once; I see him now A boy with sunshine on his brow, And hear + in Stratford's quiet street The patter of his little feet. + </p> + <p> + I see him by thy shallow edge Wading knee-deep amid the sedge; And lost in + thought, as if thy stream Were the swift river of a dream. + </p> + <p> + He wonders whitherward it flows; And fain would follow where it goes, To + the wide world, that shall erelong Be filled with his melodious song. + </p> + <p> + Flow on, fair stream! That dream is o'er; He stands upon another shore; A + vaster river near him flows, And still he follows where it goes. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap375"></a>PRESIDENT GARFIELD</h3> + +<p class="center"> +"E venni dal martirio a questa pace." +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +These words the poet heard in Paradise, + Uttered by one who, bravely dying here, + In the true faith was living in that sphere + Where the celestial cross of sacrifice +Spread its protecting arms athwart the skies; + And set thereon, like jewels crystal clear, + The souls magnanimous, that knew not fear, + Flashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes. +Ah me! how dark the discipline of pain, + Were not the suffering followed by the sense + Of infinite rest and infinite release! +This is our consolation; and again + A great soul cries to us in our suspense, + "I came from martyrdom unto this peace!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap376"></a>MY BOOKS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sadly as some old mediaeval knight + Gazed at the arms he could no longer wield, + The sword two-handed and the shining shield + Suspended in the hall, and full in sight, +While secret longings for the lost delight + Of tourney or adventure in the field + Came over him, and tears but half concealed + Trembled and fell upon his beard of white, +So I behold these books upon their shelf, + My ornaments and arms of other days; + Not wholly useless, though no longer used, +For they remind me of my other self, + Younger and stronger, and the pleasant ways + In which I walked, now clouded and confused. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap377"></a>MAD RIVER</h3> + +<p class="center"> +IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TRAVELLER +Why dost thou wildly rush and roar, + Mad River, O Mad River? +Wilt thou not pause and cease to pour +Thy hurrying, headlong waters o'er + This rocky shelf forever? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What secret trouble stirs thy breast? + Why all this fret and flurry? +Dost thou not know that what is best +In this too restless world is rest + From over-work and worry? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE RIVER +What wouldst thou in these mountains seek, + O stranger from the city? +Is it perhaps some foolish freak +Of thine, to put the words I speak + Into a plaintive ditty? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TRAVELLER +Yes; I would learn of thee thy song, + With all its flowing number; +And in a voice as fresh and strong +As thine is, sing it all day long, + And hear it in my slumbers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE RIVER +A brooklet nameless and unknown + Was I at first, resembling +A little child, that all alone +Comes venturing down the stairs of stone, + Irresolute and trembling. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Later, by wayward fancies led, + For the wide world I panted; +Out of the forest dark and dread +Across the open fields I fled, + Like one pursued and haunted. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I tossed my arms, I sang aloud, + My voice exultant blending +With thunder from the passing cloud, +The wind, the forest bent and bowed, + The rush of rain descending. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I heard the distant ocean call, + Imploring and entreating; +Drawn onward, o'er this rocky wall +I plunged, and the loud waterfall + Made answer to the greeting. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And now, beset with many ills, + A toilsome life I follow; +Compelled to carry from the hills +These logs to the impatient mills + Below there in the hollow. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Yet something ever cheers and charms + The rudeness of my labors; +Daily I water with these arms +The cattle of a hundred farms, + And have the birds for neighbors. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Men call me Mad, and well they may, + When, full of rage and trouble, +I burst my banks of sand and clay, +And sweep their wooden bridge away, + Like withered reeds or stubble. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now go and write thy little rhyme, + As of thine own creating. +Thou seest the day is past its prime; +I can no longer waste my time; + The mills are tired of waiting. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap378"></a>POSSIBILITIES</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where are the Poets, unto whom belong + The Olympian heights; whose singing shafts were sent + Straight to the mark, and not from bows half bent, + But with the utmost tension of the thong? +Where are the stately argosies of song, + Whose rushing keels made music as they went + Sailing in search of some new continent, + With all sail set, and steady winds and strong? +Perhaps there lives some dreamy boy, untaught + In schools, some graduate of the field or street, + Who shall become a master of the art, +An admiral sailing the high seas of thought, + Fearless and first and steering with his fleet + For lands not yet laid down in any chart. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap379"></a>DECORATION DAY</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest + On this Field of the Grounded Arms, +Where foes no more molest, + Nor sentry's shot alarms! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ye have slept on the ground before, + And started to your feet +At the cannon's sudden roar, + Or the drum's redoubling beat. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But in this camp of Death + No sound your slumber breaks; +Here is no fevered breath, + No wound that bleeds and aches. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All is repose and peace, + Untrampled lies the sod; +The shouts of battle cease, + It is the Truce of God! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Rest, comrades, rest and sleep! + The thoughts of men shall be +As sentinels to keep + Your rest from danger free. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Your silent tents of green + We deck with fragrant flowers; +Yours has the suffering been, + The memory shall be ours. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap380"></a>A FRAGMENT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Awake! arise! the hour is late! + Angels are knocking at thy door! +They are in haste and cannot wait, + And once departed come no more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Awake! arise! the athlete's arm + Loses its strength by too much rest; +The fallow land, the untilled farm + Produces only weeds at best. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap381"></a>LOSS AND GAIN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I compare +What I have lost with what I have gained, +What I have missed with what attained, + Little room do I find for pride. + + I am aware +How many days have been idly spent; +How like an arrow the good intent + Has fallen short or been turned aside. + + But who shall dare +To measure loss and gain in this wise? +Defeat may be victory in disguise; + The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap382"></a>INSCRIPTION ON THE SHANKLIN FOUNTAIN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O traveller, stay thy weary feet; +Drink of this fountain, pure and sweet; + It flows for rich and poor the same. +Then go thy way, remembering still +The wayside well beneath the hill, + The cup of water in His name. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap383"></a>THE BELLS OF SAN BLAS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What say the Bells of San Blas +To the ships that southward pass + From the harbor of Mazatlan? +To them it is nothing more +Than the sound of surf on the shore,— + Nothing more to master or man. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But to me, a dreamer of dreams, +To whom what is and what seems + Are often one and the same,— +The Bells of San Blas to me +Have a strange, wild melody, + And are something more than a name. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For bells are the voice of the church; +They have tones that touch and search + The hearts of young and old; +One sound to all, yet each +Lends a meaning to their speech, + And the meaning is manifold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They are a voice of the Past, +Of an age that is fading fast, + Of a power austere and grand, +When the flag of Spain unfurled +Its folds o'er this western world, + And the Priest was lord of the land. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The chapel that once looked down +On the little seaport town + Has crumbled into the dust; +And on oaken beams below +The bells swing to and fro, + And are green with mould and rust. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Is, then, the old faith dead," +They say, "and in its stead + Is some new faith proclaimed, +That we are forced to remain +Naked to sun and rain, + Unsheltered and ashamed? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Once, in our tower aloof, +We rang over wall and roof + Our warnings and our complaints; +And round about us there +The white doves filled the air, + Like the white souls of the saints. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"The saints! Ah, have they grown +Forgetful of their own? + Are they asleep, or dead, +That open to the sky +Their ruined Missions lie, + No longer tenanted? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Oh, bring us back once more +The vanished days of yore, + When the world with faith was filled; +Bring back the fervid zeal, +The hearts of fire and steel, + The hands that believe and build. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Then from our tower again +We will send over land and main + Our voices of command, +Like exiled kings who return +To their thrones, and the people learn + That the Priest is lord of the land!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O Bells of San Blas in vain +Ye call back the Past again; + The Past is deaf to your prayer! +Out of the shadows of night +The world rolls into light; + It is daybreak everywhere. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap384"></a>FRAGMENTS</h2> + + <p><a name="chap385"></a> + October 22, 1838. + </p> + <p> + Neglected record of a mind neglected, Unto what "lets and stops" art thou + subjected! The day with all its toils and occupations, The night with its + reflections and sensations, The future, and the present, and the past,— + All I remember, feel, and hope at last, All shapes of joy and sorrow, as + they pass,— Find but a dusty image in this glass. + </p> + <p><a name="chap386"></a> + August 18, 1847. + </p> + <p> + O faithful, indefatigable tides, That evermore upon God's errands go,— + Now seaward bearing tidings of the land,— Now landward bearing + tidings of the sea,— And filling every frith and estuary, Each arm + of the great sea, each little creek, Each thread and filament of + water-courses, Full with your ministration of delight! Under the rafters + of this wooden bridge I see you come and go; sometimes in haste To reach + your journey's end, which being done With feet unrested ye return again + And recommence the never-ending task; Patient, whatever burdens ye may + bear, And fretted only by the impeding rocks. + </p> + <p><a name="chap387"></a> + December 18, 1847. + </p> + <p> + Soft through the silent air descend the feathery snow-flakes; White are + the distant hills, white are the neighboring fields; Only the marshes are + brown, and the river rolling among them Weareth the leaden hue seen in the + eyes of the blind. + </p> + <p><a name="chap388"></a> + August 4, 1856. + </p> + <p> + A lovely morning, without the glare of the sun, the sea in great + commotion, chafing and foaming. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So from the bosom of darkness our days come roaring and gleaming, + Chafe and break into foam, sink into darkness again. +But on the shores of Time each leaves some trace of its passage, + Though the succeeding wave washes it out from the sand. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap389"></a>CHRISTUS: A MYSTERY</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap390"></a>INTROITUS</h3> + + <p> + The ANGEL bearing the PROPHET HABAKKUK through the air. + </p> + <p> + PROPHET. Why dost thou bear me aloft, O Angel of God, on thy pinions O'er + realms and dominions? Softly I float as a cloud In air, for thy right hand + upholds me, Thy garment enfolds me! + </p> + <p> + ANGEL. Lo! as I passed on my way In the harvest-field I beheld thee, When + no man compelled thee, Bearing with thine own hands This food to the + famishing reapers, A flock without keepers! + </p> + <p> + The fragrant sheaves of the wheat Made the air above them sweet; Sweeter + and more divine Was the scent of the scattered grain, That the reaper's + hand let fall To be gathered again By the hand of the gleaner! Sweetest, + divinest of all, Was the humble deed of thine, And the meekness of thy + demeanor! + </p> + <p> + PROPHET. Angel of Light, I cannot gainsay thee, I can but obey thee! + </p> + <p> + ANGEL. Beautiful was it in the lord's sight, To behold his Prophet Feeding + those that toil, The tillers of the soil. But why should the reapers eat + of it And not the Prophet of Zion In the den of the lion? The Prophet + should feed the Prophet! Therefore I thee have uplifted, And bear thee + aloft by the hair Of thy head, like a cloud that is drifted Through the + vast unknown of the air! Five days hath the Prophet been lying In Babylon, + in the den Of the lions, death-defying, Defying hunger and thirst; But the + worst Is the mockery of men! Alas! how full of fear Is the fate of Prophet + and Seer! Forevermore, forevermore, It shall be as it hath been + heretofore; The age in which they live Will not forgive The splendor of + the everlasting light, That makes their foreheads bright, Nor the sublime + Fore-running of their time! + </p> + <p> + PROPHET. Oh tell me, for thou knowest, Wherefore and by what grace, Have + I, who am least and lowest, Been chosen to this place, To this exalted + part? + </p> + <p> + ANGEL. Because thou art The Struggler; and from thy youth Thy humble and + patient life Hath been a strife And battle for the Truth; Nor hast thou + paused nor halted, Nor ever in thy pride Turned from the poor aside, But + with deed and word and pen Hast served thy fellow-men; Therefore art thou + exalted! + </p> + <p> + PROPHET. By thine arrow's light Thou goest onward through the night, And + by the clear Sheen of thy glittering spear! When will our journey end? + </p> + <p> + ANGEL. Lo, it is ended! Yon silver gleam Is the Euphrates' stream. Let us + descend Into the city splendid, Into the City of Gold! + </p> + <p> + PROPHET. Behold! As if the stars had fallen from their places Into the + firmament below, The streets, the gardens, and the vacant spaces With + light are all aglow; And hark! As we draw near, What sound is it I hear + Ascending through the dark? + </p> + <p> + ANGEL. The tumultuous noise of the nations, Their rejoicings and + lamentations, The pleadings of their prayer, The groans of their despair, + The cry of their imprecations, Their wrath, their love, their hate! + </p> + <p> + PROPHET. Surely the world doth wait The coming of its Redeemer! + </p> + <p> + ANGEL. Awake from thy sleep, O dreamer? The hour is near, though late; + Awake! write the vision sublime, The vision, that is for a time, Though it + tarry, wait; it is nigh; In the end it will speak and not lie. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap391"></a>PART ONE<br/> +THE DIVINE TRAGEDY</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap392"></a>THE FIRST PASSOVER</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap393"></a>I<br/> +VOX CLAMANTIS</h3> + + <p> + JOHN THE BAPTIST. Repent! repent! repent! For the kingdom of God is at + hand, And all the land Full of the knowledge of the Lord shall be As the + waters cover the sea, And encircle the continent! + </p> + <p> + Repent! repent! repent! For lo, the hour appointed, The hour so long + foretold By the Prophets of old, Of the coming of the Anointed, The + Messiah, the Paraclete, The Desire of the Nations, is nigh! He shall not + strive nor cry, Nor his voice be heard in the street; Nor the bruised reed + shall He break, Nor quench the smoking flax; And many of them that sleep + In the dust of earth shall awake, On that great and terrible day, And the + wicked shall wail and weep, And be blown like a smoke away, And be melted + away like wax. Repent! repent! repent! + </p> + <p> + O Priest, and Pharisee, Who hath warned you to flee From the wrath that is + to be? From the coming anguish and ire? The axe is laid at the root Of the + trees, and every tree That bringeth not forth good fruit Is hewn down and + cast into the fire! + </p> + <p> + Ye Scribes, why come ye hither? In the hour that is uncertain, In the day + of anguish and trouble, He that stretcheth the heavens as a curtain And + spreadeth them out as a tent, Shall blow upon you, and ye shall wither, + And the whirlwind shall take you away as stubble! Repent! repent! repent! + </p> + <p> + PRIEST. Who art thou, O man of prayer! In raiment of camel's hair, Begirt + with leathern thong, That here in the wilderness, With a cry as of one in + distress, Preachest unto this throng? Art thou the Christ? + </p> + <p> + JOHN. Priest of Jerusalem, In meekness and humbleness, I deny not, I + confess I am not the Christ! + </p> + <p> + PRIEST. What shall we say unto them That sent us here? Reveal Thy name, + and naught conceal! Art thou Elias? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + No! +</pre> + <p> + PRIEST. Art thou that Prophet, then, Of lamentation and woe, Who, as a + symbol and sign Of impending wrath divine Upon unbelieving men, Shattered + the vessel of clay In the Valley of Slaughter? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + Nay. +I am not he thou namest! +</pre> + <p> + PRIEST. Who art thou, and what is the word That here thou proclaimest? + </p> + <p> + JOHN. I am the voice of one Crying in the wilderness alone: Prepare ye the + way of the Lord; Make his paths straight In the land that is desolate! + </p> + <p> + PRIEST. If thou be not the Christ, Nor yet Elias, nor he That, in sign of + the things to be, Shattered the vessel of clay In the Valley of Slaughter, + Then declare unto us, and say By what authority now Baptizest thou? + </p> + <p> + JOHN. I indeed baptize you with water Unto repentance; but He, That cometh + after me, Is mightier than I and higher; The latchet of whose shoes I an + not worthy to unloose; He shall baptize you with fire, And with the Holy + Ghost! Whose fan is in his hand; He will purge to the uttermost His floor, + and garner his wheat, But will burn the chaff in the brand And fire of + unquenchable heat! Repent! repent! repent! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap394"></a>II<br/> +MOUNT QUARANTANIA</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. +Not in the lightning's flash, nor in the thunder, +Not in the tempest, nor the cloudy storm, + Will I array my form; +But part invisible these boughs asunder, +And move and murmur as the wind upheaves + And whispers in the leaves. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not as a terror and a desolation, +Not in my natural shape, inspiring fear + And dread, will I appear; +But in soft tones of sweetness and persuasion, +A sound as of the fall of mountain streams, + Or voices heard in dreams. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He sitteth there in silence, worn and wasted +With famine, and uplifts his hollow eyes + To the unpitying skies; +For forty days and nights he hath not tasted +Of food or drink, his parted lips are pale, + Surely his strength must fail. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wherefore dost thou in penitential fasting +Waste and consume the beauty of thy youth. + Ah, if thou be in truth +The Son of the Unnamed, the Everlasting, +Command these stones beneath thy feet to be + Changed into bread for thee! +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. 'T is written! Man shall not live by bread alone, But by each + word that from God's mouth proceedeth! + </p> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. +Too weak, alas! too weak is the temptation +For one whose soul to nobler things aspires + Than sensual desires! +Ah, could I, by some sudden aberration, +Lend and delude to suicidal death + This Christ of Nazareth! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Unto the holy Temple on Moriah, +With its resplendent domes, and manifold + Bright pinnacles of gold, +Where they await thy coming, O Messiah! +Lo, I have brought thee! Let thy glory here + Be manifest and clear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Reveal thyself by royal act and gesture +Descending with the bright triumphant host + Of all the hithermost +Archangels, and about thee as a vesture +The shining clouds, and all thy splendors show + Unto the world below! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Cast thyself down, it is the hour appointed; +And God hath given his angels charge and care + To keep thee and upbear +Upon their hands his only Son, the Anointed, +Lest he should dash his foot against a stone + And die, and be unknown. +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. 'T is written: Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God! + </p> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. +I cannot thus delude him to perdition! +But one temptation still remains untried, + The trial of his pride, +The thirst of power, the fever of ambition! +Surely by these a humble peasant's son + At last may be undone! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Above the yawning chasms and deep abysses, +Across the headlong torrents, I have brought + Thy footsteps, swift as thought; +And from the highest of these precipices, +The Kingdoms of the world thine eyes behold. + Like a great map unrolled. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From far-off Lebanon, with cedars crested, +To where the waters of the Asphalt Lake + On its white pebbles break, +And the vast desert, silent, sand-invested, +These kingdoms all are mine, and thine shall be, + If thou wilt worship me! +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Get thee behind me, Satan! thou shalt worship The Lord thy God; + Him only shalt thou serve! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ANGELS MINISTRANT. +The sun goes down; the evening shadows lengthen, +The fever and the struggle of the day + Abate and pass away; +Thine Angels Miniatrant, we come to strengthen +And comfort thee, and crown thee with the palm, + The silence and the calm. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap395"></a>III<br/> +THE MARRIAGE IN CANA</h3> + + <p> + THE MUSICIANS. Rise up, my love, my fair one, Rise up, and come away, For + lo! the winter is past, The rain is over and gone, The flowers appear on + the earth, The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the + turtle is heard in our land. + </p> + <p> + THE BRIDEGROOM. Sweetly the minstrels sing the Song of Songs! My heart + runs forward with it, and I say: Oh set me as a seal upon thine heart, And + set me as a seal upon thine arm; For love is strong as life, and strong as + death, And cruel as the grave is jealousy! + </p> + <p> + THE MUSICIANS. I sleep, but my heart awaketh; 'T is the voice of my + beloved Who knocketh, saying: Open to me, My sister, my love, my dove, For + my head is filled with dew, My locks with the drops of the night! + </p> + <p> + THE BRIDE. Ah yes, I sleep, and yet my heart awaketh. It is the voice of + my beloved who knocks. + </p> + <p> + THE BRIDEGROOM. O beautiful as Rebecca at the fountain, O beautiful as + Ruth among the sheaves! O fairest among women! O undefiled! Thou art all + fair, my love, there's no spot in thee! + </p> + <p> + THE MUSICIANS. My beloved is white and ruddy, The chiefest among ten + thousand His locks are black as a raven, His eyes are the eyes of doves, + Of doves by the rivers of water, His lips are like unto lilies, Dropping + sweet-smelling myrrh. + </p> + <p> + ARCHITRICLINUS. Who is that youth with the dark azure eyes, And hair, in + color like unto the wine, Parted upon his forehead, and behind Falling in + flowing locks? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PARANYMPHUS. + The Nazarene +Who preacheth to the poor in field and village +The coming of God's Kingdom. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ARCHITRICLINUS. + How serene +His aspect is! manly yet womanly. +</pre> + <p> + PARANYMPHUS. Most beautiful among the sons of men! Oft known to weep, but + never known to laugh. + </p> + <p> + ARCHITRICLINUS. And tell me, she with eyes of olive tint, And skin as fair + as wheat, and pale brown hair, The woman at his side? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PARANYMPHUS. + His mother, Mary. +</pre> + <p> + ARCHITRICLINUS. And the tall figure standing close behind them, Clad all + in white, with lace and beard like ashes, As if he were Elias, the White + Witness, Come from his cave on Carmel to foretell The end of all things? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PARANYMPHUS. + That is Manahem +The Essenian, he who dwells among the palms +Near the Dead Sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ARCHITRICLINUS. + He who foretold to Herod +He should one day be King? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PARANYMPHUS. + The same. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ARCHITRICLINUS. + Then why +Doth he come here to sadden with his presence +Our marriage feast, belonging to a sect +Haters of women, and that taste not wine? +</pre> + <p> + THE MUSICIANS. My undefiled is but one, The only one of her mother, The + choice of her that bare her; The daughters saw her and blessed her; The + queens and the concubines praised her; Saying, Lo! who is this That + looketh forth as the morning? + </p> + <p> + MANAHEM aside. The Ruler of the Feast is gazing at me, As if he asked, why + is that old man here Among the revellers? And thou, the Anointed! Why art + thou here? I see as in a vision A figure clothed in purple, crowned with + thorns; I see a cross uplifted in the darkness, And hear a cry of agony, + that shall echo Forever and forever through the world! + </p> + <p> + ARCHITRICLINUS. Give us more wine. These goblets are all empty. + </p> + <p> + MARY to CHRISTUS. They have no wine! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + O woman, what have I +To do with thee? Mine hour is not yet come. +</pre> + <p> + MARY to the servants. Whatever he shall say to you, that do. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Fill up these pots with water. + </p> + <p> + THE MUSICIANS. Come, my beloved, Let us go forth into the field, Let us + lodge in the villages; Let us get up early to the vineyards, Let us see if + the vine flourish, Whether the tender grape appear, And the pomegranates + bud forth. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Draw out now +And bear unto the Ruler of the Feast. +</pre> + <p> + MANAHEM aside. O thou, brought up among the Essenians, Nurtured in + abstinence, taste not the wine! It is the poison of dragons from the + vineyards Of Sodom, and the taste of death is in it! + </p> + <p> + ARCHITRICLINUS to the BRIDEGROOM. All men set forth good wine at the + beginning, And when men have well drunk, that which is worse; But thou + hast kept the good wine until now. + </p> + <p> + MANAHEM aside. + </p> + <p> + The things that have been and shall be no more, The things that are, and + that hereafter shall he, The things that might have been, and yet were + not, The fading twilight of great joys departed, The daybreak of great + truths as yet unrisen, The intuition and the expectation Of something, + which, when come, is not the same, But only like its forecast in men's + dreams, The longing, the delay, and the delight, Sweeter for the delay; + youth, hope, love, death, And disappointment which is also death, All + these make up the sum of human life; A dream within a dream, a wind at + night Howling across the desert in despair, Seeking for something lost it + cannot find. Fate or foreseeing, or whatever name Men call it, matters + not; what is to be Hath been fore-written in the thought divine From the + beginning. None can hide from it, But it will find him out; nor run from + it, But it o'ertaketh him! The Lord hath said it. + </p> + <p> + THE BRIDEGROOM to the BRIDE, on the balcony. When Abraham went with Sarah + into Egypt, The land was all illumined with her beauty; But thou dost make + the very night itself Brighter than day! Behold, in glad procession, + Crowding the threshold of the sky above us, The stars come forth to meet + thee with their lamps; And the soft winds, the ambassadors of flowers, + From neighboring gardens and from fields unseen, Come laden with odors + unto thee, my Queen! + </p> + <p> + THE MUSICIANS. Awake, O north-wind, And come, thou wind of the South. + Blow, blow upon my garden, That the spices thereof may flow out. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap396"></a>IV<br/> +IN THE CORNFIELDS</h3> + + <p> + PHILIP. Onward through leagues of sun-illumined corn, As if through parted + seas, the pathway runs, And crowned with sunshine as the Prince of Peace + Walks the beloved Master, leading us, As Moses led our fathers in old + times Out of the land of bondage! We have found Him of whom Moses and the + Prophets wrote, Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of Joseph. + </p> + <p> + NATHANAEL. Can any good come out of Nazareth? Can this be the Messiah? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHILIP. + Come and see. +</pre> + <p> + NATHANAEL. The summer sun grows hot: I am anhungered. How cheerily the + Sabbath-breaking quail Pipes in the corn, and bids us to his Feast Of + Wheat Sheaves! How the bearded, ripening ears Toss in the roofless temple + of the air; As if the unseen hand of some High-Priest Waved them before + Mount Tabor as an altar! It were no harm, if we should pluck and eat. + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. How wonderful it is to walk abroad With the Good Master! Since the + miracle He wrought at Cana, at the marriage feast, His fame hath gone + abroad through all the land, And when we come to Nazareth, thou shalt see + How his own people will receive their Prophet, And hail him as Messiah! + See, he turns And looks at thee. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Behold an Israelite +In whom there is no guile. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NATHANAEL. + Whence knowest thou me? +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast Under the + fig-tree, I beheld thee. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NATHANAEL. + Rabbi! +Thou art the Son of God, thou art the King +Of Israel! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Because I said I saw thee +Under the fig-tree, before Philip called thee, +Believest thou? Thou shalt see greater things. +Hereafter thou shalt see the heavens unclosed, +The angels of God ascending and descending +Upon the Son of Man! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHAIRISEES, passing. + Hail, Rabbi! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Hail! +</pre> + <p> + PHARISEES. Behold how thy disciples do a thing Which is not lawful on the + Sabbath-day, And thou forbiddest them not! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Have ye not read +What David did when he anhungered was, +And all they that were with him? How he entered +Into the house of God, and ate the shew-bread, +Which was not lawful, saving for the priests? +Have ye not read, how on the Sabbath-days +The priests profane the Sabbath in the Temple, +And yet are blameless? But I say to you, +One in this place is greater than the Temple! +And had ye known the meaning of the words, +I will have mercy and not sacrifice, +The guiltless ye would not condemn. The Sabbath +Was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath. +</pre> + <p> + Passes on with the disciples. + </p> + <p> + PHARISEES. This is, alas! some poor demoniac Wandering about the fields, + and uttering His unintelligible blasphemies Among the common people, who + receive As prophecies the words they comprehend not! Deluded folk! The + incomprehensible Alone excites their wonder. There is none So visionary, + or so void of sense, But he will find a crowd to follow him! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap397"></a>V<br/> +NAZARETH</h3> + + <p> + CHRISTUS, reading in the Synagogue. The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me. + He hath anointed me to preach good tidings Unto the poor; to heal the + broken-hearted; To comfort those that mourn, and to throw open The prison + doors of captives, and proclaim The Year Acceptable of the Lord, our God! + </p> + <p> + He closes the book and sits down. + </p> + <p> + A PHARISEE. Who is this youth? He hath taken the Teacher's seat! Will he + instruct the Elders? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A PRIEST. + Fifty years +Have I been Priest here in the Synagogue, +And never have I seen so young a man +Sit in the Teacher's seat! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Behold, to-day +This scripture is fulfilled. One is appointed +And hath been sent to them that mourn in Zion, +To give them beauty for ashes, and the oil +Of joy for mourning! They shall build again +The old waste-places; and again raise up +The former desolations, and repair +The cities that are wasted! As a bridegroom +Decketh himself with ornaments; as a bride +Adorneth herself with jewels, so the Lord +Hath clothed me with the robe of righteousness! +</pre> + <p> + A PRIEST. He speaks the Prophet's words; but with an air As if himself had + been foreshadowed in them! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. For Zion's sake I will not hold my peace, And for Jerusalem's + sake I will not rest Until its righteousness be as a brightness, And its + salvation as a lamp that burneth! Thou shalt be called no longer the + Forsaken, Nor any more thy land the Desolate. The Lord hath sworn, by his + right hand hath sworn, And by his arm of strength: I will no more Give to + thine enemies thy corn as meat; The sons of strangers shall not drink thy + wine. Go through, go through the gates! Prepare a way Unto the people! + Gather out the stones! Lift up a standard for the people! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A PRIEST. + Ah! +These are seditious words! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + And they shall call them +The holy people; the redeemed of God! +And thou, Jerusalem, shalt be called Sought out, +A city not forsaken! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A PHARISEE. + Is not this +The carpenter Joseph's son? Is not his mother +Called Mary? and his brethren and his sisters +Are they not with us? Doth he make himself +To be a Prophet? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + No man is a Prophet +In his own country, and among his kin. +In his own house no Prophet is accepted. +I say to you, in the land of Israel +Were many widows in Elijah's day, +When for three years and more the heavens were shut, +And a great famine was throughout the land; +But unto no one was Elijah sent +Save to Sarepta, to a city of Sidon, +And to a woman there that was a widow. +And many lepers were then in the land +Of Israel, in the time of Eliseus +The Prophet, and yet none of them was cleansed, +Save Naaman the Syrian! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A PRIEST. + Say no more! +Thou comest here into our Synagogue +And speakest to the Elders and the Priests, +As if the very mantle of Elijah +Had fallen upon thee! Are thou not ashamed? +</pre> + <p> + A PHARISEE. We want no Prophets here! Let him be driven From Synagogue and + city! Let him go And prophesy to the Samaritans! + </p> + <p> + AN ELDER. The world is changed. We Elders are as nothing! We are but + yesterdays, that have no part Or portion in to-day! Dry leaves that + rustle, That make a little sound, and then are dust! + </p> + <p> + A PHARISEE. A carpenter's apprentice! a mechanic, Whom we have seen at + work here in the town Day after day; a stripling without learning, Shall + he pretend to unfold the Word of God To men grown old in study of the Law? + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS is thrust out. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap398"></a>VI<br/> +THE SEA OF GALILEE.</h3> + + <p> + PETER and ANDREW mending their nets. + </p> + <p> + PETER. Never was such a marvellous draught of fishes Heard of in Galilee! + The market-places Both of Bethsaida and Capernaum Are full of them! Yet we + had toiled all night And taken nothing, when the Master said: Launch out + into the deep, and cast your nets; And doing this, we caught such + multitudes, Our nets like spiders' webs were snapped asunder, And with the + draught we filled two ships so full That they began to sink. Then I knelt + down Amazed, and said: O Lord, depart from me, I am a sinful man. And he + made answer: Simon, fear not; henceforth thou shalt catch men! What was + the meaning of those words? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ANDREW. + I know not. +But here is Philip, come from Nazareth. +He hath been with the Master. Tell us, Philip, +What tidings dost thou bring? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHILIP. + Most wonderful! +As we drew near to Nain, out of the gate +Upon a bier was carried the dead body +Of a young man, his mother's only son, +And she a widow, who with lamentation +Bewailed her loss, and the much people with her; +And when the Master saw her he was filled +With pity; and he said to her: Weep not +And came and touched the bier, and they that bare it +Stood still; and then he said: Young man, arise! +And he that had been dead sat up, and soon +Began to speak; and he delivered him +Unto his mother. And there came a fear +On all the people, and they glorified +The Lord, and said, rejoicing: A great Prophet +Is risen up among us! and the Lord +Hath visited his people! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + A great Prophet? +Ay, greater than a Prophet: greater even +Than John the Baptist! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHILIP. + Yet the Nazarenes +Rejected him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + The Nazarenes are dogs! +As natural brute beasts, they growl at things +They do not understand; and they shall perish, +Utterly perish in their own corruption. +The Nazarenes are dogs! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHILIP. + They drave him forth +Out of their Synagogue, out of their city, +And would have cast him down a precipice, +But, passing through the midst of them, he vanished +Out of their hands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + Wells are they without water, +Clouds carried with a tempest, unto whom +The mist of darkness is reserved forever. +</pre> + <p> + PHILIP. Behold, he cometh. There is one man with him I am amazed to see! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ANDREW. + What man is that? +</pre> + <p> + PHILIP. Judas Iscariot; he that cometh last, Girt with a leathern apron. + No one knoweth His history; but the rumor of him is He had an unclean + spirit in his youth. It hath not left him yet. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS, passing. + Come unto me, +All ye that labor and are heavy laden, +And I will give you rest! Come unto me, +And take my yoke upon you and learn of me, +For I am meek, and I am lowly in heart, +And ye shall all find rest unto your souls! +</pre> + <p> + PHILIP. Oh, there is something in that voice that reaches The innermost + recesses of my spirit! I feel that it might say unto the blind: Receive + your sight! and straightway they would see! I feel that it might say unto + the dead, Arise! and they would hear it and obey! Behold, he beckons to + us! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS to PETER and ANDREW. + Follow me! +</pre> + <p> + PETER. Master, I will leave all and follow thee. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap399"></a>VII<br/> +THE DEMONIAC OF GADARA</h3> + + <p> + A GADARENE. He hath escaped, hath plucked his chains asunder, And broken + his fetters; always night and day Is in the mountains here, and in the + tombs, Crying aloud, and cutting himself with stones, Exceeding fierce, so + that no man can tame him! + </p> + <p> + THE DEMONIAC from above, unseen. O Aschmedai! O Aschmedai, have pity! + </p> + <p> + A GADARENE. Listen! It is his voice! Go warn the people Just landing from + the lake! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DEMONIAC. + O Aschmedai! +Thou angel of the bottomless pit, have pity! +It was enough to hurl King Solomon, +On whom be peace! two hundred leagues away +Into the country, and to make him scullion +In the kitchen of the King of Maschkemen! +Why dost thou hurl me here among these rocks, +And cut me with these stones? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A GADARENE. + He raves and mutters +He knows not what. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DEMONIAC, appearing from a tomb among the rocks. + The wild cock Tarnegal +Singeth to me, and bids me to the banquet, +Where all the Jews shall come; for they have slain +Behemoth the great ox, who daily cropped +A thousand hills for food, and at a draught +Drank up the river Jordan, and have slain +The huge Leviathan, and stretched his skin +Upon the high walls of Jerusalem, +And made them shine from one end of the world +Unto the other; and the fowl Barjuchne, +Whose outspread wings eclipse the sun, and make +Midnight at noon o'er all the continents! +And we shall drink the wine of Paradise +From Adam's cellars. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A GADARENE. + O thou unclean spirit! +</pre> + <p> + THE DEMONIAC, hurling down a stone. This is the wonderful Barjuchne's egg, + That fell out of her nest, and broke to pieces And swept away three + hundred cedar-trees, And threescore villages!—Rabbi Eliezer, How + thou didst sin there in that seaport town When thou hadst carried safe thy + chest of silver Over the seven rivers for her sake! I too have sinned + beyond the reach of pardon. Ye hills and mountains, pray for mercy on me! + Ye stars and planets, pray for mercy on me! Ye sun and moon, oh pray for + mercy on me! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS and his disciples pass. + </p> + <p> + A GADARENE. There is a man here of Decapolis, Who hath an unclean spirit; + so that none Can pass this way. He lives among the tombs Up there upon the + cliffs, and hurls down stones On those who pass beneath. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Come out of him, +Thou unclean spirit! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DEMONIAC. + What have I to do +With thee, thou Son of God? Do not torment us. +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. What is thy name? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DEMONIAC. + Legion; for we are many. +Cain, the first murderer; and the King Belshazzar, +And Evil Merodach of Babylon, +And Admatha, the death-cloud, prince of Persia +And Aschmedai the angel of the pit, +And many other devils. We are Legion. +Send us not forth beyond Decapolis; +Command us not to go into the deep! +There is a herd of swine here in the pastures, +Let us go into them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Come out of him, +Thou unclean spirit! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A GADARENE. + See how stupefied, +How motionless he stands! He cries no more; +He seems bewildered and in silence stares +As one who, walking in his sleep, awakes +And knows not where he is, and looks about him, +And at his nakedness, and is ashamed. +</pre> + <p> + THE DEMONIAC. Why am I here alone among the tombs? What have they done to + me, that I am naked? Ah, woe is me! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Go home unto thy friends +And tell them how great things the Lord hath done +For thee, and how He had compassion on thee! +</pre> + <p> + A SWINEHERD, running. The herds! the herd! O most unlucky day! They were + all feeding quiet in the sun, When suddenly they started, and grew savage + As the wild boars of Tabor, and together Rushed down a precipice into the + sea! They are all drowned! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + Thus righteously are punished +The apostate Jews, that eat the flesh of swine, +And broth of such abominable things! +</pre> + <p> + GREEKS OF GADARA. We sacrifice a sow unto Demeter At the beginning of + harvest and another To Dionysus at the vintage-time. Therefore we prize + our herds of swine, and count them Not as unclean, but as things + consecrate To the immortal gods. O great magician, Depart out of our + coasts; let us alone, We are afraid of thee. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + Let us depart; +For they that sanctify and purify +Themselves in gardens, eating flesh of swine. +And the abomination, and the mouse, +Shall be consumed together, saith the Lord! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap400"></a>VIII<br/> +TALITHA CUMI</h3> + + <p> + JAIRUS at the feet of CHRISTUS. O Master! I entreat thee! I implore thee! + My daughter lieth at the point of death; I pray thee come and lay thy + hands upon her, And she shall live! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Who was it touched my garments? +</pre> + <p> + SIMON PETER. Thou seest the multitude that throng and press thee, And + sayest thou: Who touched me? 'T was not I. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Some one hath touched my garments; I perceive That virtue is + gone out of me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A WOMAN. + O Master! +Forgive me! For I said within myself, +If I so much as touch his garment's hem, +I shall be whole. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Be of good comfort, daughter! +Thy faith hath made thee whole. Depart in peace. +</pre> + <p> + A MESSENGER from the house. Why troublest thou the Master? Hearest thou + not The flute players, and the voices of the women Singing their + lamentation? She is dead! + </p> + <p> + THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS. We have girded ourselves with sackcloth! We + have covered our heads with ashes! For our young men die, and our maidens + Swoon in the streets of the city; And into their mother's bosom They pour + out their souls like water! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS, going in. Give place. Why make ye this ado, and weep? She is not + dead, but sleepeth. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE MOTHER, from within. + Cruel Death! +To take away front me this tender blossom! +To take away my dove, my lamb, my darling! +</pre> + <p> + THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS. He hath led me and brought into darkness, Like + the dead of old in dark places! He hath bent his bow, and hath set me + Apart as a mark for his arrow! He hath covered himself with a cloud, That + our prayer should not pass through and reach him! + </p> + <p> + THE CROWD. He stands beside her bed! He takes her hand! Listen, he speaks + to her! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS, within. + Maiden, arise! +</pre> + <p> + THE CROWD. See, she obeys his voice! She stirs! She lives! Her mother + holds her folded in her arms! O miracle of miracles! O marvel! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap401"></a>IX<br/> +THE TOWER OF MAGDALA</h3> + + <p> + MARY MAGDALENE. Companionless, unsatisfied, forlorn, I sit here in this + lonely tower, and look Upon the lake below me, and the hills That swoon + with heat, and see as in a vision All my past life unroll itself before + me. The princes and the merchants come to me, Merchants of Tyre and + Princes of Damascus. And pass, and disappear, and are no more; But leave + behind their merchandise and jewels, Their perfumes, and their gold, and + their disgust. I loathe them, and the very memory of them Is unto me as + thought of food to one Cloyed with the luscious figs of Dalmanutha! What + if hereafter, in the long hereafter Of endless joy or pain, or joy in + pain, It were my punishment to be with them Grown hideous and decrepit in + their sins, And hear them say: Thou that hast brought us here, Be unto us + as thou hast been of old! I look upon this raiment that I wear, These + silks, and these embroideries, and they seem Only as cerements wrapped + about my limbs! I look upon these rings thick set with pearls, And emerald + and amethyst and jasper, And they are burning coals upon my flesh! This + serpent on my wrist becomes alive! Away, thou viper! and away, ye + garlands, Whose odors bring the swift remembrance back Of the unhallowed + revels in these chambers! But yesterday,—and yet it seems to me + Something remote, like a pathetic song Sung long ago by minstrels in the + street,— But yesterday, as from this tower I gazed, Over the olive + and the walnut trees Upon the lake and the white ships, and wondered + Whither and whence they steered, and who was in them, A fisher's boat drew + near the landing-place Under the oleanders, and the people Came up from + it, and passed beneath the tower, Close under me. In front of them, as + leader, Walked one of royal aspect, clothed in white, Who lifted up his + eyes, and looked at me, And all at once the air seemed filled and living + With a mysterious power, that streamed from him, And overflowed me with an + atmosphere Of light and love. As one entranced I stood, And when I woke + again, lo! he was gone; So that I said: Perhaps it is a dream. But from + that very hour the seven demons That had their habitation in this body + Which men call beautiful, departed from me! + </p> + <p> + This morning, when the first gleam of the dawn Made Lebanon a glory in the + air, And all below was darkness, I beheld An angel, or a spirit glorified, + With wind-tossed garments walking on the lake. The face I could not see, + but I distinguished The attitude and gesture, and I knew 'T was he that + healed me. And the gusty wind Brought to mine ears a voice, which seemed + to say: Be of good cheer! 'T is I! Be not afraid! And from the darkness, + scarcely heard, the answer: If it be thou, bid me come unto thee Upon the + water! And the voice said: Come! And then I heard a cry of fear: Lord, + save me! As of a drowning man. And then the voice: Why didst thou doubt, O + thou of little faith! At this all vanished, and the wind was hushed, And + the great sun came up above the hills, And the swift-flying vapors hid + themselves In caverns among the rocks! Oh, I must find him And follow him, + and be with him forever! + </p> + <p> + Thou box of alabaster, in whose walls The souls of flowers lie pent, the + precious balm And spikenard of Arabian farms, the spirits Of aromatic + herbs, ethereal natures Nursed by the sun and dew, not all unworthy To + bathe his consecrated feet, whose step Makes every threshold holy that he + crosses; Let us go forth upon our pilgrimage, Thou and I only! Let us + search for him Until we find him, and pour out our souls Before his feet, + till all that's left of us Shall be the broken caskets that once held us! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap402"></a>X<br/> +THE HOUSE OF SIMON THE PHARISEE</h3> + + <p> + A GUEST at table. Are ye deceived? Have any of the Rulers Believed on him? + or do they know indeed This man to be the very Christ? Howbeit We know + whence this man is, but when the Christ Shall come, none knoweth whence he + is. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Whereunto shall I liken, then, the men Of this generation? and + what are they like? They are like children sitting in the markets, And + calling unto one another, saying: We have piped unto you, and ye have not + danced We have mourned unto you, and ye have not wept! This say I unto + you, for John the Baptist Came neither eating bread nor drinking wine Ye + say he hath a devil. The Son of Man Eating and drinking cometh, and ye + say: Behold a gluttonous man, and a wine-bibber; Behold a friend of + publicans and sinners! + </p> + <p> + A GUEST aside to SIMON. Who is that woman yonder, gliding in So silently + behind him? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + It is Mary, +Who dwelleth in the Tower of Magdala. +</pre> + <p> + THE GUEST. See, how she kneels there weeping, and her tears Fall on his + feet; and her long, golden hair Waves to and fro and wipes them dry again. + And now she kisses them, and from a box Of alabaster is anointing them + With precious ointment, filling all the house With its sweet odor! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON, aside, + Oh, this man, forsooth, +Were he indeed a Prophet, would have known +Who and what manner of woman this may be +That toucheth him! would know she is a sinner! +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Simon, somewhat have I to say to thee. + </p> + <p> + SIMON. Master, say on. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + A certain creditor +Had once two debtors; and the one of them +Owed him five hundred pence; the other, fifty. +They having naught to pay withal, he frankly +Forgave them both. Now tell me which of them +Will love him most? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + He, I suppose to whom +He most forgave. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Yea, thou hast rightly judged. +Seest thou this woman? When thine house I entered, +Thou gavest me no water for my feet, +But she hath washed them with her tears, and wiped them +With her own hair. Thou gavest me no kiss; +This woman hath not ceased, since I came in, +To kiss my feet. My head with oil didst thou +Anoint not; but this woman hath anointed +My feet with ointment. Hence I say to thee, +Her sins, which have been many, are forgiven, +For she loved much. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE GUESTS. + Oh, who, then, is this man +That pardoneth also sins without atonement? +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Woman, thy faith hath saved thee! Go in peace! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap403"></a>THE SECOND PASSOVER.</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap404"></a>I<br/> +BEFORE THE GATES OF MACHAERUS</h3> + + <p> + MANAHEM. Welcome, O wilderness, and welcome, night And solitude, and ye + swift-flying stars That drift with golden sands the barren heavens, + Welcome once more! The Angels of the Wind Hasten across the desert to + receive me; And sweeter than men's voices are to me The voices of these + solitudes; the sound Of unseen rivulets, and the far-off cry Of bitterns + in the reeds of water-pools. And lo! above me, like the Prophet's arrow + Shot from the eastern window, high in air The clamorous cranes go singing + through the night. O ye mysterious pilgrims of the air, Would I had wings + that I might follow you! + </p> + <p> + I look forth from these mountains, and behold The omnipotent and + omnipresent night, Mysterious as the future and the fate That hangs o'er + all men's lives! I see beneath me The desert stretching to the Dead Sea + shore, And westward, faint and far away, the glimmer Of torches on Mount + Olivet, announcing The rising of the Moon of Passover. Like a great cross + it seems, on which suspended, With head bowed down in agony, I see A human + figure! Hide, O merciful heaven, The awful apparition from my sight! + </p> + <p> + And thou, Machaerus, lifting high and black Thy dreadful walls against the + rising moon, Haunted by demons and by apparitions, Lilith, and Jezerhara, + and Bedargon, How grim thou showest in the uncertain light, A palace and a + prison, where King Herod Feasts with Herodias, while the Baptist John + Fasts, and consumes his unavailing life! And in thy court-yard grows the + untithed rue, Huge as the olives of Gethsemane, And ancient as the + terebinth of Hebron, Coeval with the world. Would that its leaves + Medicinal could purge thee of the demons That now possess thee, and the + cunning fox That burrows in thy walls, contriving mischief! + </p> + <p> + Music is heard from within. + </p> + <p> + Angels of God! Sandalphon, thou that weavest The prayers of men into + immortal garlands, And thou, Metatron, who dost gather up Their songs, and + bear them to the gates of heaven, Now gather up together in your hands The + prayers that fill this prison, and the songs That echo from the ceiling of + this palace, And lay them side by side before God's feet! + </p> + <p> + He enters the castle. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap405"></a>II<br/> +HEROD'S BANQUET-HALL</h3> + + <p> + MANAHEM. Thou hast sent for me, O King, and I am here. + </p> + <p> + HEROD. Who art thou? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MANAHEM. + Manahem, the Essenian. +</pre> + <p> + HEROD. I recognize thy features, but what mean These torn and faded + garments? On thy road Have demons crowded thee, and rubbed against thee, + And given thee weary knees? A cup of wine! + </p> + <p> + MANAHEM. The Essenians drink no wine. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + What wilt thou, then? +</pre> + <p> + MANAHEM. Nothing. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + Not even a cup of water? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MANAHEM. + Nothing. +Why hast thou sent for me? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + Dost thou remember +One day when I, a schoolboy in the streets +Of the great city, met thee on my way +To school, and thou didst say to me: Hereafter +Thou shalt be king? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MANAHEM. + Yea, I remember it. +</pre> + <p> + HEROD. Thinking thou didst not know me, I replied: I am of humble birth; + whereat thou, smiling, Didst smite me with thy hand, and saidst again: + Thou shalt be king; and let the friendly blows That Manahem hath given + thee on this day Remind thee of the fickleness of fortune. + </p> + <p> + MANAHEM. What more? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + No more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MANAHEM. + Yea, for I said to thee: +It shall be well with thee if thou love justice +And clemency towards thy fellow-men. +Hast thou done this, O King? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + Go, ask my people. +</pre> + <p> + MANAHEM. And then, foreseeing all thy life, I added: But these thou wilt + forget; and at the end Of life the Lord will punish thee. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + The end! +When will that come? For this I sent to thee. +How long shall I still reign? Thou dost not answer! +Speak! shall I reign ten years? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MANAHEM. + Thou shalt reign twenty, +Nay, thirty years. I cannot name the end. +</pre> + <p> + HEROD. Thirty? I thank thee, good Essenian! This is my birthday, and a + happier one Was never mine. We hold a banquet here. See, yonder are + Herodias and her daughter. + </p> + <p> + MANAHEM, aside. 'T is said that devils sometimes take the shape Of + ministering angels, clothed with air. That they may be inhabitants of + earth, And lead man to destruction. Such are these. + </p> + <p> + HEROD. Knowest thou John the Baptist? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MANAHEM. + Yea, I know him; +Who knows him not? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + Know, then, this John the Baptist +Said that it was not lawful I should marry +My brother Philip's wife, and John the Baptist +Is here in prison. In my father's time +Matthias Margaloth was put to death +For tearing the golden eagle from its station +Above the Temple Gate,—a slighter crime +Than John is guilty of. These things are warnings +To intermeddlers not to play with eagles, +Living or dead. I think the Essenians +Are wiser, or more wary, are they not? +</pre> + <p> + MANAHEM. The Essenians do not marry. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + Thou hast given +My words a meaning foreign to my thought. +</pre> + <p> + MANAHEM. Let me go hence, O King! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + Stay yet awhile, +And see the daughter of Herodias dance. +Cleopatra of Jerusalem, my mother, +In her best days, was not more beautiful. +</pre> + <p> + Music. THE DAUGHTER OP HERODIAS dances. + </p> + <p> + HEROD. Oh, what was Miriam dancing with her timbrel, Compared to this one? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MANAHEM, aside. + O thou Angel of Death, +Dancing at funerals among the women, +When men bear out the dead! The air is hot +And stifles me! Oh for a breath of air! +Bid me depart, O King! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + Not yet. Come hither, +Salome, thou enchantress! Ask of me +Whate'er thou wilt; and even unto the half +Of all my kingdom, I will give it thee, +As the Lord liveth! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS, kneeling. + Give me here the head +Of John the Baptist on this silver charger! +</pre> + <p> + HEROD. Not that, dear child! I dare not; for the people Regard John as a + prophet. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. + Thou hast sworn it. +</pre> + <p> + HEROD. For mine oath's sake, then. Send unto the prison; Let him die + quickly. Oh, accursed oath! + </p> + <p> + MANAHEM. Bid me depart, O King! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. + Good Manahem, +Give me thy hand. I love the Essenians. +He's gone and hears me not! The guests are dumb, +Awaiting the pale face, the silent witness. +The lamps flare; and the curtains of the doorways +Wave to and fro as if a ghost were passing! +Strengthen my heart, red wine of Ascalon! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap406"></a>III<br/> +UNDER THE WALLS OF MACHAERUS</h3> + + <p> + MANAHEM, rushing out. Away from this Palace of sin! The demons, the + terrible powers Of the air, that haunt its towers And hide in its + water-spouts, Deafen me with the din Of their laughter and their shouts + For the crimes that are done within! Sink back into the earth, Or vanish + into the air, Thou castle of despair! Let it all be but a dream Of the + things of monstrous birth, Of the things that only seem! White Angel of + the Moon, Onafiel! be my guide Out of this hateful place Of sin and death, + nor hide In you black cloud too soon Thy pale and tranquil face! + </p> + <p> + A trumpet is blown from the walls. + </p> + <p> + Hark! hark! It is the breath Of the trump of doom and death, From the + battlements overhead Like a burden of sorrow cast On the midnight and the + blast, A wailing for the dead, That the gusts drop and uplift! O Herod, + thy vengeance is swift! O Herodias, thou hast been The demon, the evil + thing, That in place of Esther the Queen, In place of the lawful bride, + Hast lain at night by the side Of Ahasuerus the king! + </p> + <p> + The trumpet again. + </p> + <p> + The Prophet of God is dead! At a drunken monarch's call, At a + dancing-woman's beck, They have severed that stubborn neck And into the + banquet-hall Are bearing the ghastly head! + </p> + <p> + A body is thrown from the tower. + </p> + <p> + A torch of red Lights the window with its glow; And a white mass as of + snow Is hurled into the abyss Of the black precipice, That yawns for it + below! O hand of the Most High, O hand of Adonai! Bury it, hide it away + From the birds and beasts of prey, And the eyes of the homicide, More + pitiless than they, As thou didst bury of yore The body of him that died + On the mountain of Peor! Even now I behold a sign, A threatening of wrath + divine, A watery, wandering star, Through whose streaming hair, and the + white Unfolding garments of light, That trail behind it afar, The + constellations shine! And the whiteness and brightness appear Like the + Angel bearing the Seer By the hair of his head, in the might And rush of + his vehement flight. And I listen until I hear From fathomless depths of + the sky The voice of his prophecy Sounding louder and more near! + </p> + <p> + Malediction! malediction! May the lightnings of heaven fall On palace and + prison wall, And their desolation be As the day of fear and affliction, As + the day of anguish and ire, With the burning and fuel of fire, In the + Valley of the Sea! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap407"></a>IV<br/> +NICODEMUS AT NIGHT</h3> + + <p> + NICODEMUS. The streets are silent. The dark houses seem Like sepulchres, + in which the sleepers lie Wrapped in their shrouds, and for the moment + dead. The lamps are all extinguished; only one Burns steadily, and from + the door its light Lies like a shining gate across the street. He waits + for me. Ah, should this be at last The long-expected Christ! I see him + there Sitting alone, deep-buried in his thought, As if the weight of all + the world were resting Upon him, and thus bowed him down. O Rabbi, We know + thou art a Teacher come from God, For no man can perform the miracles Thou + dost perform, except the Lord be with him. Thou art a Prophet, sent here + to proclaim The Kingdom of the Lord. Behold in me A Ruler of the Jews, who + long have waited The coming of that kingdom. Tell me of it. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Verily, verily I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he + cannot Behold the Kingdom of God! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NICODEMUS. + Be born again? +How can a man be born when he is old? +Say, can he enter for a second time +Into his mother's womb, and so be born? +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Verily I say unto thee, except A man be born of water and the + spirit, He cannot enter into the Kingdom of God. For that which of the + flesh is born, is flesh; And that which of the spirit is born, is spirit. + </p> + <p> + NICODEMUS. We Israelites from the Primeval Man Adam Ahelion derive our + bodies; Our souls are breathings of the Holy Ghost. No more than this we + know, or need to know. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Then marvel not, that I said unto thee Ye must be born again. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NICODEMUS. + The mystery +Of birth and death we cannot comprehend. +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and we hear The sound + thereof, but know not whence it cometh, Nor whither it goeth. So is every + one Born of the spirit! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NICODEMUS, aside. + How can these things be? +He seems to speak of some vague realm of shadows, +Some unsubstantial kingdom of the air! +It is not this the Jews are waiting for, +Nor can this be the Christ, the Son of David, +Who shall deliver us! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Art thou a master +Of Israel, and knowest not these things? +We speak that we do know, and testify +That we have seen, and ye will not receive +Our witness. If I tell you earthly things, +And ye believe not, how shall ye believe, +If I should tell you of things heavenly? +And no man hath ascended up to heaven, +But he alone that first came down from heaven, +Even the Son of Man which is in heaven! +</pre> + <p> + NICODEMUS, aside. This is a dreamer of dreams; a visionary, Whose brain is + overtasked, until he deems The unseen world to be a thing substantial, And + this we live in, an unreal vision! And yet his presence fascinates and + fills me With wonder, and I feel myself exalted Into a higher region, and + become Myself in part a dreamer of his dreams, A seer of his visions! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + And as Moses +Uplifted the serpent in the wilderness, +So must the Son of Man be lifted up; +That whosoever shall believe in Him +Shall perish not, but have eternal life. +He that believes in Him is not condemned; +He that believes not, is condemned already. +</pre> + <p> + NICODEMUS, aside. He speaketh like a Prophet of the Lord! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. This is the condemnation; that the light Is come into the world, + and men loved darkness Rather than light, because their deeds are evil! + </p> + <p> + NICODEMUS, aside. Of me he speaketh! He reproveth me, Because I come by + night to question him! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. For every one that doeth evil deeds Hateth the light, nor cometh + to the light Lest he should be reproved. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NICODEMUS, aside. + Alas, how truly +He readeth what is passing in my heart! +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. But he that doeth truth comes to the light, So that his deeds + may be made manifest, That they are wrought in God. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NICODEMUS. + Alas! alas! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap408"></a>V<br/> +BLIND BARTIMEUS</h3> + + <p> + BARTIMEUS. Be not impatient, Chilion; it is pleasant To sit here in the + shadow of the walls Under the palms, and hear the hum of bees, And rumor + of voices passing to and fro, And drowsy bells of caravans on their way To + Sidon or Damascus. This is still The City of Palms, and yet the walls thou + seest Are not the old walls, not the walls where Rahab Hid the two spies, + and let them down by cords Out of the window, when the gates were shut, + And it was dark. Those walls were overthrown When Joshua's army shouted, + and the priests Blew with their seven trumpets. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHILION. + When was that? +</pre> + <p> + BARTIMEUS. O my sweet rose of Jericho, I know not Hundreds of years ago. + And over there Beyond the river, the great prophet Elijah Was taken by a + whirlwind up to heaven In chariot of fire, with fiery horses. That is the + plain of Moab; and beyond it Rise the blue summits of Mount Abarim, Nebo + and Pisgah and Peor, where Moses Died, whom the Lord knew face to face? + and whom He buried in a valley, and no man Knows of his sepulchre unto + this day. + </p> + <p> + CHILION. Would thou couldst see these places, as I see them. + </p> + <p> + BARTIMEUS. I have not seen a glimmer of the light Since thou wast born. I + never saw thy face, And yet I seem to see it; and one day Perhaps shall + see it; for there is a Prophet In Galilee, the Messiah, the Son of David, + Who heals the blind, if I could only find him. I hear the sound of many + feet approaching, And voices, like the murmur of a crowd! What seest thou? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHILION. + A young man clad in white +Is coming through the gateway, and a crowd +Of people follow. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BARTIMEUS. + Can it be the Prophet! +O neighbors, tell me who it is that passes? +</pre> + <p> + ONE OF THE CROWD. Jesus of Nazareth. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BARTIMEUS, crying. + O Son of David! +Have mercy on me! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MANY OP THE CROWD. + Peace. Blind Bartimeus! +Do not disturb the Master. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BARTIMEUS, crying more vehemently. + Son of David, +Have mercy on me! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ONE OF THE CROWD. + See, the Master stops. +Be of good comfort; rise, He calleth thee! +</pre> + <p> + BARTIMEUS, casting away his cloak. Chilion! good neighbors! lead me on. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + What wilt thou +That I should do to thee? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BARTIMEUS. + Good Lord! my sight— +That I receive my sight! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Receive thy sight! +Thy faith hath made thee whole! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE CROWD. + He sees again! +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS passes on, The crowd gathers round BARTIMEUS. + </p> + <p> + BARTIMEUS. I see again; but sight bewilders me! Like a remembered dream, + familiar things Come back to me. I see the tender sky Above me, see the + trees, the city walls, And the old gateway, through whose echoing arch I + groped so many years; and you, my neighbors; But know you by your friendly + voices only. How beautiful the world is! and how wide! Oh, I am miles + away, if I but look! Where art thou, Chilion? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHILION. + Father, I am here. +</pre> + <p> + BARTIMEUS. Oh let me gaze upon thy face, dear child! For I have only seen + thee with my hands! How beautiful thou art! I should have known thee; Thou + hast her eyes whom we shall see hereafter! O God of Abraham! Elion! + Adonai! Who art thyself a Father, pardon me If for a moment I have thee + postponed To the affections and the thoughts of earth, Thee, and the + adoration that I owe thee, When by thy power alone these darkened eyes + Have been unsealed again to see thy light! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap409"></a>VI<br/> +JACOB'S WELL</h3> + + <p> + A SAMARITAN WOMAN. The sun is hot; and the dry east-wind blowing Fills all + the air with dust. The birds are silent; Even the little fieldfares in the + corn No longer twitter; only the grasshoppers Sing their incessant song of + sun and summer. I wonder who those strangers were I met Going into the + city? Galileans They seemed to me in speaking, when they asked The short + way to the market-place. Perhaps They are fishermen from the lake; or + travellers, Looking to find the inn. And here is some one Sitting beside + the well; another stranger; A Galilean also by his looks. What can so many + Jews be doing here Together in Samaria? Are they going Up to Jerusalem to + the Passover? Our Passover is better here at Sychem, For here is Ebal; + here is Gerizim, The mountain where our father Abraham Went up to offer + Isaac; here the tomb Of Joseph,—for they brought his bones Egypt And + buried them in this land, and it is holy. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Give me to drink. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SAMARITAN WOMAN. + How can it be that thou, +Being a Jew, askest to drink of me +Which am a woman of Samaria? +You Jews despise us; have no dealings with us; +Make us a byword; call us in derision +The silly folk of Sychar. Sir, how is it +Thou askest drink of me? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + If thou hadst known +The gift of God, and who it is that sayeth +Give me to drink, thou wouldst have asked of Him; +He would have given thee the living water. +</pre> + <p> + SAMARITAN WOMAN. Sir, thou hast naught to draw with, and the well Is deep! + Whence hast thou living water? Say, art thou greater than our father + Jacob, Which gave this well to us, and drank thereof Himself, and all his + children and his cattle? + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Ah, whosoever drinketh of this water Shall thirst again; but + whosoever drinketh The water I shall give him shall not thirst + Forevermore, for it shall be within him A well of living water, springing + up Into life everlasting. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SAMARITAN WOMAN. + Every day +I must go to and fro, in heat and cold, +And I am weary. Give me of this water, +That I may thirst not, nor come here to draw. +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Go call thy husband, woman, and come hither. + </p> + <p> + SAMARITAN WOMAN. I have no husband, Sir. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Thou hast well said +I have no husband. Thou hast had five husbands; +And he whom now thou hast is not thy husband. +</pre> + <p> + SAMARITAN WOMAN. Surely thou art a Prophet, for thou readest The hidden + things of life! Our fathers worshipped Upon this mountain Gerizim; and ye + say The only place in which men ought to worship Is at Jerusalem. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Believe me, woman, +The hour is coming, when ye neither shall +Upon this mount, nor at Jerusalem, +Worship the Father; for the hour is coming, +And is now come, when the true worshippers +Shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth! +The Father seeketh such to worship Him. +God is a spirit; and they that worship Him +Must worship Him in spirit and in truth. +</pre> + <p> + SAMARITAN WOMAN. Master, I know that the Messiah cometh, Which is called + Christ; and he will tell us all things. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. I that speak unto thee am He! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DISCIPLES, returning. + Behold, +The Master sitting by the well, and talking +With a Samaritan woman! With a woman +Of Sychar, the silly people, always boasting +Of their Mount Ebal, and Mount Gerizim, +Their Everlasting Mountain, which they think +Higher and holier than our Mount Moriah! +Why, once upon the Feast of the New Moon, +When our great Sanhedrim of Jerusalem +Had all its watch-fires kindled on the hills +To warn the distant villages, these people +Lighted up others to mislead the Jews, +And make a mockery of their festival! +See, she has left the Master; and is running +Back to the city! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SAMARITAN WOMAN. + Oh, come see a man +Who hath told me all things that I ever did! +Say, is not this the Christ? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DISCIPLES. + Lo, Master, here +Is food, that we have brought thee from the city. +We pray thee eat it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + I have food to eat +Ye know not of. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DISCIPLES, to each other. + Hath any man been here, +And brought Him aught to eat, while we were gone? +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. The food I speak of is to do the will Of Him that sent me, and + to finish his work. Do ye not say, Lo! there are yet four months And + cometh, harvest? I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look upon the + fields, For they are white already unto harvest! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap410"></a>VII<br/> +THE COASTS OF CAESAREA PHILIPPI</h3> + + <p> + CHRISTUS, going up the mountain. Who do the people say I am? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + Some say +That thou art John the Baptist; some, Elias; +And others Jeremiah. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JAMES. + Or that one +Of the old Prophets is risen again. +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. But who say ye I am? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + Thou art the Christ? +Thou art the Son of God! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Blessed art thou, +Simon Barjona! Flesh and blood hath not +Revealed it unto thee, but even my Father, +Which is in Heaven. And I say unto thee +That thou art Peter; and upon this rock +I build my Church, and all the gates of Hell +Shall not prevail against it. But take heed +Ye tell no man that I am the Christ. +For I must go up to Jerusalem, +And suffer many things, and be rejected +Of the Chief Priests, and of the Scribes and Elders, +And must be crucified, and the third day +Shall rise again! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + Be it far from thee, Lord! +This shall not be! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Get thee behind me, Satan! +Thou savorest not the things that be of God, +But those that be of men! If any will +Come after me, let him deny himself, +And daily take his cross, and follow me. +For whosoever will save his life shall lose it, +And whosoever will lose his life shall find it. +For wherein shall a man be profited +If he shall gain the whole world, and shall lose +Himself or be a castaway? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JAMES, after a long pause. + Why doth +The Master lead us up into this mountain? +</pre> + <p> + PETER. He goeth up to pray. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + See where He standeth +Above us on the summit of the hill! +His face shines as the sun! and all his raiment +Exceeding white as snow, so as no fuller +On earth can white them! He is not alone; +There are two with him there; two men of eld, +Their white beards blowing on the mountain air, +Are talking with him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JAMES. + I am sore afraid! +</pre> + <p> + PETER. Who and whence are they? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + Moses and Elias! +</pre> + <p> + PETER. O Master! it is good for us to be here! If thou wilt, let us make + three tabernacles; For thee one, and for Moses and Elias! + </p> + <p> + JOHN. Behold a bright cloud sailing in the sun! It overshadows us. A + golden mist Now hides them from us, and envelops us And all the mountains + in a luminous shadow! I see no more. The nearest rocks are hidden. + </p> + <p> + VOICE from the cloud. Lo! this is my beloved Son! Hear Him! + </p> + <p> + PETER. It is the voice of God. He speaketh to us, As from the burning bush + He spake to Moses! + </p> + <p> + JOHN. The cloud-wreaths roll away. The veil is lifted; We see again. + Behold! He is alone. It was a vision that our eyes beheld, And it hath + vanished into the unseen. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS, coming down from the mountain. I charge ye, tell the vision unto + no one, Till the Son of Man is risen from the dead! + </p> + <p> + PETER, aside. Again He speaks of it! What can it mean, This rising from + the dead? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JAMES. + Why say the Scribe! +Elias must first come? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + He cometh first, +Restoring all things. But I say to you, +That this Elias is already come. +They knew him not, but have done unto him +Whate'er they listed, as is written of him. +</pre> + <p> + PETER, aside. It is of John the Baptist He is speaking. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. As we descend, see, at the mountain's foot, A crowd of people; + coming, going, thronging Round the disciples, that we left behind us, + Seeming impatient, that we stay so long. + </p> + <p> + PETER. It is some blind man, or some paralytic That waits the Master's + coming to be healed. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. I see a boy, who struggles and demeans him As if an unclean spirit + tormented him! + </p> + <p> + A CERTAIN MAN, running forward. Lord! I beseech thee, look upon my son. He + is mine only child; a lunatic, And sorely vexed; for oftentimes he falleth + Into the fire and oft into the water. Wherever the dumb spirit taketh him + He teareth him. He gnasheth with his teeth, And pines away. I spake to thy + disciples That they should cast him out, and they could not. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. O faithless generation and perverse! How long shall I be with + you, and suffer you? Bring thy son hither. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BYSTANDERS. + How the unclean spirit +Seizes the boy, and tortures him with pain! +He falleth to the ground and wallows, foaming! +He cannot live. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + How long is it ago +Since this came unto him? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE FATHER. + Even of a child. +Oh, have compassion on us, Lord, and help us, +If thou canst help us. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + If thou canst believe. +For unto him that verily believeth, +All things are possible. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE FATHER. + Lord, I believe! +Help thou mine unbelief! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Dumb and deaf spirit, +Come out of him, I charge thee, and no more +Enter thou into him! +</pre> + <p> + The boy utters a loud cry of pain, and then lies still. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BYSTANDERS. + How motionless +He lieth there. No life is left in him. +His eyes are like a blind man's, that see not. +The boy is dead! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +OTHERS. + Behold! the Master stoops, +And takes him by the hand, and lifts him up. +He is not dead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DISCIPLES. + But one word from those lips, +But one touch of that hand, and he is healed! +Ah, why could we not do it? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE FATHER. + My poor child! +Now thou art mine again. The unclean spirit +Shall never more torment thee! Look at me! +Speak unto me! Say that thou knowest me! +</pre> + <p> + DISCIPLES to CHRISTUS departing. Good Master, tell us, for what reason was + it We could not cast him out? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Because of your unbelief! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap411"></a>VIII<br/> +THE YOUNG RULER</h3> + + <p> + CHRISTUS. Two men went up into the temple to pray. The one was a + self-righteous Pharisee, The other a Publican. And the Pharisee Stood and + prayed thus within himself: O God, I thank thee I am not as other men, + Extortioners, unjust, adulterers, Or even as this Publican. I fast Twice + in the week, and also I give tithes Of all that I possess! The Publican, + Standing afar off, would not lift so much Even as his eyes to heaven, but + smote his breast, Saying: God be merciful to me a sinner! I tell you that + this man went to his house More justified than the other. Every one That + doth exalt himself shall be abased, And he that humbleth himself shall be + exalted! + </p> + <p> + CHILDREN, among themselves. Let us go nearer! He is telling stories! Let + us go listen to them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +AN OLD JEW. + Children, children! +What are ye doing here? Why do ye crowd us? +It was such little vagabonds as you +That followed Elisha, mucking him and crying: +Go up, thou bald-head! But the bears—the bears +Came out of the wood, and tare them! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A MOTHER. + Speak not thus! +We brought them here, that He might lay his hands +On them, and bless them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Suffer little children +To come unto me, and forbid them not; +Of such is the kingdom of heaven; and their angels +Look always on my Father's face. +</pre> + <p> + Takes them in his arms and blesses them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A YOUNG RULER, running. + Good Master! +What good thing shall I do, that I may have +Eternal life? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Why callest thou me good? +There is none good but one, and that is God. +If thou wilt enter into life eternal, +Keep the commandments. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +YOUNG RULER. + Which of them? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Thou shalt not +Commit adultery; thou shalt not kill; +Thou shalt not steal; thou shalt not bear false witness; +Honor thy father and thy mother; and love +Thy neighbor as thyself. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +YOUNG RULER. + From my youth up +All these things have I kept. What lack I yet? +</pre> + <p> + JOHN. With what divine compassion in his eyes The Master looks upon this + eager youth, As if he loved him! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Wouldst thou perfect be, +Sell all thou hast, and give it to the poor, +And come, take up thy cross, and follow me, +And thou shalt have thy treasure in the heavens. +</pre> + <p> + JOHN. Behold, how sorrowful he turns away! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Children! how hard it is for them that trust In riches to enter + into the kingdom of God! 'T is easier for a camel to go through A needle's + eye, than for the rich to enter The kingdom of God! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + Ah, who then can be saved? +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. With men this is indeed impossible, But unto God all things are + possible! + </p> + <p> + PETER. Behold, we have left all, and followed thee. What shall we have + therefor? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Eternal life. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap412"></a>IX<br/> +AT BETHANY</h3> + + <p> + MARTHA busy about household affairs. MARY sitting at the feet of CHRISTUS. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. She sitteth idly at the Master's feet. And troubles not herself + with household cares. 'T is the old story. When a guest arrives She gives + up all to be with him; while I Must be the drudge, make ready the + guest-chamber, Prepare the food, set everything in order, And see that + naught is wanting in the house. She shows her love by words, and I by + works. + </p> + <p> + MARY. O Master! when thou comest, it is always A Sabbath in the house. I + cannot work; I must sit at thy feet; must see thee, hear thee! I have a + feeble, wayward, doubting heart, Incapable of endurance or great thoughts, + Striving for something that it cannot reach, Baffled and disappointed, + wounded, hungry; And only when I hear thee am I happy, And only when I see + thee am at peace! Stronger than I, and wiser, and far better In every + manner, is my sister Martha. Thou seest how well she orders everything To + make thee welcome; how she comes and goes, Careful and cumbered ever with + much serving, While I but welcome thee with foolish words! Whene'er thou + speakest to me, I am happy; When thou art silent, I am satisfied. Thy + presence is enough. I ask no more. Only to be with thee, only to see thee, + Sufficeth me. My heart is then at rest. I wonder I am worthy of so much. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Lord, dost thou care not that my sister Mary Hath left me thus to + wait on thee alone? I pray thee, bid her help me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Martha, Martha, +Careful and troubled about many things +Art thou, and yet one thing alone is needful! +Thy sister Mary hath chosen that good part, +Which never shall be taken away from her! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap413"></a>X<br/> +BORN BLIND</h3> + + <p> + A JEW. Who is this beggar blinking in the sun? Is it not he who used to + sit and beg By the Gate Beautiful? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ANOTHER. + It is the same. +</pre> + <p> + A THIRD. It is not he, but like him, for that beggar Was blind from birth. + It cannot be the same. + </p> + <p> + THE BEGGAR. Yea, I am he. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A JEW. + How have thine eyes been opened? +</pre> + <p> + THE BEGGAR. A man that is called Jesus made a clay And put it on mine + eyes, and said to me: Go to Siloam's Pool and wash thyself. I went and + washed, and I received my sight. + </p> + <p> + A JEW. Where is he? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BEGGAR. + I know not. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + What is this crowd +Gathered about a beggar? What has happened? +</pre> + <p> + A JEW. Here is a man who hath been blind from birth, And now he sees. He + says a man called Jesus Hath healed him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + As God liveth, the Nazarene! +How was this done? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BEGGAR. + Rabboni, he put clay +Upon mine eyes; I washed, and now I see. +</pre> + <p> + PHARISEES. When did he this? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BEGGAR. + Rabboni, yesterday. +</pre> + <p> + PHARISEES. The Sabbath day. This man is not of God, Because he keepeth not + the Sabbath day! + </p> + <p> + A JEW. How can a man that is a sinner do Such miracles? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + What dost thou say of him +That hath restored thy sight? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BEGGAR. + He is a Prophet. +</pre> + <p> + A JEW. This is a wonderful story, but not true, A beggar's fiction. He was + not born blind, And never has been blind! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +OTHERS. + Here are his parents. +Ask them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + Is this your son? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE PARENTS. + Rabboni, yea; +We know this is our son. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + Was he born blind? +</pre> + <p> + THE PARENTS. He was born blind. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + Then how doth he now see? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE PARENTS, aside. +What answer shall we make? If we confess +It was the Christ, we shall be driven forth +Out of the Synagogue! + We know, Rabboni, +This is our son, and that he was born blind; +But by what means he seeth, we know not, +Or who his eyes hath opened, we know not. +He is of age; ask him; we cannot say; +He shall speak for himself. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + Give God the praise! +We know the man that healed thee is a sinner! +</pre> + <p> + THE BEGGAR. Whether He be a sinner, I know not; One thing I know; that + whereas I was blind, I now do see. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + How opened he thine eyes? +What did he do? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BEGGAR. + I have already told you. +Ye did not hear: why would ye hear again? +Will ye be his disciples? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + God of Moses! +Are we demoniacs, are we halt or blind, +Or palsy-stricken, or lepers, or the like, +That we should join the Synagogue of Satan, +And follow jugglers? Thou art his disciple, +But we are disciples of Moses; and we know +That God spake unto Moses; but this fellow, +We know not whence he is! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BEGGAR. + Why, herein is +A marvellous thing! Ye know not whence he is, +Yet he hath opened mine eyes! We know that God +Heareth not sinners; but if any man +Doeth God's will, and is his worshipper, +Him doth he hear. Oh, since the world began +It was not heard that any man hath opened +The eyes of one that was born blind. If He +Were not of God, surely he could do nothing! +</pre> + <p> + PHARISEES. Thou, who wast altogether born in sins And in iniquities, dost + thou teach us? Away with thee out of the holy places, Thou reprobate, thou + beggar, thou blasphemer! + </p> + <p> + THE BEGGAR is cast out. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap414"></a>XI<br/> +SIMON MAGUS AND HELEN OF TYRE</h3> + + <p> + On the house-top at Endor. Night. A lighted lantern on a table. + </p> + <p> + SIMON. Swift are the blessed Immortals to the mortal That perseveres! So + doth it stand recorded In the divine Chaldaean Oracles Of Zoroaster, once + Ezekiel's slave, Who in his native East betook himself To lonely + meditation, and the writing On the dried skins of oxen the Twelve Books Of + the Avesta and the Oracles! Therefore I persevere; and I have brought thee + From the great city of Tyre, where men deride The things they comprehend + not, to this plain Of Esdraelon, in the Hebrew tongue Called Armageddon, + and this town of Endor, Where men believe; where all the air is full Of + marvellous traditions, and the Enchantress That summoned up the ghost of + Samuel Is still remembered. Thou hast seen the land; Is it not fair to + look on? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HELEN. + It is fair, +Yet not so fair as Tyre. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + Is not Mount Tabor +As beautiful as Carmel by the Sea? +</pre> + <p> + HELEN. It is too silent and too solitary; I miss the tumult of the street; + the sounds Of traffic, and the going to and fro Of people in gay attire, + with cloaks of purple, And gold and silver jewelry! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + Inventions +Of Abriman, the spirit of the dark, +The Evil Spirit! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HELEN. + I regret the gossip +Of friends and neighbors at the open door +On summer nights. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + An idle waste of time. +</pre> + <p> + HELEN. The singing and the dancing, the delight Of music and of motion. + Woe is me, To give up all these pleasures, and to lead The life we lead! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + Thou canst not raise thyself +Up to the level of my higher thought, +And though possessing thee, I still remain +Apart from thee, and with thee, am alone +In my high dreams. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HELEN. + Happier was I in Tyre. +Oh, I remember how the gallant ships +Came sailing in, with ivory, gold, and silver, +And apes and peacocks; and the singing sailors, +And the gay captains with their silken dresses, +Smelling of aloes, myrrh, and cinnamon! +</pre> + <p> + SIMON. But the dishonor, Helen! Let the ships Of Tarshish howl for that! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HELEN. + And what dishonor? +Remember Rahab, and how she became +The ancestress of the great Psalmist David; +And wherefore should not I, Helen of Tyre, +Attain like honor? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + Thou art Helen of Tyre, +And hast been Helen of Troy, and hast been Rahab, +The Queen of Sheha, and Semiramis, +And Sara of seven husbands, and Jezebel, +And other women of the like allurements; +And now thou art Minerva, the first Aeon, +The Mother of Angels! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HELEN. + And the concubine +Of Simon the Magician! Is it honor +For one who has been all these noble dames, +To tramp about the dirty villages +And cities of Samaria with a juggler? +A charmer of serpents? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + He who knows himself +Knows all things in himself. I have charmed thee, +Thou beautiful asp: yet am I no magician, +I am the Power of God, and the Beauty of God! +I am the Paraclete, the Comforter! +</pre> + <p> + HELEN. Illusions! Thou deceiver, self-deceived! Thou dost usurp the titles + of another; Thou art not what thou sayest. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + Am I not? +Then feel my power. +</pre> + <p> + HELEN. Would I had ne'er left Tyre! + </p> + <p> + He looks at her, and she sinks into a deep sleep. + </p> + <p> + SIMON. Go, see it in thy dreams, fair unbeliever! And leave me unto mine, + if they be dreams, That take such shapes before me, that I see them; These + effable and ineffable impressions Of the mysterious world, that come to me + From the elements of Fire and Earth and Water, And the all-nourishing + Ether! It is written, Look not on Nature, for her name is fatal! Yet there + are Principles, that make apparent The images of unapparent things, And + the impression of vague characters And visions most divine appear in + ether. So speak the Oracles; then wherefore fatal? I take this + orange-bough, with its five leaves, Each equidistant on the upright stem; + And I project them on a plane below, In the circumference of a circle + drawn About a centre where the stem is planted, And each still equidistant + from the other, As if a thread of gossamer were drawn Down from each leaf, + and fastened with a pin. Now if from these five points a line be traced To + each alternate point, we shall obtain The Pentagram, or Solomon's + Pentangle, A charm against all witchcraft, and a sign, Which on the banner + of Antiochus Drove back the fierce barbarians of the North, Demons + esteemed, and gave the Syrian King The sacred name of Soter, or of Savior. + Thus Nature works mysteriously with man; And from the Eternal One, as from + a centre, All things proceed, in fire, air, earth, and water, And all are + subject to one law, which, broken Even in a single point, is broken in + all; Demons rush in, and chaos comes again. By this will I compel the + stubborn spirits, That guard the treasures, hid in caverns deep On + Gerizim, by Uzzi the High-Priest, The ark and holy vessels, to reveal + Their secret unto me, and to restore These precious things to the + Samaritans. A mist is rising from the plain below me, And as I look, the + vapors shape themselves Into strange figures, as if unawares My lips had + breathed the Tetragrammaton, And from their graves, o'er all the + battlefields Of Armageddon, the long-buried captains Had started, with + their thousands, and ten thousands, And rushed together to renew their + wars, Powerless, and weaponless, and without a sound! Wake, Helen, from + thy sleep! The air grows cold; Let us go down. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HELEN, awaking. + Oh, would I were at home! +</pre> + <p> + SIMON. Thou sayest that I usurp another's titles. In youth I saw the Wise + Men of the East, Magalath and Pangalath and Saracen, Who followed the + bright star, but home returned For fear of Herod by another way. O shining + worlds above me! in what deep Recesses of your realms of mystery Lies + hidden now that star? and where are they That brought the gifts of + frankincense and myrrh? + </p> + <p> + HELEN. The Nazarene still liveth. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + We have heard +His name in many towns, but have not seen Him. +He flits before us; tarries not; is gone +When we approach, like something unsubstantial, +Made of the air, and fading into air. +He is at Nazareth, He is at Nain, +Or at the Lovely Village on the Lake, +Or sailing on its waters. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HELEN. + So say those +Who do not wish to find Him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SIMON. + Can this be +The King of Israel, whom the Wise Men worshipped? +Or does He fear to meet me? It would seem so. +We should soon learn which of us twain usurps +The titles of the other, as thou sayest. +</pre> + <p> + They go down. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap415"></a>THE THIRD PASSOVER</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap416"></a>I<br/> +THE ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM</h3> + + <p> + THE SYRO-PHOENICIAN WOMAN and her DAUGHTER on the house-top at Jerusalem. + </p> + +<p class="noindent"> +THE DAUGHTER, singing.<br/> +Blind Bartimeus at the gates<br/> +Of Jericho in darkness waits;<br/> +He hears the crowd;—he hears a breath<br/> +Say, “It is Christ of Nazareth!”<br/> +And calls, in tones of agony,<br/> +Ἰησοῦ, ἐλέησόν +με!<br/> +<br/> +The thronging multitudes increase;<br/> +Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace!<br/> +But still, above the noisy crowd,<br/> +The beggar’s cry is shrill and loud;<br/> +Until they say, “He calleth thee!”<br/> +Θάρσει +ἔγειραι, φωνεῖ +δε!<br/> +<br/> +Then saith the Christ, as silent stands<br/> +The crowd, “What wilt thou at my hands?”<br/> +And he replies, “O give me light!<br/> +Rabbi, restore the blind man’s sight.”<br/> +And Jesus answers, Ὕπαγε<br/> +Ἡ πίστις σου +σέσωκέ δε!<br/> +<br/> +Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see,<br/> +In darkness and in misery,<br/> +Recall those mighty Voices Three,<br/> +Ἰησοῦ, ἐλέησόν +με!<br/> +Θάρσει ἔγειραι, +ὕπαγε!<br/> +Ἡ πίστις σου +σέσωκέ δε! +</p> + + <p> + THE MOTHER. Thy faith hath saved thee! Ah, how true that is! For I had + faith; and when the Master came Into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, fleeing + From those who sought to slay him, I went forth And cried unto Him, + saying: Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David! for my daughter Is + grievously tormented with a devil. But he passed on, and answered not a + word. And his disciples said, beseeching Him: Send her away! She crieth + after us! And then the Master answered them and said: I am not sent but + unto the lost sheep Of the House of Israel! Then I worshipped Him, Saying: + Lord help me! And He answered me, It is not meet to take the children's + bread And cast it unto dogs! Truth, Lord, I said; And yet the dogs may eat + the crumbs which fall From off their master's table; and he turned, And + answered me; and said to me: O woman, Great is thy faith; then be it unto + thee Even as thou wilt. And from that very hour Thou wast made whole, my + darling! my delight! + </p> + <p> + THE DAUGHTER. There came upon my dark and troubled mind A calm, as when + the tumult of the City Suddenly ceases, and I lie and hear The silver + trumpets of the Temple blowing Their welcome to the Sabbath. Still I + wonder, That one who was so far away from me And could not see me, by his + thought alone Had power to heal me. Oh that I could see Him! + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. Perhaps thou wilt; for I have brought thee here To keep the + holy Passover, and lay Thine offering of thanksgiving on the altar. Thou + mayst both see and hear Him. Hark! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VOICES afar off. + Hosanna! +</pre> + <p> + THE DAUGHTER. A crowd comes pouring through the city gate! O mother, look! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VOICES in the street. + Hosanna to the Son +Of David! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DAUGHTER. + A great multitude of people +Fills all the street; and riding on an ass +Comes one of noble aspect, like a king! +The people spread their garments in the way, +And scatter branches of the palm-trees! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VOICES. + Blessed +Is he that cometh in the name of the Lord! +Hosanna in the highest! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +OTHER VOICES. + Who is this? +</pre> + <p> + VOICES. Jesus of Nazareth! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DAUGHTER. + Mother, it is he! +</pre> + <p> + VOICES. He hath called Lazarus of Bethany Out of his grave, and raised him + from the dead! Hosanna in the highest! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + Ye perceive +That nothing we prevail. Behold, the world +Is all gone after him! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DAUGHTER. + What majesty, +What power is in that care-worn countenance! +What sweetness, what compassion! I no longer +Wonder that he hath healed me! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VOICES. + Peace in heaven, +And glory in the highest! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + Rabbi! Rabbi! +Rebuke thy followers! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Should they hold their peace +The very stones beneath us would cry out! +</pre> + <p> + THE DAUGHTER. All hath passed by me like a dream of wonder! But I have + seen Him, and have heard his voice, And I am satisfied! I ask no more! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap417"></a>II<br/> +SOLOMON'S PORCH</h3> + + <p> + GAMALIEL THE SCRIBE. When Rabban Simeon—upon whom be peace!— + Taught in these Schools, he boasted that his pen Had written no word that + he could call his own, But wholly and always had been consecrated To the + transcribing of the Law and Prophets. He used to say, and never tired of + saying, The world itself was built upon the Law. And ancient Hillel said, + that whosoever Gains a good name gains something for himself, But he who + gains a knowledge of the Law Gains everlasting life. And they spake truly. + Great is the Written Law; but greater still The Unwritten, the Traditions + of the Elders, The lovely words of Levites, spoken first To Moses on the + Mount, and handed down From mouth to mouth, in one unbroken sound And + sequence of divine authority, The voice of God resounding through the + ages. + </p> + <p> + The Written Law is water; the Unwritten Is precious wine; the Written Law + is salt, The Unwritten costly spice; the Written Law Is but the body; the + Unwritten, the soul That quickens it and makes it breathe and live. I can + remember, many years ago, A little bright-eyed school-boy, a mere + stripling, Son of a Galilean carpenter, From Nazareth, I think, who came + one day And sat here in the Temple with the Scribes, Hearing us speak, and + asking many questions, And we were all astonished at his quickness. And + when his mother came, and said: Behold Thy father and I have sought thee, + sorrowing; He looked as one astonished, and made answer, How is it that ye + sought me? Wist ye not That I must be about my Father's business? Often + since then I see him here among us, Or dream I see him, with his upraised + face Intent and eager, and I often wonder Unto what manner of manhood he + hath grown! Perhaps a poor mechanic like his father, Lost in his little + Galilean village And toiling at his craft, to die unknown And he no more + remembered among men. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS, in the outer court. The Scribes and Pharisees sit in Moses' + seat; All, therefore, whatsoever they command you, Observe and do; but + follow not their works They say and do not. They bind heavy burdens And + very grievous to be borne, and lay them Upon men's shoulders, but they + move them not With so much as a finger! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GAMALIEL, looking forth. + Who is this +Exhorting in the outer courts so loudly? +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Their works they do for to be seen of men. They make broad their + phylacteries, and enlarge The borders of their garments, and they love The + uppermost rooms at feasts, and the chief seats In Synagogues, and + greetings in the markets, And to be called of all men Rabbi, Rabbi! + </p> + <p> + GAMALIEL. It is that loud and turbulent Galilean, That came here at the + Feast of Dedication, And stirred the people up to break the Law! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! for ye + shut up the kingdom Of heaven, and neither go ye in yourselves Nor suffer + them that are entering to go in! + </p> + <p> + GAMALIEL. How eagerly the people throng and listen, As if his ribald words + were words of wisdom! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! for ye + devour the houses Of widows, and for pretence ye make long prayers; + Therefore shall ye receive the more damnation. + </p> + <p> + GAMALIEL. This brawler is no Jew,—he is a vile Samaritan, and hath + an unclean spirit! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! ye + compass sea and land To make one proselyte, and when he is made Ye make + him twofold more the child of hell Than you yourselves are! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GAMALIEL. + O my father's father! +Hillel of blessed memory, hear and judge! +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! for ye + pay tithe of mint, Of anise, and of cumin, and omit The weightier matters + of the law of God, Judgment and faith and mercy; and all these Ye ought to + have done, nor leave undone the others! + </p> + <p> + GAMALIEL. O Rabban Simeon! how must thy bones Stir in their grave to hear + such blasphemies! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes, and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! for ye + make clean and sweet The outside of the cup and of the platter, But they + within are full of all excess! + </p> + <p> + GAMALIEL. Patience of God! canst thou endure so long? Or art thou deaf, or + gone upon a journey? + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! for ye + are very like To whited sepulchres, which indeed appear Beautiful + outwardly, but are within Filled full of dead men's bones and all + uncleanness! + </p> + <p> + GAMALIEL. Am I awake? Is this Jerusalem? And are these Jews that throng + and stare and listen? + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Woe unto you, ye Scribes and Pharisees, Ye hypocrites! because + ye build the tombs Of prophets, and adorn the sepulchres Of righteous men, + and say: if we had lived When lived our fathers, we would not have been + Partakers with them in the blood of Prophets. So ye be witnesses unto + yourselves, That ye are children of them that killed the Prophets! Fill ye + up then the measure of your fathers. I send unto you Prophets and Wise + Men, And Scribes, and some ye crucify, and some Scourge in your + Synagogues, and persecute From city to city; that on you may come The + righteous blood that hath been shed on earth, From the blood of righteous + Abel to the blood Of Zacharias, son of Barachias, Ye slew between the + Temple and the altar! + </p> + <p> + GAMALIEL. Oh, had I here my subtle dialectician, My little Saul of Tarsus, + the tent-maker, Whose wit is sharper than his needle's point, He would + delight to foil this noisy wrangler! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Jerusalem! Jerusalem! O thou That killest the Prophets, and that + stonest them Which are sent unto thee, how often would I Have gathered + together thy children, as a hen Gathereth her chickens underneath her + wing, And ye would not! Behold, your house is left Unto you desolate! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE PEOPLE. + This is a Prophet! +This is the Christ that was to come! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GAMALIEL. + Ye fools! +Think ye, shall Christ come out of Galilee? +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap418"></a>III<br/> +LORD, IS IT I?</h3> + + <p> + CHRISTUS. One of you shall betray me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE DISCIPLES. + Is it I? +Lord, is it I? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + One of the Twelve it is +That dippeth with me in this dish his hand; +He shall betray me. Lo, the Son of Man +Goeth indeed as it is written of Him; +But woe shall be unto that man by whom +He is betrayed! Good were it for that man +If he had ne'er been born! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JUDAS ISCARIOT. + Lord, is it I? +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Ay, thou hast said. And that thou doest, do quickly. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS ISCARIOT, going out. Ah, woe is me! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + All ye shall be offended +Because of me this night; for it is written: +Awake, O sword, against my shepherd! Smite +The shepherd, saith the Lord of hosts, and scattered +Shall be the sheep!—But after I am risen +I go before you into Galilee. +</pre> + <p> + PETER. O Master! though all men shall be offended Because of thee, yet + will not I be! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Simon, +Behold how Satan hath desired to have you, +That he may sift you as one sifteth wheat! +Whither I go thou canst not follow me— +Not now; but thou shalt follow me hereafter. +</pre> + <p> + PETER. Wherefore can I not follow thee? I am ready To go with thee to + prison and to death. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Verily I say unto thee, this night, Ere the cock crow, thou + shalt deny me thrice! + </p> + <p> + PETER. Though I should die, yet will I not deny thee. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. When first I sent you forth without a purse, Or scrip, or shoes, + did ye lack anything? + </p> + <p> + THE DISCIPLES. Not anything. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + But he that hath a purse, +Now let him take it, and likewise his scrip; +And he that hath no sword, let him go sell +His clothes and buy one. That which hath been written +Must be accomplished now: He hath poured out +His soul even unto death; he hath been numbered +With the transgressors, and himself hath borne +The sin of many, and made intercession +For the transgressors. And here have an end +The things concerning me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + Behold, O Lord, +Behold here are two swords! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + It is enough. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap419"></a>IV<br/> +THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE</h3> + + <p> + CHRISTUS. My spirit is exceeding sorrowful Even unto death! Tarry ye here + and watch. + </p> + <p> + He goes apart. + </p> + <p> + PETER. Under this ancient olive-tree, that spreads Its broad centennial + branches like a tent, Let us lie down and rest. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + What are those torches, +That glimmer on Brook Kedron there below us? +</pre> + <p> + JAMES. It is some marriage feast; the joyful maidens Go out to meet the + bridegroom. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + I am weary. +The struggles of this day have overcome me. +</pre> + <p> + They sleep. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS, falling on his face. Father! all things are possible to thee,— + Oh let this cup pass from me! Nevertheless Not as I will, but as thou + wilt, be done! + </p> + <p> + Returning to the Disciples. + </p> + <p> + What! could ye not watch with me for one hour? Oh watch and pray, that ye + may enter not Into temptation. For the spirit indeed Is willing, but the + flesh is weak! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + Alas! +It is for sorrow that our eyes are heavy.— +I see again the glimmer of those torches +Among the olives; they are coming hither. +</pre> + <p> + JAMES. Outside the garden wall the path divides; Surely they come not + hither. + </p> + <p> + They sleep again. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS, as before. + O my Father! +If this cup may not pass away from me, +Except I drink of it, thy will be done. +</pre> + <p> + Returning to the Disciples. + </p> + <p> + Sleep on; and take your rest! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + Beloved Master, +Alas! we know not what to answer thee! +It is for sorrow that our eves are heavy.— +Behold, the torches now encompass us. +</pre> + <p> + JAMES. They do but go about the garden wall, Seeking for some one, or for + something lost. + </p> + <p> + They sleep again. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS, as before. If this cup may not pass away from me, Except I drink + of it, thy will be done. + </p> + <p> + Returning to the Disciples. + </p> + <p> + It is enough! Behold, the Son of Man Hath been betrayed into the hands of + sinners! The hour is come. Rise up, let us be going; For he that shall + betray me is at hand. + </p> + <p> + JOHN. Ah me! See, from his forehead, in the torchlight, Great drops of + blood are falling to the ground! + </p> + <p> + PETER. What lights are these? What torches glare and glisten Upon the + swords and armor of these men? And there among them Judas Iscariot! + </p> + <p> + He smites the servant of the High-Priest with his sword. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Put up thy sword into its sheath; for they That take the sword + shall perish with the sword. The cup my Father hath given me to drink, + Shall I not drink it? Think'st thou that I cannot Pray to my Father, and + that he shall give me More than twelve legions of angels presently! + </p> + <p> + JUDAS to CHRISTUS, kissing him. Hail, Master! hail! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Friend, wherefore art thou come? +Whom seek ye? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAPTAIN OF THE TEMPLE. + Jesus of Nazareth. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + I am he. +Are ye come hither as against a thief, +With swords and staves to take me? When I daily +Was with you in the Temple, ye stretched forth +No hands to take me! But this is your hour, +And this the power of darkness. If ye seek +Me only, let these others go their way. +</pre> + <p> + The Disciples depart. CHRISTUS is bound and led away. A certain young man + follows him, having a linen cloth cast about his body. They lay hold of + him, and the young man flees from them naked. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap420"></a>V<br/> +THE PALACE OF CAIAPHAS</h3> + + <p> + PHARISEES. What do we? Clearly something must we do, For this man worketh + many miracles. + </p> + <p> + CAIAPHAS. I am informed that he is a mechanic; A carpenter's son; a + Galilean peasant, Keeping disreputable company. + </p> + <p> + PHARISEES. The people say that here in Bethany He hath raised up a certain + Lazarus, Who had been dead three days. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAIAPHAS. + Impossible! +There is no resurrection of the dead; +This Lazarus should be taken, and put to death +As an impostor. If this Galilean +Would be content to stay in Galilee, +And preach in country towns, I should not heed him. +But when he comes up to Jerusalem +Riding in triumph, as I am informed, +And drives the money-changers from the Temple, +That is another matter. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES. + If we thus +Let him alone, all will believe on him, +And then the Romans come and take away +Our place and nation. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAIAPHAS. + Ye know nothing at all. +Simon Ben Camith, my great predecessor, +On whom be peace! would have dealt presently +With such a demagogue. I shall no less. +The man must die. Do ye consider not +It is expedient that one man should die, +Not the whole nation perish? What is death? +It differeth from sleep but in duration. +We sleep and wake again; an hour or two +Later or earlier, and it matters not, +And if we never wake it matters not; +When we are in our graves we are at peace, +Nothing can wake us or disturb us more. +There is no resurrection. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PHARISEES, aside. + O most faithful +Disciple of Hircanus Maccabaeus, +Will nothing but complete annihilation +Comfort and satisfy thee? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAIAPHAS. + While ye are talking +And plotting, and contriving how to take him, +Fearing the people, and so doing naught, +I, who fear not the people, have been acting; +Have taken this Prophet, this young Nazarene, +Who by Beelzebub the Prince of devils +Casteth out devils, and doth raise the dead, +That might as well be dead, and left in peace. +Annas my father-in-law hath sent him hither. +I hear the guard. Behold your Galilean! +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS is brought in bound. + </p> + <p> + SERVANT, in the vestibule. Why art thou up so late, my pretty damsel? + </p> + <p> + DAMSEL. Why art thou up so early, pretty man? It is not cock-crow yet, and + art thou stirring? + </p> + <p> + SERVANT. What brings thee here? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DAMSEL. + What brings the rest of you? +</pre> + <p> + SERVANT. Come here and warm thy hands. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DAMSEL to PETER. + Art thou not +One of this man's also disciples? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + I am not. +</pre> + <p> + DAMSEL. Now surely thou art also one of them; Thou art a Galilean, and thy + speech Betrayeth thee. + </p> + <p> + PETER. Woman, I know him not! + </p> + <p> + CAIAPHAS to CHRISTUS, in the Hall. Who art thou? Tell us plainly of + thyself And of thy doctrines, and of thy disciples. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Lo, I have spoken openly to the world, I have taught ever in the + Synagogue, And in the Temple, where the Jews resort In secret have said + nothing. Wherefore then Askest thou me of this? Ask them that heard me + What I have said to them. Behold, they know What I have said! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +OFFICER, striking him, + What, fellow! answerest thou +The High-Priest so? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + If I have spoken evil, +Bear witness of the evil; but if well, +Why smitest thou me? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAIAPHAS. + Where are the witnesses? +Let them say what they know. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE TWO FALSE WITNESSES. + We heard him say: +I will destroy this Temple made with hands, +And will within three days build up another +Made without hands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCRIBES and PHARISEES. + He is o'erwhelmed with shame +And cannot answer! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAIAPHAS. + Dost thou answer nothing? +What is this thing they witness here against thee? +</pre> + <p> + SCRIBES and PHARISEES. He holds his peace. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAIAPHAS. + Tell us, art thou the Christ? +I do adjure thee by the living God, +Tell us, art thou indeed the Christ? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + I am. +Hereafter shall ye see the Son of Man +Sit on the right hand of the power of God, +And come in clouds of heaven! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAIAPHAS, rending his clothes. + It is enough. +He hath spoken blasphemy! What further need +Have we of witnesses? Now ye have heard +His blasphemy. What think ye? Is he guilty? +</pre> + <p> + SCRIBES and PHARISEES. Guilty of death! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KINSMAN OF MALCHUS to PETER in the vestibule. + Surely I know thy face, +Did I not see thee in the garden with him? +</pre> + <p> + PETER. How couldst thou see me? I swear unto thee I do not know this man + of whom ye speak! + </p> + <p> + The cock crows. + </p> + <p> + Hark! the cock crows! That sorrowful, pale face Seeks for me in the crowd, + and looks at me, As if He would remind me of those words: Ere the cock + crow thou shalt deny me thrice! + </p> + <p> + Goes out weeping. CHRISTUS is blindfolded and buffeted. + </p> + <p> + AN OFFICER, striking him with his palm. Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, + thou Prophet! Who is it smote thee? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAIAPHAS. + Lead him unto Pilate! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap421"></a>VI<br/> +PONTIUS PILATE</h3> + + <p> + PILATE. Wholly incomprehensible to me, Vainglorious, obstinate, and given + up To unintelligible old traditions, And proud, and self-conceited are + these Jews! Not long ago, I marched the legions Down from Caesarea to + their winter-quarters Here in Jerusalem, with the effigies Of Caesar on + their ensigns, and a tumult Arose among these Jews, because their Law + Forbids the making of all images! They threw themselves upon the ground + with wild Expostulations, bared their necks, and cried That they would + sooner die than have their Law Infringed in any manner; as if Numa Were + not as great as Moses, and the Laws Of the Twelve Tables as their + Pentateuch! + </p> + <p> + And then, again, when I desired to span Their valley with an aqueduct, and + bring A rushing river in to wash the city And its inhabitants,—they + all rebelled As if they had been herds of unwashed swine! Thousands and + thousands of them got together And raised so great a clamor round my + doors, That, fearing violent outbreak, I desisted, And left them to their + wallowing in the mire. + </p> + <p> + And now here comes the reverend Sanhedrim Of lawyers, priests, and Scribes + and Pharisees, Like old and toothless mastiffs, that can bark But cannot + bite, howling their accusations Against a mild enthusiast, who hath + preached I know not what new doctrine, being King Of some vague kingdom in + the other world, That hath no more to do with Rome and Caesar Than I have + with the patriarch Abraham! Finding this man to be a Galilean I sent him + straight to Herod, and I hope That is the last of it; but if it be not, I + still have power to pardon and release him, As is the custom at the + Passover, And so accommodate the matter smoothly, Seeming to yield to + them, yet saving him, A prudent and sagacious policy For Roman Governors + in the Provinces. + </p> + <p> + Incomprehensible, fanatic people! Ye have a God, who seemeth like + yourselves Incomprehensible, dwelling apart, Majestic, cloud-encompassed, + clothed in darkness! One whom ye fear, but love not; yet ye have No + Goddesses to soften your stern lives, And make you tender unto human + weakness, While we of Rome have everywhere around us Our amiable + divinities, that haunt The woodlands, and the waters, and frequent Our + households, with their sweet and gracious presence! I will go in, and, + while these Jews are wrangling, Read my Ovidius on the Art of Love. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap422"></a>VII<br/> +BARABBAS IN PRISON</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BARABBAS, to his fellow-prisoners +Barabbas is my name, +Barabbas, the Son of Shame, + Is the meaning, I suppose; +I'm no better than the best, +And whether worse than the rest + Of my fellow-men, who knows? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I was once, to say it in brief, +A highwayman, a robber-chief, + In the open light of day. +So much I am free to confess; +But all men, more or less, + Are robbers in their way. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From my cavern in the crags, +From my lair of leaves and flags, + I could see, like ants, below, +The camels with their load +Of merchandise, on the road + That leadeth to Jericho. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And I struck them unaware, +As an eagle from the air + Drops down upon bird or beast; +And I had my heart's desire +Of the merchants of Sidon and Tyre, + And Damascus and the East. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But it is not for that I fear; +It is not for that I am here + In these iron fetters bound; +Sedition! that is the word +That Pontius Pilate heard, + And he liketh not the sound. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What think ye, would he care +For a Jew slain here or there, + Or a plundered caravan? +But Caesar!—ah, that is a crime, +To the uttermost end of time + Shall not be forgiven to man. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Therefore was Herod wroth +With Matthias Margaloth, + And burned him for a show! +Therefore his wrath did smite +Judas the Gaulonite, + And his followers, as ye know. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For that cause and no more, +Am I here, as I said before; + For one unlucky night, +Jucundus, the captain of horse, +Was upon us with all his force, + And I was caught in the flight, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I might have fled with the rest, +But my dagger was in the breast + Of a Roman equerry, +As we rolled there in the street, +They bound me, hands and feet + And this is the end of me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Who cares for death? Not I! +A thousand times I would die, + Rather than suffer wrong! +Already those women of mine +Are mixing the myrrh and the wine; + I shall not be with you long. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap423"></a>VIII<br/> +ECCE HOMO</h3> + + <p> + PILATE, on the tessellated pavement in front of his palace. Ye have + brought unto me this man, as one Who doth pervert the people; and behold! + I have examined him, and found no fault Touching the things whereof ye do + accuse him. No, nor yet Herod; for I sent you to him, And nothing worthy + of death he findeth in him. Ye have a custom at the Passover; That one + condemned to death shall be released. Whom will ye, then, that I release + to you? Jesus Barabbas, called the Son of Shame, Or Jesus, Son of Joseph, + called the Christ? + </p> + <p> + THE PEOPLE, shouting. Not this man, but Barabbas! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PILATE. + What then will ye +That I should do with him that is called Christ? +</pre> + <p> + THE PEOPLE. Crucify him! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PILATE. + Why, what evil hath he done? +Lo, I have found no cause of death in him; +I will chastise him, and then let him go. +</pre> + <p> + THE PEOPLE, more vehemently. Crucify him! crucify him! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A MESSENGER, to PILATE. + Thy wife sends +This message to thee,—Have thou naught to do +With that just man; for I this day in dreams +Have suffered many things because of him. +</pre> + <p> + PILATE, aside. The Gods speak to us in our dreams! I tremble At what I + have to do! O Claudia, How shall I save him? Yet one effort more, Or he + must perish! + </p> + <p> + Washes his hands before them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am innocent +Of the blood of this just person; see ye to it! +</pre> + <p> + THE PEOPLE. Let his blood be on us and on our children! + </p> + <p> + VOICES, within the palace. Put on thy royal robes; put on thy crown, And + take thy sceptre! Hail, thou King of the Jews! + </p> + <p> + PILATE. I bring him forth to you, that ye may know I find no fault in him. + Behold the man! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS is led in with the purple robe and crown of thorns. + </p> + <p> + CHIEF PRIESTS and OFFICERS. Crucify him! crucify him! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PILATE. + Take ye him; +I find no fault in him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHIEF PRIESTS. + We have a Law, +And by our Law he ought to die; because +He made himself to be the Son of God. +</pre> + <p> + PILATE, aside. Ah! there are Sons of God, and demigods More than ye know, + ye ignorant High-Priests! + </p> + <p> + To CHRISTUS. Whence art thou? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHIEF PRIESTS. + Crucify him! crucify him! +</pre> + <p> + PILATE, to CHRISTUS. Dost thou not answer me? Dost thou not know That I + have power enough to crucify thee? That I have also power to set thee + free? + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Thou couldst have no power at all against me Except that it were + given thee from above; Therefore hath he that sent me unto thee The + greater sin. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHIEF PRIESTS. + If thou let this man go, +Thou art not Caesar's friend. For whosoever +Maketh himself a King, speaks against Caesar. +</pre> + <p> + PILATE. Ye Jews, behold your King! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHIEF PRIESTS. + Away with him! +Crucify him! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PILATE. + Shall I crucify your King? +</pre> + <p> + CHIEF PRIESTS. We have no King but Caesar! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PILATE. + Take him, then, +Take him, ye cruel and bloodthirsty priests, +More merciless than the plebeian mob, +Who pity and spare the fainting gladiator +Blood-stained in Roman amphitheatres,— +Take him, and crucify him if ye will; +But if the immortal Gods do ever mingle +With the affairs of mortals, which I doubt not, +And hold the attribute of justice dear, +They will commission the Eumenides +To scatter you to the four winds of heaven, +Exacting tear for tear, and blood for blood. +Here, take ye this inscription, Priests, and nail it +Upon the cross, above your victim's head: +Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. +</pre> + <p> + CHIEF PRIESTS. Nay, we entreat! write not, the King of the Jews! But that + he said: I am the King of the Jews! + </p> + <p> + PILATE. Enough. What I have written, I have written. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap424"></a>IX<br/> +ACELDAMA</h3> + + <p> + JUDAS ISCARIOT. Lost! Lost! Forever lost! I have betrayed The innocent + blood! O God! if thou art love, Why didst thou leave me naked to the + tempter? Why didst thou not commission thy swift lightning To strike me + dead? or why did I not perish With those by Herod slain, the innocent + children, Who went with playthings in their little hands Into the darkness + of the other world, As if to bed? Or wherefore was I born, If thou in thy + foreknowledge didst perceive All that I am, and all that I must be? I know + I am not generous, am not gentle, Like other men; but I have tried to be, + And I have failed. I thought by following him I should grow like him; but + the unclean spirit That from my childhood up hath tortured me Hath been + too cunning and too strong for me, Am I to blame for this? Am I to blame + Because I cannot love, and ne'er have known The love of woman or the love + of children? It is a curse and a fatality, A mark that hath been set upon + my forehead, That none shall slay me, for it were a mercy That I were + dead, or never had been born. + </p> + <p> + Too late! too late! I shall not see Him more Among the living. That sweet, + patient face Will never more rebuke me, nor those lips Repeat the words: + One of you shall betray me! It stung me into madness. How I loved, Yet + hated Him: But in the other world! I will be there before Him, and will + wait Until he comes, and fall down on my knees And kiss his feet, + imploring pardon, pardon! + </p> + <p> + I heard Him say: All sins shall be forgiven, Except the sin against the + Holy Ghost. That shall not be forgiven in this world, Nor in the world to + come. Is that my sin? Have I offended so there is no hope Here nor + hereafter? That I soon shall know. O God, have mercy! Christ have mercy on + me! + </p> + <p> + Throws himself headlong from the cliff. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap425"></a>X<br/> +THE THREE CROSSES</h3> + + <p> + MANAHEM, THE ESSENIAN. Three crosses in this noonday night uplifted, Three + human figures that in mortal pain Gleam white against the supernatural + darkness; Two thieves, that writhe in torture, and between them The + Suffering Messiah, the Son of Joseph, Ay, the Messiah Triumphant, Son of + David! A crown of thorns on that dishonored head! Those hands that healed + the sick now pierced with nails, Those feet that wandered homeless through + the world Now crossed and bleeding, and at rest forever! And the three + faithful Maries, overwhelmed By this great sorrow, kneeling, praying + weeping! O Joseph Caiaphas, thou great High-Priest How wilt thou answer + for this deed of blood? + </p> + <p> + SCRIBES and ELDERS. Thou that destroyest the Temple, and dost build it In + three days, save thyself; and if thou be The Son of God, come down now + from the cross. + </p> + <p> + CHIEF PRIESTS. Others he saved, himself he cannot save! Let Christ the + King of Israel descend That we may see and believe! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SCRIBES and ELDERS. + In God he trusted; +Let Him deliver him, if He will have him, +And we will then believe. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Father! forgive them; +They know not what they do. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE IMPENITENT THIEF. + If thou be Christ, +Oh save thyself and us! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE PENITENT THIEF. + Remember me, +Lord, when thou comest into thine own kingdom. +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise. + </p> + <p> + MANAHEN. Golgotha! Golgotha! Oh the pain and darkness! Oh the uplifted + cross, that shall forever Shine through the darkness, and shall conquer + pain By the triumphant memory of this hour! + </p> + <p> + SIMON MAGUS. O Nazarene! I find thee here at last! Thou art no more a + phantom unto me! This is the end of one who called himself The Son of God! + Such is the fate of those Who preach new doctrines. 'T is not what he did, + But what he said, hath brought him unto this. I will speak evil of no + dignitaries. This is my hour of triumph, Nazarene! + </p> + <p> + THE YOUNG RULER. This is the end of him who said to me: Sell that thou + hast, and give unto the poor! This is the treasure in heaven he promised + me! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani! + </p> + <p> + A SOLDIER, preparing the hyssop. He calleth for Elias! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ANOTHER. + Nay, let be! +See if Elias will now come to save him! +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. I thirst. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A SOLDIER. + Give him the wormwood! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS, with a loud cry, bowing his head. + It is finished! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap426"></a>XI<br/> +THE TWO MARIES</h3> + + <p> + MARY MAGDALENE. We have risen early, yet the sun O'ertakes us ere we reach + the sepulchre, To wrap the body of our blessed Lord With our sweet spices. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY, MOTHER OF JAMES. + Lo, this is the garden, +And yonder is the sepulchre. But who +Shall roll away the stone for us to enter? +</pre> + <p> + MARY MAGDALENE. It hath been rolled away! The sepulchre Is open! Ah, who + hath been here before us, When we rose early, wishing to be first? + </p> + <p> + MARY, MOTHER OF JAMES. I am affrighted! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY MAGDALENE. + Hush! I will stoop down +And look within. There is a young man sitting +On the right side, clothed in a long white garment! +It is an angel! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE ANGEL. + Fear not; ye are seeking +Jesus of Nazareth, which was crucified. +Why do ye seek the living among the dead? +He is no longer here; He is arisen! +Come see the place where the Lord lay! Remember +How He spake unto you in Galilee, +Saying: The Son of Man must be delivered +Into the hands of sinful men; by them +Be crucified, and the third day rise again! +But go your way, and say to his disciples, +He goeth before you into Galilee; +There shall ye see Him as He said to you. +</pre> + <p> + MARY, MOTHER OF JAMES. I will go swiftly for them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY MAGDALENE, alone, weeping. + They have taken +My Lord away from me, and now I know not +Where they have laid Him! Who is there to tell me? +This is the gardener. Surely he must know. +</pre> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou? + </p> + <p> + MARY MAGDALENE. They have taken my Lord away; I cannot find Him. O sir, if + thou have borne Him hence, I pray thee Tell me where thou hast laid Him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Mary! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY MAGDALENE. + Rabboni! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap427"></a>XI<br/> +THE SEA OF GALILEE</h3> + + <p> + NATHANIEL, in the ship. All is now ended. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + Nay, He is arisen, +I ran unto the tomb, and stooping down +Looked in, and saw the linen grave-clothes lying, +Yet dared not enter. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + I went in, and saw +The napkin that had been about his head, +Not lying with the other linen clothes, +But wrapped together in a separate place. +</pre> + <p> + THOMAS. And I have seen Him. I have seen the print Of nails upon his + hands, and thrust my hands Into his side. I know He is arisen; But where + are now the kingdom and the glory He promised unto us? We have all dreamed + That we were princes, and we wake to find We are but fishermen. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + Who should have been +Fishers of men! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + We have come back again +To the old life, the peaceful life, among +The white towns of the Galilean lake. +</pre> + <p> + PETER. They seem to me like silent sepulchres In the gray light of + morning! The old life, Yea, the old life! for we have toiled all night And + have caught nothing. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + Do ye see a man +Standing upon the beach and beckoning? +'T is like an apparition. He hath kindled +A fire of coals, and seems to wait for us. +He calleth. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS, from the shore. + Children, have ye any meat? +</pre> + <p> + PETER. Alas! We have caught nothing. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Cast the net +On the right side of the ship, and ye shall find. +</pre> + <p> + PETER. How that reminds me of the days gone by, And one who said: Launch + out into the deep, And cast your nets! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NATHANAEL. + We have but let them down +And they are filled, so that we cannot draw them! +</pre> + <p> + JOHN. It is the Lord! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER, girding his fisher's coat about him. + He said: When I am risen +I will go before you into Galilee! +</pre> + <p> + He casts himself into the lake. + </p> + <p> + JOHN. There is no fear in love; for perfect love Casteth out fear. Now + then, if ye are men, Put forth your strength; we are not far from shore; + The net is heavy, but breaks not. All is safe. + </p> + <p> + PETER, on the shore. Dear Lord! I heard thy voice and could not wait. Let + me behold thy face, and kiss thy feet! Thou art not dead, thou livest! + Again I see thee. Pardon, dear Lord! I am a sinful man; I have denied thee + thrice. Have mercy on me! + </p> + <p> + THE OTHERS, coming to land. Dear Lord! stay with us! cheer us! comfort us! + Lo! we again have found thee! Leave us not! + </p> + <p> + CHRISTUS. Bring hither of the fish that ye have caught, And come and eat! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN. + Behold! He breaketh bread +As He was wont. From his own blessed hands +Again we take it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Simon, son of Jonas, +Lovest thou me, more than these others? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + Yea, +More, Lord, than all men, even more than these. +Thou knowest that I love thee. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Feed my lambs. +</pre> + <p> + THOMAS, aside. How more than we do? He remaineth ever Self-confident and + boastful as before. Nothing will cure him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Simon, son of Jonas, +Lovest thou me? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER. + Yea, dearest Lord, I love thee. +Thou knowest that I love thee. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Feed my sheep. +</pre> + <p> + THOMAS, aside. Again, the selfsame question, and the answer Repeated with + more vehemence. Can the Master Doubt if we love Him? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Simon, son of Jonas, +Lovest thou me? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER, grieved. + Dear Lord, thou knowest all things. +Thou knowest that I love thee. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + Feed my sheep. +When thou wast young thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst +Whither thou wouldst; but when thou shalt be old, +Thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and other men +Shall gird and carry thee whither thou wouldst not. +Follow thou me! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN, aside. + It is a prophecy +Of what death he shall die. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PETER, pointing to JOHN. + Tell me, O Lord, +And what shall this man do? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTUS. + And if I will +He tarry till I come, what is it to thee? +Follow thou me! +</pre> + <p> + PETER. Yea, I will follow thee, dear Lord and Master! Will follow thee + through fasting and temptation, Through all thine agony and bloody sweat, + Thy cross and passion, even unto death! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap428"></a>EPILOGUE<br/> +SYMBOLUM APOSTOLORUM</h3> + + <p> + PETER. I believe in God the Father Almighty; + </p> + <p> + JOHN. Maker of heaven and Earth; + </p> + <p> + JAMES. And in Jesus Christ his only Son, our Lord; + </p> + <p> + ANDREW. Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary; + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. Suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; + </p> + <p> + THOMAS. And the third day He rose again from the dead; + </p> + <p> + BARTHOLOMEW. He ascended into Heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of + God, the Father Almighty; + </p> + <p> + MATTHEW. From thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead. + </p> + <p> + JAMES, THE SON OF ALFHEUS. I believe in the Holy Ghost; the holy Catholic + Church; + </p> + <p> + SIMON ZELOTES. The communion of Saints; the forgiveness of sins; + </p> + <p> + JUDE. The resurrection of the body; + </p> + <p> + MATTHIAS. And the Life Everlasting. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap429"></a>FIRST INTERLUDE<br/> +THE ABBOT JOACHIM</h3> + +<p class="center"> +A ROOM IN THE CONVENT OF FLORA IN CALABRIA. NIGHT. +</p> + + <p> + JOACHIM. The wind is rising; it seizes and shakes The doors and + window-blinds and makes Mysterious moanings in the halls; The + convent-chimneys seem almost The trumpets of some heavenly host, Setting + its watch upon our walls! Where it listeth, there it bloweth; We hear the + sound, but no man knoweth Whence it cometh or whither it goeth, And thus + it is with the Holy Ghost. O breath of God! O my delight In many a vigil + of the night, Like the great voice in Patmos heard By John, the Evangelist + of the Word, I hear thee behind me saying: Write In a book the things that + thou hast seen, The things that are, and that have been, And the things + that shall hereafter be! + </p> + <p> + This convent, on the rocky crest Of the Calabrian hills, to me A Patmos is + wherein I rest; While round about me like a sea The white mists roll, and + overflow The world that lies unseen below In darkness and in mystery. Here + in the Spirit, in the vast Embrace of God's encircling arm, Am I uplifted + from all harm The world seems something far away, Something belonging to + the Past, A hostelry, a peasant's farm, That lodged me for a night or day, + In which I care not to remain, Nor, having left, to see again. + </p> + <p> + Thus, in the hollow of Gods hand I dwelt on sacred Tabor's height, When as + a simple acolyte I journeyed to the Holy Land, A pilgrim for my master's + sake, And saw the Galilean Lake, And walked through many a village street + That once had echoed to his feet. There first I heard the great command, + The voice behind me saying: Write! And suddenly my soul became Illumined + by a flash of flame, That left imprinted on my thought The image I in vain + had sought, And which forever shall remain; As sometimes from these + windows high, Gazing at midnight on the sky Black with a storm of wind and + rain, I have beheld a sudden glare Of lightning lay the landscape bare, + With tower and town and hill and plain Distinct and burnt into my brain, + Never to be effaced again! + </p> + <p> + And I have written. These volumes three, The Apocalypse, the Harmony Of + the Sacred Scriptures, new and old, And the Psalter with Ten Strings, + enfold Within their pages, all and each, The Eternal Gospel that I teach. + Well I remember the Kingdom of Heaven Hath been likened to a little leaven + Hidden in two measures of meal, Until it leavened the whole mass; So + likewise will it come to pass With the doctrines that I here conceal. + </p> + <p> + Open and manifest to me The truth appears, and must be told; All sacred + mysteries are threefold; Three Persons in the Trinity, Three ages of + Humanity, And holy Scriptures likewise three, Of Fear, of Wisdom, and of + Love; For Wisdom that begins in Fear Endeth in Love; the atmosphere In + which the soul delights to be And finds that perfect liberty Which cometh + only from above. + </p> + <p> + In the first Age, the early prime And dawn of all historic time, The + Father reigned; and face to face He spake with the primeval race. Bright + Angels, on his errands sent, Sat with the patriarch in his tent; His + prophets thundered in the street; His lightnings flashed, his hailstorms + beat; In earthquake and in flood and flame, In tempest and in cloud He + came! The fear of God is in his Book; The pages of the Pentateuch Are full + of the terror of his name. + </p> + <p> + Then reigned the Son; his Covenant Was peace on earth, good-will to man; + With Him the reign of Law began. He was the Wisdom and the Word, And sent + his Angels Ministrant, Unterrified and undeterred, To rescue souls forlorn + and lost, The troubled, tempted, tempest-tost To heal, to comfort, and to + teach. The fiery tongues of Pentecost His symbols were, that they should + preach In every form of human speech From continent to continent. He is + the Light Divine, whose rays Across the thousand years unspent Shine + through the darkness of our days, And touch with their celestial fires Our + churches and our convent spires. His Book is the New Testament. + </p> + <p> + These Ages now are of the Past; And the Third Age begins at last. The + coming of the Holy Ghost, The reign of Grace, the reign of Love Brightens + the mountain-tops above, And the dark outline of the coast. Already the + whole land is white With Convent walls, as if by night A snow had fallen + on hill and height! Already from the streets and marts Of town and + traffic, and low cares, Men climb the consecrated stairs With weary feet, + and bleeding hearts; And leave the world and its delights, Its passions, + struggles, and despairs, For contemplation and for prayers In + cloister-cells of coenobites. + </p> + <p> + Eternal benedictions rest Upon thy name, Saint Benedict! Founder of + convents in the West, Who built on Mount Cassino's crest In the Land of + Labor, thine eagle's nest! May I be found not derelict In aught of faith + or godly fear, If I have written, in many a page, The Gospel of the coming + age, The Eternal Gospel men shall hear. Oh may I live resembling thee, And + die at last as thou hast died; So that hereafter men may see, Within the + choir, a form of air, Standing with arms outstretched in prayer, As one + that hath been crucified! My work is finished; I am strong In faith and + hope and charity; For I have written the things I see, The things that + have been and shall be, Conscious of right, nor fearing wrong; Because I + am in love with Love, And the sole thing I hate is Hate; For Hate is + death; and Love is life, A peace, a splendor from above; And Hate, a + never-ending strife, A smoke, a blackness from the abyss Where unclean + serpents coil and hiss! Love is the Holy Ghost within Hate the + unpardonable sin! Who preaches otherwise than this Betrays his Master with + a kiss! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap430"></a>PART TWO<br/> +THE GOLDEN LEGEND</h3> + +<p class="center"> +PROLOGUE +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap431"></a>THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL</h3> + <p> + Night and storm. LUCIFER, with the Powers of the Air, trying to tear down + the Cross. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Hasten! hasten! O ye spirits! From its station drag the ponderous + Cross of iron, that to mock us Is uplifted high in air! + </p> + <p> + VOICES. Oh, we cannot! For around it All the Saints and Guardian Angels + Throng in legions to protect it; They defeat us everywhere! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BELLS. + Laudo Deum verum! + Plebem voco! + Congrego clerum! +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. Lower! lower! Hover downward! Seize the loud, vociferous bells, + and Clashing, clanging to the pavement, Hurl them from their windy tower. + </p> + <p> + VOICES. All thy thunders Here are harmless! For these bells have been + anointed, And baptized with holy water! They defy our utmost power. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BELLS. + Defunctos ploro! + Pestem fugo! + Festa decoro! +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. Shake the casements! Break the painted Panes, that flame with + gold and crimson; Scatter them like leaves of Autumn, Swept away before + the blast! + </p> + <p> + VOICES. Oh, we cannot! The Archangel Michael flames from every window, + With the sword of fire that drove us Headlong, out of heaven, aghast! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BELLS. + Funera plango! + Fulgura frango! + Sabbata pango! +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. Aim your lightnings At the oaken, Massive, iron-studded portals! + Sack the house of God, and scatter Wide the ashes of the dead! + </p> + <p> + VOICES. Oh, we cannot! The Apostles And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, + Stand as warders at the entrance, Stand as sentinels o'erhead! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BELLS. + Excito lentos! + Dissipo ventos! + Paco cruentos! +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. Baffled! baffled! Inefficient, Craven spirits! leave this labor + Unto time, the great Destroyer! Come away, ere night is gone! + </p> + <p> + VOICES. Onward! onward! With the night-wind, Over field and farm and + forest, Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, Blighting all we breathe upon! + </p> + <p> + They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant. + </p> + <p> + CHOIR. Nocte surgentes Vigilemus omnes! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap432"></a>I<br/> +THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE</h3> + + <p> + A chamber in a tower. PRINCE HENRY sitting alone, ill and restless. + Midnight. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. I cannot sleep! my fervid brain Calls up the vanished Past + again, And throws its misty splendors deep Into the pallid realms of + sleep! A breath from that far-distant shore Comes freshening ever more and + more, And wafts o'er intervening seas Sweet odors from the Hesperides! A + wind, that through the corridor Just stirs the curtain, and no more, And, + touching the aolian strings, Faints with the burden that it brings! Come + back! ye friendships long departed! That like o'erflowing streamlets + started, And now are dwindled, one by one, To stony channels in the sun! + Come back! ye friends, whose lives are ended, Come back, with all that + light attended, Which seemed to darken and decay When ye arose and went + away! + </p> + <p> + They come, the shapes of joy and woe, The airy crowds of long ago, The + dreams and fancies known of yore, That have been, and shall be no more. + They change the cloisters of the night Into a garden of delight; They make + the dark and dreary hours Open and blossom into flowers! I would not + sleep! I love to be Again in their fair company; But ere my lips can bid + them stay, They pass and vanish quite away! Alas! our memories may retrace + Each circumstance of time and place, Season and scene come back again, And + outward things unchanged remain; The rest we cannot reinstate; Ourselves + we can not re-create; Nor set our souls to the same key Of the remembered + harmony! + </p> + <p> + Rest! rest! Oh, give me rest and peace! The thought of life that ne'er + shall cease Has something in it like despair, A weight I am too weak to + bear! Sweeter to this afflicted breast The thought of never-ending rest! + Sweeter the undisturbed and deep Tranquillity of endless sleep! + </p> + <p> + A flash of lightning, out of which LUCIFER appears, in the garb of a + travelling Physician. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. All hail, Prince Henry! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY, starting. + Who is it speaks? +Who and what are you? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. + One who seeks +A moment's audience with the Prince. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. When came you in? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. + A moment since. +I found your study door unlocked, +And thought you answered when I knocked. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. I did not hear you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. + You heard the thunder; +It was loud enough to waken the dead. +And it is not a matter of special wonder +That, when God is walking overhead, +You should not hear my feeble tread. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. What may your wish or purpose be? + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Nothing or everything, as it pleases Your Highness. You behold in + me Only a travelling Physician; One of the few who have a mission To cure + incurable diseases, Or those that are called so. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Can you bring +The dead to life? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. + Yes; very nearly. +And, what is a wiser and better thing, +Can keep the living from ever needing +Such an unnatural, strange proceeding, +By showing conclusively and clearly +That death is a stupid blunder merely, +And not a necessity of our lives. +My being here is accidental; +The storm, that against your casement drives, +In the little village below waylaid me. +And there I heard, with a secret delight, +Of your maladies physical and mental, +Which neither astonished nor dismayed me. +And I hastened hither, though late in the night, +To proffer my aid! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY, ironically. + For this you came! +Ah, how can I ever hope to requite +This honor from one so erudite? +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. The honor is mine, or will be when I have cured your disease. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + But not till then. +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. What is your illness? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + It has no name. +A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, +As in a kiln, burns in my veins, +Sending up vapors to the head; +My heart has become a dull lagoon, +Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains; +I am accounted as one who is dead, +And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon. +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. And has Gordonius the Divine, In his famous Lily of Medicine,— + I see the book lies open before you,— No remedy potent enough to + restore you? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. None whatever! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. + The dead are dead, +And their oracles dumb, when questioned +Of the new diseases that human life +Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. +Consult the dead upon things that were, +But the living only on things that are. +Have you done this, by the appliance +And aid of doctors? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Ay, whole schools +Of doctors, with their learned rules; +But the case is quite beyond their science. +Even the doctors of Salern +Send me back word they can discern +No cure for a malady like this, +Save one which in its nature is +Impossible and cannot be! +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. That sounds oracular! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Unendurable! +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. What is their remedy? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + You shall see; +Writ in this scroll is the mystery. +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER, reading. "Not to be cured, yet not incurable! The only remedy + that remains Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins, Who of her own + free will shall die, And give her life as the price of yours!" + </p> + <p> + That is the strangest of all cures, And one, I think, you will never try; + The prescription you may well put by, As something impossible to find + Before the world itself shall end! And yet who knows? One cannot say That + into some maiden's brain that kind Of madness will not find its way. + Meanwhile permit me to recommend, As the matter admits of no delay, My + wonderful Catholicon, Of very subtile and magical powers! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Purge with your nostrums and drugs infernal The spouts and + gargoyles of these towers, Not me! My faith is utterly gone In every power + but the Power Supernal! Pray tell ne, of what school are you? + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Both of the Old and of the New! The school of Hermes + Trismegistus, Who uttered his oracles sublime Before the Olympiads, in the + dew Of the early dusk and dawn of time, The reign of dateless old + Hephæstus! As northward, from its Nubian springs, The Nile, forever new + and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty mystic stream has + rolled; So, starting from its fountain-head Under the lotus-leaves of + Isis, From the dead demigods of eld, Through long unbroken lines of kings + Its course the sacred art has held, Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices. + This art the Arabian Geber taught, And in alembics, finely wrought, + Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered The secret that so long had + hovered Upon the misty verge of Truth, The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, + Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech! Like him, this wondrous lore I teach! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. What! an adept? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFFR. + Nor less, nor more! +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. I am a reader of your books, A lover of that mystic lore! + With such a piercing glance it looks Into great Nature's open eye, And + sees within it trembling lie The portrait of the Deity! And yet, alas! + with all my pains, The secret and the mystery Have baffled and eluded me, + Unseen the grand result remains! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, showing a flask. Behold it here! this little flask Contains the + wonderful quintessence, The perfect flower and efflorescence, Of all the + knowledge man can ask! Hold it up thus against the light! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. How limpid, pure, and crystalline, How quick, and tremulous, + and bright The little wavelets dance and shine, As were it the Water of + Life in sooth! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. It is! It assuages every pain, Cures all disease, and gives again + To age the swift delights of youth. Inhale its fragrance. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + It is sweet. +A thousand different odors meet +And mingle in its rare perfume, +Such as the winds of summer waft +At open windows through a room! +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. Will you not taste it? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Will one draught +Suffice? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. + If not, you can drink more. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Into this crystal goblet pour So much as safely I may drink, + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, pouring. Let not the quantity alarm you; You may drink all; it + will not harm you. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. I am as one who on the brink Of a dark river stands and sees + The waters flow, the landscape dim Around him waver, wheel, and swim, And, + ere he plunges, stops to think Into what whirlpools he may sink; One + moment pauses, and no more, Then madly plunges from the shore! Headlong + into the mysteries Of life and death I boldly leap, Nor fear the fateful + current's sweep, Nor what in ambush lurks below! For death is better than + disease! + </p> + <p> + An ANGEL with an æolian harp hovers in the air. + </p> + <p> + ANGEL. Woe! woe! eternal woe! Not only the whispered prayer Of love, But + the imprecations of hate, Reverberate For ever and ever through the air + Above! This fearful curse Shakes the great universe! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, disappearing. Drink! drink! And thy soul shall sink Down into the + dark abyss, Into the infinite abyss, From which no plummet nor rope Ever + drew up the silver sand of hope! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY, drinking. It is like a draught of fire! Through every vein I + feel again The fever of youth, the soft desire; A rapture that is almost + pain Throbs in my heart and fills my brain O joy! O joy! I feel The band + of steel That so long and heavily has pressed Upon my breast Uplifted, and + the malediction Of my affliction Is taken from me, and my weary breast At + length finds rest. + </p> + <p> + THE ANGEL. It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air has been + taken! It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken! + It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow! It is but the + rest of the wind between the flaws that blow! With fiendish laughter, + Hereafter, This false physician Will mock thee in thy perdition. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Speak! speak! Who says that I am ill? I am not ill! I am not + weak! The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er! I feel the chill of death + no more! At length, I stand renewed in all my strength Beneath me I can + feel The great earth stagger and reel, As if the feet of a descending God + Upon its surface trod, And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel! This, + O brave physician! this Is thy great Palingenesis! + </p> + <p> + Drinks again. + </p> + <p> + THE ANGEL. Touch the goblet no more! It will make thy heart sore To its + very core! Its perfume is the breath Of the Angel of Death, And the light + that within it lies Is the flash of his evil eyes. Beware! Oh, beware! For + sickness, sorrow, and care All are there! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY, sinking back. O thou voice within my breast! Why entreat me, + why upbraid me, When the steadfast tongues of truth And the flattering + hopes of youth Have all deceived me and betrayed me? Give me, give me + rest, oh rest! Golden visions wave and hover, Golden vapors, waters + streaming, Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming! I am like a happy lover, + Who illumines life with dreaming! Brave physician! Rare physician! Well + hast thou fulfilled thy mission! + </p> + <p> + His head falls on his book. + </p> + <p> + THE ANGEL, receding. Alas! alas! Like a vapor the golden vision Shall fade + and pass, And thou wilt find in thy heart again Only the blight of pain, + And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap433"></a>COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE</h3> + + <p> + HUBERT standing by the gateway. + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. How sad the grand old castle looks! O'erhead, the unmolested rooks + Upon the turret's windy top Sit, talking of the farmer's crop Here in the + court-yard springs the grass, So few are now the feet that pass; The + stately peacocks, bolder grown, Come hopping down the steps of stone, As + if the castle were their own; And I, the poor old seneschal, Haunt, like a + ghost, the banquet-hall. Alas! the merry guests no more Crowd through the + hospitable door; No eyes with youth and passion shine, No cheeks glow + redder than the wine; No song, no laugh, no jovial din Of drinking wassail + to the pin; But all is silent, sad, and drear, And now the only sounds I + hear Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, And horses stamping in their + stalls! + </p> + <p> + A horn sounds. + </p> + <p> + What ho! that merry, sudden blast Reminds me of the days long past! And, + as of old resounding, grate The heavy hinges of the gate, And, clattering + loud, with iron clank, Down goes the sounding bridge of plank, As if it + were in haste to greet The pressure of a traveller's feet! + </p> + <p> + Enter WALTER the Minnesinger. + </p> + <p> + WALTER. How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely! No banner flying from + the walls, No pages and no seneschals, No warders, and one porter only! Is + it you, Hubert? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HUBERT. + Ah! Master Walter! +</pre> + <p> + WALTER. Alas! how forms and faces alter! I did not know you. You look + older! Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner, And you stoop a little + in the shoulder! + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Alack! I am a poor old sinner, And, like these towers, begin to + moulder; And you have been absent many a year! + </p> + <p> + WALTER. How is the Prince? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HUBERT. + He is not here; +He has been ill: and now has fled. +</pre> + <p> + WALTER. Speak it out frankly: say he's dead! Is it not so? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HUBERT. + No; if you please, +A strange, mysterious disease +Fell on him with a sudden blight. +Whole hours together he would stand +Upon the terrace in a dream, +Resting his head upon his hand, +Best pleased when he was most alone, +Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone, +Looking down into a stream. +In the Round Tower, night after night, +He sat and bleared his eyes with books; +Until one morning we found him there +Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon +He had fallen from his chair. +We hardly recognized his sweet looks! +</pre> + <p> + WALTER. Poor Prince! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HUBERT. + I think he might have mended; +And he did mend; but very soon +The priests came flocking in, like rooks, +With all their crosiers and their crooks, +And so at last the matter ended. +</pre> + <p> + WALTER. How did it end? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HUBERT. + Why, in Saint Rochus +They made him stand and wait his doom; +And, as if he were condemned to the tomb, +Began to mutter their hocus-pocus. +First, the Mass for the Dead they chanted, +Then three times laid upon his head +A shovelful of churchyard clay, +Saying to him, as he stood undaunted, +"This is a sign that thou art dead, +So in thy heart be penitent!" +And forth from the chapel door he went +Into disgrace and banishment, +Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, +And hearing a wallet, and a bell, +Whose sound should be a perpetual knell +To keep all travellers away. +</pre> + <p> + WALTER. Oh, horrible fate! Outcast, rejected, As one with pestilence + infected! + </p> + <p> + HUBERT. Then was the family tomb unsealed, And broken helmet, sword, and + shield Buried together, in common wreck, As is the custom when the last Of + any princely house has passed, And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, A + herald shouted down the stair The words of warning and despair,— "O + Hoheneck! O Hoheneck!" + </p> + <p> + WALTER. Still in my soul that cry goes on,— Forever gone! forever + gone! Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, Like a black shadow, would fall + across The hearts of all, if he should die! His gracious presence upon + earth Was as a fire upon a hearth; As pleasant songs, at morning sung, The + words that dropped from his sweet tongue Strengthened our hearts; or heard + at night Made all our slumbers soft and light. Where is he? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HUBERT. + In the Odenwald. +Some of his tenants, unappalled +By fear of death, or priestly word,— +A holy family, that make +Each meal a Supper of the Lord,— +Have him beneath their watch and ward, +For love of him, and Jesus' sake! +Pray you come in. For why should I +With out-door hospitality +My prince's friend thus entertain? +</pre> + <p> + WALTER. I would a moment here remain. But you, good Hubert, go before, + Fill me a goblet of May-drink, As aromatic as the May From which it steals + the breath away, And which he loved so well of yore; It is of him that I + would think. You shall attend me, when I call, In the ancestral + banquet-hall. Unseen companions, guests of air, You cannot wait on, will + be there; They taste not food, they drink not wine, But their soft eyes + look into mine, And their lips speak to me, and all The vast and shadowy + banquet-hall Is full of looks and words divine! + </p> + <p> + Leaning over the parapet. + </p> + <p> + The day is done; and slowly from the scene The stooping sun up-gathers his + spent shafts, And puts them back into his golden quiver! Below me in the + valley, deep and green As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts We + drink its wine, the swift and mantling river Flows on triumphant through + these lovely regions, Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent, And + soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent! Yes, there it flows, forever, + broad and still As when the vanguard of the Roman legions First saw it + from the top of yonder hill! How beautiful it is! Fresh fields of wheat, + Vineyard and town, and tower with fluttering flag, The consecrated chapel + on the crag, And the white hamlet gathered round its base, Like Mary + sitting at her Saviour's feet, And looking up at his beloved face! O + friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more Than the impending night + darkens the landscape o'er! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap434"></a>II<br/> +A FARM IN THE ODENWALD</h3> + + <p> + A garden; morning; PRINCE HENRY seated, with a book. ELSIE at a distance + gathering flowers. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY, reading. One morning, all alone, Out of his convent of gray + stone, Into the forest older, darker, grayer, His lips moving, as if in + prayer, His head sunken upon his breast As in a dream of rest, Walked the + Monk Felix. All about The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, Filling the + summer air; And within the woodlands as he trod, The dusk was like the + truce of God With worldly woe and care; Under him lay the golden moss; And + above him the boughs of hoary trees Waved, and made the sign of the cross, + And whispered their Benedicites; And from the ground Rose an odor sweet + and fragrant Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant Vines that wandered, + Seeking the sunshine, round and round. + </p> + <p> + These he heeded not, but pondered On the volume in his hand, Wherein + amazed he read: "A thousand years in thy sight Are but as yesterday when + it is past, And as a watch in the night!" And with his eyes downcast In + humility he said: "I believe, O Lord, What is written in thy Word, But + alas! I do not understand!" + </p> + <p> + And lo! he heard The sudden singing of a bird, A snow-white bird, that + from a cloud Dropped down, And among the branches brown Sat singing, So + sweet, and clear, and loud, It seemed a thousand harp-strings ringing. And + the Monk Felix closed his book, And long, long, With rapturous look, He + listened to the song, And hardly breathed or stirred, Until he saw, as in + a vision, The land Elysian, And in the heavenly city heard Angelic feet + Fall on the golden flagging of the street And he would fain Have caught + the wondrous bird, But strove in vain; For it flew away, away, Far over + hill and dell, And instead of its sweet singing He heard the convent bell + Suddenly in the silence ringing For the service of noonday. And he + retraced His pathway sadly and in haste. + </p> + <p> + In the convent there was a change! He looked for each well-known face, But + the faces were new and strange; New figures sat in the oaken stalls, New + voices chanted in the choir; Yet the place was the same place, The same + dusky walls Of cold, gray stone, The same cloisters and belfry and spire. + </p> + <p> + A stranger and alone Among that brotherhood The Monk Felix stood. "Forty + years," said a Friar, "Have I been Prior Of this convent in the wood, But + for that space Never have I beheld thy face!" + </p> + <p> + The heart of the Monk Felix fell And he answered, with submissive tone, + This morning after the hour of Prime, I left my cell, And wandered forth + alone, Listening all the time To the melodious singing Of a beautiful + white bird, Until I heard The bells of the convent ringing Noon from their + noisy towers. It was as if I dreamed; For what to me had seemed Moments + only, had been hours!" + </p> + <p> + "Years!" said a voice close by. It was an aged monk who spoke, From a + bench of oak Fastened against the wall;— He was the oldest monk of + all. For a whole century Had he been there, Serving God in prayer, The + meekest and humblest of his creatures. He remembered well the features Of + Felix, and he said, Speaking distinct and slow: "One hundred years ago, + When I was a novice in this place, There was here a monk, full of God's + grace, Who bore the name Of Felix, and this man must be the same." + </p> + <p> + And straightway They brought forth to the light of day A volume old and + brown, A huge tome, bound In brass and wild-boar's hide, Wherein were + written down The names of all who had died In the convent, since it was + edified. And there they found, Just as the old monk said, That on a + certain day and date, One hundred years before, Had gone forth from the + convent gate The Monk Felix, and never more Had entered that sacred door. + He had been counted among the dead! And they knew, at last, That, such had + been the power Of that celestial and immortal song, A hundred years had + passed, And had not seemed so long As a single hour! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE comes in with flowers. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Here are flowers for you, But they are not all for you. Some of + them are for the Virgin And for Saint Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. As thou standest there, Thou seemest to me like the angel + That brought the immortal roses To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. But these will fade. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Themselves will fade, But not their memory, And memory has + the power To re-create them from the dust. They remind me, too, Of + martyred Dorothea, Who from Celestial gardens sent Flowers as her + witnesses To him who scoffed and doubted. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Do you know the story Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter! That is + the prettiest legend of them all. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Then tell it to me. But first come hither. Lay the flowers + down beside me, And put both thy hands in mine. Now tell me the story. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Early in the morning The Sultan's daughter Walked in her father's + garden, Gathering the bright flowers, All full of dew. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Just as thou hast been doing This morning, dearest Elsie. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. And as she gathered them She wondered more and more Who was the + Master of the Flowers, And made them grow Out of the cold, dark earth. "In + my heart," she said, "I love him; and for him Would leave my father's + palace, To labor in his garden." + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Dear, innocent child! How sweetly thou recallest The + long-forgotten legend. That in my early childhood My mother told me! Upon + my brain It reappears once more, As a birth-mark on the forehead When a + hand suddenly Is raised upon it, and removed! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. And at midnight, As she lay upon her bed, She heard a voice Call to + her from the garden, And, looking forth from her window, She saw a + beautiful youth Standing among the flowers. It was the Lord Jesus; And she + went down to Him, And opened the door for Him; And He said to her, "O + maiden! Thou hast thought of me with love, And for thy sake Out of my + Father's kingdom Have I come hither: I am the Master of the Flowers. My + garden is in Paradise, And if thou wilt go with me, Thy bridal garland + Shall be of bright red flowers." And then He took from his finger A golden + ring, And asked the Sultan's daughter If she would be his bride. And when + she answered Him with love, His wounds began to bleed, And she said to + Him, "O Love! how red thy heart is, And thy hands are full of roses." "For + thy sake," answered He, "For thy sake is my heart so red, For thee I bring + these roses; I gathered them at the cross Whereon I died for thee! I Come, + for my Father calls. Thou art my elected bride!" And the Sultan's daughter + Followed Him to his Father's garden. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie? + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Yes, very gladly. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Then the Celestial Bridegroom Will come for thee also. Upon + thy forehead He will place, Not his crown of thorns, But a crown of roses. + In thy bridal chamber, Like Saint Cecilia, Thou shalt hear sweet music, + And breathe the fragrance Of flowers immortal! Go now and place these + flowers Before her picture. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap435"></a>A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE</h3> + + <p> + Twilight. URSULA Spinning. GOTTLIEB asleep in his chair. + </p> + <p> + URSULA. Darker and darker! Hardly a glimmer Of light comes in at the + window-pane; Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer? I cannot disentangle + this skein, Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. Elsie! + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIER, starting. The stopping of thy wheel Has awakened me out of a + pleasant dream. I thought I was sitting beside a stream, And heard the + grinding of a mill, When suddenly the wheels stood still, And a voice + cried "Elsie," in my ear! It startled me, it seemed so near. + </p> + <p> + URSULA. I was calling her: I want a light. I cannot see to spin my flax. + Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear? + </p> + <p> + ELSIE, within. In a moment! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOTTLIEB. + Where are Bertha and Max? +</pre> + <p> + URSULA. They are sitting with Elsie at the door. She is telling them + stories of the wood, And the Wolf, and little Red Ridinghood. + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. And where is the Prince? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URSULA. + In his room overhead; +I heard him walking across the floor, +As he always does, with a heavy tread. +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE comes in with a lamp. MAX and BERTHA follow her; and they all sing + the Evening Song on the lighting of the lamps. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +EVENING SONG +</p> + + <p> + O gladsome light Of the Father Immortal, And of the celestial Sacred and + blessed Jesus, our Saviour! + </p> + <p> + Now to the sunset Again hast thou brought us; And seeing the evening + Twilight, we bless thee! Praise thee, adore thee! + </p> + <p> + Father omnipotent! Son, the Life-giver! Spirit, the Comforter! Worthy at + all times Of worship and wonder! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY, at the door, Amen! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URSULA. + Who was it said Amen? +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. It was the Prince: he stood at the door, And listened a moment, as + we chanted The evening song. He is gone again. I have often seen him there + before. + </p> + <p> + URSULA. Poor Prince! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOTTLIEB. + I thought the house was haunted! +Poor Prince, alas! and yet as mild +And patient as the gentlest child! +</pre> + <p> + MAX. I love him because he is so good, And makes me such fine bows and + arrows, To shoot at the robins and the sparrows, And the red squirrels in + the wood! + </p> + <p> + BERTHA. I love him, too! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOTTLIEB. + Ah, yes! we all +Love him from the bottom of our hearts; +He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange, +He gave us the horses and the carts, +And the great oxen in the stall, +The vineyard, and the forest range! +We have nothing to give him but our love! +</pre> + <p> + BERTHA. Did he give us the beautiful stork above On the chimney-top, with + its large, round nest? + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. No, not the stork; by God in heaven, As a blessing, the dear + white stork was given, But the Prince has given us all the rest. God bless + him, and make him well again. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Would I could do something for his sake, Something to cure his + sorrow and pain! + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. That no one can; neither thou nor I, Nor any one else. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + And must he die? +</pre> + <p> + URSULA. Yes; if the dear God does not take Pity upon him in his distress, + And work a miracle! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOTTLIEB. + Or unless +Some maiden, of her own accord, +Offers her life for that of her lord, +And is willing to die in his stead. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + I will! +</pre> + <p> + URSULA. Prithee, thou foolish child, be still! Thou shouldst not say what + thou dost not mean! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. I mean it truly! + </p> + <p> + MAX. O father! this morning, Down by the mill, in the ravine, Hans killed + a wolf, the very same That in the night to the sheepfold came, And ate up + my lamb, that was left outside. + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. I am glad he is dead. It will be a warning To the wolves in the + forest, far and wide. + </p> + <p> + MAX. And I am going to have his hide! + </p> + <p> + BERTHA. I wonder if this is the wolf that ate Little Red Ridinghood! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URSULA. + Oh, no! +That wolf was killed a long while ago. +Come, children, it is growing late. +</pre> + <p> + MAX. Ah, how I wish I were a man, As stout as Hans is, and as strong! I + would do nothing else, the whole day long, But just kill wolves. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOTTLIEB. + Then go to bed, +And grow as fast as a little boy can. +Bertha is half asleep already. +See how she nods her heavy head, +And her sleepy feet are so unsteady +She will hardly be able to creep upstairs. +</pre> + <p> + URSULA. Goodnight, my children. Here's the light. And do not forget to say + your prayers Before you sleep. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOTTLIEB. + Good night! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MAX and BERTHA. + Good night! +</pre> + <p> + They go out with ELSIE. + </p> + <p> + URSULA, spinning. She is a strange and wayward child, That Elsie of ours. + She looks so old, And thoughts and fancies weird and wild Seem of late to + have taken hold Of her heart, that was once so docile and mild! + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. She is like all girls. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URSULA. + Ah no, forsooth! +Unlike all I have ever seen. +For she has visions and strange dreams, +And in all her words and ways, she seems +Much older than she is in truth. +Who would think her but fifteen? +And there has been of late such a change! +My heart is heavy with fear and doubt +That she may not live till the year is out. +She is so strange,—so strange,—so strange! +</pre> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. I am not troubled with any such fear; She will live and thrive + for many a year. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap436"></a>ELSIE'S CHAMBER</h3> + + <p> + Night. ELSIE praying. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. My Redeemer and my Lord, I beseech thee, I entreat thee, Guide me + in each act and word, That hereafter I may meet thee, Watching, waiting, + hoping, yearning, With my lamp well trimmed and burning! + </p> + <p> + Interceding With these bleeding Wounds upon thy hands and side, For all + who have lived and erred Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, Scourged, and + mocked, and crucified, And in the grave hast thou been buried! + </p> + <p> + If my feeble prayer can reach thee, O my Saviour, I beseech thee, Even as + thou hast died for me, More sincerely Let me follow where thou leadest, + Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, Die, if dying I may give Life to one + who asks to live, And more nearly, Dying thus, resemble thee! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap437"></a>THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND URSULA</h3> + + <p> + Midnight. ELSIE standing by their bedside, weeping. + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. The wind is roaring; the rushing rain Is loud upon roof and + window-pane, As if the Wild Huntsman of Rodenstein, Boding evil to me and + mine, Were abroad to-night with his ghostly train! In the brief lulls of + the tempest wild, The dogs howl in the yard; and hark! Some one is sobbing + in the dark, Here in the chamber! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + It is I. +</pre> + <p> + URSULA. Elsie! what ails thee, my poor child? + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. I am disturbed and much distressed, In thinking our dear Prince + must die; I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest, + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. What wouldst thou? In the Power Divine His healing lies, not in + our own; It is in the hand of God alone, + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Nay, He has put it into mine, And into my heart! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOTTLIEB. + Thy words are wild! +</pre> + <p> + URSULA. What dost thou mean? my child! My child! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. That for our dear Prince Henry's sake I will myself the offering + make, And give my life to purchase his. + </p> + <p> + URSULA. Am I still dreaming, or awake? Thou speakest carelessly of death, + And yet thou knowest not what it is. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. 'T is the cessation of our breath. Silent and motionless we lie; + And no one knoweth more than this. I saw our little Gertrude die; She left + off breathing, and no more I smoothed the pillow beneath her head. She was + more beautiful than before. Like violets faded were her eyes; By this we + knew that she was dead. Through the open window looked the skies Into the + chamber where she lay, And the wind was like the sound of wings, As if + angels came to bear her away. Ah! when I saw and felt these things, I + found it difficult to stay; I longed to die, as she had died, And go forth + with her, side by side. The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead And Mary, + and our Lord; and I Would follow in humility The way by them illumined! + </p> + <p> + URSULA. My child! my child! thou must not die! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Why should I live? Do I not know The life of woman is full of woe? + Toiling on and on and on, With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, And + silent lips, and in the soul The secret longings that arise, Which this + world never satisfies! Some more, some less, but of the whole Not one + quite happy, no, not one! + </p> + <p> + URSULA. It is the malediction of Eve! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. In place of it, let me receive The benediction of Mary, then. + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. Ah, woe is me! Ah, woe is me! Most wretched am I among men! + </p> + <p> + URSULA. Alas! that I should live to see Thy death, beloved, and to stand + Above thy grave! Ah, woe the day! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie Beneath the flowers of another + land, For at Salerno, far away Over the mountains, over the sea, It is + appointed me to die! And it will seem no more to thee Than if at the + village on market-day I should a little longer stay Than I am wont. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URSULA. + Even as thou sayest! +And how my heart beats, when thou stayest! +I cannot rest until my sight +Is satisfied with seeing thee, +What, then, if thou wert dead? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOTTLIEB. + Ah me! +Of our old eyes thou art the light! +The joy of our old hearts art thou! +And wilt thou die? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URSULA. + Not now! not now! +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. Christ died for me, and shall not! Be willing for my Prince to die? + You both are silent; you cannot speak This said I at our Saviour's feast + After confession, to the priest, And even he made no reply. Does he not + warn us all to seek The happier, better land on high, Where flowers + immortal never wither; And could he forbid me to go thither? + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. In God's own time, my heart's delight! When He shall call thee, + not before! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. I heard Him call. When Christ ascended Triumphantly, from star to + star, He left the gates of heaven ajar. I had a vision in the night, And + saw Him standing at the door Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid, + And beckoning to me from afar. I cannot stay! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOTTLIEB. + She speaks almost +As if it were the Holy Ghost +Spake through her lips, and in her stead: +What if this were of God? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URSULA. + Ah, then +Gainsay it dare we not. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOTTLIEB. + Amen! +Elsie! the words that thou hast said +Are strange and new for us to hear, +And fill our hears with doubt and fear. +Whether it be a dark temptation +Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration, +We in our blindness cannot say. +We must think upon it, and pray; +For evil and good it both resembles. +If it be of God, his will be done! +May He guard us from the Evil One! +How hot thy hand is! how it trembles! +Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. +</pre> + <p> + URSULA. Kiss me. Good night; and do not weep! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE goes out. + </p> + <p> + Ah, what an awful thing is this! I almost shuddered at her kiss, As if a + ghost had touched my cheek, I am so childish and so weak! As soon as I see + the earliest gray Of morning glimmer in the east, I will go over to the + priest, And hear what the good man has to say. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap438"></a>A VILLAGE CHURCH</h3> + <p> + A woman kneeling at the confessional. + </p> + <p> + THE PARISH PRIEST, from within. Go, sin no more! Thy penance o'er, A new + and better life begin! God maketh thee forever free From the dominion of + thy sin! Go, sin no more! He will restore The peace that filled thy heart + before, And pardon thine iniquity! + </p> + <p> + The woman goes out. The Priest comes forth, and walks slowly up and down + the church. + </p> + <p> + O blessed Lord! how much I need Thy light to guide me on my way! So many + hands, that, without heed, Still touch thy wounds and make them bleed! So + many feet, that, day by day, Still wander from thy fold astray! Unless + thou fill me with thy light, I cannot lead thy flock aright; Nor without + thy support can bear The burden of so great a care, But am myself a + castaway! + </p> + <p> + A pause. + </p> + <p> + The day is drawing to its close; And what good deeds, since first it rose, + Have I presented, Lord, to thee, As offsprings of my ministry? What wrong + repressed, what right maintained, What struggle passed, what victory + gained, What good attempted and attained? Feeble, at best, is my endeavor! + I see, but cannot reach, the height That lies forever in the light; And + yet forever and forever, When seeming just within my grasp, I feel my + feeble hands unclasp, And sink discouraged into night! For thine own + purpose, thou hast sent The strife and the discouragement! + </p> + <p> + A pause. + </p> + <p> + Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck? Why keep me pacing to and fro Amid + these aisles of sacred gloom, Counting my footsteps as I go, And marking + with each step a tomb? Why should the world for thee make room, And wait + thy leisure and thy beck? Thou comest in the hope to hear Some word of + comfort and of cheer. What can I say? I cannot give The counsel to do this + and live; But rather, firmly to deny The tempter, though his power be + strong, And, inaccessible to wrong, Still like a martyr live and die! + </p> + <p> + A pause. + </p> + <p> + The evening air grows dusk and brown; I must go forth into the town, To + visit beds of pain and death, Of restless limbs, and quivering breath, And + sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes That see, through tears, the sun go + down, But never more shall see it rise. The poor in body and estate, The + sick and the disconsolate, Must not on man's convenience wait. + </p> + <p> + Goes out. + </p> + <p> + Enter LUCIFER, as a Priest. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, with a genuflexion, mocking. This is the Black Pater-noster. God + was my foster, He fostered me Under the book of the Palm-tree! St. Michael + was my dame. He was born at Bethlehem, He was made of flesh and blood. God + send me my right food, My right food, and shelter too, That I may to yon + kirk go, To read upon yon sweet book Which the mighty God of heaven shook + Open, open, hell's gates! Shut, shut, heaven's gates! All the devils in + the air The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer! + </p> + <p> + Looking round the church. + </p> + <p> + What a darksome and dismal place! I wonder that any man has the face To + call such a hole the House of the Lord, And the gate of Heaven,—yet + such is the word. Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, Covered with + cobwebs, blackened with mould; Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, + Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs! The pulpit, from which such + ponderous sermons Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans, With + about as much real edification As if a great Bible, bound in lead, Had + fallen, and struck them on the head; And I ought to remember that + sensation! Here stands the holy-water stoup! Holy-water it may be to many, + But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehennae! It smells like a filthy fast-day + soup! Near it stands the box for the poor, With its iron padlock, safe and + sure. I and the priest of the parish know Whither all these charities go; + Therefore, to keep up the institution, I will add my little contribution! + </p> + <p> + He puts in money. + </p> + <p> + Underneath this mouldering tomb, With statue of stone, and scutcheon of + brass, Slumbers a great lord of the village. All his life was riot and + pillage, But at length, to escape the threatened doom Of the everlasting + penal fire, He died in the dress of a mendicant friar, And bartered his + wealth for a daily mass. But all that afterwards came to pass, And whether + he finds it dull or pleasant, Is kept a secret for the present, At his own + particular desire. + </p> + <p> + And here, in a corner of the wall, Shadowy, silent, apart from all, With + its awful portal open wide, And its latticed windows on either side, And + its step well worn by the beaded knees Of one or two pious centuries, + Stands the village confessional! Within it, as an honored guest, I will + sit down awhile and rest! + </p> + <p> + Seats himself in the confessional. + </p> + <p> + Here sits the priest; and faint and low, Like the sighing of an evening + breeze, Comes through these painted lattices The ceaseless sound of human + woe; Here, while her bosom aches and throbs With deep and agonizing sobs, + That half are passion, half contrition, The luckless daughter of perdition + Slowly confesses her secret shame! The time, the place, the lover's name! + Here the grim murderer, with a groan, From his bruised conscience rolls + the stone, Thinking that thus he can atone For ravages of sword and flame! + </p> + <p> + Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly, How a priest can sit here so + sedately, Reading, the whole year out and in, Naught but the catalogue of + sin, And still keep any faith whatever In human virtue! Never! never! + </p> + <p> + I cannot repeat a thousandth part Of the horrors and crimes and sins and + woes That arise, when with palpitating throes The graveyard in the human + heart Gives up its dead, at the voice of the priest, As if he were an + archangel, at least. It makes a peculiar atmosphere, This odor of earthly + passions and crimes, Such as I like to breathe, at times, And such as + often brings me here In the hottest and most pestilential season. To-day, + I come for another reason; To foster and ripen an evil thought In a heart + that is almost to madness wrought, And to make a murderer out of a prince, + A sleight of hand I learned long since! He comes. In the twilight he will + not see The difference between his priest and me! In the same net was the + mother caught! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY, entering and kneeling at the confessional. Remorseful, + penitent, and lowly, I come to crave, O Father holy, Thy benediction on my + head. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. The benediction shall be said After confession, not before! 'T is + a God-speed to the parting guest, Who stands already at the door, + Sandalled with holiness, and dressed In garments pure from earthly stain. + Meanwhile, hast thou searched well thy breast? Does the same madness fill + thy brain? Or have thy passion and unrest Vanished forever from thy mind? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. By the same madness still made blind, By the same passion + still possessed, I come again to the house of prayer, A man afflicted and + distressed! As in a cloudy atmosphere, Through unseen sluices of the air, + A sudden and impetuous wind Strikes the great forest white with fear, And + every branch, and bough, and spray, Points all its quivering leaves one + way, And meadows of grass, and fields of rain, And the clouds above, and + the slanting rain, And smoke from chimneys of the town, Yield themselves + to it, and bow down, So does this dreadful purpose press Onward, with + irresistible stress, And all my thoughts and faculties, Struck level by + the strength of this, From their true inclination turn And all stream + forward to Salem! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Alas! we are but eddies of dust, Uplifted by the blast, and + whirled Along the highway of the world A moment only, then to fall Back to + a common level all, At the subsiding of the gust! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. O holy Father! pardon in me The oscillation of a mind + Unsteadfast, and that cannot find Its centre of rest and harmony! For + evermore before mine eyes This ghastly phantom flits and flies, And as a + madman through a crowd, With frantic gestures and wild cries, It hurries + onward, and aloud Repeats its awful prophecies! Weakness is wretchedness! + To be strong Is to be happy! I am weak, And cannot find the good I seek, + Because I feel and fear the wrong! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Be not alarmed! The church is kind, And in her mercy and her + meekness She meets half-way her children's weakness, Writes their + transgressions in the dust! Though in the Decalogue we find The mandate + written, "Thou shalt not kill!" Yet there are cases when we must. In war, + for instance, or from scathe To guard and keep the one true faith We must + look at the Decalogue in the light Of an ancient statute, that was meant + For a mild and general application, To be understood with the reservation + That in certain instances the Right Must yield to the Expedient! Thou art + a Prince. If thou shouldst die What hearts and hopes would prostrate lie! + What noble deeds, what fair renown, Into the grave with thee go down! What + acts of valor and courtesy Remain undone, and die with thee! Thou art the + last of all thy race! With thee a noble name expires, And vanishes from + the earth's face The glorious memory of thy sires! She is a peasant. In + her veins Flows common and plebeian blood; It is such as daily and hourly + stains The dust and the turf of battle plains, By vassals shed, in a + crimson flood, Without reserve and without reward, At the slightest + summons of their lord! But thine is precious; the fore-appointed Blood of + kings, of God's anointed! Moreover, what has the world in store For one + like her, but tears and toil? Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, A + peasant's child and a peasant's wife, And her soul within her sick and + sore With the roughness and barrenness of life! I marvel not at the + heart's recoil From a fate like this, in one so tender, Nor at its + eagerness to surrender All the wretchedness, want, and woe That await it + in this world below, For the unutterable splendor Of the world of rest + beyond the skies. So the Church sanctions the sacrifice: Therefore inhale + this healing balm, And breathe this fresh life into thine; Accept the + comfort and the calm She offers, as a gift divine; Let her fall down and + anoint thy feet With the ointment costly and most sweet Of her young + blood, and thou shalt live. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. And will the righteous Heaven forgive? No action, whether + foal or fair, Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere A record, written by + fingers ghostly, As a blessing or a curse, and mostly In the greater + weakness or greater strength Of the acts which follow it, till at length + The wrongs of ages are redressed, And the justice of God made manifest! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. In ancient records it is stated That, whenever an evil deed is + done, Another devil is created To scourge and torment the offending one! + But evil is only good perverted, And Lucifer, the bearer of Light, But an + angel fallen and deserted, Thrust from his Father's house with a curse + Into the black and endless night. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. If justice rules the universe, From the good actions of good + men Angels of light should be begotten. And thus the balance restored + again. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Yes; if the world were not so rotten, And so given over to the + Devil! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. But this deed, is it good or evil? Have I thine absolution + free To do it, and without restriction? + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Ay; and from whatsoever sin Lieth around it and within, From all + crimes in which it may involve thee, I now release thee and absolve thee! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Give me thy holy benediction. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER, stretching forth his hand and muttering. + Maledictione perpetua + Maledicat vos + Pater eternus! +</pre> + <p> + THE ANGEL, with the æolian harp. Take heed! take heed! Noble art thou in + thy birth, By the good and the great of earth Hast thou been taught! Be + noble in every thought And in every deed! Let not the illusion of thy + senses Betray thee to deadly offences, Be strong! be good! be pure! The + right only shall endure, All things else are but false pretences. I + entreat thee, I implore, Listen no more To the suggestions of an evil + spirit, That even now is there, Making the foul seem fair, And selfishness + itself a virtue and a merit! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap439"></a>A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE</h3> + + <p> + GOTTLIEB. It is decided! For many days, And nights as many, we have had A + nameless terror in our breast, Making us timid, and afraid Of God, and his + mysterious ways! We have been sorrowful and sad; Much have we suffered, + much have prayed That He would lead us as is best, And show us what his + will required. It is decided; and we give Our child, O Prince, that you + may live! + </p> + <p> + URSULA. It is of God. He has inspired This purpose in her: and through + pain, Out of a world of sin and woe, He takes her to Himself again. The + mother's heart resists no longer; With the Angel of the Lord in vain It + wrestled, for he was the stronger. + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. As Abraham offered long ago His son unto the Lord, and even The + Everlasting Father in heaven Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, So do + I offer up my daughter! + </p> + <p> + URSULA hides her face. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + My life is little, + Only a cup of water, + But pure and limpid. + Take it, O my Prince! + Let it refresh you, + Let it restore you. + It is given willingly, + It is given freely; + May God bless the gift! +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY, And the giver! + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. Amen! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. I accept it! + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. Where are the children? + </p> + <p> + URSULA. They are already asleep. + </p> + <p> + GOTTLIEB. What if they were dead? + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap440"></a>IN THE GARDEN</h3> + + <p> + ELSIE. I have one thing to ask of you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + What is it? +It is already granted. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + Promise me, +When we are gone from here, and on our way +Are journeying to Salerno, you will not, +By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade me +And turn me from my purpose; but remember +That as a pilgrim to the Holy City +Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon +Occupied wholly, so would I approach +The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee, +With my petition, putting off from me +All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off my feet. +Promise me this. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Thy words fall from thy lips Like roses from the lips of + Angelo: and angels Might stoop to pick them up! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + Will you not promise? +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. If ever we depart upon this journey, So long to one or both + of us, I promise. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Shall we not go, then? Have you lifted me Into the air, only to + hurl me back Wounded upon the ground? and offered me The waters of eternal + life, to bid me Drink the polluted puddles of the world? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. O Elsie! what a lesson thou dost teach me! The life which + is, and that which is to come, Suspended hang in such nice equipoise A + breath disturbs the balance; and that scale In which we throw our hearts + preponderates, And the other, like an empty one, flies up, And is + accounted vanity and air! To me the thought of death is terrible, Having + such hold on life. To thee it is not So much even as the lifting of a + latch; Only a step into the open air Out of a tent already luminous With + light that shines through its transparent walls! O pure in heart! from thy + sweet dust shall grow Lilies, upon whose petals will be written "Ave + Maria" in characters of gold! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap441"></a>III<br/> +A STREET IN STRASBURG</h3> + + <p> + Night. PRINCE HENRY wandering alone, wrapped in a cloak. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Still is the night. The sound of feet Has died away from the + empty street, And like an artisan, bending down His head on his anvil, the + dark town Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet. Sleepless and restless, I + alone, In the dusk and damp of these walls of stone, Wander and weep in my + remorse! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CRIER OF THE DEAD, ringing a bell. + Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Hark! with what accents loud and hoarse This warder on the + walls of death Sends forth the challenge of his breath! I see the dead + that sleep in the grave! They rise up and their garments wave, Dimly and + spectral, as they rise, With the light of another world in their eyes! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CRIER OF THE DEAD. + Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY, Why for the dead, who are at rest? Pray for the living, in + whose breast The struggle between right and wrong Is raging terrible and + strong, As when good angels war with devils! This is the Master of the + Revels, Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes The health of absent + friends, and pledges, Not in bright goblets crowned with roses, And + tinkling as we touch their edges, But with his dismal, tinkling bell. That + mocks and mimics their funeral knell. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CRIER OP THE DEAD. + Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Wake not, beloved! be thy sleep Silent as night is, and as + deep! There walks a sentinel at thy gate Whose heart is heavy and + desolate, And the heavings of whose bosom number The respirations of thy + slumber, As if some strange, mysterious fate Had linked two hearts in one, + and mine Went madly wheeling about thine, Only with wider and wilder + sweep! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CRIER OP THE DEAD, at a distance. + Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Lo! with what depth of blackness thrown Against the clouds, + far up the skies The walls of the cathedral rise, Like a mysterious grove + of stone, With fitful lights and shadows blending, As from behind, the + moon ascending, Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown! The wind is + rising; but the boughs Rise not and fall not with the wind, That through + their foliage sobs and soughs; Only the cloudy rack behind, Drifting + onward, wild and ragged, Gives to each spire and buttress jagged A seeming + motion undefined. Below on the square, an armed knight, Still as a statue + and as white, Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver Upon the points + of his armor bright As on the ripples of a river. He lifts the visor from + his cheek, And beckons, and makes as he would speak. + </p> + <p> + WALTER the Minnesinger. Friend! can you tell me where alight Thuringia's + horsemen for the night? For I have lingered in the rear, And wander vainly + up and down. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. I am a stranger in the town. As thou art; but the voice I + hear Is not a stranger to mine ear. Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid! + </p> + <p> + WALTER. Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy name Is Henry of Hoheneck! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Ay, the same. +</pre> + <p> + WALTER, embracing him. Come closer, closer to my side! What brings thee + hither? What potent charm Has drawn thee from thy German farm Into the old + Alsatian city? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. A tale of wonder and of pity! A wretched man, almost by + stealth Dragging my body to Salem, In the vain hope and search for health, + And destined never to return. Already thou hast heard the rest. But what + brings thee, thus armed and dight In the equipments of a knight? + </p> + <p> + WALTER. Dost thou not see upon my breast The cross of the Crusaders shine? + My pathway leads to Palestine. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Ah, would that way were also mine! O noble poet! thou whose + heart Is like a nest of singing-birds Rocked on the topmost bough of life, + Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, And in the clangor of the strife + Mingle the music of thy words? + </p> + <p> + WALTER. My hopes are high, my heart is proud, And like a trumpet long and + loud, Thither my thoughts all clang and ring! My life is in my hand, and + lo! I grasp and bend it as a bow, And shoot forth from its trembling + string An arrow, that shall be, perchance, Like the arrow of the Israelite + king Shot from the window towards the east. That of the Lord's + deliverance! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. My life, alas! is what thou seest! O enviable fate! to be + Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee With lyre and sword, with song and + steel; A hand to smite, a heart to feel! Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, + thy sword, Thou givest all unto thy Lord; While I, so mean and abject + grown, Am thinking of myself alone, + </p> + <p> + WALTER. Be patient; Time will reinstate Thy health and fortunes. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + 'T is too late! +I cannot strive against my fate! +</pre> + <p> + WALTER. Come with me; for my steed is weary; Our journey has been long and + dreary, And, dreaming of his stall, he dints With his impatient hoofs the + flints. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY, aside. I am ashamed, in my disgrace, To look into that noble + face! To-morrow, Walter, let it be. + </p> + <p> + WALTER. To-morrow, at the dawn of day, I shall again be on my way. Come + with me to the hostelry, For I have many things to say. Our journey into + Italy Perchance together we may make; Wilt thou not do it for my sake? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. A sick man's pace would but impede Thine eager and impatient + speed. Besides, my pathway leads me round To Hirsehau, in the forest's + bound, Where I assemble man and steed, And all things for my journey's + need. + </p> + <p> + They go out. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, flying over the city. Sleep, sleep, O city! till the light Wake + you to sin and crime again, Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain, I + scatter downward through the night My maledictions dark and deep. I have + more martyrs in your walls Than God has; and they cannot sleep; They are + my bondsmen and my thralls; Their wretched lives are full of pain, Wild + agonies of nerve and brain; And every heart-beat, every breath, Is a + convulsion worse than death! Sleep, sleep, O city! though within The + circuit of your walls there be No habitation free from sin, And all its + nameless misery; The aching heart, the aching head, Grief for the living + and the dead, And foul corruption of the time, Disease, distress, and + want, and woe, And crimes, and passions that may grow Until they ripen + into crime! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap442"></a>SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL</h3> + + <p> + Easter Sunday. FRIAR CUTHBERT preaching to the crowd from a pulpit in the + open air. PRINCE HENRY and Elsie crossing the square. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. This is the day, when from the dead Our Lord arose; and + everywhere, Out of their darkness and despair, Triumphant over fears and + foes, The hearts of his disciples rose, When to the women, standing near, + The Angel in shining vesture said, "The Lord is risen; he is not here!" + And, mindful that the day is come, On all the hearths in Christendom The + fires are quenched, to be again Rekindled from the sun, that high Is + dancing in the cloudless sky. The churches are all decked with flowers, + The salutations among men Are but the Angel's words divine, "Christ is + arisen!" and the bells Catch the glad murmur, as it swells, And chant + together in their towers. All hearts are glad; and free from care The + faces of the people shine. See what a crowd is in the square, Gayly and + gallantly arrayed! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Let us go back; I am afraid! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Nay, let us mount the church-steps here, Under the doorway's + sacred shadow; We can see all things, and be freer From the crowd that + madly heaves and presses! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. What a gay pageant! what bright dresses! It looks like a + flower-besprinkled meadow. What is that yonder on the square? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. A pulpit in the open air, And a Friar, who is preaching to + the crowd In a voice so deep and clear and loud, That, if we listen, and + give heed, His lowest words will reach the ear. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT, gesticulating and cracking a postilion's whip. What ho! + good people! do you not hear? Dashing along at the top of his speed, + Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed, A courier comes with words of + cheer. Courier! what is the news, I pray? "Christ is arisen!" Whence come + you? "From court." Then I do not believe it; you say it in sport. + </p> + <p> + Cracks his whip again. + </p> + <p> + Ah, here comes another, riding this way; We soon shall know what he has to + say. Courier! what are the tidings to-day? "Christ is arisen!" Whence come + you? "From town." Then I do not believe it; away with you, clown. + </p> + <p> + Cracks his whip more violently. + </p> + <p> + And here comes a third, who is spurring amain; What news do you bring, + with your loose-hanging rein, Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle + with foam? "Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From Rome." Ah, now I + believe. He is risen, indeed. Ride on with the news, at the top of your + speed! + </p> + <p> + Great applause among the crowd. + </p> + <p> + To come back to my text! When the news was first spread That Christ was + arisen indeed from the dead, Very great was the joy of the angels in + heaven; And as great the dispute as to who should carry The tidings + thereof to the Virgin Mary, Pierced to the heart with sorrows seven. Old + Father Adam was first to propose, As being the author of all our woes; But + he was refused, for fear, said they, He would stop to eat apples on the + way! Abel came next, but petitioned in vain, Because he might meet with + his brother Cain! Noah, too, was refused, lest his weakness for wine + Should delay him at every tavern-sign; And John the Baptist could not get + a vote, On account of his old-fashioned camel's-hair coat; And the + Penitent Thief, who died on the cross, Was reminded that all his bones + were broken! Till at last, when each in turn had spoken, The company being + still at loss, The Angel, who rolled away the stone, Was sent to the + sepulchre, all alone. And filled with glory that gloomy prison, And said + to the Virgin, "The Lord is arisen!" + </p> + <p> + The Cathedral bells ring. + </p> + <p> + But hark! the bells are beginning to chime; And I feel that I am growing + hoarse. I will put an end to my discourse, And leave the rest for some + other time. For the bells themselves are the best of preachers; Their + brazen lips are learned teachers, From their pulpits of stone, in the + upper air, Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, Shriller than trumpets + under the Law, Now a sermon, and now a prayer. The clangorous hammer is + the tongue, This way, that way, beaten and swung, That from mouth of + brass, as from Month of Gold, May be taught the Testaments, New and Old, + And above it the great cross-beam of wood Representeth the Holy Rood, Upon + which, like the bell, our hopes are hung. And the wheel wherewith it is + swayed and rung Is the mind of man, that round and round Sways, and maketh + the tongue to sound! And the rope, with its twisted cordage three, + Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity Of Morals, and Symbols, and History; And + the upward and downward motion show That we touch upon matters high and + low; And the constant change and transmutation Of action and of + contemplation, Downward, the Scripture brought from on high, Upward, + exalted again to the sky; Downward, the literal interpretation, Upward, + the Vision and Mystery! + </p> + <p> + And now, my hearers, to make an end, I have only one word more to say; In + the church, in honor of Easter day Will be presented a Miracle Play; And I + hope you will have the grace to attend. Christ bring us at last to his + felicity! Pax vobiscum! et Benedicite! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap443"></a>IN THE CATHEDRAL</h3> + + <p> + CHANT. Kyrie Eleison Christe Eleison! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. I am at home here in my Father's house! These paintings of the + Saints upon the walls Have all familiar and benignant faces. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. The portraits of the family of God! Thine own hereafter + shall be placed among them. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. How very grand it is and wonderful! Never have I beheld a church so + splendid! Such columns, and such arches, and such windows, So many tombs + and statues in the chapels, And under them so many confessionals. They + must be for the rich. I should not like To tell my sins in such a church + as this. Who built it? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + A great master of his craft, +Erwin von Steinbach; but not he alone, +For many generations labored with him. +Children that came to see these Saints in stone, +As day by day out of the blocks they rose, +Grew old and died, and still the work went on, +And on, and on, and is not yet completed. +The generation that succeeds our own +Perhaps may finish it. The architect +Built his great heart into these sculptured stones, +And with him toiled his children, and their lives +Were builded, with his own, into the walls, +As offerings unto God. You see that statue +Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled eyes +Upon the Pillars of the Angels yonder. +That is the image of the master, carved +By the fair hand of his own child, Sabina. +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. How beautiful is the column that he looks at! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. That, too, she sculptured. At the base of it Stand the + Evangelists; above their heads Four Angels blowing upon marble trumpets, + And over them the blessed Christ, surrounded By his attendant ministers, + upholding The instruments of his passion. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + O my Lord! +Would I could leave behind me upon earth +Some monument to thy glory, such as this! +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. A greater monument than this thou leavest In thine own life, + all purity and love! See, too, the Rose, above the western portal + Resplendent with a thousand gorgeous colors, The perfect flower of Gothic + loveliness! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. And, in the gallery, the long line of statues, Christ with his + twelve Apostles watching us! + </p> + <p> + A Bishop in armor, booted and spurred, passes with his train. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. But come away; we have not time to look, The crowd already + fills the church, and yonder Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet, Clad + like the Angel Gabriel, proclaims The Mystery that will now be + represented. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap444"></a>THE NATIVITY<br/> +A MIRACLE-PLAY</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap445"></a>INTROITUS</h3> + <p> + PRAECO. Come, good people, all and each, Come and listen to our speech! In + your presence here I stand, With a trumpet in my hand, To announce the + Easter Play, Which we represent to-day! First of all we shall rehearse, In + our action and our verse, The Nativity of our Lord, As written in the old + record Of the Protevangelion, So that he who reads may run! + </p> + <p> + Blows his trumpet. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap446"></a>I.<br/> +HEAVEN.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERCY, at the feet of God. +Have pity, Lord! be not afraid +To save mankind, whom thou hast made, +Nor let the souls that were betrayed + Perish eternally! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JUSTICE. +It cannot be, it must not be! +When in the garden placed by thee, +The fruit of the forbidden tree + He ate, and he must die! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERCY. +Have pity, Lord! let penitence +Atone for disobedience, +Nor let the fruit of man's offence + Be endless misery! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JUSTICE. +What penitence proportionate +Can e'er be felt for sin so great? +Of the forbidden fruit he ate, + And damned must he be! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOD. +He shall be saved, if that within +The bounds of earth one free from sin +Be found, who for his kith and kin + Will suffer martyrdom. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE FOUR VIRTUES. +Lord! we have searched the world around, +From centre to the utmost bound, +But no such mortal can be found; + Despairing, back we come. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +WISDOM. +No mortal, but a God-made man, +Can ever carry out this plan, +Achieving what none other can, + Salvation unto all! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOD. +Go, then, O my beloved Son! +It can by thee alone be done; +By thee the victory shall be won + O'er Satan and the Fall! +</pre> + <p> + Here the ANGEL GABRIEL shall leave Paradise and fly towards the earth; the + jaws of hell open below, and the Devils walk about, making a great noise. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap447"></a>II.<br/> +MARY AT THE WELL</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. +Along the garden walk, and thence +Through the wicket in the garden fence + I steal with quiet pace, +My pitcher at the well to fill, +That lies so deep and cool and still + In this sequestered place. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +These sycamores keep guard around; +I see no face, I hear no sound, + Save bubblings of the spring, +And my companions, who, within, +The threads of gold and scarlet spin, + And at their labor sing. +</pre> + <p> + THE ANGEL GABRIEL. Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace! + </p> + <p> + Here MARY looketh around her, trembling, and then saith: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. +Who is it speaketh in this place, + With such a gentle voice? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GABRIEL. +The Lord of heaven is with thee now! +Blessed among all women thou, + Who art his holy choice! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY, setting down the pitcher. +What can this mean? No one is near, +And yet, such sacred words I hear, + I almost fear to stay. +</pre> + <p> + Here the ANGEL, appearing to her, shall say: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GABRIEL. +Fear not, O Mary! but believe! +For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive + A child this very day. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Fear not, O Mary! from the sky +The Majesty of the Most High + Shall overshadow thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. +Behold the handmaid of the Lord! +According to thy holy word, + So be it unto me! +</pre> + <p> + Here the Devils shall again make a great noise, under the stage. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap448"></a>III.<br/> +THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLANETS, BEARING THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE ANGELS. +The Angels of the Planets Seven, +Across the shining fields of heaven + The natal star we bring! +Dropping our sevenfold virtues down +As priceless jewels in the crown + Of Christ, our new-born King. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +RAPHAEL. +I am the Angel of the Sun, +Whose flaming wheels began to run + When God Almighty's breath +Said to the darkness and the Night, +Let there he light! and there was light! + I bring the gift of Faith. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ONAFIEL. +I am the Angel of the Moon, +Darkened to be rekindled soon + Beneath the azure cope! +Nearest to earth, it is my ray +That best illumes the midnight way; + I bring the gift of Hope! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ANAEL. +The Angel of the Star of Love, +The Evening Star, that shines above + The place where lovers be, +Above all happy hearths and homes, +On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, + I give him Charity! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ZOBIACHEL. +The Planet Jupiter is mine! +The mightiest star of all that shine, + Except the sun alone! +He is the High Priest of the Dove, +And sends, from his great throne above, + Justice, that shall atone! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL. +The Planet Mercury, whose place +Is nearest to the sun in space, + Is my allotted sphere! +And with celestial ardor swift +I hear upon my hands the gift + Of heavenly Prudence here! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URIEL. +I am the Minister of Mars, +The strongest star among the stars! + My songs of power prelude +The march and battle of man's life, +And for the suffering and the strife, + I give him Fortitude! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ORIFEL. +The Angel of the uttermost +Of all the shining, heavenly host, + From the far-off expanse +Of the Saturnian, endless space +I bring the last, the crowning grace, + The gift of Temperance! +</pre> + <p> + A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable in the village below. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap449"></a>IV.<br/> +THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST</h3> + + <p> + The stable of the Inn. The VIRGIN and CHILD. Three Gypsy Kings, GASPAR, + MELCHIOR, and BELSHAZZAR, shall come in. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GASPAR. +Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth! +Though in a manger thou draw breath, +Thou art greater than Life and Death, + Greater than Joy or Woe! +This cross upon the line of life +Portendeth struggle, toil, and strife, +And through a region with peril rife + In darkness shalt thou go! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MELCHIOR. +Hail to thee, King of Jerusalem! +Though humbly born in Bethlehem, +A sceptre and a diadem + Await thy brow and hand! +The sceptre is a simple reed, +The crown will make thy temples bleed, +And in thine hour of greatest need, + Abashed thy subjects stand! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BELSHAZZAR. +Hail to thee, Christ of Christendom! +O'er all the earth thy kingdom come! +From distant Trebizond to Rome + Thy name shall men adore! +Peace and good-will among all men, +The Virgin has returned again, +Returned the old Saturnian reign + And Golden Age once more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE CHILD CHRIST. +Jesus, the Son of God, am I, +Born here to suffer and to die +According to the prophecy, + That other men may live! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE VIRGIN. +And now these clothes, that wrapped Him, take +And keep them precious, for his sake; +Our benediction thus we make, + Naught else have we to give. +</pre> + <p> + She gives them swaddling-clothes and they depart. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap450"></a>V.<br/> + THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT</h3> + + <p> + Here JOSEPH shall come in, leading an ass, on which are seated MARY and + the CHILD. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. +Here will we rest us, under these +O'erhanging branches of the trees, +Where robins chant their Litanies + And canticles of joy. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOSEPH. +My saddle-girths have given way +With trudging through the heat to-day; +To you I think it is but play + To ride and hold the boy. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. +Hark! how the robins shout and sing, +As if to hail their infant King! +I will alight at yonder spring + To wash his little coat. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOSEPH. +And I will hobble well the ass, +Lest, being loose upon the grass, +He should escape; for, by the mass, + He's nimble as a goat. +</pre> + <p> + Here MARY shall alight and go to the spring. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. +O Joseph! I am much afraid, +For men are sleeping in the shade; +I fear that we shall be waylaid, + And robbed and beaten sore! +</pre> + <p> + Here a band of robbers shall be seen sleeping, two of whom shall rise and + come forward. + </p> + <p> + DUMACHUS. Cock's soul! deliver up your gold! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOSEPH. +I pray you, sirs, let go your hold! +You see that I am weak and old, + Of wealth I have no store. +</pre> + <p> + DUMACHUS. Give up your money! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUS. + Prithee cease. +Let these people go in peace. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DUMACHUS. +First let them pay for their release, + And then go on their way. +</pre> + <p> + TITUS. These forty groats I give in fee, If thou wilt only silent be. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. +May God be merciful to thee + Upon the Judgment Day! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JESUS. +When thirty years shall have gone by, +I at Jerusalem shall die, +By Jewish hands exalted high + On the accursed tree, +Then on my right and my left side, +These thieves shall both be crucified, +And Titus thenceforth shall abide + In paradise with me. +</pre> + <p> + Here a great rumor of trumpets and horses, like the noise of a king with + his army, and the robbers shall take flight. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap451"></a>VI.<br/> +THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KING HEROD. +Potz-tausend! Himmel-sacrament! +Filled am I with great wonderment + At this unwelcome news! +Am I not Herod? Who shall dare +My crown to take, my sceptre bear, + As king among the Jews? +</pre> + <p> + Here he shall stride up and down and flourish his sword. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What ho! I fain would drink a can +Of the strong wine of Canaan! + The wine of Helbon bring +I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, +As red as blood, as hot as fire, +And fit for any king! +</pre> + <p> + He quaffs great goblets of wine. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now at the window will I stand, +While in the street the armed band + The little children slay; +The babe just born in Bethlehem +Will surely slaughtered be with them, + Nor live another day! +</pre> + <p> + Here a voice of lamentation shall be heard in the street. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +RACHEL. +O wicked king! O cruel speed! +To do this most unrighteous deed! + My children all are slain! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. +Ho, seneschal! another cup! +With wine of Sorek fill it up! + I would a bumper drain! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +RAHAB. +May maledictions fall and blast +Thyself and lineage to the last + Of all thy kith and kin! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. +Another goblet! quick! and stir +Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh + And calamus therein! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +SOLDIERS, in the street. +Give up thy child into our hands! +It is King Herod who commands + That he should thus be slain! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE NURSE MEDUSA. +O monstrous men! What have ye done! +It is King Herod's only son + That ye have cleft in twain! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HEROD. +Ah, luckless day! What words of fear +Are these that smite upon my ear + With such a doleful sound! +What torments rack my heart and head! +Would I were dead! would I were dead, + And buried in the ground! +</pre> + <p> + He falls down and writhes as though eaten by worms. Hell opens, and SATAN + and ASTAROTH come forth and drag him down. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap452"></a>VII.<br/> +JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOLMATES</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JESUS. +The shower is over. Let us play, +And make some sparrows out of clay, + Down by the river's side. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JUDAS. +See, how the stream has overflowed +Its banks, and o'er the meadow road + Is spreading far and wide! +</pre> + <p> + They draw water out of the river by channels and form little pools. JESUS + makes twelve sparrows of clay, and the other boys do the same. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JESUS. +Look! look how prettily I make +These little sparrows by the lake + Bend down their necks and drink! +Now will I make them sing and soar +So far, they shall return no more + Unto this river's brink. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JUDAS. +That canst thou not! They are but clay, +They cannot sing, nor fly away + Above the meadow lands! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JESUS. +Fly, fly! ye sparrows! you are free! +And while you live, remember me, + Who made you with my hands. +</pre> + <p> + Here JESUS shall clap his hands, and the sparrows shall fly away, + chirruping. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JUDAS. +Thou art a sorcerer, I know; +Oft has my mother told me so, + I will not play with thee! +</pre> + <p> + He strikes JESUS in the right side. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JESUS. +Ah, Judas! thou hast smote my side, +And when I shall be crucified, + There shall I pierced be! +</pre> + <p> + Here JOSEPH shall come in and say: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOSEPH. +Ye wicked boys! why do ye play, +And break the holy Sabbath day? +What, think ye, will your mothers say + To see you in such plight! +In such a sweat and such a heat, +With all that mud upon your feet! +There's not a beggar in the street + Makes such a sorry sight! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap453"></a>VIII.<br/> +THE VILLAGE SCHOOL</h3> + + <p> + The RABBI BEN ISRAEL, sitting on a high stool, with a long beard, and a + rod in his hand. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +RABBI. +I am the Rabbi Ben Israel, +Throughout this village known full well, +And, as my scholars all will tell, + Learned in things divine; +The Cabala and Talmud hoar +Than all the prophets prize I more, +For water is all Bible lore, + But Mishna is strong wine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +My fame extends from West to East, +And always, at the Purim feast, +I am as drunk as any beast + That wallows in his sty; +The wine it so elateth me, +That I no difference can see +Between "Accursed Haman be!" + And "Blessed be Mordecai!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Come hither, Judas Iscariot; +Say, if thy lesson thou hast got +From the Rabbinical Book or not. + Why howl the dogs at night? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JUDAS. +In the Rabbinical Book, it saith +The dogs howl, when with icy breath +Great Sammael, the Angel of Death, + Takes through the town his flight! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +RABBI. +Well, boy! now say, if thou art wise, +When the Angel of Death, who is full of eyes, +Comes where a sick man dying lies, + What doth he to the wight? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JUDAS. +He stands beside him, dark and tall, +Holding a sword, from which doth fall +Into his mouth a drop of gall, + And so he turneth white. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +RABBI. +And now, my Judas, say to me +What the great Voices Four may be, +That quite across the world do flee, + And are not heard by men? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JUDAS. +The Voice of the Sun in heaven's dome, +The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome, +The Voice of a Soul that goeth home, + And the Angel of the Rain! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +RABBI. +Right are thine answers every one! +Now, little Jesus, the carpenter's son, +Let us see how thy task is done; + Canst thou thy letters say? +</pre> + <p> + JESUS. Aleph. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +RABBI. + What next? Do not stop yet! +Go on with all the alphabet. +Come, Aleph, Beth; dost thou forget? + Cock's soul! thou'dst rather play! +</pre> + <p> + JESUS. What Aleph means I fain would know Before I any farther go! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +RABBI. +Oh, by Saint Peter! wouldst thou so? + Come hither, boy, to me. +As surely as the letter Jod +Once cried aloud, and spake to God, +So surely shalt thou feel this rod, + And punished shalt thou be! +</pre> + <p> + Here RABBI BEN ISRAEL shall lift up his rod to strike Jesus, and his right + arm shall be paralyzed. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap454"></a>IX.<br/> +CROWNED WITH FLOWERS</h3> + + <p> + JESUS sitting among his playmates, crowned with flowers as their King. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BOYS. +We spread our garments on the ground! +With fragrant flowers thy head is crowned +While like a guard we stand around, + And hail thee as our King! +Thou art the new King of the Jews! +Nor let the passers-by refuse +To bring that homage which men use + To majesty to bring. +</pre> + <p> + Here a traveller shall go by, and the boys shall lay hold of his garments + and say: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BOYS. +Come hither I and all reverence pay +Unto our monarch, crowned to-day! +Then go rejoicing on your way, + In all prosperity! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TRAVELLER. +Hail to the King of Bethlehem, +Who weareth in his diadem +The yellow crocus for the gem + Of his authority! +</pre> + <p> + He passes by; and others come in, bearing on a litter a sick child. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BOYS. +Set down the litter and draw near! +The King of Bethlehem is here! +What ails the child, who seems to fear + That we shall do him harm? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE BEARERS. +He climbed up to the robin's nest, +And out there darted, from his rest, +A serpent with a crimson crest, + And stung him in the arm. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JESUS. +Bring him to me, and let me feel +The wounded place; my touch can heal +The sting of serpents, and can steal + The poison from the bite! +</pre> + <p> + He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Cease to lament! I can foresee +That thou hereafter known shalt be, +Among the men who follow me, + As Simon the Canaanite! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap455"></a>EPILOGUE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the after part of the day + Will be represented another play, + Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord, + Beginning directly after Nones! + At the close of which we shall accord, + By way of benison and reward, + The sight of a holy Martyr's bones! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap456"></a>IV<br/> +THE ROAD TO HIRSCHAU</h3> + + <p> + PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE, with their attendants on horseback. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. +Onward and onward the highway runs to the distant city, + impatiently bearing +Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of hate, + of doing and daring! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. +This life of ours is a wild æolian harp of many + a joyous strain, +But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, + as of souls in pain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. +Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart + that aches and bleeds with the stigma +Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, + and can comprehend its dark enigma. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. +Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure with little care + of what may betide, +Else why am I travelling here beside thee, + a demon that rides by an angel's side? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. +All the hedges are white with dust, and the great dog + under the creaking wain +Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward + the horses toil and strain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. +Now they stop at the wayside inn, and the wagoner laughs + with the landlord's daughter, +While out of the dripping trough the horses + distend their leathern sides with water. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. +All through life there are wayside inns, + where man may refresh his soul with love; +Even the lowest may quench his thirst + at rivulets fed by springs from above. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. +Yonder, where rises the cross of stone, + our journey along the highway ends, +And over the fields, by a bridle path, + down into the broad green valley descends. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. +I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten road + with its dust and heat +The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer + under our horses' feet. +</pre> + <p> + They turn down a green lane. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. +Sweet is the air with the budding haws, + and the valley stretching for miles below +Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, + as if just covered with lightest snow. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. +Over our heads a white cascade is gleaming + against the distant hill; +We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs + like a banner when winds are still. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. +Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and cool + the sound of the brook by our side! +What is this castle that rises above us, + and lords it over a land so wide? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. +It is the home of the Counts of Calva; + well have I known these scenes of old, +Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the brooklet, + the wood, and the wold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. +Hark! from the little village below us the bells + of the church are ringing for rain! +Priests and peasants in long procession come forth + and kneel on the arid plain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. +They have not long to wait, for I see in the south + uprising a little cloud, +That before the sun shall be set will cover + the sky above us as with a shroud. +</pre> + <p> + They pass on. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap457"></a>THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE BLACK FOREST.</h3> + + <p> + The Convent cellar. FRIAR CLAUS comes in with a light and a basket of + empty flagons. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR CLAUS. I always enter this sacred place With a thoughtful, solemn, + and reverent pace, Pausing long enough on each stair To breathe an + ejaculatory prayer, And a benediction on the vines That produce these + various sorts of wines! For my part, I am well content That we have got + through with the tedious Lent! Fasting is all very well for those Who have + to contend with invisible foes; But I am quite sure it does not agree With + a quiet, peaceable man like me, Who am not of that nervous and meagre + kind, That are always distressed in body and mind! And at times it really + does me good To come down among this brotherhood, Dwelling forever + underground, Silent, contemplative, round and sound; Each one old, and + brown with mould, But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth, With the + latent power and love of truth, And with virtues fervent and manifold. + </p> + <p> + I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, When buds are swelling on every + side, And the sap begins to move in the vine, Then in all cellars, far and + wide, The oldest as well as the newest wine Begins to stir itself, and + ferment, With a kind of revolt and discontent At being so long in darkness + pent, And fain would burst from its sombre tun To bask on the hillside in + the sun; As in the bosom of us poor friars, The tumult of half-subdued + desires For the world that we have left behind Disturbs at times all peace + of mind! And now that we have lived through Lent, My duty it is, as often + before, To open awhile the prison-door, And give these restless spirits + vent. + </p> + <p> + Now here is a cask that stands alone, And has stood a hundred years or + more, Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, Trailing and sweeping along the + floor, Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, Taciturn, sombre, sedate, + and grave, Till his beard has grown through the table of stone! It is of + the quick and not of the dead! In its veins the blood is hot and red, And + a heart still beats in those ribs of oak That time may have tamed, but has + not broke! It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine, Is one of the three best + kinds of wine, And costs some hundred florins the ohm; But that I do not + consider dear, When I remember that every year Four butts are sent to the + Pope of Rome. And whenever a goblet thereof I drain, The old rhyme keeps + running in my brain; + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + At Bacharach on the Rhine, + At Hochheim on the Main, + And at Wurzburg on the Stein, + Grow the three best kinds of wine! +</pre> + <p> + They are all good wines, and better far Than those of the Neckar, or those + of the Ahr. In particular, Wurzburg well may boast Of its blessed wine of + the Holy Ghost, Which of all wines I like the most. This I shall draw for + the Abbot's drinking, Who seems to be much of my way of thinking. + </p> + <p> + Fills a flagon. + </p> + <p> + Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings! What a delicious fragrance springs + From the deep flagon, while it fills, As of hyacinths and daffodils! + Between this cask and the Abbot's lips Many have been the sips and slips; + Many have been the draughts of wine, On their way to his, that have + stopped at mine; And many a time my soul has hankered For a deep draught + out of his silver tankard, When it should have been busy with other + affairs, Less with its longings and more with its prayers. But now there + is no such awkward condition, No danger of death and eternal perdition; So + here's to the Abbot and Brothers all, Who dwell in this convent of Peter + and Paul! + </p> + <p> + He drinks. + </p> + <p> + O cordial delicious! O soother of pain! It flashes like sunshine into my + brain! A benison rest on the Bishop who sends Such a fudder of wine as + this to his friends! And now a flagon for such as may ask A draught from + the noble Bacharach cask, And I will be gone, though I know full well The + cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell. Behold where he stands, all + sound and good, Brown and old in his oaken hood; Silent he seems + externally As any Carthusian monk may be; But within, what a spirit of + deep unrest! What a seething and simmering in his breast! As if the + heaving of his great heart Would burst his belt of oak apart! Let me + unloose this button of wood, And quiet a little his turbulent mood. + </p> + <p> + Sets it running. + </p> + <p> + See! how its currents gleam and shine, As if they had caught the purple + hues Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, Descending and mingling with the + dews; Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood Of the innocent boy, + who, some years back, Was taken and crucified by the Jews, In that ancient + town of Bacharach! Perdition upon those infidel Jews, In that ancient town + of Bacharach! The beautiful town, that gives us wine With the fragrant + odor of Muscadine! I should deem it wrong to let this pass Without first + touching my lips to the glass, For here in the midst of the current I + stand Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river, Taking toll upon + either hand, And much more grateful to the giver. + </p> + <p> + He drinks. + </p> + <p> + Here, now, is a very inferior kind, Such as in any town you may find, Such + as one might imagine would suit The rascal who drank wine out of a boot. + And, after all, it was not a crime, For he won thereby Dorf Huffelsheim. A + jolly old toper! who at a pull Could drink a postilion's jack-boot full, + And ask with a laugh, when that was done, If the fellow had left the other + one! This wine is as good as we can afford To the friars who sit at the + lower board, And cannot distinguish bad from good, And are far better off + than if they could, Being rather the rude disciples of beer, Than of + anything more refined and dear! + </p> + <p> + Fills the flagon and departs. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap458"></a>THE SCRIPTORIUM</h3> + + <p> + FRIAR PACIFICUS transcribing and illuminating. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR PACIFICUS. It is growing dark! Yet one line more, And then my work + for to-day is o'er. I come again to the name of the Lord! Ere I that awful + name record, That is spoken so lightly among men, Let me pause awhile and + wash my pen; Pure from blemish and blot must it be When it writes that + word of mystery! + </p> + <p> + Thus have I labored on and on, Nearly through the Gospel of John. Can it + be that from the lips Of this same gentle Evangelist, That Christ himself + perhaps has kissed, Came the dread Apocalypse! It has a very awful look, + As it stands there at the end of the book, Like the sun in an eclipse. Ah + me! when I think of that vision divine, Think of writing it, line by line, + I stand in awe of the terrible curse, Like the trump of doom, in the + closing verse! God forgive me! if ever I Take aught from the book of that + Prophecy, Lest my part too should be taken away From the Book of Life on + the Judgment Day. This is well written, though I say it! I should not be + afraid to display it In open day, on the selfsame shelf With the writings + of St. Thecla herself, Or of Theodosius, who of old Wrote the Gospels in + letters of gold! That goodly folio standing yonder, Without a single blot + or blunder, Would not bear away the palm from mine, If we should compare + them line for line. + </p> + <p> + There, now, is an initial letter! Saint Ulric himself never made a better! + Finished down to the leaf and the snail, Down to the eyes on the peacock's + tail! And now, as I turn the volume over, And see what lies between cover + and cover, What treasures of art these pages hold, All ablaze with crimson + and gold, God forgive me! I seem to feel A certain satisfaction steal Into + my heart, and into my brain, As if my talent had not lain Wrapped in a + napkin, and all in vain. Yes, I might almost say to the Lord, Here is a + copy of thy Word, Written out with much toil and pain; Take it, O Lord, + and let it be As something I have done for thee! + </p> + <p> + He looks from the window. + </p> + <p> + How sweet the air is! how fair the scene! I wish I had as lovely a green + To paint my landscapes and my leaves! How the swallows twitter under the + eaves! There, now, there is one in her nest; I can just catch a glimpse of + her head and breast, And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook For the + margin of my Gospel book. + </p> + <p> + He makes a sketch. + </p> + <p> + I can see no more. Through the valley yonder A shower is passing; I hear + the thunder Mutter its curses in the air, The devil's own and only prayer! + The dusty road is brown with rain, And, speeding on with might and main, + Hitherward rides a gallant train. They do not parley, they cannot wait, + But hurry in at the convent gate. What a fair lady! and beside her What a + handsome, graceful, noble rider! Now she gives him her hand to alight; + They will beg a shelter for the night. I will go down to the corridor, And + try to see that face once more; It will do for the face of some beautiful + Saint, Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. + </p> + <p> + Goes out. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap459"></a>THE CLOISTERS</h3> + + <p> + The ABBOT ERNESTUS pacing to and fro. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ABBOT. + Slowly, slowly up the wall + Steals the sunshine, steals the shade; + Evening damps begin to fall, + Evening shadows are displayed. + Round me, o'er me, everywhere, + All the sky is grand with clouds, + And athwart the evening air + Wheel the swallows home in crowds. + Shafts of sunshine from the west + Paint the dusky windows red; + Darker shadows, deeper rest, + Underneath and overhead. + Darker, darker, and more wan, + In my breast the shadows fall; + Upward steals the life of man, + As the sunshine from the wall. + From the wall into the sky, + From the roof along the spire; + Ah, the souls of those that die + Are but sunbeams lifted higher. +</pre> + <p> + Enter PRINCE HENRY. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Christ is arisen! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ABBOT. + Amen! He is arisen! +His peace be with you! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Here it reigns forever! +The peace of God, that passeth understanding, +Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors. +Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent? +</pre> + <p> + ABBOT. I am. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, +Who crave your hospitality to-night. +</pre> + <p> + ABBOT. You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. You do us honor; and we + shall requite it, I fear, but poorly, entertaining you With Paschal eggs, + and our poor convent wine, The remnants of our Easter holidays. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau? Are all things + well with them? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ABBOT. + All things are well. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. A noble convent! I have known it long By the report of + travellers. I now see Their commendations lag behind the truth. You lie + here in the valley of the Nagold As in a nest: and the still river, + gliding Along its bed, is like an admonition How all things pass. Your + lands are rich and ample, And your revenues large. God's benediction Rests + on your convent. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ABBOT. + By our charities +We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, +When He departed, left us in his will, +As our best legacy on earth, the poor! +These we have always with us; had we not, +Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. If I remember right, the Counts of Calva Founded your + convent. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ABBOT. + Even as you say. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. And, if I err not, it is very old. + </p> + <p> + ABBOT. Within these cloisters lie already buried Twelve holy Abbots. + Underneath the flags On which we stand, the Abbot William lies, Of blessed + memory. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + And whose tomb is that, +Which bears the brass escutcheon? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ABBOT. + A benefactor's. +Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood +Godfather to our bells. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Your monks are learned +And holy men, I trust. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ABBOT. + There are among them +Learned and holy men. Yet in this age +We need another Hildebrand, to shake +And purify us like a mighty wind. +The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder +God does not lose his patience with it wholly, +And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times, +Within these walls, where all should be at peace, +I have my trials. Time has laid his hand +Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, +But as a harper lays his open palm +Upon his harp to deaden its vibrations, +Ashes are on my head, and on my lips +Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness +And weariness of life, that makes me ready +To say to the dead Abbots under us, +"Make room for me!" Ony I see the dusk +Of evening twilight coming, and have not +Completed half my task; and so at times +The thought of my shortcomings in this life +Falls like a shadow on the life to come. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. We must all die, and not the old alone; The young have no + exemption from that doom. + </p> + <p> + ABBOT. Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must! That is the + difference. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + I have heard much laud +Of your transcribers, Your Scriptorium +Is famous among all; your manuscripts +Praised for their beauty and their excellence. +</pre> + <p> + ABBOT. That is indeed our boast. If you desire it You shall behold these + treasures. And meanwhile Shall the Refectorarius bestow Your horses and + attendants for the night. + </p> + <p> + They go in. The Vesper-bell rings. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap460"></a>THE CHAPEL</h3> + + <p> + Vespers: after which the monks retire, a chorister leading an old monk who + is blind. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. They are all gone, save one who lingers, Absorbed in deep + and silent prayer. As if his heart could find no rest, At times he beats + his heaving breast With clenched and convulsive fingers, Then lifts them + trembling in the air. A chorister, with golden hair, Guides hitherward his + heavy pace. Can it be so? Or does my sight Deceive me in the uncertain + light? Ah no! I recognize that face Though Time has touched it in his + flight, And changed the auburn hair to white. It is Count Hugo of the + Rhine, The deadliest foe of all our race, And hateful unto me and mine! + </p> + <p> + THE BLIND MONK. Who is it that doth stand so near His whispered words I + almost hear? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, And you, Count Hugo of the + Rhine! I know you, and I see the scar, The brand upon your forehead, shine + And redden like a baleful star! + </p> + <p> + THE BLIND MONK. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck Of what I was. O + Hoheneck! The passionate will, the pride, the wrath That bore me headlong + on my path, Stumbled and staggered into fear, And failed me in my mad + career, As a tired steed some evil-doer, Alone upon a desolate moor, + Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, And hearing loud and close behind The + o'ertaking steps of his pursuer. Then suddenly from the dark there came A + voice that called me by my name, And said to me, "Kneel down and pray!" + And so my terror passed away, Passed utterly away forever. Contrition, + penitence, remorse, Came on me, with o'erwhelming force; A hope, a + longing, an endeavor, By days of penance and nights of prayer, To + frustrate and defeat despair! Calm, deep, and still is now my heart, With + tranquil waters overflowed; A lake whose unseen fountains start, Where + once the hot volcano glowed. And you, O Prince of Hoheneck! Have known me + in that earlier time, A man of violence and crime, Whose passions brooked + no curb nor check. Behold me now, in gentler mood, One of this holy + brotherhood. Give me your hand; here let me kneel; Make your reproaches + sharp as steel; Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek; No violence can harm + the meek, There is no wound Christ cannot heal! Yes; lift your princely + hand, and take Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek; Then pardon me, for + Jesus' sake! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Arise, Count Hugo! let there be No further strife nor enmity + Between us twain; we both have erred Too rash in act, too wroth in word, + From the beginning have we stood In fierce, defiant attitude, Each + thoughtless of the other's right, And each reliant on his might. But now + our souls are more subdued; The hand of God, and not in vain, Has touched + us with the fire of pain. Let us kneel down and side by side Pray till our + souls are purified, And pardon will not be denied! + </p> + <p> + They kneel. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap461"></a>THE REFECTORY</h3> + + <p> + Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. LUCIFER disguised as a Friar. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRIAR PAUL sings. + Ave! color vini clari, + Dulcis potus, non amari, + Tua nos inebriari + Digneris potentia! +</pre> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. Not so much noise, my worthy freres, You'll disturb the + Abbot at his prayers. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRIAR PAUL sings. + O! quam placens in colore! + O! quam fragrans in odore! + O! quam sapidum in ore! + Dulce linguae vinculum! +</pre> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. I should think your tongue had broken its chain! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRIAR PAUL sings. + Felix venter quem intrabis! + Felix guttur quod rigabis! + Felix os quod tu lavabis! + Et beata labia! +</pre> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. Peace! I say, peace! Will you never cease! You will rouse + up the Abbot, I tell you again! + </p> + <p> + FRIAR JOHN. No danger! to-night he will let us alone, As I happen to know + he has guests of his own. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. Who are they? + </p> + <p> + FRIAR JOHN. A German Prince and his train, Who arrived here just before + the rain. There is with him a damsel fair to see, As slender and graceful + as a reed! When she alighted from her steed, It seemed like a blossom + blown from a tree. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. None of your pale-faced girls for me! None of your damsels + of high degree! + </p> + <p> + FRIAR JOHN. Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg! But do not drink any + further, I beg! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRIAR PAUL sings. + In the days of gold, + The days of old, + Crosier of wood + And bishop of gold! +</pre> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. What an infernal racket and riot! Can you not drink your + wine in quiet? Why fill the convent with such scandals, As if we were so + many drunken Vandals? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRIAR PAUL continues. + Now we have changed + That law so good + To crosier of gold + And bishop of wood! +</pre> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. Well, then, since you are in the mood To give your noisy + humors vent, Sing and howl to your heart's content! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHORUS OF MONKS. + Funde vinum, funde! + Tanquam sint fluminis undae, + Nec quaeras unde, + Sed fundas semper abunde! +</pre> + <p> + FRIAR JOHN. What is the name of yonder friar, With an eye that glows like + a coal of fire, And such a black mass of tangled hair? + </p> + <p> + FRIAR PAUL. He who is sitting there, With a rollicking, Devil may care, + Free and easy look and air, As if he were used to such feasting and + frolicking? + </p> + <p> + FRIAR JOHN. The same. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR PAUL. He's a stranger. You had better ask his name, And where he is + going and whence he came. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR JOHN. Hallo! Sir Friar! + </p> + <p> + FRIAR PAUL. You must raise your voice a little higher, He does not seem to + hear what you say. Now, try again! He is looking this way. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR JOHN. Hallo! Sir Friar, We wish to inquire Whence you came, and + where you are going, And anything else that is worth the knowing. So be so + good as to open your head. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. I am a Frenchman born and bred, Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. My + home Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, Of which, very like, you never + have heard. + </p> + <p> + MONKS. Never a word. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. You must know, then, it is in the diocese Called the Diocese of + Vannes, In the province of Brittany. From the gray rocks of Morbihan It + overlooks the angry sea; The very sea-shore where, In his great despair, + Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, Filling the night with woe, And wailing + aloud to the merciless seas The name of his sweet Heloise, Whilst overhead + The convent windows gleamed as red As the fiery eyes of the monks within, + Who with jovial din Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin! Ha! that is a + convent! that is an abbey! Over the doors, None of your death-heads carved + in wood, None of your Saints looking pious and good, None of your + Patriarchs old and shabby! But the heads and tusks of boars, And the cells + Hung all round with the fells Of the fallow-deer. And then what cheer! + What jolly, fat friars, Sitting round the great, roaring fires, Roaring + louder than they, With their strong wines, And their concubines, And never + a bell, With its swagger and swell, Calling you up with a start of + affright In the dead of night, To send you grumbling down dark stairs, To + mumble your prayers; But the cheery crow Of cocks in the yard below, After + daybreak, an hour or so, And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds, These are + the sounds That, instead of bells, salute the ear. And then all day Up and + away Through the forest, hunting the deer! Ah, my friends, I'm afraid that + here You are a little too pious, a little too tame, And the more is the + shame. 'T is the greatest folly Not to be jolly; That's what I think! + Come, drink, drink, Drink, and die game! + </p> + <p> + MONKS. And your Abbot What's-his-name? + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Abelard! + </p> + <p> + MONKS. Did he drink hard? + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Oh, no! Not he! He was a dry old fellow, Without juice enough to + get thoroughly mellow. There he stood, Lowering at us in sullen mood, As + if he had come into Brittany Just to reform our brotherhood! + </p> + <p> + A roar of laughter. + </p> + <p> + But you see It never would do! For some of us knew a thing or two, In the + Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys! For instance, the great ado With old + Fulbert's niece, The young and lovely Heloise. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR JOHN. Stop there, if you please, Till we drink so the fair Heloise. + </p> + <p> + ALL, drinking and shouting. Heloise! Heloise! + </p> + <p> + The Chapel-bell tolls. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, starting. What is that bell for! Are you such asses As to keep up + the fashion of midnight masses? + </p> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. It is only a poor unfortunate brother, Who is gifted with + most miraculous powers Of getting up at all sorts of hours, And, by way of + penance and Christian meekness, Of creeping silently out of his cell To + take a pull at that hideous bell; So that all monks who are lying awake + May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake, And adapted to his peculiar + weakness! + </p> + <p> + FRIAR JOHN. From frailty and fall— + </p> + <p> + ALL. Good Lord, deliver us all! + </p> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. And before the bell for matins sounds, He takes his + lantern, and goes the rounds, Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, Merely to + say it is time to arise. But enough of that. Go on, if you please, With + your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Well, it finally came to pass That, half in fun and half in + malice, One Sunday at Mass We put some poison into the chalice. But, + either by accident or design, Peter Abelard kept away From the chapel that + day, And a poor young friar, who in his stead Drank the sacramental wine, + Fell on the steps of the altar, dead! But look! do you see at the window + there That face, with a look of grief and despair, That ghastly face, as + of one in pain? + </p> + <p> + MONKS. Who? where? + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. As I spoke, it vanished away again. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. It is that nefarious Siebald the Refectorarius, That + fellow is always playing the scout, Creeping and peeping and prowling + about; And then he regales The Abbot with scandalous tales. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers Telling scandalous + tales of the others? Out upon him, the lazy loon! I would put a stop to + that pretty soon, In a way he should rue it. + </p> + <p> + MONKS. How shall we do it! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Do you, brother Paul, Creep under the window, close to the wall, + And open it suddenly when I call. Then seize the villain by the hair, And + hold him there, And punish him soundly, once for all. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. As Saint Dunstan of old, We are told, Once caught the + Devil by the nose! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. Ha! ha! that story is very clever, But has no foundation + whatsoever. Quick! for I see his face again Glaring in at the window-pane; + Now! now! and do not spare your blows. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR PAUL opens the window suddenly, and seizes SIEBALD. They beat him. + </p> + <p> + FRIAR SIEBALD. Help! help! are you going to slay me? + </p> + <p> + FRIAR PAUL. That will teach you again to betray me! + </p> + <p> + FRIAR SIEBALD. Mercy! mercy! + </p> + <p> + FRIAR PAUL, shouting and beating. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Rumpas bellorum lorum + Vim confer amorum + Morum verorum rorum + Tu plena polorum! +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. Who stands in the doorway yonder, Stretching out his trembling + hand, Just as Abelard used to stand, The flash of his keen, black eyes + Forerunning the thunder? + </p> + <p> + THE MONKS, in confusion. The Abbot! the Abbot! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRIAR CUTHBERT. + And what is the wonder! +He seems to have taken you by surprise. +</pre> + <p> + FRIAR FRANCIS. Hide the great flagon From the eyes of the dragon! + </p> + <p> + FRIAR CUTHBERT. Pull the brown hood over your face! This will bring us + into disgrace! + </p> + <p> + ABBOT. What means this revel and carouse? Is this a tavern and + drinking-house? Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils, To pollute + this convent with your revels? Were Peter Damian still upon earth, To be + shocked by such ungodly mirth, He would write your names, with pen of + gall, In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all! Away, you drunkards! to your + cells, And pray till you hear the matin-bells; You, Brother Francis, and + you, Brother Paul! And as a penance mark each prayer With the scourge upon + your shoulders bare; Nothing atones for such a sin But the blood that + follows the discipline. And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me Alone into + the sacristy; You, who should be a guide to your brothers, And are ten + times worse than all the others, For you I've a draught that has long been + brewing, You shall do a penance worth the doing! Away to your prayers, + then, one and all! I wonder the very convent wall Does not crumble and + crush you in its fall! + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap462"></a>THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY</h3> + + <p> + The ABBESS IRMINGARD Sitting with ELSIE in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + IRMINGARD. The night is silent, the wind is still, The moon is looking + from yonder hill Down upon convent, and grove, and garden; The clouds have + passed away from her face, Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace, Only + the tender and quiet grace Of one whose heart has been healed with pardon! + </p> + <p> + And such am I. My soul within Was dark with passion and soiled with sin. + But now its wounds are healed again; Gone are the anguish, the terror, and + pain; For across that desolate land of woe, O'er whose burning sands I was + forced to go, A wind from heaven began to blow; And all my being trembled + and shook, As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field, And I was + healed, as the sick are healed, When fanned by the leaves of the Holy + Book! + </p> + <p> + As thou sittest in the moonlight there, Its glory flooding thy golden + hair, And the only darkness that which lies In the haunted chambers of + thine eyes, I feel my soul drawn unto thee, Strangely, and strongly, and + more and more, As to one I have known and loved before; For every soul is + akin to me That dwells in the land of mystery! I am the Lady Irmingard, + Born of a noble race and name! Many a wandering Suabian bard, Whose life + was dreary, and bleak, and hard, Has found through me the way to fame. + </p> + <p> + Brief and bright were those days, and the night Which followed was full of + a lurid light. Love, that of every woman's heart Will have the whole, and + not a part, That is to her, in Nature's plan, More than ambition is to + man, Her light, her life, her very breath, With no alternative but death, + Found me a maiden soft and young, Just from the convent's cloistered + school, And seated on my lowly stool, Attentive while the minstrels sung. + </p> + <p> + Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, Fairest, noblest, best of all, Was Walter + of the Vogelweid; And, whatsoever may betide, Still I think of him with + pride! His song was of the summer-time, The very birds sang in his rhyme; + The sunshine, the delicious air, The fragrance of the flowers, were there; + And I grew restless as I heard, Restless and buoyant as a bird, Down soft, + aerial currents sailing, O'er blossomed orchards and fields in bloom, And + through the momentary gloom, Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, + Yielding and borne I knew not where, But feeling resistance unavailing. + </p> + <p> + And thus, unnoticed and apart, And more by accident than choice, I + listened to that single voice Until the chambers of my heart Were filled + with it by night and day. One night,—it was a night in May,— + Within the garden, unawares, Under the blossoms in the gloom, I heard it + utter my own name With protestations and wild prayers; And it rang through + me, and became Like the archangel's trump of doom, Which the soul hears, + and must obey; And mine arose as from a tomb. My former life now seemed to + me Such as hereafter death may be, When in the great Eternity We shall + awake and find it day. + </p> + <p> + It was a dream, and would not stay; A dream, that in a single night Faded + and vanished out of sight. My father's anger followed fast This passion, + as a freshening blast Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage It may + increase, but not assuage. And he exclaimed: "No wandering bard Shall win + thy hand, O Irmingard! For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck By messenger and + letter sues." + </p> + <p> + Gently, but firmly, I replied: "Henry of Hoheneck I discard! Never the + hand of Irmingard Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride! This said I, + Walter, for thy sake This said I, for I could not choose. After a pause, + my father spake In that cold and deliberate tone Which turns the hearer + into stone, And seems itself the act to be That follows with such dread + certainty "This or the cloister and the veil!" No other words than these + he said, But they were like a funeral wail; My life was ended, my heart + was dead. + </p> + <p> + That night from the castle-gate went down With silent, slow, and stealthy + pace, Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds, Taking the narrow path that + leads Into the forest dense and brown. In the leafy darkness of the place, + One could not distinguish form nor face, Only a bulk without a shape, A + darker shadow in the shade; One scarce could say it moved or stayed. Thus + it was we made our escape! A foaming brook, with many a bound, Followed us + like a playful hound; Then leaped before us, and in the hollow Paused, and + waited for us to follow, And seemed impatient, and afraid That our tardy + flight should be betrayed By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made. And + when we reached the plain below, We paused a moment and drew rein To look + back at the castle again; And we saw the windows all aglow With lights, + that were passing to and fro; Our hearts with terror ceased to beat; The + brook crept silent to our feet; We knew what most we feared to know. Then + suddenly horns began to blow; And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp, And + our horses snorted in the damp Night-air of the meadows green and wide, + And in a moment, side by side, So close, they must have seemed but one, + The shadows across the moonlight run, And another came, and swept behind, + Like the shadow of clouds before the wind! + </p> + <p> + How I remember that breathless flight Across the moors, in the summer + night! How under our feet the long, white road Backward like a river + flowed, Sweeping with it fences and hedges, Whilst farther away and + overhead, Paler than I, with fear and dread, The moon fled with us as we + fled Along the forest's jagged edges! + </p> + <p> + All this I can remember well; But of what afterwards befell I nothing + further can recall Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall; The rest is a + blank and darkness all. When I awoke out of this swoon, The sun was + shining, not the moon, Making a cross upon the wall With the bars of my + windows narrow and tall; And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray + From early childhood, day by day, Each morning, as in bed I lay! I was + lying again in my own room! And I thanked God, in my fever and pain, That + those shadows on the midnight plain Were gone, and could not come again! I + struggled no longer with my doom! + </p> + <p> + This happened many years ago. I left my father's home to come Like + Catherine to her martyrdom, For blindly I esteemed it so. And when I heard + the convent door Behind me close, to ope no more, I felt it smite me like + a blow. Through all my limbs a shudder ran, And on my bruised spirit fell + The dampness of my narrow cell As night-air on a wounded man, Giving + intolerable pain. + </p> + <p> + But now a better life began. I felt the agony decrease By slow degrees, + then wholly cease, Ending in perfect rest and peace! It was not apathy, + nor dulness, That weighed and pressed upon my brain, But the same passion + I had given To earth before, now turned to heaven With all its overflowing + fulness. + </p> + <p> + Alas! the world is full of peril! The path that runs through the fairest + meads, On the sunniest side of the valley, leads Into a region bleak and + sterile! Alike in the high-born and the lowly, The will is feeble, and + passion strong. We cannot sever right from wrong; Some falsehood mingles + with all truth; Nor is it strange the heart of youth Should waver and + comprehend but slowly The things that are holy and unholy! But in this + sacred, calm retreat, We are all well and safely shielded From winds that + blow, and waves that beat, From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat, To + which the strongest hearts have yielded. Here we stand as the Virgins + Seven, For our celestial bridegroom yearning; Our hearts are lamps forever + burning, With a steady and unwavering flame, Pointing upward, forever the + same, Steadily upward toward the heaven! + </p> + <p> + The moon is hidden behind a cloud; A sudden darkness fills the room, And + thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, Shine like jewels in a shroud. On the + leaves is a sound of falling rain; A bird, awakened in its nest, Gives a + faint twitter of unrest, Then smooths its plumes and sleeps again. No + other sounds than these I hear; The hour of midnight must be near. Thou + art o'erspent with the day's fatigue Of riding many a dusty league; Sink, + then, gently to thy slumber; Me so many cares encumber, So many ghosts, + and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have + driven sleep from mine eyes away: I will go down to the chapel and pray. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap463"></a>V.<br/> +A COVERED BRIDGE AT LUCERNE</h3> + + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. God's blessing on the architects who build The bridges o'er + swift rivers and abysses Before impassable to human feet, No less than on + the builders of cathedrals, Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across + The dark and terrible abyss of Death. Well has the name of Pontifex been + given Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder And architect of the + invisible bridge That leads from earth to heaven. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + How dark it grows! +What are these paintings on the walls around us? +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. The Dance Macaber! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + What? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + The Dance of Death! +All that go to and fro must look upon it, +Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath, +Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river +Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, +With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright, +Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it. +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. Oh yes! I see it now! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + The grim musician +Leads all men through the mazes of that dance, +To different sounds in different measures moving; +Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum, +To tempt or terrify. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + What is this picture? +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. It is a young man singing to a nun, Who kneels at her + devotions, but in kneeling Turns round to look at him; and Death, + meanwhile, Is putting out the candles on the altar! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Ah, what a pity 't is that she should listen Unto such songs, when + in her orisons She might have heard in heaven the angels singing! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Here he has stolen a jester's cap and bells And dances with + the Queen. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + A foolish jest! +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. And here the heart of the new-wedded wife, Coming from + church with her beloved lord, He startles with the rattle of his drum. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Ah, that is sad! And yet perhaps 't is best That she should die, + with all the sunshine on her, And all the benedictions of the morning, + Before this affluence of golden light Shall fade into a cold and clouded + gray, Then into darkness! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Under it is written, +"Nothing but death shall separate thee and me!" +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. And what is this, that follows close upon it? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Death playing on a dulcimer. Behind him, A poor old woman, + with a rosary, Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet Were swifter + to o'ertake him. Underneath, The inscription reads, "Better is Death than + Life." + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Better is Death than Life! Ah yes! to thousands Death plays upon a + dulcimer, and sings That song of consolation, till the air Rings with it, + and they cannot choose but follow Whither he leads. And not the old alone, + But the young also hear it, and are still. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Yes, in their sadder moments. 'T is the sound Of their own + hearts they hear, half full of tears, Which are like crystal cups, half + filled with water, Responding to the pressure of a finger With music sweet + and low and melancholy. Let us go forward, and no longer stay In this + great picture-gallery of Death! I hate it! ay, the very thought of it! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Why is it hateful to you? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + For the reason +That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely, +And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful. +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. The grave itself is but a covered bridge, Leading from light to + light, through a brief darkness! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY, emerging from the bridge. I breathe again more freely! Ah, + how pleasant To come once more into the light of day, Out of that shadow + of death! To hear again The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground, And + not upon those hollow planks, resounding With a sepulchral echo, like the + clods On coffins in a churchyard! Yonder lies The Lake of the Four + Forest-Towns, apparelled In light, and lingering, like a village maiden, + Hid in the bosom of her native mountains Then pouring all her life into + another's, Changing her name and being! Overhead, Shaking his cloudy + tresses loose in air, Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. + </p> + <p> + They pass on. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap464"></a>THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE</h3> + + <p> + PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE crossing with attendants. + </p> + <p> + GUIDE. This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge. With a single arch, from + ridge to ridge, It leaps across the terrible chasm Yawning beneath us, + black and deep, As if, in some convulsive spasm, The summits of the hills + had cracked, And made a road for the cataract That raves and rages down + the steep! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, under the bridge. Ha! ha! + </p> + <p> + GUIDE. Never any bridge but this Could stand across the wild abyss; All + the rest, of wood or stone, By the Devil's hand were overthrown. He + toppled crags from the precipice, And whatsoe'er was built by day In the + night was swept away; None could stand but this alone. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, under the bridge. Ha! ha! + </p> + <p> + GUIDE. I showed you in the valley a bowlder Marked with the imprint of his + shoulder; As he was bearing it up this way, A peasant, passing, cried, + "Herr Je! And the Devil dropped it in his fright, And vanished suddenly + out of sight! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, under the bridge. Ha! ha! + </p> + <p> + GUIDE. Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, For pilgrims on their way to Rome, + Built this at last, with a single arch, Under which, on its endless march, + Runs the river, white with foam, Like a thread through the eye of a + needle. And the Devil promised to let it stand, Under compact and + condition That the first living thing which crossed Should be surrendered + into his hand, And be beyond redemption lost. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, under the bridge. Ha! ha! perdition! + </p> + <p> + GUIDE. At length, the bridge being all completed, The Abbot, standing at + its head, Threw across it a loaf of bread, Which a hungry dog sprang + after; And the rocks re-echoed with the peals of laughter, To see the + Devil thus defeated! + </p> + <p> + They pass on. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, under the bridge. Ha! ha! defeated! For journeys and for crimes + like this I let the bridge stand o'er the abyss! + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap465"></a>THE ST. GOTHARD PASS</h3> + + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers Leap down to + different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic + presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently + among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses Grow on these rocks. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Yet are they not forgotten; +Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them. +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, + floats fast away Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me The body of St. + Catherine, borne by angels! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels Bear thee + across these chasms and precipices, Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet + against a stone! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, Upon angelic + shoulders! Even now I seem uplifted by them, light as air! What sound is + that? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + The tumbling avalanches! +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. How awful, yet how beautiful! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + These are +The voices of the mountains! Thus they ope +Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other, +In the primeval language, lost to man. +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. What land is this that spreads itself beneath us? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Italy! Italy! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + Land of the Madonna! +How beautiful it is! It seems a garden +Of Paradise! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Nay, of Gethsemane +To thee and me, of passion and of prayer! +Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago +I wandered as a youth among its bowers, +And never from my heart has faded quite +Its memory, that, like a summer sunset, +Encircles with a ring of purple light +All the horizon of my youth. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GUIDE. + O friends! +The days are short, the way before us long: +We must not linger, if we think to reach +The inn at Belinzona before vespers! +</pre> + <p> + They pass on. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap466"></a>AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS</h3> + + <p> + A halt under the trees at noon. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Here let us pause a moment in the trembling Shadow and + sunshine of the roadside trees, And, our tired horses in a group + assembling, Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze. Our fleeter + steeds have distanced our attendants; They lag behind us with a slower + pace; We will await them under the green pendants Of the great willows in + this shady place. Ho, Barbarossa! how thy mottled haunches Sweat with this + canter over hill and glade! Stand still, and let these overhanging + branches Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. What a delightful landscape spreads before us, Marked with a + whitewashed cottage here and there! And, in luxuriant garlands drooping + o'er us, Blossoms of grape-vines scent the sunny air. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Hark! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents holy Fill + the warm noon with music sad and sweet! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly On their long journey, with + uncovered feet. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PILGRIMS, chanting the Hymn of St. Hildebert. + Me receptet Sion illa, + Sion David, urbs tranquilla, + Cujus faber auctor lucis, + Cujus portae lignum crucis, + Cujus claves lingua Petri, + Cujus cives semper laeti, + Cujus muri lapis vivus, + Cujus custos rex festivus! +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER, as a Friar in the procession. Here am I, too, in the pious band, + In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed! The soles of my feet are as + hard and tanned As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand, The Holy Satan, + who made the wives Of the bishops lead such shameful lives, All day long I + beat my breast, And chant with a most particular zest The Latin hymns, + which I understand Quite as well, I think, as the rest. And at night such + lodging in barns and sheds, Such a hurly-burly in country inns, Such a + clatter of tongues in empty heads, Such a helter-skelter of prayers and + sins! Of all the contrivances of the time For sowing broadcast the seeds + of crime, There is none so pleasing to me and mine As a pilgrimage to some + far-off shrine! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. If from the outward man we judge the inner, And cleanliness + is godliness, I fear A hopeless reprobate, a hardened Sinner, Must be that + Carmelite now passing near. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. There is my German Prince again, Thus far on his journey to + Salern, And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain Is sowing the cloud to + reap the rain; But it's a long road that has no turn! Let them quietly + hold their way, I have also a part in the play. But first I must act to my + heart's content This mummery and this merriment, And drive this motley + flock of sheep Into the fold, where drink and sleep The jolly old friars + of Benevent. Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh To see these + beggars hobble along, Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, Chanting their + wonderful puff and paff, And, to make up for not understanding the song, + Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong! Were it not for my magic + garters and staff, And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, And the + mischief I make in the idle throng, I should not continue the business + long. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PILGRIMS, chanting. + In hac urbe, lux solennis, + Ver aeternum, pax perennis; + In hac odor implens caelos, + In hac semper festum melos! +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Do you observe that monk among the train, Who pours from his + great throat the roaring bass, As a cathedral spout pours out the rain, + And this way turns his rubicund, round face? + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. It is the same who, on the Strasburg square, Preached to the people + in the open air. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. And he has crossed o'er mountain, field, and fell, On that + good steed, that seems to bear him well, The hackney of the Friars of + Orders Gray, His own stout legs! He, too, was in the play, Both as King + Herod and Ben Israel. Good morrow, Friar! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRIAR CUTHBERT. + Good morrow, noble Sir! +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. I speak in German, for, unless I err, You are a German. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRIAR CUTHBERT. + I cannot gainsay you. +But by what instinct, or what secret sign, +Meeting me here, do you straightway divine +That northward of the Alps my country lies? +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Your accent, like St. Peter's, would betray you, Did not + your yellow beard and your blue eyes. Moreover, we have seen your face + before, And heard you preach at the Cathedral door On Easter Sunday, in + the Strasburg square. We were among the crowd that gathered there, And saw + you play the Rabbi with great skill, As if, by leaning o'er so many years + To walk with little children, your own will Had caught a childish attitude + from theirs, A kind of stooping in its form and gait, And could no longer + stand erect and straight. Whence come you now? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRIAR CUTHBERT. + From the old monastery +Of Hirschau, in the forest; being sent +Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent, +To see the image of the Virgin Mary, +That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks, +And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks, +To touch the hearts of the impenitent. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Oh, had I faith, as in the days gone by, That knew no doubt, + and feared no mystery! + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, at a distance. Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRIAR CUTHBERT. + Fare well, Prince; +I cannot stay to argue and convince. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. This is indeed the blessed Mary's land, Virgin and mother of + our dear redeemer! All hearts are touched and softened at her name, Alike + the bandit, with the bloody hand, The priest, the prince, the scholar, and + the peasant, The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer, Pay homage to her as + one ever present! And even as children, who have much offended A too + indulgent father, in great shame, Penitent, and yet not daring unattended + To go into his presence, at the gate Speak with their sister, and + confiding wait Till she goes in before and intercedes; So men, repenting + of their evil deeds, And yet not venturing rashly to draw near With their + requests an angry father's ear, Offer to her their prayers and their + confession, And she for them in heaven makes intercession. And if our + faith had given us nothing more Than this example of all womanhood, So + mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, So patient, peaceful, loyal, + loving, pure, This were enough to prove it higher and truer Than all the + creeds the world had known before. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PILGRIMS, chanting afar off. + Urbs coelestis, urbs beata, + Supra petram collocata, + Urbs in portu satis tuto + De longinquo te saluto, + Te saluto, te suspiro, + Te affecto, te requiro! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap467"></a>THE INN AT GENOA</h3> + + <p> + A terrace overlooking the sea. Night. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. It is the sea, it is the sea, In all its vague immensity, + Fading and darkening in the distance! Silent, majestical, and slow, The + white ships haunt it to and fro, With all their ghostly sails unfurled, As + phantoms from another world Haunt the dim confines of existence! But ah! + how few can comprehend Their signals, or to what good end From land to + land they come and go! Upon a sea more vast and dark The spirits of the + dead embark, All voyaging to unknown coasts. We wave our farewells from + the shore, And they depart, and come no more, Or come as phantoms and as + ghosts. + </p> + <p> + Above the darksome sea of death Looms the great life that is to be, A land + of cloud and mystery, A dim mirage, with shapes of men Long dead and + passed beyond our ken, Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath Till the + fair pageant vanisheth, Leaving us in perplexity, And doubtful whether it + has been A vision of the world unseen, Or a bright image of our own + Against the sky in vapors thrown. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER, singing from the sea. Thou didst not make it, thou canst not mend + it, But thou hast the power to end it! The sea is silent, the sea is + discreet, Deep it lies at thy very feet; There is no confessor like unto + Death! Thou canst not see him, but he is near; Thou needst not whisper + above thy breath, And he will hear; He will answer the questions, The + vague surmises and suggestions, That fill thy soul with doubt and fear! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. The fisherman, who lies afloat, With shadowy sail, in yonder + boat, Is singing softly to the Night! But do I comprehend aright The + meaning of the words he sung So sweetly in his native tongue? Ah yes! the + sea is still and deep. All things within its bosom sleep! A single step, + and all is o'er; A plunge, a bubble an no more; And thou, dear Elsie, wilt + be free From martyrdom and agony. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE, coming from her chamber upon the terrace. The night is calm and + cloudless, And still as still can be, And the stars come forth to listen + To the music of the sea. They gather, and gather, and gather, Until they + crowd the sky, And listen, in breathless silence, To the solemn litany. It + begins in rocky caverns, As a voice that chants alone To the pedals of the + organ In monotonous undertone; And anon from shelving beaches, And shallow + sands beyond, In snow-white robes uprising The ghostly choirs respond. And + sadly and unceasing The mournful voice sings on, And the snow-white choirs + still answer Christe eleison! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Angel of God! thy finer sense perceives Celestial and + perpetual harmonies! Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes, Hears the + archangel's trumpet in the breeze, And where the forest rolls, or ocean + heaves, Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas, And tongues of prophets + speaking in the leaves. But I hear discord only and despair, And whispers + as of demons in the air! + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap468"></a>AT SEA</h3> + + <p> + IL PADRONE. The wind upon our quarter lies, And on before the freshening + gale, That fills the snow-white lateen sail, Swiftly our light felucca + flies, Around the billows burst and foam; They lift her o'er the sunken + rock, They beat her sides with many a shock, And then upon their flowing + dome They poise her, like a weathercock! Between us and the western skies + The hills of Corsica arise; Eastward in yonder long blue line, The summits + of the Apennine, And southward, and still far away, Salerno, on its sunny + bay. You cannot see it, where it lies. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Ah, would that never more mine eyes Might see its towers by + night or day! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Behind us, dark and awfully, There comes a cloud out of the sea, + That bears the form of a hunted deer, With hide of brown, and hoofs of + black And antlers laid upon its back, And fleeing fast and wild with fear, + As if the hounds were on its track! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and falls In shapeless masses, + like the walls Of a burnt city. Broad and red The flies of the descending + sun Glare through the windows, and o'erhead, Athwart the vapors, dense and + dun, Long shafts of silvery light arise, Like rafters that support the + skies! + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. See! from its summit the lurid levin Flashes downward without + warning, As Lucifer, son of the morning, Fell from the battlements of + heaven! + </p> + <p> + IL PADRONE. I must entreat you, friends, below! The angry storm begins to + blow, For the weather changes with the moon. All this morning, until noon, + We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws Struck the sea with their + cat's-paws. Only a little hour ago I was whistling to Saint Antonio For a + capful of wind to fill our sail, And instead of a breeze he has sent a + gale. Last night I saw St. Elmo's stars, With their glimmering lanterns, + all at play On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars, And I knew + we should have foul weather to-day. Cheerily, my hearties! yo heave ho! + Brail up the mainsail, and let her go As the winds will and Saint Antonio! + </p> + <p> + Do you see that Livornese felucca, That vessel to the windward yonder, + Running with her gunwale under? I was looking when the wind o'ertook her, + She had all sail set, and the only wonder Is that at once the strength of + the blast Did not carry away her mast. She is a galley of the Gran Duca, + That, through the fear of the Algerines, Convoys those lazy brigantines, + Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. Now all is ready, high and low; Blow, + blow, good Saint Antonio! + </p> + <p> + Ha! that is the first dash of the rain, With a sprinkle of spray above the + rails, Just enough to moisten our sails, And make them ready for the + strain. See how she leaps, as the blasts o'ertake her, And speeds away + with a bone in her mouth! Now keep her head toward the south, And there is + no danger of bank or breaker. With the breeze behind us, on we go; Not too + much, good Saint Antonio! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap469"></a>VI<br/> +THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO</h3> + + <p> + A travelling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate of the College. + </p> + <p> + SCHOLASTIC. There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield, Hung up as a + challenge to all the field! One hundred and twenty-five propositions, + Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue Against all disputants, + old and young. Let us see if doctors or dialecticians Will dare to dispute + my definitions, Or attack any one of my learned theses. Here stand I; the + end shall be as God pleases. I think I have proved, by profound + researches, The error of all those doctrines so vicious Of the old + Areopagite Dionysius, That are making such terrible work in the churches, + By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East, And done into Latin by that + Scottish beast, Johannes Duns Scotus, who dares to maintain, In the face + of the truth, the error infernal, That the universe is and must be + eternal; At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, That nothing with + God can be accidental; Then asserting that God before the creation Could + not have existed, because it is plain That, had He existed, He would have + created; Which is begging the question that should be debated, And moveth + me less to anger than laughter. All nature, he holds, is a respiration Of + the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter Will inhale it into his + bosom again, So that nothing but God alone will remain. And therein he + contradicteth himself; For he opens the whole discussion by stating, That + God can only exist in creating. That question I think I have laid on the + shelf! + </p> + <p> + He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and followed by pupils. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR SERAFINO. I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain, That a word which + is only conceived in the brain Is a type of eternal Generation; The spoken + word is the Incarnation. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR CHERUBINO. What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic, With all his + wordy chaffer and traffic? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR SERAFINO. You make but a paltry show of resistance; Universals have + no real existence! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR CHERUBINO. Your words are but idle and empty chatter; Ideas are + eternally joined to matter! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR SERAFINO. May the Lord have mercy on your position, You wretched, + wrangling culler of herbs! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR CHERUBINO. May he send your soul to eternal perdition, For your + Treatise on the Irregular verbs! + </p> + <p> + They rush out fighting. Two Scholars come in. + </p> + <p> + FIRST SCHOLAR. Monte Cassino, then, is your College. What think you of + ours here at Salern? + </p> + <p> + SECOND SCHOLAR. To tell the truth, I arrived so lately, I hardly yet have + had time to discern. So much, at least, I am bound to acknowledge: The air + seems healthy, the buildings stately, And on the whole I like it greatly. + </p> + <p> + FIRST SCHOLAR. Yes, the air is sweet; the Calabrian hills Send us down + puffs of mountain air; And in summer-time the sea-breeze fills With its + coolness cloister, and court, and square. Then at every season of the year + There are crowds of guests and travellers here; Pilgrims, and mendicant + friars, and traders From the Levant, with figs and wine, And bands of + wounded and sick Crusaders, Coming back from Palestine. + </p> + <p> + SECOND SCHOLAR. And what are the studies you pursue? What is the course + you here go through? + </p> + <p> + FIRST SCHOLAR. The first three years of the college course Are given to + Logic alone, as the source Of all that is noble, and wise, and true. + </p> + <p> + SECOND SCHOLAR. That seems rather strange, I must confess, In a Medical + School; yet, nevertheless, You doubtless have reasons for that. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FIRST SCHOLAR. + Oh yes +For none but a clever dialectician +Can hope to become a great physician; +That has been settled long ago. +Logic makes an important part +Of the mystery of the healing art; +For without it how could you hope to show +That nobody knows so much as you know? +After this there are five years more +Devoted wholly to medicine, +With lectures on chirurgical lore, +And dissections of the bodies of swine, +As likest the human form divine. +</pre> + <p> + SECOND SCHOLAR. What are the books now most in vogue? + </p> + <p> + FIRST SCHOLAR. Quite an extensive catalogue; Mostly, however, books of our + own; As Gariopontus' Passionarius, And the writings of Matthew Platearius; + And a volume universally known As the Regimen of the School of Salern, For + Robert of Normandy written in terse And very elegant Latin verse. Each of + these writings has its turn. And when at length we have finished these + Then comes the struggle for degrees, Will all the oldest and ablest + critics; The public thesis and disputation, Question, and answer, and + explanation Of a passage out of Hippocrates, Or Aristotle's Analytics. + There the triumphant Magister stands! A book is solemnly placed in his + hands, On which he swears to follow the rule And ancient forms of the good + old School; To report if any confectionarius Mingles his drugs with + matters various, And to visit his patients twice a day, And once in the + night, if they live in town, And if they are poor, to take no pay. Having + faithfully promised these, His head is crowned with a laurel crown; A kiss + on his cheek, a ring on his hand, The Magister Artium et Physices Goes + forth from the school like a lord of the land. And now, as we have the + whole morning before us, Let us go in, if you make no objection, And + listen awhile to a learned prelection On Marcus Aurelius Cassioderus. + </p> + <p> + They go in. Enter Lucifer as a Doctor. + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. This is the great School of Salern! A land of wrangling and of + quarrels, Of brains that seethe, and hearts that burn, Where every emulous + scholar hears, In every breath that comes to his ears, The rustling of + another's laurels! The air of the place is called salubrious; The + neighborhood of Vesuvius lends it Au odor volcanic, that rather mends it, + And the building's have an aspect lugubrious, That inspires a feeling of + awe and terror Into the heart of the beholder. And befits such an ancient + homestead of error, Where the old falsehoods moulder and smoulder, And + yearly by many hundred hands Are carried away in the zeal of youth, And + sown like tares in the field of truth, To blossom and ripen in other + lands. + </p> + <p> + What have we here, affixed to the gate? The challenge of some scholastic + wight, Who wishes to hold a public debate On sundry questions wrong or + right! Ah, now this is my great delight! For I have often observed of late + That such discussions end in a fight. Let us see what the learned wag + maintains With such a prodigal waste of brains. + </p> + <p> + Reads. + </p> + <p> + "Whether angels in moving from place to place Pass through the + intermediate space. Whether God himself is the author of evil, Or whether + that is the work of the Devil. When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell, + And whether he now is chained in hell." I think I can answer that question + well! So long as the boastful human mind Consents in such mills as this to + grind, I sit very firmly upon my throne! Of a truth it almost makes me + laugh, To see men leaving the golden grain To gather in piles the pitiful + chaff That old Peter Lombard thrashed with his brain, To have it caught up + and tossed again On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Cologne! + </p> + <p> + But my guests approach! there is in the air A fragrance, like that of the + Beautiful Garden Of Paradise, in the days that were! An odor of innocence + and of prayer, And of love, and faith that never fails, Such as the fresh + young heart exhales Before it begins to wither and harden! I cannot + breathe such an atmosphere! My soul is filled with a nameless fear, That + after all my trouble and pain, After all my restless endeavor, The + youngest, fairest soul of the twain, The most ethereal, most divine, Will + escape from my hands for ever and ever. But the other is already mine! Let + him live to corrupt his race, Breathing among them, with every breath, + Weakness, selfishness, and the base And pusillanimous fear of death. I + know his nature, and I know That of all who in my ministry Wander the + great earth to and fro, And on my errands come and go, The safest and + subtlest are such as he. + </p> + <p> + Enter PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE, with attendants. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Can you direct us to Friar Angelo? + </p> + <p> + LUCIFER. He stands before you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Then you know our purpose. +I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and this +The maiden that I spake of in my letters. +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. It is a very grave and solemn business! We must nor be + precipitate. Does she Without compulsion, of her own free will, Consent to + this? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Against all opposition, +Against all prayers, entreaties, protestations, +She will not be persuaded. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. + That is strange! +Have you thought well of it? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + I come not here +To argue, but to die. Your business is not +To question, but to kill me. I am ready, +I am impatient to be gone from here +Ere any thoughts of earth disturb again +The spirit of tranquillity within me. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Would I had not come here! Would I were dead, And thou wert + in thy cottage in the forest, And hadst not known me! Why have I done + this? Let me go back and die. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + It cannot be; +Not if these cold, flat stones on which we tread +Were coulters heated white, and yonder gateway +Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold heat. +I must fulfil my purpose. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + I forbid it! +Not one step further. For I only meant +To put thus far thy courage to the proof. +It is enough. I, too, have strength to die, +For thou hast taught me! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + O my Prince! remember +Your promises. Let me fulfil my errand. +You do not look on life and death as I do. +There are two angels, that attend unseen +Each one of us, and in great books record +Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down +The good ones, after every action closes +His volume, and ascends with it to God. +The other keeps his dreadful day-book open +Till sunset, that we may repent; which doing, +The record of the action fades away, +And leaves a line of white across the page. +Now if my act be good, as I believe, +It cannot be recalled. It is already +Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished. +The rest is yours. Why wait you? I am ready. +</pre> + <p> + To her attendants. Weep not, my friends! rather rejoice with me. I shall + not feel the pain, but shall be gone, And you will have another friend in + heaven. Then start not at the creaking of the door Through which I pass. I + see what lies beyond it. + </p> + <p> + To PRINCE HENRY. And you, O Prince! bear back my benison Unto my father's + house, and all within it. This morning in the church I prayed for them, + After confession, after absolution, When my whole soul was white, I prayed + for them. God will take care of them, they need me not. And in your life + let my remembrance linger, As something not to trouble and disturb it, But + to complete it, adding life to life. And if at times beside the evening + fire, You see my face among the other faces, Let it not be regarded as a + ghost That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you. Nay, even as + one of your own family, Without whose presence there were something + wanting. I have no more to say. Let us go in. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Friar Angelo! I charge you on your life, Believe not what + she says, for she is mad, And comes here not to die, but to be healed. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Alas! Prince Henry! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +LUCIFER. + Come with me; this way. +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE goes in with LUCIFER, who thrusts PRINCE HENRY back and closes the + door. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Gone! and the light of all my life gone with her! A sudden + darkness falls upon the world! Oh, what a vile and abject thing am I That + purchase length of days at such a cost! Not by her death alone, but by the + death Of all that's good and true and noble in me All manhood, excellence, + and self-respect, All love, and faith, and hope, and heart are dead! All + my divine nobility of nature By this one act is forfeited forever. I am a + Prince in nothing but in name! + </p> + <p> + To the attendants. Why did you let this horrible deed be done? Why did you + not lay hold on her, and keep her From self destruction? Angelo! murderer! + </p> + <p> + Struggles at the door, but cannot open it. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE, within. Farewell, dear Prince! farewell! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + Unbar the door! +</pre> + <p> + LUCIFER. It is too late! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + It shall not be too late. +</pre> + <p> + They burst the door open and rush in. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap470"></a>THE FARM-HOUSE IN THE ODENWALD</h3> + <p> + URSULA spinning. A summer afternoon. A table spread. + </p> + <p> + URSULA. I have marked it well,—it must be true,— Death never + takes one alone, but two! Whenever he enters in at a door, Under roof of + gold or roof of thatch, He always leaves it upon the latch, And comes + again ere the year is o'er. Never one of a household only! Perhaps it is a + mercy of God, Lest the dead there under the sod, In the land of strangers, + should be lonely! Ah me! I think I am lonelier here! It is hard to go,—but + harder to stay! Were it not for the children, I should pray That Death + would take me within the year! And Gottlieb!—he is at work all day, + In the sunny field, or the forest murk, But I know that his thoughts are + far away, I know that his heart is not in his work! And when he comes home + to me at night He is not cheery, but sits and sighs, And I see the great + tears in his eyes, And try to be cheerful for his sake. Only the + children's hearts are light. Mine is weary, and ready to break. God help + us! I hope we have done right; We thought we were acting for the best! + </p> + <p> + Looking through the open door. + </p> + <p> + Who is it coming under the trees? A man, in the Prince's livery dressed! + He looks about him with doubtful face, As if uncertain of the place. He + stops at the beehives;—now he sees The garden gate;—he is + going past! Can he be afraid of the bees? No; he is coming in at last! He + fills my heart with strange alarm! + </p> + <p> + Enter a Forester. + </p> + <p> + FORESTER. Is this the tenant Gottlieb's farm? + </p> + <p> + URSULA. This is his farm, and I his wife. Pray sit. What may your business + be? + </p> + <p> + FORESTER. News from the Prince! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URSULA. + Of death or life? +</pre> + <p> + FORESTER. You put your questions eagerly! + </p> + <p> + URSULA. Answer me, then! How is the Prince? + </p> + <p> + FORESTER. I left him only two hours since Homeward returning down the + river, As strong and well as if God, the Giver, Had given him back his + youth again. + </p> + <p> + URSULA, despairing. Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead! + </p> + <p> + FORESTER. That, my good woman, I have not said. Don't cross the bridge + till you come to it, Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit. + </p> + <p> + URSULA. Keep me no longer in this pain! + </p> + <p> + FORESTER. It is true your daughter is no more;— That is, the peasant + she was before. + </p> + <p> + URSULA. Alas! I am simple and lowly bred, I am poor, distracted, and + forlorn. And it is not well that you of the court Should mock me thus, and + make a sport Of a joyless mother whose child is dead, For you, too, were + of mother born! + </p> + <p> + FORESTER. Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well! You will learn + erelong how it all befell. Her heart for a moment never failed; But when + they reached Salerno's gate, The Prince's nobler self prevailed, And saved + her for a noble fate. And he was healed, in his despair, By the touch of + St. Matthew's sacred bones; Though I think the long ride in the open air, + That pilgrimage over stocks and stones, In the miracle must come in for a + share. + </p> + <p> + URSULA. Virgin! who lovest the poor and lowly, If the loud cry of a + mother's heart Can ever ascend to where thou art, Into thy blessed hands + and holy Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving! Let the hands that + bore our Saviour bear it Into the awful presence of God; For thy feet with + holiness are shod, And if thou hearest it He will hear it. Our child who + was dead again is living! + </p> + <p> + FORESTER. I did not tell you she was dead; If you thought so 't was no + fault of mine; At this very moment while I speak, They are sailing + homeward down the Rhine, In a splendid barge, with golden prow, And decked + with banners white and red As the colors on your daughter's cheek. They + call her the Lady Alicia now; For the Prince in Salerno made a vow That + Elsie only would he wed. + </p> + <p> + URSULA. Jesu Maria! what a change! All seems to me so weird and strange! + </p> + <p> + FORESTER. I saw her standing on the deck, Beneath an awning cool and + shady; Her cap of velvet could not hold The tresses of her hair of gold, + That flowed and floated like the stream, And fell in masses down her neck. + As fair and lovely did she seem As in a story or a dream Some beautiful + and foreign lady. And the Prince looked so grand and proud, And waved his + hand thus to the crowd That gazed and shouted from the shore, All down the + river, long and loud. + </p> + <p> + URSULA. We shall behold our child once more; She is not dead! She is not + dead! God, listening, must have overheard The prayers, that, without sound + or word, Our hearts in secrecy have said! Oh, bring me to her; for mine + eyes Are hungry to behold her face; My very soul within me cries; My very + hands seem to caress her, To see her, gaze at her, and bless her; Dear + Elsie, child of God and grace! + </p> + <p> + Goes out toward the garden. + </p> + <p> + FORESTER. There goes the good woman out of her head; And Gottlieb's supper + is waiting here; A very capacious flagon of beer, And a very portentous + loaf of bread. One would say his grief did not much oppress him. Here's to + the health of the Prince, God bless him! + </p> + <p> + He drinks. + </p> + <p> + Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet! And what a scene there, through + the door! The forest behind and the garden before, And midway an old man + of threescore, With a wife and children that caress him. Let me try still + further to cheer and adorn it With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet! + </p> + <p> + Goes out blowing his horn. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap471"></a>THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE</h3> + + <p> + PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE standing on the terrace at evening. + </p> + <p> + The sound of tells heard from a distance. + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. We are alone. The wedding guests Ride down the hill, with + plumes and cloaks, And the descending dark invests The Niederwald, and all + the nests Among its hoar and haunted oaks. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. What bells are those, that ring so slow, So mellow, musical, and + low? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. They are the bells of Geisenheim, That with their melancholy + chime Ring out the curfew of the sun. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. Listen, beloved. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + They are done! +Dear Elsie! many years ago +Those same soft bells at eventide +Rang in the ears of Charlemagne, +As, seated by Fastrada's side +At Ingelheim, in all his pride +He heard their sound with secret pain. +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. Their voices only speak to me Of peace and deep tranquillity, And + endless confidence in thee! + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Thou knowest the story of her ring, How, when the court went + back to Aix, Fastrada died; and how the king Sat watching by her night and + day, Till into one of the blue lakes, Which water that delicious land, + They cast the ring, drawn from her hand: And the great monarch sat serene + And sad beside the fated shore, Nor left the land forevermore. + </p> + <p> + ELSIE. That was true love. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PRINCE HENRY. + For him the queen +Ne'er did what thou hast done for me. +</pre> + <p> + ELSIE. Wilt thou as fond and faithful be? Wilt thou so love me after + death? + </p> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. In life's delight, in death's dismay, In storm and sunshine, + night and day, In health, in sickness, in decay, Here and hereafter, I am + thine! Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Beneath the calm, blue waters of thine + eyes, Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies, And, undisturbed by this world's + breath, With magic light its jewels shine! This golden ring, which thou + hast worn Upon thy finger since the morn, Is but a symbol and a semblance, + An outward fashion, a remembrance, Of what thou wearest within unseen, O + my Fastrada, O my queen! Behold! the hill-trips all aglow With purple and + with amethyst; While the whole valley deep below Is filled, and seems to + overflow, With a fast-rising tide of mist. The evening air grows damp and + chill; Let us go in. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ELSIE. + Ah, not so soon. +See yonder fire! It is the moon +Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. +It glimmers on the forest tips +And through the dewy foliage drips +In little rivulets of light, +And makes the heart in love with night. +</pre> + <p> + PRINCE HENRY. Oft on this terrace, when the day Was closing, have I stood + and gazed, And seen the landscape fade away, And the white vapors rise and + drown Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town, While far above the hill-tops + blazed. But then another hand than thine Was gently held and clasped in + mine; Another head upon my breast Was laid, as thine is now, at rest. Why + dost thou lift those tender eyes With so much sorrow and surprise? A + minstrel's, not a maiden's hand, Was that which in my own was pressed, A + manly form usurped thy place, A beautiful, but bearded face, That now is + in the Holy Land, Yet in my memory from afar Is shining on us like a star. + But linger not. For while I speak, A sheeted spectre white and tall, The + cold mist climbs the castle wall, And lays his hand upon thy cheek! + </p> + <p> + They go in. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap472"></a>EPILOGUE<br/> +THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING</h3> + + <p> + THE ANGEL OF GOOD DEEDS, with closed book. God sent his messenger the + rain, And said unto the mountain brook, "Rise up, and from thy caverns + look And leap, with naked, snow-white feet, From the cool hills into the + heat Of the broad, arid plain. + </p> + <p> + God sent his messenger of faith, And whispered in the maiden's heart, + "Rise up and look from where thou art, And scatter with unselfish hands + Thy freshness on the barren sands And solitudes of Death." + </p> + <p> + O beauty of holiness, Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness! O power of + meekness, Whose very gentleness and weakness Are like the yielding, but + irresistible air! Upon the pages Of the sealed volume that I bear, The + deed divine Is written in characters of gold, That never shall grow old, + But through all ages Burn and shine, With soft effulgence! O God! it is + thy indulgence That fills the world with the bliss Of a good deed like + this! + </p> + <p> + THE ANGEL OF EVIL DEEDS, with open book. Not yet, not yet Is the red sun + wholly set, But evermore recedes, While open still I bear The Book of Evil + Deeds, To let the breathings of the upper air Visit its pages and erase + The records from its face! Fainter and fainter as I gaze In the broad + blaze The glimmering landscape shines, And below me the black river Is + hidden by wreaths of vapor! Fainter and fainter the black lines Begin to + quiver Along the whitening surface of the paper; Shade after shade The + terrible words grow faint and fade, And in their place Runs a white space! + </p> + <p> + Down goes the sun! But the soul of one, Who by repentance hath escaped the + dreadful sentence, Shines bright below me as I look. It is the end! With + closed Book To God do I ascend. Lo! over the mountain steeps A dark, + gigantic shadow sweeps Beneath my feet; A blackness inwardly brightening + With sullen heat, As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning. And a cry of + lamentation, Repeated and again repeated, Deep and loud As the + reverberation Of cloud answering unto cloud, Swells and rolls away in the + distance, As if the sheeted Lightning retreated. Baffled and thwarted by + the wind's resistance. + </p> + <p> + It is Lucifer, The son of mystery; And since God suffers him to be, He, + too, is God's minister. And labors for some good By us not understood! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap473"></a>SECOND INTERLUDE<br/> +MARTIN LUTHER</h3> + +<p class="center"> +A CHAMBER IN THE WARTBURG. MORNING. MARTIN LUTHER WRITING. +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTIN LUTHER. + Our God, a Tower of Strength is He, + A goodly wall and weapon; + From all our need He helps us free, + That now to us doth happen. + The old evil foe + Doth in earnest grow, + In grim armor dight, + Much guile and great might; + On earth there is none like him. +</pre> + <p> + Oh yes; a tower of strength indeed, A present help in all our need, A + sword and buckler is our God. Innocent men have walked unshod O'er burning + ploughshares, and have trod Unharmed on serpents in their path, And + laughed to scorn the Devil's wrath! + </p> + <p> + Safe in this Wartburg tower I stand Where God hath led me by the hand, And + look down, with a heart at ease, Over the pleasant neighborhoods, Over the + vast Thuringian Woods, With flash of river, and gloom of trees, With + castles crowning the dizzy heights, And farms and pastoral delights, And + the morning pouring everywhere Its golden glory on the air. Safe, yes, + safe am I here at last, Safe from the overwhelming blast Of the mouths of + Hell, that followed me fast, And the howling demons of despair That hunted + me like a beast to his lair. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of our own might we nothing can; + We soon are unprotected: + There fighteth for us the right Man, + Whom God himself elected. + Who is He; ye exclaim? + Christus is his name, + Lord of Sabaoth, + Very God in troth; + The field He holds forever. +</pre> + <p> + Nothing can vex the Devil more Than the name of him whom we adore. + Therefore doth it delight me best To stand in the choir among the rest, + With the great organ trumpeting Through its metallic tubes, and sing: Et + verbum caro factum est! These words the devil cannot endure, For he + knoweth their meaning well! Him they trouble and repel, Us they comfort + and allure, And happy it were, if our delight Were as great as his + affright! + </p> + <p> + Yea, music is the Prophet's art; Among the gifts that God hath sent, One + of the most magnificent! It calms the agitated heart; Temptations, evil + thoughts, and all The passions that disturb the soul, Are quelled by its + divine control, As the evil spirit fled from Saul, And his distemper was + allayed, When David took his harp and played. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This world may full of Devils be, + All ready to devour us; + Yet not so sore afraid are we, + They shall not overpower us. + This World's Prince, howe'er + Fierce he may appear, + He can harm us not, + He is doomed, God wot! + One little word can slay him! +</pre> + <p> + Incredible it seems to some And to myself a mystery, That such weak flesh + and blood as we, Armed with no other shield or sword, Or other weapon than + the Word, Should combat and should overcome A spirit powerful as he! He + summons forth the Pope of Rome With all his diabolic crew, His shorn and + shaven retinue Of priests and children of the dark; Kill! kill! they cry, + the Heresiarch, Who rouseth up all Christendom Against us; and at one fell + blow Seeks the whole Church to overthrow! Not yet; my hour is not yet + come. + </p> + <p> + Yesterday in an idle mood, Hunting with others in the wood, I did not pass + the hours in vain, For in the very heart of all The joyous tumult raised + around, Shouting of men, and baying of hound, And the bugle's blithe and + cheery call, And echoes answering back again, From crags of the distant + mountain chain,— In the very heart of this, I found A mystery of + grief and pain. It was an image of the power Of Satan, hunting the world + about, With his nets and traps and well-trained dogs, His bishops and + priests and theologues, And all the rest of the rabble rout, Seeking whom + he may devour! Enough I have had of hunting hares, Enough of these hours + of idle mirth, Enough of nets and traps and gins! The only hunting of any + worth Is where I can pierce with javelins The cunning foxes and wolves and + bears, The whole iniquitous troop of beasts, The Roman Pope and the Roman + priests That sorely infest and afflict the earth! Ye nuns, ye singing + birds of the air! The fowler hath caught you in his snare, And keeps you + safe in his gilded cage, Singing the song that never tires, To lure down + others from their nests; How ye flutter and heat your breasts, Warm and + soft with young desires, Against the cruel, pitiless wires, Reclaiming + your lost heritage! Behold! a hand unbars the door, Ye shall be captives + held no more. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Word they shall perforce let stand, + And little thanks they merit! + For He is with us in the land, + With gifts of his own Spirit! + Though they take our life, + Goods, honors, child and wife, + Lot these pass away, + Little gain have they; + The Kingdom still remaineth! +</pre> + <p> + Yea, it remaineth forevermore, However Satan may rage and roar, Though + often be whispers in my ears: What if thy doctrines false should be? And + wrings from me a bitter sweat. Then I put him to flight with jeers, + Saying: Saint Satan! pray for me; If thou thinkest I am not saved yet! + </p> + <p> + And my mortal foes that lie in wait In every avenue and gate! As to that + odious monk John Tetzel, Hawking about his hollow wares Like a huckster at + village fairs, And those mischievous fellows, Wetzel, Campanus, Carlstadt, + Martin Cellarius, And all the busy, multifarious Heretics, and disciples + of Arius, Half-learned, dunce-bold, dry and hard, They are not worthy of + my regard, Poor and humble as I am. + </p> + <p> + But ah! Erasmus of Rotterdam, He is the vilest miscreant That ever walked + this world below A Momus, making his mock and mow, At Papist and at + Protestant, Sneering at St. John and St. Paul, At God and Man, at one and + all; And yet as hollow and false and drear, As a cracked pitcher to the + ear, And ever growing worse and worse! Whenever I pray, I pray for a curse + On Erasmus, the Insincere! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Philip Melanethon! thou alone +Faithful among the faithless known, +Thee I hail, and only thee! +Behold the record of us three! + Res et verba Philippus, + Res sine verbis Lutherus; + Erasmus verba sine re! +</pre> + <p> + My Philip, prayest thou for me? Lifted above all earthly care, From these + high regions of the air, Among the birds that day and night Upon the + branches of tall trees Sing their lauds and litanies, Praising God with + all their might, My Philip, unto thee I write, + </p> + <p> + My Philip! thou who knowest best All that is passing in this breast; The + spiritual agonies, The inward deaths, the inward hell, And the divine new + births as well, That surely follow after these, As after winter follows + spring; My Philip, in the night-time sing This song of the Lord I send to + thee; And I will sing it for thy sake, Until our answering voices make A + glorious antiphony, And choral chant of victory! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap474"></a>PART THREE<br/> +THE NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap475"></a>JOHN ENDICOTT</h3> + +<p class="center"> +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. +</p> + + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT Governor. JOHN ENDICOTT His son. RICHARD BELLINGHAM Deputy + Governor. JOHN NORTON Minister of the Gospel. EDWARD BUTTER Treasurer. + WALTER MERRY Tithing-man. NICHOLAS UPSALL An old citizen. SAMUEL COLE + Landlord of the Three Mariners. + </p> + <p> + SIMON KEMPTHORN RALPH GOLDSMITH Sea-Captains. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +WENLOCK CHRISTISON +EDITH, his daughter +EDWARD WHARTON Quakers + Assistants, Halberdiers, Marshal, etc. + + The Scene is in Boston in the year 1665. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap476"></a>PROLOGUE.</h3> + + <p> + To-night we strive to read, as we may best, This city, like an ancient + palimpsest; And bring to light, upon the blotted page, The mournful record + of an earlier age, That, pale and half effaced, lies hidden away Beneath + the fresher writing of to-day. + </p> + <p> + Rise, then, O buried city that hast been; Rise up, rebuilded in the + painted scene, And let our curious eyes behold once more The pointed gable + and the pent-house door, The Meeting-house with leaden-latticed panes, The + narrow thoroughfares, the crooked lanes! + </p> + <p> + Rise, too, ye shapes and shadows of the Past, Rise from your + long-forgotten graves at last; Let us behold your faces, let us hear The + words ye uttered in those days of fear Revisit your familiar haunts again,— + The scenes of triumph, and the scenes of pain And leave the footprints of + your bleeding feet Once more upon the pavement of the street! + </p> + <p> + Nor let the Historian blame the Poet here, If he perchance misdate the day + or year, And group events together, by his art, That in the Chronicles lie + far apart; For as the double stars, though sundered far, Seem to the naked + eye a single star, So facts of history, at a distance seen, Into one + common point of light convene. + </p> + <p> + "Why touch upon such themes?" perhaps some friend May ask, incredulous; + "and to what good end? Why drag again into the light of day The errors of + an age long passed away?" I answer: "For the lessons that they teach: The + tolerance of opinion and of speech. Hope, Faith, and Charity remain,—these + three; And greatest of them all is Charity." + </p> + <p> + Let us remember, if these words be true, That unto all men Charity is due; + Give what we ask; and pity, while we blame, Lest we become copartners in + the shame, Lest we condemn, and yet ourselves partake, And persecute the + dead for conscience' sake. + </p> + <p> + Therefore it is the author seeks and strives To represent the dead as in + their lives, And lets at times his characters unfold Their thoughts in + their own language, strong and bold; He only asks of you to do the like; + To hear hint first, and, if you will, then strike. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap477"></a>ACT I.</h3> + + <p> + SCENE I. — Sunday afternoon. The interior of the Meeting-house. + </p> + <p> + On the pulpit, an hour-glass; below, a box for contributions. JOHN NORTON + in the pulpit. GOVERNOR ENDICOTT in a canopied seat, attended by four + halberdiers. The congregation singing. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Lord descended from above, + And bowed the heavens high; + And underneath his feet He cast + The darkness of the sky. + + On Cherubim and Seraphim + Right royally He rode, + And on the wings of mighty winds + Came flying all abroad. +</pre> + <p> + NORTON (rising and turning the hourglass on the pulpit). I heard a great + voice from the temple saying Unto the Seven Angels, Go your ways; Pour out + the vials of the wrath of God Upon the earth. And the First Angel went And + poured his vial on the earth; and straight There fell a noisome and a + grievous sore On them which had the birth-mark of the Beast, And them + which worshipped and adored his image. On us hath fallen this grievous + pestilence. There is a sense of terror in the air; And apparitions of + things horrible Are seen by many; from the sky above us The stars fall; + and beneath us the earth quakes! The sound of drums at midnight from afar, + The sound of horsemen riding to and fro, As if the gates of the invisible + world Were opened, and the dead came forth to warn us,— All these + are omens of some dire disaster Impending over us, and soon to fall, + Moreover, in the language of the Prophet, Death is again come up into our + windows, To cut off little children from without, And young men from the + streets. And in the midst Of all these supernatural threats and warnings + Doth Heresy uplift its horrid head; A vision of Sin more awful and + appalling Than any phantasm, ghost, or apparition, As arguing and + portending some enlargement Of the mysterious Power of Darkness! + </p> + <p> + EDITH, barefooted, and clad in sackcloth, with her hair hanging loose upon + her shoulders, walks slowly up the aisle, followed by WHARTON and other + Quakers. The congregation starts up in confusion. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH (to NORTON, raising her hand). + Peace! +</pre> + <p> + NORTON. Anathema maranatha! The Lord cometh! + </p> + <p> + EDITH. Yea, verily He cometh, and shall judge The shepherds of Israel who + do feed themselves, And leave their flocks to eat what they have trodden + Beneath their feet. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NORTON. + Be silent, babbling woman! +St. Paul commands all women to keep silence +Within the churches. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + Yet the women prayed +And prophesied at Corinth in his day; +And, among those on whom the fiery tongues +Of Pentecost descended, some were women! +</pre> + <p> + NORTON. The Elders of the Churches, by our law, Alone have power to open + the doors of speech And silence in the Assembly. I command you! + </p> + <p> + EDITH. The law of God is greater than your laws! Ye build your church with + blood, your town with crime; The heads thereof give judgment for reward; + The priests thereof teach only for their hire; Your laws condemn the + innocent to death; And against this I bear my testimony! + </p> + <p> + NORTON. What testimony? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + That of the Holy Spirit, +Which, as your Calvin says, surpasseth reason. +</pre> + <p> + NORTON. The laborer is worthy of his hire. + </p> + <p> + EDITH. Yet our great Master did not teach for hire, And the Apostles + without purse or scrip Went forth to do his work. Behold this box Beneath + thy pulpit. Is it for the poor? Thou canst not answer. It is for the + Priest And against this I bear my testimony. + </p> + <p> + NORTON. Away with all these Heretics and Quakers! Quakers, forsooth! + Because a quaking fell On Daniel, at beholding of the Vision, Must ye + needs shake and quake? Because Isaiah Went stripped and barefoot, must ye + wail and howl? Must ye go stripped and naked? must ye make A wailing like + the dragons, and a mourning As of the owls? Ye verify the adage That Satan + is God's ape! Away with them! + </p> + <p> + Tumult. The Quakers are driven out with violence, EDITH following slowly. + The congregation retires in confusion. + </p> + <p> + Thus freely do the Reprobates commit Such measure of iniquity as fits them + For the intended measure of God's wrath And even in violating God's + commands Are they fulfilling the divine decree! The will of man is but an + instrument Disposed and predetermined to its action According unto the + decree of God, Being as much subordinate thereto As is the axe unto the + hewer's hand! + </p> + <p> + He descends from the pulpit, and joins GOVERNOR ENDICOTT, who comes + forward to meet him. + </p> + <p> + The omens and the wonders of the time, Famine, and fire, and shipwreck, + and disease, The blast of corn, the death of our young men, Our sufferings + in all precious, pleasant things, Are manifestations of the wrath divine, + Signs of God's controversy with New England. These emissaries of the Evil + One, These servants and ambassadors of Satan, Are but commissioned + executioners Of God's vindictive and deserved displeasure. We must receive + them as the Roman Bishop Once received Attila, saying, I rejoice You have + come safe, whom I esteem to be The scourge of God, sent to chastise his + people. This very heresy, perchance, may serve The purposes of God to some + good end. With you I leave it; but do not neglect The holy tactics of the + civil sword. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. And what more can be done? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NORTON. + The hand that cut +The Red Cross from the colors of the king +Can cut the red heart from this heresy. +Fear not. All blasphemies immediate +And heresies turbulent must be suppressed +By civil power. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + But in what way suppressed? +</pre> + <p> + NORTON. The Book of Deuteronomy declares That if thy son, thy daughter, or + thy wife, Ay, or the friend which is as thine own soul, Entice thee + secretly, and say to thee, Let us serve other gods, then shalt thine eye + Not pity him, but thou shalt surely kill him, And thine own hand shall be + the first upon him To slay him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Four already have been slain; +And others banished upon pain of death. +But they come back again to meet their doom, +Bringing the linen for their winding-sheets. +We must not go too far. In truth, I shrink +From shedding of more blood. The people murmur +At our severity. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NORTON. + Then let them murmur! +Truth is relentless; justice never wavers; +The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy; +The noble order of the Magistracy +Cometh immediately from God, and yet +This noble order of the Magistracy +Is by these Heretics despised and outraged. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. To-night they sleep in prison. If they die, They cannot say that + we have caused their death. We do but guard the passage, with the sword + Pointed towards them; if they dash upon it, Their blood will be on their + own heads, not ours. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NORTON. +Enough. I ask no more. My predecessor +Coped only with the milder heresies +Of Antinomians and of Anabaptists. +He was not born to wrestle with these fiends. +Chrysostom in his pulpit; Augustine +In disputation; Timothy in his house! +The lantern of St. Botolph's ceased to burn +When from the portals of that church he came +To be a burning and a shining light +Here in the wilderness. And, as he lay +On his death-bed, he saw me in a vision +Ride on a snow-white horse into this town. +His vision was prophetic; thus I came, +A terror to the impenitent, and Death +On the pale horse of the Apocalypse +To all the accursed race of Heretics! + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE II. — A street. On one side, NICHOLAS UPSALL's house; on the + other, WALTER MERRY's, with a flock of pigeons on the roof. UPSALL seated + in the porch of his house. + </p> + <p> + UPSALL. O day of rest! How beautiful, how fair, How welcome to the weary + and the old! Day of the Lord! and truce to earthly cares! Day of the Lord, + as all our days should be! Ah, why will man by his austerities Shut out + the blessed sunshine and the light, And make of thee a dungeon of despair! + </p> + <p> + WALTER MERRY (entering and looking round him). All silent as a graveyard! + No one stirring; No footfall in the street, no sound of voices! By + righteous punishment and perseverance, And perseverance in that + punishment, At last I have brought this contumacious town To strict + observance of the Sabbath day. Those wanton gospellers, the pigeons + yonder, Are now the only Sabbath-breakers left. I cannot put them down. As + if to taunt me, They gather every Sabbath afternoon In noisy congregation + on my roof, Billing and cooing. Whir! take that, ye Quakers. + </p> + <p> + Throws a stone at the pigeons. Sees UPSALL. + </p> + <p> + Ah! Master Nicholas! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + Good afternoon, +Dear neighbor Walter. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + Master Nicholas, +You have to-day withdrawn yourself from meeting. +</pre> + <p> + UPSALL. Yea, I have chosen rather to worship God Sitting in silence here + at my own door. + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Worship the Devil! You this day have broken Three of our strictest + laws. First, by abstaining From public worship. Secondly, by walking + Profanely on the Sabbath. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + Not one step. +I have been sitting still here, seeing the pigeons +Feed in the street and fly about the roofs. +</pre> + <p> + MERRY. You have been in the street with other intent Than going to and + from the Meeting-house. And, thirdly, you are harboring Quakers here. I am + amazed! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + Men sometimes, it is said, +Entertain angels unawares. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + Nice angels! +Angels in broad-brimmed hats and russet cloaks, +The color of the Devil's nutting-bag. They came +Into the Meeting-house this afternoon +More in the shape of devils than of angels. +The women screamed and fainted; and the boys +Made such an uproar in the gallery +I could not keep them quiet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + Neighbor Walter, +Your persecution is of no avail. +</pre> + <p> + MERRY. 'T is prosecution, as the Governor says, Not persecution. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + Well, your prosecution; +Your hangings do no good. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + The reason is, +We do not hang enough. But, mark my words, +We'll scour them; yea, I warrant ye, we'll scour them! +And now go in and entertain your angels, +And don't be seen here in the street again +Till after sundown! There they are again! +</pre> + <p> + Exit UPSALL. MERRY throws another stone at the pigeons, and then goes into + his house. + </p> + <p> + SCENE III. — A room in UPSALL'S house. Night. EDITH, WHARTON, and + other Quakers seated at a table. UPSALL seated near them, Several books on + the table. + </p> + <p> + WHARTON. William and Marmaduke, our martyred brothers, Sleep in untimely + graves, if aught untimely Can find place in the providence of God, Where + nothing comes too early or too late. I saw their noble death. They to the + scaffold Walked hand in hand. Two hundred armed men And many horsemen + guarded them, for fear Of rescue by the crowd, whose hearts were stirred. + </p> + <p> + EDITH. O holy martyrs! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +WHARTON. + When they tried to speak, +Their voices by the roll of drums were drowned. +When they were dead they still looked fresh and fair, +The terror of death was not upon their faces. +Our sister Mary, likewise, the meek woman, +Has passed through martyrdom to her reward; +Exclaiming, as they led her to her death, +"These many days I've been in Paradise." +And, when she died, Priest Wilson threw the hangman +His handkerchief, to cover the pale face +He dared not look upon. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + As persecuted, +Yet not forsaken; as unknown, yet known; +As dying, and behold we are alive; +As sorrowful, and yet rejoicing always; +As having nothing, yet possessing all! +</pre> + <p> + WHARTON. And Leddra, too, is dead. But from his prison, The day before his + death, he sent these words Unto the little flock of Christ: "What ever May + come upon the followers of the Light,— Distress, affliction, famine, + nakedness, Or perils in the city or the sea, Or persecution, or even death + itself,— I am persuaded that God's armor of Light, As it is loved + and lived in, will preserve you. Yea, death itself; through which you will + find entrance Into the pleasant pastures of the fold, Where you shall feed + forever as the herds That roam at large in the low valleys of Achor. And + as the flowing of the ocean fills Each creek and branch thereof, and then + retires, Leaving behind a sweet and wholesome savor; So doth the virtue + and the life of God Flow evermore into the hearts of those Whom He hath + made partakers of His nature; And, when it but withdraws itself a little, + Leaves a sweet savor after it, that many Can say they are made clean by + every word That He hath spoken to them in their silence." + </p> + <p> + EDITH (rising and breaking into a kind of chant). Truly we do but grope + here in the dark, Near the partition-wall of Life and Death, At every + moment dreading or desiring To lay our hands upon the unseen door! Let us, + then, labor for an inward stillness,— An inward stillness and an + inward healing; That perfect silence where the lips and heart Are still, + and we no longer entertain Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions, + But God alone speaks in us, and we wait In singleness of heart, that we + may know His will, and in the silence of our spirits, That we may do His + will, and do that only! + </p> + <p> + A long pause, interrupted by the sound of a drum approaching; then shouts + in the street, and a loud knocking at the door. + </p> + <p> + MARSHAL. Within there! Open the door! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + Will no one answer? +</pre> + <p> + MARSHAL. In the King's name! Within there! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + Open the door! +</pre> + <p> + UPSALL (from the window). It is not barred. Come in. Nothing prevents you. + The poor man's door is ever on the latch. He needs no bolt nor bar to shut + out thieves; He fears no enemies, and has no friends Importunate enough to + need a key. + </p> + <p> + Enter JOHN ENDICOTT, the MARSHAL, MERRY, and a crowd. Seeing the Quakers + silent and unmoved, they pause, awe-struck. ENDICOTT opposite EDITH. + </p> + <p> + MARSHAL. In the King's name do I arrest you all! Away with them to prison. + Master Upsall, You are again discovered harboring here These ranters and + disturbers of the peace. You know the law. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + I know it, and am ready +To suffer yet again its penalties. +</pre> + <p> + EDITH (to ENDICOTT). Why dost thou persecute me, Saul of Tarsus? + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap478"></a>ACT II.</h3> + + <h3> + SCENE I. — JOHN ENDICOTT's room. Early morning. + </h3> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. "Why dost thou persecute me, Saul of Tarsus?" All night + these words were ringing in mine ears! A sorrowful sweet face; a look that + pierced me With meek reproach; a voice of resignation That had a life of + suffering in its tone; And that was all! And yet I could not sleep, Or, + when I slept, I dreamed that awful dream! I stood beneath the elm-tree on + the Common, On which the Quakers have been hanged, and heard A voice, not + hers, that cried amid the darkness, "This is Aceldama, the field of blood! + I will have mercy, and not sacrifice!" + </p> + <p> + Opens the window and looks out. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The sun is up already; and my heart +Sickens and sinks within me when I think +How many tragedies will be enacted +Before his setting. As the earth rolls round, +It seems to me a huge Ixion's wheel, +Upon whose whirling spokes we are bound fast, +And must go with it! Ah, how bright the sun +Strikes on the sea and on the masts of vessels, +That are uplifted, in the morning air, +Like crosses of some peaceable crusade! +It makes me long to sail for lands unknown, +No matter whither! Under me, in shadow, +Gloomy and narrow, lies the little town, +Still sleeping, but to wake and toil awhile, +Then sleep again. How dismal looks the prison, +How grim and sombre in the sunless street,— +The prison where she sleeps, or wakes and waits +For what I dare not think of,—death, perhaps! +A word that has been said may be unsaid: +It is but air. But when a deed is done +It cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts +Reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow. +'T is time for morning prayers. I will go down. +My father, though severe, is kind and just; +And when his heart is tender with devotion,— +When from his lips have fallen the words, "Forgive us +As we forgive,"—then will I intercede +For these poor people, and perhaps may save them. + [Exit. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE II. — Dock Square. On one side, the tavern of the Three + Mariners. In the background, a quaint building with gables; and, beyond + it, wharves and shipping. CAPTAIN KEMPTHORN and others seated at a table + before the door. SAMUEL COLE standing near them. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Come, drink about! Remember Parson Melham, And bless the man + who first invented flip! + </p> + <p> + They drink. + </p> + <p> + COLE. Pray, Master Kempthorn, where were you last night? + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. On board the Swallow, Simon Kempthorn, master, Up for + Barbadoes, and the Windward Islands. + </p> + <p> + COLE. The town was in a tumult. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + And for what? +</pre> + <p> + COLE. Your Quakers were arrested. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + How my Quakers? +</pre> + <p> + COLE. These you brought in your vessel from Barbadoes. They made an uproar + in the Meeting-house Yesterday, and they're now in prison for it. I owe + you little thanks for bringing them To the Three Mariners. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + They have not harmed you. +I tell you, Goodman Cole, that Quaker girl +Is precious as a sea-bream's eye. I tell you +It was a lucky day when first she set +Her little foot upon the Swallow's deck, +Bringing good luck, fair winds, and pleasant weather. +</pre> + <p> + COLE. I am a law-abiding citizen; I have a seat in the new Meeting-house, + A cow-right on the Common; and, besides, Am corporal in the Great + Artillery. I rid me of the vagabonds at once. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Why should you not have Quakers at your tavern If you have + fiddlers? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COLE. + Never! never! never! +If you want fiddling you must go elsewhere, +To the Green Dragon and the Admiral Vernon, +And other such disreputable places. +But the Three Mariners is an orderly house, +Most orderly, quiet, and respectable. +Lord Leigh said he could be as quiet here +As at the Governor's. And have I not +King Charles's Twelve Good Rules, all framed and glazed, +Hanging in my best parlor? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + Here's a health +To good King Charles. Will you not drink the King? +Then drink confusion to old Parson Palmer. +</pre> + <p> + COLE. And who is Parson Palmer? I don't know him. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. He had his cellar underneath his pulpit, And so preached o'er + his liquor, just as you do. + </p> + <p> + A drum within. + </p> + <p> + COLE. Here comes the Marshal. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY (within). + Make room for the Marshal. +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. How pompous and imposing he appears! His great buff doublet + bellying like a mainsail, And all his streamers fluttering in the wind. + What holds he in his hand? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COLE. + A proclamation. +</pre> + <p> + Enter the MARSHAL, with a proclamation; and MERRY, with a halberd. They + are preceded by a drummer, and followed by the hangman, with an armful of + books, and a crowd of people, among whom are UPSALL and JOHN ENDICOTT. A + pile is made of the books. + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Silence, the drum! Good citizens, attend To the new laws enacted by + the Court. + </p> + <p> + MARSHAL (reads). "Whereas a cursed sect of Heretics Has lately risen, + commonly called Quakers, Who take upon themselves to be commissioned + Immediately of God, and furthermore Infallibly assisted by the Spirit To + write and utter blasphemous opinions, Despising Government and the order + of God In Church and Commonwealth, and speaking evil Of Dignities, + reproaching and reviling The Magistrates and Ministers, and seeking To + turn the people from their faith, and thus Gain proselytes to their + pernicious ways;— This Court, considering the premises, And to + prevent like mischief as is wrought By their means in our land, doth + hereby order, That whatsoever master or commander Of any ship, bark, pink, + or catch shall bring To any roadstead, harbor, creek, or cove Within this + Jurisdiction any Quakers, Or other blasphemous Heretics, shall pay Unto + the Treasurer of the Commonwealth One hundred pounds, and for default + thereof Be put in prison, and continue there Till the said sum be + satisfied and paid." + </p> + <p> + COLE. Now, Simon Kempthorn, what say you to that? + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. I pray you, Cole, lend me a hundred pounds! + </p> + <p> + MARSHAL (reads). "If any one within this Jurisdiction Shall henceforth + entertain, or shall conceal Quakers or other blasphemous Heretics, Knowing + them so to be, every such person Shall forfeit to the country forty + shillings For each hour's entertainment or concealment, And shall be sent + to prison, as aforesaid, Until the forfeiture be wholly paid!" + </p> + <p> + Murmurs in the crowd. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Now, Goodman Cole, I think your turn has come! + </p> + <p> + COLE. Knowing them so to be! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + At forty shillings +The hour, your fine will be some forty pounds! +</pre> + <p> + COLE. Knowing them so to be! That is the law. + </p> + <p> + MARSHAL (reads). "And it is further ordered and enacted, If any Quaker or + Quakers shall presume To come henceforth into this Jurisdiction, Every + male Quaker for the first offence Shall have one ear cut off; and shall be + kept At labor in the Workhouse, till such time As he be sent away at his + own charge. And for the repetition of the offence Shall have his other ear + cut off, and then Be branded in the palm of his right hand. And every + woman Quaker shall be whipt Severely in three towns; and every Quaker, Or + he or she, that shall for a third time Herein again offend, shall have + their tongues Bored through with a hot iron, and shall be Sentenced to + Banishment on pain of Death." + </p> + <p> + Loud murmurs. The voice of CHRISTISON in the crowd. + </p> + <p> + O patience of the Lord! How long, how long, Ere thou avenge the blood of + Thine Elect? + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Silence, there, silence! Do not break the peace! + </p> + <p> + MARSHAL (reads). "Every inhabitant of this Jurisdiction Who shall defend + the horrible opinions Of Quakers, by denying due respect To equals and + superiors, and withdrawing From Church Assemblies, and thereby approving + The abusive and destructive practices Of this accursed sect, in opposition + To all the orthodox received opinions Of godly men shall be forthwith + commit ted Unto close prison for one month; and then Refusing to retract + and to reform The opinions as aforesaid, he shall be Sentenced to + Banishment on pain of Death. By the Court. Edward Rawson, Secretary." Now, + hangman, do your duty. Burn those books. + </p> + <p> + Loud murmurs in the crowd. The pile of books is lighted. + </p> + <p> + UPSALL. I testify against these cruel laws! Forerunners are they of some + judgment on us; And, in the love and tenderness I bear Unto this town and + people, I beseech you, O Magistrates, take heed, lest ye be found As + fighters against God! + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT (taking UPSALL'S hand). Upsall, I thank you For speaking + words such as some younger man, I, or another, should have said before + you. Such laws as these are cruel and oppressive; A blot on this fair + town, and a disgrace To any Christian people. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY (aside, listening behind them). + Here's sedition! +I never thought that any good would come +Of this young popinjay, with his long hair +And his great boots, fit only for the Russians +Or barbarous Indians, as his father says! +</pre> + <p> + THE VOICE. Woe to the bloody town! And rightfully Men call it the Lost + Town! The blood of Abel Cries from the ground, and at the final judgment + The Lord will say, "Cain, Cain! Where is thy brother?" + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Silence there in the crowd! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL (aside). + 'T is Christison! +</pre> + <p> + THE VOICE. O foolish people, ye that think to burn And to consume the + truth of God, I tell you That every flame is a loud tongue of fire To + publish it abroad to all the world Louder than tongues of men! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN (springing to his feet). + Well said, my hearty! +There's a brave fellow! There's a man of pluck! +A man who's not afraid to say his say, +Though a whole town's against him. Rain, rain, rain, +Bones of St. Botolph, and put out this fire! +</pre> + <p> + The drum beats. Exeunt all but MERRY, KEMPTHORN, and COLE. + </p> + <p> + MERRY. And now that matter's ended, Goodman Cole, Fetch me a mug of ale, + your strongest ale. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN (sitting down). +And me another mug of flip; and put +Two gills of brandy in it. + [Exit COLE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + No; no more. +Not a drop more, I say. You've had enough. +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. And who are you, sir? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + I'm a Tithing-man, +And Merry is my name. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + A merry name! +I like it; and I'll drink your merry health +Till all is blue. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + And then you will be clapped +Into the stocks, with the red letter D +Hung round about your neck for drunkenness. +You're a free-drinker,—yes, and a free-thinker! +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. And you are Andrew Merry, or Merry Andrew. + </p> + <p> + MERRY. My name is Walter Merry, and not Andrew. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Andrew or Walter, you're a merry fellow; I'll swear to that. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + No swearing, let me tell you. +The other day one Shorthose had his tongue +Put into a cleft stick for profane swearing. +</pre> + <p> + COLE brings the ale. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Well, where's my flip? As sure as my name's Kempthorn— + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Is your name Kempthorn? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + That's the name I go by. +</pre> + <p> + MERRY. What, Captain Simon Kempthorn of the Swallow? + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. No other. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY (touching him on the shoulder). + Then you're wanted. I arrest you +In the King's name. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + And where's your warrant? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY (unfolding a paper, and reading). + Here. +Listen to me. "Hereby you are required, +In the King's name, to apprehend the body +Of Simon Kempthorn, mariner, and him +Safely to bring before me, there to answer +All such objections as are laid to him, +Touching the Quakers." Signed, John Endicott. +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Has it the Governor's seal? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + Ay, here it is. +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Death's head and cross-bones. That's a pirate's flag! + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Beware how you revile the Magistrates; You may be whipped for that. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + Then mum's the word. +</pre> + <p> + Exeunt MERRY and KEMPTHORN. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COLE. +There's mischief brewing! Sure, there's mischief brewing. +I feel like Master Josselyn when he found +The hornet's nest, and thought it some strange fruit, +Until the seeds came out, and then he dropped it. + [Exit. +</pre> + <p> + Scene III. — A room in the Governor's house, Enter GOVERNOR ENDICOTT + and MERRY. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. My son, you say? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + Your Worship's eldest son. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Speaking against the laws? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + Ay, worshipful sir. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. And in the public market-place? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + I saw him +With my own eyes, heard him with my own ears. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Impossible! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + He stood there in the crowd +With Nicholas Upsall, when the laws were read +To-day against the Quakers, and I heard him +Denounce and vilipend them as unjust, +And cruel, wicked, and abominable. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Ungrateful son! O God! thou layest upon me A burden heavier than + I can bear! Surely the power of Satan must be great Upon the earth, if + even the elect Are thus deceived and fall away from grace! + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Worshipful sir! I meant no harm— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + 'T is well. +You've done your duty, though you've done it roughly, +And every word you've uttered since you came +Has stabbed me to the heart! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + I do beseech +Your Worship's pardon! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + He whom I have nurtured +And brought up in the reverence of the Lord! +The child of all my hopes and my affections! +He upon whom I leaned as a sure staff +For my old age! It is God's chastisement +For leaning upon any arm but His! +</pre> + <p> + MERRY. Your Worship!— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + And this comes from holding parley +With the delusions and deceits of Satan. +At once, forever, must they be crushed out, +Or all the land will reek with heresy! +Pray, have you any children? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + No, not any. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Thank God for that. He has delivered you From a great care. + Enough; my private griefs Too long have kept me from the public service. + </p> + <p> + Exit MERRY, ENDICOTT seats himself at the table and arranges his papers. + </p> + <p> + The hour has come; and I am eager now To sit in judgment on these + Heretics. + </p> + <p> + A knock. + </p> + <p> + Come in. Who is it? (Not looking up). + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + It is I. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT (restraining himself). + Sit down! +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT (sitting down). I come to intercede for these poor people + Who are in prison, and await their trial. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. It is of them I wished to speak with you. I have been angry with + you, but 't is passed. For when I hear your footsteps come or go, See in + your features your dead mother's face, And in your voice detect some tone + of hers, All anger vanishes, and I remember The days that are no more, and + come no more, When as a child you sat upon my knee, And prattled of your + playthings, and the games You played among the pear trees in the orchard! + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Oh, let the memory of my noble mother Plead with you to be + mild and merciful! For mercy more becomes a Magistrate Than the vindictive + wrath which men call justice! + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. The sin of heresy is a deadly sin. 'T is like the falling of the + snow, whose crystals The traveller plays with, thoughtless of his danger, + Until he sees the air so full of light That it is dark; and blindly + staggering onward, Lost and bewildered, he sits down to rest; There falls + a pleasant drowsiness upon him, And what he thinks is sleep, alas! is + death. + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. And yet who is there that has never doubted? And doubting + and believing, has not said, "Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief"? + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. In the same way we trifle with our doubts, Whose shining shapes + are like the stars descending; Until at last, bewildered and dismayed, + Blinded by that which seemed to give us light, We sink to sleep, and find + that it is death, + </p> + <p> + Rising. + </p> + <p> + Death to the soul through all eternity! Alas that I should see you growing + up To man's estate, and in the admonition And nurture of the law, to find + you now Pleading for Heretics! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT (rising). + In the sight of God, +Perhaps all men are Heretics. Who dares +To say that he alone has found the truth? +We cannot always feel and think and act +As those who go before us. Had you done so, +You would not now be here. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Have you forgotten +The doom of Heretics, and the fate of those +Who aid and comfort them? Have you forgotten +That in the market-place this very day +You trampled on the laws? What right have you, +An inexperienced and untravelled youth, +To sit in judgment here upon the acts +Of older men and wiser than yourself, +Thus stirring up sedition in the streets, +And making me a byword and a jest? +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Words of an inexperienced youth like me Were powerless if + the acts of older men Were not before them. 'T is these laws themselves + Stir up sedition, not my judgment of them. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Take heed, lest I be called, as Brutus was, To be the judge of + my own son. Begone! When you are tired of feeding upon husks, Return again + to duty and submission, But not till then. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + I hear and I obey! + [Exit. +ENDICOTT. +Oh happy, happy they who have no children! +He's gone! I hear the hall door shut behind him. +It sends a dismal echo through my heart, +As if forever it had closed between us, +And I should look upon his face no more! +Oh, this will drag me down into my grave,— +To that eternal resting-place wherein +Man lieth down, and riseth not again! +Till the heavens be no more, he shall not wake, +Nor be roused from his sleep; for Thou dost change +His countenance and sendest him away! + [Exit. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap479"></a>ACT III.</h3> + + <p> + SCENE I. — The Court of Assistants, ENDICOTT, BELLINGHAM, ATHERTON, + and other magistrates. KEMPTHORN, MERRY, and constables. Afterwards + WHARTON, EDITH, and CHRISTISON. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Call Captain Simon Kempthorn. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + Simon Kempthorn, +Come to the bar! +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN comes forward. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + You are accused of bringing +Into this Jurisdiction, from Barbadoes, +Some persons of that sort and sect of people +Known by the name of Quakers, and maintaining +Most dangerous and heretical opinions, +Purposely coming here to propagate +Their heresies and errors; bringing with them +And spreading sundry books here, which contain +Their doctrines most corrupt and blasphemous, +And contrary to the truth professed among us. +What say you to this charge? +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I do acknowledge, +Among the passengers on board the Swallow +Were certain persons saying Thee and Thou. +They seemed a harmless people, mostways silent, +Particularly when they said their prayers. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Harmless and silent as the pestilence! You'd better have brought + the fever or the plague Among us in your ship! Therefore, this Court, For + preservation of the Peace and Truth, Hereby commands you speedily to + transport, Or cause to be transported speedily, The aforesaid persons + hence unto Barbadoes, From whence they came; you paying all the charges Of + their imprisonment. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + Worshipful sir, +No ship e'er prospered that has carried Quakers +Against their will! I knew a vessel once— +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. And for the more effectual performance Hereof you are to give + security In bonds amounting to one hundred pounds. On your refusal, you + will be committed To prison till you do it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + But you see +I cannot do it. The law, sir, of Barbadoes +Forbids the landing Quakers on the island. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Then you will be committed. Who comes next? + </p> + <p> + MERRY. There is another charge against the Captain. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. What is it? + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Profane swearing, please your Worship. He cursed and swore from + Dock Square to the Court-house, + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Then let him stand in the pillory for one hour. + </p> + <p> + [Exit KEMPTHORN with constable. + </p> + <p> + Who's next? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + The Quakers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Call them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + Edward Wharton, +Come to the bar! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +WHARTON. + Yea, even to the bench. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Take off your hat. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +WHARTON. + My hat offendeth not. +If it offendeth any, let him take it; +For I shall not resist. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Take off his hat. +Let him be fined ten shillings for contempt. +</pre> + <p> + MERRY takes off WHARTON'S hat. + </p> + <p> + WHARTON. What evil have I done? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Your hair's too long; +And in not putting off your hat to us +You've disobeyed and broken that commandment +Which sayeth "Honor thy father and thy mother." +</pre> + <p> + WHARTON. John Endicott, thou art become too proud; And loved him who + putteth off the hat, And honoreth thee by bowing of the body, And sayeth + "Worshipful sir!" 'T is time for thee To give such follies over, for thou + mayest Be drawing very near unto thy grave. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Now, sirrah, leave your canting. Take the oath. + </p> + <p> + WHARTON. Nay, sirrah me no sirrahs! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Will you swear? +</pre> + <p> + WHARTON. Nay, I will not. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + You made a great disturbance +And uproar yesterday in the Meeting-house, +Having your hat on. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +WHARTON. + I made no disturbance; +For peacefully I stood, like other people. +I spake no words; moved against none my hand; +But by the hair they haled me out, and dashed +Their hooks into my face. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + You, Edward Wharton, +On pain of death, depart this Jurisdiction +Within ten days. Such is your sentence. Go. +</pre> + <p> + WHARTON. John Endicott, it had been well for thee If this day's doings + thou hadst left undone But, banish me as far as thou hast power, Beyond + the guard and presence of my God Thou canst not banish me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Depart the Court; +We have no time to listen to your babble. +Who's next? [Exit WHARTON. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + This woman, for the same offence. +</pre> + <p> + EDITH comes forward. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. What is your name? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + 'T is to the world unknown, +But written in the Book of Life. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Take heed +It be not written in the Book of Death! +What is it? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + Edith Christison. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT (with eagerness). + The daughter +Of Wenlock Christison? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + I am his daughter. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Your father hath given us trouble many times. A bold man and a + violent, who sets At naught the authority of our Church and State, And is + in banishment on pain of death. Where are you living? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + In the Lord. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Make answer +Without evasion. Where? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + My outward being +Is in Barbadoes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Then why come you here? +</pre> + <p> + EDITH. I come upon an errand of the Lord. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. 'Tis not the business of the Lord you're doing; It is the + Devil's. Will you take the oath? Give her the Book. + </p> + <p> + MERRY offers the Book. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + You offer me this Book +To swear on; and it saith, "Swear not at all, +Neither by heaven, because it is God's Throne, +Nor by the earth, because it is his footstool!" +I dare not swear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + You dare not? Yet you Quakers +Deny this book of Holy Writ, the Bible, +To be the Word of God. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH (reverentially). + Christ is the Word, +The everlasting oath of God. I dare not. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. You own yourself a Quaker,—do you not? + </p> + <p> + EDITH. I own that in derision and reproach I am so called. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Then you deny the Scripture +To be the rule of life. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + Yea, I believe +The Inner Light, and not the Written Word, +To be the rule of life. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + And you deny +That the Lord's Day is holy. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + Every day +Is the Lords Day. It runs through all our lives, +As through the pages of the Holy Bible, +"Thus saith the Lord." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + You are accused of making +An horrible disturbance, and affrighting +The people in the Meeting-house on Sunday. +What answer make you? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + I do not deny +That I was present in your Steeple-house +On the First Day; but I made no disturbance. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Why came you there? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + Because the Lord commanded. +His word was in my heart, a burning fire +Shut up within me and consuming me, +And I was very weary with forbearing; +I could not stay. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + 'T was not the Lord that sent you; +As an incarnate devil did you come! +</pre> + <p> + EDITH. On the First Day, when, seated in my chamber, I heard the bells + toll, calling you together, The sound struck at my life, as once at his, + The holy man, our Founder, when he heard The far-off bells toll in the + Vale of Beavor. It sounded like a market bell to call The folk together, + that the Priest might set His wares to sale. And the Lord said within me, + "Thou must go cry aloud against that Idol, And all the worshippers + thereof." I went Barefooted, clad in sackcloth, and I stood And listened + at the threshold; and I heard The praying and the singing and the + preaching, Which were but outward forms, and without power. Then rose a + cry within me, and my heart Was filled with admonitions and reproofs. + Remembering how the Prophets and Apostles Denounced the covetous hirelings + and diviners, I entered in, and spake the words the Lord Commanded me to + speak. I could no less. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Are you a Prophetess? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + Is it not written, +"Upon my handmaidens will I pour out +My spirit, and they shall prophesy"? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Enough; +For out of your own mouth are you condemned! +Need we hear further? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE JUDGES. + We are satisfied. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. It is sufficient. Edith Christison, The sentence of the Court + is, that you be Scourged in three towns, with forty stripes save one, Then + banished upon pain of death! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + Your sentence +Is truly no more terrible to me +Than had you blown a feather into the the air, +And, as it fell upon me, you had said, +Take heed it hurt thee not! God's will he done! +</pre> + <p> + WENLOCK CHRISTISON (unseen in the crowd). Woe to the city of blood! The + stone shall cry Out of the wall; the beam from out the timber Shall answer + it! Woe unto him that buildeth A town with blood, and stablisheth a city + By his iniquity! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Who is it makes +Such outcry here? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTISON (coming forward). + I, Wenlock Christison! +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Banished on pain of death, why come you here? + </p> + <p> + CHRISTISON. I come to warn you that you shed no more The blood of innocent + men! It cries aloud For vengeance to the Lord! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Your life is forfeit +Unto the law; and you shall surely die, +And shall not live. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTISON. + Like unto Eleazer, +Maintaining the excellence of ancient years +And the honor of his gray head, I stand before you; +Like him disdaining all hypocrisy, +Lest, through desire to live a little longer, +I get a stain to my old age and name! +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Being in banishment, on pain of death, You come now in among us + in rebellion. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTISON. I come not in among you in rebellion, But in obedience to the + Lord of heaven. Not in contempt to any Magistrate, But only in the love I + bear your souls, As ye shall know hereafter, when all men Give an account + of deeds done in the body! God's righteous judgments ye cannot escape. + </p> + <p> + ONE OF THE JUDGES. Those who have gone before you said the same, And yet + no judgment of the Lord hath fallen Upon us. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTISON. + He but waiteth till the measure +Of your iniquities shall be filled up, +And ye have run your race. Then will his wrath +Descend upon you to the uttermost! +For thy part, Humphrey Atherton, it hangs +Over thy head already. It shall come +Suddenly, as a thief doth in the night, +And in the hour when least thou thinkest of it! +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. We have a law, and by that law you die. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTISON. I, a free man of England and freeborn, Appeal unto the laws of + mine own nation! + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. There's no appeal to England from this Court! What! do you think + our statutes are but paper? Are but dead leaves that rustle in the wind? + Or litter to be trampled under foot? What say ye, Judges of the Court,—what + say ye? Shall this man suffer death? Speak your opinions. + </p> + <p> + ONE OF THE JUDGES. I am a mortal man, and die I must, And that erelong; + and I must then appear Before the awful judgment-seat of Christ, To give + account of deeds done in the body. My greatest glory on that day will be, + That I have given my vote against this man. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTISON. If, Thomas Danforth, thou hast nothing more To glory in upon + that dreadful day Than blood of innocent people, then thy glory Will be + turned into shame! The Lord hath said it! + </p> + <p> + ANOTHER JUDGE. I cannot give consent, while other men Who have been + banished upon pain of death Are now in their own houses here among us. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Ye that will not consent, make record of it. I thank my God that + I am not afraid To give my judgment. Wenlock Christison, You must be taken + back from hence to prison, Thence to the place of public execution, There + to be hanged till you be dead—dead,—dead. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTISON. If ye have power to take my life from me,— Which I do + question,—God hath power to raise The principle of life in other + men, And send them here among you. There shall be No peace unto the + wicked, saith my God. Listen, ye Magistrates, for the Lord hath said it! + The day ye put his servitors to death, That day the Day of your own + Visitation, The Day of Wrath shall pass above your heads, And ye shall be + accursed forevermore! + </p> + <p> + To EDITH, embracing her. + </p> + <p> + Cheer up, dear heart! they have not power to harm us. + </p> + <p> + [Exeunt CHRISTISON and EDITH guarded. The Scene closes. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h4> + SCENE II. — A street. Enter JOHN ENDICOTT and UPSALL. + </h4> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Scourged in three towns! and yet the busy people Go up and + down the streets on their affairs Of business or of pleasure, as if + nothing Had happened to disturb them or their thoughts! When bloody + tragedies like this are acted, The pulses of a nation should stand still + The town should be in mourning, and the people Speak only in low whispers + to each other. + </p> + <p> + UPSALL. I know this people; and that underneath A cold outside there burns + a secret fire That will find vent and will not be put out, Till every + remnant of these barbarous laws Shall be to ashes burned, and blown away. + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Scourged in three towns! It is incredible Such things can + be! I feel the blood within me Fast mounting in rebellion, since in vain + Have I implored compassion of my father! + </p> + <p> + UPSALL. You know your father only as a father; I know him better as a + Magistrate. He is a man both loving and severe; A tender heart; a will + inflexible. None ever loved him more than I have loved him. He is an + upright man and a just man In all things save the treatment of the + Quakers. + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Yet I have found him cruel and unjust Even as a father. He + has driven me forth Into the street; has shut his door upon me, With words + of bitterness. I am as homeless As these poor Quakers are. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + Then come with me. +You shall be welcome for your father's sake, +And the old friendship that has been between us. +He will relent erelong. A father's anger +Is like a sword without a handle, piercing +Both ways alike, and wounding him that wields it +No less than him that it is pointed at. + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE III. — The prison. Night. EDITH reading the Bible by a lamp. + </p> + <p> + EDITH. "Blessed are ye when men shall persecute you, And shall revile you, + and shall say against you All manner of evil falsely for my sake! Rejoice, + and be exceeding glad, for great Is your reward in heaven. For so the + prophets, Which were before you, have been persecuted." + </p> + <p> + Enter JOHN ENDICOTT. + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Edith! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + Who is it that speaketh? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + Saul of Tarsus: +As thou didst call me once. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH (coming forward). + Yea, I remember. +Thou art the Governor's son. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + I am ashamed +Thou shouldst remember me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + Why comest thou +Into this dark guest-chamber in the night? +What seekest thou? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + Forgiveness! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + I forgive +All who have injured me. What hast thou done? +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. I have betrayed thee, thinking that in this I did God + service. Now, in deep contrition, I come to rescue thee. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + From what? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + From prison. +EDITH. +I am safe here within these gloomy walls. +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. From scourging in the streets, and in three towns! + </p> + <p> + EDITH. Remembering who was scourged for me, I shrink not Nor shudder at + the forty stripes save one. + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Perhaps from death itself! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + I fear not death, +Knowing who died for me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT (aside). + Surely some divine +Ambassador is speaking through those lips +And looking through those eyes! I cannot answer! +</pre> + <p> + EDITH. If all these prison doors stood opened wide I would not cross the + threshold,—not one step. There are invisible bars I cannot break; + There are invisible doors that shut me in, And keep me ever steadfast to + my purpose. + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Thou hast the patience and the faith of Saints! + </p> + <p> + EDITH. Thy Priest hath been with me this day to save me, Not only from the + death that comes to all, But from the second death! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + The Pharisee! +My heart revolts against him and his creed! +Alas! the coat that was without a seam +Is rent asunder by contending sects; +Each bears away a portion of the garment, +Blindly believing that he has the whole! +</pre> + <p> + EDITH. When Death, the Healer, shall have touched our eyes With moist clay + of the grave, then shall we see The truth as we have never yet beheld it. + But he that overcometh shall not be Hurt of the second death. Has he + forgotten The many mansions in our father's house? + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. There is no pity in his iron heart! The hands that now bear + stamped upon their palms The burning sign of Heresy, hereafter Shall be + uplifted against such accusers, And then the imprinted letter and its + meaning Will not be Heresy, but Holiness! + </p> + <p> + EDITH. Remember, thou condemnest thine own father! + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. I have no father! He has cast me off. I am as homeless as + the wind that moans And wanders through the streets. Oh, come with me! Do + not delay. Thy God shall be my God, And where thou goest I will go. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + I cannot. +Yet will I not deny it, nor conceal it; +From the first moment I beheld thy face +I felt a tenderness in my soul towards thee. +My mind has since been inward to the Lord, +Waiting his word. It has not yet been spoken. +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. I cannot wait. Trust me. Oh, come with me! + </p> + <p> + EDITH. In the next room, my father, an old man, Sitteth imprisoned and + condemned to death, Willing to prove his faith by martyrdom; And thinkest + thou his daughter would do less? + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Oh, life is sweet, and death is terrible! + </p> + <p> + EDITH. I have too long walked hand in hand with death To shudder at that + pale familiar face. But leave me now. I wish to be alone. + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Not yet. Oh, let me stay. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + Urge me no more. +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Alas! good-night. I will not say good-by! + </p> + <p> + EDITH. Put this temptation underneath thy feet. To him that overcometh + shall be given The white stone with the new name written on it, That no + man knows save him that doth receive it, And I will give thee a new name, + and call thee Paul of Damascus, and not Saul of Tarsus. + </p> + <p> + [Exit ENDICOTT. EDITH sits down again to read the Bible. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap480"></a>ACT IV.</h3> + + <p> + SCENE I. — King Street, in front of the town-house. KEMPTHORN in the + pillory. MERRY and a crowd of lookers-on. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN (sings). + The world is full of care, + Much like unto a bubble; + Women and care, and care and women, + And women and care and trouble. +</pre> + <p> + Good Master Merry, may I say confound? + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Ay, that you may. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + Well, then, with your permission, +Confound the Pillory! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + That's the very thing +The joiner said who made the Shrewsbury stocks. +He said, Confound the stocks, because they put him +Into his own. He was the first man in them. +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. For swearing, was it? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + No, it was for charging; +He charged the town too much; and so the town, +To make things square, set him in his own stocks, +And fined him five pounds sterling,—just enough +To settle his own bill. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + And served him right; +But, Master Merry, is it not eight bells? +</pre> + <p> + MERRY. Not quite. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + For, do you see? I'm getting tired +Of being perched aloft here in this cro' nest +Like the first mate of a whaler, or a Middy +Mast-headed, looking out for land! Sail ho! +Here comes a heavy-laden merchant-man +With the lee clews eased off and running free +Before the wind. A solid man of Boston. +A comfortable man, with dividends, +And the first salmon, and the first green peas. +</pre> + <p> + A gentleman passes. + </p> + <p> + He does not even turn his head to look. He's gone without a word. Here + comes another, A different kind of craft on a taut bow-line,— Deacon + Giles Firmin the apothecary, A pious and a ponderous citizen, Looking as + rubicund and round and splendid As the great bottle in his own shop + window! + </p> + <p> + DEACON FIRMIN passes. + </p> + <p> + And here's my host of the Three Mariners, My creditor and trusty taverner, + My corporal in the Great Artillery! He's not a man to pass me without + speaking. + </p> + <p> + COLE looks away and passes. + </p> + <p> + Don't yaw so; keep your luff, old hypocrite! Respectable, ah yes, + respectable, You, with your seat in the new Meeting-house, Your cow-right + on the Common! But who's this? I did not know the Mary Ann was in! And yet + this is my old friend, Captain Goldsmith, As sure as I stand in the + bilboes here. Why, Ralph, my boy! + </p> + <p> + Enter RALPH GOLDSMITH. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOLDSMITH. + Why, Simon, is it you? +Set in the bilboes? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + Chock-a-block, you see, +And without chafing-gear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOLDSMITH. + And what's it for? +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Ask that starbowline with the boat-hook there, That handsome + man. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY (bowing). + For swearing. +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In this town +They put sea-captains in the stocks for swearing, +And Quakers for not swearing. So look out. +</pre> + <p> + GOLDSMITH. I pray you set him free; he meant no harm; 'T is an old habit + he picked up afloat. + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Well, as your time is out, you may come down, The law allows you + now to go at large Like Elder Oliver's horse upon the Common. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Now, hearties, bear a hand! Let go and haul. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN is set free, and comes forward, shaking GOLDSMITH'S hand. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Give me your hand, Ralph. Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an + old friend. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOLDSMITH. + God bless you, Simon! +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Now let us make a straight wake for the tavern Of the Three + Mariners, Samuel Cole commander; Where we can take our ease, and see the + shipping, And talk about old times. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOLDSMITH. + First I must pay +My duty to the Governor, and take him +His letters and despatches. Come with me. +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. I'd rather not. I saw him yesterday. + </p> + <p> + GOLDSMITH. Then wait for me at the Three Nuns and Comb. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. I thank you. That's too near to the town pump. I will go with + you to the Governor's, And wait outside there, sailing off and on; If I am + wanted, you can hoist a signal. + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Shall I go with you and point out the way? + </p> + <p> + GOLDSMITH. Oh no, I thank you. I am not a stranger Here in your crooked + little town. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + How now, sir? +Do you abuse our town? [Exit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOLDSMITH. + Oh, no offence. +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Ralph, I am under bonds for a hundred pound. + </p> + <p> + GOLDSMITH. Hard lines. What for? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + To take some Quakers back +I brought here from Barbadoes in the Swallow. +And how to do it I don't clearly see, +For one of them is banished, and another +Is sentenced to be hanged! What shall I do? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GOLDSMITH. +Just slip your hawser on some cloudy night; +Sheer off, and pay it with the topsail, Simon! + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE II. — Street in front of the prison. In the background a + gateway and several flights of steps leading up terraces to the Governor's + house. A pump on one side of the street. JOHN ENDICOTT, MERRY, UPSALL, and + others. A drum beats. + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Oh shame, shame, shame! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + Yes, it would be a shame +But for the damnable sin of Heresy! +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. A woman scourged and dragged about our streets! + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Well, Roxbury and Dorchester must take Their share of shame. She + will be whipped in each! Three towns, and Forty Stripes save one; that + makes Thirteen in each. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + And are we Jews or Christians? +See where she comes, amid a gaping crowd! +And she a child. Oh, pitiful! pitiful! +There's blood upon her clothes, her hands, her feet! +</pre> + <p> + Enter MARSHAL and a drummer. EDITH, stripped to the waist, followed by the + hangman with a scourge, and a noisy crowd. + </p> + <p> + EDITH. Here let me rest one moment. I am tired. Will some one give me + water? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + At his peril. +</pre> + <p> + UPSALL. Alas! that I should live to see this day! + </p> + <p> + A WOMAN. Did I forsake my father and my mother And come here to New + England to see this? + </p> + <p> + EDITH. I am athirst. Will no one give me water? + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT (making his way through the crowd with water). In the Lord's + name! + </p> + <p> + EDITH (drinking. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In his name I receive it! +Sweet as the water of Samaria's well +This water tastes. I thank thee. Is it thou? +I was afraid thou hadst deserted me. +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Never will I desert thee, nor deny thee. Be comforted. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY. + O Master Endicott, +Be careful what you say. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + Peace, idle babbler! +</pre> + <p> + MERRY. You'll rue these words! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + Art thou not better now? +</pre> + <p> + EDITH. They've struck me as with roses. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + Ah, these wounds! +These bloody garments! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +EDITH. + It is granted me +To seal my testimony with my blood. +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. O blood-red seal of man's vindictive wrath! O roses in the + garden of the Lord! I, of the household of Iscariot, I have betrayed in + thee my Lord and Master. + </p> + <p> + WENLOCK CHRISTISON appears above, at the window of the prison, stretching + out his hands through the bars. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTISON. Be of good courage, O my child! my child! Blessed art thou + when men shall persecute thee! Fear not their faces, saith the Lord, fear + not, For I am with thee to deliver thee. + </p> + <p> + A CITIZEN. Who is it crying from the prison yonder. + </p> + <p> + MERRY. It is old Wenlock Christison. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTISON. + Remember +Him who was scourged, and mocked, and crucified! +I see his messengers attending thee. +Be steadfast, oh, be steadfast to the end! +</pre> + <p> + EDITH (with exultation). I cannot reach thee with these arms, O father! + But closely in my soul do I embrace thee And hold thee. In thy dungeon and + thy death I will be with thee, and will comfort thee. + </p> + <p> + MARSHAL. Come, put an end to this. Let the drum beat. + </p> + <p> + The drum beats. Exeunt all but JOHN ENDICOTT, UPSALL, and MERRY. + </p> + <p> + CHRISTISON. Dear child, farewell! Never shall I behold Thy face again with + these bleared eyes of flesh; And never wast thou fairer, lovelier, dearer + Than now, when scourged and bleeding, and insulted For the truth's sake. O + pitiless, pitiless town! The wrath of God hangs over thee; and the day Is + near at hand when thou shalt be abandoned To desolation and the breeding + of nettles. The bittern and the cormorant shall lodge Upon thine upper + lintels, and their voice Sing in thy windows. Yea, thus saith the Lord! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. +Awake! awake! ye sleepers, ere too late, +And wipe these bloody statutes from your books! + [Exit. +</pre> + <p> + MERRY. Take heed; the walls have ears! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + At last, the heart +Of every honest man must speak or break! +</pre> + <p> + Enter GOVERNOR ENDICOTT with his halberdiers. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. What is this stir and tumult in the street? + </p> + <p> + MERRY. Worshipful sir, the whipping of a girl, And her old father howling + from the prison. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT (to his halberdiers). Go on. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTISON. + Antiochus! Antiochus! +O thou that slayest the Maccabees! The Lord +Shall smite thee with incurable disease, +And no man shall endure to carry thee! +</pre> + <p> + MERRY. Peace, old blasphemer! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CHRISTISON. + I both feel and see +The presence and the waft of death go forth +Against thee, and already thou dost look +Like one that's dead! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY (pointing). + And there is your own son, +Worshipful sir, abetting the sedition. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Arrest him. Do not spare him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MERRY (aside). + His own child! +There is some special providence takes care +That none shall be too happy in this world! +His own first-born. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + O Absalom, my son! +</pre> + <p> + [Exeunt; the Governor with his halberdiers ascending the steps of his + house. + </p> + <p> + SCENE III. — The Governor's private room. Papers upon the table. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT and BELLINGHAM + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. There is a ship from England has come in, Bringing despatches + and much news from home, His majesty was at the Abbey crowned; And when + the coronation was complete There passed a mighty tempest o'er the city, + Portentous with great thunderings and lightnings. + </p> + <p> + BELLINGHAM. After his father's, if I well remember, There was an + earthquake, that foreboded evil. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Ten of the Regicides have been put to death! The bodies of + Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw Have been dragged from their graves, and + publicly Hanged in their shrouds at Tyburn. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BELLINGHAM. + Horrible! +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Thus the old tyranny revives again. Its arm is long enough to + reach us here, As you will see. For, more insulting still Than flaunting + in our faces dead men's shrouds, Here is the King's Mandamus, taking from + us, From this day forth, all power to punish Quakers. + </p> + <p> + BELLINGHAM. That takes from us all power; we are but puppets, And can no + longer execute our laws. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. His Majesty begins with pleasant words, "Trusty and + well-beloved, we greet you well;" Then with a ruthless hand he strips from + me All that which makes me what I am; as if From some old general in the + field, grown gray In service, scarred with many wounds, Just at the hour + of victory, he should strip His badge of office and his well-gained + honors, And thrust him back into the ranks again. + </p> + <p> + Opens the Mandamus and hands it to BELLINGHAM; and, while he is reading, + ENDICOTT walks up and down the room. + </p> + <p> + Here, read it for yourself; you see his words Are pleasant words—considerate—not + reproachful— Nothing could be more gentle—or more royal; But + then the meaning underneath the words, Mark that. He says all people known + as Quakers Among us, now condemned to suffer death Or any corporal + punishment whatever, Who are imprisoned, or may be obnoxious To the like + condemnation, shall be sent Forthwith to England, to be dealt with there + In such wise as shall be agreeable Unto the English law and their + demerits. Is it not so? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BELLINGHAM (returning the paper). + Ay, so the paper says. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. It means we shall no longer rule the Province; It means farewell + to law and liberty, Authority, respect for Magistrates, The peace and + welfare of the Commonwealth. If all the knaves upon this continent Can + make appeal to England, and so thwart The ends of truth and justice by + delay, Our power is gone forever. We are nothing But ciphers, valueless + save when we follow Some unit; and our unit is the King! 'T is he that + gives us value. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BELLINGHAM. + I confess +Such seems to be the meaning of this paper, +But being the King's Mandamus, signed and sealed, +We must obey, or we are in rebellion. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. +I tell you, Richard Bellingham,—I tell you, +That this is the beginning of a struggle +Of which no mortal can foresee the end. +I shall not live to fight the battle for you, +I am a man disgraced in every way; +This order takes from me my self-respect +And the respect of others. 'T is my doom, +Yes, my death-warrant, but must be obeyed! +Take it, and see that it is executed +So far as this, that all be set at large; +But see that none of them be sent to England +To bear false witness, and to spread reports +That might be prejudicial to ourselves. + [Exit BELLINGHAM. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There's a dull pain keeps knocking at my heart, +Dolefully saying, "Set thy house in order, +For thou shalt surely die, and shalt not live! +For me the shadow on the dial-plate +Goeth not back, but on into the dark! + [Exit. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE IV. — The street. A crowd, reading a placard on the door of + the Meeting-house. NICHOLAS UPSALL among them. Enter John Norton. + </p> + <p> + NORTON. What is this gathering here? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + One William Brand, +An old man like ourselves, and weak in body, +Has been so cruelly tortured in his prison, +The people are excited, and they threaten +To tear the prison down. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NORTON. + What has been done? +</pre> + <p> + UPSALL. He has been put in irons, with his neck And heels tied close + together, and so left From five in the morning until nine at night. + </p> + <p> + NORTON. What more was done? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + He has been kept five days +In prison without food, and cruelly beaten, +So that his limbs were cold, his senses stopped. +</pre> + <p> + NORTON. What more? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + And is this not enough? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NORTON. + Now hear me. +This William Brand of yours has tried to beat +Our Gospel Ordinances black and blue; +And, if he has been beaten in like manner, +It is but justice, and I will appear +In his behalf that did so. I suppose +That he refused to work. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + He was too weak. +How could an old man work, when he was starving? +</pre> + <p> + NORTON. And what is this placard? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + The Magistrates, +To appease the people and prevent a tumult, +Have put up these placards throughout the town, +Declaring that the jailer shall be dealt with +Impartially and sternly by the Court. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NORTON (tearing down the placard). +Down with this weak and cowardly concession, +This flag of truce with Satan and with Sin! +I fling it in his face! I trample it +Under my feet! It is his cunning craft, +The masterpiece of his diplomacy, +To cry and plead for boundless toleration. +But toleration is the first-born child +Of all abominations and deceits. +There is no room in Christ's triumphant army +For tolerationists. And if an Angel +Preach any other gospel unto you +Than that ye have received, God's malediction +Descend upon him! Let him be accursed! + [Exit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. +Now, go thy ways, John Norton, go thy ways, +Thou Orthodox Evangelist, as men call thee! +But even now there cometh out of England, +Like an o'ertaking and accusing conscience, +An outraged man, to call thee to account +For the unrighteous murder of his son! + [Exit. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE V. — The Wilderness. Enter EDITH. + </p> + <p> + EDITH. How beautiful are these autumnal woods! The wilderness doth blossom + like the rose, And change into a garden of the Lord! How silent + everywhere! Alone and lost Here in the forest, there comes over me An + inward awfulness. I recall the words Of the Apostle Paul: "In journeyings + often, Often in perils in the wilderness, In weariness, in painfulness, in + watchings, In hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness;" And I forget my + weariness and pain, My watchings, and my hunger and my thirst. The Lord + hath said that He will seek his flock In cloudy and dark days, and they + shall dwell Securely in the wilderness, and sleep Safe in the woods! + Whichever way I turn, I come back with my face towards the town. Dimly I + see it, and the sea beyond it. O cruel town! I know what waits me there, + And yet I must go back; for ever louder I hear the inward calling of the + Spirit, And must obey the voice. O woods that wear Your golden crown of + martyrdom, blood-stained, From you I learn a lesson of submission, And am + obedient even unto death, If God so wills it. [Exit. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT (within). + Edith! Edith! Edith! +</pre> + <p> + He enters. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It is in vain! I call, she answers not; +I follow, but I find no trace of her! +Blood! blood! The leaves above me and around me +Are red with blood! The pathways of the forest, +The clouds that canopy the setting sun +And even the little river in the meadows +Are stained with it! Where'er I look, I see it! +Away, thou horrible vision! Leave me! leave me! +Alas! you winding stream, that gropes its way +Through mist and shadow, doubling on itself, +At length will find, by the unerring law +Of nature, what it seeks. O soul of man, +Groping through mist and shadow, and recoiling +Back on thyself, are, too, thy devious ways +Subject to law? and when thou seemest to wander +The farthest from thy goal, art thou still drawing +Nearer and nearer to it, till at length +Thou findest, like the river, what thou seekest? + [Exit. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap481"></a>ACT V.</h3> + + <p> + SCENE I. — Daybreak. Street in front of UPSALL's house. A light in + the window. Enter JOHN ENDICOTT. + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. O silent, sombre, and deserted streets, To me ye 're + peopled with a sad procession, And echo only to the voice of sorrow! O + houses full of peacefulness and sleep, Far better were it to awake no more + Than wake to look upon such scenes again! There is a light in Master + Upsall's window. The good man is already risen, for sleep Deserts the + couches of the old. + </p> + <p> + Knocks at UPSALL's door. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL (at the window). + Who's there? +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Am I so changed you do not know my voice? + </p> + <p> + UPSALL. I know you. Have you heard what things have happened? + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. I have heard nothing. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + Stay; I will come down. +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. I am afraid some dreadful news awaits me! I do not dare to + ask, yet am impatient To know the worst. Oh, I am very weary With waiting + and with watching and pursuing! + </p> + <p> + Enter UPSALL. + </p> + <p> + UPSALL. Thank God, you have come back! I've much to tell you. Where have + you been? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + You know that I was seized, +Fined, and released again. You know that Edith, +After her scourging in three towns, was banished +Into the wilderness, into the land +That is not sown; and there I followed her, +But found her not. Where is she? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +UPSALL. + She is here. +</pre> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Oh, do not speak that word, for it means death! + </p> + <p> + UPSALL. No, it means life. She sleeps in yonder chamber. Listen to me. + When news of Leddra's death Reached England, Edward Burroughs, having + boldly Got access to the presence of the King, Told him there was a vein + of innocent blood Opened in his dominions here, which threatened To + overrun them all. The King replied. "But I will stop that vein!" and he + forthwith Sent his Mandamus to our Magistrates, That they proceed no + further in this business. So all are pardoned, and all set at large. + </p> + <p> + JOHN ENDICOTT. Thank God! This is a victory for truth! Our thoughts are + free. They cannot be shut up In prison wall, nor put to death on + scaffolds! + </p> + <p> + UPSALL. Come in; the morning air blows sharp and cold Through the damp + streets. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JOHN ENDICOTT. + It is the dawn of day +That chases the old darkness from our sky, +And tills the land with liberty and light. + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE II. — The parlor of the Three Mariners. Enter KEMPTHORN. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. A dull life this,—a dull life anyway! Ready for sea; the + cargo all aboard, Cleared for Barbadoes, and a fair wind blowing From + nor'-nor'-west; and I, an idle lubber, Laid neck and heels by that + confounded bond! I said to Ralph, says I, "What's to be done?" Says he: + "Just slip your hawser in the night; Sheer off, and pay it with the + topsail, Simon." But that won't do; because, you see, the owners Somehow + or other are mixed up with it. Here are King Charles's Twelve Good Rules, + that Cole Thinks as important as the Rule of Three. + </p> + <p> + Reads. + </p> + <p> + "Make no comparisons; make no long meals." Those are good rules and golden + for a landlord To hang in his best parlor, framed and glazed! "Maintain no + ill opinions; urge no healths." I drink to the King's, whatever he may say + And, as to ill opinions, that depends. Now of Ralph Goldsmith I've a good + opinion, And of the bilboes I've an ill opinion; And both of these + opinions I'll maintain As long as there's a shot left in the locker. + </p> + <p> + Enter EDWARD BUTTER, with an ear-trumpet. + </p> + <p> + BUTTER. Good morning, Captain Kempthorn. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + Sir, to you. +You've the advantage of me. I don't know you. +What may I call your name? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BUTTER. + That's not your name? +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Yes, that's my name. What's yours? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BUTTER. + My name is Butter. +I am the treasurer of the Commonwealth. +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Will you be seated? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BUTTER. + What say? Who's conceited? +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. + </p> + <p> + Will you sit down? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BUTTER. + Oh, thank you. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + Spread yourself +Upon this chair, sweet Butter. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BUTTER (sitting down). + A fine morning. +</pre> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Nothing's the matter with it that I know of. I have seen + better, and I have seen worse. The wind's nor'west. That's fair for them + that sail. + </p> + <p> + BUTTER. You need not speak so loud; I understand you. You sail to-day. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + No, I don't sail to-day. +So, be it fair or foul, it matters not. +Say, will you smoke? There's choice tobacco here. +</pre> + <p> + BUTTER. No, thank you. It's against the law to smoke. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Then, will you drink? There's good ale at this inn. + </p> + <p> + BUTTER. No, thank you. It's against the law to drink. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Well, almost everything's against the law In this good town. + Give a wide berth to one thing, You're sure to fetch up soon on something + else. + </p> + <p> + BUTTER. And so you sail to-day for dear Old England. I am not one of those + who think a sup Of this New England air is better worth Than a whole + draught of our Old England's ale. + </p> + <p> + KEMPTHORN. Nor I. Give me the ale and keep the air. But, as I said, I do + not sail to-day. + </p> + <p> + BUTTER. Ah yes; you sail today. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + I'm under bonds +To take some Quakers back to the Barbadoes; +And one of them is banished, and another +Is sentenced to be hanged. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BUTTER. + No, all are pardoned, +All are set free by order of the Court; +But some of them would fain return to England. +You must not take them. Upon that condition +Your bond is cancelled. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + Ah, the wind has shifted! +I pray you, do you speak officially? +</pre> + <p> + BUTTER. I always speak officially. To prove it, Here is the bond. + </p> + <p> + Rising and giving a paper. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + And here's my hand upon it, +And look you, when I say I'll do a thing +The thing is done. Am I now free to go? +</pre> + <p> + BUTTER. What say? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + I say, confound the tedious man +With his strange speaking-trumpet! Can I go? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BUTTER. +You're free to go, by order of the Court. +Your servant, sir. + [Exit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN (shouting from the window). + Swallow, ahoy! Hallo! +If ever a man was happy to leave Boston, +That man is Simon Kempthorn of the Swallow! +</pre> + <p> + Re-enter BUTTER. + </p> + <p> + BUTTER. Pray, did you call? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + Call! Yes, I hailed the Swallow. +</pre> + <p> + BUTTER. That's not my name. My name is Edward Butter. You need not speak + so loud. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN (shaking hands). + Good-by! Good-by! +</pre> + <p> + BUTTER. Your servant, sir. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KEMPTHORN. + And yours a thousand times! + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE III. — GOVERNOR ENDICOTT'S private room. An open window. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT seated in an arm-chair. BELLINGHAM standing near. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. O lost, O loved! wilt thou return no more? O loved and lost, and + loved the more when lost! How many men are dragged into their graves By + their rebellious children! I now feel The agony of a father's breaking + heart In David's cry, "O Absalom, my son!" + </p> + <p> + BELLINGHAM. Can you not turn your thoughts a little while To public + matters? There are papers here That need attention. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Trouble me no more! +My business now is with another world, +Ah, Richard Bellingham! I greatly fear +That in my righteous zeal I have been led +To doing many things which, left undone, +My mind would now be easier. Did I dream it, +Or has some person told me, that John Norton +Is dead? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BELLINGHAM. + You have not dreamed it. He is dead, +And gone to his reward. It was no dream. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. Then it was very sudden; for I saw him Standing where you now + stand, not long ago. + </p> + <p> + BELLINGHAM. By his own fireside, in the afternoon, A faintness and a + giddiness came o'er him; And, leaning on the chimney-piece, he cried, "The + hand of God is on me!" and fell dead. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. And did not some one say, or have I dreamed it, That Humphrey + Atherton is dead? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BELLINGHAM. + Alas! +He too is gone, and by a death as sudden. +Returning home one evening, at the place +Where usually the Quakers have been scourged, +His horse took fright, and threw him to the ground, +So that his brains were dashed about the street. +</pre> + <p> + ENDICOTT. I am not superstitions, Bellingham, And yet I tremble lest it + may have been A judgment on him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BELLINGHAM. + So the people think. +They say his horse saw standing in the way +The ghost of William Leddra, and was frightened. +And furthermore, brave Richard Davenport, +The captain of the Castle, in the storm +Has been struck dead by lightning. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Speak no more. +For as I listen to your voice it seems +As if the Seven Thunders uttered their voices, +And the dead bodies lay about the streets +Of the disconsolate city! Bellingham, +I did not put those wretched men to death. +I did but guard the passage with the sword +Pointed towards them, and they rushed upon it! +Yet now I would that I had taken no part +In all that bloody work. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BELLINGHAM. + The guilt of it +Be on their heads, not ours. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + Are all set free? +</pre> + <p> + BELLINGHAM. All are at large. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + And none have been sent back +To England to malign us with the King? +</pre> + <p> + BELLINGHAM. The ship that brought them sails this very hour, But carries + no one back. + </p> + <p> + A distant cannon. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ENDICOTT. + What is that gun? +</pre> + <p> + BELLINGHAM. Her parting signal. Through the window there, Look, you can + see her sails, above the roofs, Dropping below the Castle, outward bound. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. O white, white, white! Would that my soul had wings As spotless + as those shining sails to fly with! Now lay this cushion straight. I thank + you. Hark! I thought I heard the hall door open and shut! I thought I + beard the footsteps of my boy! + </p> + <p> + BELLINGHAM. It was the wind. There's no one in the passage. + </p> + <p> + ENDICOTT. O Absalom, my son! I feel the world Sinking beneath me, sinking, + sinking, sinking! Death knocks! I go to meet him! Welcome, Death! + </p> + <p> + Rises, and sinks back dead; his head failing aside upon his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + BELLINGHAM. O ghastly sight! Like one who has been hanged! Endicott! + Endicott! He makes no answer! + </p> + <p> + Raises Endicott's head. + </p> + <p> + He breathes no more! How bright this signet-ring Glitters upon his hand, + where he has worn it Through such long years of trouble, as if Death Had + given him this memento of affection, And whispered in his ear, "Remember + me!" How placid and how quiet is his face, Now that the struggle and the + strife are ended Only the acrid spirit of the times Corroded this true + steel. Oh, rest in peace, Courageous heart! Forever rest in peace! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap482"></a>GILES COREY OF THE SALEM FARMS</h3> + +<p class="center"> +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. +</p> + + <p> + GILES COREY Farmer. JOHN HATHORNE Magistrate. COTTON MATHER Minister of + the Gospel. JONATHAN WALCOT A youth. RICHARD GARDNER Sea-Captain. JOHN + GLOYD Corey's hired man. MARTHA Wife of Giles Corey. TITUBA An Indian + woman. MARY WALCOT One of the Afflicted. + </p> + <p> + The Scene is in Salem in the year 1692. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap483"></a>PROLOGUE.</h3> + + <p> + Delusions of the days that once have been, Witchcraft and wonders of the + world unseen, Phantoms of air, and necromantic arts That crushed the weak + and awed the stoutest hearts,— These are our theme to-night; and + vaguely here, Through the dim mists that crowd the atmosphere, We draw the + outlines of weird figures cast In shadow on the background of the Past, + </p> + <p> + Who would believe that in the quiet town Of Salem, and, amid the woods + that crown The neighboring hillsides, and the sunny farms That fold it + safe in their paternal arms,— Who would believe that in those + peaceful streets, Where the great elms shut out the summer heats, Where + quiet reigns, and breathes through brain and breast The benediction of + unbroken rest,— Who would believe such deeds could find a place As + these whose tragic history we retrace? + </p> + <p> + 'T was but a village then; the goodman ploughed His ample acres under sun + or cloud; The goodwife at her doorstep sat and spun, And gossiped with her + neighbors in the sun; The only men of dignity and state Were then the + Minister and the Magistrate, Who ruled their little realm with iron rod, + Less in the love than in the fear of God; And who believed devoutly in the + Powers Of Darkness, working in this world of ours, In spells of + Witchcraft, incantations dread, And shrouded apparitions of the dead. + </p> + <p> + Upon this simple folk "with fire and flame," Saith the old chronicle, "the + Devil came; Scattering his firebrands and his poisonous darts, To set on + fire of Hell all tongues and hearts! And 't is no wonder; for, with all + his host, There most he rages where he hateth most, And is most hated; so + on us he brings All these stupendous and portentous things!" + </p> + <p> + Something of this our scene to-night will show; And ye who listen to the + Tale of Woe, Be not too swift in casting the first stone, Nor think New + England bears the guilt alone, This sudden burst of wickedness and crime + Was but the common madness of the time, When in all lands, that lie within + the sound Of Sabbath bells, a Witch was burned or drowned. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap484"></a>ACT I.</h3> + + <p> + SCENE I. — The woods near Salem Village. Enter TITUBA, with a basket + of herbs. + </p> + <p> + TITUBA. Here's monk's-hood, that breeds fever in the blood; And deadly + nightshade, that makes men see ghosts; And henbane, that will shake them + with convulsions; And meadow-saffron and black hellebore, That rack the + nerves, and puff the skin with dropsy; And bitter-sweet, and briony, and + eye-bright, That cause eruptions, nosebleed, rheumatisms; I know them, and + the places where they hide In field and meadow; and I know their secrets, + And gather them because they give me power Over all men and women. Armed + with these, I, Tituba, an Indian and a slave, Am stronger than the captain + with his sword, Am richer than the merchant with his money, Am wiser than + the scholar with his books, Mightier than Ministers and Magistrates, With + all the fear and reverence that attend them! For I can fill their bones + with aches and pains, Can make them cough with asthma, shake with palsy, + Can make their daughters see and talk with ghosts, Or fall into delirium + and convulsions; I have the Evil Eye, the Evil Hand; A touch from me and + they are weak with pain, A look from me, and they consume and die. The + death of cattle and the blight of corn, The shipwreck, the tornado, and + the fire,— These are my doings, and they know it not. Thus I work + vengeance on mine enemies Who, while they call me slave, are slaves to me! + </p> + <p> + Exit TITUBA. Enter MATHER, booted and spurred, with a riding-whip in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. Methinks that I have come by paths unknown Into the land and + atmosphere of Witches; For, meditating as I journeyed on, Lo! I have lost + my way! If I remember Rightly, it is Scribonius the learned That tells the + story of a man who, praying For one that was possessed by Evil Spirits, + Was struck by Evil Spirits in the face; I, journeying to circumvent the + Witches, Surely by Witches have been led astray. I am persuaded there are + few affairs In which the Devil doth not interfere. We cannot undertake a + journey even, But Satan will be there to meddle with it By hindering or by + furthering. He hath led me Into this thicket, struck me in the face With + branches of the trees, and so entangled The fetlocks of my horse with + vines and brambles, That I must needs dismount, and search on foot For the + lost pathway leading to the village. + </p> + <p> + Re-enter TITUBA. + </p> + <p> + What shape is this? What monstrous apparition, Exceeding fierce, that none + may pass that way? Tell me, good woman, if you are a woman— + </p> + <p> + TITUBA. I am a woman, but I am not good, I am a Witch! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + Then tell me, Witch and woman, +For you must know the pathways through this wood, +Where lieth Salem Village? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + Reverend sir, +The village is near by. I'm going there +With these few herbs. I'll lead you. Follow me. +</pre> + <p> + MATHER. First say, who are you? I am loath to follow A stranger in this + wilderness, for fear Of being misled, and left in some morass. Who are + you? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + I am Tituba the Witch, +Wife of John Indian. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + You are Tituba? +I know you then. You have renounced the Devil, +And have become a penitent confessor, +The Lord be praised! Go on, I'll follow you. +Wait only till I fetch my horse, that stands +Tethered among the trees, not far from here. +</pre> + <p> + TITUBA. Let me get up behind you, reverend sir. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. The Lord forbid! What would the people think, If they should see + the Reverend Cotton Mather Ride into Salem with a Witch behind him? The + Lord forbid! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + I do not need a horse! +I can ride through the air upon a stick, +Above the tree-tops and above the houses, +And no one see me, no one overtake me. + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE II. — A room at JUSTICE HATHORNE'S. A clock in the corner. + Enter HATHORNE and MATHER. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. You are welcome, reverend sir, thrice welcome here Beneath my + humble roof. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + I thank your Worship. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Pray you be seated. You must be fatigued With your long ride + through unfrequented woods. + </p> + <p> + They sit down. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. You know the purport of my visit here,— To be advised by + you, and counsel with you, And with the Reverend Clergy of the village, + Touching these witchcrafts that so much afflict you; And see with mine own + eyes the wonders told Of spectres and the shadows of the dead, That come + back from their graves to speak with men. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Some men there are, I have known such, who think That the two + worlds—the seen and the unseen, The world of matter and the world of + spirit— Are like the hemispheres upon our maps, And touch each other + only at a point. But these two worlds are not divided thus, Save for the + purposes of common speech, They form one globe, in which the parted seas + All flow together and are intermingled, While the great continents remain + distinct. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. I doubt it not. The spiritual world Lies all about us, and its + avenues Are open to the unseen feet of phantoms That come and go, and we + perceive them not, Save by their influence, or when at times A most + mysterious Providence permits them To manifest themselves to mortal eyes. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. You, who are always welcome here among us, Are doubly welcome + now. We need your wisdom, Your learning in these things to be our guide. + The Devil hath come down in wrath upon us, And ravages the land with all + his hosts. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. The Unclean Spirit said, "My name is Legion!" Multitudes in the + Valley of Destruction! But when our fervent, well-directed prayers, Which + are the great artillery of Heaven, Are brought into the field, I see them + scattered And driven like autumn leaves before the wind. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. You as a Minister of God, can meet them With spiritual weapons: + but, alas! I, as a Magistrate, must combat them With weapons from the + armory of the flesh. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. These wonders of the world invisible,— These spectral shapes + that haunt our habitations,— The multiplied and manifold afflictions + With which the aged and the dying saints Have their death prefaced and + their age imbittered,— Are but prophetic trumpets that proclaim The + Second Coming of our Lord on earth. The evening wolves will be much more + abroad, When we are near the evening of the world. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. When you shall see, as I have hourly seen, The sorceries and the + witchcrafts that torment us, See children tortured by invisible spirits, + And wasted and consumed by powers unseen, You will confess the half has + not been told you. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. It must be so. The death-pangs of the Devil Will make him more a + Devil than before; And Nebuchadnezzar's furnace will be heated Seven times + more hot before its putting out. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Advise me, reverend sir. I look to you For counsel and for + guidance in this matter. What further shall we do? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + Remember this, +That as a sparrow falls not to the ground +Without the will of God, so not a Devil +Can come down from the air without his leave. +We must inquire. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Dear sir, we have inquired; +Sifted the matter thoroughly through and through, +And then resifted it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + If God permits +These Evil Spirits from the unseen regions +To visit us with surprising informations, +We must inquire what cause there is for this, +But not receive the testimony borne +By spectres as conclusive proof of guilt +In the accused. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Upon such evidence +We do not rest our case. The ways are many +In which the guilty do betray themselves. +</pre> + <p> + MATHER. Be careful. Carry the knife with such exactness, That on one side + no innocent blood be shed By too excessive zeal, and on the other No + shelter given to any work of darkness. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. For one, I do not fear excess of zeal. What do we gain by + parleying with the Devil? You reason, but you hesitate to act! Ah, + reverend sir! believe me, in such cases The only safety is in acting + promptly. 'T is not the part of wisdom to delay In things where not to do + is still to do A deed more fatal than the deed we shrink from. You are a + man of books and meditation, But I am one who acts. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + God give us wisdom +In the directing of this thorny business, +And guide us, lest New England should become +Of an unsavory and sulphurous odor +In the opinion of the world abroad! +</pre> + <p> + The clock strikes. + </p> + <p> + I never hear the striking of a clock Without a warning and an admonition + That time is on the wing, and we must quicken Our tardy pace in journeying + Heavenward, As Israel did in journeying Canaan-ward! + </p> + <p> + They rise. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Then let us make all haste; and I will show you In what + disguises and what fearful shapes The Unclean Spirits haunt this + neighborhood, And you will pardon my excess of zeal. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. +Ah, poor New England! He who hurricanoed +The house of Job is making now on thee +One last assault, more deadly and more snarled +With unintelligible circumstances +Than any thou hast hitherto encountered! + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE III. — A room in WALCOT'S House. MARY WALCOT seated in an + arm-chair. TITUBA with a mirror. + </p> + <p> + MARY. Tell me another story, Tituba. A drowsiness is stealing over me + Which is not sleep; for, though I close mine eyes, I am awake, and in + another world. Dim faces of the dead and of the absent Come floating up + before me,—floating, fading, And disappearing. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + Look into this glass. +What see you? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. + Nothing but a golden vapor. +Yes, something more. An island, with the sea +Breaking all round it, like a blooming hedge. +What land is this? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + It is San Salvador, +Where Tituba was born. What see you now? +</pre> + <p> + MARY. A man all black and fierce. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + That is my father. +He was an Obi man, and taught me magic,— +Taught me the use of herbs and images. +What is he doing? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. + Holding in his hand +A waxen figure. He is melting it +Slowly before a fire. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + And now what see you? +</pre> + <p> + MARY. A woman lying on a bed of leaves, Wasted and worn away. Ah, she is + dying! + </p> + <p> + TITUBA. That is the way the Obi men destroy The people they dislike! That + is the way Some one is wasting and consuming you. + </p> + <p> + MARY. You terrify me, Tituba! Oh, save me From those who make me pine and + waste away! Who are they? Tell me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + That I do not know, +But you will see them. They will come to you. +</pre> + <p> + MARY. No, do not let them come! I cannot bear it! I am too weak to bear + it! I am dying. + </p> + <p> + Fails into a trance. + </p> + <p> + TITUBA. Hark! there is some one coming! + </p> + <p> + Enter HATHORNE, MATHER, and WALCOT. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +WALCOT. + There she lies, +Wasted and worn by devilish incantations! +O my poor sister! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + Is she always thus? +</pre> + <p> + WALCOT. Nay, she is sometimes tortured by convulsions. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. Poor child! How thin she is! How wan and wasted! + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Observe her. She is troubled in her sleep. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. Some fearful vision haunts her. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + You now see +With your own eyes, and touch with your own hands, +The mysteries of this Witchcraft. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + One would need +The hands of Briareus and the eyes of Argus +To see and touch them all. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + You now have entered +The realm of ghosts and phantoms,—the vast realm +Of the unknown and the invisible, +Through whose wide-open gates there blows a wind +From the dark valley of the shadow of Death, +That freezes us with horror. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY (starting). + Take her hence! +Take her away from me. I see her there! +She's coming to torment me! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +WALCOT (taking her hand. + O my sister! +What frightens you? She neither hears nor sees me. +She's in a trance. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. + Do you not see her there? +</pre> + <p> + TITUBA. My child, who is it? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. + Ah, I do not know, +I cannot see her face. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + How is she clad? +</pre> + <p> + MARY. She wears a crimson bodice. In her hand She holds an image, and is + pinching it Between her fingers. Ah, she tortures me! I see her face now. + It is Goodwife Bishop! Why does she torture me? I never harmed her! And + now she strikes me with an iron rod! Oh, I am beaten! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + This is wonderful!. +I can see nothing! Is this apparition +Visibly there, and yet we cannot see it? +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. It is. The spectre is invisible Unto our grosser senses, but she + sees it. + </p> + <p> + MARY. Look! look! there is another clad in gray! She holds a spindle in + her hand, and threatens To stab me with it! It is Goodwife Corey! Keep her + away! Now she is coming at me! Oh, mercy! mercy! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +WALCOT (thrusting with his sword. + There is nothing there! +</pre> + <p> + MATHER to HATHORNE. Do you see anything? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + The laws that govern +The spiritual world prevent our seeing +Things palpable and visible to her. +These spectres are to us as if they were not. +Mark her; she wakes. +</pre> + <p> + TITUBA touches her, and she awakes. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. + Who are these gentlemen? +</pre> + <p> + WALCOT. They are our friends. Dear Mary, are you better? + </p> + <p> + MARY. Weak, very weak. + </p> + <p> + Taking a spindle from her lap, and holding it up. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How came this spindle here? +</pre> + <p> + TITUBA. You wrenched it from the hand of Goodwife Corey When she rushed at + you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Mark that, reverend sir! +</pre> + <p> + MATHER. It is most marvellous, most inexplicable! + </p> + <p> + TITUBA. (picking up a bit of gray cloth from the floor). And here, too, is + a bit of her gray dress, That the sword cut away. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + Beholding this, +It were indeed by far more credulous +To be incredulous than to believe. +None but a Sadducee, who doubts of all +Pertaining to the spiritual world, +Could doubt such manifest and damning proofs! +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Are you convinced? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER to MARY. + Dear child, be comforted! +Only by prayer and fasting can you drive +These Unclean Spirits from you. An old man +Gives you his blessing. God be with you, Mary! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap485"></a>ACT II</h3> + + <p> + SCENE I. — GILES COREY's farm. Morning. Enter COREY, with a + horseshoe and a hammer. + </p> + <p> + COREY. The Lord hath prospered me. The rising sun Shines on my Hundred + Acres and my woods As if he loved them. On a morn like this I can forgive + mine enemies, and thank God For all his goodness unto me and mine. My + orchard groans with russets and pearmains; My ripening corn shines golden + in the sun; My barns are crammed with hay, my cattle thrive The birds sing + blithely on the trees around me! And blither than the birds my heart + within me. But Satan still goes up and down the earth; And to protect this + house from his assaults, And keep the powers of darkness from my door, + This horseshoe will I nail upon the threshold. + </p> + <p> + Nails down the horseshoe. + </p> + <p> + There, ye night-hags and witches that torment The neighborhood, ye shall + not enter here!— What is the matter in the field?—John Gloyd! + The cattle are all running to the woods!— John Gloyd! Where is the + man? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Enter JOHN GLOYD. + Look there! +What ails the cattle? Are they all bewitched? +They run like mad. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + They have been overlooked. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. The Evil Eye is on them sure enough. Call all the men. Be quick. Go + after them! + </p> + <p> + Exit GLOYD and enter MARTHA. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. What is amiss? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + The cattle are bewitched. +They are broken loose and making for the woods. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. Why will you harbor such delusions, Giles? Bewitched? Well, then + it was John Gloyd bewitched them; I saw him even now take down the bars + And turn them loose! They're only frolicsome. + </p> + <p> + COREY. The rascal! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I was standing in the road, +Talking with Goodwife Proctor, and I saw him. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. With Proctor's wife? And what says Goodwife Proctor? + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Sad things indeed; the saddest you can hear Of Bridget Bishop. + She's cried out upon! + </p> + <p> + COREY. Poor soul! I've known her forty year or more. She was the widow + Wasselby, and then She married Oliver, and Bishop next. She's had three + husbands. I remember well My games of shovel-board at Bishop's tavern In + the old merry days, and she so gay With her red paragon bodice and her + ribbons! Ah, Bridget Bishop always was a Witch! + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. They'll little help her now,—her caps and ribbons, And her + red paragon bodice and her plumes, With which she flaunted in the + Meeting-house! When next she goes there, it will be for trial. + </p> + <p> + COREY. When will that be? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + This very day at ten. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. Then get you ready. We'll go and see it. Come; you shall ride + behind me on the pillion. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Not I. You know I do not like such things. I wonder you should. I + do not believe In Witches nor in Witchcraft. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Well, I do. +There's a strange fascination in it all. +That draws me on and on. I know not why. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. What do we know of spirits good or ill, Or of their power to help + us or to harm us? + </p> + <p> + COREY. Surely what's in the Bible must be true. Did not an Evil Spirit + come on Saul? Did not the Witch of Endor bring the ghost Of Samuel from + his grave? The Bible says so. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. That happened very long ago. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + With God +There is no long ago. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + There is with us. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. And Mary Magdalene had seven devils, And he who dwelt among the + tombs a legion! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. +God's power is infinite. I do not doubt it. +If in His providence He once permitted +Such things to be among the Israelites, +It does not follow He permits them now, +And among us who are not Israelites. +But we will not dispute about it, Giles. +Go to the village if you think it best, +And leave me here; I'll go about my work. + [Exit into the house. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. And I will go and saddle the gray mare. The last word always. That + is woman's nature. If an old man will marry a young wife, He must make up + his mind to many things. It's putting new cloth into an old garment, When + the strain comes, it is the old gives way. + </p> + <p> + Goes to the door. + </p> + <p> + Oh, Martha! I forgot to tell you something. I've had a letter from a + friend of mine, A certain Richard Gardner of Nantucket, Master and owner + of a whaling-vessel; He writes that he is coming down to see us. I hope + you'll like him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I will do my best. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. +That's a good woman. Now I will be gone. +I've not seen Gardner for this twenty year; +But there is something of the sea about him,— +Something so open, generous, large; and strong, +It makes me love him better than a brother. + [Exit. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA comes to the door. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Oh these old friends and cronies of my husband, These captains + from Nantucket and the Cape, That come and turn my house into a tavern + With their carousing! Still, there's something frank In these seafaring + men that makes me like them. Why, here's a horseshoe nailed upon the + doorstep! Giles has done this to keep away the Witches. I hope this + Richard Gardner will bring him A gale of good sound common-sense to blow + The fog of these delusions from his brain! + </p> + <p> + COREY (within). Ho! Martha! Martha! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Enter COREY. + Have you seen my saddle? +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. I saw it yesterday. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Where did you see it? +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. On a gray mare, that somebody was riding Along the village road. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Who was it? Tell me. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. Some one who should have stayed at home. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY (restraining himself). + I see! +Don't vex me, Martha. Tell me where it is. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. I've hidden it away. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Go fetch it me. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. Go find it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + No. I'll ride down to the village +Bareback; and when the people stare and say, +"Giles Corey, where's your saddle?" I will answer, +"A Witch has stolen it." How shall you like that! +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. I shall not like it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Then go fetch the saddle. + [Exit MARTHA. +</pre> + <p> + If an old man will marry a young wife, Why then—why then—why + then—he must spell Baker! + </p> + <p> + Enter MARTHA with the saddle, which she throws down. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. There! There's the saddle. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Take it up. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. I won't! + </p> + <p> + COREY. Then let it lie there. I'll ride to the village, And say you are a + Witch. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + No, not that, Giles. +</pre> + <p> + She takes up the saddle. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. +Now come with me, and saddle the gray mare +With your own hands; and you shall see me ride +Along the village road as is becoming +Giles Corey of the Salem Farms, your husband! + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE II. — The Green in front of the Meeting-house in Salem + village. People coming and going. Enter GILES COREY. + </p> + <p> + COREY. A melancholy end! Who would have thought That Bridget Bishop e'er + would come to this? Accused, convicted, and condemned to death For + Witchcraft! And so good a woman too! + </p> + <p> + A FARMER. Good morrow, neighbor Corey. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY (not hearing him). + Who is safe? +How do I know but under my own roof +I too may harbor Witches, and some Devil +Be plotting and contriving against me? +</pre> + <p> + FARMER. He does not hear. Good morrow, neighbor Corey! + </p> + <p> + COREY Good morrow. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FARMER. + Have you seen John Proctor lately? +</pre> + <p> + COREY. No, I have not. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FARMER. + Then do not see him, Corey. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. Why should I not? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FARMER. + Because he's angry with you. +So keep out of his way. Avoid a quarrel. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. Why does he seek to fix a quarrel on me? + </p> + <p> + FARMER. He says you burned his house. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + I burn his house? +If he says that, John Proctor is a liar! +The night his house was burned I was in bed, +And I can prove it! Why, we are old friends! +He could not say that of me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FARMER. + He did say it. +I heard him say it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Then he shall unsay it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FARMER. +He said you did it out of spite to him +For taking part against you in the quarrel +You had with your John Gloyd about his wages. +He says you murdered Goodell; that you trampled +Upon his body till he breathed no more. +And so beware of him; that's my advice! + [Exit. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. By heaven! this is too much! I'll seek him out, And make him eat + his words, or strangle him. I'll not be slandered at a time like this, + When every word is made an accusation, When every whisper kills, and every + man Walks with a halter round his neck! + </p> + <p> + Enter GLOYD in haste. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What now? +GLOYD. +I came to look for you. The cattle— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Well, +What of them? Have you found them? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + They are dead. +I followed them through the woods, across the meadows; +Then they all leaped into the Ipswich River, +And swam across, but could not climb the bank, +And so were drowned. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + You are to blame for this; +For you took down the bars, and let them loose. +</pre> + <p> + GLOYD. That I deny. They broke the fences down. You know they were + bewitched. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Ah, my poor cattle! +The Evil Eye was on them; that is true. +Day of disaster! Most unlucky day! +Why did I leave my ploughing and my reaping +To plough and reap this Sodom and Gomorrah? +Oh, I could drown myself for sheer vexation! + [Exit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. +He's going for his cattle. He won't find them. +By this time they have drifted out to sea. +They will not break his fences any more, +Though they may break his heart. And what care I? + [Exit. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE III. — COREY's kitchen. A table with supper. MARTHA knitting. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. + </p> + <p> + He's come at last. I hear him in the passage. Something has gone amiss + with him today; I know it by his step, and by the sound The door made as + he shut it. He is angry. + </p> + <p> + Enter COREY with his riding-whip. As he speaks he takes off his hat and + gloves and throws them down violently. + </p> + <p> + COREY. I say if Satan ever entered man He's in John Proctor! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Giles, what is the matter? +You frighten me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + I say if any man +Can have a Devil in him, then that man +Is Proctor,—is John Proctor, and no other! +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. Why, what has he been doing? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Everything! +What do you think I heard there in the village? +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. I'm sure I cannot guess. What did you hear? + </p> + <p> + COREY. He says I burned his house! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Does he say that? +</pre> + <p> + COREY. He says I burned his house. I was in bed And fast asleep that + night; and I can prove it. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. If he says that, I think the Father of Lies Is surely in the man. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + He does say that +And that I did it to wreak vengeance on him +For taking sides against me in the quarrel +I had with that John Gloyd about his wages. +And God knows that I never bore him malice +For that, as I have told him twenty times +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. It is John Gloyd has stirred him up to this. I do not like that + Gloyd. I think him crafty, Not to be trusted, sullen and untruthful. Come, + have your supper. You are tired and hungry. + </p> + <p> + COREY. I'm angry, and not hungry. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Do eat something. +You'll be the better for it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY (sitting down). + I'm not hungry. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath. + </p> + <p> + COREY. It has gone down upon it, and will rise To-morrow, and go down + again upon it. They have trumped up against me the old story Of causing + Goodell's death by trampling on him. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Oh, that is false. I know it to be false. + </p> + <p> + COREY. He has been dead these fourteen years or more. Why can't they let + him rest? Why must they drag him Out of his grave to give me a bad name? I + did not kill him. In his bed he died, As most men die, because his hour + had come. I have wronged no man. Why should Proctor say Such things bout + me? I will not forgive him Till he confesses he has slandered me. Then, + I've more trouble. All my cattle gone. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. They will come back again. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Not in this world. +Did I not tell you they were overlooked? +They ran down through the woods, into the meadows, +And tried to swim the river, and were drowned. +It is a heavy loss. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I'm sorry for it. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. All my dear oxen dead. I loved them, Martha, Next to yourself. I + liked to look at them, And watch the breath come out of their wide + nostrils, And see their patient eyes. Somehow I thought It gave me + strength only to look at them. And how they strained their necks against + the yoke If I but spoke, or touched them with the goad! They were my + friends; and when Gloyd came and told me They were all drowned, I could + have drowned myself From sheer vexation; and I said as much To Gloyd and + others. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Do not trust John Gloyd +With anything you would not have repeated. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. As I came through the woods this afternoon, Impatient at my loss, + and much perplexed With all that I had heard there in the village, The + yellow leaves lit up the trees about me Like an enchanted palace, and I + wished I knew enough of magic or of Witchcraft To change them into gold. + Then suddenly A tree shook down some crimson leaves upon me, Like drops of + blood, and in the path before me Stood Tituba the Indian, the old crone. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Were you not frightened? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + No, I do not think +I know the meaning of that word. Why frightened? +I am not one of those who think the Lord +Is waiting till He catches them some day +In the back yard alone! What should I fear? +She started from the bushes by the path, +And had a basket full of herbs and roots +For some witch-broth or other,—the old hag. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. She has been here to-day. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + With hand outstretched +She said: "Giles Corey, will you sign the Book?" +"Avaunt!" I cried: "Get thee behind me, Satan!" +At which she laughed and left me. But a voice +Was whispering in my ear continually: +"Self-murder is no crime. The life of man +Is his, to keep it or to throw away!" +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. 'T was a temptation of the Evil One! Giles, Giles! why will you + harbor these dark thoughts? + </p> + <p> + COREY (rising). I am too tired to talk. I'll go to bed. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. First tell me something about Bridget Bishop. How did she look? + You saw her? You were there? + </p> + <p> + COREY. I'll tell you that to-morrow, not to-night. I'll go to bed. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + First let us pray together. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. I cannot pray to-night. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Say the Lord's Prayer, +And that will comfort you. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + I cannot say, +"As we forgive those that have sinned against us," +When I do not forgive them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA (kneeling on the hearth). + God forgive you! +</pre> + <p> + COREY. I will not make believe! I say to-night There's something thwarts + me when I wish to pray, And thrusts into my mind, instead of prayers, Hate + and revenge, and things that are not prayers. Something of my old self,—my + old, bad life,— And the old Adam in me rises up, And will not let me + pray. I am afraid The Devil hinders me. You know I say Just what I think, + and nothing more nor less, And, when I pray, my heart is in my prayer. I + cannot say one thing and mean another. If I can't pray, I will not make + believe! + </p> + <p> + [Exit COREY. MARTHA continues kneeling. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap486"></a>ACT III.</h3> + + <p> + SCENE I. — GILES COREY'S kitchen. Morning. COREY and MARTHA sitting + at the breakfast-table. + </p> + <p> + COREY (rising). Well, now I've told you all I saw and heard Of Bridget + Bishop; and I must be gone. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Don't go into the village, Giles, to-day. Last night you came back + tired and out of humor. + </p> + <p> + COREY. Say, angry; say, right angry. I was never In a more devilish temper + in my life. All things went wrong with me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + You were much vexed; +So don't go to the village. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY (going). + No, I won't. +I won't go near it. We are going to mow +The Ipswich meadows for the aftermath, +The crop of sedge and rowens. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Stay a moment, +I want to tell you what I dreamed last night. +Do you believe in dreams? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Why, yes and no. +When they come true, then I believe in them +When they come false, I don't believe in them. +But let me hear. What did you dream about? +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. I dreamed that you and I were both in prison; That we had fetters + on our hands and feet; That we were taken before the Magistrates, And + tried for Witchcraft, and condemned to death! I wished to pray; they would + not let me pray; You tried to comfort me, and they forbade it. But the + most dreadful thing in all my dream Was that they made you testify against + me! And then there came a kind of mist between us; I could not see you; + and I woke in terror. I never was more thankful in my life Than when I + found you sleeping at my side! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY (with tenderness). +It was our talk last night that made you dream. +I'm sorry for it. I'll control myself +Another time, and keep my temper down! +I do not like such dreams.—Remember, Martha, +I'm going to mow the Ipswich River meadows; +If Gardner comes, you'll tell him where to find me. + [Exit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. +So this delusion grows from bad to worse +First, a forsaken and forlorn old woman, +Ragged and wretched, and without a friend; +Then something higher. Now it's Bridget Bishop; +God only knows whose turn it will be next! +The Magistrates are blind, the people mad! +If they would only seize the Afflicted Children, +And put them in the Workhouse, where they should be, +There'd be an end of all this wickedness. + [Exit. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE II. — A street in Salem Village. Enter MATHER and HATHORNE. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. Yet one thing troubles me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + And what is that? +</pre> + <p> + MATHER. May not the Devil take the outward shape Of innocent persons? Are + we not in danger, Perhaps, of punishing some who are not guilty? + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. As I have said, we do not trust alone To spectral evidence. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + And then again, +If any shall be put to death for Witchcraft, +We do but kill the body, not the soul. +The Unclean Spirits that possessed them once +Live still, to enter into other bodies. +What have we gained? Surely, there's nothing gained. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Doth not the Scripture say, "Thou shalt not suffer A Witch to + live"? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + The Scripture sayeth it, +But speaketh to the Jews; and we are Christians. +What say the laws of England? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + They make Witchcraft +Felony without the benefit of Clergy. +Witches are burned in England. You have read— +For you read all things, not a book escapes you— +The famous Demonology of King James? +</pre> + <p> + MATHER. A curious volume. I remember also The plot of the Two Hundred, + with one Fian, The Registrar of the Devil, at their head, To drown his + Majesty on his return From Denmark; how they sailed in sieves or riddles + Unto North Berwick Kirk in Lothian, And, landing there, danced hand in + hand, and sang, "Goodwife, go ye before! good wife, go ye! If ye'll not go + before, goodwife, let me!" While Geilis Duncan played the Witches' Reel + Upon a jews-harp. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Then you know full well +The English law, and that in England Witches, +When lawfully convicted and attainted, +Are put to death. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + When lawfully convicted; +That is the point. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + You heard the evidence +Produced before us yesterday at the trial +Of Bridget Bishop. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MATHER. + One of the Afflicted, +I know, bore witness to the apparition +Of ghosts unto the spectre of this Bishop, +Saying, "You murdered us!" of the truth whereof +There was in matter of fact too much Suspicion. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. And when she cast her eyes on the Afflicted, They were struck + down; and this in such a manner There could be no collusion in the + business. And when the accused but laid her hand upon them, As they lay in + their swoons, they straight revived, Although they stirred not when the + others touched them. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. What most convinced me of the woman's guilt Was finding hidden in + her cellar wall Those poppets made of rags, with headless pins Stuck into + them point outwards, and whereof She could not give a reasonable account. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. +When you shall read the testimony given +Before the Court in all the other cases, +I am persuaded you will find the proof +No less conclusive than it was in this. +Come, then, with me, and I will tax your patience +With reading of the documents so far +As may convince you that these sorcerers +Are lawfully convicted and attainted. +Like doubting Thomas, you shall lay your hand +Upon these wounds, and you will doubt no more. + {Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE III. — A room in COREY's house. MARTHA and two Deacons of the + church. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Be seated. I am glad to see you here. I know what you are come + for. You are come To question me, and learn from my own lips If I have any + dealings with the Devil; In short, if I'm a Witch. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DEACON (sitting down). + Such is our purpose. +How could you know beforehand why we came? +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. 'T was only a surmise. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DEACON. + We came to ask you, +You being with us in church covenant, +What part you have, if any, in these matters. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. And I make answer, No part whatsoever. I am a farmer's wife, a + working woman; You see my spinning-wheel, you see my loom, You know the + duties of a farmer's wife, And are not ignorant that my life among you Has + been without reproach until this day. Is it not true? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DEACON. + So much we're bound to own, +And say it frankly, and without reserve. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. I've heard the idle tales that are abroad; I've heard it whispered + that I am a Witch; I cannot help it. I do not believe In any Witchcraft. + It is a delusion. + </p> + <p> + DEACON. How can you say that it is a delusion, When all our learned and + good men believe it,— Our Ministers and worshipful Magistrates? + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Their eyes are blinded and see not the truth. Perhaps one day they + will be open to it. + </p> + <p> + DEACON. You answer boldly. The Afflicted Children Say you appeared to + them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + And did they say +What clothes I came in? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DEACON. + No, they could not tell. +They said that you foresaw our visit here, +And blinded them, so that they could not see +The clothes you wore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + The cunning, crafty girls! +I say to you, in all sincerity, +I never have appeared to anyone +In my own person. If the Devil takes +My shape to hurt these children, or afflict them, +I am not guilty of it. And I say +It's all a mere delusion of the senses. +</pre> + <p> + DEACON. I greatly fear that you will find too late It is not so. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA (rising). + They do accuse me falsely. +It is delusion, or it is deceit. +There is a story in the ancient Scriptures +Which I much wonder comes not to your minds. +Let me repeat it to you. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +DEACON. + We will hear it. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. It came to pass that Naboth had a vineyard Hard by the palace of + the King called Ahab. And Ahab, King of Israel, spake to Naboth, And said + to him, Give unto me thy vineyard, That I may have it for a garden of + herbs, And I will give a better vineyard for it, Or, if it seemeth good to + thee, its worth In money. And then Naboth said to Ahab, The Lord forbid it + me that I should give The inheritance of my fathers unto thee. And Ahab + came into his house displeased And heavy at the words which Naboth spake, + And laid him down upon his bed, and turned His face away; and he would eat + no bread. And Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, came And said to him, Why is thy + spirit sad? And he said unto her, Because I spake To Naboth, to the + Jezreelite, and said, Give me thy vineyard; and he answered, saying, I + will not give my vineyard unto thee. And Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, said, + Dost thou not rule the realm of Israel? Arise, eat bread, and let thy + heart be merry; I will give Naboth's vineyard unto thee. So she wrote + letters in King Ahab's name, And sealed them with his seal, and sent the + letters Unto the elders that were in his city Dwelling with Naboth, and + unto the nobles; And in the letters wrote, Proclaim a fast; And set this + Naboth high among the people, And set two men, the sons of Belial, Before + him, to bear witness and to say, Thou didst blaspheme against God and the + King; And carry him out and stone him, that he die! And the elders and the + nobles in the city Did even as Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, Had sent to them + and written in the letters. + </p> + <p> + And then it came to pass, when Ahab heard Naboth was dead, that Ahab rose + to go Down unto Naboth's vineyard, and to take Possession of it. And the + word of God Came to Elijah, saying to him, Arise, Go down to meet the King + of Israel In Naboth's vineyard, whither he hath gone To take possession. + Thou shalt speak to him, Saying, Thus saith the Lord! What! hast thou + killed And also taken possession? In the place Wherein the dogs have + licked the blood of Naboth Shall the dogs lick thy blood,—ay, even + thine! + </p> + <p> + Both of the Deacons start from their seats. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And Ahab then, the King of Israel, +Said, Hast thou found me, O mine enemy? +Elijah the Prophet answered, I have found thee! +So will it be with those who have stirred up +The Sons of Belial here to bear false witness +And swear away the lives of innocent people; +Their enemy will find them out at last, +The Prophet's voice will thunder, I have found thee! + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE IV. — Meadows on Ipswich River, COREY and his men mowing; + COREY in advance. + </p> + <p> + COREY. Well done, my men. You see, I lead the field! I'm an old man, but I + can swing a scythe Better than most of you, though you be younger. + </p> + <p> + Hangs his scythe upon a tree. + </p> + <p> + GLOYD (aside to the others). How strong he is! It's supernatural. No man + so old as he is has such strength. The Devil helps him! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY (wiping his forehead). + Now we'll rest awhile, +And take our nooning. What's the matter with you? +You are not angry with me,—are you, Gloyd? +Come, come, we will not quarrel. Let's be friends. +It's an old story, that the Raven said, +"Read the Third of Colossians and fifteenth." +</pre> + <p> + GLOYD. You're handier at the scythe, but I can beat you At wrestling. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Well, perhaps so. I don't know. +I never wrestled with you. Why, you're vexed! +Come, come, don't bear a grudge. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + You are afraid. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. What should I be afraid of? All bear witness The challenge comes + from him. Now, then, my man. + </p> + <p> + They wrestle, and GLOYD is thrown. + </p> + <p> + ONE OF THE MEN. That's a fair fall. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ANOTHER. + 'T was nothing but a foil! +</pre> + <p> + OTHERS. You've hurt him! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY (helping GLOYD rise). + No; this meadow-land is soft. +You're not hurt,—are you, Gloyd? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD (rising). + No, not much hurt. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. Well, then, shake hands; and there's an end of it. How do you like + that Cornish hug, my lad? And now we'll see what's in our basket here. + </p> + <p> + GLOYD (aside). The Devil and all his imps are in that man! The clutch of + his ten fingers burns like fire! + </p> + <p> + COREY (reverentially taking off his hat). God bless the food He hath + provided for us, And make us thankful for it, for Christ's sake! + </p> + <p> + He lifts up a keg of cider, and drinks from it. + </p> + <p> + GLOYD. Do you see that? Don't tell me it's not Witchcraft Two of us could + not lift that cask as he does! + </p> + <p> + COREY puts down the keg, and opens a basket. A voice is heard calling. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Ho! Corey, Corey! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + What is that? I surely +Heard some one calling me by name! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VOICE. + Giles Corey! +</pre> + <p> + Enter a boy, running, and out of breath. + </p> + <p> + BOY. Is Master Corey here? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Yes, here I am. +BOY. +O Master Corey! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Well? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BOY. + Your wife—your wife— +</pre> + <p> + COREY. What's happened to my wife? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BOY. + She's sent to prison! +</pre> + <p> + COREY. The dream! the dream! O God, be merciful! + </p> + <p> + BOY. She sent me here to tell you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY (putting on his jacket). + Where's my horse? +Don't stand there staring, fellows. +Where's my horse? + [Exit COREY. +</pre> + <p> + GLOYD. Under the trees there. Run, old man, run, run! You've got some one + to wrestle with you now Who'll trip your heels up, with your Cornish hug. + If there's a Devil, he has got you now. Ah, there he goes! His horse is + snorting fire! + </p> + <p> + ONE OF THE MEN. John Gloyd, don't talk so! It's a shame to talk so! He's a + good master, though you quarrel with him. + </p> + <p> + GLOYD. If hard work and low wages make good masters, Then he is one. But I + think otherwise. Come, let us have our dinner and be merry, And talk about + the old man and the Witches. I know some stories that will make you laugh. + </p> + <p> + They sit down on the grass, and eat. + </p> + <p> + Now there are Goody Cloyse and Goody Good, Who have not got a decent tooth + between them, And yet these children—the Afflicted Children— + Say that they bite them, and show marks of teeth Upon their arms! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ONE OF THE MEN. + That makes the wonder greater. +That's Witchcraft. Why, if they had teeth like yours, +'T would be no wonder if the girls were bitten! +</pre> + <p> + GLOYD. And then those ghosts that come out of their graves And cry, "You + murdered us! you murdered us!" + </p> + <p> + ONE OF THE MEN. And all those Apparitions that stick pins Into the flesh + of the Afflicted Children! + </p> + <p> + GLOYD. Oh those Afflicted Children! They know well Where the pins come + from. I can tell you that. And there's old Corey, he has got a horseshoe + Nailed on his doorstep to keep off the Witches, And all the same his wife + has gone to prison. + </p> + <p> + ONE OF THE MEN. Oh, she's no Witch. I'll swear that Goodwife Corey Never + did harm to any living creature. She's a good woman, if there ever was + one. + </p> + <p> + GLOYD. Well, we shall see. As for that Bridget Bishop, She has been tried + before; some years ago A negro testified he saw her shape Sitting upon the + rafters in a barn, And holding in its hand an egg; and while He went to + fetch his pitchfork, she had vanished. And now be quiet, will you? I am + tired, And want to sleep here on the grass a little. + </p> + <p> + They stretch themselves on the grass. + </p> + <p> + ONE OF THE MEN. There may be Witches riding through the air Over our heads + on broomsticks at this moment, Bound for some Satan's Sabbath in the woods + To be baptized. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + I wish they'd take you with them, +And hold you under water, head and ears, +Till you were drowned; and that would stop your talking, +If nothing else will. Let me sleep, I say. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap487"></a>ACT IV</h3> + + <p> + SCENE I. — The Green in front of the village Meeting-house. An + excited crowd gathering. Enter JOHN GLOYD. + </p> + <p> + A FARMER. Who will be tried to-day? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A SECOND. + I do not know. +Here is John Gloyd. Ask him; he knows. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FARMER. + John Gloyd, +Whose turn is it to-day? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + It's Goodwife Corey's. +</pre> + <p> + FARMER. Giles Corey's wife? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + The same. She is not mine. +It will go hard with her with all her praying. +The hypocrite! She's always on her knees; +But she prays to the Devil when she prays. +Let us go in. +</pre> + <p> + A trumpet blows. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FARMER. + Here come the Magistrates. +</pre> + <p> + SECOND FARMER. Who's the tall man in front? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + Oh, that is Hathorne, +A Justice of the Court, and a Quarter-master +In the Three County Troop. He'll sift the matter. +That's Corwin with him; and the man in black +Is Cotton Mather, Minister of Boston. +</pre> + <p> + Enter HATHORNE and other Magistrates on horseback, followed by the + Sheriff, constables, and attendants on foot. The Magistrates dismount, and + enter the Meeting-house, with the rest. + </p> + <p> + FARMER. + </p> + <p> + The Meeting-house is full. I never saw So great a crowd before. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + No matter. Come. +We shall find room enough by elbowing +Our way among them. Put your shoulder to it. +</pre> + <p> + FARMER. There were not half so many at the trial Of Goodwife Bishop. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + Keep close after me. +I'll find a place for you. They'll want me there. +I am a friend of Corey's, as you know, +And he can't do without me just at present. + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE II. — Interior of the Meeting-house. MATHER and the + Magistrates seated in front of the pulpit. Before them a raised platform. + MARTHA in chains. COREY near her. MARY WALCOT in a chair. A crowd of + spectators, among them GLOYD. Confusion and murmurs during the scene. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Call Martha Corey. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I am here. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Come forward. +</pre> + <p> + She ascends the platform. + </p> + <p> + The Jurors of our Sovereign Lord and Lady The King and Queen, here + present, do accuse you Of having on the tenth of June last past, And + divers other times before and after, Wickedly used and practised certain + arts Called Witchcrafts, Sorceries, and Incantations, Against one Mary + Walcot, single woman, Of Salem Village; by which wicked arts The aforesaid + Mary Walcot was tormented, Tortured, afflicted, pined, consumed, and + wasted, Against the peace of our Sovereign Lord and Lady The King and + Queen, as well as of the Statute Made and provided in that case. What say + you? + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Before I answer, give me leave to pray. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. We have not sent for you, nor are we here, To hear you pray, but + to examine you In whatsoever is alleged against you. Why do you hurt this + person? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I do not. +I am not guilty of the charge against me. +</pre> + <p> + MARY. Avoid, she-devil! You may torment me now! Avoid, avoid, Witch! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I am innocent. +I never had to do with any Witchcraft +Since I was born. I am a gospel woman. +</pre> + <p> + MARY. You are a gospel Witch! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA (clasping her hands). + Ah me! ah me! +Oh, give me leave to pray! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY (stretching out her hands). + She hurts me now. +See, she has pinched my hands! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Who made these marks +Upon her hands? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I do not know. I stand +Apart from her. I did not touch her hands. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Who hurt her then? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I know not. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Do you think +She is bewitched? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Indeed I do not think so. +I am no Witch, and have no faith in Witches. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Then answer me: When certain persons came To see you yesterday, + how did you know Beforehand why they came? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I had had speech; +The children said I hurt them, and I thought +These people came to question me about it. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. How did you know the children had been told To note the clothes + you wore? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + My husband told me +What others said about it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Goodman Corey, +Say, did you tell her? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + I must speak the truth; +I did not tell her. It was some one else. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Did you not say your husband told you so? How dare you tell a + lie in this assembly? Who told you of the clothes? Confess the truth. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA bites her lips, and is silent. + </p> + <p> + You bite your lips, but do not answer me! + </p> + <p> + MARY. Ah, she is biting me! Avoid, avoid! + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. You said your husband told you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Yes, he told me +The children said I troubled them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Then tell me, +Why do you trouble them? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I have denied it. +</pre> + <p> + MARY. She threatened me; stabbed at me with her spindle; And, when my + brother thrust her with his sword, He tore her gown, and cut a piece away. + Here are they both, the spindle and the cloth. + </p> + <p> + Shows them. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. And there are persons here who know the truth Of what has now + been said. What answer make you? + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. I make no answer. Give me leave to pray. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Whom would you pray to? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + To my God and Father. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Who is your God and Father? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + The Almighty! +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Doth he you pray to say that he is God? It is the Prince of + Darkness, and not God. + </p> + <p> + MARY. There is a dark shape whispering in her ear. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. What does it say to you? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I see no shape. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Did you not hear it whisper? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I heard nothing. +</pre> + <p> + MARY. What torture! Ah, what agony I suffer! + </p> + <p> + Falls into a swoon. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. You see this woman cannot stand before you. If you would look + for mercy, you must look In God's way, by confession of your guilt. Why + does your spectre haunt and hurt this person? + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. I do not know. He who appeared of old In Samuel's shape, a saint + and glorified, May come in whatsoever shape he chooses. I cannot help it. + I am sick at heart! + </p> + <p> + COREY. O Martha, Martha! let me hold your hand. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. No; stand aside, old man. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY (starting up). + Look there! Look there! +I see a little bird, a yellow bird +Perched on her finger; and it pecks at me. +Ah, it will tear mine eyes out! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I see nothing. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. 'T is the Familiar Spirit that attends her. + </p> + <p> + MARY. Now it has flown away. It sits up there Upon the rafters. It is + gone; is vanished. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. Giles, wipe these tears of anger from mine eyes. Wipe the sweat + from my forehead. I am faint. + </p> + <p> + She leans against the railing. + </p> + <p> + MARY. Oh, she is crushing me with all her weight! + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Did you not carry once the Devil's Book To this young woman? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Never. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Have you signed it, +Or touched it? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + No; I never saw it. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Did you not scourge her with an iron rod? + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. No, I did not. If any Evil Spirit Has taken my shape to do these + evil deeds, I cannot help it. I am innocent. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Did you not say the Magistrates were blind? That you would open + their eyes? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA (with a scornful laugh). + Yes, I said that; +If you call me a sorceress, you are blind! +If you accuse the innocent, you are blind! +Can the innocent be guilty? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Did you not +On one occasion hide your husband's saddle +To hinder him from coming to the sessions? +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. I thought it was a folly in a farmer To waste his time pursuing + such illusions. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. What was the bird that this young woman saw Just now upon your + hand? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + I know no bird. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Have you not dealt with a Familiar Spirit? + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. No, never, never! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + What then was the Book +You showed to this young woman, and besought her +To write in it? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Where should I have a book? +I showed her none, nor have none. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARY. + The next Sabbath +Is the Communion Day, but Martha Corey +Will not be there! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Ah, you are all against me. +What can I do or say? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + You can confess. +</pre> + <p> + MARTHA. No, I cannot, for I am innocent. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. We have the proof of many witnesses That you are guilty. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA. + Give me leave to speak. +Will you condemn me on such evidence,— +You who have known me for so many years? +Will you condemn me in this house of God, +Where I so long have worshipped with you all? +Where I have eaten the bread and drunk the wine +So many times at our Lord's Table with you? +Bear witness, you that hear me; you all know +That I have led a blameless life among you, +That never any whisper of suspicion +Was breathed against me till this accusation. +And shall this count for nothing? Will you take +My life away from me, because this girl, +Who is distraught, and not in her right mind, +Accuses me of things I blush to name? +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. What! is it not enough? Would you hear more? Giles Corey! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + I am here. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Come forward, then. +</pre> + <p> + COREY ascends the platform. + </p> + <p> + Is it not true, that on a certain night You were impeded strangely in your + prayers? That something hindered you? and that you left This woman here, + your wife, kneeling alone Upon the hearth? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Yes; I cannot deny it. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Did you not say the Devil hindered you? + </p> + <p> + COREY. I think I said some words to that effect. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Is it not true, that fourteen head of cattle, To you belonging, + broke from their enclosure And leaped into the river, and were drowned? + </p> + <p> + COREY. It is most true. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + And did you not then say +That they were overlooked? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + So much I said. +I see; they're drawing round me closer, closer, +A net I cannot break, cannot escape from! (Aside). +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Who did these things? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + I do not know who did them. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. Then I will tell you. It is some one near you; You see her now; + this woman, your own wife. + </p> + <p> + COREY. I call the heavens to witness, it is false! She never harmed me, + never hindered me In anything but what I should not do. And I bear witness + in the sight of heaven, And in God's house here, that I never knew her As + otherwise than patient, brave, and true, Faithful, forgiving, full of + charity, A virtuous and industrious and good wife! + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Tut, tut, man; do not rant so in your speech; You are a witness, + not an advocate! Here, Sheriff, take this woman back to prison. + </p> + <p> + MARTHA. O Giles, this day you've sworn away my life! + </p> + <p> + MARY. Go, go and join the Witches at the door. Do you not hear the drum? + Do you not see them? Go quick. They're waiting for you. You are late. + [Exit MARTHA; COREY following. + </p> + <p> + COREY. The dream! the dream! the dream! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + What does he say? +Giles Corey, go not hence. You are yourself +Accused of Witchcraft and of Sorcery +By many witnesses. Say, are you guilty? +</pre> + <p> + COREY. I know my death is foreordained by you, Mine and my wife's. + Therefore I will not answer. + </p> + <p> + During the rest of the scene he remains silent. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Do you refuse to plead?—'T were better for you To make + confession, or to plead Not Guilty.— Do you not hear me?—Answer, + are you guilty? Do you not know a heavier doom awaits you, If you refuse + to plead, than if found guilty? Where is John Gloyd? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD (coming forward). + Here am I. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + Tell the Court +Have you not seen the supernatural power +Of this old man? Have you not seen him do +Strange feats of strength? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + I've seen him lead the field, +On a hot day, in mowing, and against +Us younger men; and I have wrestled with him. +He threw me like a feather. I have seen him +Lift up a barrel with his single hands, +Which two strong men could hardly lift together, +And, holding it above his head, drink from it. +</pre> + <p> + HATHORNE. That is enough; we need not question further. What answer do you + make to this, Giles Corey? + </p> + <p> + MARY. See there! See there! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +HATHORNE. + What is it? I see nothing. +</pre> + <p> + MARY. Look! Look! It is the ghost of Robert Goodell, Whom fifteen years + ago this man did murder By stamping on his body! In his shroud He comes + here to bear witness to the crime! + </p> + <p> + The crowd shrinks back from COREY in horror. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. Ghosts of the dead and voices of the living Bear witness to your + guilt, and you must die! It might have been an easier death. Your doom + Will be on your own head, and not on ours. Twice more will you be + questioned of these things; Twice more have room to plead or to confess. + If you are contumacious to the Court, And if, when questioned, you refuse + to answer, Then by the Statute you will be condemned To the peine forte et + dure! To have your body Pressed by great weights until you shall be dead! + And may the Lord have mercy on your soul! + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap488"></a>ACT V.</h3> + + <p> + SCENE I. — COREy's farm as in Act II., Scene I. Enter RICHARD + GARDNER, looking round him. + </p> + <p> + GARDNER. Here stands the house as I remember it. The four tall + poplar-trees before the door; The house, the barn, the orchard, and the + well, With its moss-covered bucket and its trough; The garden, with its + hedge of currant-bushes; The woods, the harvest-fields; and, far beyond, + The pleasant landscape stretching to the sea. But everything is silent and + deserted! No bleat of flocks, no bellowing of herds, No sound of flails, + that should be beating now; Nor man nor beast astir. What can this mean? + </p> + <p> + Knocks at the door. + </p> + <p> + What ho! Giles Corey! Hillo-ho! Giles Corey!— No answer but the echo + from the barn, And the ill-omened cawing of the crow, That yonder wings + his flight across the fields, As if he scented carrion in the air. + </p> + <p> + Enter TITUBA with a basket. + </p> + <p> + What woman's this, that, like an apparition, Haunts this deserted + homestead in broad day? Woman, who are you? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + I'm Tituba. +I am John Indian's wife. I am a Witch. +</pre> + <p> + GARDNER. What are you doing here? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + I am gathering herbs,— +Cinquefoil, and saxifrage, and pennyroyal. +</pre> + <p> + GARDNER (looking at the herbs). This is not cinquefoil, it is deadly + nightshade! This is not saxifrage, but hellebore! This is not pennyroyal, + it is henbane! Do you come here to poison these good people? + </p> + <p> + TITUBA. I get these for the Doctor in the Village. Beware of Tituba. I + pinch the children; Make little poppets and stick pins in them, And then + the children cry out they are pricked. The Black Dog came to me and said, + "Serve me!" I was afraid. He made me hurt the children. + </p> + <p> + GARDNER. Poor soul! She's crazed, with all these Devil's doings. + </p> + <p> + TITUBA. Will you, sir, sign the book? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GARDNER. + No, I'll not sign it. +Where is Giles Corey? Do you know Giles Corey! +</pre> + <p> + TITUBA. He's safe enough. He's down there in the prison. + </p> + <p> + GARDNER. Corey in prison? What is he accused of? + </p> + <p> + TITURA. Giles Corey and Martha Corey are in prison Down there in Salem + Village. Both are witches. She came to me and whispered, "Kill the + children!" Both signed the Book! + </p> + <p> + GARDNER. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Begone, you imp of darkness! +You Devil's dam! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITUBA. + Beware of Tituba! + [Exit. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GARDNER. +How often out at sea on stormy nights, +When the waves thundered round me, and the wind +Bellowed, and beat the canvas, and my ship +Clove through the solid darkness, like a wedge, +I've thought of him upon his pleasant farm, +Living in quiet with his thrifty housewife, +And envied him, and wished his fate were mine! +And now I find him shipwrecked utterly, +Drifting upon this sea of sorceries, +And lost, perhaps, beyond all aid of man! + [Exit. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE II.. — The prison. GILES COREY at a table on which are some + papers. + </p> + <p> + COREY. Now I have done with earth and all its cares; I give my worldly + goods to my dear children; My body I bequeath to my tormentors, And my + immortal soul to Him who made it. O God! who in thy wisdom dost afflict me + With an affliction greater than most men Have ever yet endured or shall + endure, Suffer me not in this last bitter hour For any pains of death to + fall from Thee! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA is heard singing. + Arise, O righteous Lord! + And disappoint my foes; + They are but thine avenging sword, + Whose wounds are swift to close. +</pre> + <p> + COREY. Hark, hark! it is her voice! She is not dead! She lives! I am not + utterly forsaken! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MARTHA, singing. + By thine abounding grace, + And mercies multiplied, + I shall awake, and see thy face; + I shall be satisfied. +</pre> + <p> + COREY hides his face in his hands. Enter the JAILER, followed by RICHARD + GARDNER. + </p> + <p> + JAILER. Here's a seafaring man, one Richard Gardner, A friend of yours, + who asks to speak with you. + </p> + <p> + COREY rises. They embrace. + </p> + <p> + COREY. I'm glad to see you, ay, right glad to see you. + </p> + <p> + GARDNER. And I am most sorely grieved to see you thus. + </p> + <p> + COREY. Of all the friends I had in happier days, You are the first, ay, + and the only one, That comes to seek me out in my disgrace! And you but + come in time to say farewell, They've dug my grave already in the field. I + thank you. There is something in your presence, I know not what it is, + that gives me strength. Perhaps it is the bearing of a man Familiar with + all dangers of the deep, Familiar with the cries of drowning men, With + fire, and wreck, and foundering ships at sea! + </p> + <p> + GARDNER. Ah, I have never known a wreck like yours! Would I could save + you! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + Do not speak of that. +It is too late. I am resolved to die. +</pre> + <p> + GARDNER. Why would you die who have so much to live for?— Your + daughters, and— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + You cannot say the word. +My daughters have gone from me. They are married; +They have their homes, their thoughts, apart from me; +I will not say their hearts,—that were too cruel. +What would you have me do? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GARDNER. + Confess and live. +COREY. +That's what they said who came here yesterday +To lay a heavy weight upon my conscience +By telling me that I was driven forth +As an unworthy member of their church. +</pre> + <p> + GARDNER. It is an awful death. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + 'T is but to drown, +And have the weight of all the seas upon you. +</pre> + <p> + GARDNER. Say something; say enough to fend off death Till this tornado of + fanaticism Blows itself out. Let me come in between you And your severer + self, with my plain sense; Do not be obstinate. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + I will not plead. +If I deny, I am condemned already, +In courts where ghosts appear as witnesses, +And swear men's lives away. If I confess, +Then I confess a lie, to buy a life +Which is not life, but only death in life. +I will not bear false witness against any, +Not even against myself, whom I count least. +</pre> + <p> + GARDNER (aside). Ah, what a noble character is this! + </p> + <p> + COREY. I pray you, do not urge me to do that You would not do yourself. I + have already The bitter taste of death upon my lips; I feel the pressure + of the heavy weight That will crush out my life within this hour; But if a + word could save me, and that word Were not the Truth; nay, if it did but + swerve A hair's-breadth from the Truth, I would not say it! + </p> + <p> + GARDNER (aside). How mean I seem beside a man like this! + </p> + <p> + COREY. As for my wife, my Martha and my Martyr,— Whose virtues, like + the stars, unseen by day, Though numberless, do but await the dark To + manifest themselves unto all eyes,— She who first won me from my + evil ways, And taught me how to live by her example, By her example + teaches me to die, And leads me onward to the better life! + </p> + <p> + SHERIFF (without). Giles Corey! Come! The hour has struck! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +COREY. + I come! +Here is my body; ye may torture it, +But the immortal soul ye cannot crush! + [Exeunt. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE III— A street in the Village. Enter GLOYD and others. + </p> + <p> + GLOYD. Quick, or we shall be late! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A MAN. + That's not the way. +Come here; come up this lane. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + I wonder now +If the old man will die, and will not speak? +He's obstinate enough and tough enough +For anything on earth. +</pre> + <p> + A bell tolls. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hark! What is that? +</pre> + <p> + A MAN. The passing bell. He's dead! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GLOYD. + We are too late. + [Exeunt in haste. +</pre> + <p> + SCENE IV. — A field near the graveyard, GILES COREY lying dead, with + a great stone on his breast. The Sheriff at his head, RICHARD GARDNER at + his feet. A crowd behind. The bell tolling. Enter HATHORNE and MATHER. + </p> + <p> + HATHORNE. This is the Potter's Field. Behold the fate Of those who deal in + Witchcrafts, and, when questioned, Refuse to plead their guilt or + innocence, And stubbornly drag death upon themselves. + </p> + <p> + MATHER. O sight most horrible! In a land like this, Spangled with Churches + Evangelical, Inwrapped in our salvations, must we seek In mouldering + statute-books of English Courts Some old forgotten Law, to do such deeds? + Those who lie buried in the Potter's Field Will rise again, as surely as + ourselves That sleep in honored graves with epitaphs; And this poor man, + whom we have made a victim, Hereafter will be counted as a martyr! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap489"></a>FINALE<br/> +SAINT JOHN</h3> + + <p> + SAINT JOHN wandering over the face of the Earth. + </p> + <p> + SAINT JOHN. The Ages come and go, The Centuries pass as Years; My hair is + white as the snow, My feet are weary and slow, The earth is wet with my + tears The kingdoms crumble, and fall Apart, like a ruined wall, Or a bank + that is undermined By a river's ceaseless flow, And leave no trace behind! + The world itself is old; The portals of Time unfold On hinges of iron, + that grate And groan with the rust and the weight, Like the hinges of a + gate That hath fallen to decay; But the evil doth not cease; There is war + instead of peace, Instead of Love there is hate; And still I must wander + and wait, Still I must watch and pray, Not forgetting in whose sight, A + thousand years in their flight Are as a single day. + </p> + <p> + The life of man is a gleam Of light, that comes and goes Like the course + of the Holy Stream. The cityless river, that flows From fountains no one + knows, Through the Lake of Galilee, Through forests and level lands, Over + rocks, and shallows, and sands Of a wilderness wild and vast, Till it + findeth its rest at last In the desolate Dead Sea! But alas! alas for me + Not yet this rest shall be! + </p> + <p> + What, then! doth Charity fail? Is Faith of no avail? Is Hope blown out + like a light By a gust of wind in the night? The clashing of creeds, and + the strife Of the many beliefs, that in vain Perplex man's heart and + brain, Are naught but the rustle of leaves, When the breath of God + upheaves The boughs of the Tree of Life, And they subside again! And I + remember still The words, and from whom they came, Not he that repeateth + the name, But he that doeth the will! + </p> + <p> + And Him evermore I behold Walking in Galilee, Through the cornfield's + waving gold, In hamlet, in wood, and in wold, By the shores of the + Beautiful Sea. He toucheth the sightless eyes; Before Him the demons flee; + To the dead He sayeth: Arise! To the living: Follow me! And that voice + still soundeth on From the centuries that are gone, To the centuries that + shall be! From all vain pomps and shows, From the pride that overflows, + And the false conceits of men; From all the narrow rules And subtleties of + Schools, And the craft of tongue and pen; Bewildered in its search, + Bewildered with the cry, Lo, here! lo, there, the Church! Poor, sad + Humanity Through all the dust and heat Turns back with bleeding feet, By + the weary road it came, Unto the simple thought By the great Master + taught, And that remaineth still: Not he that repeateth the name, But he + that doeth the will! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap490"></a>JUDAS MACCABAEUS.</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap491"></a>ACT I.</h3> + + <p> + The Citadel of Antiochus at Jerusalem. + </p> + <h4> + SCENE I. — ANTIOCHUS; JASON. + </h4> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. O Antioch, my Antioch, my city! Queen of the East! my solace, + my delight! The dowry of my sister Cleopatra When she was wed to Ptolemy, + and now Won back and made more wonderful by me! I love thee, and I long to + be once more Among the players and the dancing women Within thy gates, and + bathe in the Orontes, Thy river and mine. O Jason, my High-Priest, For I + have made thee so, and thou art mine, Hast thou seen Antioch the + Beautiful? + </p> + <p> + JASON. Never, my Lord. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Then hast thou never seen The wonder of the world. This city of + David Compared with Antioch is but a village, And its inhabitants compared + with Greeks Are mannerless boors. + </p> + <p> + JASON. They are barbarians, And mannerless. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. They must be civilized. They must be made to have more gods + than one; And goddesses besides. + </p> + <p> + JASON. They shall have more. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. They must have hippodromes, and games, and baths, Stage-plays + and festivals, and most of all The Dionysia. + </p> + <p> + JASON. They shall have them all. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. By Heracles! but I should like to see These Hebrews crowned + with ivy, and arrayed In skins of fawns, with drums and flutes and thyrsi, + Revel and riot through the solemn streets Of their old town. Ha, ha! It + makes me merry Only to think of it!—Thou dost not laugh. + </p> + <p> + JASON. Yea, I laugh inwardly. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. The new Greek leaven Works slowly in this Israelitish dough! + Have I not sacked the Temple, and on the altar Set up the statue of + Olympian Zeus To Hellenize it? + </p> + <p> + JASON. Thou hast done all this. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. As thou wast Joshua once and now art Jason, And from a Hebrew + hast become a Greek, So shall this Hebrew nation be translated, Their very + natures and their names be changed, And all be Hellenized. + </p> + <p> + JASON. It shall be done. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Their manners and their laws and way of living Shall all be + Greek. They shall unlearn their language, And learn the lovely speech of + Antioch. Where hast thou been to-day? Thou comest late. + </p> + <p> + JASON. Playing at discus with the other priests In the Gymnasium. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Thou hast done well. There's nothing better for you lazy + priests Than discus-playing with the common people. Now tell me, Jason, + what these Hebrews call me When they converse together at their games. + </p> + <p> + JASON. Antiochus Epiphanes, my Lord; Antiochus the Illustrious. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. O, not that; That is the public cry; I mean the name They give + me when they talk among themselves, And think that no one listens; what is + that? + </p> + <p> + JASON. Antiochus Epimanes, my Lord! + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Antiochus the Mad! Ay, that is it. And who hath said it? Who + hath set in motion That sorry jest? + </p> + <p> + JASON. The Seven Sons insane Of a weird woman, like themselves insane. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. I like their courage, but it shall not save them. They shall be + made to eat the flesh of swine, Or they shall die. Where are they? + </p> + <p> + JASON. In the dungeons Beneath this tower. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. There let them stay and starve, Till I am ready to make Greeks + of them, After my fashion. + </p> + <p> + JASON. They shall stay and starve.— My Lord, the Ambassadors of + Samaria Await thy pleasure. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Why not my displeasure? Ambassadors are tedious. They are men + Who work for their own ends, and not for mine There is no furtherance in + them. Let them go To Apollonius, my governor There in Samaria, and not + trouble me. What do they want? + </p> + <p> + JASON. Only the royal sanction To give a name unto a nameless temple Upon + Mount Gerizim. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Then bid them enter. This pleases me, and furthers my designs. + The occasion is auspicious. Bid them enter. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h4> + SCENE II. — ANTIOCHUS; JASON; THE SAMARITAN AMBASSADORS. + </h4> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Approach. Come forward; stand not at the door Wagging your long + beards, but demean yourselves As doth become Ambassadors. What seek ye? + </p> + <p> + AN AMBASSADOR. An audience from the King. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Speak, and be brief. Waste not the time in useless rhetoric. + Words are not things. + </p> + <p> + AMBASSADOR (reading). "To King Antiochus, The God, Epiphanes; a Memorial + From the Sidonians, who live at Sichem." + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Sidonians? + </p> + <p> + AMBASSADOR. Ay, my Lord. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Go on, go on! And do not tire thyself and me with bowing! + </p> + <p> + AMBASSADOR (reading). "We are a colony of Medes and Persians." + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. No, ye are Jews from one of the Ten Tribes; Whether Sidonians + or Samaritans Or Jews of Jewry, matters not to me; Ye are all Israelites, + ye are all Jews. When the Jews prosper, ye claim kindred with them; When + the Jews suffer, ye are Medes and Persians: I know that in the days of + Alexander Ye claimed exemption from the annual tribute In the Sabbatic + Year, because, ye said, Your fields had not been planted in that year. + </p> + <p> + AMBASSADOR (reading). "Our fathers, upon certain frequent plagues, And + following an ancient superstition, Were long accustomed to observe that + day Which by the Israelites is called the Sabbath, And in a temple on + Mount Gerizim Without a name, they offered sacrifice. Now we, who are + Sidonians, beseech thee, Who art our benefactor and our savior, Not to + confound us with these wicked Jews, But to give royal order and injunction + To Apollonius in Samaria. Thy governor, and likewise to Nicanor, Thy + procurator, no more to molest us; And let our nameless temple now be named + The Temple of Jupiter Hellenius." + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. This shall be done. Full well it pleaseth me Ye are not Jews, + or are no longer Jews, But Greeks; if not by birth, yet Greeks by custom. + Your nameless temple shall receive the name Of Jupiter Hellenius. Ye may + go! + </p> + <h4> + SCENE III. — ANTIOCHUS; JASON. + </h4> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. My task is easier than I dreamed. These people Meet me + half-way. Jason, didst thou take note How these Samaritans of Sichem said + They were not Jews? that they were Medes and Persians, They were + Sidonians, anything but Jews? 'T is of good augury. The rest will follow + Till the whole land is Hellenized. + </p> + <p> + JASON. My Lord, These are Samaritans. The tribe of Judah Is of a different + temper, and the task Will be more difficult. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Dost thou gainsay me? + </p> + <p> + JASON. I know the stubborn nature of the Jew. Yesterday, Eleazer, an old + man, Being fourscore years and ten, chose rather death By torture than to + eat the flesh of swine. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. The life is in the blood, and the whole nation Shall bleed to + death, or it shall change its faith! + </p> + <p> + JASON. Hundreds have fled already to the mountains Of Ephraim, where Judas + Maccabaeus Hath raised the standard of revolt against thee. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. I will burn down their city, and will make it Waste as a + wilderness. Its thoroughfares Shall be but furrows in a field of ashes. It + shall be sown with salt as Sodom is! This hundred and fifty-third Olympiad + Shall have a broad and blood-red sea upon it, Stamped with the awful + letters of my name, Antiochus the God, Epiphanes!— Where are those + Seven Sons? + </p> + <p> + JASON. My Lord, they wait Thy royal pleasure. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. They shall wait no longer! + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap492"></a>ACT II.</h3> + + <p> + The Dungeons in the Citadel. + </p> + <p> + SCENE I. — THE MOTHER of the SEVEN SONS alone, listening. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. Be strong, my heart! Break not till they are dead, All, all my + Seven Sons; then burst asunder, And let this tortured and tormented soul + Leap and rush out like water through the shards Of earthen vessels broken + at a well. O my dear children, mine in life and death, I know not how ye + came into my womb; I neither gave you breath, nor gave you life, And + neither was it I that formed the members Of every one of you. But the + Creator, Who made the world, and made the heavens above us, Who formed the + generation of mankind, And found out the beginning of all things, He gave + you breath and life, and will again Of his own mercy, as ye now regard Not + your own selves, but his eternal law. I do not murmur, nay, I thank thee, + God, That I and mine have not been deemed unworthy To suffer for thy sake, + and for thy law, And for the many sins of Israel. Hark! I can hear within + the sound of scourges! I feel them more than ye do, O my sons! But cannot + come to you. I, who was wont To wake at night at the least cry ye made, To + whom ye ran at every slightest hurt, I cannot take you now into my lap And + soothe your pain, but God will take you all Into his pitying arms, and + comfort you, And give you rest. + </p> + <p> + A VOICE (within). What wouldst thou ask of us? Ready are we to die, but we + will never Transgress the law and customs of our fathers. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. It is the Voice of my first-born! O brave And noble boy! Thou + hast the privilege Of dying first, as thou wast born the first. + </p> + <p> + THE SAME VOICE (within). God looketh on us, and hath comfort in us; As + Moses in his song of old declared, He in his servants shall be comforted. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. I knew thou wouldst not fail!—He speaks no more, He is + beyond all pain! + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. (within). If thou eat not Thou shalt be tortured throughout all + the members Of thy whole body. Wilt thou eat then? + </p> + <p> + SECOND VOICE. (within). No. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. It is Adaiah's voice. I tremble for him. I know his nature, + devious as the wind, And swift to change, gentle and yielding always. Be + steadfast, O my son! + </p> + <p> + THE SAME VOICE (within). Thou, like a fury, Takest us from this present + life, but God, Who rules the world, shall raise us up again Into life + everlasting. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. God, I thank thee That thou hast breathed into that timid + heart Courage to die for thee. O my Adaiah, Witness of God! if thou for + whom I feared Canst thus encounter death, I need not fear; The others will + not shrink. + </p> + <p> + THIRD VOICE (within). Behold these hands Held out to thee, O King + Antiochus, Not to implore thy mercy, but to show That I despise them. He + who gave them to me Will give them back again. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. O Avilan, It is thy voice. For the last time I hear it; For + the last time on earth, but not the last. To death it bids defiance and to + torture. It sounds to me as from another world, And makes the petty + miseries of this Seem unto me as naught, and less than naught. Farewell, + my Avilan; nay, I should say Welcome, my Avilan; for I am dead Before + thee. I am waiting for the others. Why do they linger? + </p> + <p> + FOURTH VOICE (within). It is good, O King, Being put to death by men, to + look for hope From God, to be raised up again by him. But thou—no + resurrection shalt thou have To life hereafter. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. Four! already four! Three are still living; nay, they all are + living, Half here, half there. Make haste, Antiochus, To reunite us; for + the sword that cleaves These miserable bodies makes a door Through which + our souls, impatient of release, Rush to each other's arms. + </p> + <p> + FIFTH VOICE (within). Thou hast the power; Thou doest what thou wilt. + Abide awhile, And thou shalt see the power of God, and how He will torment + thee and thy seed. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. O hasten; Why dost thou pause? Thou who hast slain already So + many Hebrew women, and hast hung Their murdered infants round their necks, + slay me, For I too am a woman, and these boys Are mine. Make haste to slay + us all, And hang my lifeless babes about my neck. + </p> + <p> + SIXTH VOICE (within). Think not, Antiochus, that takest in hand To strive + against the God of Israel, Thou shalt escape unpunished, for his wrath + Shall overtake thee and thy bloody house. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. One more, my Sirion, and then all is ended. Having put all to + bed, then in my turn I will lie down and sleep as sound as they. My + Sirion, my youngest, best beloved! And those bright golden locks, that I + so oft Have curled about these fingers, even now Are foul with blood and + dust, like a lamb's fleece, Slain in the shambles.—Not a sound I + hear. This silence is more terrible to me Than any sound, than any cry of + pain, That might escape the lips of one who dies. Doth his heart fail him? + Doth he fall away In the last hour from God? O Sirion, Sirion, Art thou + afraid? I do not hear thy voice. Die as thy brothers died. Thou must not + live! + </p> + <h4> + SCENE II. — THE MOTHER; ANTIOCHUS; SIRION, + </h4> + <p> + THE MOTHER. Are they all dead? + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Of all thy Seven Sons One only lives. Behold them where they + lie How dost thou like this picture? + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. God in heaven! Can a man do such deeds, and yet not die By the + recoil of his own wickedness? Ye murdered, bleeding, mutilated bodies That + were my children once, and still are mine, I cannot watch o'er you as + Rispah watched In sackcloth o'er the seven sons of Saul, Till water drop + upon you out of heaven And wash this blood away! I cannot mourn As she, + the daughter of Aiah, mourned the dead, From the beginning of the + barley-harvest Until the autumn rains, and suffered not The birds of air + to rest on them by day, Nor the wild beasts by night. For ye have died A + better death, a death so full of life That I ought rather to rejoice than + mourn.— Wherefore art thou not dead, O Sirion? Wherefore art thou + the only living thing Among thy brothers dead? Art thou afraid? + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. O woman, I have spared him for thy sake, For he is fair to look + upon and comely; And I have sworn to him by all the gods That I would + crown his life with joy and honor, Heap treasures on him, luxuries, + delights, Make him my friend and keeper of my secrets, If he would turn + from your Mosaic Law And be as we are; but he will not listen. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. My noble Sirion! + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Therefore I beseech thee, Who art his mother, thou wouldst + speak with him, And wouldst persuade him. I am sick of blood. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. Yea, I will speak with him and will persuade him. O Sirion, my + son! have pity on me, On me that bare thee, and that gave thee suck, And + fed and nourished thee, and brought thee up With the dear trouble of a + mother's care Unto this age. Look on the heavens above thee, And on the + earth and all that is therein; Consider that God made them out of things + That were not; and that likewise in this manner Mankind was made. Then + fear not this tormentor But, being worthy of thy brethren, take Thy death + as they did, that I may receive thee Again in mercy with them. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. I am mocked, Yea, I am laughed to scorn. + </p> + <p> + SIRION. Whom wait ye for? Never will I obey the King's commandment, But + the commandment of the ancient Law, That was by Moses given unto our + fathers. And thou, O godless man, that of all others Art the most wicked, + be not lifted up, Nor puffed up with uncertain hopes, uplifting Thy hand + against the servants of the Lord, For thou hast not escaped the righteous + judgment Of the Almighty God, who seeth all things! + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. He is no God of mine; I fear him not. + </p> + <p> + SIRION. My brothers, who have suffered a brief pain, Are dead; but thou, + Antiochus, shalt suffer The punishment of pride. I offer up My body and my + life, beseeching God That he would speedily be merciful Unto our nation, + and that thou by plagues Mysterious and by torments mayest confess That he + alone is God. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Ye both shall perish By torments worse than any that your God, + Here or hereafter, hath in store for me. + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. My Sirion, I am proud of thee! + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Be silent! Go to thy bed of torture in yon chamber, Where lie + so many sleepers, heartless mother! Thy footsteps will not wake them, nor + thy voice, Nor wilt thou hear, amid thy troubled dreams, Thy children + crying for thee in the night! + </p> + <p> + THE MOTHER. O Death, that stretchest thy white hands to me, I fear them + not, but press them to my lips, That are as white as thine; for I am + Death, Nay, am the Mother of Death, seeing these sons All lying lifeless.—Kiss + me, Sirion. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap493"></a>ACT III.</h3> + +<p class="center"> +The Battle-field of Beth-horon. +</p> + + <p> + SCENE I. — JUDAS MACCABAEUS in armor before his tent. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. The trumpets sound; the echoes of the mountains Answer them, as the + Sabbath morning breaks Over Beth-horon and its battle-field, Where the + great captain of the hosts of God, A slave brought up in the brick-fields + of Egypt, O'ercame the Amorites. There was no day Like that, before or + after it, nor shall be. The sun stood still; the hammers of the hail Beat + on their harness; and the captains set Their weary feet upon the necks of + kings, As I will upon thine, Antiochus, Thou man of blood!—Behold + the rising sun Strikes on the golden letters of my banner, Be Elohim + Yehovah! Who is like To thee, O Lord, among the gods!—Alas! I am not + Joshua, I cannot say, "Sun, stand thou still on Gibeon, and thou Moon, In + Ajalon!" Nor am I one who wastes The fateful time in useless lamentation; + But one who bears his life upon his hand To lose it or to save it, as may + best Serve the designs of Him who giveth life. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + + <h4> + SCENE II — JUDAS MACCABAEUS; JEWISH FUGITIVES. + </h4> + <p> + JUDAS. Who and what are ye, that with furtive steps Steal in among our + tents? + </p> + <p> + FUGITIVES. O Maccabaeus, Outcasts are we, and fugitives as thou art, Jews + of Jerusalem, that have escaped From the polluted city, and from death. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. None can escape from death. Say that ye come To die for Israel, and + ye are welcome. What tidings bring ye? + </p> + <p> + FUGITIVES. Tidings of despair. The Temple is laid waste; the precious + vessels, Censers of gold, vials and veils and crowns, And golden + ornaments, and hidden treasures, Have all been taken from it, and the + Gentiles With revelling and with riot fill its courts, And dally with + harlots in the holy places. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. All this I knew before. + </p> + <p> + FUGITIVES. Upon the altar Are things profane, things by the law forbidden; + Nor can we keep our Sabbaths or our Feasts, But on the festivals of + Dionysus Must walk in their processions, bearing ivy To crown a drunken + god. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. This too I know. But tell me of the Jews. How fare the Jews? + </p> + <p> + FUGITIVES. The coming of this mischief hath been sore And grievous to the + people. All the land Is full of lamentation and of mourning. The Princes + and the Elders weep and wail; The young men and the maidens are made + feeble; The beauty of the women hath been changed. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. And are there none to die for Israel? 'T is not enough to mourn. + Breastplate and harness Are better things than sackcloth. Let the women + Lament for Israel; the men should die. + </p> + <p> + FUGITIVES. Both men and women die; old men and young: Old Eleazer died: + and Mahala With all her Seven Sons. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Antiochus, At every step thou takest there is left A bloody + footprint in the street, by which The avenging wrath of God will track + thee out! It is enough. Go to the sutler's tents; Those of you who are + men, put on such armor As ye may find; those of you who are women, Buckle + that armor on; and for a watchword Whisper, or cry aloud, "The Help of + God." + </p> + <h4> + SCENE III. — JUDAS MACCABAEUS; NICANOR. + </h4> + <p> + NICANOR. Hail, Judas Maccabaeus! + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Hail!—Who art thou That comest here in this mysterious guise + Into our camp unheralded? + </p> + <p> + NICANOR. A herald Sent from Nicanor. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Heralds come not thus. Armed with thy shirt of mail from head to + heel, Thou glidest like a serpent silently Into my presence. Wherefore + dost thou turn Thy face from me? A herald speaks his errand With forehead + unabashed. Thou art a spy sent by Nicanor. + </p> + <p> + NICANOR. No disguise avails! Behold my face; I am Nicanor's self. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Thou art indeed Nicanor. I salute thee. What brings thee hither to + this hostile camp Thus unattended? + </p> + <p> + NICANOR. Confidence in thee. Thou hast the nobler virtues of thy race, + Without the failings that attend those virtues. Thou canst be strong, and + yet not tyrannous, Canst righteous be and not intolerant. Let there be + peace between us. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. What is peace? Is it to bow in silence to our victors? Is it to see + our cities sacked and pillaged, Our people slain, or sold as slaves, or + fleeing At night-time by the blaze of burning towns; Jerusalem laid waste; + the Holy Temple Polluted with strange gods? Are these things peace? + </p> + <p> + NICANOR. These are the dire necessities that wait On war, whose loud and + bloody enginery I seek to stay. Let there be peace between Antiochus and + thee. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Antiochus? What is Antiochus, that he should prate Of peace to me, + who am a fugitive? To-day he shall be lifted up; to-morrow Shall not be + found, because he is returned Unto his dust; his thought has come to + nothing. There is no peace between us, nor can be, Until this banner + floats upon the walls Of our Jerusalem. + </p> + <p> + NICANOR. Between that city And thee there lies a waving wall of tents, + Held by a host of forty thousand foot, And horsemen seven thousand. What + hast thou To bring against all these? + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. The power of God, Whose breath shall scatter your white tents + abroad, As flakes of snow. + </p> + <p> + NICANOR. Your Mighty One in heaven Will not do battle on the Seventh Day; + It is his day of rest. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Silence, blasphemer. Go to thy tents. + </p> + <p> + NICANOR. Shall it be war or peace? + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. War, war, and only war. Go to thy tents That shall be scattered, as + by you were scattered The torn and trampled pages of the Law, Blown + through the windy streets. + </p> + <p> + NICANOR. Farewell, brave foe! + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Ho, there, my captains! Have safe-conduct given Unto Nicanor's + herald through the camp, And come yourselves to me.—Farewell, + Nicanor! + </p> + + <h4> + SCENE IV. — JUDAS MACCABAEUS; CAPTAINS AND SOLDIERS. + </h4> + <p> + JUDAS. The hour is come. Gather the host together For battle. Lo, with + trumpets and with songs The army of Nicanor comes against us. Go forth to + meet them, praying in your hearts, And fighting with your hands. + </p> + <p> + CAPTAINS. Look forth and see! The morning sun is shining on their shields + Of gold and brass; the mountains glisten with them, And shine like lamps. + And we who are so few And poorly armed, and ready to faint with fasting, + How shall we fight against this multitude? + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. The victory of a battle standeth not In multitudes, but in the + strength that cometh From heaven above. The Lord forbid that I Should do + this thing, and flee away from them. Nay, if our hour be come, then let us + die; Let us not stain our honor. + </p> + <p> + CAPTAINS. 'T is the Sabbath. Wilt thou fight on the Sabbath, Maccabaeus? + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Ay; when I fight the battles of the Lord, I fight them on his day, + as on all others. Have ye forgotten certain fugitives That fled once to + these hills, and hid themselves In caves? How their pursuers camped + against them Upon the Seventh Day, and challenged them? And how they + answered not, nor cast a stone, Nor stopped the places where they lay + concealed, But meekly perished with their wives and children, Even to the + number of a thousand souls? We who are fighting for our laws and lives + Will not so perish. + </p> + <p> + CAPTAINS. Lead us to the battle! + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. And let our watchword be, "The Help of God!" Last night I dreamed a + dream; and in my vision Beheld Onias, our High-Priest of old, Who holding + up his hands prayed for the Jews. This done, in the like manner there + appeared An old man, and exceeding glorious, With hoary hair, and of a + wonderful And excellent majesty. And Onias said: "This is a lover of the + Jews, who prayeth Much for the people and the Holy City,— God's + prophet Jeremias." And the prophet Held forth his right hand and gave unto + me A sword of gold; and giving it he said: "Take thou this holy sword, a + gift from God, And with it thou shalt wound thine adversaries." + </p> + <p> + CAPTAINS. The Lord is with us! + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Hark! I hear the trumpets Sound from Beth-horon; from the + battle-field Of Joshua, where he smote the Amorites, Smote the Five Kings + of Eglon and of Jarmuth, Of Hebron, Lachish, and Jerusalem, As we to-day + will smite Nicanor's hosts And leave a memory of great deeds behind us. + </p> + <p> + CAPTAINS and SOLDIERS. The Help of God! + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Be Elohim Yehovah! Lord, thou didst send thine Angel in the time Of + Esekias, King of Israel, And in the armies of Sennacherib Didst slay a + hundred fourscore and five thousand. Wherefore, O Lord of heaven, now also + send Before us a good angel for a fear, And through the might of thy right + arm let those Be stricken with terror that have come this day Against thy + holy people to blaspheme! + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap494"></a>ACT IV.</h3> + +<p class="center"> +The outer Courts of the Temple at Jerusalem. +</p> + <h4> + SCENE I. — JUDAS MACCABAEUS; CAPTAINS; JEWS. + </h4> + <p> + JUDAS. Behold, our enemies are discomfited. Jerusalem is fallen; and our + banners Float from her battlements, and o'er her gates Nicanor's severed + head, a sign of terror, Blackens in wind and sun. + </p> + <p> + CAPTAINS. O Maccabaeus, The citadel of Antiochus, wherein The Mother with + her Seven Sons was murdered, Is still defiant. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Wait. + </p> + <p> + CAPTAINS. Its hateful aspect Insults us with the bitter memories Of other + days. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Wait; it shall disappear And vanish as a cloud. First let us + cleanse The Sanctuary. See, it is become Waste like a wilderness. Its + golden gates Wrenched from their hinges and consumed by fire; Shrubs + growing in its courts as in a forest; Upon its altars hideous and strange + idols; And strewn about its pavement at my feet Its Sacred Books, half + burned and painted o'er With images of heathen gods. + </p> + <p> + JEWS. Woe! woe! Our beauty and our glory are laid waste! The Gentiles have + profaned our holy places! + </p> + <p> + (Lamentation and alarm of trumpets.) + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. This sound of trumpets, and this lamentation, The heart-cry of a + people toward the heavens, Stir me to wrath and vengeance. Go, my + captains; I hold you back no longer. Batter down The citadel of Antiochus, + while here We sweep away his altars and his gods. + </p> + <h4> + SCENE II. — JUDAS MACCABAEUS; JASON; JEWS, + </h4> + <p> + JEWS. Lurking among the ruins of the Temple, Deep in its inner courts, we + found this man, Clad as High-Priest. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. I ask not who thou art. I know thy face, writ over with deceit As + are these tattered volumes of the Law With heathen images. A priest of God + Wast thou in other days, but thou art now A priest of Satan. Traitor, thou + art Jason. + </p> + <p> + JASON. I am thy prisoner, Judas Maccabaeus, And it would ill become me to + conceal My name or office. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Over yonder gate There hangs the head of one who was a Greek. What + should prevent me now, thou man of sin, From hanging at its side the head + of one Who born a Jew hath made himself a Greek? + </p> + <p> + JASON. Justice prevents thee. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Justice? Thou art stained With every crime against which the + Decalogue Thunders with all its thunder. + </p> + <p> + JASON. If not Justice, Then Mercy, her handmaiden. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. When hast thou At any time, to any man or woman, Or even to any + little child, shown mercy? + </p> + <p> + JASON. I have but done what King Antiochus Commanded me. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. True, thou hast been the weapon With which he struck; but hast been + such a weapon, So flexible, so fitted to his hand, It tempted him to + strike. So thou hast urged him To double wickedness, thine own and his. + Where is this King? Is he in Antioch Among his women still, and from his + windows Throwing down gold by handfuls, for the rabble To scramble for? + </p> + <p> + JASON. Nay, he is gone from there, Gone with an army into the far East. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. And wherefore gone? + </p> + <p> + JASON. I know not. For the space Of forty days almost were horsemen seen + Running in air, in cloth of gold, and armed With lances, like a band of + soldiery; It was a sign of triumph. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Or of death. Wherefore art thou not with him? + </p> + <p> + JASON. I was left For service in the Temple. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. To pollute it, And to corrupt the Jews; for there are men Whose + presence is corruption; to be with them Degrades us and deforms the things + we do. + </p> + <p> + JASON. I never made a boast, as some men do, Of my superior virtue, nor + denied The weakness of my nature, that hath made me Subservient to the + will of other men. + </p> + <p> + JUDAS. Upon this day, the five and twentieth day Of the month Caslan, was + the Temple here Profaned by strangers,—by Antiochus And thee, his + instrument. Upon this day Shall it be cleansed. Thou, who didst lend + thyself Unto this profanation, canst not be A witness of these solemn + services. There can be nothing clean where thou art present. The people + put to death Callisthenes, Who burned the Temple gates; and if they find + thee Will surely slay thee. I will spare thy life To punish thee the + longer. Thou shalt wander Among strange nations. Thou, that hast cast out + So many from their native land, shalt perish In a strange land. Thou, that + hast left so many Unburied, shalt have none to mourn for thee, Nor any + solemn funerals at all, Nor sepulchre with thy fathers.—Get thee + hence! + </p> + <p> + (Music. Procession of Priests and people, with citherns, harps, and + cymbals. JUDAS MACCABAEUS puts himself at their head, and they go into the + inner courts.) + </p> + <p> + SCENE III. — JASON, alone. + </p> + <p> + JASON. Through the Gate Beautiful I see them come With branches and green + boughs and leaves of palm, And pass into the inner courts. Alas! I should + be with them, should be one of them, But in an evil hour, an hour of + weakness, That cometh unto all, I fell away From the old faith, and did + not clutch the new, Only an outward semblance of belief; For the new faith + I cannot make mine own, Not being born to it. It hath no root Within me. I + am neither Jew nor Greek, But stand between them both, a renegade To each + in turn; having no longer faith In gods or men. Then what mysterious + charm, What fascination is it chains my feet, And keeps me gazing like a + curious child Into the holy places, where the priests Have raised their + altar?—Striking stones together, They take fire out of them, and + light the lamps In the great candlestick. They spread the veils, And set + the loaves of showbread on the table. The incense burns; the + well-remembered odor Comes wafted unto me, and takes me back To other + days. I see myself among them As I was then; and the old superstition + Creeps over me again!—A childish fancy!— And hark! they sing + with citherns and with cymbals, And all the people fall upon their faces, + Praying and worshipping!—I will away Into the East, to meet + Antiochus Upon his homeward journey, crowned with triumph. Alas! to-day I + would give everything To see a friend's face, or to hear a voice That had + the slightest tone of comfort in it! + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap495"></a>ACT V.</h3> + +<p class="center"> +The Mountains of Ecbatana. +</p> + <h4> + SCENE I. — ANTIOCHUS; PHILIP; ATTENDANTS. + </h4> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Here let us rest awhile. Where are we, Philip? What place is + this? + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. Ecbatana, my Lord; And yonder mountain range is the Orontes. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. The Orontes is my river at Antioch. Why did I leave it? Why + have I been tempted By coverings of gold and shields and breastplates To + plunder Elymais, and be driven From out its gates, as by a fiery blast Out + of a furnace? + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. These are fortune's changes. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. What a defeat it was! The Persian horsemen Came like a mighty + wind, the wind Khamaseen, And melted us away, and scattered us As if we + were dead leaves, or desert sand. + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. Be comforted, my Lord; for thou hast lost But what thou hadst not. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. I, who made the Jews Skip like the grasshoppers, am made myself + To skip among these stones. + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. Be not discouraged. Thy realm of Syria remains to thee; That is + not lost nor marred. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. O, where are now The splendors of my court, my baths and + banquets? Where are my players and my dancing women? Where are my sweet + musicians with their pipes, That made me merry in the olden time? I am a + laughing-stock to man and brute. The very camels, with their ugly faces, + Mock me and laugh at me. + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. Alas! my Lord, It is not so. If thou wouldst sleep awhile, All + would be well. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Sleep from mine eyes is gone, And my heart faileth me for very + care. Dost thou remember, Philip, the old fable Told us when we were boys, + in which the bear Going for honey overturns the hive, And is stung blind + by bees? I am that beast, Stung by the Persian swarms of Elymais. + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. When thou art come again to Antioch These thoughts will be as + covered and forgotten As are the tracks of Pharaoh's chariot-wheels In the + Egyptian sands. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Ah! when I come Again to Antioch! When will that be? Alas! + alas! + </p> + <h4> + SCENE II — ANTIOCHUS; PHILIP; A MESSENGER + </h4> + <p> + MESSENGER. May the King live forever! + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Who art thou, and whence comest thou? + </p> + <p> + MESSENGER. My Lord, I am a messenger from Antioch, Sent here by Lysias. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. A strange foreboding Of something evil overshadows me. I am no + reader of the Jewish Scriptures; I know not Hebrew; but my High-Priest + Jason, As I remember, told me of a Prophet Who saw a little cloud rise + from the sea Like a man's hand and soon the heaven was black With clouds + and rain. Here, Philip, read; I cannot; I see that cloud. It makes the + letters dim Before mine eyes. + </p> + <p> + PHILIP (reading). "To King Antiochus, The God, Epiphanes." + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. O mockery! Even Lysias laughs at me!—Go on, go on. + </p> + <p> + PHILIP (reading). "We pray thee hasten thy return. The realm Is falling + from thee. Since thou hast gone from us The victories of Judas Maccabaeus + Form all our annals. First he overthrew Thy forces at Beth-horon, and + passed on, And took Jerusalem, the Holy City. And then Emmaus fell; and + then Bethsura; Ephron and all the towns of Galaad, And Maccabaeus marched + to Carnion." + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Enough, enough! Go call my chariot-men; We will drive forward, + forward, without ceasing, Until we come to Antioch. My captains, My + Lysias, Gorgias, Seron, and Nicanor, Are babes in battle, and this + dreadful Jew Will rob me of my kingdom and my crown. My elephants shall + trample him to dust; I will wipe out his nation, and will make Jerusalem a + common burying-place, And every home within its walls a tomb! + </p> + <p> + (Throws up his hands, and sinks into the arms of attendants, who lay him + upon a bank.) + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. Antiochus! Antiochus! Alas, The King is ill! What is it, O my + Lord? + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. Nothing. A sudden and sharp spasm of pain, As if the lightning + struck me, or the knife Of an assassin smote me to the heart. 'T is + passed, even as it came. Let us set forward. + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. See that the chariots be in readiness We will depart forthwith. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. A moment more. I cannot stand. I am become at once Weak as an + infant. Ye will have to lead me. Jove, or Jehovah, or whatever name Thou + wouldst be named,—it is alike to me,— If I knew how to pray, I + would entreat To live a little longer. + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. O my Lord, Thou shalt not die; we will not let thee die! + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. How canst thou help it, Philip? O the pain! Stab after stab. + Thou hast no shield against This unseen weapon. God of Israel, Since all + the other gods abandon me, Help me. I will release the Holy City. Garnish + with goodly gifts the Holy Temple. Thy people, whom I judged to be + unworthy To be so much as buried, shall be equal Unto the citizens of + Antioch. I will become a Jew, and will declare Through all the world that + is inhabited The power of God! + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. He faints. It is like death. Bring here the royal litter. We will + bear him In to the camp, while yet he lives. + </p> + <p> + ANTIOCHUS. O Philip, Into what tribulation am I come! Alas! I now remember + all the evil That I have done the Jews; and for this cause These troubles + are upon me, and behold I perish through great grief in a strange land. + </p> + <p> + PHILIP. Antiochus! my King! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ANTIOCHUS. +Nay, King no longer. +Take thou my royal robes, my signet-ring, +My crown and sceptre, and deliver them +Unto my son, Antiochus Eupator; +And unto the good Jews, my citizens, +In all my towns, say that their dying monarch +Wisheth them joy, prosperity, and health. +I who, puffed up with pride and arrogance, +Thought all the kingdoms of the earth mine own, +If I would but outstretch my hand and take them, +Meet face to face a greater potentate, +King Death—Epiphanes—the Illustrious! + [Dies. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap496"></a>MICHAEL ANGELO</h2> + +<p class="center"> +Michel, piu che mortal, Angel divino. — ARIOSTO. +</p> + <p> + Similamente operando all' artista ch' a l'abito dell' arte e man che + trema. — DANTE, Par. xiii., st. 77. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap497"></a>DEDICATION.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nothing that is shall perish utterly, + But perish only to revive again + In other forms, as clouds restore in rain + The exhalations of the land and sea. +Men build their houses from the masonry + Of ruined tombs; the passion and the pain + Of hearts, that long have ceased to beat, remain + To throb in hearts that are, or are to be. +So from old chronicles, where sleep in dust + Names that once filled the world with trumpet tones, + I build this verse; and flowers of song have thrust +Their roots among the loose disjointed stones, + Which to this end I fashion as I must. + Quickened are they that touch the Prophet's bones. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap498"></a>PART FIRST.</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap499"></a>I.<br/> +PROLOGUE AT ISCHIA</h3> + +<p class="center"> +The Castle Terrace. VITTORIA COLONNA, and JULIA GONZAGA. +</p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Will you then leave me, Julia, and so soon, To pace alone this + terrace like a ghost? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. To-morrow, dearest. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Do not say to-morrow. +A whole month of to-morrows were too soon. +You must not go. You are a part of me. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. I must return to Fondi. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + The old castle +Needs not your presence. No one waits for you. +Stay one day longer with me. They who go +Feel not the pain of parting; it is they +Who stay behind that suffer. I was thinking +But yesterday how like and how unlike +Have been, and are, our destinies. Your husband, +The good Vespasian, an old man, who seemed +A father to you rather than a husband, +Died in your arms; but mine, in all the flower +And promise of his youth, was taken from me +As by a rushing wind. The breath of battle +Breathed on him, and I saw his face no more, +Save as in dreams it haunts me. As our love +Was for these men, so is our sorrow for them. +Yours a child's sorrow, smiling through its tears; +But mine the grief of an impassioned woman, +Who drank her life up in one draught of love. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. Behold this locket. This is the white hair Of my Vespasian. This is + the flower-of-love, This amaranth, and beneath it the device Non moritura. + Thus my heart remains True to his memory; and the ancient castle, Where we + have lived together, where he died, Is dear to me as Ischia is to you. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. I did not mean to chide you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Let your heart +Find, if it can, some poor apology +For one who is too young, and feels too keenly +The joy of life, to give up all her days +To sorrow for the dead. While I am true +To the remembrance of the man I loved +And mourn for still, I do not make a show +Of all the grief I feel, nor live secluded +And, like Veronica da Gambara, +Drape my whole house in mourning, and drive forth +In coach of sable drawn by sable horses, +As if I were a corpse. Ah, one to-day +Is worth for me a thousand yesterdays. +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. Dear Julia! Friendship has its jealousies As well as love. Who + waits for you at Fondi? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. A friend of mine and yours; a friend and friar. You have at Naples + your Fra Bernadino; And I at Fondi have my Fra Bastiano, The famous + artist, who has come from Rome To paint my portrait. That is not a sin. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Only a vanity. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + He painted yours. +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. Do not call up to me those days departed When I was young, and + all was bright about me, And the vicissitudes of life were things But to + be read of in old histories, Though as pertaining unto me or mine + Impossible. Ah, then I dreamed your dreams, And now, grown older, I look + back and see They were illusions. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Yet without illusions +What would our lives become, what we ourselves? +Dreams or illusions, call them what you will, +They lift us from the commonplace of life +To better things. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Are there no brighter dreams, +No higher aspirations, than the wish +To please and to be pleased? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + For you there are; +I am no saint; I feel the world we live in +Comes before that which is to be here after, +And must be dealt with first. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + But in what way? +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. Let the soft wind that wafts to us the odor Of orange blossoms, let + the laughing sea And the bright sunshine bathing all the world, Answer the + question. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + And for whom is meant +This portrait that you speak of? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + For my friend +The Cardinal Ippolito. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + For him? +</pre> + <p> + JULIA Yes, for Ippolito the Magnificent. 'T is always flattering to a + woman's pride To be admired by one whom all admire. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Ah, Julia, she that makes herself a dove Is eaten by the hawk. + Be on your guard, He is a Cardinal; and his adoration Should be elsewhere + directed. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + You forget +The horror of that night, when Barbarossa, +The Moorish corsair, landed on our coast +To seize me for the Sultan Soliman; +How in the dead of night, when all were sleeping, +He scaled the castle wall; how I escaped, +And in my night-dress, mounting a swift steed, +Fled to the mountains, and took refuge there +Among the brigands. Then of all my friends +The Cardinal Ippolito was first +To come with his retainers to my rescue. +Could I refuse the only boon he asked +At such a time, my portrait? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + I have heard +Strange stories of the splendors of his palace, +And how, apparelled like a Spanish Prince, +He rides through Rome with a long retinue +Of Ethiopians and Numidians +And Turks and Tartars, in fantastic dresses, +Making a gallant show. Is this the way +A Cardinal should live? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + He is so young; +Hardly of age, or little more than that; +Beautiful, generous, fond of arts and letters, +A poet, a musician, and a scholar; +Master of many languages, and a player +On many instruments. In Rome, his palace +Is the asylum of all men distinguished +In art or science, and all Florentines +Escaping from the tyranny of his cousin, +Duke Alessandro. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + I have seen his portrait, +Painted by Titian. You have painted it +In brighter colors. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + And my Cardinal, +At Itri, in the courtyard of his palace, +Keeps a tame lion! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + And so counterfeits +St. Mark, the Evangelist! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Ah, your tame lion +Is Michael Angelo. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + You speak a name +That always thrills me with a noble sound, +As of a trumpet! Michael Angelo! +A lion all men fear and none can tame; +A man that all men honor, and the model +That all should follow; one who works and prays, +For work is prayer, and consecrates his life +To the sublime ideal of his art, +Till art and life are one; a man who holds +Such place in all men's thoughts, that when they speak +Of great things done, or to be done, his name +Is ever on their lips. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + You too can paint +The portrait of your hero, and in colors +Brighter than Titian's; I might warn you also +Against the dangers that beset your path; +But I forbear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + If I were made of marble, +Of Fior di Persico or Pavonazzo, +He might admire me: being but flesh and blood, +I am no more to him than other women; +That is, am nothing. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Does he ride through Rome +Upon his little mule, as he was wont, +With his slouched hat, and boots of Cordovan, +As when I saw him last? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Pray do not jest. +I cannot couple with his noble name +A trivial word! Look, how the setting sun +Lights up Castel-a-mare and Sorrento, +And changes Capri to a purple cloud! +And there Vesuvius with its plume of smoke, +And the great city stretched upon the shore +As in a dream! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Parthenope the Siren! +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. And yon long line of lights, those sunlit windows Blaze like the + torches carried in procession To do her honor! It is beautiful! + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I have no heart to feel the beauty of it! My feet are weary, pacing + up and down These level flags, and wearier still my thoughts Treading the + broken pavement of the Past, It is too sad. I will go in and rest, And + make me ready for to-morrow's journey. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. +I will go with you; for I would not lose +One hour of your dear presence. 'T is enough +Only to be in the same room with you. +I need not speak to you, nor hear you speak; +If I but see you, I am satisfied. + [They go in. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap500"></a>MONOLOGUE: THE LAST JUDGMENT</h3> + + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO's Studio. He is at work on the cartoon of the Last + Judgment. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Why did the Pope and his ten Cardinals Come here to lay + this heavy task upon me? Were not the paintings on the Sistine ceiling + Enough for them? They saw the Hebrew leader Waiting, and clutching his + tempestuous beard, But heeded not. The bones of Julius Shook in their + sepulchre. I heard the sound; They only heard the sound of their own + voices. + </p> + <p> + Are there no other artists here in Rome To do this work, that they must + needs seek me? Fra Bastian, my Era Bastian, might have done it; But he is + lost to art. The Papal Seals, Like leaden weights upon a dead man's eyes, + Press down his lids; and so the burden falls On Michael Angelo, Chief + Architect And Painter of the Apostolic Palace. That is the title they + cajole me with, To make me do their work and leave my own; But having once + begun, I turn not back. Blow, ye bright angels, on your golden trumpets To + the four corners of the earth, and wake The dead to judgment! Ye recording + angels, Open your books and read? Ye dead awake! Rise from your graves, + drowsy and drugged with death, As men who suddenly aroused from sleep Look + round amazed, and know not where they are! + </p> + <p> + In happy hours, when the imagination Wakes like a wind at midnight, and + the soul Trembles in all its leaves, it is a joy To be uplifted on its + wings, and listen To the prophetic voices in the air That call us onward. + Then the work we do Is a delight, and the obedient hand Never grows weary. + But how different is it En the disconsolate, discouraged hours, When all + the wisdom of the world appears As trivial as the gossip of a nurse In a + sick-room, and all our work seems useless, + </p> + <p> + What is it guides my hand, what thoughts possess me, That I have drawn her + face among the angels, Where she will be hereafter? O sweet dreams, That + through the vacant chambers of my heart Walk in the silence, as familiar + phantoms Frequent an ancient house, what will ye with me? 'T is said that + Emperors write their names in green When under age, but when of age in + purple. So Love, the greatest Emperor of them all, Writes his in green at + first, but afterwards In the imperial purple of our blood. First love or + last love,—which of these two passions Is more omnipotent? Which is + more fair, The star of morning or the evening star? The sunrise or the + sunset of the heart? The hour when we look forth to the unknown, And the + advancing day consumes the shadows, Or that when all the landscape of our + lives Lies stretched behind us, and familiar places Gleam in the distance, + and sweet memories Rise like a tender haze, and magnify The objects we + behold, that soon must vanish? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What matters it to me, whose countenance +Is like the Laocoon's, full of pain; whose forehead +Is a ploughed harvest-field, where three-score years +Have sown in sorrow and have reaped in anguish; +To me, the artisan, to whom all women +Have been as if they were not, or at most +A sudden rush of pigeons in the air, +A flutter of wings, a sound, and then a silence? +I am too old for love; I am too old +To flatter and delude myself with visions +Of never-ending friendship with fair women, +Imaginations, fantasies, illusions, +In which the things that cannot be take shape, +And seem to be, and for the moment are. + [Convent bells ring. +</pre> + <p> + Distant and near and low and loud the bells, Dominican, Benedictine, and + Franciscan, Jangle and wrangle in their airy towers, Discordant as the + brotherhoods themselves In their dim cloisters. The descending sun Seems + to caress the city that he loves, And crowns it with the aureole of a + saint. I will go forth and breathe the air a while. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap501"></a>II.<br/> +SAN SILVESTRO</h3> + + <p> + A Chapel in the Church of San Silvestra on Monte Cavallo. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA COLONNA, CLAUDIO TOLOMMEI, and others. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Here let us rest a while, until the crowd Has left the church. I + have already sent For Michael Angelo to join us here. + </p> + <p> + MESSER CLAUDIO. After Fra Bernardino's wise discourse On the Pauline + Epistles, certainly Some words of Michael Angelo on Art Were not amiss, to + bring us back to earth. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO, at the door. How like a Saint or Goddess she appears; + Diana or Madonna, which I know not! In attitude and aspect formed to be At + once the artist's worship and despair! + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Welcome, Maestro. We were waiting for you. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. I met your messenger upon the way, And hastened hither. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + It is kind of you +To come to us, who linger here like gossips +Wasting the afternoon in idle talk. +These are all friends of mine and friends of yours. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. If friends of yours, then are they friends of mine. Pardon + me, gentlemen. But when I entered I saw but the Marchesa. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Take this seat +Between me and Ser Claudio Tolommei, +Who still maintains that our Italian tongue +Should be called Tuscan. But for that offence +We will not quarrel with him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Eccellenza— +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. Ser Claudio has banished Eccellenza And all such titles from the + Tuscan tongue. + </p> + <p> + MESSER CLAUDIO. 'T is the abuse of them and not the use I deprecate. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + The use or the abuse +It matters not. Let them all go together, +As empty phrases and frivolities, +And common as gold-lace upon the collar +Of an obsequious lackey. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + That may be, +But something of politeness would go with them; +We should lose something of the stately manners +Of the old school. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MESSER CLAUDIO. + Undoubtedly. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORlA. + But that +Is not what occupies my thoughts at present, +Nor why I sent for you, Messer Michele. +It was to counsel me. His Holiness +Has granted me permission, long desired, +To build a convent in this neighborhood, +Where the old tower is standing, from whose top +Nero looked down upon the burning city. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. It is an inspiration! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + I am doubtful +How I shall build; how large to make the convent, +And which way fronting. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Ah, to build, to build! +That is the noblest art of all the arts. +Painting and sculpture are but images, +Are merely shadows cast by outward things +On stone or canvas, having in themselves +No separate existence. Architecture, +Existing in itself, and not in seeming +A something it is not, surpasses them +As substance shadow. Long, long years ago, +Standing one morning near the Baths of Titus, +I saw the statue of Laocoon +Rise from its grave of centuries, like a ghost +Writhing in pain; and as it tore away +The knotted serpents from its limbs, I heard, +Or seemed to hear, the cry of agony +From its white, parted lips. And still I marvel +At the three Rhodian artists, by whose hands +This miracle was wrought. Yet he beholds +Far nobler works who looks upon the ruins +Of temples in the Forum here in Rome. +If God should give me power in my old age +To build for Him a temple half as grand +As those were in their glory, I should count +My age more excellent than youth itself, +And all that I have hitherto accomplished +As only vanity. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + I understand you. +Art is the gift of God, and must be used +Unto His glory. That in art is highest +Which aims at this. When St. Hilarion blessed +The horses of Italicus, they won +The race at Gaza, for his benediction +O'erpowered all magic; and the people shouted +That Christ had conquered Marnas. So that art +Which bears the consecration and the seal +Of holiness upon it will prevail +Over all others. Those few words of yours +Inspire me with new confidence to build. +What think you? The old walls might serve, perhaps, +Some purpose still. The tower can hold the bells. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. If strong enough. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + If not, it can be strengthened. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. I see no bar nor drawback to this building, And on our + homeward way, if it shall please you, We may together view the site. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + I thank you. +I did not venture to request so much. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Let us now go to the old walls you spake of, Vossignoria— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + What, again, Maestro? +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Pardon me, Messer Claudio, if once more I use the ancient + courtesies of speech. I am too old to change. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap502"></a>III.<br/> +CARDINAL IPPOLITO.</h3> + + <p> + A richly furnished apartment in the Palace of CARDINAL IPPOLITO. Night. + </p> + <p> + JACOPO NARDI, an old man, alone. + </p> + <p> + NARDI. I am bewildered. These Numidian slaves, In strange attire; these + endless ante-chambers; This lighted hall, with all its golden splendors, + Pictures, and statues! Can this be the dwelling Of a disciple of that + lowly Man Who had not where to lay his head? These statues Are not of + Saints; nor is this a Madonna, This lovely face, that with such tender + eyes Looks down upon me from the painted canvas. My heart begins to fail + me. What can he Who lives in boundless luxury at Rome Care for the + imperilled liberties of Florence, Her people, her Republic? Ah, the rich + Feel not the pangs of banishment. All doors Are open to them, and all + hands extended, The poor alone are outcasts; they who risked All they + possessed for liberty, and lost; And wander through the world without a + friend, Sick, comfortless, distressed, unknown, uncared for. + </p> + <p> + Enter CARDINAL HIPPOLITO, in Spanish cloak and slouched hat. + </p> + <p> + IPPOLITO. I pray you pardon me that I have kept you Waiting so long alone. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + I wait to see +The Cardinal. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + I am the Cardinal. +And you? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + Jacopo Nardi. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + You are welcome +I was expecting you. Philippo Strozzi +Had told me of your coming. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + 'T was his son +That brought me to your door. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + Pray you, be seated. +You seem astonished at the garb I wear, +But at my time of life, and with my habits, +The petticoats of a Cardinal would be— +Troublesome; I could neither ride nor walk, +Nor do a thousand things, if I were dressed +Like an old dowager. It were putting wine +Young as the young Astyanax into goblets +As old as Priam. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + Oh, your Eminence +Knows best what you should wear. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + Dear Messer Nardi, +You are no stranger to me. I have read +Your excellent translation of the books +Of Titus Livius, the historian +Of Rome, and model of all historians +That shall come after him. It does you honor; +But greater honor still the love you bear +To Florence, our dear country, and whose annals +I hope your hand will write, in happier days +Than we now see. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + Your Eminence will pardon +The lateness of the hour. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + The hours I count not +As a sun-dial; but am like a clock, +That tells the time as well by night as day. +So no excuse. I know what brings you here. +You come to speak of Florence. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + And her woes. +</pre> + <p> + IPPOLITO. The Duke, my cousin, the black Alessandro, Whose mother was a + Moorish slave, that fed The sheep upon Lorenzo's farm, still lives And + reigns. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + Alas, that such a scourge +Should fall on such a city! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + When he dies, +The Wild Boar in the gardens of Lorenzo, +The beast obscene, should be the monument +Of this bad man. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + He walks the streets at night +With revellers, insulting honest men. +No house is sacred from his lusts. The convents +Are turned by him to brothels, and the honor +Of women and all ancient pious customs +Are quite forgotten now. The offices +Of the Priori and Gonfalonieri +Have been abolished. All the magistrates +Are now his creatures. Liberty is dead. +The very memory of all honest living +Is wiped away, and even our Tuscan tongue +Corrupted to a Lombard dialect. +</pre> + <p> + IPPOLITO. And worst of all his impious hand has broken The Martinella,—our + great battle bell, That, sounding through three centuries, has led The + Florentines to victory,—lest its voice Should waken in their souls + some memory Of far-off times of glory. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + What a change +Ten little years have made! We all remember +Those better days, when Niccola Capponi, +The Gonfaloniere, from the windows +Of the Old Palace, with the blast of trumpets, +Proclaimed to the inhabitants that Christ +Was chosen King of Florence; and already +Christ is dethroned, and slain, and in his stead +Reigns Lucifer! Alas, alas, for Florence! +</pre> + <p> + IPPOLITO. Lilies with lilies, said Savonarola; Florence and France! But I + say Florence only, Or only with the Emperor's hand to help us In sweeping + out the rubbish. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + Little hope +Of help is there from him. He has betrothed +His daughter Margaret to this shameless Duke. +What hope have we from such an Emperor? +</pre> + <p> + IPPOLITO. Baccio Valori and Philippo Strozzi, Once the Duke's friends and + intimates are with us, And Cardinals Salvati and Ridolfi. We shall soon + see, then, as Valori says, Whether the Duke can best spare honest men, Or + honest men the Duke. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NARDI. + We have determined +To send ambassadors to Spain, and lay +Our griefs before the Emperor, though I fear +More than I hope. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + The Emperor is busy +With this new war against the Algerines, +And has no time to listen to complaints +From our ambassadors; nor will I trust them, +But go myself. All is in readiness +For my departure, and to-morrow morning +I shall go down to Itri, where I meet +Dante da Castiglione and some others, +Republicans and fugitives from Florence, +And then take ship at Gaeta, and go +To join the Emperor in his new crusade +Against the Turk. I shall have time enough +And opportunity to plead our cause. +</pre> + <p> + NARDI, rising. It is an inspiration, and I hail it As of good omen. May + the power that sends it Bless our beloved country, and restore Its + banished citizens. The soul of Florence Is now outside its gates. What + lies within Is but a corpse, corrupted and corrupting. Heaven help us all, + I will not tarry longer, For you have need of rest. Good-night. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + Good-night. +</pre> + <p> + Enter FRA SEBASTIANO; Turkish attendants. + </p> + <p> + IPPOLITO. Fra Bastiano, how your portly presence Contrasts with that of + the spare Florentine Who has just left me! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + As we passed each other, +I saw that he was weeping. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + Poor old man! +</pre> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. Who is he? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + Jacopo Nardi. A brave soul; +One of the Fuoruseiti, and the best +And noblest of them all; but he has made me +Sad with his sadness. As I look on you +My heart grows lighter. I behold a man +Who lives in an ideal world, apart +From all the rude collisions of our life, +In a calm atmosphere. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + Your Eminence +Is surely jesting. If you knew the life +Of artists as I know it, you might think +Far otherwise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + But wherefore should I jest? +The world of art is an ideal world,— +The world I love, and that I fain would live in; +So speak to me of artists and of art, +Of all the painters, sculptors, and musicians +That now illustrate Rome. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + Of the musicians, +I know but Goudimel, the brave maestro +And chapel-master of his Holiness, +Who trains the Papal choir. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + In church this morning, +I listened to a mass of Goudimel, +Divinely chanted. In the Incarnatus, +In lieu of Latin words, the tenor sang +With infinite tenderness, in plain Italian, +A Neapolitan love-song. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + You amaze me. +Was it a wanton song? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + Not a divine one. +I am not over-scrupulous, as you know, +In word or deed, yet such a song as that. +Sung by the tenor of the Papal choir, +And in a Papal mass, seemed out of place; +There's something wrong in it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + There's something wrong +In everything. We cannot make the world +Go right. 'T is not my business to reform +The Papal choir. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + Nor mine, thank Heaven. +Then tell me of the artists. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + Naming one +I name them all; for there is only one. +His name is Messer Michael Angelo. +All art and artists of the present day +Centre in him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + You count yourself as nothing! +</pre> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. Or less than nothing, since I am at best Only a + portrait-painter; one who draws With greater or less skill, as best he + may, The features of a face. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + And you have had +The honor, nay, the glory, of portraying +Julia Gonzaga! Do you count as nothing +A privilege like that? See there the portrait +Rebuking you with its divine expression. +Are you not penitent? He whose skilful hand +Painted that lovely picture has not right +To vilipend the art of portrait-painting. +But what of Michael Angelo? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + But lately +Strolling together down the crowded Corso, +We stopped, well pleased, to see your Eminence +Pass on an Arab steed, a noble creature, +Which Michael Angelo, who is a lover +Of all things beautiful, especially +When they are Arab horses, much admired, +And could not praise enough. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO, to an attendant. + Hassan, to-morrow, +When I am gone, but not till I am gone,— +Be careful about that,—take Barbarossa +To Messer Michael Angelo, the sculptor, +Who lives there at Macello dei Corvi, +Near to the Capitol; and take besides +Some ten mule-loads of provender, and say +Your master sends them to him as a present. +</pre> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. A princely gift. Though Michael Angelo Refuses presents + from his Holiness, Yours he will not refuse. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + You think him like +Thymoetes, who received the wooden horse +Into the walls of Troy. That book of Virgil +Have I translated in Italian verse, +And shall, some day, when we have leisure for it, +Be pleased to read you. When I speak of Troy +I am reminded of another town +And of a lovelier Helen, our dear Countess +Julia Gonzaga. You remember, surely, +The adventure with the corsair Barbarossa, +And all that followed? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + A most strange adventure; +A tale as marvellous and full of wonder +As any in Boccaccio or Sacchetti; +Almost incredible! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + Were I a painter +I should not want a better theme than that: +The lovely lady fleeing through the night +In wild disorder; and the brigands' camp +With the red fire-light on their swarthy faces. +Could you not paint it for me? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + No, not I. +It is not in my line. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + Then you shall paint +The portrait of the corsair, when we bring him +A prisoner chained to Naples: for I feel +Something like admiration for a man +Who dared this strange adventure. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + I will do it. +But catch the corsair first. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + You may begin +To-morrow with the sword. Hassan, come hither; +Bring me the Turkish scimitar that hangs +Beneath the picture yonder. Now unsheathe it. +'T is a Damascus blade; you see the inscription +In Arabic: La Allah illa Allah,— +There is no God but God. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + How beautiful +In fashion and in finish! It is perfect. +The Arsenal of Venice can not boast +A finer sword. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + You like it? It is yours. +</pre> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. You do not mean it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + I am not a Spaniard, +To say that it is yours and not to mean it. +I have at Itri a whole armory +Full of such weapons. When you paint the portrait +Of Barbarossa, it will be of use. +You have not been rewarded as you should be +For painting the Gonzaga. Throw this bauble +Into the scale, and make the balance equal. +Till then suspend it in your studio; +You artists like such trifles. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + I will keep it +In memory of the donor. Many thanks. +</pre> + <p> + IPPOLITO. Fra Bastian, I am growing tired of Rome, The old dead city, with + the old dead people; Priests everywhere, like shadows on a wall, And + morning, noon, and night the ceaseless sound Of convent bells. I must be + gone from here; Though Ovid somewhere says that Rome is worthy To be the + dwelling-place of all the Gods, I must be gone from here. To-morrow + morning I start for Itri, and go thence by sea To join the Emperor, who is + making war Upon the Algerines; perhaps to sink Some Turkish galleys, and + bring back in chains The famous corsair. Thus would I avenge The beautiful + Gonzaga. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + An achievement +Worthy of Charlemagne, or of Orlando. +Berni and Ariosto both shall add +A canto to their poems, and describe you +As Furioso and Innamorato. +Now I must say good-night. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +IPPOLITO. + You must not go; +First you shall sup with me. My seneschal +Giovan Andrea dal Borgo a San Sepolcro,— +I like to give the whole sonorous name, +It sounds so like a verse of the Aeneid,— +Has brought me eels fresh from the Lake of Fondi, +And Lucrine oysters cradled in their shells: +These, with red Fondi wine, the Caecu ban +That Horace speaks of, under a hundred keys +Kept safe, until the heir of Posthumus +Shall stain the pavement with it, make a feast +Fit for Lucullus, or Fra Bastian even; +So we will go to supper, and be merry. +</pre> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. Beware! I Remember that Bolsena's eels And Vernage wine + once killed a Pope of Rome! + </p> + <p> + IPPOLITO. 'T was a French Pope; and then so long ago; Who knows?—perhaps + the story is not true. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap503"></a>IV.<br/> +BORGO DELLE VERGINE AT NAPLES</h3> + + <p> + Room in the Palace of JULIA GONZAGA. Night. + </p> + <p> + JULIA GONZAGA, GIOVANNI VALDESSO. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Do not go yet. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + The night is far advanced; +I fear to stay too late, and weary you +With these discussions. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + I have much to say. +I speak to you, Valdesso, with that frankness +Which is the greatest privilege of friendship.— +Speak as I hardly would to my confessor, +Such is my confidence in you. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + Dear Countess +If loyalty to friendship be a claim +Upon your confidence, then I may claim it. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. Then sit again, and listen unto things That nearer are to me than + life itself. + </p> + <p> + VALDESSO. In all things I am happy to obey you, And happiest then when you + command me most. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Laying aside all useless rhetoric, That is superfluous between us + two, I come at once unto the point and say, You know my outward life, my + rank and fortune; Countess of Fondi, Duchess of Trajetto, A widow rich and + flattered, for whose hand In marriage princes ask, and ask it only To be + rejected. All the world can offer Lies at my feet. If I remind you of it, + It is not in the way of idle boasting, But only to the better + understanding Of what comes after. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + God hath given you also +Beauty and intellect; and the signal grace +To lead a spotless life amid temptations, +That others yield to. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + But the inward life,— +That you know not; 't is known but to myself, +And is to me a mystery and a pain. +A soul disquieted, and ill at ease, +A mind perplexed with doubts and apprehensions, +A heart dissatisfied with all around me, +And with myself, so that sometimes I weep, +Discouraged and disgusted with the world. +</pre> + <p> + VALDESSO. Whene'er we cross a river at a ford, If we would pass in safety, + we must keep Our eyes fixed steadfast on the shore beyond, For if we cast + them on the flowing stream, The head swims with it; so if we would cross + The running flood of things here in the world, Our souls must not look + down, but fix their sight On the firm land beyond. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + I comprehend you. +You think I am too worldly; that my head +Swims with the giddying whirl of life about me. +Is that your meaning? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + Yes; your meditations +Are more of this world and its vanities +Than of the world to come. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Between the two +I am confused. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + Yet have I seen you listen +Enraptured when Fra Bernardino preached +Of faith and hope and charity. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + I listen, +But only as to music without meaning. +It moves me for the moment, and I think +How beautiful it is to be a saint, +As dear Vittoria is; but I am weak +And wayward, and I soon fall back again +To my old ways, so very easily. +There are too many week-days for one Sunday. +</pre> + <p> + VALDESSO. Then take the Sunday with you through the week, And sweeten with + it all the other days. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. In part I do so; for to put a stop To idle tongues, what men might + say of me If I lived all alone here in my palace, And not from a vocation + that I feel For the monastic life, I now am living With Sister Caterina at + the convent Of Santa Chiara, and I come here only On certain days, for my + affairs, or visits Of ceremony, or to be with friends. For I confess, to + live among my friends Is Paradise to me; my Purgatory Is living among + people I dislike. And so I pass my life in these two worlds, This palace + and the convent. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + It was then +The fear of man, and not the love of God, +That led you to this step. Why will you not +Give all your heart to God? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + If God commands it, +Wherefore hath He not made me capable +Of doing for Him what I wish to do +As easily as I could offer Him +This jewel from my hand, this gown I wear, +Or aught else that is mine? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + The hindrance lies +In that original sin, by which all fell. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. Ah me, I cannot bring my troubled mind To wish well to that Adam, + our first parent, Who by his sin lost Paradise for us, And brought such + ills upon us. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + We ourselves, +When we commit a sin, lose Paradise, +As much as he did. Let us think of this, +And how we may regain it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Teach me, then, +To harmonize the discord of my life, +And stop the painful jangle of these wires. +</pre> + <p> + VALDESSO. That is a task impossible, until You tune your heart-strings to + a higher key Than earthly melodies. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + How shall I do it? +Point out to me the way of this perfection, +And I will follow you; for you have made +My soul enamored with it, and I cannot +Rest satisfied until I find it out. +But lead me privately, so that the world +Hear not my steps; I would not give occasion +For talk among the people. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + Now at last +I understand you fully. Then, what need +Is there for us to beat about the bush? +I know what you desire of me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + What rudeness! +If you already know it, why not tell me? +</pre> + <p> + VALDESSO. Because I rather wait for you to ask it With your own lips. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Do me the kindness, then, +To speak without reserve; and with all frankness, +If you divine the truth, will I confess it. +</pre> + <p> + VALDESSO. I am content. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Then speak. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + You would be free +From the vexatious thoughts that come and go +Through your imagination, and would have me +Point out some royal road and lady-like +Which you may walk in, and not wound your feet; +You would attain to the divine perfection, +And yet not turn your back upon the world; +You would possess humility within, +But not reveal it in your outward actions; +You would have patience, but without the rude +Occasions that require its exercise; +You would despise the world, but in such fashion +The world should not despise you in return; +Would clothe the soul with all the Christian graces, +Yet not despoil the body of its gauds; +Would feed the soul with spiritual food, +Yet not deprive the body of its feasts; +Would seem angelic in the sight of God, +Yet not too saint-like in the eyes of men; +In short, would lead a holy Christian life +In such a way that even your nearest friend +Would not detect therein one circumstance +To show a change from what it was before. +Have I divined your secret? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + You have drawn +The portrait of my inner self as truly +As the most skilful painter ever painted +A human face. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + This warrants me in saying +You think you can win heaven by compromise, +And not by verdict. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA + You have often told me +That a bad compromise was better even +Than a good verdict. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + Yes, in suits at law; +Not in religion. With the human soul +There is no compromise. By faith alone +Can man be justified. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Hush, dear Valdesso; +That is a heresy. Do not, I pray you, +Proclaim it from the house-top, but preserve it +As something precious, hidden in your heart, +As I, who half believe and tremble at it. +</pre> + <p> + VALDESSO. I must proclaim the truth. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Enthusiast! +Why must you? You imperil both yourself +And friends by your imprudence. Pray, be patient. +You have occasion now to show that virtue +Which you lay stress upon. Let us return +To our lost pathway. Show me by what steps +I shall walk in it. + [Convent bells are heard. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + Hark! the convent bells +Are ringing; it is midnight; I must leave you. +And yet I linger. Pardon me, dear Countess, +Since you to-night have made me your confessor, +If I so far may venture, I will warn you +Upon one point. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + What is it? Speak, I pray you, +For I have no concealments in my conduct; +All is as open as the light of day. +What is it you would warn me of? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + Your friendship +With Cardinal Ippolito. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + What is there +To cause suspicion or alarm in that, +More than in friendships that I entertain +With you and others? I ne'er sat with him +Alone at night, as I am sitting now +With you, Valdesso. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VALDESSO. + Pardon me; the portrait +That Fra Bastiano painted was for him. +Is that quite prudent? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + That is the same question +Vittoria put to me, when I last saw her. +I make you the same answer. That was not +A pledge of love, but of pure gratitude. +Recall the adventure of that dreadful night +When Barbarossa with two thousand Moors +Landed upon the coast, and in the darkness +Attacked my castle. Then, without delay, +The Cardinal came hurrying down from Rome +To rescue and protect me. Was it wrong +That in an hour like that I did not weigh +Too nicely this or that, but granted him +A boon that pleased him, and that flattered me? +</pre> + <p> + VALDESSO. Only beware lest, in disguise of friendship Another corsair, + worse than Barbarossa, Steal in and seize the castle, not by storm But + strategy. And now I take my leave. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. +Farewell; but ere you go look forth and see +How night hath hushed the clamor and the stir +Of the tumultuous streets. The cloudless moon +Roofs the whole city as with tiles of silver; +The dim, mysterious sea in silence sleeps; +And straight into the air Vesuvius lifts +His plume of smoke. How beautiful it is! + [Voices in the street. +</pre> + <p> + GIOVAN ANDREA. Poisoned at Itri. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ANOTHER VOICE. + Poisoned? Who is poisoned? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GIOVAN ANDREA. +The Cardinal Ippolito, my master. +Call it malaria. It was sudden. + [Julia swoons. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap504"></a>V.<br/> +VITTORIA COLONNA</h3> + + <p> + A room in the Torre Argentina. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA COLONNA and JULIA GONZAGA. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Come to my arms and to my heart once more; My soul goes out to + meet you and embrace you, For we are of the sisterhood of sorrow. I know + what you have suffered. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Name it not. +Let me forget it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + I will say no more. +Let me look at you. What a joy it is +To see your face, to hear your voice again! +You bring with you a breath as of the morn, +A memory of the far-off happy days +When we were young. When did you come from Fondi? +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. I have not been at Fondi since— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Ah me! +You need not speak the word; I understand you. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. I came from Naples by the lovely valley The Terra di Lavoro. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + And you find me +But just returned from a long journey northward. +I have been staying with that noble woman +Renee of France, the Duchess of Ferrara. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. Oh, tell me of the Duchess. I have heard Flaminio speak her praises + with such warmth That I am eager to hear more of her And of her brilliant + court. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + You shall hear all +But first sit down and listen patiently +While I confess myself. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + What deadly sin +Have you committed? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Not a sin; a folly +I chid you once at Ischia, when you told me +That brave Fra Bastian was to paint your portrait. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA Well I remember it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Then chide me now, +For I confess to something still more strange. +Old as I am, I have at last consented +To the entreaties and the supplications +Of Michael Angelo— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA + To marry him? +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. I pray you, do not jest with me! You now, Or you should know, + that never such a thought Entered my breast. I am already married. The + Marquis of Pescara is my husband, And death has not divorced us. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Pardon me. +Have I offended you? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + No, but have hurt me. +Unto my buried lord I give myself, +Unto my friend the shadow of myself, +My portrait. It is not from vanity, +But for the love I bear him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + I rejoice +To hear these words. Oh, this will be a portrait +Worthy of both of you! [A knock. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Hark! He is coming. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. And shall I go or stay? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + By all means, stay. +The drawing will be better for your presence; +You will enliven me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + I shall not speak; +The presence of great men doth take from me +All power of speech. I only gaze at them +In silent wonder, as if they were gods, +Or the inhabitants of some other planet. +</pre> + <p> + Enter MICHAEL ANGELO. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Come in. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + I fear my visit is ill-timed; +I interrupt you. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + No; this is a friend +Of yours as well as mine,—the Lady Julia, +The Duchess of Trajetto. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO to JULIA. + I salute you. +'T is long since I have seen your face, my lady; +Pardon me if I say that having seen it, +One never can forget it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + You are kind +To keep me in your memory. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + It is +The privilege of age to speak with frankness. +You will not be offended when I say +That never was your beauty more divine. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. When Michael Angelo condescends to flatter Or praise me, I am + proud, and not offended. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Now this is gallantry enough for one; Show me a little. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Ah, my gracious lady, +You know I have not words to speak your praise. +I think of you in silence. You conceal +Your manifold perfections from all eyes, +And make yourself more saint-like day by day. +And day by day men worship you the wore. +But now your hour of martyrdom has come. +You know why I am here. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Ah yes, I know it, +And meet my fate with fortitude. You find me +Surrounded by the labors of your hands: +The Woman of Samaria at the Well, +The Mater Dolorosa, and the Christ +Upon the Cross, beneath which you have written +Those memorable words of Alighieri, +"Men have forgotten how much blood it costs." +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. And now I come to add one labor more, If you will call + that labor which is pleasure, And only pleasure. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + How shall I be seated? +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO, opening his portfolio. + </p> + <p> + Just as you are. The light falls well upon you. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. I am ashamed to steal the time from you That should be given to + the Sistine Chapel. How does that work go on? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO, drawing. + But tardily. +Old men work slowly. Brain and hand alike +Are dull and torpid. To die young is best, +And not to be remembered as old men +Tottering about in their decrepitude. +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. My dear Maestro! have you, then, forgotten The story of + Sophocles in his old age? + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. What story is it? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + When his sons accused him, +Before the Areopagus, of dotage, +For all defence, he read there to his Judges +The Tragedy of Oedipus Coloneus,— +The work of his old age. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + 'T is an illusion +A fabulous story, that will lead old men +Into a thousand follies and conceits. +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. So you may show to cavilers your painting Of the Last Judgment + in the Sistine Chapel. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Now you and Lady Julia shall resume The conversation that + I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. It was of no great import; nothing more Nor less than my late + visit to Ferrara, And what I saw there in the ducal palace. Will it not + interrupt you? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Not the least. +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. Well, first, then, of Duke Ercole: a man Cold in his manners, + and reserved and silent, And yet magnificent in all his ways; Not + hospitable unto new ideas, But from state policy, and certain reasons + Concerning the investiture of the duchy, A partisan of Rome, and + consequently Intolerant of all the new opinions. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. I should not like the Duke. These silent men, Who only look and + listen, are like wells That have no water in them, deep and empty. How + could the daughter of a king of France Wed such a duke? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + The men that women marry +And why they marry them, will always be +A marvel and a mystery to the world. +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. And then the Duchess,—how shall I describe her, Or tell + the merits of that happy nature, Which pleases most when least it thinks + of pleasing? Not beautiful, perhaps, in form and feature, Yet with an + inward beauty, that shines through Each look and attitude and word and + gesture; A kindly grace of manner and behavior, A something in her + presence and her ways That makes her beautiful beyond the reach Of mere + external beauty; and in heart So noble and devoted to the truth, And so in + sympathy with all who strive After the higher life. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. She draws me to her As much as her Duke Ercole repels me. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Then the devout and honorable women That grace her court, and + make it good to be there; Francesca Bucyronia, the true-hearted, Lavinia + della Rovere and the Orsini, The Magdalena and the Cherubina, And Anne de + Parthenai, who sings so sweetly; All lovely women, full of noble thoughts + And aspirations after noble things. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Boccaccio would have envied you such dames. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. No; his Fiammettas and his Philomenas Are fitter company for Ser + Giovanni; I fear he hardly would have comprehended The women that I speak + of. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Yet he wrote +The story of Griselda. That is something +To set down in his favor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + With these ladies +Was a young girl, Olympia Morate, +Daughter of Fulvio, the learned scholar, +Famous in all the universities. +A marvellous child, who at the spinning wheel, +And in the daily round of household cares, +Hath learned both Greek and Latin; and is now +A favorite of the Duchess and companion +Of Princess Anne. This beautiful young Sappho +Sometimes recited to us Grecian odes +That she had written, with a voice whose sadness +Thrilled and o'ermastered me, and made me look +Into the future time, and ask myself +What destiny will be hers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + A sad one, surely. +Frost kills the flowers that blossom out of season; +And these precocious intellects portend +A life of sorrow or an early death. +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. About the court were many learned men; Chilian Sinapius from + beyond the Alps, And Celio Curione, and Manzolli, The Duke's physician; + and a pale young man, Charles d'Espeville of Geneva, whom the Duchess Doth + much delight to talk with and to read, For he hath written a book of + Institutes The Duchess greatly praises, though some call it The Koran of + the heretics. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + And what poets +Were there to sing you madrigals, and praise +Olympia's eyes and Cherubina's tresses? +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. No; for great Ariosto is no more. The voice that filled those + halls with melody Has long been hushed in death. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + You should have made +A pilgrimage unto the poet's tomb, +And laid a wreath upon it, for the words +He spake of you. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + And of yourself no less, +And of our master, Michael Angelo. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Of me? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Have you forgotten that he calls you +Michael, less man than angel, and divine? +You are ungrateful. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + A mere play on words. +That adjective he wanted for a rhyme, +To match with Gian Bellino and Urbino. +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. Bernardo Tasso is no longer there, Nor the gay troubadour of + Gascony, Clement Marot, surnamed by flatterers The Prince of Poets and the + Poet of Princes, Who, being looked upon with much disfavor By the Duke + Ercole, has fled to Venice. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. There let him stay with Pietro Aretino, The Scourge of + Princes, also called Divine. The title is so common in our mouths, That + even the Pifferari of Abruzzi, Who play their bag-pipes in the streets of + Rome At the Epiphany, will bear it soon, And will deserve it better than + some poets. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. What bee hath stung you? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + One that makes no honey; +One that comes buzzing in through every window, +And stabs men with his sting. A bitter thought +Passed through my mind, but it is gone again; +I spake too hastily. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + I pray you, show me +What you have done. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Not yet; it is not finished. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap505"></a>PART SECOND</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap506"></a>I<br/> +MONOLOGUE</h3> + + <p> + A room in MICHAEL ANGELO'S house. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Fled to Viterbo, the old Papal city Where once an Emperor, + humbled in his pride, Held the Pope's stirrup, as his Holiness Alighted + from his mule! A fugitive From Cardinal Caraffa's hate, who hurls His + thunders at the house of the Colonna, With endless bitterness!—Among + the nuns In Santa Catarina's convent hidden, Herself in soul a nun! And + now she chides me For my too frequent letters, that disturb Her + meditations, and that hinder me And keep me from my work; now graciously + She thanks me for the crucifix I sent her, And says that she will keep it: + with one hand Inflicts a wound, and with the other heals it. [Reading. + </p> + <p> + "Profoundly I believed that God would grant you A supernatural faith to + paint this Christ; I wished for that which I now see fulfilled So + marvellously, exceeding all my wishes. Nor more could be desired, or even + so much. And greatly I rejoice that you have made The angel on the right + so beautiful; For the Archangel Michael will place you, You, Michael + Angelo, on that new day Upon the Lord's right hand! And waiting that, How + can I better serve you than to pray To this sweet Christ for you, and to + beseech you To hold me altogether yours in all things." + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Well, I will write less often, or no more, +But wait her coming. No one born in Rome +Can live elsewhere; but he must pine for Rome, +And must return to it. I, who am born +And bred a Tuscan and a Florentine, +Feel the attraction, and I linger here +As if I were a pebble in the pavement +Trodden by priestly feet. This I endure, +Because I breathe in Rome an atmosphere +Heavy with odors of the laurel leaves +That crowned great heroes of the sword and pen, +In ages past. I feel myself exalted +To walk the streets in which a Virgil walked, +Or Trajan rode in triumph; but far more, +And most of all, because the great Colonna +Breathes the same air I breathe, and is to me +An inspiration. Now that she is gone, +Rome is no longer Rome till she return. +This feeling overmasters me. I know not +If it be love, this strong desire to be +Forever in her presence; but I know +That I, who was the friend of solitude, +And ever was best pleased when most alone, +Now weary grow of my own company. +For the first time old age seems lonely to me. + [Opening the Divina Commedia. +I turn for consolation to the leaves +Of the great master of our Tuscan tongue, +Whose words, like colored garnet-shirls in lava, +Betray the heat in which they were engendered. +A mendicant, he ate the bitter bread +Of others, but repaid their meagre gifts +With immortality. In courts of princes +He was a by-word, and in streets of towns +Was mocked by children, like the Hebrew prophet, +Himself a prophet. I too know the cry, +Go up, thou bald head! from a generation +That, wanting reverence, wanteth the best food +The soul can feed on. There's not room enough +For age and youth upon this little planet. +Age must give way. There was not room enough +Even for this great poet. In his song +I hear reverberate the gates of Florence, +Closing upon him, never more to open; +But mingled with the sound are melodies +Celestial from the gates of paradise. +He came, and he is gone. The people knew not +What manner of man was passing by their doors, +Until he passed no more; but in his vision +He saw the torments and beatitudes +Of souls condemned or pardoned, and hath left +Behind him this sublime Apocalypse. +</pre> + <p> + I strive in vain to draw here on the margin The face of Beatrice. It is + not hers, But the Colonna's. Each hath his ideal, The image of some woman + excellent, That is his guide. No Grecian art, nor Roman, Hath yet revealed + such loveliness as hers. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap507"></a>II<br/> +VITERBO</h3> + + <p> + VITTORIA COLONNA at the convent window. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. +Parting with friends is temporary death, +As all death is. We see no more their faces, +Nor hear their voices, save in memory; +But messages of love give us assurance +That we are not forgotten. Who shall say +That from the world of spirits comes no greeting, +No message of remembrance? It may be +The thoughts that visit us, we know not whence, +Sudden as inspiration, are the whispers +Of disembodied spirits, speaking to us +As friends, who wait outside a prison wall, +Through the barred windows speak to those within. + [A pause. +</pre> + <p> + As quiet as the lake that lies beneath me, As quiet as the tranquil sky + above me, As quiet as a heart that beats no more, This convent seems. + Above, below, all peace! Silence and solitude, the soul's best friends, + Are with me here, and the tumultuous world Makes no more noise than the + remotest planet. O gentle spirit, unto the third circle Of heaven among + the blessed souls ascended, Who, living in the faith and dying for it, + Have gone to their reward, I do not sigh For thee as being dead, but for + myself That I am still alive. Turn those dear eyes, Once so benignant to + me, upon mine, That open to their tears such uncontrolled And such + continual issue. Still awhile Have patience; I will come to thee at last. + A few more goings in and out these doors, A few more chimings of these + convent bells, A few more prayers, a few more sighs and tears, And the + long agony of this life will end, And I shall be with thee. If I am + wanting To thy well-being, as thou art to mine, Have patience; I will come + to thee at last. Ye minds that loiter in these cloister gardens, Or wander + far above the city walls, Bear unto him this message, that I ever Or speak + or think of him, or weep for him. + </p> + <p> + By unseen hands uplifted in the light Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud + Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, And wafted up to heaven. It + fades away, And melts into the air. Ah, would that I Could thus be wafted + unto thee, Francesco, A cloud of white, an incorporeal spirit! + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap508"></a>III<br/> +MICHAEL ANGELO AND BENVENUTO CELLINI</h3> + + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO, BENVENUTO CELLINI in gay attire. + </p> + <p> + BENVENUTO. A good day and good year to the divine Maestro Michael Angelo, + the sculptor! + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Welcome, my Benvenuto. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + That is what +My father said, the first time he beheld +This handsome face. But say farewell, not welcome. +I come to take my leave. I start for Florence +As fast as horse can carry me. I long +To set once more upon its level flags +These feet, made sore by your vile Roman pavements. +Come with me; you are wanted there in Florence. +The Sacristy is not finished. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Speak not of it! +How damp and cold it was! How my bones ached +And my head reeled, when I was working there! +I am too old. I will stay here in Rome, +Where all is old and crumbling, like myself, +To hopeless ruin. All roads lead to Rome. +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. And all lead out of it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + There is a charm, +A certain something in the atmosphere, +That all men feel, and no man can describe. +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. Malaria? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Yes, malaria of the mind, +Out of this tomb of the majestic Past! +The fever to accomplish some great work +That will not let us sleep. I must go on +Until I die. +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. Do you ne'er think of Florence? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Yes; whenever +I think of anything beside my work, +I think of Florence. I remember, too, +The bitter days I passed among the quarries +Of Seravezza and Pietrasanta; +Road-building in the marshes; stupid people, +And cold and rain incessant, and mad gusts +Of mountain wind, like howling dervishes, +That spun and whirled the eddying snow about them +As if it were a garment; aye, vexations +And troubles of all kinds, that ended only +In loss of time and money. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + True; Maestro, +But that was not in Florence. You should leave +Such work to others. Sweeter memories +Cluster about you, in the pleasant city +Upon the Arno. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + In my waking dreams +I see the marvellous dome of Brunelleschi, +Ghiberti's gates of bronze, and Giotto's tower; +And Ghirlandajo's lovely Benci glides +With folded hands amid my troubled thoughts, +A splendid vision! Time rides with the old +At a great pace. As travellers on swift steeds +See the near landscape fly and flow behind them, +While the remoter fields and dim horizons +Go with them, and seem wheeling round to meet them, +So in old age things near us slip away, +And distant things go with as. Pleasantly +Come back to me the days when, as a youth, +I walked with Ghirlandajo in the gardens +Of Medici, and saw the antique statues, +The forms august of gods and godlike men, +And the great world of art revealed itself +To my young eyes. Then all that man hath done +Seemed possible to me. Alas! how little +Of all I dreamed of has my hand achieved! +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. Nay, let the Night and Morning, let Lorenzo And Julian in the + Sacristy at Florence, Prophets and Sibyls in the Sistine Chapel, And the + Last Judgment answer. Is it finished? + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. The work is nearly done. But this Last Judgment Has been + the cause of more vexation to me Than it will be of honor. Ser Biagio, + Master of ceremonies at the Papal court, A man punctilious and over nice, + Calls it improper; says that those nude forms, Showing their nakedness in + such shameless fashion, Are better suited to a common bagnio, Or wayside + wine-shop, than a Papal Chapel. To punish him I painted him as Minos And + leave him there as master of ceremonies In the Infernal Regions. What + would you Have done to such a man? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + I would have killed him. +When any one insults me, if I can +I kill him, kill him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Oh, you gentlemen, +Who dress in silks and velvets, and wear swords, +Are ready with your weapon; and have all +A taste for homicide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + I learned that lesson +Under Pope Clement at the siege of Rome, +Some twenty years ago. As I was standing +Upon the ramparts of the Campo Santo +With Alessandro Bene, I beheld +A sea of fog, that covered all the plain, +And hid from us the foe; when suddenly, +A misty figure, like an apparition, +Rose up above the fog, as if on horseback. +At this I aimed my arquebus, and fired. +The figure vanished; and there rose a cry +Out of the darkness, long and fierce and loud, +With imprecations in all languages. +It was the Constable of France, the Bourbon, +That I had slain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Rome should be grateful to you. +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. But has not been; you shall hear presently. During the siege I + served as bombardier, There in St. Angelo. His Holiness, One day, was + walking with his Cardinals On the round bastion, while I stood above Among + my falconets. All thought and feeling, All skill in art and all desire of + fame, Were swallowed up in the delightful music Of that artillery. I saw + far off, Within the enemy's trenches on the Prati, A Spanish cavalier in + scarlet cloak; And firing at him with due aim and range, I cut the gay + Hidalgo in two pieces. The eyes are dry that wept for him in Spain. His + Holiness, delighted beyond measure With such display of gunnery, and + amazed To see the man in scarlet cut in two, Gave me his benediction, and + absolved me From all the homicides I had committed In service of the + Apostolic Church, Or should commit thereafter. From that day I have not + held in very high esteem The life of man. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + And who absolved Pope Clement? +Now let us speak of Art. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + Of what you will. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Say, have you seen our friend Fra Bastian lately, Since by + a turn of fortune he became Friar of the Signet? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + Faith, a pretty artist +To pass his days in stamping leaden seals +On Papal bulls! +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. He has grown fat and lazy, As if the lead clung to him + like a sinker. He paints no more, since he was sent to Fondi By Cardinal + Ippolito to paint The fair Gonzaga. Ah, you should have seen him As I did, + riding through the city gate, In his brown hood, attended by four + horsemen, Completely armed, to frighten the banditti. I think he would + have frightened them alone, For he was rounder than the O of Giotto. + </p> + <p> + BENVENUTO. He must have looked more like a sack of meal Than a great + painter. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Well, he is not great +But still I like him greatly. Benvenuto +Have faith in nothing but in industry. +Be at it late and early; persevere, +And work right on through censure and applause, +Or else abandon Art. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + No man works harder +Then I do. I am not a moment idle. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. And what have you to show me? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + This gold ring, +Made for his Holiness,—my latest work, +And I am proud of it. A single diamond +Presented by the Emperor to the Pope. +Targhetta of Venice set and tinted it; +I have reset it, and retinted it +Divinely, as you see. The jewellers +Say I've surpassed Targhetta. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Let me see it. +A pretty jewel. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + That is not the expression. +Pretty is not a very pretty word +To be applied to such a precious stone, +Given by an Emperor to a Pope, and set +By Benvenuto! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Messer Benvenuto, +I lose all patience with you; for the gifts +That God hath given you are of such a kind, +They should be put to far more noble uses +Than setting diamonds for the Pope of Rome. +You can do greater things. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + The God who made me +Knows why he made me what I am,—a goldsmith, +A mere artificer. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Oh no; an artist +Richly endowed by nature, but who wraps +His talent in a napkin, and consumes +His life in vanities. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + Michael Angelo +May say what Benvenuto would not bear +From any other man. He speaks the truth. +I know my life is wasted and consumed +In vanities; but I have better hours +And higher aspirations than you think. +Once, when a prisoner at St. Angelo, +Fasting and praying in the midnight darkness, +In a celestial vision I beheld +A crucifix in the sun, of the same substance +As is the sun itself. And since that hour +There is a splendor round about my head, +That may be seen at sunrise and at sunset +Above my shadow on the grass. And now +I know that I am in the grace of God, +And none henceforth can harm me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + None but one,— +None but yourself, who are your greatest foe. +He that respects himself is safe from others; +He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce. +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. I always wear one. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + O incorrigible! +At least, forget not the celestial vision. +Man must have something higher than himself +To think of. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + That I know full well. Now listen. +I have been sent for into France, where grow +The Lilies that illumine heaven and earth, +And carry in mine equipage the model +Of a most marvellous golden salt-cellar +For the king's table; and here in my brain +A statue of Mars Armipotent for the fountain +Of Fontainebleau, colossal, wonderful. +I go a goldsmith, to return a sculptor. +And so farewell, great Master. Think of me +As one who, in the midst of all his follies, +Had also his ambition, and aspired +To better things. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Do not forget the vision. +</pre> + <p> + [Sitting down again to the Divina Commedia. + </p> + <p> + Now in what circle of his poem sacred Would the great Florentine have + placed this man? Whether in Phlegethon, the river of blood, Or in the + fiery belt of Purgatory, I know not, but most surely not with those Who + walk in leaden cloaks. Though he is one Whose passions, like a potent + alkahest, Dissolve his better nature, he is not That despicable thing, a + hypocrite; He doth not cloak his vices, nor deny them. Come back, my + thoughts, from him to Paradise. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap509"></a>IV<br/> +FRA SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO</h3> + + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO; FRA SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO, not turning round. Who is it? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + Wait, for I am out of breath +In climbing your steep stairs. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Ah, my Bastiano, +If you went up and down as many stairs +As I do still, and climbed as many ladders, +It would be better for you. Pray sit down. +Your idle and luxurious way of living +Will one day take your breath away entirely. +And you will never find it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + Well, what then? +That would be better, in my apprehension, +Than falling from a scaffold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + That was nothing +It did not kill me; only lamed me slightly; +I am quite well again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + But why, dear Master, +Why do you live so high up in your house, +When you could live below and have a garden, +As I do? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + From this window I can look +On many gardens; o'er the city roofs +See the Campagna and the Alban hills; +And all are mine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + Can you sit down in them, +On summer afternoons, and play the lute +Or sing, or sleep the time away? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + I never +Sleep in the day-time; scarcely sleep at night. +I have not time. Did you meet Benvenuto +As you came up the stair? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + He ran against me +On the first landing, going at full speed; +Dressed like the Spanish captain in a play, +With his long rapier and his short red cloak. +Why hurry through the world at such a pace? +Life will not be too long. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + It is his nature,— +A restless spirit, that consumes itself +With useless agitations. He o'erleaps +The goal he aims at. Patience is a plant +That grows not in all gardens. You are made +Of quite another clay. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + And thank God for it. +And now, being somewhat rested, I will tell you +Why I have climbed these formidable stairs. +I have a friend, Francesco Berni, here, +A very charming poet and companion, +Who greatly honors you and all your doings, +And you must sup with us. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Not I, indeed. +I know too well what artists' suppers are. +You must excuse me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + I will not excuse you. +You need repose from your incessant work; +Some recreation, some bright hours of pleasure. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. To me, what you and other men call pleasure Is only pain. + Work is my recreation, The play of faculty; a delight like that Which a + bird feels in flying, or a fish In darting through the water,—nothing + more. I cannot go. The Sibylline leaves of life Grow precious now, when + only few remain. I cannot go. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + Berni, perhaps, will read +A canto of the Orlando Inamorato. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. That is another reason for not going. If aught is tedious + and intolerable, It is a poet reading his own verses, + </p> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. Berni thinks somewhat better of your verses Than you of + his. He says that you speak things, And other poets words. So, pray you, + come. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. If it were now the Improvisatore, Luigia Pulci, whom I + used to hear With Benvenuto, in the streets of Florence, I might be + tempted. I was younger then And singing in the open air was pleasant. + </p> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. There is a Frenchman here, named Rabelais, Once a + Franciscan friar, and now a doctor, And secretary to the embassy: A + learned man, who speaks all languages, And wittiest of men; who wrote a + book Of the Adventures of Gargantua, So full of strange conceits one roars + with laughter At every page; a jovial boon-companion And lover of much + wine. He too is coming. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Then you will not want me, who am not witty, And have no + sense of mirth, and love not wine. I should be like a dead man at your + banquet. Why should I seek this Frenchman, Rabelais? And wherefore go to + hear Francesco Berni, When I have Dante Alighieri here. The greatest of + all poets? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + And the dullest; +And only to be read in episodes. +His day is past. Petrarca is our poet. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Petrarca is for women and for lovers And for those soft + Abati, who delight To wander down long garden walks in summer, Tinkling + their little sonnets all day long, As lap dogs do their bells. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + I love Petrarca. +How sweetly of his absent love he sings +When journeying in the forest of Ardennes! +"I seem to hear her, hearing the boughs and breezes +And leaves and birds lamenting, and the waters +Murmuring flee along the verdant herbage." +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Enough. It is all seeming, and no being. If you would know + how a man speaks in earnest, Read here this passage, where St. Peter + thunders In Paradise against degenerate Popes And the corruptions of the + church, till all The heaven about him blushes like a sunset. I beg you to + take note of what he says About the Papal seals, for that concerns Your + office and yourself. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO, reading. + Is this the passage? +"Nor I be made the figure of a seal +To privileges venal and mendacious, +Whereat I often redden and flash with fire!"— +That is not poetry. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + What is it, then? +</pre> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. Vituperation; gall that might have spirited From Aretino's + pen. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Name not that man! +A profligate, whom your Francesco Berni +Describes as having one foot in the brothel +And the other in the hospital; who lives +By flattering or maligning, as best serves +His purpose at the time. He writes to me +With easy arrogance of my Last Judgment, +In such familiar tone that one would say +The great event already had occurred, +And he was present, and from observation +Informed me how the picture should be painted. +</pre> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. What unassuming, unobtrusive men These critics are! Now, + to have Aretino Aiming his shafts at you brings back to mind The Gascon + archers in the square of Milan, Shooting their arrows at Duke Sforza's + statue, By Leonardo, and the foolish rabble Of envious Florentines, that + at your David Threw stones at night. But Aretino praised you. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. His praises were ironical. He knows How to use words as + weapons, and to wound While seeming to defend. But look, Bastiano, See how + the setting sun lights up that picture! + </p> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. My portrait of Vittoria Colonna. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. It makes her look as she will look hereafter, When she + becomes a saint! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + A noble woman! +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Ah, these old hands can fashion fairer shapes In marble, + and can paint diviner pictures, Since I have known her. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + And you like this picture. +And yet it is in oil; which you detest. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. When that barbarian Jan Van Eyck discovered The use of oil + in painting, he degraded His art into a handicraft, and made it + Sign-painting, merely, for a country inn Or wayside wine-shop. 'T is an + art for women, Or for such leisurely and idle people As you, Fra Bastiano. + Nature paints not In oils, but frescoes the great dome of heaven With + sunset; and the lovely forms of clouds And flying vapors. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + And how soon they fade! +Behold yon line of roofs and belfries painted +Upon the golden background of the sky, +Like a Byzantine picture, or a portrait +Of Cimabue. See how hard the outline, +Sharp-cut and clear, not rounded into shadow. +Yet that is nature. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + She is always right. +The picture that approaches sculpture nearest +Is the best picture. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + Leonardo thinks +The open air too bright. We ought to paint +As if the sun were shining through a mist. +'T is easier done in oil than in distemper. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Do not revive again the old dispute; I have an excellent + memory for forgetting, But I still feel the hurt. Wounds are not healed By + the unbending of the bow that made them. + </p> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. So say Petrarca and the ancient proverb. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. But that is past. Now I am angry with you, Not that you + paint in oils, but that grown fat And indolent, you do not paint at all. + </p> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. Why should I paint? Why should I toil and sweat, Who now + am rich enough to live at ease, And take my pleasure? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + When Pope Leo died, +He who had been so lavish of the wealth +His predecessors left him, who received +A basket of gold-pieces every morning, +Which every night was empty, left behind +Hardly enough to pay his funeral. +</pre> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. I care for banquets, not for funerals, As did his + Holiness. I have forbidden All tapers at my burial, and procession Of + priests and friars and monks; and have provided The cost thereof be given + to the poor! + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. You have done wisely, but of that I speak not. Ghiberti + left behind him wealth and children; But who to-day would know that he had + lived, If he had never made those gates of bronze In the old Baptistery,—those + gates of bronze, Worthy to be the gates of Paradise. His wealth is + scattered to the winds; his children Are long since dead; but those + celestial gates Survive, and keep his name and memory green. + </p> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. But why should I fatigue myself? I think That all things + it is possible to paint Have been already painted; and if not, Why, there + are painters in the world at present Who can accomplish more in two short + months Than I could in two years; so it is well That some one is contented + to do nothing, And leave the field to others. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + O blasphemer! +Not without reason do the people call you +Sebastian del Piombo, for the lead +Of all the Papal bulls is heavy upon you, +And wraps you like a shroud. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + Misericordia! +Sharp is the vinegar of sweet wine, and sharp +The words you speak, because the heart within you +Is sweet unto the core. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + How changed you are +From the Sebastiano I once knew, +When poor, laborious, emulous to excel, +You strove in rivalry with Badassare +And Raphael Sanzio. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + Raphael is dead; +He is but dust and ashes in his grave, +While I am living and enjoying life, +And so am victor. One live Pope is worth +A dozen dead ones. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Raphael is not dead; +He doth but sleep; for how can he be dead +Who lives immortal in the hearts of men? +He only drank the precious wine of youth, +The outbreak of the grapes, before the vintage +Was trodden to bitterness by the feet of men. +The gods have given him sleep. We never were +Nor could be foes, although our followers, +Who are distorted shadows of ourselves, +Have striven to make us so; but each one worked +Unconsciously upon the other's thought; +Both giving and receiving. He perchance +Caught strength from me, and I some greater sweetness +And tenderness from his more gentle nature. +I have but words of praise and admiration +For his great genius; and the world is fairer +That he lived in it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRA SEBASTIANO. + We at least are friends; +So come with me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + No, no; I am best pleased +When I'm not asked to banquets. I have reached +A time of life when daily walks are shortened, +And even the houses of our dearest friends, +That used to be so near, seem far away. +</pre> + <p> + FRA SEBASTIANO. Then we must sup without you. We shall laugh At those who + toil for fame, and make their lives A tedious martyrdom, that they may + live A little longer in the mouths of men! And so, good-night. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Good-night, my Fra Bastiano. +</pre> + <p> + [Returning to his work. + </p> + <p> + How will men speak of me when I am gone, When all this colorless, sad life + is ended, And I am dust? They will remember only The wrinkled forehead, + the marred countenance, The rudeness of my speech, and my rough manners, + And never dream that underneath them all There was a woman's heart of + tenderness. They will not know the secret of my life, Locked up in + silence, or but vaguely hinted In uncouth rhymes, that may perchance + survive Some little space in memories of men! Each one performs his + life-work, and then leaves it; Those that come after him will estimate His + influence on the age in which he lived. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap510"></a>V<br/> +PALAZZO BELVEDERE</h3> + + <p> + TITIAN'S studio. A painting of Danae with a curtain before it. TITIAN, + MICHAEL ANGELO, and GIORGIO VASARI. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. So you have left at last your still lagoons, Your City of + Silence floating in the sea, And come to us in Rome. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITIAN. + I come to learn, +But I have come too late. I should have seen +Rome in my youth, when all my mind was open +To new impressions. Our Vasari here +Leads me about, a blind man, groping darkly +Among the marvels of the past. I touch them, +But do not see them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + There are things in Rome +That one might walk bare-footed here from Venice +But to see once, and then to die content. +</pre> + <p> + TITIAN. I must confess that these majestic ruins Oppress me with their + gloom. I feel as one Who in the twilight stumbles among tombs, And cannot + read the inscriptions carved upon them. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. I felt so once; but I have grown familiar With desolation, + and it has become No more a pain to me, but a delight. + </p> + <p> + TITIAN. I could not live here. I must have the sea, And the sea-mist, with + sunshine interwoven Like cloth of gold; must have beneath my windows The + laughter of the waves, and at my door Their pattering footsteps, or I am + not happy. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Then tell me of your city in the sea, Paved with red + basalt of the Paduan hills. Tell me of art in Venice. Three great names, + Giorgione, Titian, and the Tintoretto, Illustrate your Venetian school, + and send A challenge to the world. The first is dead, But Tintoretto + lives. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITIAN. + And paints with fires +Sudden and splendid, as the lightning paints +The cloudy vault of heaven. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GIORGIO. + Does he still keep +Above his door the arrogant inscription +That once was painted there,—"The color of Titian, +With the design of Michael Angelo"? +</pre> + <p> + TITIAN. Indeed, I know not. 'T was a foolish boast, And does no harm to + any but himself. Perhaps he has grown wiser. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + When you two +Are gone, who is there that remains behind +To seize the pencil falling from your fingers? +</pre> + <p> + GIORGIO. Oh there are many hands upraised already To clutch at such a + prize, which hardly wait For death to loose your grasp,—a hundred of + them; Schiavone, Bonifazio, Campagnola, Moretto, and Moroni; who can count + them, Or measure their ambition? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITIAN. + When we are gone +The generation that comes after us +Will have far other thoughts than ours. Our ruins +Will serve to build their palaces or tombs. +They will possess the world that we think ours, +And fashion it far otherwise. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + I hear +Your son Orazio and your nephew Marco +Mentioned with honor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITIAN. + Ay, brave lads, brave lads. +But time will show. There is a youth in Venice, +One Paul Cagliari, called the Veronese, +Still a mere stripling, but of such rare promise +That we must guard our laurels, or may lose them. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. These are good tidings; for I sometimes fear That, when we + die, with us all art will die. 'T is but a fancy. Nature will provide + Others to take our places. I rejoice To see the young spring forward in + the race, Eager as we were, and as full of hope And the sublime audacity + of youth. + </p> + <p> + TITIAN. Men die and are forgotten. The great world Goes on the same. Among + the myriads Of men that live, or have lived, or shall live What is a + single life, or thine or mime, That we should think all nature would stand + still If we were gone? We must make room for others. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. And now, Maestro, pray unveil your picture Of Danae, of + which I hear such praise. + </p> + <p> + TITIAN, drawing hack the curtain. + </p> + <p> + What think you? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + That Acrisius did well +To lock such beauty in a brazen tower +And hide it from all eyes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITIAN. + The model truly +Was beautiful. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. And more, that you were present, And saw the showery Jove + from high Olympus Descend in all his splendor. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITIAN. + From your lips +Such words are full of sweetness. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + You have caught +These golden hues from your Venetian sunsets. +</pre> + <p> + TITIAN. Possibly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Or from sunshine through a shower +On the lagoons, or the broad Adriatic. +Nature reveals herself in all our arts. +The pavements and the palaces of cities +Hint at the nature of the neighboring hills. +Red lavas from the Euganean quarries +Of Padua pave your streets; your palaces +Are the white stones of Istria, and gleam +Reflected in your waters and your pictures. +And thus the works of every artist show +Something of his surroundings and his habits. +The uttermost that can be reached by color +Is here accomplished. Warmth and light and softness +Mingle together. Never yet was flesh +Painted by hand of artist, dead or living, +With such divine perfection. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +TITIAN. + I am grateful +For so much praise from you, who are a master; +While mostly those who praise and those who blame +Know nothing of the matter, so that mainly +Their censure sounds like praise, their praise like censure. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Wonderful! wonderful! The charm of color Fascinates me the + more that in myself The gift is wanting. I am not a painter. + </p> + <p> + GIORGIO. Messer Michele, all the arts are yours, Not one alone; and + therefore I may venture To put a question to you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Well, speak on. +</pre> + <p> + GIORGIO. Two nephews of the Cardinal Farnese Have made me umpire in + dispute between them Which is the greater of the sister arts, Painting or + sculpture. Solve for me the doubt. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Sculpture and painting have a common goal, And whosoever + would attain to it, Whichever path he take, will find that goal Equally + hard to reach. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GIORGIO. + No doubt, no doubt; +But you evade the question. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + When I stand +In presence of this picture, I concede +That painting has attained its uttermost; +But in the presence of my sculptured figures +I feel that my conception soars beyond +All limit I have reached. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GIORGIO. + You still evade me. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Giorgio Vasari, I have often said That I account that + painting as the best Which most resembles sculpture. Here before us We + have the proof. Behold those rounded limbs! How from the canvas they + detach themselves, Till they deceive the eye, and one would say, It is a + statue with a screen behind it! + </p> + <p> + TITIAN. Signori, pardon me; but all such questions Seem to me idle. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Idle as the wind. +And now, Maestro, I will say once more +How admirable I esteem your work, +And leave you, without further interruption. +</pre> + <p> + TITIAN. Your friendly visit hath much honored me. + </p> + <p> + GIOROIO. Farewell. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO to GIORGIO, going out. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If the Venetian painters knew +But half as much of drawing as of color, +They would indeed work miracles in art, +And the world see what it hath never seen. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap511"></a>VI<br/> +PALAZZO CESARINI</h3> + + <p> + VITTORIA COLONNA, seated in an armchair; JULIA GONZAGA, standing near her. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. It grieves me that I find you still so weak And suffering. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + No, not suffering; only dying. +Death is the chillness that precedes the dawn; +We shudder for a moment, then awake +In the broad sunshine of the other life. +I am a shadow, merely, and these hands, +These cheeks, these eyes, these tresses that my husband +Once thought so beautiful, and I was proud of +Because he thought them so, are faded quite,— +All beauty gone from them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Ah, no, not that. +Paler you are, but not less beautiful. +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. Hand me the mirror. I would fain behold What change comes o'er + our features when we die. Thank you. And now sit down beside me here How + glad I am that you have come to-day, Above all other days, and at the hour + When most I need you! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Do you ever need me? +</pre> + <p> + VICTORIA. + </p> + <p> + Always, and most of all to-day and now. Do you remember, Julia, when we + walked, One afternoon, upon the castle terrace At Ischia, on the day + before you left me? + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Well I remember; but it seems to me Something unreal, that has + never been,— Something that I have read of in a book, Or heard of + some one else. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Ten years and more +Have passed since then; and many things have happened +In those ten years, and many friends have died: +Marco Flaminio, whom we all admired +And loved as our Catullus; dear Valldesso, +The noble champion of free thought and speech; +And Cardinal Ippolito, your friend. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA. Oh, do not speak of him! His sudden death O'ercomes me now, as it + o'ercame me then. Let me forget it; for my memory Serves me too often as + an unkind friend, And I remember things I would forget, While I forget the + things I would remember. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Forgive me; I will speak of him no more, The good Fra Bernardino + has departed, Has fled from Italy, and crossed the Alps, Fearing Caraffa's + wrath, because he taught That He who made us all without our help Could + also save us without aid of ours. Renee of France, the Duchess of Ferrara, + That Lily of the Loire, is bowed by winds That blow from Rome; Olympia + Morata Banished from court because of this new doctrine. Therefore be + cautious. Keep your secret thought Locked in your breast. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + I will be very prudent +But speak no more, I pray; it wearies you. +</pre> + <p> + VITTORIA. Yes, I am very weary. Read to me. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Most willingly. What shall I read? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +VITTORIA. + Petrarca's +Triumph of Death. The book lies on the table; +Beside the casket there. Read where you find +The leaf turned down. 'T was there I left off reading. +</pre> + <p> + JULIA, reads. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Not as a flame that by some force is spent, + But one that of itself consumeth quite, + Departed hence in peace the soul content, +In fashion of a soft and lucent light + Whose nutriment by slow gradation goes, + Keeping until the end its lustre bright. +Not pale, but whiter than the sheet of snows + That without wind on some fair hill-top lies, + Her weary body seemed to find repose. +Like a sweet slumber in her lovely eyes, + When now the spirit was no longer there, + Was what is dying called by the unwise. +E'en Death itself in her fair face seemed fair"— +</pre> + <p> + Is it of Laura that he here is speaking?— She doth not answer, yet + is not asleep; Her eyes are full of light and fixed on something Above her + in the air. I can see naught Except the painted angels on the ceiling. + Vittoria! speak! What is it? Answer me!— She only smiles, and + stretches out her hands. + </p> + <p> + [The mirror falls and breaks. + </p> + <p> + VITTORIA. Not disobedient to the heavenly vision! Pescara! my Pescara! + [Dies. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Holy Virgin! +Her body sinks together,—she is dead! +</pre> + <p> + [Kneels and hides her face in Vittoria's lap. + </p> + <p> + Enter MICHAEL ANGELO. + </p> + <p> + JULIA. Hush! make no noise. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + How is she? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Never better. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Then she is dead! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIA. + Alas! yes, she is dead! +Even death itself in her fair face seems fair. +How wonderful! The light upon her face +Shines from the windows of another world. +Saint only have such faces. Holy Angels! +Bear her like sainted Catherine to her rest! +</pre> + <p> + [Kisses Vittoria's hand. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap512"></a>PART THIRD</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap513"></a>I<br/> +MONOLOGUE</h3> + + <p> + Macello de' Corvi. A room in MICHAEL ANGELO'S house. MICHAEL ANGELO, + standing before a model of St. Peter's. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Better than thou I cannot, Brunelleschi, And less than + thou I will not! If the thought Could, like a windlass, lift the ponderous + stones And swing them to their places; if a breath Could blow this rounded + dome into the air, As if it were a bubble, and these statues Spring at a + signal to their sacred stations, As sentinels mount guard upon a wall. + Then were my task completed. Now, alas! Naught am I but a Saint Sebaldus, + holding Upon his hand the model of a church, As German artists paint him; + and what years, What weary years, must drag themselves along, Ere this be + turned to stone! What hindrances Must block the way; what idle + interferences Of Cardinals and Canons of St. Peter's, Who nothing know of + art beyond the color Of cloaks and stockings, nor of any building Save + that of their own fortunes! And what then? I must then the short-coming of + my means Piece out by stepping forward, as the Spartan Was told to add a + step to his short sword. + </p> + <p> + [A pause. + </p> + <p> + And is Fra Bastian dead? Is all that light Gone out, that sunshine + darkened; all that music And merriment, that used to make our lives Less + melancholy, swallowed up in silence Like madrigals sung in the street at + night By passing revellers? It is strange indeed That he should die before + me. 'T is against The laws of nature that the young should die, And the + old live; unless it be that some Have long been dead who think themselves + alive, Because not buried. Well, what matters it, Since now that greater + light, that was my sun, Is set, and all is darkness, all is darkness! + Death's lightnings strike to right and left of me, And, like a ruined + wall, the world around me Crumbles away, and I am left alone. I have no + friends, and want none. My own thoughts Are now my sole companions,—thoughts + of her, That like a benediction from the skies Come to me in my solitude + and soothe me. When men are old, the incessant thought of Death Follows + them like their shadow; sits with them At every meal; sleeps with them + when they sleep; And when they wake already is awake, And standing by + their bedside. Then, what folly It is in us to make an enemy Of this + importunate follower, not a friend! To me a friend, and not an enemy, Has + he become since all my friends are dead. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap514"></a>II<br/> +VIGNA DI PAPA GIULIO</h3> + + <p> + POPE JULIUS III. seated by the Fountain of Acqua Vergine, surrounded by + Cardinals. + </p> + <p> + JULIUS. Tell me, why is it ye are discontent, You, Cardinals Salviati and + Marcello, With Michael Angelo? What has he done, Or left undone, that ye + are set against him? When one Pope dies, another is soon made; And I can + make a dozen Cardinals, But cannot make one Michael Angelo. + </p> + <p> + CARDINAL SALVIATI. Your Holiness, we are not set against him; We but + deplore his incapacity. He is too old. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + You, Cardinal Salviati, +Are an old man. Are you incapable? +'T is the old ox that draws the straightest furrow. +</pre> + <p> + CARDINAL MARCELLO. Your Holiness remembers he was charged With the repairs + upon St. Mary's bridge; Made cofferdams, and heaped up load on load Of + timber and travertine; and yet for years The bridge remained unfinished, + till we gave it To Baccio Bigio. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + Always Baccio Bigio! +Is there no other architect on earth? +Was it not he that sometime had in charge +The harbor of Ancona. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CARDINAL MARCELLO. + Ay, the same. +</pre> + <p> + JULIUS. Then let me tell you that your Baccio Bigio Did greater damage in + a single day To that fair harbor than the sea had done Or would do in ten + years. And him you think To put in place of Michael Angelo, In building + the Basilica of St. Peter! The ass that thinks himself a stag discovers + His error when he comes to leap the ditch. + </p> + <p> + CARDINAL MARCELLO. He does not build; he but demolishes The labors of + Bramante and San Gallo. + </p> + <p> + JULIUS. Only to build more grandly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CARDINAL MARCELLO. + But time passes: +Year after year goes by, and yet the work +Is not completed. Michael Angelo +Is a great sculptor, but no architect. +His plans are faulty. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + I have seen his model, +And have approved it. But here comes the artist. +Beware of him. He may make Persians of you, +To carry burdens on your backs forever. +</pre> + <h4> + SCENE II. + </h4> + <p> + The same: MICHAEL ANGELO. + </p> + <p> + JULIUS. Come forward, dear Maestro! In these gardens All ceremonies of our + court are banished. Sit down beside me here. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO, sitting down. + How graciously +Your Holiness commiserates old age +And its infirmities! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + Say its privileges. +Art I respect. The building of this palace +And laying out these pleasant garden walks +Are my delight, and if I have not asked +Your aid in this, it is that I forbear +To lay new burdens on you at an age +When you need rest. Here I escape from Rome +To be at peace. The tumult of the city +Scarce reaches here. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + How beautiful it is, +And quiet almost as a hermitage! +</pre> + <p> + JULIUS. We live as hermits here; and from these heights O'erlook all Rome + and see the yellow Tiber Cleaving in twain the city, like a sword, As far + below there as St. Mary's bridge. What think you of that bridge? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + I would advise +Your Holiness not to cross it, or not often +It is not safe. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + It was repaired of late. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Some morning you will look for it in vain; It will be + gone. The current of the river Is undermining it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + But you repaired it. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. I strengthened all its piers, and paved its road With + travertine. He who came after me Removed the stone, and sold it, and + filled in The space with gravel. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + Cardinal Salviati +And Cardinal Marcello, do you listen? +This is your famous Nanni Baccio Bigio. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO, aside. There is some mystery here. These Cardinals Stand + lowering at me with unfriendly eyes. + </p> + <p> + JULIUS. Now let us come to what concerns us more Than bridge or gardens. + Some complaints are made Concerning the Three Chapels in St. Peter's; + Certain supposed defects or imperfections, You doubtless can explain. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + This is no longer +The golden age of art. Men have become +Iconoclasts and critics. They delight not +In what an artist does, but set themselves +To censure what they do not comprehend. +You will not see them bearing a Madonna +Of Cimabue to the church in triumph, +But tearing down the statue of a Pope +To cast it into cannon. Who are they +That bring complaints against me? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + Deputies +Of the commissioners; and they complain +Of insufficient light in the Three Chapels. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Your Holiness, the insufficient light Is somewhere else, + and not in the Three Chapels. Who are the deputies that make complaint? + </p> + <p> + JULIUS. The Cardinals Salviati and Marcello, Here present. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO, rising. + With permission, Monsignori, +What is it ye complain of? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CARDINAL MARCELLO, + We regret +You have departed from Bramante's plan, +And from San Gallo's. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Since the ancient time +No greater architect has lived on earth +Than Lazzari Bramante. His design, +Without confusion, simple, clear, well-lighted. +Merits all praise, and to depart from it +Would be departing from the truth. San Gallo, +Building about with columns, took all light +Out of this plan; left in the choir dark corners +For infinite ribaldries, and lurking places +For rogues and robbers; so that when the church +Was shut at night, not five and twenty men +Could find them out. It was San Gallo, then, +That left the church in darkness, and not I. +</pre> + <p> + CARDINAL MARCELLO. Excuse me; but in each of the Three Chapels Is but a + single window. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Monsignore, +Perhaps you do not know that in the vaulting +Above there are to go three other windows. +</pre> + <p> + CARDINAL SALVIATI. How should we know? You never told us of it. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. I neither am obliged, nor will I be, To tell your Eminence + or any other What I intend or ought to do. Your office Is to provide the + means, and see that thieves Do not lay hands upon them. The designs Must + all be left to me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CARDINAL MARCELLO. + Sir architect, +You do forget yourself, to speak thus rudely +In presence of his Holiness, and to us +Who are his cardinals. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO, putting on his hat. + I do not forget +I am descended from the Counts Canossa, +Linked with the Imperial line, and with Matilda, +Who gave the Church Saint Peter's Patrimony. +I, too, am proud to give unto the Church +The labor of these hands, and what of life +Remains to me. My father Buonarotti +Was Podesta of Chiusi and Caprese. +I am not used to have men speak to me +As if I were a mason, hired to build +A garden wall, and paid on Saturdays +So much an hour. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CARDINAL SALVIATI, aside. + No wonder that Pope Clement +Never sat down in presence of this man, +Lest he should do the same; and always bade him +Put on his hat, lest he unasked should do it! +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. If any one could die of grief and shame, I should. This + labor was imposed upon me; I did not seek it; and if I assumed it, 'T was + not for love of fame or love of gain, But for the love of God. Perhaps old + age Deceived me, or self-interest, or ambition; I may be doing harm + instead of good. Therefore, I pray your Holiness, release me; Take off + from me the burden of this work; Let me go back to Florence. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + Never, never, +While I am living. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Doth your Holiness +Remember what the Holy Scriptures say +Of the inevitable time, when those +Who look out of the windows shall be darkened, +And the almond-tree shall flourish? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + That is in +Ecclesiastes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + And the grasshopper +Shall be a burden, and desire shall fail, +Because man goeth unto his long home. +Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher; all +Is vanity. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + Ah, were to do a thing +As easy as to dream of doing it, +We should not want for artists. But the men +Who carry out in act their great designs +Are few in number; ay, they may be counted +Upon the fingers of this hand. Your place +Is at St. Peter's. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + I have had my dream, +And cannot carry out my great conception, +And put it into act. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS. + Then who can do it? +You would but leave it to some Baccio Bigio +To mangle and deface. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Rather than that +I will still bear the burden on my shoulders +A little longer. If your Holiness +Will keep the world in order, and will leave +The building of the church to me, the work +Will go on better for it. Holy Father, +If all the labors that I have endured, +And shall endure, advantage not my soul, +I am but losing time. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +JULIUS, laying his hands on MICHAEL ANGELO'S shoulders. + You will be gainer +Both for your soul and body. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Not events +Exasperate me, but the funest conclusions +I draw from these events; the sure decline +Of art, and all the meaning of that word: +All that embellishes and sweetens life, +And lifts it from the level of low cares +Into the purer atmosphere of beauty; +The faith in the Ideal; the inspiration +That made the canons of the church of Seville +Say, "Let us build, so that all men hereafter +Will say that we were madmen." Holy Father, +I beg permission to retire from here. +</pre> + <p> + JULIUS. Go; and my benediction be upon you. + </p> + <p> + [Michael Angelo goes out. + </p> + <p> + My Cardinals, this Michael Angelo Must not be dealt with as a common + mason. He comes of noble blood, and for his crest Bear two bull's horns; + and he has given us proof That he can toss with them. From this day forth + Unto the end of time, let no man utter The name of Baccio Bigio in my + presence. All great achievements are the natural fruits Of a great + character. As trees bear not Their fruits of the same size and quality, + But each one in its kind with equal ease, So are great deeds as natural to + great men As mean things are to small ones. By his work We know the + master. Let us not perplex him. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap515"></a>III<br/> +BINDO ALTOVITI</h3> + + <p> + A street in Rome. BINDO ALTOVITI, standing at the door of his house. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO, passing. + </p> + <p> + BINDO. Good-morning, Messer Michael Angelo! + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Good-morning, Messer Bindo Altoviti! + </p> + <p> + BINDO. What brings you forth so early? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + The same reason +That keeps you standing sentinel at your door,— +The air of this delicious summer morning. +What news have you from Florence? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BINDO. + Nothing new; +The same old tale of violence and wrong. +Since the disastrous day at Monte Murlo, +When in procession, through San Gallo's gate, +Bareheaded, clothed in rags, on sorry steeds, +Philippo Strozzi and the good Valori +Were led as prisoners down the streets of Florence, +Amid the shouts of an ungrateful people, +Hope is no more, and liberty no more. +Duke Cosimo, the tyrant, reigns supreme. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Florence is dead: her houses are but tombs; Silence and + solitude are in her streets. + </p> + <p> + BINDO. Ah yes; and often I repeat the words You wrote upon your statue of + the Night, There in the Sacristy of San Lorenzo: "Grateful to me is sleep; + to be of stone More grateful, while the wrong and shame endure; To see + not, feel not, is a benediction; Therefore awake me not; oh, speak in + whispers." + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Ah, Messer Bindo, the calamities, The fallen fortunes, and + the desolation Of Florence are to me a tragedy Deeper than words, and + darker than despair. I, who have worshipped freedom from my cradle, Have + loved her with the passion of a lover, And clothed her with all lovely + attributes That the imagination can conceive, Or the heart conjure up, now + see her dead, And trodden in the dust beneath the feet Of an adventurer! + It is a grief Too great for me to bear in my old age. + </p> + <p> + BINDO. I say no news from Florence: I am wrong, For Benvenuto writes that + he is coming To be my guest in Rome. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Those are good tidings. +He hath been many years away from us. +</pre> + <p> + BINDO. Pray you, come in. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + I have not time to stay, +And yet I will. I see from here your house +Is filled with works of art. That bust in bronze +Is of yourself. Tell me, who is the master +That works in such an admirable way, +And with such power and feeling? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BINDO. + Benvenuto. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Ah? Benvenuto? 'T is a masterpiece! It pleases me as much, + and even more, Than the antiques about it; and yet they Are of the best + one sees. But you have placed it By far too high. The light comes from + below, And injures the expression. Were these windows Above and not + beneath it, then indeed It would maintain its own among these works Of the + old masters, noble as they are. I will go in and study it more closely. I + always prophesied that Benvenuto, With all his follies and fantastic ways, + Would show his genius in some work of art That would amaze the world, and + be a challenge Unto all other artists of his time. + </p> + <p> + [They go in. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap516"></a>IV<br/> +IN THE COLISEUM</h3> + + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO and TOMASO DE CAVALIERI + </p> + <p> + CAVALIERI. What have you here alone, Messer Michele? + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. I come to learn. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAVALIERI. + You are already master, +And teach all other men. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Nay, I know nothing; +Not even my own ignorance, as some +Philosopher hath said. I am a schoolboy +Who hath not learned his lesson, and who stands +Ashamed and silent in the awful presence +Of the great master of antiquity +Who built these walls cyclopean. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +CAVALIERI. + Gaudentius +His name was, I remember. His reward +Was to be thrown alive to the wild beasts +Here where we now are standing. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Idle tales. +</pre> + <p> + CAVALIERI. But you are greater than Gaudentius was, And your work nobler. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Silence, I beseech you. +</pre> + <p> + CAVALIERI. Tradition says that fifteen thousand men Were toiling for ten + years incessantly Upon this amphitheatre. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Behold +How wonderful it is! The queen of flowers, +The marble rose of Rome! Its petals torn +By wind and rain of thrice five hundred years; +Its mossy sheath half rent away, and sold +To ornament our palaces and churches, +Or to be trodden under feet of man +Upon the Tiber's bank; yet what remains +Still opening its fair bosom to the sun, +And to the constellations that at night +Hang poised above it like a swarm of bees. +</pre> + <p> + CAVALIERI. The rose of Rome, but not of Paradise; Not the white rose our + Tuscan poet saw, With saints for petals. When this rose was perfect Its + hundred thousand petals were not Saints, But senators in their Thessalian + caps, And all the roaring populace of Rome; And even an Empress and the + Vestal Virgins, Who came to see the gladiators die, Could not give + sweetness to a rose like this. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. I spake not of its uses, but its beauty. + </p> + <p> + CAVALIERI. The sand beneath our feet is saturate With blood of martyrs; + and these rifted stones Are awful witnesses against a people Whose + pleasure was the pain of dying men. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Tomaso Cavalieri, on my word, You should have been a + preacher, not a painter! Think you that I approve such cruelties, Because + I marvel at the architects Who built these walls, and curved these noble + arches? Oh, I am put to shame, when I consider How mean our work is, when + compared with theirs! Look at these walls about us and above us! They have + been shaken by earthquake; have been made A fortress, and been battered by + long sieges; The iron clamps, that held the stones together, Have been + wrenched from them; but they stand erect And firm, as if they had been + hewn and hollowed Out of the solid rock, and were a part Of the + foundations of the world itself. + </p> + <p> + CAVALIERI. Your work, I say again, is nobler work, In so far as its end + and aim are nobler; And this is but a ruin, like the rest. Its vaulted + passages are made the caverns Of robbers, and are haunted by the ghosts Of + murdered men. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + A thousand wild flowers bloom +From every chink, and the birds build their nests +Among the ruined arches, and suggest +New thoughts of beauty to the architect, +Now let us climb the broken stairs that lead +Into the corridors above, and study +The marvel and the mystery of that art +In which I am a pupil, not a master. +All things must have an end; the world itself +Must have an end, as in a dream I saw it. +There came a great hand out of heaven, and touched +The earth, and stopped it in its course. The seas +Leaped, a vast cataract, into the abyss; +The forests and the fields slid off, and floated +Like wooded islands in the air. The dead +Were hurled forth from their sepulchres; the living +Were mingled with them, and themselves were dead,— +All being dead; and the fair, shining cities +Dropped out like jewels from a broken crown. +Naught but the core of the great globe remained, +A skeleton of stone. And over it +The wrack of matter drifted like a cloud, +And then recoiled upon itself, and fell +Back on the empty world, that with the weight +Reeled, staggered, righted, and then headlong plunged +Into the darkness, as a ship, when struck +By a great sea, throws off the waves at first +On either side, then settles and goes down +Into the dark abyss, with her dead crew. +</pre> + <p> + CAVALIERI. But the earth does not move. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Who knows? who knowst? +There are great truths that pitch their shining tents +Outside our walls, and though but dimly seen +In the gray dawn, they will be manifest +When the light widens into perfect day. +A certain man, Copernicus by name, +Sometime professor here in Rome, has whispered +It is the earth, and not the sun, that moves. +What I beheld was only in a dream, +Yet dreams sometimes anticipate events, +Being unsubstantial images of things +As yet unseen. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap517"></a>V<br/> +MACELLO DE' CORVI</h3> + +<p class="center"> +MICHAEL ANGELO, BENVENUTO CELLINI. +</p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. So, Benvenuto, you return once more To the Eternal City. + 'T is the centre To which all gravitates. One finds no rest Elsewhere than + here. There may be other cities That please us for a while, but Rome alone + Completely satisfies. It becomes to all A second native land by + predilection, And not by accident of birth alone. + </p> + <p> + BENVENUTO. I am but just arrived, and am now lodging With Bindo Altoviti. + I have been To kiss the feet of our most Holy Father, And now am come in + haste to kiss the hands Of my miraculous Master. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + And to find him +Grown very old. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + You know that precious stones +Never grow old. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Half sunk beneath the horizon, +And yet not gone. Twelve years are a long while. +Tell me of France. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + It were too long a tale +To tell you all. Suffice in brief to say +The King received me well, and loved me well; +Gave me the annual pension that before me +Our Leonardo had, nor more nor less, +And for my residence the Tour de Nesle, +Upon the river-side. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + A princely lodging. +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. What in return I did now matters not, For there are other + things, of greater moment, I wish to speak of. First of all, the letter + You wrote me, not long since, about my bust Of Bindo Altoviti, here in + Rome. You said, "My Benvenuto, I for many years Have known you as the + greatest of all goldsmiths, And now I know you as no less a sculptor." Ah, + generous Master! How shall I e'er thank you For such kind language? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + By believing it. +I saw the bust at Messer Bindo's house, +And thought it worthy of the ancient masters, +And said so. That is all. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + It is too much; +And I should stand abashed here in your presence, +Had I done nothing worthier of your praise +Than Bindo's bust. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + What have you done that's better? +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. When I left Rome for Paris, you remember I promised you that if + I went a goldsmith I would return a sculptor. I have kept The promise I + then made. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Dear Benvenuto, +I recognized the latent genius in you, +But feared your vices. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + I have turned them all +To virtues. My impatient, wayward nature, +That made me quick in quarrel, now has served me +Where meekness could not, and where patience could not, +As you shall hear now. I have cast in bronze +A statue of Perseus, holding thus aloft +In his left hand the head of the Medusa, +And in his right the sword that severed it; +His right foot planted on the lifeless corse; +His face superb and pitiful, with eyes +Down-looking on the victim of his vengeance. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. I see it as it should be. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + As it will be +When it is placed upon the Ducal Square, +Half-way between your David and the Judith +Of Donatello. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Rival of them both! +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. But ah, what infinite trouble have I had With Bandinello, and + that stupid beast, The major-domo of Duke Cosimo, Francesco Ricci, and + their wretched agent Gorini, who came crawling round about me Like a black + spider, with his whining voice That sounded like the buzz of a mosquito! + Oh, I have wept in utter desperation, And wished a thousand times I had + not left My Tour do Nesle, nor e'er returned to Florence, Or thought of + Perseus. What malignant falsehoods They told the Grand Duke, to impede my + work, And make me desperate! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + The nimble lie +Is like the second-hand upon a clock; +We see it fly; while the hour-hand of truth +Seems to stand still, and yet it moves unseen, +And wins at last, for the clock will not strike +Till it has reached the goal. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + My obstinacy +Stood me in stead, and helped me to o'ercome +The hindrances that envy and ill-will +Put in my way. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + When anything is done +People see not the patient doing of it, +Nor think how great would be the loss to man +If it had not been done. As in a building +Stone rests on stone, and wanting the foundation +All would be wanting, so in human life +Each action rests on the foregone event, +That made it possible, but is forgotten +And buried in the earth. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + Even Bandinello, +Who never yet spake well of anything, +Speaks well of this; and yet he told the Duke +That, though I cast small figures well enough, +I never could cast this. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + But you have done it, +And proved Ser Bandinello a false prophet. +That is the wisest way. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + And ah, that casting +What a wild scene it was, as late at night, +A night of wind and rain, we heaped the furnace +With pine of Serristori, till the flames +Caught in the rafters over us, and threatened +To send the burning roof upon our heads; +And from the garden side the wind and rain +Poured in upon us, and half quenched our fires. +I was beside myself with desperation. +A shudder came upon me, then a fever; +I thought that I was dying, and was forced +To leave the work-shop, and to throw myself +Upon my bed, as one who has no hope. +And as I lay there, a deformed old man +Appeared before me, and with dismal voice, +Like one who doth exhort a criminal +Led forth to death, exclaimed, "Poor Benvenuto, +Thy work is spoiled! There is no remedy!" +Then, with a cry so loud it might have reached +The heaven of fire, I bounded to my feet, +And rushed back to my workmen. They all stood +Bewildered and desponding; and I looked +Into the furnace, and beheld the mass +Half molten only, and in my despair +I fed the fire with oak, whose terrible heat +Soon made the sluggish metal shine and sparkle. +Then followed a bright flash, and an explosion, +As if a thunderbolt had fallen among us. +The covering of the furnace had been rent +Asunder, and the bronze was flowing over; +So that I straightway opened all the sluices +To fill the mould. The metal ran like lava, +Sluggish and heavy; and I sent my workmen +To ransack the whole house, and bring together +My pewter plates and pans, two hundred of them, +And cast them one by one into the furnace +To liquefy the mass, and in a moment +The mould was filled! I fell upon my knees +And thanked the Lord; and then we ate and drank +And went to bed, all hearty and contented. +It was two hours before the break of day. +My fever was quite gone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + A strange adventure, +That could have happened to no man alive +But you, my Benvenuto. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + As my workmen said +To major-domo Ricci afterward, +When he inquired of them: "'T was not a man, +But an express great devil." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + And the statue? +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. Perfect in every part, save the right foot Of Perseus, as I had + foretold the Duke. There was just bronze enough to fill the mould; Not a + drop over, not a drop too little. I looked upon it as a miracle Wrought by + the hand of God. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + And now I see +How you have turned your vices into virtues. +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. But wherefore do I prate of this? I came To speak of other + things. Duke Cosimo Through me invites you to return to Florence, And + offers you great honors, even to make you One of the Forty-Eight, his + Senators. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. His Senators! That is enough. Since Florence Was changed + by Clement Seventh from a Republic Into a Dukedom, I no longer wish To be + a Florentine. That dream is ended. The Grand Duke Cosimo now reigns + supreme; All liberty is dead. Ah, woe is me! I hoped to see my country + rise to heights Of happiness and freedom yet unreached By other nations, + but the climbing wave Pauses, lets go its hold, and slides again Back to + the common level, with a hoarse Death rattle in its throat. I am too old + To hope for better days. I will stay here And die in Rome. The very weeds, + that grow Among the broken fragments of her ruins, Are sweeter to me than + the garden flowers Of other cities; and the desolate ring Of the Campagna + round about her walls Fairer than all the villas that encircle The towns + of Tuscany. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + But your old friends! +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. All dead by violence. Baccio Valori Has been beheaded; + Guicciardini poisoned; Philippo Strozzi strangled in his prison. Is + Florence then a place for honest men To flourish in? What is there to + prevent My sharing the same fate? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + Why this: if all +Your friends are dead, so are your enemies. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Is Aretino dead? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + He lives in Venice, +And not in Florence. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + 'T is the same to me +This wretched mountebank, whom flatterers +Call the Divine, as if to make the word +Unpleasant in the mouths of those who speak it +And in the ears of those who hear it, sends me +A letter written for the public eye, +And with such subtle and infernal malice, +I wonder at his wickedness. 'T is he +Is the express great devil, and not you. +Some years ago he told me how to paint +The scenes of the Last Judgment. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + I remember. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Well, now he writes to me that, as a Christian, He is + ashamed of the unbounded freedom With which I represent it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + Hypocrite! +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. He says I show mankind that I am wanting In piety and + religion, in proportion As I profess perfection in my art. Profess + perfection? Why, 't is only men Like Bugiardini who are satisfied With + what they do. I never am content, But always see the labors of my hand + Fall short of my conception. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + I perceive +The malice of this creature. He would taint you +With heresy, and in a time like this! +'T is infamous! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + I represent the angels +Without their heavenly glory, and the saints +Without a trace of earthly modesty. +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. Incredible audacity! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + The heathen +Veiled their Diana with some drapery, +And when they represented Venus naked +They made her by her modest attitude, +Appear half clothed. But I, who am a Christian, +Do so subordinate belief to art +That I have made the very violation +Of modesty in martyrs and in virgins +A spectacle at which all men would gaze +With half-averted eyes even in a brothel. +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. He is at home there, and he ought to know What men avert their + eyes from in such places; From the Last Judgment chiefly, I imagine. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. But divine Providence will never leave The boldness of my + marvellous work unpunished; And the more marvellous it is, the more 'T is + sure to prove the ruin of my fame! And finally, if in this composition I + had pursued the instructions that he gave me Concerning heaven and hell + and paradise, In that same letter, known to all the world, Nature would + not be forced, as she is now, To feel ashamed that she invested me With + such great talent; that I stand myself A very idol in the world of art. He + taunts me also with the Mausoleum Of Julius, still unfinished, for the + reason That men persuaded the inane old man It was of evil augury to build + His tomb while he was living; and he speaks Of heaps of gold this Pope + bequeathed to me, And calls it robbery;—that is what he says. What + prompted such a letter? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + Vanity. +He is a clever writer, and he likes +To draw his pen, and flourish it in the face +Of every honest man, as swordsmen do +Their rapiers on occasion, but to show +How skilfully they do it. Had you followed +The advice he gave, or even thanked him for it, +You would have seen another style of fence. +'T is but his wounded vanity, and the wish +To see his name in print. So give it not +A moment's thought; it soon will be forgotten. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. I will not think of it, but let it pass For a rude speech + thrown at me in the street, As boys threw stones at Dante. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + And what answer +Shall I take back to Grand Duke Cosimo? +He does not ask your labor or your service; +Only your presence in the city of Florence, +With such advice upon his work in hand +As he may ask, and you may choose to give. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. You have my answer. Nothing he can offer Shall tempt me to + leave Rome. My work is here, And only here, the building of St. Peter's. + What other things I hitherto have done Have fallen from me, are no longer + mine; I have passed on beyond them, and have left them As milestones on + the way. What lies before me, That is still mine, and while it is + unfinished No one shall draw me from it, or persuade me, By promises of + ease, or wealth, or honor, Till I behold the finished dome uprise + Complete, as now I see it in my thought. + </p> + <p> + BENVENUTO. And will you paint no more? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + No more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +BENVENUTO. + 'T is well. +Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature, +That fashions all her works in high relief, +And that is sculpture. This vast ball, the Earth, +Was moulded out of clay, and baked in fire; +Men, women, and all animals that breathe +Are statues, and not paintings. Even the plants, +The flowers, the fruits, the grasses, were first sculptured, +And colored later. Painting is a lie, +A shadow merely. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Truly, as you say, +Sculpture is more than painting. It is greater +To raise the dead to life than to create +Phantoms that seem to live. The most majestic +Of the three sister arts is that which builds; +The eldest of them all, to whom the others +Are but the hand-maids and the servitors, +Being but imitation, not creation. +Henceforth I dedicate myself to her. +</pre> + <p> + BENVENUTO. And no more from the marble hew those forms That fill us all + with wonder? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Many statues +Will there be room for in my work. Their station +Already is assigned them in my mind. +But things move slowly. There are hindrances, +Want of material, want of means, delays +And interruptions, endless interference +Of Cardinal Commissioners, and disputes +And jealousies of artists, that annoy me. +But twill persevere until the work +Is wholly finished, or till I sink down +Surprised by death, that unexpected guest, +Who waits for no man's leisure, but steps in, +Unasked and unannounced, to put a stop +To all our occupations and designs. +And then perhaps I may go back to Florence; +This is my answer to Duke Cosimo. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap518"></a>VI<br/> +MICHAEL ANGELO'S STUDIO</h3> + + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO and URBINO. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO, pausing in his work. Urbino, thou and I are both old men. + My strength begins to fail me. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URBINO. + Eccellenza. +That is impossible. Do I not see you +Attack the marble blocks with the same fury +As twenty years ago? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + 'T is an old habit. +I must have learned it early from my nurse +At Setignano, the stone-mason's wife; +For the first sounds I heard were of the chisel +chipping away the stone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URBINO. + At every stroke +You strike fire with your chisel. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Ay, because +The marble is too hard. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URBINO. + It is a block +That Topolino sent you from Carrara. +He is a judge of marble. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + I remember. +With it he sent me something of his making,— +A Mercury, with long body and short legs, +As if by any possibility +A messenger of the gods could have short legs. +It was no more like Mercury than you are, +But rather like those little plaster figures +That peddlers hawk about the villages +As images of saints. But luckily +For Topolino, there are many people +Who see no difference between what is best +And what is only good, or not even good; +So that poor artists stand in their esteem +On the same level with the best, or higher. +</pre> + <p> + URBINO. How Eccellenza laughed! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Poor Topolino! +All men are not born artists, nor will labor +E'er make them artists. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URBINO. + No, no more +Than Emperors, or Popes, or Cardinals. +One must be chosen for it. I have been +Your color-grinder six and twenty years, +And am not yet an artist. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Some have eyes +That see not; but in every block of marble +I see a statue,—see it as distinctly +As if it stood before me shaped and perfect +In attitude and action. I have only +To hew away the stone walls that imprison +The lovely apparition, and reveal it +To other eyes as mine already see it. +But I grow old and weak. What wilt thou do +When I am dead, Urbino? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URBINO. + Eccellenza, +I must then serve another master. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Never! +Bitter is servitude at best. Already +So many years hast thou been serving me; +But rather as a friend than as a servant. +We have grown old together. Dost thou think +So meanly of this Michael Angelo +As to imagine he would let thee serve, +When he is free from service? Take this purse, +Two thousand crowns in gold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URBINO. + Two thousand crowns! +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Ay, it will make thee rich. Thou shalt not die A beggar in + a hospital. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URBINO. + Oh, Master! +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. I cannot have them with me on the journey That I am + undertaking. The last garment That men will make for me will have no + pockets. + </p> + <p> + URBINO, kissing the hand of MICHAEL ANGELO. My generous master! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Hush! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +URBINO. + My Providence! +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Not a word more. Go now to bed, old man. Thou hast served + Michael Angelo. Remember, Henceforward thou shalt serve no other master. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap519"></a>VII<br/> +THE OAKS OF MONTE LUCA</h3> + + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO, alone in the woods. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. How still it is among these ancient oaks! Surges and + undulations of the air Uplift the leafy boughs, and let them fall With + scarce a sound. Such sylvan quietudes Become old age. These huge + centennial oaks, That may have heard in infancy the trumpets Of + Barbarossa's cavalry, deride Man's brief existence, that with all his + strength He cannot stretch beyond the hundredth year. This little acorn, + turbaned like the Turk, Which with my foot I spurn, may be an oak + Hereafter, feeding with its bitter mast The fierce wild boar, and tossing + in its arms The cradled nests of birds, when all the men That now inhabit + this vast universe, They and their children, and their children's + children, Shall be but dust and mould, and nothing more. Through openings + in the trees I see below me The valley of Clitumnus, with its farms And + snow-white oxen grazing in the shade Of the tall poplars on the river's + brink. O Nature, gentle mother, tender nurse! I who have never loved thee + as I ought, But wasted all my years immured in cities, And breathed the + stifling atmosphere of streets, Now come to thee for refuge. Here is + peace. Yonder I see the little hermitages Dotting the mountain side with + points of light, And here St. Julian's convent, like a nest Of curlews, + clinging to some windy cliff. Beyond the broad, illimitable plain Down + sinks the sun, red as Apollo's quoit, That, by the envious Zephyr blown + aside, Struck Hyacinthus dead, and stained the earth With his young blood, + that blossomed into flowers. And now, instead of these fair deities Dread + demons haunt the earth; hermits inhabit The leafy homes of sylvan + Hamadryads; And jovial friars, rotund and rubicund, Replace the old + Silenus with his ass. + </p> + <p> + Here underneath these venerable oaks, Wrinkled and brown and gnarled like + them with age, A brother of the monastery sits, Lost in his meditations. + What may be The questions that perplex, the hopes that cheer him? + Good-evening, holy father. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MONK. + God be with you. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Pardon a stranger if he interrupt Your meditations. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MONK. + It was but a dream,— +The old, old dream, that never will come true; +The dream that all my life I have been dreaming, +And yet is still a dream. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + All men have dreams: +I have had mine; but none of them came true; +They were but vanity. Sometimes I think +The happiness of man lies in pursuing, +Not in possessing; for the things possessed +Lose half their value. Tell me of your dream. +</pre> + <p> + MONK. The yearning of my heart, my sole desire, That like the sheaf of + Joseph stands up right, While all the others bend and bow to it; The + passion that torments me, and that breathes New meaning into the dead + forms of prayer, Is that with mortal eyes I may behold The Eternal City. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Rome? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MONK. + There is but one; +The rest are merely names. I think of it +As the Celestial City, paved with gold, +And sentinelled with angels. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Would it were. +I have just fled from it. It is beleaguered +By Spanish troops, led by the Duke of Alva. +</pre> + <p> + MONK. But still for me 't is the Celestial City, And I would see it once + before I die. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Each one must bear his cross. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MONK. + Were it a cross +That had been laid upon me, I could bear it, +Or fall with it. It is a crucifix; +I am nailed hand and foot, and I am dying! +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. What would you see in Rome? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MONK. + His Holiness. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Him that was once the Cardinal Caraffa? You would but see + a man of fourscore years, With sunken eyes, burning like carbuncles, Who + sits at table with his friends for hours, Cursing the Spaniards as a race + of Jews And miscreant Moors. And with what soldiery Think you he now + defends the Eternal City? + </p> + <p> + MONK. With legions of bright angels. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + So he calls them; +And yet in fact these bright angelic legions +Are only German Lutherans. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MONK, crossing himself. + Heaven protect us? +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. What further would you see? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MONK. + The Cardinals, +Going in their gilt coaches to High Mass. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. Men do not go to Paradise in coaches. + </p> + <p> + MONK. The catacombs, the convents, and the churches; The ceremonies of the + Holy Week In all their pomp, or, at the Epiphany, The Feast of the + Santissima Bambino At Ara Coeli. But I shall not see them. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. These pompous ceremonies of the Church Are but an empty + show to him who knows The actors in them. Stay here in your convent, For + he who goes to Rome may see too much. What would you further? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MONK. + I would see the painting +of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. The smoke of incense and of altar candles Has blackened it + already. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MONK. + Woe is me! +Then I would hear Allegri's Miserere, +Sung by the Papal choir. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + A dismal dirge! +I am an old, old man, and I have lived +In Rome for thirty years and more, and know +The jarring of the wheels of that great world, +Its jealousies, its discords, and its strife. +Therefore I say to you, remain content +Here in your convent, here among your woods, +Where only there is peace. Go not to Rome. +There was of old a monk of Wittenberg +Who went to Rome; you may have heard of him; +His name was Luther; and you know what followed. +</pre> + <p> + [The convent bell rings. + </p> + <p> + MONK, rising. It is the convent bell; it rings for vespers. Let us go in; + we both will pray for peace. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap520"></a>VIII<br/> +THE DEAD CHRIST.</h3> + + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO'S studio. MICHAEL ANGELO, with a light, working upon the + Dead Christ. Midnight. + </p> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO. O Death, why is it I cannot portray Thy form and features? + Do I stand too near thee? Or dost thou hold my hand, and draw me back, As + being thy disciple, not thy master? Let him who knows not what old age is + like Have patience till it comes, and he will know. I once had skill to + fashion Life and Death And Sleep, which is the counterfeit of Death; And I + remember what Giovanni Strozzi Wrote underneath my statue of the Night In + San Lorenzo, ah, so long ago! + </p> + <p> + Grateful to me is sleep! More grateful now Than it was then; for all my + friends are dead; And she is dead, the noblest of them all. I saw her + face, when the great sculptor Death, Whom men should call Divine, had at a + blow Stricken her into marble; and I kissed Her cold white hand. What was + it held me back From kissing her fair forehead, and those lips, Those + dead, dumb lips? Grateful to me is sleep! + </p> + <p> + Enter GIORGIO VASARI. + </p> + <p> + GIORGIO. Good-evening, or good-morning, for I know not Which of the two it + is. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + How came you in? +</pre> + <p> + GIORGIO. Why, by the door, as all men do. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Ascanio +Must have forgotten to bolt it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GIORGIO. + Probably. +Am I a spirit, or so like a spirit, +That I could slip through bolted door or window? +As I was passing down the street, I saw +A glimmer of light, and heard the well-known chink +Of chisel upon marble. So I entered, +To see what keeps you from your bed so late. +</pre> + <p> + MICHAEL ANGELO, coming forward with the lamp. You have been revelling with + your boon companions, Giorgio Vasari, and you come to me At an untimely + hour. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GIORGIO. + The Pope hath sent me. +His Holiness desires to see again +The drawing you once showed him of the dome +Of the Basilica. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + We will look for it. +</pre> + <p> + GIORGIO. What is the marble group that glimmers there Behind you? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO. + Nothing, and yet everything,— +As one may take it. It is my own tomb, +That I am building. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +GIORGIO. + Do not hide it from me. +By our long friendship and the love I bear you, +Refuse me not! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MICHAEL ANGELO, letting fall the lamp. + Life hath become to me +An empty theatre,—its lights extinguished, +The music silent, and the actors gone; +And I alone sit musing on the scenes +That once have been. I am so old that Death +Oft plucks me by the cloak, to come with him +And some day, like this lamp, shall I fall down, +And my last spark of life will be extinguished. +Ah me! ah me! what darkness of despair! +So near to death, and yet so far from God! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap521"></a>TRANSLATIONS</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap522"></a>PRELUDE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As treasures that men seek, + Deep-buried in sea-sands, +Vanish if they but speak, + And elude their eager hands, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So ye escape and slip, + O songs, and fade away, +When the word is on my lip + To interpret what ye say. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Were it not better, then, + To let the treasures rest +Hid from the eyes of men, + Locked in their iron chest? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I have but marked the place, + But half the secret told, +That, following this slight trace, + Others may find the gold. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap523"></a>FROM THE SPANISH<br/> +COPLAS DE MANRIQUE</h3> + <p> + O let the soul her slumbers break, Let thought be + quickened, and awake; Awake to see How soon this life is past and gone, + And death comes softly stealing on, How silently! + </p> + <p> + Swiftly our pleasures glide away, Our hearts recall the distant day With + many sighs; The moments that are speeding fast We heed not, but the past,—the + past, More highly prize. + </p> + <p> + Onward its course the present keeps, Onward the constant current sweeps, + Till life is done; And, did we judge of time aright, The past and future + in their flight Would be as one. + </p> + <p> + Let no one fondly dream again, That Hope and all her shadowy train Will + not decay; Fleeting as were the dreams of old, Remembered like a tale + that's told, They pass away. + </p> + <p> + Our lives are rivers, gliding free To that unfathomed, boundless sea, The + silent grave! Thither all earthly pomp and boast Roll, to be swallowed up + and lost In one dark wave. + </p> + <p> + Thither the mighty torrents stray, Thither the brook pursues its way, And + tinkling rill, There all are equal; side by side The poor man and the son + of pride Lie calm and still. + </p> + <p> + I will not here invoke the throng Of orators and sons of song, The + deathless few; Fiction entices and deceives, And, sprinkled o'er her + fragrant leaves, Lies poisonous dew. + </p> + <p> + To One alone my thoughts arise, The Eternal Truth, the Good and Wise, To + Him I cry, Who shared on earth our common lot, But the world comprehended + not His deity. + </p> + <p> + This world is but the rugged road Which leads us to the bright abode Of + peace above; So let us choose that narrow way, Which leads no traveller's + foot astray From realms of love, + </p> + <p> + Our cradle is the starting-place, Life is the running of the race, We + reach the goal When, in the mansions of the blest, Death leaves to its + eternal rest The weary soul. + </p> + <p> + Did we but use it as we ought, This world would school each wandering + thought To its high state. Faith wings the soul beyond the sky, Up to that + better world on high, For which we wait. + </p> + <p> + Yes, the glad messenger of love, To guide us to our home above, The + Saviour came; Born amid mortal cares and fears. He suffered in this vale + of tears A death of shame. + </p> + <p> + Behold of what delusive worth The bubbles we pursue on earth, The shapes + we chase, Amid a world of treachery! They vanish ere death shuts the eye, + And leave no trace. + </p> + <p> + Time steals them from us, chances strange, Disastrous accident, and + change, That come to all; Even in the most exalted state, Relentless + sweeps the stroke of fate; The strongest fall. + </p> + <p> + Tell me, the charms that lovers seek In the clear eye and blushing cheek, + The hues that play O'er rosy lip and brow of snow, When hoary age + approaches slow, Ah; where are they? + </p> + <p> + The cunning skill, the curious arts, The glorious strength that youth + imparts In life's first stage; These shall become a heavy weight, When + Time swings wide his outward gate To weary age. + </p> + <p> + The noble blood of Gothic name, Heroes emblazoned high to fame, In long + array; How, in the onward course of time, The landmarks of that race + sublime Were swept away! + </p> + <p> + Some, the degraded slaves of lust, Prostrate and trampled in the dust, + Shall rise no more; Others, by guilt and crime, maintain The scutcheon, + that without a stain, Their fathers bore. + </p> + <p> + Wealth and the high estate of pride, With what untimely speed they glide, + How soon depart! Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay, The vassals of a + mistress they, Of fickle heart. + </p> + <p> + These gifts in Fortune's hands are found; Her swift revolving wheel turns + round, And they are gone! No rest the inconstant goddess knows, But + changing, and without repose, Still hurries on. + </p> + <p> + Even could the hand of avarice save Its gilded baubles till the grave + Reclaimed its prey, Let none on such poor hopes rely; Life, like an empty + dream, flits by, And where are they? + </p> + <p> + Earthly desires and sensual lust Are passions springing from the dust, + They fade and die; But in the life beyond the tomb, They seal the immortal + spirits doom Eternally! + </p> + <p> + The pleasures and delights, which mask In treacherous smiles life's + serious task, What are they, all, But the fleet coursers of the chase, And + death an ambush in the race, Wherein we fall? + </p> + <p> + No foe, no dangerous pass, we heed, Brook no delay, but onward speed With + loosened rein; And, when the fatal snare is near, We strive to check our + mad career, But strive in vain. + </p> + <p> + Could we new charms to age impart, And fashion with a cunning art The + human face, As we can clothe the soul with light, And make the glorious + spirit bright With heavenly grace, + </p> + <p> + How busily each passing hour Should we exert that magic power, What ardor + show, To deck the sensual slave of sin, Yet leave the freeborn soul + within, In weeds of woe! + </p> + <p> + Monarchs, the powerful and the strong, Famous in history and in song Of + olden time, Saw, by the stern decrees of fate, Their kingdoms lost, and + desolate Their race sublime. + </p> + <p> + Who is the champion? who the strong? Pontiff and priest, and sceptred + throng? On these shall fall As heavily the hand of Death, As when it stays + the shepherd's breath Beside his stall. + </p> + <p> + I speak not of the Trojan name, Neither its glory nor its shame Has met + our eyes; Nor of Rome's great and glorious dead, Though we have heard so + oft, and read, Their histories. + </p> + <p> + Little avails it now to know Of ages passed so long ago, Nor how they + rolled; Our theme shall be of yesterday, Which to oblivion sweeps away, + Like day's of old. + </p> + <p> + Where is the King, Don Juan? Where Each royal prince and noble heir Of + Aragon? Where are the courtly gallantries? The deeds of love and high + emprise, In battle done? + </p> + <p> + Tourney and joust, that charmed the eye, And scarf, and gorgeous panoply, + And nodding plume, What were they but a pageant scene? What but the + garlands, gay and green, That deck the tomb? + </p> + <p> + Where are the high-born dames, and where Their gay attire, and jewelled + hair, And odors sweet? Where are the gentle knights, that came To kneel, + and breathe love's ardent flame, Low at their feet? + </p> + <p> + Where is the song of Troubadour? Where are the lute and gay tambour They + loved of yore? Where is the mazy dance of old, The flowing robes, + inwrought with gold, The dancers wore? + </p> + <p> + And he who next the sceptre swayed, Henry, whose royal court displayed + Such power and pride; O, in what winning smiles arrayed, The world its + various pleasures laid His throne beside! + </p> + <p> + But O how false and full of guile That world, which wore so soft a smile + But to betray! She, that had been his friend before, Now from the fated + monarch tore Her charms away. + </p> + <p> + The countless gifts, the stately walls, The loyal palaces, and halls All + filled with gold; Plate with armorial bearings wrought, Chambers with + ample treasures fraught Of wealth untold; + </p> + <p> + The noble steeds, and harness bright, And gallant lord, and stalwart + knight, In rich array, Where shall we seek them now? Alas! Like the bright + dewdrops on the grass, They passed away. + </p> + <p> + His brother, too, whose factious zeal Usurped the sceptre of Castile, + Unskilled to reign; What a gay, brilliant court had he, When all the + flower of chivalry Was in his train! + </p> + <p> + But he was mortal; and the breath, That flamed from the hot forge of + Death, Blasted his years; Judgment of God! that flame by thee, When raging + fierce and fearfully, Was quenched in tears! + </p> + <p> + Spain's haughty Constable, the true And gallant Master, whom we knew Most + loved of all; Breathe not a whisper of his pride, He on the gloomy + scaffold died, Ignoble fall! + </p> + <p> + The countless treasures of his care, His villages and villas fair, His + mighty power, What were they all but grief and shame, Tears and a broken + heart, when came The parting hour? + </p> + <p> + His other brothers, proud and high, Masters, who, in prosperity, Might + rival kings; Who made the bravest and the best The bondsmen of their high + behest, Their underlings; + </p> + <p> + What was their prosperous estate, When high exalted and elate With power + and pride? What, but a transient gleam of light, A flame, which, glaring + at its height, Grew dim and died? + </p> + <p> + So many a duke of royal name, Marquis and count of spotless fame, And + baron brave, That might the sword of empire wield, All these, O Death, + hast thou concealed In the dark grave! + </p> + <p> + Their deeds of mercy and of arms, In peaceful days, or war's alarms, When + thou dost show. O Death, thy stern and angry face, One stroke of thy + all-powerful mace Can overthrow. + </p> + <p> + Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh, Pennon and standard flaunting high, + And flag displayed; High battlements intrenched around, Bastion, and + moated wall, and mound, And palisade, + </p> + <p> + And covered trench, secure and deep, All these cannot one victim keep, O + Death, from thee, When thou dost battle in thy wrath, And thy strong + shafts pursue their path Unerringly. + </p> + <p> + O World! so few the years we live, Would that the life which thou dost + give Were life indeed! Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast, Our happiest hour + is when at last The soul is freed. + </p> + <p> + Our days are covered o'er with grief, And sorrows neither few nor brief + Veil all in gloom; Left desolate of real good, Within this cheerless + solitude No pleasures bloom. + </p> + <p> + Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, And ends in bitter doubts and fears, Or + dark despair; Midway so many toils appear, That he who lingers longest + here Knows most of care. + </p> + <p> + Thy goods are bought with many a groan, By the hot sweat of toil alone, + And weary hearts; Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, But with a + lingering step and slow Its form departs. + </p> + <p> + And he, the good man's shield and shade, To whom all hearts their homage + paid, As Virtue's son, Roderic Manrique, he whose name Is written on the + scroll of Fame, Spain's champion; + </p> + <p> + His signal deeds and prowess high Demand no pompous eulogy. Ye saw his + deeds! Why should their praise in verse be sung? The name, that dwells on + every tongue, No minstrel needs. + </p> + <p> + To friends a friend; how kind to all The vassals of this ancient hall And + feudal fief! To foes how stern a foe was he! And to the valiant and the + free How brave a chief! + </p> + <p> + What prudence with the old and wise: What grace in youthful gayeties; In + all how sage! Benignant to the serf and slave, He showed the base and + falsely brave A lion's rage. + </p> + <p> + His was Octavian's prosperous star, The rush of Caesar's conquering car At + battle's call; His, Scipio's virtue; his, the skill And the indomitable + will Of Hannibal. + </p> + <p> + His was a Trajan's goodness, his A Titus' noble charities And righteous + laws; The arm of Hector, and the might Of Tully, to maintain the right In + truth's just cause; + </p> + <p> + The clemency of Antonine, Aurelius' countenance divine, Firm, gentle, + still; The eloquence of Adrian, And Theodosius' love to man, And generous + will; + </p> + <p> + In tented field and bloody fray, An Alexander's vigorous sway And stern + command; The faith of Constantine; ay, more, The fervent love Camillus + bore His native land. + </p> + <p> + He left no well-filled treasury, He heaped no pile of riches high, Nor + massive plate; He fought the Moors, and, in their fall, City and tower and + castled wall Were his estate. + </p> + <p> + Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, Brave steeds and gallant riders found + A common grave; And there the warrior's hand did gain The rents, and the + long vassal train, That conquest gave. + </p> + <p> + And if, of old, his halls displayed The honored and exalted grade His + worth had gained, So, in the dark, disastrous hour, Brothers and bondsmen + of his power His hand sustained. + </p> + <p> + After high deeds, not left untold, In the stern warfare, which of old 'T + was his to share, Such noble leagues he made, that more And fairer + regions, than before, His guerdon were. + </p> + <p> + These are the records, half effaced, Which, with the hand of youth, he + traced On history's page; But with fresh victories he drew Each fading + character anew In his old age. + </p> + <p> + By his unrivalled skill, by great And veteran service to the state, By + worth adored, He stood, in his high dignity, The proudest knight of + chivalry, Knight of the Sword. + </p> + <p> + He found his cities and domains Beneath a tyrant's galling chains And + cruel power; But by fierce battle and blockade, Soon his own banner was + displayed From every tower. + </p> + <p> + By the tried valor of his hand, His monarch and his native land Were nobly + served; Let Portugal repeat the story, And proud Castile, who shared the + glory His arms deserved. + </p> + <p> + And when so oft, for weal or woe, His life upon the fatal throw Had been + cast down; When he had served, with patriot zeal, Beneath the banner of + Castile, His sovereign's crown; + </p> + <p> + And done such deeds of valor strong, That neither history nor song Can + count them all; Then, on Ocana's castled rock, Death at his portal came to + knock, With sudden call, + </p> + <p> + Saying, "Good Cavalier, prepare To leave this world of toil and care With + joyful mien; Let thy strong heart of steel this day Put on its armor for + the fray, The closing scene. + </p> + <p> + "Since thou hast been, in battle-strife, So prodigal of health and life, + For earthly fame, Let virtue nerve thy heart again; Loud on the last stern + battle-plain They call thy name. + </p> + <p> + "Think not the struggle that draws near Too terrible for man, nor fear To + meet the foe; Nor let thy noble spirit grieve, Its life of glorious fame + to leave On earth below. + </p> + <p> + "A life of honor and of worth Has no eternity on earth, 'T is but a name; + And yet its glory far exceeds That base and sensual life, which leads To + want and shame. + </p> + <p> + "The eternal life, beyond the sky, Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high + And proud estate; The soul in dalliance laid, the spirit Corrupt with sin, + shall not inherit A joy so great. + </p> + <p> + "But the good monk, in cloistered cell, Shall gain it by his book and + bell, His prayers and tears; And the brave knight, whose arm endures + Fierce battle, and against the Moors His standard rears. + </p> + <p> + "And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured The life-blood of the Pagan + horde O'er all the land, In heaven shalt thou receive, at length, The + guerdon of thine earthly strength And dauntless hand. + </p> + <p> + "Cheered onward by this promise sure, Strong in the faith entire and pure + Thou dost profess, Depart, thy hope is certainty, The third, the better + life on high Shalt thou possess." + </p> + <p> + "O Death, no more, no more delay; My spirit longs to flee away, And be at + rest; The will of Heaven my will shall be, I bow to the divine decree, To + God's behest. + </p> + <p> + "My soul is ready to depart, No thought rebels, the obedient heart + Breathes forth no sigh; The wish on earth to linger still Were vain, when + 't is God's sovereign will That we shall die. + </p> + <p> + "O thou, that for our sins didst take A human form, and humbly make Thy + home on earth; Thou, that to thy divinity A human nature didst ally By + mortal birth, + </p> + <p> + "And in that form didst suffer here Torment, and agony, and fear, So + patiently; By thy redeeming grace alone, And not for merits of my own, O, + pardon me!" + </p> + <p> + As thus the dying warrior prayed, Without one gathering mist or shade Upon + his mind; Encircled by his family, Watched by affection's gentle eye So + soft and kind; + </p> + <p> + His soul to Him, who gave it, rose; God lead it to its long repose, Its + glorious rest! And, though the warrior's sun has set, Its light shall + linger round us yet, Bright, radiant, blest. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap524"></a>SONNETS</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap525"></a>I<br/> +THE GOOD SHEPHERD</h3> + +<p class="center"> + (EL BUEN PASTOR)<br/> + BY LOPE DE VEGA + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Shepherd! who with thine amorous, sylvan song + Hast broken the slumber that encompassed me, + Who mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree, + On which thy powerful arms were stretched so long! +Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains; + For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be; + I will obey thy voice, and wait to see + Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains. +Hear, Shepherd! thou who for thy flock art dying, + O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou + Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow. +O, wait! to thee my weary soul is crying, + Wait for me! Yet why ask it, when I see, + With feet nailed to the cross, thou 'rt waiting still for me! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap526"></a>II<br/> +TO-MORROW</h3> + +<p class="center"> + (MANANA)<br/> + BY LOPE DE VEGA + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Lord, what am I, that with unceasing care, + Thou didst seek after me, that thou didst wait + Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, + And pass the gloomy nights of winter there? +O strange delusion! that I did not greet + Thy blest approach, and O, to Heaven how lost, + If my ingratitude's unkindly frost + Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. +How oft my guardian angel gently cried, + "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see + How he persists to knock and wait for thee!" +And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow, + "To-morrow we will open," I replied, + And when the morrow came I answered still "To-morrow." +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap527"></a>III<br/> +THE NATIVE LAND</h3> + +<p class="center"> +(EL PATRIO CIELO)<br/> + BY FRANCISCO DE ALDANA +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Clear fount of light! my native land on high, + Bright with a glory that shall never fade! + Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade, + Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's eye. +There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, + Gasping no longer for life's feeble breath; + But, sentinelled in heaven, its glorious presence + With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not, death. +Beloved country! banished from thy shore, + A stranger in this prison-house of clay, + The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee! +Heavenward the bright perfections I adore + Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way, + That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap528"></a>IV<br/> +THE IMAGE OF GOD</h3> + +<p class="center"> +(LA IMAGEN DE DIOS)<br/> +BY FRANCISCO DE ALDANA +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O Lord! who seest, from yon starry height, + Centred in one the future and the past, + Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast + The world obscures in me what once was bright! +Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast given, + To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays; + Yet in the hoary winter of my days, + Forever green shall be my trust in Heaven. +Celestial King! O let thy presence pass + Before my spirit, and an image fair + Shall meet that look of mercy from on high, +As the reflected image in a glass + Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, + And owes its being to the gazer's eye. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap529"></a>V<br/> +THE BROOK</h3> + +<p class="center"> +(A UN ARROYUELO)<br/> +ANONYMOUS +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Laugh of the mountain!—lyre of bird and tree! + Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn! + The soul of April, unto whom are born + The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee! +Although, where'er thy devious current strays, + The lap of earth with gold and silver teems, + To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems + Than golden sands, that charm each shepherd's gaze. +How without guile thy bosom, all transparent + As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye + Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count! +How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current! + O sweet simplicity of days gone by! + Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fount! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap530"></a>ANCIENT SPANISH BALLADS.</h3> + + <p> + In the chapter with this title in Outre-Mer, besides Illustrations from + Byron and Lockhart are the three following examples, contributed by Mr. + Longfellow. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap531"></a>I</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Rio Verde, Rio Verde! + Many a corpse is bathed in thee, +Both of Moors and eke of Christians, + Slain with swords most cruelly. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And thy pure and crystal waters + Dappled are with crimson gore; +For between the Moors and Christians + Long has been the fight and sore. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dukes and Counts fell bleeding near thee, + Lords of high renown were slain, +Perished many a brave hidalgo + Of the noblemen of Spain. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap532"></a>II</h3> + + <p> + "King Alfonso the Eighth, having exhausted his treasury in war, wishes to + lay a tax of five farthings upon each of the Castillan hidalgos, in order + to defray the expenses of a journey from Burgos to Cuenca. This + proposition of the king was met with disdain by the noblemen who had been + assembled on the occasion." + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Don Nuno, Count of Lara, + In anger and in pride, +Forgot all reverence for the king, + And thus in wrath replied: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Our noble ancestors," quoth he, + "Ne'er such a tribute paid; +Nor shall the king receive of us + What they have once gainsaid. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"The base-born soul who deems it just + May here with thee remain; +But follow me, ye cavaliers, + Ye noblemen of Spain." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Forth followed they the noble Count, + They marched to Glera's plain; +Out of three thousand gallant knights + Did only three remain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They tied the tribute to their spears, + They raised it in the air, +And they sent to tell their lord the king + That his tax was ready there. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"He may send and take by force," said they, + "This paltry sum of gold; +But the goodly gift of liberty + Cannot be bought and sold." +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap533"></a>III</h3> + + <p> + "One of the finest of the historic ballads is that which describes + Bernardo's march to Roncesvalles. He sallies forth 'with three thousand + Leonese and more,' to protect the glory and freedom of his native land. + From all sides, the peasantry of the land flock to the hero's standard." + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The peasant leaves his plough afield, + The reaper leaves his hook, +And from his hand the shepherd-boy. + Lets fall the pastoral crook. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The young set up a shout of joy, + The old forget their years, +The feeble man grows stout of heart. + No more the craven fears. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All rush to Bernard's standard, + And on liberty they call; +They cannot brook to wear the yoke, + When threatened by the Gaul. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Free were we born," 't is thus they cry + "And willingly pay we +The duty that we owe our king + By the divine decree. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"But God forbid that we obey + The laws of foreign knaves, +Tarnish the glory of our sires, + And make our children slaves. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Our hearts have not so craven grown, + So bloodless all our veins, +So vigorless our brawny arms, + As to submit to chains. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Has the audacious Frank, forsooth, + Subdued these seas and lands? +Shall he a bloodless victory have? +No, not while we have hands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"He shall learn that the gallant Leonese + Can bravely fight and fall, +But that they know not how to yield; + They are Castilians all. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Was it for this the Roman power + Of old was made to yield +Unto Numantia's valiant hosts + On many a bloody field? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Shall the bold lions that have bathed + Their paws in Libyan gore, +Crouch basely to a feebler foe, + And dare the strife no more? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Let the false king sell town and tower, + But not his vassals free; +For to subdue the free-born soul + No royal power hath he!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap534"></a>VIDA DE SAN MILLAN</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY GONZALO DE BERCEO +</p> + <p> + And when the kings were in the field,—their squadrons in array,— + With lance in rest they onward pressed to mingle in the fray; But soon + upon the Christians fell a terror of their foes,— These were a + numerous army,—a little handful those. + </p> + <p> + And while the Christian people stood in this uncertainty, Upward to heaven + they turned their eyes, and fixed their thoughts on high; And there two + figures they beheld, all beautiful and bright, Even than the pure + new-fallen snow their garments were more white. + </p> + <p> + They rode upon two horses more white than crystal sheen, And arms they + bore such as before no mortal man had seen; The one, he held a crosier,—a + pontiff's mitre wore; The other held a crucifix,—such man ne'er saw + before. + </p> + <p> + Their faces were angelical, celestial forms had they,— And downward + through the fields of air they urged their rapid way; They looked upon the + Moorish host with fierce and angry look, And in their hands, with dire + portent, their naked sabres shook. + </p> + <p> + The Christian host, beholding this, straightway take heart again; They + fall upon their bended knees, all resting on the plain, And each one with + his clenched fist to smite his breast begins, And promises to God on high + he will forsake his sins. + </p> + <p> + And when the heavenly knights drew near unto the battle-ground, They + dashed among the Moors and dealt unerring blows around; Such deadly havoc + there they made the foremost ranks along, A panic terror spread unto the + hindmost of the throng. + </p> + <p> + Together with these two good knights, the champions of the sky, The + Christians rallied and began to smite full sore and high; The Moors raised + up their voices and by the Koran swore That in their lives such deadly + fray they ne'er had seen before. + </p> + <p> + Down went the misbelievers,—fast sped the bloody fight,— Some + ghastly and dismembered lay, and some half dead with fright: Full sorely + they repented that to the field they came, For they saw that from the + battle they should retreat with shame. + </p> + <p> + Another thing befell them,—they dreamed not of such woes,— The + very arrows that the Moors shot front their twanging bows Turned back + against them in their flight and wounded them full sore, And every blow + they dealt the foe was paid in drops of gore. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Now he that bore the crosier, and the papal crown had on, Was the + glorified Apostle, the brother of Saint John; And he that held the + crucifix, and wore the monkish hood, Was the holy San Millan of Cogolla's + neighborhood. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap535"></a>SAN MIGUEL, THE CONVENT</h3> + +<p class="center"> +(SAN MIGUEL DE LA TUMBA)<br/> +BY GONZALO DE BERCEO +</p> + + <p> + San Miguel de la Tumba is a convent vast and wide; The sea encircles it + around, and groans on every side: It is a wild and dangerous place, and + many woes betide The monks who in that burial-place in penitence abide. + </p> + <p> + Within those dark monastic walls, amid the ocean flood, Of pious, fasting + monks there dwelt a holy brotherhood; To the Madonna's glory there an + altar high was placed, And a rich and costly image the sacred altar + graced. + </p> + <p> + Exalted high upon a throne, the Virgin Mother smiled, And, as the custom + is, she held within her arms the Child; The kings and wise men of the East + were kneeling by her side; Attended was she like a queen whom God had + sanctified. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Descending low before her face a screen of feathers hung,— A + moscader, or fan for flies, 'tis called in vulgar tongue; From the + feathers of the peacock's wing 't was fashioned bright and fair, And + glistened like the heaven above when all its stars are there. + </p> + <p> + It chanced that, for the people's sins, fell the lightning's blasting + stroke: Forth from all four the sacred walls the flames consuming broke; + The sacred robes were all consumed, missal and holy book; And hardly with + their lives the monks their crumbling walls forsook. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + But though the desolating flame raged fearfully and wild, It did not reach + the Virgin Queen, it did not reach the Child; It did not reach the + feathery screen before her face that shone, Nor injure in a farthing's + worth the image or the throne. + </p> + <p> + The image it did not consume, it did not burn the screen; Even in the + value of a hair they were not hurt, I ween; Not even the smoke did reach + them, nor injure more the shrine Than the bishop hight Don Tello has been + hurt by hand of mine. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap536"></a>SONG</h3> + + <p> + She is a maid of artless grace, Gentle in form, and fair of face, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Tell me, thou ancient mariner, + That sailest on the sea, +If ship, or sail or evening star + Be half so fair as she! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Tell me, thou gallant cavalier, + Whose shining arms I see, +If steel, or sword, or battle-field + Be half so fair as she! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Tell me, thou swain, that guard'st thy flock + Beneath the shadowy tree, +If flock, or vale, or mountain-ridge + Be half so fair as she! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap537"></a>SANTA TERESA'S BOOK-MARK</h3> + +<p class="center"> +(LETRILLA QUE LLEVABA POR REGISTRO EN SU BREVIARIO)<br/> +BY SANTA TERESA DE AVILA +</p> + + <p> + Let nothing disturb thee, Nothing affright thee; All things are passing; + God never changeth; Patient endurance Attaineth to all things; Who God + possesseth In nothing is wanting; Alone God sufficeth. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap538"></a>FROM THE CANCIONEROS</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap539"></a>I<br/> +EYES SO TRISTFUL, EYES SO TRISTFUL</h3> + +<p class="center"> +(OJOS TRISTES, OJOS TRISTES)<br/> +BY DIEGO DE SALDANA +</p> + + <p> + Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful, Heart so full of care and cumber, I + was lapped in rest and slumber, Ye have made me wakeful, wistful! + </p> + <p> + In this life of labor endless Who shall comfort my distresses? Querulous + my soul and friendless In its sorrow shuns caresses. Ye have made me, ye + have made me Querulous of you, that care not, Eyes so tristful, yet I dare + not Say to what ye have betrayed me. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap540"></a>II<br/> +SOME DAY, SOME DAY</h3> + +<p class="center"> +(ALGUNA VEZ)<br/> +BY CRISTOBAL DE GASTILLOJO +</p> + <p> + Some day, some day O troubled breast, Shalt thou find rest. + </p> + <p> + If Love in thee To grief give birth, Six feet of earth Can more than he; + There calm and free And unoppressed Shalt thou find rest. + </p> + <p> + The unattained In life at last, When life is passed, Shall all be gained; + And no more pained, No more distressed, Shalt thou find rest. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap541"></a>III<br/> +COME, O DEATH, SO SILENT FLYING</h3> + +<p class="center"> +(VEN, MUERTE TAN ESCONDIDA)<br/> +BY EL COMMENDADOR ESCRIVA +</p> + + <p> + Come, O Death, so silent flying That unheard thy coming be, Lest the sweet + delight of dying Bring life back again to me. For thy sure approach + perceiving, In my constancy and pain I new life should win again, Thinking + that I am not living. So to me, unconscious lying, All unknown thy coming + be, Lest the sweet delight of dying Bring life back again to me. Unto him + who finds thee hateful, Death, thou art inhuman pain; But to me, who dying + gain, Life is but a task ungrateful. Come, then, with my wish complying, + All unheard thy coming be, Lest the sweet delight of dying Bring life back + again to me. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap542"></a>IV<br/> +GLOVE OF BLACK IN WHITE HAND BARE</h3> + + <p> + Glove of black in white hand bare, And about her forehead pale Wound a + thin, transparent veil, That doth not conceal her hair; Sovereign attitude + and air, Cheek and neck alike displayed With coquettish charms arrayed, + Laughing eyes and fugitive;— This is killing men that live, 'T is + not mourning for the dead. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap543"></a>FROM THE SWEDISH AND DANISH</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap544"></a>PASSAGES FROM FRITHIOF'S SAGA</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY ESAIAS TEGNÉR +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap545"></a>I<br/> +FRITHIOF'S HOMESTEAD</h3> + + <p> + Three miles extended around the fields of the homestead, on three sides + Valleys and mountains and hills, but on the fourth side was the ocean. + Birch woods crowned the summits, but down the slope of the hillsides + Flourished the golden corn, and man-high was waving the rye-field. Lakes, + full many in number, their mirror held up for the mountains, Held for the + forests up, in whose depths the high-horned reindeers Had their kingly + walk, and drank of a hundred brooklets. But in the valleys widely around, + there fed on the greensward Herds with shining hides and udders that + longed for the milk-pail. 'Mid these scattered, now here and now there, + were numberless flocks of Sheep with fleeces white, as thou seest the + white-looking stray clouds, Flock-wise spread o'er the heavenly vault when + it bloweth in springtime. Coursers two times twelve, all mettlesome, fast + fettered storm-winds, Stamping stood in the line of stalls, and tugged at + their fodder. Knotted with red were their manes, and their hoofs all white + with steel shoes. Th' banquet-hall, a house by itself, was timbered of + hard fir. Not five hundred men (at ten times twelve to the hundred) Filled + up the roomy hall, when assembled for drinking, at Yule-tide. Through the + hall, as long as it was, went a table of holm-oak, Polished and white, as + of steel; the columns twain of the High-seat Stood at the end thereof, two + gods carved out of an elm-tree: Odin with lordly look, and Frey with the + sun on his frontlet. Lately between the two, on a bear-skin (the skin it + was coal-black, Scarlet-red was the throat, but the paws were shodden with + silver), Thorsten sat with his friends, Hospitality sitting with Gladness. + Oft, when the moon through the cloudrack flew, related the old man Wonders + from distant lands he had seen, and cruises of Vikings Far away on the + Baltic, and Sea of the West and the White Sea. Hushed sat the listening + bench, and their glances hung on the graybeard's Lips, as a bee on the + rose; but the Scald was thinking of Brage, Where, with his silver beard, + and runes on his tongue, he is seated Under the leafy beech, and tells a + tradition by Mimer's Ever-murmuring wave, himself a living tradition. + Midway the floor (with thatch was it strewn) burned ever the fire-flame + Glad on its stone-built hearth; and thorough the wide-mouthed smoke-flue + Looked the stars, those heavenly friends, down into the great hall. Round + the walls, upon nails of steel, were hanging in order Breastplate and + helmet together, and here and there among them Downward lightened a sword, + as in winter evening a star shoots. More than helmets and swords the + shields in the hall were resplendent, White as the orb of the sun, or + white as the moon's disk of silver. Ever and anon went a maid round the + hoard, and filled up the drink-horns, Ever she cast down her eyes and + blushed; in the shield her reflection Blushed, too, even as she; this + gladdened the drinking champions. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap546"></a>II<br/> +A SLEDGE-RIDE ON THE ICE</h3> + + <p> + King Ring with his queen to the banquet did fare, On the lake stood the + ice so mirror-clear, + </p> + <p> + "Fare not o'er the ice," the stranger cries; "It will burst, and full deep + the cold bath lies." + </p> + <p> + "The king drowns not easily," Ring outspake; "He who's afraid may go round + the lake." + </p> + <p> + Threatening and dark looked the stranger round, His steel shoes with haste + on his feet he bound, + </p> + <p> + The sledge-horse starts forth strong and free; He snorteth flames, so glad + is he. + </p> + <p> + "Strike out," screamed the king, "my trotter good, Let us see if thou art + of Sleipner's blood." + </p> + <p> + They go as a storm goes over the lake. No heed to his queen doth the old + man take. + </p> + <p> + But the steel-shod champion standeth not still, He passeth them by as + swift as he will. + </p> + <p> + He carves many runes in the frozen tide, Fair Ingeborg o'er her own name + doth glide. + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap547"></a>III<br/> +FRITHIOF'S TEMPTATION</h3> + + <p> + Spring is coming, birds are twittering, forests leaf, and smiles the sun, + And the loosened torrents downward, singing, to the ocean run; Glowing + like the cheek of Freya, peeping rosebuds 'gin to ope, And in human hearts + awaken love of life, and joy, and hope. + </p> + <p> + Now will hunt the ancient monarch, and the queen shall join the sport: + Swarming in its gorgeous splendor, is assembled all the Court; Bows ring + loud, and quivers rattle, stallions paw the ground alway, And, with hoods + upon their eyelids, scream the falcons for their prey. + </p> + <p> + See, the Queen of the Chase advances! Frithiof, gaze not at the sight! + Like a star upon a spring-cloud sits she on her palfrey white. Half of + Freya, half of Rota, yet more beauteous than these two, And from her light + hat of purple wave aloft the feathers blue. + </p> + <p> + Gaze not at her eyes' blue heaven, gaze not at her golden hair! Oh beware! + her waist is slender, full her bosom is, beware! Look not at the rose and + lily on her cheek that shifting play, List not to the voice beloved, + whispering like the wind of May. + </p> + <p> + Now the huntsman's band is ready. Hurrah! over hill and dale! Horns ring, + and the hawks right upward to the hall of Odin sail. All the dwellers in + the forest seek in fear their cavern homes, But, with spear outstretched + before her, after them the Valkyr comes. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Then threw Frithiof down his mantle, and upon the greensward spread, And + the ancient king so trustful laid on Frithiof's knee his head, Slept as + calmly as the hero sleepeth, after war's alarm, On his shield, or as an + infant sleeps upon its mother's arm. + </p> + <p> + As he slumbers, hark! there sings a coal-black bird upon the bough; + "Hasten, Frithiof, slay the old man, end your quarrel at a blow: Take his + queen, for she is thine, and once the bridal kiss she gave, Now no human + eye beholds thee, deep and silent is the grave," + </p> + <p> + Frithiof listens; hark! there sings a snow-white bird upon the bough: + "Though no human eye beholds thee, Odin's eye beholds thee now. Coward! + wilt thou murder sleep, and a defenceless old man slay! Whatsoe'er thou + winn'st, thou canst not win a hero's fame this way." + </p> + <p> + Thus the two wood-birds did warble: Frithiof took his war-sword good, With + a shudder hurled it from him, far into the gloomy wood. Coal-black bird + flies down to Nastrand, but on light, unfolded wings, Like the tone of + harps, the other, sounding towards the sun, upsprings. + </p> + <p> + Straight the ancient king awakens. "Sweet has been my sleep," he said; + "Pleasantly sleeps one in the shadow, guarded by a brave man's blade. But + where is thy sword, O stranger? Lightning's brother, where is he? Who thus + parts you, who should never from each other parted be?" + </p> + <p> + "It avails not," Frithiof answered; "in the North are other swords: Sharp, + O monarch! is the sword's tongue, and it speaks not peaceful words; Murky + spirits dwell in steel blades, spirits from the Niffelhem; Slumber is not + safe before them, silver locks but anger them." + </p> + +<h3><a name="chap548"></a>IV<br/> +FRITHIOF'S FAREWELL</h3> + + <p> + No more shall I see In its upward motion The smoke of the Northland. Man + is a slave: The fates decree. On the waste of the ocean There is my + fatherland, there is my grave. + </p> + <p> + Go not to the strand, Ring, with thy bride, After the stars spread their + light through the sky. Perhaps in the sand, Washed up by the tide, The + bones of the outlawed Viking may lie. + </p> + <p> + Then, quoth the king, "'T is mournful to hear A man like a whimpering + maiden cry. The death-song they sing Even now in mine ear, What avails it? + He who is born must die." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap549"></a>THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY ESAIAS TEGNÉR +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of the village +Gleaming stood in the morning's sheen. + On the spire of the bell +Decked with a brazen cock, the friendly flames of the Spring-sun +Glanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by Apostles aforetime. +Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned with roses, +Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brooklet +Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace! with lips rosy-tinted +Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry on balancing branches +Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest. +Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned like a leaf-woven arbor +Stood its old-fashioned gate; and within upon each cross of iron +Hung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the hands of affection. +Even the dial, that stood on a mound among the departed, +(There full a hundred years had it stood,) was embellished with blossoms +Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet, +Who on his birthday is crowned by children and children's children, +So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of iron +Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes, +While all around at his feet, an eternity slumbered in quiet. +Also the church within was adorned, for this was the season +When the young, their parents' hope, and the loved-ones of heaven, +Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their baptism. +Therefore each nook and corner was swept and cleaned, and the dust was +Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil-painted benches. +There stood the church like a garden; the Feast of the Leafy Pavilions +Saw we in living presentment. From noble arms on the church wall +Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's pulpit of oak-wood +Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod before Aaron. +Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the dove, washed with silver +Under its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of wind-flowers. +But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by Horberg, +Crept a garland gigantic; and bright-curling tresses of angels +Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, from out of the shadowy leaf-work. +Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked from the ceiling, +And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets. + + Loud rang the bells already; the thronging crowd was assembled +Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching. +Hark! then roll forth at once the mighty tones of the organ, +Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits. +Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast from off him his mantle, +So cast off the soul its garments of earth; and with one voice +Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem immortal +Of the sublime Wallin, of David's harp in the North-land +Tuned to the choral of Luther; the song on its mighty pinions +Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven, +And each face did shine like the Holy One's face upon Tabor. +Lo! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher. +Father he hight and he was in the parish; a Christianly plainness +Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of seventy winters. +Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angel +Walked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative grandeur +Lay on his forehead as clear as on moss-covered gravestone a sunbeam. +As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintly +Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the day of creation) +Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint John when in Patmos, +Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man: +Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver. +All the congregation arose in the pews that were numbered. +But with a cordial look, to the right and the left hand, the old man +Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the innermost chancel. + + Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Christian service, +Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent discourse from the old man. +Many a moving word and warning, that out of the heart came, +Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on those in the desert. +Then, when all was finished, the Teacher re-entered the chancel +Followed therein by the young. The boys on the right had their places, +Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and cheeks rosy-blooming. +But on the left of these there stood the tremulous lilies, +Tinged with the blushing light of the dawn, the diffident maidens,— +Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes cast down on the pavement +Now came, with question and answer, the catechism. In the beginning +Answered the children with troubled and faltering voice, but the old man's +Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and the doctrines eternal +Flowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from lips unpolluted. +Each time the answer was closed, and as oft as they named the Redeemer, +Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens all courtesied. +Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light there among them. +And to the children explained the holy, the highest, in few words, +Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity always is simple, +Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning. +E'en as the green-growing bud unfolds when Springtide approaches. +Leaf by leaf puts forth, and warmed, by the radiant sunshine, +Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected blossom +Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown in the breezes, +So was unfolded here the Christian lore of salvation, +Line by line from the soul of childhood. The fathers and mothers +Stood behind them in tears, and were glad at the well-worded answer. + + Now went the old man up to the altar;—and straightway transfigured +(So did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate Teacher. +Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful as Death and as Judgment +Stood he, the God-commissioned, the soul-searcher, earthward descending +Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts that to him were transparent +Shot he; his voice was deep, was low like the thunder afar off. +So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, lie spake and he questioned. + + "This is the faith of the Fathers, the faith the Apostles delivered, +This is moreover the faith whereunto I baptized you, while still ye +Lay on your mothers' breasts, and nearer the portals of heaven, +Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in its bosom; +Wakened from sleep are ye now, and the light in its radiant splendor +Downward rains from the heaven;—to-day on the threshold of childhood +Kindly she frees you again, to examine and make your election, +For she knows naught of compulsion, and only conviction desireth. +This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of existence, +Seed for the coming days; without revocation departeth +Now from your lips the confession; Bethink ye, before ye make answer! +Think not, O think not with guile to deceive the questioning Teacher. +Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests upon falsehood. +Enter not with a lie on Life's journey; the multitude hears you, +Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon earth is and holy +Standeth before your sight as a witness; the Judge everlasting +Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels in waiting beside him +Grave your confession in letters of fire upon tablets eternal. +Thus, then,—believe ye in God, in the Father who this world created? +Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit where both are united? +Will ye promise me here, (a holy promise!) to cherish +God more than all things earthly, and every man as a brother? +Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith by your living, +Th' heavenly faith of affection! to hope, to forgive, and to suffer, +Be what it may your condition, and walk before God in uprightness? +Will ye promise me this before God and man?"—With a clear voice +Answered the young men Yes! and Yes! with lips softly-breathing +Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from the brow of the Teacher +Clouds with the lightnings therein, and lie spake in accents more gentle, +Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Babylon's rivers. + + "Hail, then, hail to you all! To the heirdom of heaven be ye welcome! +Children no more from this day, but by covenant brothers and sisters! +Yet,—for what reason not children? Of such is the kingdom of heaven. +Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in heaven one Father, +Ruling them all as his household,—forgiving in turn and chastising, +That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has taught us. +Blest are the pure before God! Upon purity and upon virtue +Resteth the Christian Faith: she herself from on high is descended. +Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of the doctrine, +Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and died on the cross for +Oh, as ye wander this day from childhood's sacred asylum +Downward and ever downward, and deeper in Age's chill valley, +Oh, how soon will ye come,—too soon!—and long to turn backward +Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, where Judgment +Stood like a father before you, and Pardon, clad like a mother, +Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart was for given +Life was a play and your hands grasped after the roses of heaven! +Seventy years have I lived already; the Father eternal +Gave rue gladness and care; but the loveliest hours of existence, +When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I have instantly known them, +Known them all again;—the were my childhood's acquaintance. +Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the paths of existence, +Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of man's childhood +Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the blessed, +Beautiful, and in her hand a lily; on life's roaring billows +Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not in the ship she is sleeping. +Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men; in the desert +Angels descend and minister unto her; she herself knoweth +Naught of her glorious attendance; but follows faithful and humble, +Follows so long as she may her friend; oh do not reject her, +For she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens. +Prayer is Innocence' friend; and willingly flieth incessant +'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven, +Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the Spirit +Tugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like flame ever upward. +Still he recalls with emotion his Father's manifold mansions, +Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed more freshly the flowerets, +Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the winged angels. +Then grows the earth too narrow, too close; and homesick for heaven +Longs the wanderer again; and the Spirit's longings are worship; +Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its tongue is entreaty. +Aid when the infinite burden of life descendeth upon us, +Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in the graveyard, +Then it is good to pray unto God; for his sorrowiug children +Turns he ne'er from his door, but he heals and helps and consoles them, +Yet is it better to pray when all things are prosperous with us, +Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful Fortune +Kneels before the Eternal's throne; and with hands interfolded, +Praises thankful and moved the only giver of blessings. +Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that comes not from Heaven? +What has mankind forsooth, the poor! that it has not received? +Therefore, fall in the dust and pray! The seraphs adoring +Cover with pinions six their face in the glory of him who +Hung his masonry pendent on naught, when the world be created. +Earth declareth his might, and the firmament utters his glory. +Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward from heaven, +Downward like withered leaves; at the last stroke of midnight, millenniums +Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, but counts them as nothing +Who shall stand in his presence? The wrath of the judge is terrific, +Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he speaks in his anger +Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the roebuck. +Yet,—why are ye afraid, ye children? This awful avenger, +Ah! is a merciful God! God's voice was not in the earthquake, +Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes. +Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without number +Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only. +Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed forth his spirit +Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid its +Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven. +Quench, oh quench not that flame! It is the breath of your being. +Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father, nor mother +Loved you, as God has loved you; for 't was that you may be happy +Gave he his only Son. When he bowed down his head in the death-hour +Solemnized Love its triumph; the sacrifice then was completed. +Lo! then was rent on a sudden the veil of the temple, dividing +Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from their sepulchres rising +Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of each other +Th' answer, but dreamed of before, to creation's enigma,—Atonement! +Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for Love is Atonement. +Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merciful Father; +Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, but affection +Fear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that loveth is willing +Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and Love only. +Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou likewise thy brethren: +One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is Love also. +Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on his forehead +Readest thou not in his face thou origin? Is he not sailing +Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he not guided +By the same stars that guide thee? Why shouldst thou hate then thy brother? +Hateth he thee, forgive! For 't is sweet to stammer one letter +Of the Eternal's language;—on earth it is called Forgiveness! +Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the crown of thorns on his temples? +Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers? Say, dost thou know him? +Ah! thou confessest his name, so follow likewise his example, +Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over his failings, +Guide the erring aright; for the good, the heavenly shepherd +Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its mother. +This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that we know it. +Love is the creature's welfare, with God; but Love among mortals +Is but an endless sigh! He longs, and endures, and stands waiting, +Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his eyelids. +Hope,—so is called upon earth, his recompense, Hope, the befriending, +Does what she can, for she points evermore up to heaven, and faithful +Plunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath it +Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play of shadows! +Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise, +Having naught else but Hope. Then praise we our Father in heaven, +Him, who has given us more; for to us has Hope been transfigured, +Groping no longer in night; she is Faith, she is living assurance. +Faith is enlightened Hope; she is light, is the eye of affection, +Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves their visions in marble. +Faith is the sun of life; and her countenance shines like the Hebrew's, +For she has looked upon God; the heaven on its stable foundation +Draws she with chains down to earth, and the New Jerusalem sinketh +Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapors descending. +There enraptured she wanders. and looks at the figures majestic, +Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of them all is her homestead. +Therefore love and believe; for works will follow spontaneous +Even as day does the sun; the Right from the Good is an offspring, +Love in a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more than +Animate Love and faith, as flowers are the animate Springtide. +Works do follow us all unto God; there stand and bear witness +Not what they seemed,—but what they were only. Blessed is he who +Hears their confession secure; they are mute upon earth until death's hand +Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, does Death e'er alarm you? +Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is he, and is only +More austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips that are fading +Takes he the soul and departs, and, rocked in the arms of affection, +Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the face of its father. +Sounds of his coming already I hear,—see dimly his pinions, +Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon them! I fear not before him. +Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. On his bosom +Freer breathes, in its coolness, my breast; and face to face standing +Look I on God as he is, a sun unpolluted by vapors; +Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits majestic, +Nobler, better than I; they stand by the throne all transfigured, +Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and are singing an anthem, +Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels. +You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he one day shall gather, +Never forgets he the weary;—then welcome, ye loved ones, hereafter! +Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget not the promise, +Wander from holiness onward to holiness; earth shall ye heed not +Earth is but dust and heaven is light; I have pledged you to heaven. +God of the universe, hear me! thou fountain of Love everlasting, +Hark to the voice of thy servant! I send up my prayer to thy heaven! +Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit of all these, +Whom thou hast given me here! I have loved them all like a father. +May they bear witness for me, that I taught them the way of salvation, +Faithful, so far as I knew, of thy word; again may they know me, +Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy face may I place them, +Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and exclaiming with gladness, +Father, lo! I am here, and the children, whom thou hast given me!" + + Weeping he spake in these words; and now at the beck of the old man +Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round the altar's enclosure. +Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecration, and softly +With him the children read; at the close, with tremulous accents, +Asked he the peace of Heaven, a benediction upon them. +Now should have ended his task for the day; the following Sunday +Was for the young appointed to eat of the Lord's holy Supper. +Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teacher silent and laid his +Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward; while thoughts high and holy, +Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes glanced with wonderful brightness. +"On the next Sunday, who knows! perhaps I shall rest in the graveyard! +Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken untimely, +Bow down his head to the earth; why delay I? the hour is accomplished, +Warm is the heart;—I will! for to-day grows the harvest of heaven. +What I began accomplish I now; what failing therein is +I, the old man, will answer to God and the reverend father. +Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come in heaven, +Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of Atonement? +What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have told it you often. +Of the new covenant symbol it is, of Atonement a token, +Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by his sins and transgressions +Far has wandered from God, from his essence. 'T was in the beginning +Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it hangs its crown o'er the +Fall to this day; in the Thought is the Fall; in the Heart the Atonement. +Infinite is the fall,—the Atonement infinite likewise. +See! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, and forward, +Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her wearied pinions, +Sin and Atonement incessant go through the lifetime of mortals. +Sin is brought forth full-grown; but Atonement sleeps in our bosoms +Still as the cradled babe; and dreams of heaven and of angels, +Cannot awake to sensation; is like the tones in the harp's strings, +Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliverer's finger. +Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the Prince of Atonement, +Woke the slumberer from sleep, and she stands now with eyes all resplendent. +Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with Sin and o'ercomes her. +Downward to earth he came and, transfigured, thence reascended, +Not from the heart in like wise, for there he still lives in the Spirit, +Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time is, is Atonement. +Therefore with reverence take this day her visible token. +Tokens are dead if the things live not. The light everlasting +Unto the blind is not, but is born of the eye that has vision. +Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart that is hallowed +Lieth forgiveness enshrined; the intention alone of amendment +Fruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, and removes all +Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with his arms wide extended, +Penitence wee ping and praying; the Will that is tried, and whose gold flows +Purified forth from the flames; in a word, mankind by Atonement +Breaketh Atonement's bread, and drinketh Atonement's wine-cup. +But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with hate in his bosom, +Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty of Christ's blessed body, +And the Redeemer's blood! To himself he eateth and drinketh +Death and doom! And from this, preserve us, thou heavenly Father! +Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread of Atonement?" +Thus with emotion he asked, and together answered the children, +"Yes!" with deep sobs interrupted. Then read he the due supplications, +Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed the organ and anthem: +"O Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our transgressions, +Hear us! give us thy peace! have mercy, have mercy upon us!" +Th' old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly pearls on his eyelids, +Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt round the mystical symbols. +Oh, then seemed it to me as if God, with the broad eye of midday, +Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees in the church yard +Bowed down their summits of green, and the grass on the graves 'gan to shiver +But in the children (I noted it well; I knew it) there ran a +Tremor of holy rapture along through their ice-cold members. +Decked like an altar before them, there stood the green earth, and above it +Heaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen; they saw there +Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand the Redeemer. +Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings, and angels from gold clouds +Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their pinions of purple. + + Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven in their hearts and their faces, +Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely, +Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed he +Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands full of blessings, +Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent tresses. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap550"></a>KING CHRISTIAN</h3> + +<p class="center"> +A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +King Christian stood by the lofty mast + In mist and smoke; +His sword was hammering so fast, +Through Gothic helm and brain it passed; +Then sank each hostile hulk and mast, + In mist and smoke. +"Fly!" shouted they, "fly, he who can! +Who braves of Denmark's Christian + The stroke?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's roar, + Now is the hour! +He hoisted his blood-red flag once more, +And smote upon the foe full sore, +And shouted Loud, through the tempest's roar, + "Now is the hour!" +"Fly!" shouted they, "for shelter fly! +Of Denmark's Juel who can defy + The power?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rent + Thy murky sky! +Then champions to thine arms were sent; +Terror and Death glared where he went; +From the waves was heard a wail, that + rent + Thy murky sky! +From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol', +Let each to Heaven commend his soul, + And fly! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Path of the Dane to fame and might! + Dark-rolling wave! +Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight +Goes to meet danger with despite, +Proudly as thou the tempest's might + Dark-rolling wave! +And amid pleasures and alarm; +And war and victory, be thine arms + My grave! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap551"></a>THE ELECTED KNIGHT</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain, + Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide, +But never, ah never can meet with the man + A tilt with him dare ride. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He saw under the hillside + A Knight full well equipped; +His steed was black, his helm was barred; + He was riding at full speed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He wore upon his spurs + Twelve little golden birds; +Anon he spurred his steed with a clang, + And there sat all the birds and sang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He wore upon his mail + Twelve little golden wheels; +Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, + And round and round the wheels they flew. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He wore before his breast + A lance that was poised in rest; +And it was sharper than diamond-stone, + It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He wore upon his helm + A wreath of ruddy gold; +And that gave him the Maidens Three, + The youngest was fair to behold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon + If he were come from heaven down; +"Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he, + "So will I yield me unto thee." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"I am not Christ the Great, + Thou shalt not yield thee yet; +I am an Unknown Knight, + Three modest Maidens have me bedight." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Art thou a Knight elected, + And have three Maidens thee bedight +So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, + For all the Maidens' honor!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The first tilt they together rode + They put their steeds to the test, +The second tilt they together rode, + They proved their manhood best. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The third tilt they together rode, + Neither of them would yield; +The fourth tilt they together rode, + They both fell on the field. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now lie the lords upon the plain, + And their blood runs unto death; +Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, + The youngest sorrows till death. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap552"></a>CHILDHOOD</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JENS IMMANUEL BAGGESEN +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There was a time when I was very small, + When my whole frame was but an ell in height; +Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do fall, + And therefore I recall it with delight. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I sported in my tender mother's arms, + And rode a-horseback on best father's knee; +Alike were sorrows, passions and alarms, + And gold, and Greek, and love, unknown to me, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Then seemed to me this world far less in size, + Likewise it seemed to me less wicked far; +Like points in heaven, I saw the stars arise, + And longed for wings that I might catch a star. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I saw the moon behind the island fade, + And thought, "Oh, were I on that island there, +I could find out of what the moon is made, + Find out how large it is, how round, how fair!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wondering, I saw God's sun, through western skies, + Sink in the ocean's golden lap at night, +And yet upon the morrow early rise, + And paint the eastern heaven with crimson light; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And thought of God, the gracious Heavenly Father, + Who made me, and that lovely sun on high, +And all those pearls of heaven thick-strung together, + Dropped, clustering, from his hand o'er all the sky. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +With childish reverence, my young lips did say + The prayer my pious mother taught to me: +"O gentle God! oh, let me strive alway + Still to be wise, and good, and follow Thee!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So prayed I for my father and my mother, + And for my sister, and for all the town; +The king I knew not, and the beggar-brother, + Who, bent with age, went, sighing, up and down. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +They perished, the blithe days of boyhood perished, + And all the gladness, all the peace I knew! +Now have I but their memory, fondly cherished;— + God! may I never lose that too! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap553"></a>FROM THE GERMAN</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap554"></a>THE HAPPIEST LAND</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There sat one day in quiet, + By an alehouse on the Rhine, +Four hale and hearty fellows, + And drank the precious wine. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The landlord's daughter filled their cups, + Around the rustic board +Then sat they all so calm and still, + And spake not one rude word. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But, when the maid departed, + A Swabian raised his hand, +And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, + "Long live the Swabian land! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"The greatest kingdom upon earth + Cannot with that compare +With all the stout and hardy men + And the nut-brown maidens there. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing, + And dashed his heard with wine; +"I had rather live in Laplaud, + Than that Swabian land of thine! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"The goodliest land on all this earth, + It is the Saxon land +There have I as many maidens + As fingers on this hand!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Hold your tongues! both Swabian + and Saxon!" + A bold Bohemian cries; +"If there's a heaven upon this earth, + In Bohemia it lies. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"There the tailor blows the flute, + And the cobbler blows the horn, +And the miner blows the bugle, + Over mountain gorge and bourn." +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . +And then the landlord's daughter + Up to heaven raised her hand, +And said, "Ye may no more contend,— + There lies the happiest land!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap555"></a>THE WAVE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY CHRISTOPH AUGUST TIEDGE +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Whither, thou turbid wave? +Whither, with so much haste, +As if a thief wert thou?" + + "I am the Wave of Life, +Stained with my margin's dust; +From the struggle and the strife +Of the narrow stream I fly +To the Sea's immensity, +To wash from me the slime +Of the muddy banks of Time." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap556"></a>THE DEAD</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY ERNST STOCKMANN +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How they so softly rest, + All they the holy ones, + Unto whose dwelling-place + Now doth my soul draw near! + How they so softly rest, + All in their silent graves, + Deep to corruption + Slowly don-sinking! + + And they no longer weep, + Here, where complaint is still! + And they no longer feel, + Here, where all gladness flies! + And, by the cypresses + Softly o'ershadowed + Until the Angel + Calls them, they slumber! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap557"></a>THE BIRD AND THE SHIP</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY WILHELM MULLER +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The rivers rush into the sea, + By castle and town they go; +The winds behind them merrily + Their noisy trumpets blow. + + "The clouds are passing far and high, + We little birds in them play; +And everything, that can sing and fly, + Goes with us, and far away. + + "I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, + or whence, + With thy fluttering golden band?"— + "I greet thee, little bird! To the wide sea + I haste from the narrow land. + + "Full and swollen is every sail; + I see no longer a hill, +I have trusted all to the sounding gale, + And it will not let me stand still. + + "And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? + Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall, +For full to sinking is my house + With merry companions all."— + + "I need not and seek not company, + Bonny boat, I can sing all alone; +For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, + Bonny boat, I have wings of my own. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"High over the sails, high over the mast, + Who shall gainsay these joys? +When thy merry companions are still, at last, + Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. + + "Who neither may rest, nor listen may, + God bless them every one! +I dart away, in the bright blue day, + And the golden fields of the sun. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Thus do I sing my merry song, + Wherever the four winds blow; +And this same song, my whole life long, + Neither Poet nor Printer may know.' +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap558"></a>WHITHER?</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY WILHELM MULLER +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I heard a brooklet gushing + From its rocky fountain near, +Down into the valley rushing, + So fresh and wondrous clear. + + I know not what came o'er me, + Nor who the counsel gave; + But I must hasten downward, + All with my pilgrim-stave; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Downward, and ever farther, + And ever the brook beside; +And ever fresher murmured, + And ever clearer, the tide. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Is this the way I was going? + Whither, O brooklet, say I +Thou hast, with thy soft murmur, + Murmured my senses away. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What do I say of a murmur? + That can no murmur be; +'T is the water-nymphs, that are singing + Their roundelays under me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur, + And wander merrily near; +The wheels of a mill are going + In every brooklet clear. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap559"></a>BEWARE!</h3> + +<p class="center"> +(HUT DU DICH!) +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I know a maiden fair to see, + Take care! +She can both false and friendly be, + Beware! Beware! + Trust her not, +She is fooling thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She has two eyes, so soft and brown, + Take care! +She gives a side-glance and looks down, + Beware! Beware! + Trust her not, +She is fooling thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And she has hair of a golden hue, + Take care! +And what she says, it is not true, + Beware! Beware! + Trust her not, +She is fooling thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She has a bosom as white as snow, + Take care! +She knows how much it is best to show, + Beware! Beware! + Trust her not, +She is fooling thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She gives thee a garland woven fair, + Take care! +It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear, + Beware! Beware! + Trust her not, +She is fooling thee! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap560"></a>SONG OF THE BELL</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Bell! thou soundest merrily, +When the bridal party + To the church doth hie! +Bell! thou soundest solemnly. +When, on Sabbath morning, + Fields deserted lie! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Bell! thou soundest merrily; +Tellest thou at evening, + Bed-time draweth nigh! +Bell! thou soundest mournfully. +Tellest thou the bitter + Parting hath gone by! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Say! how canst thou mourn? +How canst thou rejoice? + Thou art but metal dull! +And yet all our sorrowings, +And all our rejoicings, + Thou dost feel them all! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +God hath wonders many, +Which we cannot fathom, + Placed within thy form! +When the heart is sinking, +Thou alone canst raise it, + Trembling in the storm! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap561"></a>THE CASTLE BY THE SEA</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Hast thou seen that lordly castle, + That Castle by the Sea? +Golden and red above it + The clouds float gorgeously. + + "And fain it would stoop downward + To the mirrored wave below; +And fain it would soar upward + In the evening's crimson glow." + + "Well have I seen that castle, + That Castle by the Sea, +And the moon above it standing, + And the mist rise solemnly." + + "The winds and the waves of ocean, + Had they a merry chime? +Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers, + The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?" + + "The winds and the waves of ocean, + They rested quietly, +But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, + And tears came to mine eye." + + "And sawest thou on the turrets + The King and his royal bride? +And the wave of their crimson mantles? + And the golden crown of pride? + + "Led they not forth, in rapture, + A beauteous maiden there? +Resplendent as the morning sun, + Beaming with golden hair?" + + "Well saw I the ancient parents, + Without the crown of pride; +They were moving slow, in weeds of woe, + No maiden was by their side!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap562"></a>THE BLACK KNIGHT</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, +When woods and fields put off all sadness. + Thus began the King and spake: + "So from the halls +Of ancient hofburg's walls, + A luxuriant Spring shall break." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Drums and trumpets echo loudly, +Wave the crimson banners proudly, + From balcony the King looked on; +In the play of spears, +Fell all the cavaliers, + Before the monarch's stalwart son. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To the barrier of the fight +Rode at last a sable Knight. + "Sir Knight! your name and scutcheon, say!" +"Should I speak it here, +Ye would stand aghast with fear; + I am a Prince of mighty sway!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When he rode into the lists, +The arch of heaven grew black with mists, + And the castle 'gan to rock; +At the first blow, +Fell the youth from saddle-bow, + Hardly rises from the shock. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Pipe and viol call the dances, +Torch-light through the high halls glances; + Waves a mighty shadow in; +With manner bland +Doth ask the maiden's hand, + Doth with her the dance begin. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Danced in sable iron sark, +Danced a measure weird and dark, + Coldly clasped her limbs around; +From breast and hair +Down fall from her the fair + Flowerets, faded, to the ground. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To the sumptuous banquet came +Every Knight and every Dame, + 'Twixt son and daughter all distraught, +With mournful mind +The ancient King reclined, + Gazed at them in silent thought. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Pale the children both did look, +But the guest a beaker took: + "Golden wine will make you whole!" +The children drank, +Gave many a courteous thank: + "O, that draught was very cool!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Each the father's breast embraces, +Son and daughter; and their faces + Colorless grow utterly; +Whichever way +Looks the fear-struck father gray, + He beholds his children die. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Woe! the blessed children both +Takest thou in the joy of youth; + Take me, too, the joyless father!" +Spake the grim Guest, +From his hollow, cavernous breast; + "Roses in the spring I gather!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap563"></a>SONG OF THE SILENT LAND</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JOHAN GAUDENZ VON SALISSEEWIS +</p> + + <p> + Into the Silent Land! Ah! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening + sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. + Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, O thither, Into the Silent Land? + </p> + <p> + Into the Silent Land! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection! + Tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band! + Who in Life's battle firm doth stand, Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms + Into the Silent Land! + </p> + <p> + O Land! O Land! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our fate + allotted, Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To lead us with a + gentle hand To the land of the great Departed, Into the Silent Land! + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap564"></a>THE LUCK OF EDENHALL</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JOHAN LUDWIG UHLAND +</p> + + <p> + OF Edenhall, the youthful Lord Bids sound the festal trumpet's call; He + rises at the banquet board, And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all, + "Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!" + </p> + <p> + The butler hears the words with pain, The house's oldest seneschal, Takes + slow from its silken cloth again The drinking-glass of crystal tall; They + call it The Luck of Edenhall. + </p> + <p> + Then said the Lord: "This glass to praise, Fill with red wine from + Portugal!" The graybeard with trembling hand obeys; A purple light shines + over all, It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. + </p> + <p> + Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light: "This glass of flashing crystal + tall Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite; She wrote in it, If this glass + doth fall, Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall! + </p> + <p> + "'T was right a goblet the Fate should be Of the joyous race of Edenhall! + Deep draughts drink we right willingly: And willingly ring, with merry + call, Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!" + </p> + <p> + First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Like to the song of a nightingale + Then like the roar of a torrent wild; Then mutters at last like the + thunder's fall, The glorious Luck of Edenhall. + </p> + <p> + "For its keeper takes a race of might, The fragile goblet of crystal tall; + It has lasted longer than is right; King! klang!—with a harder blow + than all Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!" + </p> + <p> + As the goblet ringing flies apart, Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall; And + through the rift, the wild flames start; The guests in dust are scattered + all, With the breaking Luck of Edenhall! + </p> + <p> + In storms the foe, with fire and sword; He in the night had scaled the + wall, Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, But holds in his hand the + crystal tall, The shattered Luck of Edenhall. + </p> + <p> + On the morrow the butler gropes alone, The graybeard in the desert hall, + He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall The + shards of the Luck of Edenhall. + </p> + <p> + "The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside, Down must the stately + columns fall; Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride; In atoms shall fall + this earthly ball One day like the Luck of Edenhall!" + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap565"></a>THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY GUSTAV PFIZER +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A youth, light-hearted and content, + I wander through the world +Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent + And straight again is furled. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Yet oft I dream, that once a wife + Close in my heart was locked, +And in the sweet repose of life + A blessed child I rocked. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I wake! Away that dream,—away! + Too long did it remain! +So long, that both by night and day + It ever comes again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The end lies ever in my thought; + To a grave so cold and deep +The mother beautiful was brought; + Then dropt the child asleep. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But now the dream is wholly o'er, + I bathe mine eyes and see; +And wander through the world once more, + A youth so light and free. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Two locks—and they are wondrous fair— + Left me that vision mild; +The brown is from the mother's hair, + The blond is from the child. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And when I see that lock of gold, + Pale grows the evening-red; +And when the dark lock I behold, + I wish that I were dead. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap566"></a>THE HEMLOCK TREE.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O hemlock tree! O hemlock tree! how faithful are thy branches! + Green not alone in summer time, + But in the winter's frost and rime! +O hemlock tree! O hemlock tree! how faithful are thy branches! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom! + To love me in prosperity, + And leave me in adversity! +O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example! + So long as summer laughs she sings, + But in the autumn spreads her wings. +The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood! + It flows so long as falls the rain, + In drought its springs soon dry again. +The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap567"></a>ANNIE OF THARAW</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY SIMON DACH +</p> + + <p> + Annie of Tharaw, my true love of old, She is my life, and my goods, and my + gold. + </p> + <p> + Annie of Tharaw, her heart once again To me has surrendered in joy and in + pain. + </p> + <p> + Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my good, Thou, O my soul, my flesh, and my + blood! + </p> + <p> + Then come the wild weather, come sleet or come snow, We will stand by each + other, however it blow. + </p> + <p> + Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, and pain Shall be to our true love + as links to the chain. + </p> + <p> + As the palm-tree standeth so straight and so tall, The more the hail + beats, and the more the rains fall,— + </p> + <p> + So love in our hearts shall grow mighty and strong, Through crosses, + through sorrows, through manifold wrong. + </p> + <p> + Shouldst thou be torn from me to wander alone In a desolate land where the + sun is scarce known,— + </p> + <p> + Through forests I'll follow, and where the sea flows, Through ice, and + through iron, through armies of foes, + </p> + <p> + Annie of Tharaw, my light and my sun, The threads of our two lives are + woven in one. + </p> + <p> + Whate'er I have bidden thee thou hast obeyed, Whatever forbidden thou hast + not gainsaid. + </p> + <p> + How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, + and one mouth, and one hand? + </p> + <p> + Some seek for dissension, and trouble, and strife; Like a dog and a cat + live such man and wife. + </p> + <p> + Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love; Thou art my lambkin, my chick, and + my dove. + </p> + <p> + Whate'er my desire is, in thine may be seen; I am king of the household, + and thou art its queen. + </p> + <p> + It is this, O my Annie, my heart's sweetest rest, That makes of us twain + but one soul in one breast. + </p> + <p> + This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell; While wrangling soon + changes a home to a hell. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap568"></a>THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JULIUS MOSEN +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Forms of saints and kings are standing + The cathedral door above; +Yet I saw but one among them + Who hath soothed my soul with love. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +In his mantle,—wound about him, + As their robes the sowers wind,— +Bore he swallows and their fledglings, + Flowers and weeds of every kind. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And so stands he calm and childlike, + High in wind and tempest wild; +O, were I like him exalted, + I would be like him, a child! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And my songs,—green leaves and blossoms,— + To the doors of heaven would hear, +Calling even in storm and tempest, + Round me still these birds of air. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap569"></a>THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JULIUS MOSEN +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +On the cross the dying Saviour + Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, +Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling + In his pierced and bleeding palm. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And by all the world forsaken, + Sees he how with zealous care +At the ruthless nail of iron + A little bird is striving there. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Stained with blood and never tiring, + With its beak it doth not cease, +From the cross 't would free the Saviour, + Its Creator's Son release. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the Saviour speaks in mildness: + "Blest be thou of all the good! +Bear, as token of this moment, + Marks of blood and holy rood!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And that bird is called the crossbill; + Covered all with blood so clear, +In the groves of pine it singeth + Songs, like legends, strange to hear. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap570"></a>THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY HEINRICH HEINE +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The sea hath its pearls, + The heaven hath its stars; +But my heart, my heart, + My heart hath its love. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Great are the sea and the heaven; + Yet greater is my heart, +And fairer than pearls and stars + Flashes and beams my love. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thou little, youthful maiden, + Come unto my great heart; +My heart, and the sea, and the heaven + Are melting away with love! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap571"></a>POETIC APHORISMS</h3> + +<p class="center"> +FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF FRIEDRICH VON LOGAU +</p> + +<p class="center"> +MONEY +</p> + + <p> + Whereunto is money good? Who has it not wants hardihood, Who has it has + much trouble and care, Who once has had it has despair. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +THE BEST MEDICINES +</p> + + <p> + Joy and Temperance and Repose Slam the door on the doctor's nose. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +SIN +</p> + + <p> + Man-like is it to fall into sin, Fiend-like is it to dwell therein, + Christ-like is it for sin to grieve, God-like is it all sin to leave. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +POVERTY AND BLINDNESS +</p> + + <p> + A blind man is a poor man, and blind a poor man is; For the former seeth + no man, and the latter no man sees. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +LAW OF LIFE +</p> + + <p> + Live I, so live I, To my Lord heartily, To my Prince faithfully, To my + Neighbor honestly. Die I, so die I. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +CREEDS +</p> + + <p> + Lutheran, Popish, Calvinistic, all these creeds and doctrines three Extant + are; but still the doubt is, where Christianity may be. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +THE RESTLESS HEART +</p> + + <p> + A millstone and the human heart are driven ever round; If they have + nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +CHRISTIAN LOVE +</p> + + <p> + Whilom Love was like a tire, and warmth and comfort it bespoke; But, alas! + it now is quenched, and only bites us, like the smoke. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +ART AND TACT +</p> + + <p> + Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house + a golden room we find. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +RETRIBUTION +</p> + + <p> + Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; + Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +TRUTH +</p> + + <p> + When by night the frogs are croaking, kindle but a torch's fire, Ha! how + soon they all are silent! Thus Truth silences the liar. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +RHYMES +</p> + + <p> + If perhaps these rhymes of mine should sound not well in strangers' ears, + They have only to bethink them that it happens so with theirs; For so long + as words, like mortals, call a fatherland their own, They will be most + highly valued where they are best and longest known. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap572"></a>SILENT LOVE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Who love would seek, + Let him love evermore +And seldom speak; + For in love's domain + Silence must reign; +Or it brings the heart + Smart + And pain. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap573"></a>BLESSED ARE THE DEAD</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY SIMON DACH +</p> + + <p> + Oh, how blest are ye whose toils are ended! Who, through death, have unto + God ascended! Ye have arisen From the cares which keep us still in prison. + </p> + <p> + We are still as in a dungeon living, Still oppressed with sorrow and + misgiving; Our undertakings Are but toils, and troubles, and + heart-breakings. + </p> + <p> + Ye meanwhile, are in your chambers sleeping, Quiet, and set free from all + our weeping; No cross nor trial Hinders your enjoyments with denial. + </p> + <p> + Christ has wiped away your tears for ever; Ye have that for which we still + endeavor. To you are chanted Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted. + </p> + <p> + Ah! who would not, then, depart with gladness, To inherit heaven for + earthly sadness? Who here would languish Longer in bewailing and in + anguish? + </p> + <p> + Come, O Christ, and loose the chains that bind us! Lead us forth, and cast + this world behind us! With Thee, the Anointed, Finds the soul its joy and + rest appointed. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap574"></a>WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONGS</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE +</p> + + <h4> + I + </h4> + <p> + Thou that from the heavens art, Every pain and sorrow stillest, And the + doubly wretched heart Doubly with refreshment fillest, I am weary with + contending! Why this rapture and unrest? Peace descending Come, ah, come + into my breast! + </p> + <h4> + II + </h4> + <p> + O'er all the hill-tops Is quiet now, In all the tree-tops Hearest thou + Hardly a breath; The birds are asleep in the trees: Wait; soon like these + Thou too shalt rest. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap575"></a>REMORSE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY AUGUST VON PLATEN +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +How I started up in the night, in the night, + Drawn on without rest or reprieval! +The streets, with their watchmen, were lost to my sight, + As I wandered so light + In the night, in the night, +Through the gate with the arch mediaeval. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The mill-brook rushed from the rocky height, + I leaned o'er the bridge in my yearning; +Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight, + As they glided so light + In the night, in the night, +Yet backward not one was returning. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O'erhead were revolving, so countless and bright, + The stars in melodious existence; +And with them the moon, more serenely bedight;— + They sparkled so light + In the night, in the night, +Through the magical, measureless distance. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And upward I gazed in the night, in the night, + And again on the waves in their fleeting; +Ah woe! thou hast wasted thy days in delight, + Now silence thou light, + In the night, in the night, +The remorse in thy heart that is beating. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap576"></a>FORSAKEN.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Something the heart must have to cherish, + Must love and joy and sorrow learn, +Something with passion clasp or perish, + And in itself to ashes burn. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So to this child my heart is clinging, + And its frank eyes, with look intense, +Me from a world of sin are bringing + Back to a world of innocence. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Disdain must thou endure forever; + Strong may thy heart in danger be! +Thou shalt not fail! but ah, be never + False as thy father was to me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Never will I forsake thee, faithless, + And thou thy mother ne'er forsake, +Until her lips are white and breathless, + Until in death her eyes shall break. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap577"></a>ALLAH</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY SIEGFRIED AUGUST MAHLMANN +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Allah gives light in darkness, + Allah gives rest in pain, +Cheeks that are white with weeping + Allah paints red again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The flowers and the blossoms wither, + Years vanish with flying fleet; +But my heart will live on forever, + That here in sadness beat. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Gladly to Allah's dwelling + Yonder would I take flight; +There will the darkness vanish, + There will my eyes have sight. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap578"></a>FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap579"></a>THE GRAVE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +For thee was a house built +Ere thou wast born, +For thee was a mould meant +Ere thou of mother camest. +But it is not made ready, +Nor its depth measured, +Nor is it seen +How long it shall be. +Now I bring thee +Where thou shalt be; +Now I shall measure thee, +And the mould afterwards. + + Thy house is not +Highly timbered, +It is unhigh and low; +When thou art therein, +The heel-ways are low, +The side-ways unhigh. +The roof is built +Thy breast full nigh, +So thou shalt in mould +Dwell full cold, +Dimly and dark. + + Doorless is that house, +And dark it is within; +There thou art fast detained +And Death hath the key. +Loathsome is that earth-house, +And grim within to dwell. +There thou shalt dwell, +And worms shall divide thee. + Thus thou art laid, +</pre> + <p> + And leavest thy friends Thou hast no friend, Who will come to thee, Who + will ever see How that house pleaseth thee; Who will ever open The door + for thee, And descend after thee; For soon thou art loathsome And hateful + to see. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap580"></a>BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO HEORT.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thus then, much care-worn, +The son of Healfden +Sorrowed evermore, +Nor might the prudent hero +His woes avert. +The war was too hard, +Too loath and longsome, +That on the people came, +Dire wrath and grim, +Of night-woes the worst. +This from home heard +Higelac's Thane, +Good among the Goths, +Grendel's deeds. +He was of mankind +In might the strongest, +At that day +Of this life, +Noble and stalwart. +He bade him a sea-ship, +A goodly one, prepare. +Quoth he, the war-king, +Over the swan's road, +Seek he would +The mighty monarch, +Since he wanted men. +For him that journey +His prudent fellows +Straight made ready, +Those that loved him. +They excited their souls, +The omen they beheld. +Had the good-man +Of the Gothic people +Champions chosen, +Of those that keenest +He might find, +Some fifteen men. +The sea-wood sought he. +The warrior showed, +Sea-crafty man! +The land-marks, +And first went forth. +The ship was on the waves, +Boat under the cliffs. +The barons ready +To the prow mounted. +The streams they whirled +The sea against the sands. +The chieftains bore +On the naked breast +Bright ornaments, +War-gear, Goth-like. +The men shoved off, +Men on their willing way, +The bounden wood. + Then went over the sea-waves, +Hurried by the wind, +The ship with foamy neck, +Most like a sea-fowl, +Till about one hour +Of the second day +The curved prow +Had passed onward +So that the sailors +The land saw, +The shore-cliffs shining, +Mountains steep, +And broad sea-noses. +Then was the sea-sailing +Of the Earl at an end. + Then up speedily +The Weather people +On the land went, +The sea-bark moored, +Their mail-sarks shook, +Their war-weeds. +God thanked they, +That to them the sea-journey +Easy had been. + Then from the wall beheld +The warden of the Scyldings, +He who the sea-cliffs +Had in his keeping, +Bear o'er the balks +The bright shields, +The war-weapons speedily. +Him the doubt disturbed +In his mind's thought, +What these men might be. + Went then to the shore, +On his steed riding, +The Thane of Hrothgar. +Before the host he shook +His warden's-staff in hand, +In measured words demanded: + "What men are ye +War-gear wearing, +Host in harness, +Who thus the brown keel +Over the water-street +Leading come +Hither over the sea? + I these boundaries +As shore-warden hold, +That in the Land of the Danes +Nothing loathsome +With a ship-crew +Scathe us might. . . . +Ne'er saw I mightier +Earl upon earth +Than is your own, +Hero in harness. +Not seldom this warrior +Is in weapons distinguished; +Never his beauty belies him, +His peerless countenance! +Now would I fain +Your origin know, +Ere ye forth +As false spies +Into the Land of the Danes +Farther fare. +Now, ye dwellers afar-off! +Ye sailors of the sea! +Listen to my +One-fold thought. +Quickest is best +To make known +Whence your coming may be." +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap581"></a>THE SOUL'S COMPLAINT AGAINST THE BODY</h3> + +<p class="center"> +FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON +</p> + + <p> + Much it behoveth Each one of mortals, That he his soul's journey In + himself ponder, How deep it may be. When Death cometh, The bonds he + breaketh By which were united The soul and the body. + </p> + <p> + Long it is thenceforth Ere the soul taketh From God himself Its woe or its + weal; As in the world erst, Even in its earth-vessel, It wrought before. + </p> + <p> + The soul shall come Wailing with loud voice, After a sennight, The soul, + to find The body That it erst dwelt in;— Three hundred winters, + Unless ere that worketh The Eternal Lord, The Almighty God, The end of the + world. + </p> + <p> + Crieth then, so care-worn, With cold utterance, And speaketh grimly, The + ghost to the dust: "Dry dust! thou dreary one! How little didst thou labor + for me! In the foulness of earth Thou all wearest away Like to the loam! + Little didst thou think How thy soul's journey Would be thereafter, When + from the body It should be led forth." + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap582"></a>FROM THE FRENCH</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap583"></a>SONG<br/> +FROM THE PARADISE OF LOVE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hark! hark! + Pretty lark! +Little heedest thou my pain! +But if to these longing arms +Pitying Love would yield the charms + Of the fair + With smiling air, +Blithe would beat my heart again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hark! hark! + Pretty lark! +Little heedest thou my pain! +Love may force me still to bear, +While he lists, consuming care; + But in anguish + Though I languish, +Faithful shall my heart remain. + + Hark! hark! + Pretty lark! +Little heedest thou my pain! +Then cease, Love, to torment me so; +But rather than all thoughts forego + Of the fair + With flaxen hair, +Give me back her frowns again. + + Hark! hark! + Pretty lark! +Little heedest thou my pain! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap584"></a>SONG</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And whither goest thou, gentle sigh, + Breathed so softly in my ear? + Say, dost thou bear his fate severe +To Love's poor martyr doomed to die? +Come, tell me quickly,—do not lie; + What secret message bring'st thou here? +And whither goest thou, gentle sigh, + Breathed so softly in my ear? +May heaven conduct thee to thy will + And safely speed thee on thy way; + This only I would humbly pray,— +Pierce deep,—but oh! forbear to kill. +And whither goest thou, gentle sigh, + Breathed so softly in my ear? +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap585"></a>THE RETURN OF SPRING</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY CHARLES D'ORLEANS +</p> + + <p> + Now Time throws off his cloak again Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain, + And clothes him in the embroidery Of glittering sun and clear blue sky. + With beast and bird the forest rings, Each in his jargon cries or sings; + And Time throws off his cloak again. Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain. + </p> + <p> + River, and fount, and tinkling brook Wear in their dainty livery Drops of + silver jewelry; In new-made suit they merry look; And Time throws off his + cloak again Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap586"></a>SPRING</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY CHARLES D'ORLEANS +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Gentle Spring! in sunshine clad, + Well dost thou thy power display! +For Winter maketh the light heart sad, + And thou, thou makest the sad heart gay. +He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train, +The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain; +And they shrink away, and they flee in fear, + When thy merry step draws near. +Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old, + Their beards of icicles and snow; +And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold, + We must cower over the embers low; +And, snugly housed from the wind and weather, +Mope like birds that are changing feather. +But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear, + When thy merry step draws near. +Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky + Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud; +But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh; + Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, +And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly, +Who has toiled for naught both late and early, +Is banished afar by the new-born year, + When thy merry step draws near. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap587"></a>THE CHILD ASLEEP</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY CLOTILDE DE SURVILLE +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Sweet babe! true portrait of thy father's face, + Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed! +Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place + Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast. +Upon that tender eye, my little friend, + Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! +I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend; + 'T is sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee! +His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow; + His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. +Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow, + Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Awake, my boy! I tremble with affright! + Awake, and chase this fatal thought! Unclose +Thine eye but for one moment on the light! + Even at the price of thine, give me repose! +Sweet error! he but slept, I breathe again; + Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile! +O, when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain, + Beside me watch to see thy waking smile? +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap588"></a>DEATH OF ARCHBISHOP TURPIN</h3> + +<p class="center"> +FROM THE CHANSON DE ROLAND +</p> + + <p> + The Archbishop, whom God loved in high degree, Beheld his wounds all + bleeding fresh and free; And then his cheek more ghastly grew and wan, And + a faint shudder through his members ran. Upon the battle-field his knee + was bent; Brave Roland saw, and to his succor went, Straightway his helmet + from his brow unlaced, And tore the shining hauberk from his breast. Then + raising in his arms the man of God, Gently he laid him on the verdant sod. + "Rest, Sire," he cried,—"for rest thy suffering needs." The priest + replied, "Think but of warlike deeds! The field is ours; well may we boast + this strife! But death steals on,—there is no hope of life; In + paradise, where Almoners live again, There are our couches spread, there + shall we rest from pain." + </p> + <p> + Sore Roland grieved; nor marvel I, alas! That thrice he swooned upon the + thick green grass. When he revived, with a loud voice cried he, "O + Heavenly Father! Holy Saint Marie! Why lingers death to lay me in my + grave! Beloved France! how have the good and brave Been torn from thee, + and left thee weak and poor!" Then thoughts of Aude, his lady-love, came + o'er His spirit, and he whispered soft and slow, "My gentle friend!—what + parting full of woe! Never so true a liegeman shalt thou see;— + Whate'er my fate, Christ's benison on thee! Christ, who did save from + realms of woe beneath, The Hebrew Prophets from the second death." Then to + the Paladins, whom well he knew, He went, and one by one unaided drew To + Turpin's side, well skilled in ghostly lore;— No heart had he to + smile, but, weeping sore, He blessed them in God's name, with faith that + He Would soon vouchsafe to them a glad eternity. + </p> + <p> + The Archbishop, then, on whom God's benison rest, Exhausted, bowed his + head upon his breast;— His mouth was full of dust and clotted gore, + And many a wound his swollen visage bore. Slow beats his heart, his + panting bosom heaves, Death comes apace,—no hope of cure relieves. + Towards heaven he raised his dying hands and prayed That God, who for our + sins was mortal made, Born of the Virgin, scorned and crucified, In + paradise would place him by His side. + </p> + <p> + Then Turpin died in service of Charlon, In battle great and eke great + orison;— 'Gainst Pagan host alway strong champion; God grant to him + His holy benison. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap589"></a>THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JACQUES JASMIN +</p> + <p> + Only the Lowland tongue of Scotland might Rehearse this little tragedy + aright; Let me attempt it with an English quill; And take, O Reader, for + the deed the will. + </p> + <h4> + I + </h4> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + At the foot of the mountain height + Where is perched Castel Cuille, +When the apple, the plum, and the almond tree + In the plain below were growing white, + This is the song one might perceive +On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph's Eve: +</pre> + <p> + "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall + leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a + bride shall pass to-day!" + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +This old Te Deum, rustic rites attending, + Seemed from the clouds descending; + When lo! a merry company +Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye, + Each one with her attendant swain, +Came to the cliff, all singing the same strain; +Resembling there, so near unto the sky, +Rejoicing angels, that kind Heaven has sent +For their delight and our encouragement. + Together blending, + And soon descending + The narrow sweep + Of the hillside steep, + They wind aslant + Towards Saint Amant, + Through leafy alleys + Of verdurous valleys + With merry sallies + Singing their chant: +</pre> + <p> + "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall + leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a + bride shall pass to-day! + </p> + <p> + It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden, With garlands for the bridal + laden! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The sky was blue; without one cloud of gloom, + The sun of March was shining brightly, +And to the air the freshening wind gave lightly + Its breathings of perfume. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom, +A rustic bridal, oh! how sweet it is! + To sounds of joyous melodies, +That touch with tenderness the trembling bosom, + A band of maidens + Gayly frolicking, + A band of youngsters + Wildly rollicking! + Kissing, + Caressing, + With fingers pressing, + Till in the veriest + Madness of mirth, as they dance, + They retreat and advance, + Trying whose laugh shall be loudest and merriest; + While the bride, with roguish eyes, +Sporting with them, now escapes and cries: + "Those who catch me + Married verily + This year shall be!" + + And all pursue with eager haste, + And all attain what they pursue, +And touch her pretty apron fresh and new, + And the linen kirtle round her waist. + + Meanwhile, whence comes it that among + These youthful maidens fresh and fair, + So joyous, with such laughing air, + Baptiste stands sighing, with silent tongue? + And yet the bride is fair and young! +Is it Saint Joseph would say to us all, +That love, o'er-hasty, precedeth a fall? + O no! for a maiden frail, I trow, + Never bore so lofty a brow! +What lovers! they give not a single caress! +To see them so careless and cold to-day, + These are grand people, one would say. +What ails Baptiste? what grief doth him oppress? + + It is, that half-way up the hill, + In yon cottage, by whose walls + Stand the cart-house and the stalls, + Dwelleth the blind orphan still, + Daughter of a veteran old; + And you must know, one year ago, + That Margaret, the young and tender, + Was the village pride and splendor, + And Baptiste her lover bold. + Love, the deceiver, them ensnared; + For them the altar was prepared; + But alas! the summer's blight, + The dread disease that none can stay, + The pestilence that walks by night, + Took the young bride's sight away. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +All at the father's stern command was changed; +Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged. +Wearied at home, erelong the lover fled; + Returned but three short days ago, + The golden chain they round him throw, + He is enticed, and onward led + To marry Angela, and yet + Is thinking ever of Margaret. + + Then suddenly a maiden cried, + "Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate! +Here comes the cripple Jane!" And by a fountain's side + A woman, bent and gray with years, + Under the mulberry-trees appears, + And all towards her run, as fleet + As had they wings upon their feet. + + It is that Jane, the cripple Jane, + Is a soothsayer, wary and kind. +She telleth fortunes, and none complain. + She promises one a village swain, + Another a happy wedding-day, + And the bride a lovely boy straightway. + All comes to pass as she avers; + She never deceives, she never errs. + + But for this once the village seer + Wears a countenance severe, +And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white + Her two eyes flash like cannons bright + Aimed at the bridegroom in waistcoat blue, + Who, like a statue, stands in view; + Changing color as well he might, + When the beldame wrinkled and gray + Takes the young bride by the hand, + And, with the tip of her reedy wand + Making the sign of the cross, doth say:— + "Thoughtless Angela, beware! + Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom, + Thou diggest for thyself a tomb!" +And she was silent; and the maidens fair +Saw from each eye escape a swollen tear; +But on a little streamlet silver-clear, + What are two drops of turbid rain? + Saddened a moment, the bridal train + Resumed the dance and song again; +The bridegroom only was pale with fear;— + And down green alleys + Of verdurous valleys, + With merry sallies, + They sang the refrain:— +</pre> + <p> + "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall + leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a + bride shall pass to-day!" + </p> + <h4> + II + </h4> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And by suffering worn and weary, +But beautiful as some fair angel yet, +Thus lamented Margaret, +In her cottage lone and dreary;— + + "He has arrived! arrived at last! +Yet Jane has named him not these three days past; + Arrived! yet keeps aloof so far! +And knows that of my night he is the star! +Knows that long months I wait alone, benighted, +And count the moments since he went away! +Come! keep the promise of that happier day, +That I may keep the faith to thee I plighted! +What joy have I without thee? what delight? +Grief wastes my life, and makes it misery; +Day for the others ever, but for me + Forever night! forever night! +When he is gone 't is dark! my soul is sad! +I suffer! O my God! come, make me glad. +When he is near, no thoughts of day intrude; +Day has blue heavens, but Baptiste has blue eyes! +Within them shines for me a heaven of love, +A heaven all happiness, like that above, + No more of grief! no more of lassitude! +Earth I forget,—and heaven, and all distresses, +When seated by my side my hand he presses; + But when alone, remember all! +Where is Baptiste? he hears not when I call! +A branch of ivy, dying on the ground, + I need some bough to twine around! +In pity come! be to my suffering kind! +True love, they say, in grief doth more abound! + What then—when one is blind? + + "Who knows? perhaps I am forsaken! +Ah! woe is me! then bear me to my grave! + O God! what thoughts within me waken! +Away! he will return! I do but rave! + He will return! I need not fear! + He swore it by our Saviour dear; + He could not come at his own will; + Is weary, or perhaps is ill! + Perhaps his heart, in this disguise, + Prepares for me some sweet surprise! +But some one comes! Though blind, my heart can see! +And that deceives me not! 't is he! 't is he!" + + And the door ajar is set, + And poor, confiding Margaret +Rises, with outstretched arms, but sightless eyes; +'T is only Paul, her brother, who thus cries:— + "Angela the bride has passed! + I saw the wedding guests go by; +Tell me, my sister, why were we not asked? + For all are there but you and I!" + + "Angela married! and not send + To tell her secret unto me! + O, speak! who may the bridegroom be?" + "My sister, 't is Baptiste, thy friend!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A cry the blind girl gave, but nothing said; +A milky whiteness spreads upon her cheeks; + An icy hand, as heavy as lead, + Descending, as her brother speaks, + Upon her heart, that has ceased to beat, + Suspends awhile its life and heat. +She stands beside the boy, now sore distressed, +A wax Madonna as a peasant dressed. + + At length, the bridal song again + Brings her back to her sorrow and pain. + + "Hark! the joyous airs are ringing! + Sister, dost thou hear them singing? + How merrily they laugh and jest! + Would we were bidden with the rest! + I would don my hose of homespun gray, + And my doublet of linen striped and gay; + Perhaps they will come; for they do not wed + Till to-morrow at seven o'clock, it is said!" + + "I know it!" answered Margaret; +Whom the vision, with aspect black as jet, + Mastered again; and its hand of ice +Held her heart crushed, as in a vice! + "Paul, be not sad! 'T is a holiday; + To-morrow put on thy doublet gay! + But leave me now for a while alone." + Away, with a hop and a jump, went Paul, + And, as he whistled along the hall, + Entered Jane, the crippled crone. + + "Holy Virgin! what dreadful heat! + I am faint, and weary, and out of breath! + But thou art cold,—art chill as death; + My little friend! what ails thee, sweet?" +"Nothing! I heard them singing home the bride; + And, as I listened to the song, + I thought my turn would come erelong, + Thou knowest it is at Whitsuntide. + Thy cards forsooth can never lie, + To me such joy they prophesy, + Thy skill shall be vaunted far and wide + When they behold him at my side. + And poor Baptiste, what sayest thou? +It must seem long to him;—methinks I see him now!" + Jane, shuddering, her hand doth press: + "Thy love I cannot all approve; +We must not trust too much to happiness;— +Go, pray to God, that thou mayst love him less!" + "The more I pray, the more I love! +It is no sin, for God is on my side!" +It was enough; and Jane no more replied. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now to all hope her heart is barred and cold; + But to deceive the beldame old + She takes a sweet, contented air; + Speak of foul weather or of fair, + At every word the maiden smiles! + Thus the beguiler she beguiles; +So that, departing at the evening's close, + She says, "She may be saved! she nothing knows!" + + Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress! +Now that thou wouldst, thou art no prophetess! +This morning, in the fulness of thy heart, + Thou wast so, far beyond thine art! +</pre> + <h4> + III + </h4> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now rings the bell, nine times reverberating, +And the white daybreak, stealing up the sky, +Sees in two cottages two maidens waiting, + How differently! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed, + The one puts on her cross and crown, + Decks with a huge bouquet her breast, + And flaunting, fluttering up and down, + Looks at herself, and cannot rest, + The other, blind, within her little room, + Has neither crown nor flower's perfume; +But in their stead for something gropes apart, + That in a drawer's recess doth lie, +And, 'neath her bodice of bright scarlet dye, + Convulsive clasps it to her heart. + + The one, fantastic, light as air, + 'Mid kisses ringing, + And joyous singing, + Forgets to say her morning prayer! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The other, with cold drops upon her brow, + Joins her two hands, and kneels upon the floor, +And whispers, as her brother opes the door, + "O God! forgive me now!" + + And then the orphan, young and blind, + Conducted by her brother's hand, + Towards the church, through paths unscanned, + With tranquil air, her way doth wind. +Odors of laurel, making her faint and pale, + Round her at times exhale, +And in the sky as yet no sunny ray, + But brumal vapors gray. + + Near that castle, fair to see, +Crowded with sculptures old, in every part, + Marvels of nature and of art, + And proud of its name of high degree, + A little chapel, almost bare + At the base of the rock, is builded there; + All glorious that it lifts aloof, + Above each jealous cottage roof, +Its sacred summit, swept by autumn gales, + And its blackened steeple high in air, + Round which the osprey screams and sails. + + "Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by!" +Thus Margaret said. "Where are we? we ascend!" + "Yes; seest thou not our journey's end? +Hearest not the osprey from the belfry cry? +The hideous bird, that brings ill luck, we know! +Dost thou remember when our father said, + The night we watched beside his bed, + 'O daughter, I am weak and low; +Take care of Paul; I feel that I am dying!' +And thou, and he, and I, all fell to crying? +Then on the roof the osprey screamed aloud; +And here they brought our father in his shroud. +There is his grave; there stands the cross we set; +Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Margaret? + Come in! The bride will be here soon: +Thou tremblest! O my God! thou art going to swoon!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +She could no more,—the blind girl, weak and weary! +A voice seemed crying from that grave so dreary, +"What wouldst thou do, my daughter?"—and she started, + And quick recoiled, aghast, faint-hearted; +But Paul, impatient, urges evermore + Her steps towards the open door; +And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid +Crushes the laurel near the house immortal, +And with her head, as Paul talks on again, + Touches the crown of filigrane + Suspended from the low-arched portal, + No more restrained, no more afraid, + She walks, as for a feast arrayed, +And in the ancient chapel's sombre night + They both are lost to sight. + + At length the bell, + With booming sound, + Sends forth, resounding round. +Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down the dell. + It is broad day, with sunshine and with rain; + And yet the guests delay not long, + For soon arrives the bridal train, + And with it brings the village throng. +</pre> + <p> + In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, For lo! Baptiste on this triumphant + day, Mute as an idiot, sad as yester-morning, Thinks only of the beldame's + words of warning. + </p> + <p> + And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis; To be a bride is all! The pretty + lisper Feels her heart swell to hear all round her whisper, "How + beautiful! how beautiful she is!". + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But she must calm that giddy head, + For already the Mass is said; + At the holy table stands the priest; +The wedding ring is blessed; Baptiste receives it; +Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it, + He must pronounce one word at least! +'T is spoken; and sudden at the grooms-man's side +"'T is he!" a well-known voice has cried. +And while the wedding guests all hold their breath, +Opes the confessional, and the blind girl, see! +"Baptiste," she said, "since thou hast wished my death, +As holy water be my blood for thee!" +And calmly in the air a knife suspended! +Doubtless her guardian angel near attended, + For anguish did its work so well, + That, ere the fatal stroke descended, + Lifeless she fell! + + At eve instead of bridal verse, + The De Profundis filled the air; + Decked with flowers a simple hearse + To the churchyard forth they bear; + Village girls in robes of snow + Follow, weeping as they go; + Nowhere was a smile that day, +No, ah no! for each one seemed to say:— +</pre> + <p> + "The road should mourn and be veiled in gloom, So fair a corpse shall + leave its home! Should mourn and should weep, ah, well-away! So fair a + corpse shall pass to-day!" + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap590"></a>A CHRISTMAS CAROL</h3> + +<p class="center"> +FROM THE NOEI BOURGUIGNON DE GUI BAROZAI +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I hear along our street + Pass the minstrel throngs; + Hark! they play so sweet, +On their hautboys, Christmas songs! + Let us by the fire + Ever higher +Sing them till the night expire! + + In December ring + Every day the chimes; + Loud the gleemen sing +In the streets their merry rhymes. + Let us by the fire + Ever higher +Sing them till the night expire. + + Shepherds at the grange, + Where the Babe was born, + Sang, with many a change, +Christmas carols until morn. + Let us by the fire + Ever higher +Sing them till the night expire! + + These good people sang + Songs devout and sweet; + While the rafters rang, +There they stood with freezing feet. + Let us by the fire + Ever higher +Sing them till the night expire. + + Nuns in frigid veils + At this holy tide, + For want of something else, +Christmas songs at times have tried. + Let us by the fire + Ever higher +Sing them fill the night expire! + + Washerwomen old, + To the sound they beat, + Sing by rivers cold, +With uncovered heads and feet. + Let us by the fire + Ever higher +Sing them till the night expire. + + Who by the fireside stands + Stamps his feet and sings; + But he who blows his hands +Not so gay a carol brings. + Let us by the fire + Ever higher +Sing them till the night expire! +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap591"></a>CONSOLATION</h3> + + <p> + To M. Duperrier, Gentleman of Aix in Provence, on the Death of his + Daughter. + </p> + +<p class="center"> +BY FRANCOISE MALHERBE +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Will then, Duperrier, thy sorrow be eternal? + And shall the sad discourse +Whispered within thy heart, by tenderness paternal, + Only augment its force? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thy daughter's mournful fate, into the tomb descending + By death's frequented ways, +Has it become to thee a labyrinth never ending, + Where thy lost reason strays? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I know the charms that made her youth a benediction: + Nor should I be content, +As a censorious friend, to solace thine affliction + By her disparagement. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But she was of the world, which fairest things exposes + To fates the most forlorn; +A rose, she too hath lived as long as live the roses, + The space of one brief morn. + +</pre> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Death has his rigorous laws, unparalleled, unfeeling; + All prayers to him are vain; +Cruel, he stops his ears, and, deaf to our appealing, + He leaves us to complain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The poor man in his hut, with only thatch for cover, + Unto these laws must bend; +The sentinel that guards the barriers of the Louvre + Cannot our kings defend. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To murmur against death, in petulant defiance, + Is never for the best; +To will what God doth will, that is the only science + That gives us any rest. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap592"></a>TO CARDINAL RICHELIEU</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY FRANCOIS DE MALHERBE +</p> + + <p> + Thou mighty Prince of Church and State, Richelieu! until the hour of + death, Whatever road man chooses, Fate Still holds him subject to her + breath. Spun of all silks, our days and nights Have sorrows woven with + delights; And of this intermingled shade Our various destiny appears, Even + as one sees the course of years Of summers and of winters made. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes the soft, deceitful hours Let us enjoy the halcyon wave; + Sometimes impending peril lowers Beyond the seaman's skill to save, The + Wisdom, infinitely wise, That gives to human destinies Their foreordained + necessity, Has made no law more fixed below, Than the alternate ebb and + flow Of Fortune and Adversity. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap593"></a>THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JEAN REBOUL, THE BAKER OF NISMES +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +An angel with a radiant face, + Above a cradle bent to look, +Seemed his own image there to trace, + As in the waters of a brook. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Dear child! who me resemblest so," + It whispered, "come, O come with me! +Happy together let us go, + The earth unworthy is of thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Here none to perfect bliss attain; + The soul in pleasure suffering lies; +Joy hath an undertone of pain, + And even the happiest hours their sighs. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Fear doth at every portal knock; + Never a day serene and pure +From the o'ershadowing tempest's shock + Hath made the morrow's dawn secure. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"What then, shall sorrows and shall fears + Come to disturb so pure a brow? +And with the bitterness of tears + These eyes of azure troubled grow? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Ah no! into the fields of space, + Away shalt thou escape with me; +And Providence will grant thee grace + Of all the days that were to be. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Let no one in thy dwelling cower, + In sombre vestments draped and veiled; +But let them welcome thy last hour, + As thy first moments once they hailed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +"Without a cloud be there each brow; + There let the grave no shadow cast; +When one is pure as thou art now, + The fairest day is still the last." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And waving wide his wings of white, + The angel, at these words, had sped +Towards the eternal realms of light!— + Poor mother! see, thy son is dead! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap594"></a>ON THE TERRACE OF THE AIGALADES</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JOSEPH MERY +</p> + + <p> + From this high portal, where upsprings The rose to touch our hands in + play, We at a glance behold three things— The Sea, the Town, and the + Highway. + </p> + <p> + And the Sea says: My shipwrecks fear; I drown my best friends in the deep; + And those who braved icy tempests, here Among my sea-weeds lie asleep! + </p> + <p> + The Town says: I am filled and fraught With tumult and with smoke and + care; My days with toil are overwrought, And in my nights I gasp for air. + </p> + <p> + The Highway says: My wheel-tracks guide To the pale climates of the North; + Where my last milestone stands abide The people to their death gone forth. + </p> + <p> + Here, in the shade, this life of ours, Full of delicious air, glides by + Amid a multitude of flowers As countless as the stars on high; + </p> + <p> + These red-tiled roofs, this fruitful soil, Bathed with an azure all + divine, Where springs the tree that gives us oil, The grape that giveth us + the wine; + </p> + <p> + Beneath these mountains stripped of trees, Whose tops with flowers are + covered o'er, Where springtime of the Hesperides Begins, but endeth + nevermore; + </p> + <p> + Under these leafy vaults and walls, That unto gentle sleep persuade; This + rainbow of the waterfalls, Of mingled mist and sunshine made; + </p> + <p> + Upon these shores, where all invites, We live our languid life apart; This + air is that of life's delights, The festival of sense and heart; + </p> + <p> + This limpid space of time prolong, Forget to-morrow in to-day, And leave + unto the passing throng The Sea, the Town, and the Highway. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap595"></a>TO MY BROOKLET</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JEAN FRANCOIS DUCIS +</p> + + <p> + Thou brooklet, all unknown to song, Hid in the covert of the wood! Ah, + yes, like thee I fear the throng, Like thee I love the solitude. + </p> + <p> + O brooklet, let my sorrows past Lie all forgotten in their graves, Till in + my thoughts remain at last Only thy peace, thy flowers, thy waves. + </p> + <p> + The lily by thy margin waits;— The nightingale, the marguerite; In + shadow here he meditates His nest, his love, his music sweet. + </p> + <p> + Near thee the self-collected soul Knows naught of error or of crime; Thy + waters, murmuring as they roll, Transform his musings into rhyme. + </p> + <p> + Ah, when, on bright autumnal eves, Pursuing still thy course, shall I Lisp + the soft shudder of the leaves, And hear the lapwing's plaintive cry? + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap596"></a>BARRÉGES</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY LEFRANC DE POMPIGNAN +</p> + + <p> + I leave you, ye cold mountain chains, Dwelling of warriors stark and + frore! You, may these eyes behold no more, Rave on the horizon of our + plains. + </p> + <p> + Vanish, ye frightful, gloomy views! Ye rocks that mount up to the clouds! + Of skies, enwrapped in misty shrouds, Impracticable avenues! + </p> + <p> + Ye torrents, that with might and main Break pathways through the rocky + walls, With your terrific waterfalls Fatigue no more my weary brain! + </p> + <p> + Arise, ye landscapes full of charms, Arise, ye pictures of delight! Ye + brooks, that water in your flight The flowers and harvests of our farms! + </p> + <p> + You I perceive, ye meadows green, Where the Garonne the lowland fills, Not + far from that long chain of hills, With intermingled vales between. + </p> + <p> + You wreath of smoke, that mounts so high, Methinks from my own hearth must + come; With speed, to that beloved home, Fly, ye too lazy coursers, fly! + </p> + <p> + And bear me thither, where the soul In quiet may itself possess, Where all + things soothe the mind's distress, Where all things teach me and console. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap597"></a>WILL EVER THE DEAR DAYS COME BACK AGAIN?</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Will ever the dear days come back again, + Those days of June, when lilacs were in bloom, + And bluebirds sang their sonnets in the gloom + Of leaves that roofed them in from sun or rain? +I know not; but a presence will remain + Forever and forever in this room, + Formless, diffused in air, like a perfume,— + A phantom of the heart, and not the brain. +Delicious days! when every spoken word + Was like a foot-fall nearer and more near, + And a mysterious knocking at the gate +Of the heart's secret places, and we heard + In the sweet tumult of delight and fear + A voice that whispered, "Open, I cannot wait!" +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap598"></a>AT LA CHAUDEAU</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY XAVIER MARMIER +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At La Chaudeau,—'t is long since then: +I was young,—my years twice ten; +All things smiled on the happy boy, +Dreams of love and songs of joy, +Azure of heaven and wave below, + At La Chaudeau. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At La Chaudeau I come back old: +My head is gray, my blood is cold; +Seeking along the meadow ooze, +Seeking beside the river Seymouse, +The days of my spring-time of long ago + At La Chaudeau. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At La Chaudeau nor heart nor brain +Ever grows old with grief and pain; +A sweet remembrance keeps off age; +A tender friendship doth still assuage +The burden of sorrow that one may know + At La Chaudeau. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At La Chaudeau, had fate decreed +To limit the wandering life I lead, +Peradventure I still, forsooth, +Should have preserved my fresh green youth, +Under the shadows the hill-tops throw + At La Chaudeau. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +At La Chaudeau, live on, my friends, +Happy to be where God intends; +And sometimes, by the evening fire, +Think of him whose sole desire +Is again to sit in the old chateau + At La Chaudeau. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap599"></a>A QUIET LIFE.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Let him who will, by force or fraud innate, + Of courtly grandeurs gain the slippery height; + I, leaving not the home of my delight, + Far from the world and noise will meditate. +Then, without pomps or perils of the great, + I shall behold the day succeed the night; + Behold the alternate seasons take their flight, + And in serene repose old age await. +And so, whenever Death shall come to close + The happy moments that my days compose, + I, full of years, shall die, obscure, alone! +How wretched is the man, with honors crowned, + Who, having not the one thing needful found, + Dies, known to all, but to himself unknown. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap600"></a>THE WINE OF JURANÇON</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY CHARLES CORAN +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Little sweet wine of Jurançon, + You are dear to my memory still! +With mine host and his merry song, + Under the rose-tree I drank my fill. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Twenty years after, passing that way, + Under the trellis I found again +Mine host, still sitting there au frais, + And singing still the same refrain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Jurançon, so fresh and bold, + Treats me as one it used to know; +Souvenirs of the days of old + Already from the bottle flow, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +With glass in hand our glances met; + We pledge, we drink. How sour it is +Never Argenteuil piquette + Was to my palate sour as this! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And yet the vintage was good, in sooth; + The self-same juice, the self-same cask! +It was you, O gayety of my youth, + That failed in the autumnal flask! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap601"></a>FRIAR LUBIN</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY CLEMENT MAROT +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To gallop off to town post-haste, + So oft, the times I cannot tell; +To do vile deed, nor feel disgraced,— + Friar Lubin will do it well. +But a sober life to lead, + To honor virtue, and pursue it, +That's a pious, Christian deed,— + Friar Lubin can not do it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To mingle, with a knowing smile, + The goods of others with his own, +And leave you without cross or pile, + Friar Lubin stands alone. +To say 't is yours is all in vain, + If once he lays his finger to it; +For as to giving back again, + Friar Lubin cannot do it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +With flattering words and gentle tone, + To woo and win some guileless maid, +Cunning pander need you none,— + Friar Lubin knows the trade. +Loud preacheth he sobriety, + But as for water, doth eschew it; +Your dog may drink it,—but not he; + Friar Lubin cannot do it. + + ENVOY + When an evil deed 's to do + Friar Lubin is stout and true; + Glimmers a ray of goodness through it, + Friar Lubin cannot do it. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap602"></a>RONDEL</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY JEAN FROISSART +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine? + Naught see I fixed or sure in thee! +I do not know thee,—nor what deeds are thine: +Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine? + Naught see I fixed or sure in thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Shall I be mute, or vows with prayers combine? + Ye who are blessed in loving, tell it me: +Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine? + Naught see I permanent or sure in thee! +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap603"></a>MY SECRET</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY FELIX ARVERS +</p> + + <p> + My soul its secret has, my life too has its mystery, A love eternal in a + moment's space conceived; Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its + history, And she who was the cause nor knew it nor believed. Alas! I shall + have passed close by her unperceived, Forever at her side, and yet forever + lonely, I shall unto the end have made life's journey, only Daring to ask + for naught, and having naught received. For her, though God has made her + gentle and endearing, She will go on her way distraught and without + hearing These murmurings of love that round her steps ascend, Piously + faithful still unto her austere duty, Will say, when she shall read these + lines full of her beauty, "Who can this woman be?" and will not + comprehend. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap604"></a>FROM THE ITALIAN</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap605"></a>THE CELESTIAL PILOT</h3> + +<p class="center"> +PURGATORIO II. 13-51. +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And now, behold! as at the approach of morning, + Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red + Down in the west upon the ocean floor +Appeared to me,—may I again behold it! + A light along the sea, so swiftly coming, + Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled. +And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little + Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor, + Again I saw it brighter grown and larger. +Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared + I knew not what of white, and underneath, + Little by little, there came forth another. +My master yet had uttered not a word, + While the first whiteness into wings unfolded; + But, when he clearly recognized the pilot, +He cried aloud: "Quick, quick, and bow the knee! + Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands! + Henceforward shalt thou see such officers! +See, how he scorns all human arguments, + So that no oar he wants, nor other sail + Than his own wings, between so distant shores! +See, how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven, + Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, + That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!" +And then, as nearer and more near us came + The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared, + So that the eye could not sustain his presence, +But down I cast it; and he came to shore + With a small vessel, gliding swift and light, + So that the water swallowed naught thereof. +Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot! + Beatitude seemed written in his face! + And more than a hundred spirits sat within. +"In exitu Israel de Aegypto!" + Thus sang they all together in one voice, + With whatso in that Psalm is after written. +Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, + Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, + And he departed swiftly as he came. +</pre> + +<h3><a name="chap606"></a>THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +PURGATORIO XXVIII. 1-33. +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Longing already to search in and round + The heavenly forest, dense and living-green, + Which tempered to the eyes the newborn day, +Withouten more delay I left the bank, + Crossing the level country slowly, slowly, + Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance. +A gently-breathing air, that no mutation + Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead, + No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze, +Whereat the tremulous branches readily + Did all of them bow downward towards that side + Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain; +Yet not from their upright direction bent + So that the little birds upon their tops + Should cease the practice of their tuneful art; +But with full-throated joy, the hours of prime + Singing received they in the midst of foliage + That made monotonous burden to their rhymes, +Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells, + Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, + When Aeolus unlooses the Sirocco. +Already my slow steps had led me on + Into the ancient wood so far, that I + Could see no more the place where I had entered. +And lo! my further course cut off a river, + Which, tow'rds the left hand, with its little waves, + Bent down the grass, that on its margin sprang. +All waters that on earth most limpid are, + Would seem to have within themselves some mixture, + Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal, +Although it moves on with a brown, brown current, + Under the shade perpetual, that never + Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap607"></a>BEATRICE.</h3> + +<p class="center"> +PURGATORIO XXX. 13-33, 85-99, XXXI. 13-21. +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Even as the Blessed, at the final summons, + Shall rise up quickened, each one from his grave, + Wearing again the garments of the flesh, +So, upon that celestial chariot, + A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis, + Ministers and messengers of life eternal. +They all were saying, "Benedictus qui venis," + And scattering flowers above and round about, + "Manibus o date lilia plenis." +Oft have I seen, at the approach of day, + The orient sky all stained with roseate hues, + And the other heaven with light serene adorned, +And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed, + So that, by temperate influence of vapors, + The eye sustained his aspect for long while; +Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers, + Which from those hands angelic were thrown up, + And down descended inside and without, +With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil, + Appeared a lady, under a green mantle, + Vested in colors of the living flame. + . . . . . . +Even as the snow, among the living rafters + Upon the back of Italy, congeals, + Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds, +And then, dissolving, filters through itself, + Whene'er the land, that loses shadow, breathes, + Like as a taper melts before a fire, +Even such I was, without a sigh or tear, + Before the song of those who chime forever + After the chiming of the eternal spheres; +But, when I heard in those sweet melodies + Compassion for me, more than had they said, + "O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume him?" +The ice, that was about my heart congealed, + To air and water changed, and, in my anguish, + Through lips and eyes came gushing from my breast. + . . . . . . +Confusion and dismay, together mingled, + Forced such a feeble "Yes!" out of my mouth, + To understand it one had need of sight. +Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 't is discharged, + Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow, + And with less force the arrow hits the mark; +So I gave way beneath this heavy burden, + Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs, + And the voice, fainting, flagged upon its passage. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap608"></a>TO ITALY</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY VINCENZO DA FILICAJA +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Italy! Italy! thou who'rt doomed to wear + The fatal gift of beauty, and possess + The dower funest of infinite wretchedness + Written upon thy forehead by despair; +Ah! would that thou wert stronger, or less fair. + That they might fear thee more, or love thee less, + Who in the splendor of thy loveliness + Seem wasting, yet to mortal combat dare! +Then from the Alps I should not see descending + Such torrents of armed men, nor Gallic horde + Drinking the wave of Po, distained with gore, +Nor should I see thee girded with a sword + Not thine, and with the stranger's arm contending, + Victor or vanquished, slave forever more. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap609"></a>SEVEN SONNETS AND A CANZONE</h3> + + <p> + [The following translations are from the poems of Michael Angelo as + revised by his nephew Michael Angelo the Younger, and were made before the + publication of the original text by Guasti.] + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap610"></a>I<br/> +THE ARTIST</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nothing the greatest artist can conceive + That every marble block doth not confine + Within itself; and only its design + The hand that follows intellect can achieve. +The ill I flee, the good that I believe, + In thee, fair lady, lofty and divine, + Thus hidden lie; and so that death be mine + Art, of desired success, doth me bereave. +Love is not guilty, then, nor thy fair face, + Nor fortune, cruelty, nor great disdain, + Of my disgrace, nor chance, nor destiny, +If in thy heart both death and love find place + At the same time, and if my humble brain, + Burning, can nothing draw but death from thee. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap611"></a>II<br/> +FIRE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Not without fire can any workman mould + The iron to his preconceived design, + Nor can the artist without fire refine + And purify from all its dross the gold; +Nor can revive the phoenix, we are told, + Except by fire. Hence if such death be mine + I hope to rise again with the divine, + Whom death augments, and time cannot make old. +O sweet, sweet death! O fortunate fire that burns + Within me still to renovate my days, + Though I am almost numbered with the dead! +If by its nature unto heaven returns + This element, me, kindled in its blaze, + Will it bear upward when my life is fled. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap612"></a>III<br/> +YOUTH AND AGE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Oh give me back the days when loose and free + To my blind passion were the curb and rein, + Oh give me back the angelic face again, + With which all virtue buried seems to be! +Oh give my panting footsteps back to me, + That are in age so slow and fraught with pain, + And fire and moisture in the heart and brain, + If thou wouldst have me burn and weep for thee! +If it be true thou livest alone, Amor, + On the sweet-bitter tears of human hearts, + In an old man thou canst not wake desire; +Souls that have almost reached the other shore + Of a diviner love should feel the darts, + And be as tinder to a holier fire. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap613"></a>IV<br/> +OLD AGE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The course of my long life hath reached at last, + In fragile bark o'er a tempestuous sea, + The common harbor, where must rendered be + Account of all the actions of the past. +The impassioned phantasy, that, vague and vast, + Made art an idol and a king to me, + Was an illusion, and but vanity + Were the desires that lured me and harassed. +The dreams of love, that were so sweet of yore, + What are they now, when two deaths may be mine,— + One sure, and one forecasting its alarms? +Painting and sculpture satisfy no more + The soul now turning to the Love Divine, + That oped, to embrace us, on the cross its arms. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap614"></a>V<br/> +TO VITTORIA COLONNA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Lady, how can it chance—yet this we see + In long experience—that will longer last + A living image carved from quarries vast + Than its own maker, who dies presently? +Cause yieldeth to effect if this so be, + And even Nature is by Art at surpassed; + This know I, who to Art have given the past, + But see that Time is breaking faith with me. +Perhaps on both of us long life can I + Either in color or in stone bestow, + By now portraying each in look and mien; +So that a thousand years after we die, + How fair thou wast, and I how full of woe, + And wherefore I so loved thee, may be seen. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap615"></a>VI<br/> +TO VITTORIA COLONNA</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When the prime mover of my many sighs + Heaven took through death from out her earthly place, + Nature, that never made so fair a face, + Remained ashamed, and tears were in all eyes. +O fate, unheeding my impassioned cries! + O hopes fallacious! O thou spirit of grace, + Where art thou now? Earth holds in its embrace + Thy lovely limbs, thy holy thoughts the skies. +Vainly did cruel death attempt to stay + The rumor of thy virtuous renown, + That Lethe's waters could not wash away! +A thousand leaves, since he hath stricken thee down, + Speak of thee, nor to thee could Heaven convey, + Except through death, a refuge and a crown. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap616"></a>VII<br/> +DANTE</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What should be said of him cannot be said; + By too great splendor is his name attended; + To blame is easier those who him offended, + Than reach the faintest glory round him shed. +This man descended to the doomed and dead + For our instruction; then to God ascended; + Heaven opened wide to him its portals splendid, + Who from his country's, closed against him, fled. +Ungrateful land! To its own prejudice + Nurse of his fortunes; and this showeth well, + That the most perfect most of grief shall see. +Among a thousand proofs let one suffice, + That as his exile hath no parallel, + Ne'er walked the earth a greater man than he. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap617"></a>VIII<br/> +CANZONE</h3> + + <p> + Ah me! ah me! when thinking of the years, The vanished years, alas, I do + not find Among them all one day that was my own! Fallacious hope; desires + of the unknown, Lamenting, loving, burning, and in tears (For human + passions all have stirred my mind), Have held me, now I feel and know, + confined Both from the true and good still far away. I perish day by day; + The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary, And I am near to fail, + infirm and weary. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap618"></a>THE NATURE OF LOVE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY GUIDO GUINIZELLI +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To noble heart Love doth for shelter fly, +As seeks the bird the forest's leafy shade; +Love was not felt till noble heart beat high, +Nor before love the noble heart was made. + Soon as the sun's broad flame +Was formed, so soon the clear light filled the air; + Yet was not till he came: +So love springs up in noble breasts, and there + Has its appointed space, +As heat in the bright flames finds its allotted place. +Kindles in noble heart the fire of love, +As hidden virtue in the precious stone: +This virtue comes not from the stars above, +Till round it the ennobling sun has shone; + But when his powerful blaze +Has drawn forth what was vile, the stars impart + Strange virtue in their rays; +And thus when Nature doth create the heart + Noble and pure and high, +Like virtue from the star, love comes from woman's eye. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap619"></a>FROM THE PORTUGUESE</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap620"></a>SONG</h3> + +<p class="center"> +BY GIL VICENTE +</p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +If thou art sleeping, maiden, + Awake and open thy door, +'T is the break of day, and we must away, + O'er meadow, and mount, and moor. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wait not to find thy slippers, + But come with thy naked feet; +We shall have to pass through the dewy grass, + And waters wide and fleet. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap621"></a>FROM EASTERN SOURCES</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap622"></a>THE FUGITIVE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +A TARTAR SONG +</p> + +<h4>I</h4> + + <p> + "He is gone to the desert land I can see the shining mane Of his horse on + the distant plain, As he rides with his Kossak band! + </p> + <p> + "Come back, rebellious one! Let thy proud heart relent; Come back to my + tall, white tent, Come back, my only son! + </p> + <p> + "Thy hand in freedom shall Cast thy hawks, when morning breaks, On the + swans of the Seven Lakes, On the lakes of Karajal. + </p> + <p> + "I will give thee leave to stray And pasture thy hunting steeds In the + long grass and the reeds Of the meadows of Karaday. + </p> + <p> + "I will give thee my coat of mail, Of softest leather made, With choicest + steel inlaid; Will not all this prevail?" + </p> + +<h4>II</h4> + + <p> + "This hand no longer shall Cast my hawks, when morning breaks, On the + swans of the Seven Lakes, On the lakes of Karajal. + </p> + <p> + "I will no longer stray And pasture my hunting steeds In the long grass + and the reeds Of the meadows of Karaday. + </p> + <p> + "Though thou give me thy coat of mall, Of softest leather made, With + choicest steel inlaid, All this cannot prevail. + </p> + <p> + "What right hast thou, O Khan, To me, who am mine own, Who am slave to God + alone, And not to any man? + </p> + <p> + "God will appoint the day When I again shall be By the blue, shallow sea, + Where the steel-bright sturgeons play. + </p> + <p> + "God, who doth care for me, In the barren wilderness, On unknown hills, no + less Will my companion be. + </p> + <p> + "When I wander lonely and lost In the wind; when I watch at night Like a + hungry wolf, and am white And covered with hoar-frost; + </p> + <p> + "Yea, wheresoever I be, In the yellow desert sands, In mountains or + unknown lands, Allah will care for me!" + </p> + +<h4>III</h4> + + <p> + Then Sobra, the old, old man,— Three hundred and sixty years Had he + lived in this land of tears, Bowed down and said, "O Khan! + </p> + <p> + "If you bid me, I will speak. There's no sap in dry grass, No marrow in + dry bones! Alas, The mind of old men is weak! + </p> + <p> + "I am old, I am very old: I have seen the primeval man, I have seen the + great Gengis Khan, Arrayed in his robes of gold. + </p> + <p> + "What I say to you is the truth; And I say to you, O Khan, Pursue not the + star-white man, Pursue not the beautiful youth. + </p> + <p> + "Him the Almighty made, And brought him forth of the light, At the verge + and end of the night, When men on the mountain prayed. + </p> + <p> + "He was born at the break of day, When abroad the angels walk; He hath + listened to their talk, And he knoweth what they say. + </p> + <p> + "Gifted with Allah's grace, Like the moon of Ramazan When it shines in the + skies, O Khan, Is the light of his beautiful face. + </p> + <p> + "When first on earth he trod, The first words that he said Were these, as + he stood and prayed, There is no God but God! + </p> + <p> + "And he shall be king of men, For Allah hath heard his prayer, And the + Archangel in the air, Gabriel, hath said, Amen!" + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap623"></a>THE SIEGE OF KAZAN</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Black are the moors before Kazan, + And their stagnant waters smell of blood: +I said in my heart, with horse and man, + I will swim across this shallow flood. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Under the feet of Argamack, + Like new moons were the shoes he bare, +Silken trappings hung on his back, + In a talisman on his neck, a prayer. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +My warriors, thought I, are following me; + But when I looked behind, alas! +Not one of all the band could I see, + All had sunk in the black morass! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where are our shallow fords? and where + The power of Kazan with its fourfold gates? +From the prison windows our maidens fair + Talk of us still through the iron grates. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We cannot hear them; for horse and man + Lie buried deep in the dark abyss! +Ah! the black day hath come down on Kazan! + Ah! was ever a grief like this? +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap624"></a>THE BOY AND THE BROOK</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Down from yon distant mountain height + The brooklet flows through the village street; +A boy comes forth to wash his hands, +Washing, yes washing, there he stands, + In the water cool and sweet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Brook, from what mountain dost thou come, + O my brooklet cool and sweet! +I come from yon mountain high and cold, +Where lieth the new snow on the old, + And melts in the summer heat. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Brook, to what river dost thou go? + O my brooklet cool and sweet! +I go to the river there below +Where in bunches the violets grow, + And sun and shadow meet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Brook, to what garden dost thou go? + O my brooklet cool and sweet! +I go to the garden in the vale +Where all night long the nightingale + Her love-song doth repeat. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Brook, to what fountain dost thou go? + O my brooklet cool and sweet! +I go to the fountain at whose brink +The maid that loves thee comes to drink, +And whenever she looks therein, +I rise to meet her, and kiss her chin, + And my joy is then complete. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap625"></a>TO THE STORK</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Welcome, O Stork! that dost wing + Thy flight from the far-away! +Thou hast brought us the signs of Spring, + Thou hast made our sad hearts gay. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Descend, O Stork! descend + Upon our roof to rest; +In our ash-tree, O my friend, + My darling, make thy nest. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +To thee, O Stork, I complain, + O Stork, to thee I impart +The thousand sorrows, the pain + And aching of my heart. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +When thou away didst go, + Away from this tree of ours, +The withering winds did blow, + And dried up all the flowers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dark grew the brilliant sky, + Cloudy and dark and drear; +They were breaking the snow on high, + And winter was drawing near. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +From Varaca's rocky wall, + From the rock of Varaca unrolled, +the snow came and covered all, + And the green meadow was cold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +O Stork, our garden with snow + Was hidden away and lost, +Mid the rose-trees that in it grow + Were withered by snow and frost. +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap626"></a>FROM THE LATIN</h3> + +<h3><a name="chap627"></a>VIRGIL'S FIRST ECLOGUE</h3> + + <p> + MELIBOEUS. Tityrus, thou in the shade of a spreading beech-tree reclining, + Meditatest, with slender pipe, the Muse of the woodlands. We our country's + bounds and pleasant pastures relinquish, We our country fly; thou, + Tityrus, stretched in the shadow, Teachest the woods to resound with the + name of the fair Amaryllis. + </p> + <p> + TITYRUS. O Meliboeus, a god for us this leisure created, For he will be + unto me a god forever; his altar Oftentimes shall imbue a tender lamb from + our sheepfolds. He, my heifers to wander at large, and myself, as thou + seest, On my rustic reed to play what I will, hath permitted. + </p> + <p> + MELIBOEUS. Truly I envy not, I marvel rather; on all sides In all the + fields is such trouble. Behold, my goats I am driving, Heartsick, further + away; this one scarce, Tityrus, lead I; For having here yeaned twins just + now among the dense hazels, Hope of the flock, ah me! on the naked flint + she hath left them. Often this evil to me, if my mind had not been + insensate, Oak-trees stricken by heaven predicted, as now I remember; + Often the sinister crow from the hollow ilex predicted, Nevertheless, who + this god may be, O Tityrus, tell me. + </p> + <p> + TITYRUS. O Meliboeus, the city that they call Rome, I imagined, Foolish I! + to be like this of ours, where often we shepherds Wonted are to drive down + of our ewes the delicate offspring. Thus whelps like unto dogs had I + known, and kids to their mothers, Thus to compare great things with small + had I been accustomed. But this among other cities its head as far hath + exalted As the cypresses do among the lissome viburnums. + </p> + <p> + MELIBOEUS. And what so great occasion of seeing Rome hath possessed thee? + </p> + <p> + TITYRUS. Liberty, which, though late, looked upon me in my inertness, + After the time when my beard fell whiter front me in shaving,— Yet + she looked upon me, and came to me after a long while, Since Amaryllis + possesses and Galatea hath left me. For I will even confess that while + Galatea possessed me Neither care of my flock nor hope of liberty was + there. Though from my wattled folds there went forth many a victim, And + the unctuous cheese was pressed for the city ungrateful, Never did my + right hand return home heavy with money. + </p> + <p> + MELIBOEUS. I have wondered why sad thou invokedst the gods, Amaryllis, And + for whom thou didst suffer the apples to hang on the branches! Tityrus + hence was absent! Thee, Tityrus, even the pine-trees, Thee, the very + fountains, the very copses were calling. + </p> + <p> + TITYRUS. What could I do? No power had I to escape from my bondage, Nor + had I power elsewhere to recognize gods so propitious. Here I beheld that + youth, to whom each year, Meliboeus, During twice six days ascends the + smoke of our altars. Here first gave he response to me soliciting favor: + "Feed as before your heifers, ye boys, and yoke up your bullocks." + </p> + <p> + MELIBOEUS. Fortunate old man! So then thy fields will be left thee, And + large enough for thee, though naked stone and the marish All thy + pasture-lands with the dreggy rush may encompass. No unaccustomed food thy + gravid ewes shall endanger, Nor of the neighboring flock the dire + contagion inject them. Fortunate old man! Here among familiar rivers, And + these sacred founts, shalt thou take the shadowy coolness. On this side, a + hedge along the neighboring cross-road, Where Hyblaean bees ever feed on + the flower of the willow, Often with gentle susurrus to fall asleep shall + persuade thee. Yonder, beneath the high rock, the pruner shall sing to the + breezes, Nor meanwhile shalt thy heart's delight, the hoarse wood-pigeons, + Nor the turtle-dove cease to mourn from aerial elm-trees. + </p> + <p> + TITYRUS. Therefore the agile stags shall sooner feed in the ether, And the + billows leave the fishes bare on the sea-shore. Sooner, the border-lands + of both overpassed, shall the exiled Parthian drink of the Soane, or the + German drink of the Tigris, Than the face of him shall glide away from my + bosom! + </p> + <p> + MELIBOEUS. But we hence shall go, a part to the thirsty Afries, Part to + Scythia come, and the rapid Cretan Oaxes, And to the Britons from all the + universe utterly sundered. Ah, shall I ever, a long time hence, the bounds + of my country And the roof of my lowly cottage covered with greensward + Seeing, with wonder behold,—my kingdoms, a handful of wheat-ears! + Shall an impious soldier possess these lands newly cultured, And these + fields of corn a barbarian? Lo, whither discord Us wretched people hath + brought! for whom our fields we have planted! Graft, Meliboeus, thy + pear-trees now, put in order thy vine-yards. Go, my goats, go hence, my + flocks so happy aforetime. Never again henceforth outstretched in my + verdurous cavern Shall I behold you afar from the bushy precipice hanging. + Songs no more shall I sing; not with me, ye goats, as your shepherd, Shall + ye browse on the bitter willow or blooming laburnum. + </p> + <p> + TITYRUS. Nevertheless, this night together with me canst thou rest thee + Here on the verdant leaves; for us there are mellowing apples, Chestnuts + soft to the touch, and clouted cream in abundance; And the high roofs now + of the villages smoke in the distance, And from the lofty mountains are + falling larger the shadows. + </p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="chap628"></a>OVID IN EXILE</h3> + +<p class="center"> +AT TOMIS, IN BESSARABIA, NEAR THE MOUTHS OF THE DANUBE. +</p> + + <p> + TRISTIA, Book III., Elegy X. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Should any one there in Rome remember Ovid the exile, + And, without me, my name still in the city survive; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Tell him that under stars which never set in the ocean + I am existing still, here in a barbarous land. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Fierce Sarmatians encompass me round, and the Bessi and Getae; + Names how unworthy to be sung by a genius like mine! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Yet when the air is warm, intervening Ister defends us: + He, as he flows, repels inroads of war with his waves. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But when the dismal winter reveals its hideous aspect, + When all the earth becomes white with a marble-like frost; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And when Boreas is loosed, and the snow hurled under Arcturus, + Then these nations, in sooth, shudder and shiver with cold. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Deep lies the snow, and neither the sun nor the rain can dissolve it; + Boreas hardens it still, makes it forever remain. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hence, ere the first ha-s melted away, another succeeds it, + And two years it is wont, in many places, to lie. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And so great is the power of the Northwind awakened, it levels + Lofty towers with the ground, roofs uplifted bears off. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wrapped in skins, and with trousers sewed, they contend with the weather, + And their faces alone of the whole body are seen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Often their tresses, when shaken, with pendent icicles tinkle, + And their whitened beards shine with the gathering frost. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Wines consolidate stand, preserving the form of the vessels; + No more draughts of wine,—pieces presented they drink. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Why should I tell you how all the rivers are frozen and solid, + And from out of the lake frangible water is dug? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ister,—no narrower stream than the river that bears the papyrus,— + Which through its many mouths mingles its waves with the deep; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ister, with hardening winds, congeals its cerulean waters, + Under a roof of ice, winding its way to the sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +There where ships have sailed, men go on foot; and the billows, + Solid made by the frost, hoof-beats of horses indent. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Over unwonted bridges, with water gliding beneath them, + The Sarmatian steers drag their barbarian carts. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Scarcely shall I be believed; yet when naught is gained by a falsehood, + Absolute credence then should to a witness be given. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I have beheld the vast Black Sea of ice all compacted, + And a slippery crust pressing its motionless tides. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'T is not enough to have seen, I have trodden this indurate ocean; + Dry shod passed my foot over its uppermost wave. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +If thou hadst had of old such a sea as this is, Leander! + Then thy death had not been charged as a crime to the Strait. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nor can the curved dolphins uplift themselves from the water; + All their struggles to rise merciless winter prevents; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And though Boreas sound with roar of wings in commotion, + In the blockaded gulf never a wave will there be; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the ships will stand hemmed in by the frost, as in marble, + Nor will the oar have power through the stiff waters to cleave. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Fast-bound in the ice have I seen the fishes adhering, + Yet notwithstanding this some of them still were alive. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hence, if the savage strength of omnipotent Boreas freezes + Whether the salt-sea wave, whether the refluent stream,— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Straightway,—the Ister made level by arid blasts of the North-wind,— + Comes the barbaric foe borne on his swift-footed steed; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Foe, that powerful made by his steed and his far-flying arrows, + All the neighboring land void of inhabitants makes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Some take flight, and none being left to defend their possessions, + Unprotected, their goods pillage and plunder become; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Cattle and creaking carts, the little wealth of the country, + And what riches beside indigent peasants possess. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Some as captives are driven along, their hands bound behind them, + Looking backward in vain toward their Lares and lands. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Others, transfixed with barbed arrows, in agony perish, + For the swift arrow-heads all have in poison been dipped. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What they cannot carry or lead away they demolish, + And the hostile flames burn up the innocent cots. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Even when there is peace, the fear of war is impending; + None, with the ploughshare pressed, furrows the soil any more. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Either this region sees, or fears a foe that it sees not, + And the sluggish land slumbers in utter neglect. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +No sweet grape lies hidden here in the shade of its vine-leaves, + No fermenting must fills and o'erflows the deep vats. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Apples the region denies; nor would Acontius have found here + Aught upon which to write words for his mistress to read. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Naked and barren plains without leaves or trees we behold here,— + Places, alas! unto which no happy man would repair. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Since then this mighty orb lies open so wide upon all sides, + Has this region been found only my prison to be? +</pre> + +<hr /> + +<h3>TRISTIA, Book III., Elegy XII.</h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now the zephyrs diminish the cold, and the year being ended, + Winter Maeotian seems longer than ever before; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the Ram that bore unsafely the burden of Helle, + Now makes the hours of the day equal with those of the night. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now the boys and the laughing girls the violet gather, + Which the fields bring forth, nobody sowing the seed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now the meadows are blooming with flowers of various colors, + And with untaught throats carol the garrulous birds. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now the swallow, to shun the crime of her merciless mother, + Under the rafters builds cradles and dear little homes; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And the blade that lay hid, covered up in the furrows of Ceres, + Now from the tepid ground raises its delicate head. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where there is ever a vine, the bud shoots forth from the tendrils, + But from the Getic shore distant afar is the vine! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Where there is ever a tree, on the tree the branches are swelling, + But from the Getic land distant afar is the tree! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now it is holiday there in Rome, and to games in due order + Give place the windy wars of the vociferous bar. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now they are riding the horses; with light arms now they are playing, + Now with the ball, and now round rolls the swift-flying hoop: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Now, when the young athlete with flowing oil is anointed, + He in the Virgin's Fount bathes, over-wearied, his limbs. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Thrives the stage; and applause, with voices at variance, thunders, + And the Theatres three for the three Forums resound. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Four times happy is he, and times without number is happy, + Who the city of Rome, uninterdicted, enjoys. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But all I see is the snow in the vernal sunshine dissolving, + And the waters no more delved from the indurate lake. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nor is the sea now frozen, nor as before o'er the Ister + Comes the Sarmatian boor driving his stridulous cart. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hitherward, nevertheless, some keels already are steering, + And on this Pontic shore alien vessels will be. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Eagerly shall I run to the sailor, and, having saluted, + Who he may be, I shall ask; wherefore and whence he hath come. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Strange indeed will it be, if he come not from regions adjacent, + And incautious unless ploughing the neighboring sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Rarely a mariner over the deep from Italy passes, + Rarely he comes to these shores, wholly of harbors devoid. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Whether he knoweth Greek, or whether in Latin he speaketh, + Surely on this account he the more welcome will be. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Also perchance from the mouth of the Strait and the waters Propontic, + Unto the steady South-wind, some one is spreading his sails. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Whosoever he is, the news he can faithfully tell me, + Which may become a part and an approach to the truth. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He, I pray, may be able to tell me the triumphs of Caesar, + Which he has heard of, and vows paid to the Latian Jove; +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And that thy sorrowful head, Germania, thou, the rebellious, + Under the feet, at last, of the Great Captain hast laid. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Whoso shall tell me these things, that not to have seen will afflict me, + Forthwith unto my house welcomed as guest shall he be. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Woe is me! Is the house of Ovid in Scythian lands now? + And doth punishment now give me its place for a home? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Grant, ye gods, that Caesar make this not my house and my homestead, + But decree it to be only the inn of my pain. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1365 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |