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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15963-h.zip b/15963-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..71dc4de --- /dev/null +++ b/15963-h.zip diff --git a/15963-h/15963-h.htm b/15963-h/15963-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..948cd52 --- /dev/null +++ b/15963-h/15963-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3323 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>May-Day</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">May-Day, by Ralph Waldo Emerson</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, May-Day, by Ralph Waldo Emerson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: May-Day + and Other Pieces + + +Author: Ralph Waldo Emerson + +Release Date: May 31, 2005 [eBook #15963] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAY-DAY*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>This eBook was prepared from the 1867 George Routledge and Sons edition by +Les Bowler.</p> +<h1>MAY-DAY AND OTHER PIECES<br /> +BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON.</h1> +<p>CONTENTS.</p> +<p>MAY-DAY.</p> +<p>THE ADIRONDACS.</p> +<p>OCCASIONAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.</p> +<p> BRAHMA</p> +<p> NEMESIS</p> +<p> FATE</p> +<p> FREEDOM</p> +<p> ODE SUNG IN THE TOWN HALL, CONCORD, JULY 4, 1857</p> +<p> BOSTON HYMN</p> +<p> VOLUNTARIES</p> +<p> LOVE AND THOUGHT</p> +<p> LOVER’S PETITION</p> +<p> UNA</p> +<p> LETTERS</p> +<p> RUBIES</p> +<p> MERLIN’S SONG</p> +<p> THE TEST</p> +<p> SOLUTION</p> +<p>NATURE AND LIFE.</p> +<p> NATURE</p> +<p> THE ROMANY GIRL</p> +<p> DAYS</p> +<p> THE CHARTIST’S COMPLAINT</p> +<p> MY GARDEN</p> +<p> THE TITMOUSE</p> +<p> SEA-SHORE</p> +<p> SONG OF NATURE</p> +<p> TWO RIVERS</p> +<p> WALDEINSAMKEIT</p> +<p> TERMINUS</p> +<p> THE PAST</p> +<p> THE LAST FAREWELL</p> +<p> IN MEMORIAM</p> +<p>ELEMENTS.</p> +<p> EXPERIENCE</p> +<p> COMPENSATION</p> +<p> POLITICS</p> +<p> HEROISM</p> +<p> CHARACTER</p> +<p> CULTURE</p> +<p> FRIENDSHIP</p> +<p> BEAUTY</p> +<p> MANNERS</p> +<p> ART</p> +<p> SPIRITUAL LAWS</p> +<p> UNITY</p> +<p> WORSHIP</p> +<p>QUATRAINS.</p> +<p>TRANSLATIONS.</p> +<h2>MAY-DAY.</h2> +<p> Daughter of Heaven and Earth, coy Spring,<br /> +With sudden passion languishing,<br /> +Maketh all things softly smile,<br /> +Painteth pictures mile on mile,<br /> +Holds a cup with cowslip-wreaths,<br /> +Whence a smokeless incense breathes.<br /> +Girls are peeling the sweet willow,<br /> +Poplar white, and Gilead-tree,<br /> +And troops of boys<br /> +Shouting with whoop and hilloa,<br /> +And hip, hip three times three.<br /> +The air is full of whistlings bland;<br /> +What was that I heard<br /> +Out of the hazy land?<br /> +Harp of the wind, or song of bird,<br /> +Or clapping of shepherd’s hands,<br /> +Or vagrant booming of the air,<br /> +Voice of a meteor lost in day?<br /> +Such tidings of the starry sphere<br /> +Can this elastic air convey.<br /> +Or haply ’t was the cannonade<br /> +Of the pent and darkened lake,<br /> +Cooled by the pendent mountain’s shade,<br /> +Whose deeps, till beams of noonday break,<br /> +Afflicted moan, and latest hold<br /> +Even unto May the iceberg cold.<br /> +Was it a squirrel’s pettish bark,<br /> +Or clarionet of jay? or hark,<br /> +Where yon wedged line the Nestor leads,<br /> +Steering north with raucous cry<br /> +Through tracts and provinces of sky,<br /> +Every night alighting down<br /> +In new landscapes of romance,<br /> +Where darkling feed the clamorous clans<br /> +By lonely lakes to men unknown.<br /> +Come the tumult whence it will,<br /> +Voice of sport, or rush of wings,<br /> +It is a sound, it is a token<br /> +That the marble sleep is broken,<br /> +And a change has passed on things.</p> +<p> Beneath the calm, within the light,<br /> +A hid unruly appetite<br /> +Of swifter life, a surer hope,<br /> +Strains every sense to larger scope,<br /> +Impatient to anticipate<br /> +The halting steps of aged Fate.<br /> +Slow grows the palm, too slow the pearl:<br /> +When Nature falters, fain would zeal<br /> +Grasp the felloes of her wheel,<br /> +And grasping give the orbs another whirl.<br /> +Turn swiftlier round, O tardy ball!<br /> +And sun this frozen side,<br /> +Bring hither back the robin’s call,<br /> +Bring back the tulip’s pride.</p> +<p> Why chidest thou the tardy Spring?<br /> +The hardy bunting does not chide;<br /> +The blackbirds make the maples ring<br /> +With social cheer and jubilee;<br /> +The redwing flutes his <i>o-ka-lee</i>,<br /> +The robins know the melting snow;<br /> +The sparrow meek, prophetic-eyed,<br /> +Her nest beside the snow-drift weaves,<br /> +Secure the osier yet will hide<br /> +Her callow brood in mantling leaves;<br /> +And thou, by science all undone,<br /> +Why only must thy reason fail<br /> +To see the southing of the sun?</p> +<p> As we thaw frozen flesh with snow,<br /> +So Spring will not, foolish fond,<br /> +Mix polar night with tropic glow,<br /> +Nor cloy us with unshaded sun,<br /> +Nor wanton skip with bacchic dance,<br /> +But she has the temperance<br /> +Of the gods, whereof she is one,—<br /> +Masks her treasury of heat<br /> +Under east-winds crossed with sleet.<br /> +Plants and birds and humble creatures<br /> +Well accept her rule austere;<br /> +Titan-born, to hardy natures<br /> +Cold is genial and dear.<br /> +As Southern wrath to Northern right<br /> +Is but straw to anthracite;<br /> +As in the day of sacrifice,<br /> +When heroes piled the pyre,<br /> +The dismal Massachusetts ice<br /> +Burned more than others’ fire,<br /> +So Spring guards with surface cold<br /> +The garnered heat of ages old:<br /> +Hers to sow the seed of bread,<br /> +That man and all the kinds be fed;<br /> +And, when the sunlight fills the hours,<br /> +Dissolves the crust, displays the flowers.</p> +<p> The world rolls round,—mistrust it not,—<br /> +Befalls again what once befell;<br /> +All things return, both sphere and mote,<br /> +And I shall hear my bluebird’s note,<br /> +And dream the dream of Auburn dell.</p> +<p> When late I walked, in earlier days,<br /> +All was stiff and stark;<br /> +Knee-deep snows choked all the ways,<br /> +In the sky no spark;<br /> +Firm-braced I sought my ancient woods,<br /> +Struggling through the drifted roads;<br /> +The whited desert knew me not,<br /> +Snow-ridges masked each darling spot;<br /> +The summer dells, by genius haunted,<br /> +One arctic moon had disenchanted.<br /> +All the sweet secrets therein hid<br /> +By Fancy, ghastly spells undid.<br /> +Eldest mason, Frost, had piled,<br /> +With wicked ingenuity,<br /> +Swift cathedrals in the wild;<br /> +The piny hosts were sheeted ghosts<br /> +In the star-lit minster aisled.<br /> +I found no joy: the icy wind<br /> +Might rule the forest to his mind.<br /> +Who would freeze in frozen brakes?<br /> +Back to books and sheltered home,<br /> +And wood-fire flickering on the walls,<br /> +To hear, when, ’mid our talk and games,<br /> +Without the baffled north-wind calls.<br /> +But soft! a sultry morning breaks;<br /> +The cowslips make the brown brook gay;<br /> +A happier hour, a longer day.<br /> +Now the sun leads in the May,<br /> +Now desire of action wakes,<br /> +And the wish to roam.</p> +<p> The caged linnet in the Spring<br /> +Hearkens for the choral glee,<br /> +When his fellows on the wing<br /> +Migrate from the Southern Sea;<br /> +When trellised grapes their flowers unmask,<br /> +And the new-born tendrils twine,<br /> +The old wine darkling in the cask<br /> +Feels the bloom on the living vine,<br /> +And bursts the hoops at hint of Spring:<br /> +And so, perchance, in Adam’s race,<br /> +Of Eden’s bower some dream-like trace<br /> +Survived the Flight, and swam the Flood,<br /> +And wakes the wish in youngest blood<br /> +To tread the forfeit Paradise,<br /> +And feed once more the exile’s eyes;<br /> +And ever when the happy child<br /> +In May beholds the blooming wild,<br /> +And hears in heaven the bluebird sing,<br /> +“Onward,” he cries, “your baskets bring,—<br /> +In the next field is air more mild,<br /> +And o’er yon hazy crest is Eden’s balmier Spring.”</p> +<p> Not for a regiment’s parade,<br /> +Nor evil laws or rulers made,<br /> +Blue Walden rolls its cannonade,<br /> +But for a lofty sign<br /> +Which the Zodiac threw,<br /> +That the bondage-days are told,<br /> +And waters free as winds shall flow.<br /> +Lo! how all the tribes combine<br /> +To rout the flying foe.<br /> +See, every patriot oak-leaf throws<br /> +His elfin length upon the snows,<br /> +Not idle, since the leaf all day<br /> +Draws to the spot the solar ray,<br /> +Ere sunset quarrying inches down,<br /> +And half-way to the mosses brown;<br /> +While the grass beneath the rime<br /> +Has hints of the propitious time,<br /> +And upward pries and perforates<br /> +Through the cold slab a thousand gates,<br /> +Till green lances peering through<br /> +Bend happy in the welkin blue.</p> +<p> April cold with dropping rain<br /> +Willows and lilacs brings again,<br /> +The whistle of returning birds,<br /> +And trumpet-lowing of the herds.<br /> +The scarlet maple-keys betray<br /> +What potent blood hath modest May;<br /> +What fiery force the earth renews,<br /> +The wealth of forms, the flush of hues;<br /> +Joy shed in rosy waves abroad<br /> +Flows from the heart of Love, the Lord.</p> +<p> Hither rolls the storm of heat;<br /> +I feel its finer billows beat<br /> +Like a sea which me infolds;<br /> +Heat with viewless fingers moulds,<br /> +Swells, and mellows, and matures,<br /> +Paints, and flavours, and allures,<br /> +Bird and brier inly warms,<br /> +Still enriches and transforms,<br /> +Gives the reed and lily length,<br /> +Adds to oak and oxen strength,<br /> +Boils the world in tepid lakes,<br /> +Burns the world, yet burnt remakes;<br /> +Enveloping heat, enchanted robe,<br /> +Wraps the daisy and the globe,<br /> +Transforming what it doth infold,<br /> +Life out of death, new out of old,<br /> +Painting fawns’ and leopards’ fells,<br /> +Seethes the gulf-encrimsoning shells,<br /> +Fires garden with a joyful blaze<br /> +Of tulips in the morning’s rays.<br /> +The dead log touched bursts into leaf,<br /> +The wheat-blade whispers of the sheaf.<br /> +What god is this imperial Heat,<br /> +Earth’s prime secret, sculpture’s seat?<br /> +Doth it bear hidden in its heart<br /> +Water-line patterns of all art,<br /> +All figures, organs, hues, and graces?<br /> +Is it Dædalus? is it Love?<br /> +Or walks in mask almighty Jove,<br /> +And drops from Power’s redundant horn<br /> +All seeds of beauty to be born?</p> +<p> Where shall we keep the holiday,<br /> +And duly greet the entering May?<br /> +Too strait and low our cottage doors,<br /> +And all unmeet our carpet floors;<br /> +Nor spacious court, nor monarch’s hall,<br /> +Suffice to hold the festival.<br /> +Up and away! where haughty woods<br /> +Front the liberated floods:<br /> +We will climb the broad-backed hills,<br /> +Hear the uproar of their joy;<br /> +We will mark the leaps and gleams<br /> +Of the new-delivered streams,<br /> +And the murmuring rivers of sap<br /> +Mount in the pipes of the trees,<br /> +Giddy with day, to the topmost spire,<br /> +Which for a spike of tender green<br /> +Bartered its powdery cap;<br /> +And the colours of joy in the bird,<br /> +And the love in its carol heard,<br /> +Frog and lizard in holiday coats,<br /> +And turtle brave in his golden spots;<br /> +We will hear the tiny roar<br /> +Of the insects evermore,<br /> +While cheerful cries of crag and plain<br /> +Reply to the thunder of river and main.</p> +<p> As poured the flood of the ancient sea<br /> +Spilling over mountain chains,<br /> +Bending forests as bends the sedge,<br /> +Faster flowing o’er the plains,—<br /> +A world-wide wave with a foaming edge<br /> +That rims the running silver sheet,—<br /> +So pours the deluge of the heat<br /> +Broad northward o’er the land,<br /> +Painting artless paradises,<br /> +Drugging herbs with Syrian spices,<br /> +Fanning secret fires which glow<br /> +In columbine and clover-blow,<br /> +Climbing the northern zones,<br /> +Where a thousand pallid towns<br /> +Lie like cockles by the main,<br /> +Or tented armies on a plain.<br /> +The million-handed sculptor moulds<br /> +Quaintest bud and blossom folds,<br /> +The million-handed painter pours<br /> +Opal hues and purple dye;<br /> +Azaleas flush the island floors,<br /> +And the tints of heaven reply.</p> +<p> Wreaths for the May! for happy Spring<br /> +To-day shall all her dowry bring,<br /> +The love of kind, the joy, the grace,<br /> +Hymen of element and race,<br /> +Knowing well to celebrate<br /> +With song and hue and star and state,<br /> +With tender light and youthful cheer,<br /> +The spousals of the new-born year.<br /> +Lo Love’s inundation poured<br /> +Over space and race abroad!</p> +<p> Spring is strong and virtuous,<br /> +Broad-sowing, cheerful, plenteous,<br /> +Quickening underneath the mould<br /> +Grains beyond the price of gold.<br /> +So deep and large her bounties are,<br /> +That one broad, long midsummer day<br /> +Shall to the planet overpay<br /> +The ravage of a year of war.</p> +<p> Drug the cup, thou butler sweet,<br /> +And send the nectar round;<br /> +The feet that slid so long on sleet<br /> +Are glad to feel the ground.<br /> +Fill and saturate each kind<br /> +With good according to its mind,<br /> +Fill each kind and saturate<br /> +With good agreeing with its fate,<br /> +Willow and violet, maiden and man.</p> +<p> The bitter-sweet, the haunting air,<br /> +Creepeth, bloweth everywhere;<br /> +It preys on all, all prey on it,<br /> +Blooms in beauty, thinks in wit,<br /> +Stings the strong with enterprise,<br /> +Makes travellers long for Indian skies,<br /> +And where it comes this courier fleet<br /> +Fans in all hearts expectance sweet,<br /> +As if to-morrow should redeem<br /> +The vanished rose of evening’s dream.<br /> +By houses lies a fresher green,<br /> +On men and maids a ruddier mien,<br /> +As if time brought a new relay<br /> +Of shining virgins every May,<br /> +And Summer came to ripen maids<br /> +To a beauty that not fades.</p> +<p> The ground-pines wash their rusty green,<br /> +The maple-tops their crimson tint,<br /> +On the soft path each track is seen,<br /> +The girl’s foot leaves its neater print.<br /> +The pebble loosened from the frost<br /> +Asks of the urchin to be tost.<br /> +In flint and marble beats a heart,<br /> +The kind Earth takes her children’s part,<br /> +The green lane is the school-boy’s friend,<br /> +Low leaves his quarrel apprehend,<br /> +The fresh ground loves his top and ball,<br /> +The air rings jocund to his call,<br /> +The brimming brook invites a leap,<br /> +He dives the hollow, climbs the steep.<br /> +The youth reads omens where he goes,<br /> +And speaks all languages the rose.<br /> +The wood-fly mocks with tiny noise<br /> +The far halloo of human voice;<br /> +The perfumed berry on the spray<br /> +Smacks of faint memories far away.<br /> +A subtle chain of countless rings<br /> +The next unto the farthest brings,<br /> +And, striving to be man, the worm<br /> +Mounts through all the spires of form.</p> +<p> I saw the bud-crowned Spring go forth,<br /> +Stepping daily onward north<br /> +To greet staid ancient cavaliers<br /> +Filing single in stately train.<br /> +And who, and who are the travellers?<br /> +They were Night and Day, and Day and Night,<br /> +Pilgrims wight with step forthright.<br /> +I saw the Days deformed and low,<br /> +Short and bent by cold and snow;<br /> +The merry Spring threw wreaths on them,<br /> +Flower-wreaths gay with bud and bell;<br /> +Many a flower and many a gem,<br /> +They were refreshed by the smell,<br /> +They shook the snow from hats and shoon,<br /> +They put their April raiment on;<br /> +And those eternal forms,<br /> +Unhurt by a thousand storms,<br /> +Shot up to the height of the sky again,<br /> +And danced as merrily as young men.<br /> +I saw them mask their awful glance<br /> +Sidewise meek in gossamer lids;<br /> +And to speak my thought if none forbids.<br /> +It was as if the eternal gods,<br /> +Tired of their starry periods,<br /> +Hid their majesty in cloth<br /> +Woven of tulips and painted moth.<br /> +On carpets green the maskers march<br /> +Below May’s well-appointed arch,<br /> +Each star, each god, each grace amain,<br /> +Every joy and virtue speed,<br /> +Marching duly in her train,<br /> +And fainting Nature at her need<br /> +Is made whole again.</p> +<p> ’T was the vintage-day of field and wood,<br /> +When magic wine for bards is brewed;<br /> +Every tree and stem and chink<br /> +Gushed with syrup to the brink.<br /> +The air stole into the streets of towns,<br /> +And betrayed the fund of joy<br /> +To the high-school and medalled boy:<br /> +On from hall to chamber ran,<br /> +From youth to maid, from boy to man,<br /> +To babes, and to old eyes as well.<br /> +‘Once more,’ the old man cried, ‘ye clouds,<br /> +Airy turrets purple-piled,<br /> +Which once my infancy beguiled,<br /> +Beguile me with the wonted spell.<br /> +I know ye skilful to convoy<br /> +The total freight of hope and joy<br /> +Into rude and homely nooks,<br /> +Shed mocking lustres on shelf of books,<br /> +On farmer’s byre, on meadow-pipes,<br /> +Or on a pool of dancing chips.<br /> +I care not if the pomps you show<br /> +Be what they soothfast appear,<br /> +Or if yon realms in sunset glow<br /> +Be bubbles of the atmosphere.<br /> +And if it be to you allowed<br /> +To fool me with a shining cloud,<br /> +So only new griefs are consoled<br /> +By new delights, as old by old,<br /> +Frankly I will be your guest,<br /> +Count your change and cheer the best.<br /> +The world hath overmuch of pain,—<br /> +If Nature give me joy again,<br /> +Of such deceit I’ll not complain.’</p> +<p> Ah! well I mind the calendar,<br /> +Faithful through a thousand years,<br /> +Of the painted race of flowers,<br /> +Exact to days, exact to hours,<br /> +Counted on the spacious dial<br /> +Yon broidered zodiac girds.<br /> +I know the pretty almanac<br /> +Of the punctual coming-back,<br /> +On their due days, of the birds.<br /> +I marked them yestermorn,<br /> +A flock of finches darting<br /> +Beneath the crystal arch,<br /> +Piping, as they flew, a march,—<br /> +Belike the one they used in parting<br /> +Last year from yon oak or larch;<br /> +Dusky sparrows in a crowd,<br /> +Diving, darting northward free,<br /> +Suddenly betook them all,<br /> +Every one to his hole in the wall,<br /> +Or to his niche in the apple-tree.<br /> +I greet with joy the choral trains<br /> +Fresh from palms and Cuba’s canes.<br /> +Best gems of Nature’s cabinet,<br /> +With dews of tropic morning wet,<br /> +Beloved of children, bards, and Spring,<br /> +O birds, your perfect virtues bring,<br /> +Your song, your forms, your rhythmic flight,<br /> +Your manners for the heart’s delight,<br /> +Nestle in hedge, or barn, or roof,<br /> +Here weave your chamber weather-proof,<br /> +Forgive our harms, and condescend<br /> +To man, as to a lubber friend,<br /> +And, generous, teach his awkward race<br /> +Courage, and probity, and grace!</p> +<p> Poets praise that hidden wine<br /> +Hid in milk we drew<br /> +At the barrier of Time,<br /> +When our life was new.<br /> +We had eaten fairy fruit,<br /> +We were quick from head to foot,<br /> +All the forms we look on shone<br /> +As with diamond dews thereon.<br /> +What cared we for costly joys,<br /> +The Museum’s far-fetched toys?<br /> +Gleam of sunshine on the wall<br /> +Poured a deeper cheer than all<br /> +The revels of the Carnival.<br /> +We a pine-grove did prefer<br /> +To a marble theatre,<br /> +Could with gods on mallows dine,<br /> +Nor cared for spices or for wine.<br /> +Wreaths of mist and rainbow spanned,<br /> +Arch on arch, the grimmest land;<br /> +Whistle of a woodland bird<br /> +Made the pulses dance,<br /> +Note of horn in valleys heard<br /> +Filled the region with romance.</p> +<p> None can tell how sweet,<br /> +How virtuous, the morning air;<br /> +Every accent vibrates well;<br /> +Not alone the wood-bird’s call,<br /> +Or shouting boys that chase their ball,<br /> +Pass the height of minstrel skill,<br /> +But the ploughman’s thoughtless cry,<br /> +Lowing oxen, sheep that bleat,<br /> +And the joiner’s hammer-beat,<br /> +Softened are above their will.<br /> +All grating discords melt,<br /> +No dissonant note is dealt,<br /> +And though thy voice be shrill<br /> +Like rasping file on steel,<br /> +Such is the temper of the air,<br /> +Echo waits with art and care,<br /> +And will the faults of song repair.</p> +<p> So by remote Superior Lake,<br /> +And by resounding Mackinac,<br /> +When northern storms and forests shake,<br /> +And billows on the long beach break,<br /> +The artful Air doth separate<br /> +Note by note all sounds that grate,<br /> +Smothering in her ample breast<br /> +All but godlike words,<br /> +Reporting to the happy ear<br /> +Only purified accords.<br /> +Strangely wrought from barking waves,<br /> +Soft music daunts the Indian braves,—<br /> +Convent-chanting which the child<br /> +Hears pealing from the panther’s cave<br /> +And the impenetrable wild.</p> +<p> One musician is sure,<br /> +His wisdom will not fail,<br /> +He has not tasted wine impure,<br /> +Nor bent to passion frail.<br /> +Age cannot cloud his memory,<br /> +Nor grief untune his voice,<br /> +Ranging down the ruled scale<br /> +From tone of joy to inward wail,<br /> +Tempering the pitch of all<br /> +In his windy cave.<br /> +He all the fables knows,<br /> +And in their causes tells,—<br /> +Knows Nature’s rarest moods,<br /> +Ever on her secret broods.<br /> +The Muse of men is coy,<br /> +Oft courted will not come;<br /> +In palaces and market squares<br /> +Entreated, she is dumb;<br /> +But my minstrel knows and tells<br /> +The counsel of the gods,<br /> +Knows of Holy Book the spells,<br /> +Knows the law of Night and Day,<br /> +And the heart of girl and boy,<br /> +The tragic and the gay,<br /> +And what is writ on Table Round<br /> +Of Arthur and his peers,<br /> +What sea and land discoursing say<br /> +In sidereal years.<br /> +He renders all his lore<br /> +In numbers wild as dreams,<br /> +Modulating all extremes,—<br /> +What the spangled meadow saith<br /> +To the children who have faith;<br /> +Only to children children sing,<br /> +Only to youth will spring be spring.</p> +<p> Who is the Bard thus magnified?<br /> +When did he sing, and where abide?</p> +<p> Chief of song where poets feast<br /> +Is the wind-harp which thou seest<br /> +In the casement at my side.</p> +<p> Æolian harp,<br /> +How strangely wise thy strain!<br /> +Gay for youth, gay for youth,<br /> +(Sweet is art, but sweeter truth,)<br /> +In the hall at summer eve<br /> +Fate and Beauty skilled to weave.<br /> +From the eager opening strings<br /> +Rung loud and bold the song.<br /> +Who but loved the wind-harp’s note?<br /> +How should not the poet doat<br /> +On its mystic tongue,<br /> +With its primeval memory,<br /> +Reporting what old minstrels said<br /> +Of Merlin locked the harp within,—<br /> +Merlin paying the pain of sin,<br /> +Pent in a dungeon made of air,—<br /> +And some attain his voice to hear,<br /> +Words of pain and cries of fear,<br /> +But pillowed all on melody,<br /> +As fits the griefs of bards to be.<br /> +And what if that all-echoing shell,<br /> +Which thus the buried Past can tell,<br /> +Should rive the Future, and reveal<br /> +What his dread folds would fain conceal?<br /> +It shares the secret of the earth,<br /> +And of the kinds that owe her birth.<br /> +Speaks not of self that mystic tone,<br /> +But of the Overgods alone:<br /> +It trembles to the cosmic breath,—<br /> +As it heareth, so it saith;<br /> +Obeying meek the primal Cause,<br /> +It is the tongue of mundane laws:<br /> +And this, at least, I dare affirm,<br /> +Since genius too has bound and term,<br /> +There is no bard in all the choir,<br /> +Not Homer’s self, the poet sire,<br /> +Wise Milton’s odes of pensive pleasure,<br /> +Or Shakspeare, whom no mind can measure,<br /> +Nor Collins’ verse of tender pain,<br /> +Nor Byron’s clarion of disdain,<br /> +Scott, the delight of generous boys,<br /> +Or Wordsworth, Pan’s recording voice,—<br /> +Not one of all can put in verse,<br /> +Or to this presence could rehearse,<br /> +The sights and voices ravishing<br /> +The boy knew on the hills in Spring,<br /> +When pacing through the oaks he heard<br /> +Sharp queries of the sentry-bird,<br /> +The heavy grouse’s sudden whirr,<br /> +The rattle of the kingfisher;<br /> +Saw bonfires of the harlot flies<br /> +In the lowland, when day dies;<br /> +Or marked, benighted and forlorn,<br /> +The first far signal-fire of morn.<br /> +These syllables that Nature spoke,<br /> +And the thoughts that in him woke,<br /> +Can adequately utter none<br /> +Save to his ear the wind-harp lone.<br /> +And best can teach its Delphian chord<br /> +How Nature to the soul is moored,<br /> +If once again that silent string,<br /> +As erst it wont, would thrill and ring.</p> +<p> Not long ago, at eventide,<br /> +It seemed, so listening, at my side<br /> +A window rose, and, to say sooth,<br /> +I looked forth on the fields of youth:<br /> +I saw fair boys bestriding steeds,<br /> +I knew their forms in fancy weeds,<br /> +Long, long concealed by sundering fates,<br /> +Mates of my youth,—yet not my mates,<br /> +Stronger and bolder far than I,<br /> +With grace, with genius, well attired,<br /> +And then as now from far admired,<br /> +Followed with love<br /> +They knew not of,<br /> +With passion cold and shy.<br /> +O joy, for what recoveries rare!<br /> +Renewed, I breathe Elysian air,<br /> +See youth’s glad mates in earliest bloom,—<br /> +Break not my dream, obtrusive tomb!<br /> +Or teach thou, Spring! the grand recoil<br /> +Of life resurgent from the soil<br /> +Wherein was dropped the mortal spoil.</p> +<p> Soft on the south-wind sleeps the haze!<br /> +So on thy broad mystic van<br /> +Lie the opal-coloured days,<br /> +And waft the miracle to man.<br /> +Soothsayer of the eldest gods,<br /> +Repairer of what harms betide,<br /> +Revealer of the inmost powers<br /> +Prometheus proffered, Jove denied;<br /> +Disclosing treasures more than true,<br /> +Or in what far to-morrow due;<br /> +Speaking by the tongues of flowers,<br /> +By the ten-tongued laurel speaking,<br /> +Singing by the oriole songs,<br /> +Heart of bird the man’s heart seeking;<br /> +Whispering hints of treasure hid<br /> +Under Morn’s unlifted lid,<br /> +Islands looming just beyond<br /> +The dim horizon’s utmost bound;—<br /> +Who can, like thee, our rags upbraid,<br /> +Or taunt us with our hope decayed?<br /> +Or who like thee persuade,<br /> +Making the splendour of the air,<br /> +The morn and sparkling dew, a snare?<br /> +Or who resent<br /> +Thy genius, wiles, and blandishment?</p> +<p> There is no orator prevails<br /> +To beckon or persuade<br /> +Like thee the youth or maid:<br /> +Thy birds, thy songs, thy brooks, thy gales,<br /> +Thy blooms, thy kinds,<br /> +Thy echoes in the wilderness,<br /> +Soothe pain, and age, and love’s distress,<br /> +Fire fainting will, and build heroic minds.</p> +<p> For thou, O Spring! canst renovate<br /> +All that high God did first create.<br /> +Be still his arm and architect,<br /> +Rebuild the ruin, mend defect;<br /> +Chemist to vamp old worlds with new,<br /> +Coat sea and sky with heavenlier blue,<br /> +New-tint the plumage of the birds,<br /> +And slough decay from grazing herds,<br /> +Sweep ruins from the scarped mountain,<br /> +Cleanse the torrent at the fountain,<br /> +Purge alpine air by towns defiled,<br /> +Bring to fair mother fairer child,<br /> +Not less renew the heart and brain,<br /> +Scatter the sloth, wash out the stain,<br /> +Make the aged eye sun-clear,<br /> +To parting soul bring grandeur near.<br /> +Under gentle types, my Spring<br /> +Masks the might of Nature’s king,<br /> +An energy that searches thorough<br /> +From Chaos to the dawning morrow;<br /> +Into all our human plight,<br /> +The soul’s pilgrimage and flight;<br /> +In city or in solitude,<br /> +Step by step, lifts bad to good,<br /> +Without halting, without rest,<br /> +Lifting Better up to Best;<br /> +Planting seeds of knowledge pure,<br /> +Through earth to ripen, through heaven endure.</p> +<h2>THE ADIRONDACS.</h2> +<p><i>A JOURNAL</i>.</p> +<p>DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW-TRAVELLERS IN AUGUST, 1858.</p> +<blockquote><p>Wise and polite,—and if I drew<br /> +Their several portraits, you would own<br /> +Chaucer had no such worthy crew,<br /> +Nor Boccace in Decameron.</p> +</blockquote> +<p> We crossed Champlain to Keeseville with our friends,<br /> +Thence, in strong country carts, rode up the forks<br /> +Of the Ausable stream, intent to reach<br /> +The Adirondac lakes. At Martin’s Beach<br /> +We chose our boats; each man a boat and guide,—<br /> +Ten men, ten guides, our company all told.</p> +<p> Next morn, we swept with oars the Saranac,<br /> +With skies of benediction, to Round Lake,<br /> +Where all the sacred mountains drew around us,<br /> +Taháwus, Seaward, MacIntyre, Baldhead,<br /> +And other Titans without muse or name.<br /> +Pleased with these grand companions, we glide on,<br /> +Instead of flowers, crowned with a wreath of hills,<br /> +And made our distance wider, boat from boat,<br /> +As each would hear the oracle alone.<br /> +By the bright morn the gay flotilla slid<br /> +Through files of flags that gleamed like bayonets,<br /> +Through gold-moth-haunted beds of pickerel-flower,<br /> +Through scented banks of lilies white and gold,<br /> +Where the deer feeds at night, the teal by day,<br /> +On through the Upper Saranac, and up<br /> +Père Raquette stream, to a small tortuous pass<br /> +Winding through grassy shallows in and out,<br /> +Two creeping miles of rushes, pads, and sponge,<br /> +To Follansbee Water, and the Lake of Loons.</p> +<p> Northward the length of Follansbee we rowed,<br /> +Under low mountains, whose unbroken ridge<br /> +Ponderous with beechen forest sloped the shore.<br /> +A pause and council: then, where near the head<br /> +On the east a bay makes inward to the land<br /> +Between two rocky arms, we climb the bank,<br /> +And in the twilight of the forest noon<br /> +Wield the first axe these echoes ever heard.<br /> +We cut young trees to make our poles and thwarts,<br /> +Barked the white spruce to weatherfend the roof,<br /> +Then struck a light, and kindled the camp-fire.</p> +<p> The wood was sovran with centennial trees,—<br /> +Oak, cedar, maple, poplar, beech and fir,<br /> +Linden and spruce. In strict society<br /> +Three conifers, white, pitch, and Norway pine,<br /> +Five-leaved, three-leaved, and two-leaved, grew thereby.<br /> +Our patron pine was fifteen feet in girth,<br /> +The maple eight, beneath its shapely tower.</p> +<p> ‘Welcome!’ the wood god murmured through +the leaves,—<br /> +‘Welcome, though late, unknowing, yet known to me.’<br /> +Evening drew on; stars peeped through maple-boughs,<br /> +Which o’erhung, like a cloud, our camping fire.<br /> +Decayed millennial trunks, like moonlight flecks,<br /> +Lit with phosphoric crumbs the forest floor.</p> +<p> Ten scholars, wonted to lie warm and soft<br /> +In well-hung chambers daintily bestowed,<br /> +Lie here on hemlock-boughs, like Sacs and Sioux,<br /> +And greet unanimous the joyful change.<br /> +So fast will Nature acclimate her sons,<br /> +Though late returning to her pristine ways.<br /> +Off soundings, seamen do not suffer cold;<br /> +And, in the forest, delicate clerks, unbrowned,<br /> +Sleep on the fragrant brush, as on down-beds.<br /> +Up with the dawn, they fancied the light air<br /> +That circled freshly in their forest dress<br /> +Made them to boys again. Happier that they<br /> +Slipped off their pack of duties, leagues behind,<br /> +At the first mounting of the giant stairs.<br /> +No placard on these rocks warned to the polls,<br /> +No door-bell heralded a visitor,<br /> +No courier waits, no letter came or went,<br /> +Nothing was ploughed, or reaped, or bought, or sold;<br /> +The frost might glitter, it would blight no crop,<br /> +The falling rain will spoil no holiday.<br /> +We were made freemen of the forest laws,<br /> +All dressed, like Nature, fit for her own ends,<br /> +Essaying nothing she cannot perform.</p> +<p> In +Adirondac lakes,<br /> +At morn or noon, the guide rows bareheaded:<br /> +Shoes, flannel shirt, and kersey trousers make<br /> +His brief toilette: at night, or in the rain,<br /> +He dons a surcoat which he doffs at morn:<br /> +A paddle in the right hand, or an oar,<br /> +And in the left, a gun, his needful arms.<br /> +By turns we praised the stature of our guides,<br /> +Their rival strength and suppleness, their skill<br /> +To row, to swim, to shoot, to build a camp,<br /> +To climb a lofty stem, clean without boughs<br /> +Full fifty feet, and bring the eaglet down:<br /> +Temper to face wolf, bear, or catamount,<br /> +And wit to track or take him in his lair.<br /> +Sound, ruddy men, frolic and innocent,<br /> +In winter, lumberers; in summer, guides;<br /> +Their sinewy arms pull at the oar untired<br /> +Three times ten thousand strokes, from morn to eve.</p> +<p> Look to yourselves, ye polished gentlemen!<br /> +No city airs or arts pass current here.<br /> +Your rank is all reversed: let men of cloth<br /> +Bow to the stalwart churls in overalls:<br /> +<i>They</i> are the doctors of the wilderness,<br /> +And we the low-prized laymen.<br /> +In sooth, red flannel is a saucy test<br /> +Which few can put on with impunity.<br /> +What make you, master, fumbling at the oar?<br /> +Will you catch crabs? Truth tries pretension here.<br /> +The sallow knows the basket-maker’s thumb;<br /> +The oar, the guide’s. Dare you accept the tasks<br /> +He shall impose, to find a spring, trap foxes,<br /> +Tell the sun’s time, determine the true north,<br /> +Or stumbling on through vast self-similar woods<br /> +To thread by night the nearest way to camp?</p> +<p> Ask you, how went the hours?<br /> +All day we swept the lake, searched every cove,<br /> +North from Camp Maple, south to Osprey Bay,<br /> +Watching when the loud dogs should drive in deer,<br /> +Or whipping its rough surface for a trout;<br /> +Or bathers, diving from the rock at noon;<br /> +Challenging Echo by our guns and cries;<br /> +Or listening to the laughter of the loon;<br /> +Or, in the evening twilight’s latest red,<br /> +Beholding the procession of the pines;<br /> +Or, later yet, beneath a lighted jack,<br /> +In the boat’s bows, a silent night-hunter<br /> +Stealing with paddle to the feeding-grounds<br /> +Of the red deer, to aim at a square mist.<br /> +Hark to that muffled roar! a tree in the woods<br /> +Is fallen: but hush! it has not scared the buck<br /> +Who stands astonished at the meteor light,<br /> +Then turns to bound away,—is it too late?</p> +<p> Sometimes we tried our rifles at a mark,<br /> +Six rods, sixteen, twenty, or forty-five;<br /> +Sometimes our wits at sally and retort,<br /> +With laughter sudden as the crack of rifle;<br /> +Or parties scaled the near acclivities<br /> +Competing seekers of a rumoured lake,<br /> +Whose unauthenticated waves we named<br /> +Lake Probability,—our carbuncle,<br /> +Long sought, not found.</p> +<p> Two +Doctors in the camp<br /> +Dissected the slain deer, weighed the trout’s brain,<br /> +Captured the lizard, salamander, shrew,<br /> +Crab, mice, snail, dragon-fly, minnow, and moth;<br /> +Insatiate skill in water or in air<br /> +Waved the scoop-net, and nothing came amiss;<br /> +The while, one leaden pot of alcohol<br /> +Gave an impartial tomb to all the kinds.<br /> +Not less the ambitious botanist sought plants,<br /> +Orchis and gentian, fern, and long whip-scirpus,<br /> +Rosy polygonum, lake-margin’s pride,<br /> +Hypnum and hydnum, mushroom, sponge, and moss,<br /> +Or harebell nodding in the gorge of falls.<br /> +Above, the eagle flew, the osprey screamed,<br /> +The raven croaked, owls hooted, the woodpecker<br /> +Loud hammered, and the heron rose in the swamp.<br /> +As water poured through the hollows of the hills<br /> +To feed this wealth of lakes and rivulets,<br /> +So Nature shed all beauty lavishly<br /> +From her redundant horn.</p> +<p> Lords +of this realm,<br /> +Bounded by dawn and sunset, and the day<br /> +Rounded by hours where each outdid the last<br /> +In miracles of pomp, we must be proud,<br /> +As if associates of the sylvan gods.<br /> +We seemed the dwellers of the zodiac,<br /> +So pure the Alpine element we breathed,<br /> +So light, so lofty pictures came and went.<br /> +We trode on air, contemned the distant town,<br /> +Its timorous ways, big trifles, and we planned<br /> +That we should build, hard-by, a spacious lodge,<br /> +And how we should come hither with our sons,<br /> +Hereafter,—willing they, and more adroit.</p> +<p> Hard fare, hard bed, and comic misery,—<br /> +The midge, the blue-fly, and the mosquito<br /> +Painted our necks, hands, ankles, with red bands:<br /> +But, on the second day, we heed them not,<br /> +Nay, we saluted them Auxiliaries,<br /> +Whom earlier we had chid with spiteful names.<br /> +For who defends our leafy tabernacle<br /> +From bold intrusion of the travelling crowd,—<br /> +Who but the midge, mosquito, and the fly,<br /> +Which past endurance sting the tender cit,<br /> +But which we learn to scatter with a smudge,<br /> +Or baffle by a veil, or slight by scorn?</p> +<p> Our foaming ale we drunk from hunters’ pans,<br /> +Ale, and a sup of wine. Our steward gave<br /> +Venison and trout, potatoes, beans, wheat-bread;<br /> +All ate like abbots, and, if any missed<br /> +Their wonted convenance, cheerly hid the loss<br /> +With hunters’ appetite and peals of mirth.<br /> +And Stillman, our guides’ guide, and Commodore,<br /> +Crusoe, Crusader, Pius Æneas, said aloud,<br /> +“Chronic dyspepsia never came from eating<br /> +Food indigestible”:—then murmured some,<br /> +Others applauded him who spoke the truth.</p> +<p> Nor doubt but visitings of graver thought<br /> +Checked in these souls the turbulent heyday<br /> +’Mid all the hints and glories of the home.<br /> +For who can tell what sudden privacies<br /> +Were sought and found, amid the hue and cry<br /> +Of scholars furloughed from their tasks, and let<br /> +Into this Oreads’ fended Paradise,<br /> +As chapels in the city’s thoroughfares,<br /> +Whither gaunt Labour slips to wipe his brow,<br /> +And meditate a moment on Heaven’s rest.<br /> +Judge with what sweet surprises Nature spoke<br /> +To each apart, lifting her lovely shows<br /> +To spiritual lessons pointed home.<br /> +And as through dreams in watches of the night,<br /> +So through all creatures in their form and ways<br /> +Some mystic hint accosts the vigilant,<br /> +Not clearly voiced, but waking a new sense<br /> +Inviting to new knowledge, one with old.<br /> +Hark to that petulant chirp! what ails the warbler?<br /> +Mark his capricious ways to draw the eye.<br /> +Now soar again. What wilt thou, restless bird,<br /> +Seeking in that chaste blue a bluer light,<br /> +Thirsting in that pure for a purer sky?</p> +<p> And presently the sky is changed; O world!<br /> +What pictures and what harmonies are thine!<br /> +The clouds are rich and dark, the air serene,<br /> +So like the soul of me, what if’t were me?<br /> +A melancholy better than all mirth.<br /> +Comes the sweet sadness at the retrospect,<br /> +Or at the foresight of obscurer years?<br /> +Like yon slow-sailing cloudy promontory,<br /> +Whereon the purple iris dwells in beauty<br /> +Superior to all its gaudy skirts.<br /> +And, that no day of life may lack romance,<br /> +The spiritual stars rise nightly, shedding down<br /> +A private beam into each several heart.<br /> +Daily the bending skies solicit man,<br /> +The seasons chariot him from this exile,<br /> +The rainbow hours bedeck his glowing chair,<br /> +The storm-winds urge the heavy weeks along,<br /> +Suns haste to set, that so remoter lights<br /> +Beckon the wanderer to his vaster home.</p> +<p> With a vermilion pencil mark the day<br /> +When of our little fleet three cruising skiffs<br /> +Entering Big Tupper, bound for the foaming Falls<br /> +Of loud Bog River, suddenly confront<br /> +Two of our mates returning with swift oars.<br /> +One held a printed journal waving high<br /> +Caught from a late-arriving traveller,<br /> +Big with great news, and shouted the report<br /> +For which the world had waited, now firm fact,<br /> +Of the wire-cable laid beneath the sea,<br /> +And landed on our coast, and pulsating<br /> +With ductile fire. Loud, exulting cries<br /> +From boat to boat, and to the echoes round,<br /> +Greet the glad miracle. Thought’s new-found path<br /> +Shall supplement henceforth all trodden ways,<br /> +Match God’s equator with a zone of art,<br /> +And lift man’s public action to a height<br /> +Worthy the enormous clouds of witnesses,<br /> +When linkéd hemispheres attest his deed.<br /> +We have few moments in the longest life<br /> +Of such delight and wonder as there grew,—<br /> +Nor yet unsuited to that solitude:<br /> +A burst of joy, as if we told the fact<br /> +To ears intelligent; as if gray rock<br /> +And cedar grove and cliff and lake should know<br /> +This feat of wit, this triumph of mankind;<br /> +As if we men were talking in a vein<br /> +Of sympathy so large, that ours was theirs,<br /> +And a prime end of the most subtle element<br /> +Were fairly reached at last. Wake, echoing caves!<br /> +Bend nearer, faint day-moon! Yon thundertops,<br /> +Let them hear well! ’t is theirs as much as ours.</p> +<p> A spasm throbbing through the pedestals<br /> +Of Alp and Andes, isle and continent,<br /> +Urging astonished Chaos with a thrill<br /> +To be a brain, or serve the brain of man.<br /> +The lightning has run masterless too long;<br /> +He must to school, and learn his verb and noun,<br /> +And teach his nimbleness to earn his wage,<br /> +Spelling with guided tongue man’s messages<br /> +Shot through the weltering pit of the salt sea.<br /> +And yet I marked, even in the manly joy<br /> +Of our great-hearted Doctor in his boat,<br /> +(Perchance I erred,) a shade of discontent;<br /> +Or was it for mankind a generous shame,<br /> +As of a luck not quite legitimate,<br /> +Since fortune snatched from wit the lion’s part?<br /> +Was it a college pique of town and gown,<br /> +As one within whose memory it burned<br /> +That not academicians, but some lout,<br /> +Found ten years since the Californian gold?<br /> +And now, again, a hungry company<br /> +Of traders, led by corporate sons of trade,<br /> +Perversely borrowing from the shop the tools<br /> +Of science, not from the philosophers,<br /> +Had won the brightest laurel of all time.<br /> +’Twas always thus, and will be; hand and head<br /> +Are ever rivals: but, though this be swift,<br /> +The other slow,—this the Prometheus,<br /> +And that the Jove,—yet, howsoever hid,<br /> +It was from Jove the other stole his fire,<br /> +And, without Jove, the good had never been.<br /> +It is not Iroquois or cannibals,<br /> +But ever the free race with front sublime,<br /> +And these instructed by their wisest too,<br /> +Who do the feat, and lift humanity.<br /> +Let not him mourn who best entitled was,<br /> +Nay, mourn not one: let him exult,<br /> +Yea, plant the tree that bears best apples, plant,<br /> +And water it with wine, nor watch askance<br /> +Whether thy sons or strangers eat the fruit:<br /> +Enough that mankind eat, and are refreshed.</p> +<p> We flee away from cities, but we bring<br /> +The best of cities with us, these learned classifiers,<br /> +Men knowing what they seek, armed eyes of experts.<br /> +We praise the guide, we praise the forest life;<br /> +But will we sacrifice our dear-bought lore<br /> +Of books and arts and trained experiment,<br /> +Or count the Sioux a match for Agassiz?<br /> +O no, not we! Witness the shout that shook<br /> +Wild Tupper Lake; witness the mute all-hail<br /> +The joyful traveller gives, when on the verge<br /> +Of craggy Indian wilderness he hears<br /> +From a log-cabin stream Beethoven’s notes<br /> +On the piano, played with master’s hand.<br /> +‘Well done!’ he cries; ‘the bear is kept at bay,<br /> +The lynx, the rattlesnake, the flood, the fire;<br /> +All the fierce enemies, ague, hunger, cold,<br /> +This thin spruce roof, this clayed log-wall,<br /> +This wild plantation will suffice to chase.<br /> +Now speed the gay celerities of art,<br /> +What in the desert was impossible<br /> +Within four walls is possible again,—<br /> +Culture and libraries, mysteries of skill,<br /> +Traditioned fame of masters, eager strife<br /> +Of keen competing youths, joined or alone<br /> +To outdo each other, and extort applause.<br /> +Mind wakes a new-born giant from her sleep.<br /> +Twirl the old wheels? Time takes fresh start again<br /> +On for a thousand years of genius more.’</p> +<p> The holidays were fruitful, but must end;<br /> +One August evening had a cooler breath;<br /> +Into each mind intruding duties crept;<br /> +Under the cinders burned the fires of home;<br /> +Nay, letters found us in our paradise;<br /> +So in the gladness of the new event<br /> +We struck our camp, and left the happy hills.<br /> +The fortunate star that rose on us sank not;<br /> +The prodigal sunshine rested on the land,<br /> +The rivers gambolled onward to the sea,<br /> +And Nature, the inscrutable and mute,<br /> +Permitted on her infinite repose<br /> +Almost a smile to steal to cheer her sons,<br /> +As if one riddle of the Sphinx were guessed.</p> +<h2>OCCASIONAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.</h2> +<h3>BRAHMA.</h3> +<p>If the red slayer think he slays,<br /> + Or if the slain think he is slain,<br /> +They know well the subtle ways<br /> + I keep, and pass, and turn again.</p> +<p>Far or forgot to me is near;<br /> + Shadow and sunlight are the same;<br /> +The vanquished gods to me appear;<br /> + And one to me are shame and fame.</p> +<p>They reckon ill who leave me out;<br /> + When me they fly, I am the wings;<br /> +I am the doubter and the doubt,<br /> + And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.</p> +<p>The strong gods pine for my abode,<br /> + And pine in vain the sacred Seven;<br /> +But thou, meek lover of the good!<br /> + Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.</p> +<h3>NEMESIS.</h3> +<p> Already blushes in thy cheek<br /> +The bosom-thought which thou must speak;<br /> +The bird, how far it haply roam<br /> +By cloud or isle, is flying home;<br /> +The maiden fears, and fearing runs<br /> +Into the charmed snare she shuns;<br /> +And every man, in love or pride,<br /> +Of his fate is never wide.</p> +<p> Will a woman’s fan the ocean smooth?<br /> +Or prayers the stony Parcæ sooth,<br /> +Or coax the thunder from its mark?<br /> +Or tapers light the chaos dark?<br /> +In spite of Virtue and the Muse,<br /> +Nemesis will have her dues,<br /> +And all our struggles and our toils<br /> +Tighter wind the giant coils.</p> +<h3>FATE.</h3> +<p> Deep in the man sits fast his fate<br /> +To mould his fortunes mean or great:<br /> +Unknown to Cromwell as to me<br /> +Was Cromwell’s measure or degree;<br /> +Unknown to him, as to his horse,<br /> +If he than his groom be better or worse.<br /> +He works, plots, fights, in rude affairs,<br /> +With squires, lords, kings, his craft compares,<br /> +Till late he learned, through doubt and fear,<br /> +Broad England harboured not his peer:<br /> +Obeying Time, the last to own<br /> +The Genius from its cloudy throne.<br /> +For the prevision is allied<br /> +Unto the thing so signified;<br /> +Or say, the foresight that awaits<br /> +Is the same Genius that creates.</p> +<h3>FREEDOM.</h3> +<p> Once I wished I might rehearse<br /> +Freedom’s pæan in my verse,<br /> +That the slave who caught the strain<br /> +Should throb until he snapped his chain.<br /> +But the Spirit said, ‘Not so;<br /> +Speak it not, or speak it low;<br /> +Name not lightly to be said,<br /> +Gift too precious to be prayed,<br /> +Passion not to be expressed<br /> +But by heaving of the breast:<br /> +Yet,—wouldst thou the mountain find<br /> +Where this deity is shrined,<br /> +Who gives to seas and sunset skies<br /> +Their unspent beauty of surprise,<br /> +And, when it lists him, waken can<br /> +Brute or savage into man;<br /> +Or, if in thy heart he shine,<br /> +Blends the starry fates with thine,<br /> +Draws angels nigh to dwell with thee,<br /> +And makes thy thoughts archangels be;<br /> +Freedom’s secret wilt thou know?—<br /> +Counsel not with flesh and blood;<br /> +Loiter not for cloak or food;<br /> +Right thou feelest, rush to do.’</p> +<h3>ODE SUNG IN THE TOWN HALL, CONCORD, JULY 4, 1857.</h3> +<p>O tenderly the haughty day<br /> + Fills his blue urn with fire;<br /> +One morn is in the mighty heaven,<br /> + And one in our desire.</p> +<p>The cannon booms from town to town,<br /> + Our pulses are not less,<br /> +The joy-bells chime their tidings down,<br /> + Which children’s voices bless.</p> +<p>For He that flung the broad blue fold<br /> + O’er-mantling land and sea,<br /> +One third part of the sky unrolled<br /> + For the banner of the free.</p> +<p>The men are ripe of Saxon kind<br /> + To build an equal state,—<br /> +To take the statute from the mind,<br /> + And make of duty fate.</p> +<p>United States! the ages plead,—<br /> + Present and Past in under-song,—<br /> +Go put your creed into your deed,<br /> + Nor speak with double tongue.</p> +<p>For sea and land don’t understand,<br /> + Nor skies without a frown<br /> +See rights for which the one hand fights<br /> + By the other cloven down.</p> +<p>Be just at home; then write your scroll<br /> + Of honour o’er the sea,<br /> +And bid the broad Atlantic roll,<br /> + A ferry of the free.</p> +<p>And, henceforth, there shall be no chain,<br /> + Save underneath the sea<br /> +The wires shall murmur through the main<br /> + Sweet songs of LIBERTY.</p> +<p>The conscious stars accord above,<br /> + The waters wild below,<br /> +And under, through the cable wove,<br /> + Her fiery errands go.</p> +<p>For He that worketh high and wise,<br /> + Nor pauses in his plan,<br /> +Will take the sun out of the skies<br /> + Ere freedom out of man.</p> +<h3>BOSTON HYMN.</h3> +<p>READ IN MUSIC HALL, JANUARY 1, 1863.</p> +<p>The word of the Lord by night<br /> +To the watching Pilgrims came,<br /> +As they sat by the seaside,<br /> +And filled their hearts with flame.</p> +<p>God said, I am tired of kings,<br /> +I suffer them no more;<br /> +Up to my ear the morning brings<br /> +The outrage of the poor.</p> +<p>Think ye I made this ball<br /> +A field of havoc and war,<br /> +Where tyrants great and tyrants small<br /> +Might harry the weak and poor?</p> +<p>My angel, his name is Freedom,—<br /> +Choose him to be your king;<br /> +He shall cut pathways east and west,<br /> +And fend you with his wing.</p> +<p>Lo! I uncover the land<br /> +Which I hid of old time in the West,<br /> +As the sculptor uncovers the statue<br /> +When he has wrought his best;</p> +<p>I show Columbia, of the rocks<br /> +Which dip their foot in the seas,<br /> +And soar to the air-borne flocks<br /> +Of clouds, and the boreal fleece.</p> +<p>I will divide my goods;<br /> +Call in the wretch and slave:<br /> +None shall rule but the humble,<br /> +And none but Toil shall have.</p> +<p>I will have never a noble,<br /> +No lineage counted great;<br /> +Fishers and choppers and ploughmen<br /> +Shall constitute a state.</p> +<p>Go, cut down trees in the forest,<br /> +And trim the straightest boughs;<br /> +Cut down the trees in the forest,<br /> +And build me a wooden house.</p> +<p>Call the people together,<br /> +The young men and the sires,<br /> +The digger in the harvest field,<br /> +Hireling, and him that hires;</p> +<p>And here in a pine state-house<br /> +They shall choose men to rule<br /> +In every needful faculty,<br /> +In church, and state, and school.</p> +<p>Lo, now! if these poor men<br /> +Can govern the land and sea,<br /> +And make just laws below the sun,<br /> +As planets faithful be.</p> +<p>And ye shall succour men;<br /> +’T is nobleness to serve;<br /> +Help them who cannot help again:<br /> +Beware from right to swerve.</p> +<p>I break your bonds and masterships,<br /> +And I unchain the slave:<br /> +Free be his heart and hand henceforth<br /> +As wind and wandering wave.</p> +<p>I cause from every creature<br /> +His proper good to flow:<br /> +As much as he is and doeth,<br /> +So much he shall bestow.</p> +<p>But laying hands on another<br /> +To coin his labour and sweat,<br /> +He goes in pawn to his victim<br /> +For eternal years in debt.</p> +<p>To-day unbind the captive,<br /> +So only are ye unbound;<br /> +Lift up a people from the dust,<br /> +Trump of their rescue, sound!</p> +<p>Pay ransom to the owner,<br /> +And fill the bag to the brim.<br /> +Who is the owner? The slave is owner,<br /> +And ever was. Pay him.</p> +<p>O North! give him beauty for rags,<br /> +And honour, O South! for his shame;<br /> +Nevada! coin thy golden crags<br /> +With Freedom’s image and name.</p> +<p>Up! and the dusky race<br /> +That sat in darkness long,—<br /> +Be swift their feet as antelopes,<br /> +And as behemoth strong.</p> +<p>Come, East and West and North,<br /> +By races, as snow-flakes,<br /> +And carry my purpose forth,<br /> +Which neither halts nor shakes.</p> +<p>My will fulfilled shall be,<br /> +For, in daylight or in dark,<br /> +My thunderbolt has eyes to see<br /> +His way home to the mark.</p> +<h3>VOLUNTARIES.</h3> +<p>I.</p> +<p> Low and mournful be the strain,<br /> +Haughty thought be far from me;<br /> +Tones of penitence and pain,<br /> +Moanings of the tropic sea;<br /> +Low and tender in the cell<br /> +Where a captive sits in chains,<br /> +Crooning ditties treasured well<br /> +From his Afric’s torrid plains.<br /> +Sole estate his sire bequeathed—<br /> +Hapless sire to hapless son—<br /> +Was the wailing song he breathed,<br /> +And his chain when life was done.</p> +<p> What his fault, or what his crime?<br /> +Or what ill planet crossed his prime?<br /> +Heart too soft and will too weak<br /> +To front the fate that crouches near,—<br /> +Dove beneath the vulture’s beak;—<br /> +Will song dissuade the thirsty spear?<br /> +Dragged from his mother’s arms and breast,<br /> +Displaced, disfurnished here,<br /> +His wistful toil to do his best<br /> +Chilled by a ribald jeer.<br /> +Great men in the Senate sate,<br /> +Sage and hero, side by side,<br /> +Building for their sons the State,<br /> +Which they shall rule with pride.<br /> +They forbore to break the chain<br /> +Which bound the dusky tribe,<br /> +Checked by the owners’ fierce disdain,<br /> +Lured by “Union” as the bribe.<br /> +Destiny sat by, and said,<br /> +‘Pang for pang your seed shall pay,<br /> +Hide in false peace your coward head,<br /> +I bring round the harvest-day.’</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>Freedom all winged expands,<br /> +Nor perches in a narrow place;<br /> +Her broad van seeks unplanted lands;<br /> +She loves a poor and virtuous race.<br /> +Clinging to a colder zone<br /> +Whose dark sky sheds the snow-flake down,<br /> +The snow-flake is her banner’s star,<br /> +Her stripes the boreal streamers are.<br /> +Long she loved the Northman well:<br /> +Now the iron age is done,<br /> +She will not refuse to dwell<br /> +With the offspring of the Sun;<br /> +Foundling of the desert far,<br /> +Where palms plume, siroccos blaze,<br /> +He roves unhurt the burning ways<br /> +In climates of the summer star.<br /> +He has avenues to God<br /> +Hid from men of Northern brain,<br /> +Far beholding, without cloud,<br /> +What these with slowest steps attain.<br /> +If once the generous chief arrive<br /> +To lead him willing to be led,<br /> +For freedom he will strike and strive,<br /> +And drain his heart till he be dead.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>In an age of fops and toys,<br /> +Wanting wisdom, void of right,<br /> +Who shall nerve heroic boys<br /> +To hazard all in Freedom’s fight,—<br /> +Break sharply off their jolly games,<br /> +Forsake their comrades gay,<br /> +And quit proud homes and youthful dames,<br /> +For famine, toil, and fray?<br /> +Yet on the nimble air benign<br /> +Speed nimbler messages,<br /> +That waft the breath of grace divine<br /> +To hearts in sloth and ease.<br /> +So nigh is grandeur to our dust,<br /> +So near is God to man,<br /> +When Duty whispers low, <i>Thou must</i>,<br /> +The youth replies, <i>I can</i>.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>O, well for the fortunate soul<br /> +Which Music’s wings infold,<br /> +Stealing away the memory<br /> +Of sorrows new and old!<br /> +Yet happier he whose inward sight,<br /> +Stayed on his subtile thought,<br /> +Shuts his sense on toys of time,<br /> +To vacant bosoms brought.<br /> +But best befriended of the God<br /> +He who, in evil times,<br /> +Warned by an inward voice,<br /> +Heeds not the darkness and the dread,<br /> +Biding by his rule and choice,<br /> +Feeling only the fiery thread<br /> +Leading over heroic ground,<br /> +Walled with mortal terror round,<br /> +To the aim which him allures,<br /> +And the sweet heaven his deed secures.</p> +<p>Stainless soldier on the walls,<br /> +Knowing this,—and knows no more,—<br /> +Whoever fights, whoever falls,<br /> +Justice conquers evermore, Justice after as before,—<br /> +And he who battles on her side,<br /> +God, though he were ten times slain,<br /> +Crowns him victor glorified,<br /> +Victor over death and pain;<br /> +Forever: but his erring foe,<br /> +Self-assured that he prevails,<br /> +Looks from his victim lying low,<br /> +And sees aloft the red right arm<br /> +Redress the eternal scales.<br /> +He, the poor foe, whom angels foil,<br /> +Blind with pride, and fooled by hate,<br /> +Writhes within the dragon coil,<br /> +Reserved to a speechless fate.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>Blooms the laurel which belongs<br /> +To the valiant chief who fights;<br /> +I see the wreath, I hear the songs<br /> +Lauding the Eternal Rights,<br /> +Victors over daily wrongs:<br /> +Awful victors, they misguide<br /> +Whom they will destroy,<br /> +And their coming triumph hide<br /> +In our downfall, or our joy:<br /> +They reach no term, they never sleep,<br /> +In equal strength through space abide;<br /> +Though, feigning dwarfs, they crouch and creep,<br /> +The strong they slay, the swift outstride:<br /> +Fate’s grass grows rank in valley clods,<br /> +And rankly on the castled steep,—<br /> +Speak it firmly, these are gods,<br /> +All are ghosts beside.</p> +<h3>LOVE AND THOUGHT.</h3> +<p>Two well-assorted travellers use<br /> +The highway, Eros and the Muse.<br /> +From the twins is nothing hidden,<br /> +To the pair is naught forbidden;<br /> +Hand in hand the comrades go<br /> +Every nook of nature through:<br /> +Each for other they were born,<br /> +Each can other best adorn;<br /> +They know one only mortal grief<br /> +Past all balsam or relief,<br /> +When, by false companions crossed,<br /> +The pilgrims have each other lost.</p> +<h3>LOVER’S PETITION.</h3> +<p>Good Heart, that ownest all!<br /> +I ask a modest boon and small:<br /> +Not of lands and towns the gift,—<br /> +Too large a load for me to lift,—<br /> +But for one proper creature,<br /> +Which geographic eye,<br /> +Sweeping the map of Western earth,<br /> +Or the Atlantic coast, from Maine<br /> +To Powhatan’s domain,<br /> +Could not descry.<br /> +Is’t much to ask in all thy huge creation,<br /> +So trivial a part,—<br /> +A solitary heart?</p> +<p>Yet count me not of spirit mean,<br /> +Or mine a mean demand,<br /> +For ’t is the concentration<br /> +And worth of all the land,<br /> +The sister of the sea,<br /> +The daughter of the strand,<br /> +Composed of air and light,<br /> +And of the swart earth-might.<br /> +So little to thy poet’s prayer<br /> +Thy large bounty well can spare.<br /> +And yet I think, if she were gone,<br /> +The world were better left alone.</p> +<h3>UNA.</h3> +<p>Roving, roving, as it seems,<br /> +Una lights my clouded dreams;<br /> +Still for journeys she is dressed;<br /> +We wander far by east and west.</p> +<p>In the homestead, homely thought;<br /> +At my work I ramble not;<br /> +If from home chance draw me wide,<br /> +Half-seen Una sits beside.</p> +<p>In my house and garden-plot,<br /> +Though beloved, I miss her not;<br /> +But one I seek in foreign places,<br /> +One face explore in foreign faces.</p> +<p>At home a deeper thought may light<br /> +The inward sky with chrysolite,<br /> +And I greet from far the ray,<br /> +Aurora of a dearer day.</p> +<p>But if upon the seas I sail,<br /> +Or trundle on the glowing rail,<br /> +I am but a thought of hers,<br /> +Loveliest of travellers.</p> +<p>So the gentle poet’s name<br /> +To foreign parts is blown by fame;<br /> +Seek him in his native town,<br /> +He is hidden and unknown.</p> +<h3>LETTERS.</h3> +<p>Every day brings a ship,<br /> +Every ship brings a word;<br /> +Well for those who have no fear,<br /> +Looking seaward well assured<br /> +That the word the vessel brings<br /> +Is the word they wish to hear.</p> +<h3>RUBIES.</h3> +<p>They brought me rubies from the mine,<br /> + And held them to the sun;<br /> +I said, they are drops of frozen wine<br /> + From Eden’s vats that run.</p> +<p>I looked again,—I thought them hearts<br /> + Of friends to friends unknown;<br /> +Tides that should warm each neighbouring life<br /> + Are locked in sparkling stone.</p> +<p>But fire to thaw that ruddy snow,<br /> + To break enchanted ice,<br /> +And give love’s scarlet tides to flow,—<br /> + When shall that sun arise?</p> +<h3>MERLIN’S SONG.</h3> +<p>Of Merlin wise I learned a song,—<br /> +Sing it low or sing it loud,<br /> +It is mightier than the strong,<br /> +And punishes the proud.<br /> +I sing it to the surging crowd,—<br /> +Good men it will calm and cheer,<br /> +Bad men it will chain and cage.<br /> +In the heart of the music peals a strain<br /> +Which only angels hear;<br /> +Whether it waken joy or rage,<br /> +Hushed myriads hark in vain,<br /> +Yet they who hear it shed their age,<br /> +And take their youth again.</p> +<h3>THE TEST. (Musa loquitur.)</h3> +<p>I hung my verses in the wind,<br /> +Time and tide their faults may find.<br /> +All were winnowed through and through,<br /> +Five lines lasted sound and true;<br /> +Five were smelted in a pot<br /> +Than the South more fierce and hot;<br /> +These the siroc could not melt,<br /> +Fire their fiercer flaming felt,<br /> +And the meaning was more white<br /> +Than July’s meridian light.<br /> +Sunshine cannot bleach the snow,<br /> +Nor time unmake what poets know.<br /> +Have you eyes to find the five<br /> +Which five hundred did survive?</p> +<h3>SOLUTION.</h3> +<p> I am the Muse who sung alway<br /> +By Jove, at dawn of the first day.<br /> +Star-crowned, sole-sitting, long I wrought<br /> +To fire the stagnant earth with thought:<br /> +On spawning slime my song prevails,<br /> +Wolves shed their fangs, and dragons scales;<br /> +Flushed in the sky the sweet May-morn,<br /> +Earth smiled with flowers, and man was born.<br /> +Then Asia yeaned her shepherd race,<br /> +And Nile substructs her granite base,—<br /> +Tented Tartary, columned Nile,—<br /> +And, under vines, on rocky isle,<br /> +Or on wind-blown sea-marge bleak,<br /> +Forward stepped the perfect Greek:<br /> +That wit and joy might find a tongue,<br /> +And earth grow civil, HOMER Sung.</p> +<p> Flown to Italy from Greece,<br /> +I brooded long, and held my peace,<br /> +For I am wont to sing uncalled,<br /> +And in days of evil plight<br /> +Unlock doors of new delight;<br /> +And sometimes mankind I appalled<br /> +With a bitter horoscope,<br /> +With spasms of terror for balm of hope.<br /> +Then by better thought I lead<br /> +Bards to speak what nations need;<br /> +So I folded me in fears,<br /> +And DANTE searched the triple spheres,<br /> +Moulding nature at his will,<br /> +So shaped, so coloured, swift or still,<br /> +And, sculptor-like, his large design<br /> +Etched on Alp and Apennine.</p> +<p> Seethed in mists of Penmanmaur,<br /> +Taught by Plinlimmon’s Druid power,<br /> +England’s genius filled all measure<br /> +Of heart and soul, of strength and pleasure,<br /> +Gave to the mind its emperor,<br /> +And life was larger than before:<br /> +Nor sequent centuries could hit<br /> +Orbit and sum of SHAKSPEARE’s wit.<br /> +The men who lived with him became<br /> +Poets, for the air was fame.</p> +<p> Far in the North, where polar night<br /> +Holds in check the frolic light,<br /> +In trance upborne past mortal goal<br /> +The Swede EMANUEL leads the soul.<br /> +Through snows above, mines underground,<br /> +The inks of Erebus he found;<br /> +Rehearsed to men the damned wails<br /> +On which the seraph music sails,<br /> +In spirit-worlds he trod alone,<br /> +But walked the earth unmarked, unknown.<br /> +The near by-stander caught no sound,—<br /> +Yet they who listened far aloof<br /> +Heard rendings of the skyey roof,<br /> +And felt, beneath, the quaking ground;<br /> +And his air-sown, unheeded words,<br /> +In the next age, are flaming swords.</p> +<p> In newer days of war and trade,<br /> +Romance forgot, and faith decayed,<br /> +When Science armed and guided war,<br /> +And clerks the Janus-gates unbar,<br /> +When France, where poet never grew,<br /> +Halved and dealt the globe anew,<br /> +GOETHE, raised o’er joy and strife,<br /> +Drew the firm lines of Fate and Life,<br /> +And brought Olympian wisdom down<br /> +To court and mart, to gown and town,<br /> +Stooping, his finger wrote in clay<br /> +The open secret of to-day.</p> +<p> So bloom the unfading petals five,<br /> +And verses that all verse outlive.</p> +<h2>NATURE AND LIFE.</h2> +<h3>NATURE.</h3> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Winters know<br /> +Easily to shed the snow,<br /> +And the untaught Spring is wise<br /> +In cowslips and anemonies.<br /> +Nature, hating art and pains,<br /> +Baulks and baffles plotting brains;<br /> +Casualty and Surprise<br /> +Are the apples of her eyes;<br /> +But she dearly loves the poor,<br /> +And, by marvel of her own,<br /> +Strikes the loud pretender down.</p> +<p>For Nature listens in the rose,<br /> +And hearkens in the berry’s bell,<br /> +To help her friends, to plague her foes,<br /> +And like wise God she judges well.<br /> +Yet doth much her love excel<br /> +To the souls that never fell,<br /> +To swains that live in happiness,<br /> +And do well because they please,<br /> +Who walk in ways that are unfamed,<br /> +And feats achieve before they’re named.</p> +<h3>NATURE.</h3> +<p>II.</p> +<p>She is gamesome and good,<br /> +But of mutable mood,—<br /> +No dreary repeater now and again,<br /> +She will be all things to all men.<br /> +She who is old, but nowise feeble,<br /> +Pours her power into the people,<br /> +Merry and manifold without bar,<br /> +Makes and moulds them what they are,<br /> +And what they call their city way<br /> +Is not their way, but hers,<br /> +And what they say they made to-day,<br /> +They learned of the oaks and firs.<br /> +She spawneth men as mallows fresh,<br /> +Hero and maiden, flesh of her flesh;<br /> +She drugs her water and her wheat<br /> +With the flavours she finds meet,<br /> +And gives them what to drink and eat;<br /> +And having thus their bread and growth,<br /> +They do her bidding, nothing loath.<br /> +What’s most theirs is not their own,<br /> +But borrowed in atoms from iron and stone,<br /> +And in their vaunted works of Art<br /> +The master-stroke is still her part.</p> +<h3>THE ROMANY GIRL.</h3> +<p>The sun goes down, and with him takes<br /> +The coarseness of my poor attire;<br /> +The fair moon mounts, and aye the flame<br /> +Of Gypsy beauty blazes higher.</p> +<p>Pale Northern girls! you scorn our race;<br /> +You captives of your air-tight halls,<br /> +Wear out in-doors your sickly days,<br /> +But leave us the horizon walls.</p> +<p>And if I take you, dames, to task,<br /> +And say it frankly without guile,<br /> +Then you are Gypsies in a mask,<br /> +And I the lady all the while.</p> +<p>If, on the heath, below the moon,<br /> +I court and play with paler blood,<br /> +Me false to mine dare whisper none,—<br /> +One sallow horseman knows me good.</p> +<p>Go, keep your cheek’s rose from the rain,<br /> +For teeth and hair with shopmen deal;<br /> +My swarthy tint is in the grain,<br /> +The rocks and forest know it real.</p> +<p>The wild air bloweth in our lungs,<br /> +The keen stars twinkle in our eyes,<br /> +The birds gave us our wily tongues,<br /> +The panther in our dances flies.</p> +<p>You doubt we read the stars on high,<br /> +Nathless we read your fortunes true;<br /> +The stars may hide in the upper sky,<br /> +But without glass we fathom you.</p> +<h3>DAYS.</h3> +<p>Damsels of Time, the hypocritic Days,<br /> +Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,<br /> +And marching single in an endless file,<br /> +Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.<br /> +To each they offer gifts after his will,<br /> +Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.<br /> +I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp,<br /> +Forgot my morning wishes, hastily<br /> +Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day<br /> +Turned and departed silent. I, too late,<br /> +Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.</p> +<h3>THE CHARTIST’S COMPLAINT.</h3> +<p>Day! hast thou two faces,<br /> +Making one place two places?<br /> +One, by humble farmer seen,<br /> +Chill and wet, unlighted, mean,<br /> +Useful only, triste and damp,<br /> +Serving for a labourer’s lamp?<br /> +Have the same mists another side,<br /> +To be the appanage of pride,<br /> +Gracing the rich man’s wood and lake,<br /> +His park where amber mornings break,<br /> +And treacherously bright to show<br /> +His planted isle where roses glow?<br /> +O Day! and is your mightiness<br /> +A sycophant to smug success?<br /> +Will the sweet sky and ocean broad<br /> +Be fine accomplices to fraud?<br /> +O Sun! I curse thy cruel ray:<br /> +Back, back to chaos, harlot Day!</p> +<h3>MY GARDEN.</h3> +<p>If I could put my woods in song,<br /> +And tell what’s there enjoyed,<br /> +All men would to my gardens throng,<br /> +And leave the cities void.</p> +<p>In my plot no tulips blow,—<br /> +Snow-loving pines and oaks instead;<br /> +And rank the savage maples grow<br /> +From spring’s faint flush to autumn red.</p> +<p>My garden is a forest ledge<br /> +Which older forests bound;<br /> +The banks slope down to the blue lake-edge,<br /> +Then plunge to depths profound.</p> +<p>Here once the Deluge ploughed,<br /> +Laid the terraces, one by one;<br /> +Ebbing later whence it flowed,<br /> +They bleach and dry in the sun.</p> +<p>The sowers made haste to depart,—<br /> +The wind and the birds which sowed it;<br /> +Not for fame, nor by rules of art,<br /> +Planted these, and tempests flowed it.</p> +<p>Waters that wash my garden side<br /> +Play not in Nature’s lawful web,<br /> +They heed not moon or solar tide,—<br /> +Five years elapse from flood to ebb.</p> +<p>Hither hasted, in old time, Jove,<br /> +And every god,—none did refuse;<br /> +And be sure at last came Love,<br /> +And after Love, the Muse.</p> +<p>Keen ears can catch a syllable,<br /> +As if one spake to another,<br /> +In the hemlocks tall, untameable,<br /> +And what the whispering grasses smother.</p> +<p>Æolian harps in the pine<br /> +Ring with the song of the Fates;<br /> +Infant Bacchus in the vine,—<br /> +Far distant yet his chorus waits.</p> +<p>Cast thou copy in verse one chime<br /> +Of the wood-bell’s peal and cry,<br /> +Write in a book the morning’s prime,<br /> +Or match with words that tender sky?</p> +<p>Wonderful verse of the gods,<br /> +Of one import, of varied tone;<br /> +They chant the bliss of their abodes<br /> +To man imprisoned in his own.</p> +<p>Ever the words of the gods resound;<br /> +But the porches of man’s ear<br /> +Seldom in this low life’s round<br /> +Are unsealed, that he may hear.</p> +<p>Wandering voices in the air,<br /> +And murmurs in the wold,<br /> +Speak what I cannot declare,<br /> +Yet cannot all withhold.</p> +<p>When the shadow fell on the lake,<br /> +The whirlwind in ripples wrote<br /> +Air-bells of fortune that shine and break,<br /> +And omens above thought.</p> +<p>But the meanings cleave to the lake,<br /> +Cannot be carried in book or urn;<br /> +Go thy ways now, come later back,<br /> +On waves and hedges still they burn.</p> +<p>These the fates of men forecast,<br /> +Of better men than live to-day;<br /> +If who can read them comes at last,<br /> +He will spell in the sculpture, ‘Stay!’</p> +<h3>THE TITMOUSE.</h3> +<p> You shall not be overbold<br /> +When you deal with arctic cold,<br /> +As late I found my lukewarm blood<br /> +Chilled wading in the snow-choked wood.<br /> +How should I fight? my foeman fine<br /> +Has million arms to one of mine:<br /> +East, west, for aid I looked in vain,<br /> +East, west, north, south, are his domain.<br /> +Miles off, three dangerous miles, is home;<br /> +Must borrow his winds who there would come.<br /> +Up and away for life! be fleet!—<br /> +The frost-king ties my fumbling feet,<br /> +Sings in my ears, my hands are stones,<br /> +Curdles the blood to the marble bones,<br /> +Tugs at the heart-strings, numbs the sense,<br /> +And hems in life with narrowing fence.<br /> +Well, in this broad bed lie and sleep,<br /> +The punctual stars will vigil keep,<br /> +Embalmed by purifying cold,<br /> +The winds shall sing their dead-march old,<br /> +The snow is no ignoble shroud,<br /> +The moon thy mourner, and the cloud.</p> +<p> Softly,—but this way fate was pointing,<br /> +’T was coming fast to such anointing,<br /> +When piped a tiny voice hard by,<br /> +Gay and polite a cheerful cry,<br /> +<i>Chic-chicadeedee</i>! saucy note<br /> +Out of sound heart and merry throat,<br /> +As if it said, ‘Good day, good sir!<br /> +Fine afternoon, old passenger!<br /> +Happy to meet you in these places,<br /> +Where January brings few faces.’</p> +<p> This poet, though he live apart,<br /> +Moved by his hospitable heart,<br /> +Sped, when I passed his sylvan fort,<br /> +To do the honours of his court,<br /> +As fits a feathered lord of land;<br /> +Flew near, with soft wing grazed my hand,<br /> +Hopped on the bough, then, darting low,<br /> +Prints his small impress on the snow,<br /> +Shows feats of his gymnastic play,<br /> +Head downward, clinging to the spray.</p> +<p> Here was this atom in full breath,<br /> +Hurling defiance at vast death;<br /> +This scrap of valour just for play<br /> +Fronts the north-wind in waistcoat gray,<br /> +As if to shame my weak behaviour;<br /> +I greeted loud my little saviour,<br /> +‘You pet! what dost here? and what for?<br /> +In these woods, thy small Labrador,<br /> +At this pinch, wee San Salvador!<br /> +What fire burns in that little chest<br /> +So frolic, stout, and self-possest?<br /> +Henceforth I wear no stripe but thine;<br /> +Ashes and jet all hues outshine.<br /> +Why are not diamonds black and gray,<br /> +To ape thy dare-devil array?<br /> +And I affirm, the spacious North<br /> +Exists to draw thy virtue forth.<br /> +I think no virtue goes with size;<br /> +The reason of all cowardice<br /> +Is, that men are overgrown,<br /> +And, to be valiant, must come down<br /> +To the titmouse dimension.’</p> +<p> ’T is good-will makes intelligence,<br /> +And I began to catch the sense<br /> +Of my bird’s song: ‘Live out of doors,<br /> +In the great woods, on prairie floors.<br /> +I dine in the sun; when he sinks in the sea,<br /> +I too have a hole in a hollow tree;<br /> +And I like less when Summer beats<br /> +With stifling beams on these retreats,<br /> +Than noontide twilights which snow makes<br /> +With tempest of the blinding flakes.<br /> +For well the soul, if stout within,<br /> +Can arm impregnably the skin;<br /> +And polar frost my frame defied,<br /> +Made of the air that blows outside.’</p> +<p> With glad remembrance of my debt,<br /> +I homeward turn; farewell, my pet!<br /> +When here again thy pilgrim comes,<br /> +He shall bring store of seeds and crumbs.<br /> +Doubt not, so long as earth has bread,<br /> +Thou first and foremost shalt be fed;<br /> +The Providence that is most large<br /> +Takes hearts like thine in special charge,<br /> +Helps who for their own need are strong,<br /> +And the sky dotes on cheerful song.<br /> +Henceforth I prize thy wiry chant<br /> +O’er all that mass and minster vaunt;<br /> +For men mis-hear thy call in spring,<br /> +As ’t would accost some frivolous wing;<br /> +Crying out of the hazel copse, <i>Phe-be</i>!<br /> +And, in winter, <i>Chic-a-dee-dee</i>!<br /> +I think old Cæsar must have heard<br /> +In northern Gaul my dauntless bird,<br /> +And, echoed in some frosty wold,<br /> +Borrowed thy battle-numbers bold.<br /> +And I will write our annals new,<br /> +And thank thee for a better clew,<br /> +I, who dreamed not when I came here<br /> +To find the antidote of fear,<br /> +Now hear thee say in Roman key,<br /> +<i>Pæan! Veni, vidi, vici</i>.</p> +<h3>SEA-SHORE.</h3> +<p> I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea<br /> +Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come?<br /> +Am I not always here, thy summer home?<br /> +Is not my voice thy music, morn and eve?<br /> +My breath thy healthful climate in the heats,<br /> +My touch thy antidote, my bay thy bath?<br /> +Was ever building like my terraces?<br /> +Was ever couch magnificent as mine?<br /> +Lie on the warm rock-ledges, and there learn<br /> +A little hut suffices like a town.<br /> +I make your sculptured architecture vain,<br /> +Vain beside mine. I drive my wedges home,<br /> +And carve the coastwise mountain into caves.<br /> +Lo! here is Rome, and Nineveh, and Thebes,<br /> +Karnak, and Pyramid, and Giant’s Stairs,<br /> +Half piled or prostrate; and my newest slab<br /> +Older than all thy race.</p> +<p> Behold +the Sea,<br /> +The opaline, the plentiful and strong,<br /> +Yet beautiful as is the rose in June,<br /> +Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July;<br /> +Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds,<br /> +Purger of earth, and medicine of men;<br /> +Creating a sweet climate by my breath,<br /> +Washing out harms and griefs from memory,<br /> +And, in my mathematic ebb and flow,<br /> +Giving a hint of that which changes not.<br /> +Rich are the sea-gods:—who gives gifts but they?<br /> +They grope the sea for pearls, but more than pearls:<br /> +They pluck Force thence, and give it to the wise.<br /> +For every wave is wealth to Dædalus,<br /> +Wealth to the cunning artist who can work<br /> +This matchless strength. Where shall he find, O waves!<br /> +A load your Atlas shoulders cannot lift?</p> +<p> I with my hammer pounding evermore<br /> +The rocky coast, smite Andes into dust,<br /> +Strewing my bed, and, in another age,<br /> +Rebuild a continent of better men.<br /> +Then I unbar the doors: my paths lead out<br /> +The exodus of nations: I disperse<br /> +Men to all shores that front the hoary main.</p> +<p> I too have arts and sorceries;<br /> +Illusion dwells forever with the wave.<br /> +I know what spells are laid. Leave me to deal<br /> +With credulous and imaginative man;<br /> +For, though he scoop my water in his palm,<br /> +A few rods off he deems it gems and clouds.<br /> +Planting strange fruits and sunshine on the shore,<br /> +I make some coast alluring, some lone isle,<br /> +To distant men, who must go there, or die.</p> +<h3>SONG OF NATURE.</h3> +<p>Mine are the night and morning,<br /> +The pits of air, the gulf of space,<br /> +The sportive sun, the gibbous moon,<br /> +The innumerable days.</p> +<p>I hide in the solar glory,<br /> +I am dumb in the pealing song,<br /> +I rest on the pitch of the torrent,<br /> +In slumber I am strong.</p> +<p>No numbers have counted my tallies,<br /> +No tribes my house can fill,<br /> +I sit by the shining Fount of Life,<br /> +And pour the deluge still;</p> +<p>And ever by delicate powers<br /> +Gathering along the centuries<br /> +From race on race the rarest flowers,<br /> +My wreath shall nothing miss.</p> +<p>And many a thousand summers<br /> +My apples ripened well,<br /> +And light from meliorating stars<br /> +With firmer glory fell.</p> +<p>I wrote the past in characters<br /> +Of rock and fire the scroll,<br /> +The building in the coral sea,<br /> +The planting of the coal.</p> +<p>And thefts from satellites and rings<br /> +And broken stars I drew,<br /> +And out of spent and aged things<br /> +I formed the world anew;</p> +<p>What time the gods kept carnival,<br /> +Tricked out in star and flower,<br /> +And in cramp elf and saurian forms<br /> +They swathed their too much power.</p> +<p>Time and thought were my surveyors,<br /> +They laid their courses well,<br /> +They boiled the sea, and baked the layers<br /> +Of granite, marl, and shell.</p> +<p>But he, the man-child glorious,—<br /> +Where tarries he the while?<br /> +The rainbow shines his harbinger,<br /> +The sunset gleams his smile.</p> +<p>My boreal lights leap upward,<br /> +Forthright my planets roll,<br /> +And still the man-child is not born,<br /> +The summit of the whole.</p> +<p>Must time and tide for ever run?<br /> +Will never my winds go sleep in the west?<br /> +Will never my wheels which whirl the sun<br /> +And satellites have rest?</p> +<p>Too much of donning and doffing,<br /> +Too slow the rainbow fades,<br /> +I weary of my robe of snow,<br /> +My leaves and my cascades;</p> +<p>I tire of globes and races,<br /> +Too long the game is played;<br /> +What without him is summer’s pomp,<br /> +Or winter’s frozen shade?</p> +<p>I travail in pain for him,<br /> +My creatures travail and wait;<br /> +His couriers come by squadrons,<br /> +He comes not to the gate.</p> +<p>Twice I have moulded an image,<br /> +And thrice outstretched my hand,<br /> +Made one of day, and one of night,<br /> +And one of the salt sea-sand.</p> +<p>One in a Judæan manger,<br /> +And one by Avon stream,<br /> +One over against the mouths of Nile,<br /> +And one in the Academe.</p> +<p>I moulded kings and saviours,<br /> +And bards o’er kings to rule;—<br /> +But fell the starry influence short,<br /> +The cup was never full.</p> +<p>Yet whirl the glowing wheels once more,<br /> +And mix the bowl again;<br /> +Seethe, Fate! the ancient elements,<br /> +Heat, cold, wet, dry, and peace, and pain.</p> +<p>Let war and trade and creeds and song<br /> +Blend, ripen race on race,<br /> +The sunburnt world a man shall breed<br /> +Of all the zones, and countless days.</p> +<p>No ray is dimmed, no atom worn,<br /> +My oldest force is good as new,<br /> +And the fresh rose on yonder thorn<br /> +Gives back the bending heavens in dew.</p> +<h3>TWO RIVERS.</h3> +<p>Thy summer voice, Musketaquit,<br /> +Repeats the music of the rain;<br /> +But sweeter rivers pulsing flit<br /> +Through thee, as thou through Concord Plain.</p> +<p>Thou in thy narrow banks are pent:<br /> +The stream I love unbounded goes<br /> +Through flood and sea and firmament;<br /> +Through light, through life, it forward flows.</p> +<p>I see the inundation sweet,<br /> +I hear the spending of the stream<br /> +Through years, through men, through nature fleet,<br /> +Through passion, thought, through power and dream.</p> +<p>Musketaquit, a goblin strong,<br /> +Of shard and flint makes jewels gay;<br /> +They lose their grief who hear his song,<br /> +And where he winds is the day of day.</p> +<p>So forth and brighter fares my stream,—<br /> +Who drinks it shall not thirst again;<br /> +No darkness stains its equal gleam,<br /> +And ages drop in it like rain.</p> +<h3>WALDEINSAMKEIT.</h3> +<p>I do not count the hours I spend<br /> +In wandering by the sea;<br /> +The forest is my loyal friend,<br /> +Like God it useth me.</p> +<p>In plains that room for shadows make<br /> +Of skirting hills to lie,<br /> +Bound in by streams which give and take<br /> +Their colours from the sky;</p> +<p>Or on the mountain-crest sublime,<br /> +Or down the oaken glade,<br /> +O what have I to do with time?<br /> +For this the day was made.</p> +<p>Cities of mortals woe begone<br /> +Fantastic care derides,<br /> +But in the serious landscape lone<br /> +Stern benefit abides.</p> +<p>Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy,<br /> +And merry is only a mask of sad,<br /> +But, sober on a fund of joy,<br /> +The woods at heart are glad.</p> +<p>There the great Planter plants<br /> +Of fruitful worlds the grain,<br /> +And with a million spells enchants<br /> +The souls that walk in pain.</p> +<p>Still on the seeds of all he made<br /> +The rose of beauty burns;<br /> +Through times that wear, and forms that fade,<br /> +Immortal youth returns.</p> +<p>The black ducks mounting from the lake,<br /> +The pigeon in the pines,<br /> +The bittern’s boom, a desert make<br /> +Which no false art refines.</p> +<p>Down in yon watery nook,<br /> +Where bearded mists divide,<br /> +The gray old gods whom Chaos knew,<br /> +The sires of Nature, hide.</p> +<p>Aloft, in secret veins of air,<br /> +Blows the sweet breath of song,<br /> +O, few to scale those uplands dare,<br /> +Though they to all belong!</p> +<p>See thou bring not to field or stone<br /> +The fancies found in books;<br /> +Leave authors’ eyes, and fetch your own,<br /> +To brave the landscape’s looks.</p> +<p>And if, amid this dear delight,<br /> +My thoughts did home rebound,<br /> +I well might reckon it a slight<br /> +To the high cheer I found.</p> +<p>Oblivion here thy wisdom is,<br /> +Thy thrift, the sleep of cares;<br /> +For a proud idleness like this<br /> +Crowns all thy mean affairs.</p> +<h3>TERMINUS.</h3> +<p>It is time to be old,<br /> +To take in sail:—<br /> +The god of bounds,<br /> +Who sets to seas a shore,<br /> +Came to me in his fatal rounds,<br /> +And said: ‘No more!<br /> +No farther spread<br /> +Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root.<br /> +Fancy departs: no more invent,<br /> +Contract thy firmament<br /> +To compass of a tent.<br /> +There’s not enough for this and that,<br /> +Make thy option which of two;<br /> +Economize the failing river,<br /> +Not the less revere the Giver,<br /> +Leave the many and hold the few.<br /> +Timely wise accept the terms,<br /> +Soften the fall with wary foot;<br /> +A little while<br /> +Still plan and smile,<br /> +And, fault of novel germs,<br /> +Mature the unfallen fruit.<br /> +Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires,<br /> +Bad husbands of their fires,<br /> +Who, when they gave thee breath,<br /> +Failed to bequeath<br /> +The needful sinew stark as once,<br /> +The Baresark marrow to thy bones,<br /> +But left a legacy of ebbing veins,<br /> +Inconstant heat and nerveless reins,—<br /> +Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb,<br /> +Amid the gladiators, halt and numb.’<br /> +As the bird trims her to the gale,<br /> +I trim myself to the storm of time,<br /> +I man the rudder, reef the sail,<br /> +Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime:<br /> +‘Lowly faithful, banish fear,<br /> +Right onward drive unarmed;<br /> +The port, well worth the cruise, is near,<br /> +And every wave is charmed.’</p> +<h3>THE PAST.</h3> +<p>The debt is paid,<br /> +The verdict said,<br /> +The Furies laid,<br /> +The plague is stayed,<br /> +All fortunes made;<br /> +Turn the key and bolt the door,<br /> +Sweet is death forevermore.<br /> +Nor haughty hope, nor swart chagrin,<br /> +Nor murdering hate, can enter in.<br /> +All is now secure and fast;<br /> +Not the gods can shake the Past;<br /> +Flies to the adamantine door<br /> +Bolted down forevermore.</p> +<p>None can re-enter there,<br /> +No thief so politic,<br /> +No Satan with a royal trick<br /> +Steal in by window, chink, or hole,<br /> +To bind or unbind, add what lacked,<br /> +Insert a leaf, or forge a name,<br /> +New-face or finish what is packed,<br /> +Alter or mend eternal Fact.</p> +<h3>THE LAST FAREWELL.</h3> +<p>LINES WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR’S BROTHER, EDWARD BLISS EMERSON, +WHILST SAILING OUT OF BOSTON HARBOUR, BOUND FOR THE ISLAND OF PORTO +RICO, IN 1832.</p> +<p>Farewell, ye lofty spires<br /> +That cheered the holy light!<br /> +Farewell, domestic fires<br /> +That broke the gloom of night!<br /> +Too soon those spires are lost,<br /> +Too fast we leave the bay,<br /> +Too soon by ocean tost<br /> +From hearth and home away,<br /> + +Far away, far away.</p> +<p>Farewell the busy town,<br /> +The wealthy and the wise,<br /> +Kind smile and honest frown<br /> +From bright, familiar eyes.<br /> +All these are fading now;<br /> +Our brig hastes on her way,<br /> +Her unremembering prow<br /> +Is leaping o’er the sea,<br /> + +Far away, far away.</p> +<p>Farewell, my mother fond,<br /> +Too kind, too good to me;<br /> +Nor pearl nor diamond<br /> +Would pay my debt to thee.<br /> +But even thy kiss denies<br /> +Upon my cheek to stay;<br /> +The winged vessel flies,<br /> +And billows round her play,<br /> + +Far away, far away.</p> +<p>Farewell, my brothers true,<br /> +My betters, yet my peers;<br /> +How desert without you<br /> +My few and evil years!<br /> +But though aye one in heart,<br /> +Together sad or gay,<br /> +Rude ocean doth us part;<br /> +We separate to-day,<br /> + +Far away, far away.</p> +<p>Farewell I breathe again<br /> +To dim New England’s shore;<br /> +My heart shall beat not when<br /> +I pant for thee no more.<br /> +In yon green palmy isle,<br /> +Beneath the tropic ray,<br /> +I murmur never while<br /> +For thee and thine I pray;<br /> + +Far away, far away.</p> +<h3>IN MEMORIAM.</h3> +<p>E. B. E.</p> +<p> I mourn upon this battle-field,<br /> +But not for those who perished here.<br /> +Behold the river-bank<br /> +Whither the angry farmers came,<br /> +In sloven dress and broken rank,<br /> +Nor thought of fame.<br /> +Their deed of blood<br /> +All mankind praise;<br /> +Even the serene Reason says,<br /> +It was well done.<br /> +The wise and simple have one glance<br /> +To greet yon stern head-stone,<br /> +Which more of pride than pity gave<br /> +To mark the Briton’s friendless grave.<br /> +Yet it is a stately tomb;<br /> +The grand return<br /> +Of eve and morn,<br /> +The year’s fresh bloom,<br /> +The silver cloud,<br /> +Might grace the dust that is most proud.</p> +<p> Yet not of these I muse<br /> +In this ancestral place,<br /> +But of a kindred face<br /> +That never joy or hope shall here diffuse.</p> +<p> Ah, brother of the brief but blazing star!<br /> +What hast thou to do with these<br /> +Haunting this bank’s historic trees?<br /> +Thou born for noblest life,<br /> +For action’s field, for victor’s car,<br /> +Thou living champion of the right?<br /> +To these their penalty belonged:<br /> +I grudge not these their bed of death,<br /> +But thine to thee, who never wronged<br /> +The poorest that drew breath.</p> +<p> All inborn power that could<br /> +Consist with homage to the good<br /> +Flamed from his martial eye;<br /> +He who seemed a soldier born,<br /> +He should have the helmet worn,<br /> +All friends to fend, all foes defy,<br /> +Fronting foes of God and man,<br /> +Frowning down the evil-doer,<br /> +Battling for the weak and poor.<br /> +His from youth the leader’s look<br /> +Gave the law which others took,<br /> +And never poor beseeching glance<br /> +Shamed that sculptured countenance.</p> +<p> There is no record left on earth,<br /> +Save in tablets of the heart,<br /> +Of the rich inherent worth,<br /> +Of the grace that on him shone,<br /> +Of eloquent lips, of joyful wit;<br /> +He could not frame a word unfit,<br /> +An act unworthy to be done;<br /> +Honour prompted every glance,<br /> +Honour came and sat beside him,<br /> +In lowly cot or painful road,<br /> +And evermore the cruel god<br /> +Cried, “Onward!” and the palm-crown showed.<br /> +Born for success he seemed,<br /> +With grace to win, with heart to hold,<br /> +With shining gifts that took all eyes,<br /> +With budding power in college-halls,<br /> +As pledged in coming days to forge<br /> +Weapons to guard the State, or scourge<br /> +Tyrants despite their guards or walls.<br /> +On his young promise Beauty smiled,<br /> +Drew his free homage unbeguiled,<br /> +And prosperous Age held out his hand,<br /> +And richly his large future planned,<br /> +And troops of friends enjoyed the tide,—<br /> +All, all was given, and only health denied.</p> +<p> I see him with superior smile<br /> +Hunted by Sorrow’s grisly train<br /> +In lands remote, in toil and pain,<br /> +With angel patience labour on,<br /> +With the high port he wore erewhile,<br /> +When, foremost of the youthful band,<br /> +The prizes in all lists he won;<br /> +Nor bate one jot of heart or hope,<br /> +And, least of all, the loyal tie<br /> +Which holds to home ’neath every sky,<br /> +The joy and pride the pilgrim feels<br /> +In hearts which round the hearth at home<br /> +Keep pulse for pulse with those who roam.</p> +<p> What generous beliefs console<br /> +The brave whom Fate denies the goal!<br /> +If others reach it, is content;<br /> +To Heaven’s high will his will is bent.<br /> +Firm on his heart relied,<br /> +What lot soe’er betide,<br /> +Work of his hand<br /> +He nor repents nor grieves,<br /> +Pleads for itself the fact,<br /> +As unrepenting Nature leaves<br /> +Her every act.</p> +<p> Fell the bolt on the branching oak;<br /> +The rainbow of his hope was broke;<br /> +No craven cry, no secret tear,—<br /> +He told no pang, he knew no fear;<br /> +Its peace sublime his aspect kept,<br /> +His purpose woke, his features slept;<br /> +And yet between the spasms of pain<br /> +His genius beamed with joy again.</p> +<p> O’er thy rich dust the endless smile<br /> +Of Nature in thy Spanish isle<br /> +Hints never loss or cruel break<br /> +And sacrifice for love’s dear sake,<br /> +Nor mourn the unalterable Days<br /> +That Genius goes and Folly stays.<br /> +What matters how, or from what ground,<br /> +The freed soul its Creator found?<br /> +Alike thy memory embalms<br /> +That orange-grove, that isle of palms,<br /> +And these loved banks, whose oak-boughs bold<br /> +Root in the blood of heroes old.</p> +<h2>ELEMENTS.</h2> +<h3>EXPERIENCE.</h3> +<p>The lords of life, the lords of life,—<br /> +I saw them pass,<br /> +In their own guise,<br /> +Like and unlike,<br /> +Portly and grim,—<br /> +Use and Surprise,<br /> +Surface and Dream,<br /> +Succession swift and spectral Wrong,<br /> +Temperament without a tongue,<br /> +And the inventor of the game<br /> +Omnipresent without name;—<br /> +Some to see, some to be guessed,<br /> +They march from east to west:<br /> +Little man, least of all,<br /> +Among the legs of his guardians tall,<br /> +Walked about with puzzled look.<br /> +Him by the hand dear Nature took,<br /> +Dearest Nature, strong and kind,<br /> +Whispered, ‘Darling, never mind!<br /> +To-morrow they will wear another face,<br /> +The founder thou; these are thy race!’</p> +<h3>COMPENSATION.</h3> +<p>II.</p> +<p>The wings of Time are black and white,<br /> +Pied with morning and with night.<br /> +Mountain tall and ocean deep<br /> +Trembling balance duly keep.<br /> +In changing moon and tidal wave<br /> +Glows the feud of Want and Have.<br /> +Gauge of more and less through space,<br /> +Electric star or pencil plays,<br /> +The lonely Earth amid the balls<br /> +That hurry through the eternal halls,<br /> +A makeweight flying to the void,<br /> +Supplemental asteroid,<br /> +Or compensatory spark,<br /> +Shoots across the neutral Dark.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>Man’s the elm, and Wealth the vine;<br /> +Staunch and strong the tendrils twine:<br /> +Though the frail ringlets thee deceive,<br /> +None from its stock that vine can reave.<br /> +Fear not, then, thou child infirm,<br /> +There’s no god dare wrong a worm;<br /> +Laurel crowns cleave to deserts,<br /> +And power to him who power exerts.<br /> +Hast not thy share? On winged feet,<br /> +Lo! it rushes thee to meet;<br /> +And all that Nature made thy own,<br /> +Floating in air or pent in stone,<br /> +Will rive the hills and swim the sea,<br /> +And, like thy shadow, follow thee.</p> +<h3>POLITICS.</h3> +<p>Gold and iron are good<br /> +To buy iron and gold;<br /> +All earth’s fleece and food<br /> +For their like are sold.<br /> +Hinted Merlin wise,<br /> +Proved Napoleon great,<br /> +Nor kind nor coinage buys<br /> +Aught above its rate.<br /> +Fear, Craft, and Avarice<br /> +Cannot rear a State.<br /> +Out of dust to build<br /> +What is more than dust,—<br /> +Walls Amphion piled<br /> +Phœbus stablish must.<br /> +When the Muses nine<br /> +When the Virtues meet,<br /> +Find to their design<br /> +An Atlantic seat,<br /> +By green orchard boughs<br /> +Fended from the heat,<br /> +Where the statesman ploughs<br /> +Furrow for the wheat,—<br /> +When the Church is social worth,<br /> +When the state-house is the hearth,<br /> +Then the perfect State is come,<br /> +The republican at home.</p> +<h3>HEROISM.</h3> +<p>Ruby wine is drunk by knaves,<br /> +Sugar spends to fatten slaves,<br /> +Rose and vine-leaf deck buffoons;<br /> +Thunder-clouds are Jove’s festoons,<br /> +Drooping oft in wreaths of dread,<br /> +Lightning-knotted round his head;<br /> +The hero is not fed on sweets,<br /> +Daily his own heart he eats;<br /> +Chambers of the great are jails,<br /> +And head-winds right for royal sails.</p> +<h3>CHARACTER.</h3> +<p>The sun set, but set not his hope:<br /> +Stars rose; his faith was earlier up:<br /> +Fixed on the enormous galaxy,<br /> +Deeper and older seemed his eye;<br /> +And matched his sufferance sublime<br /> +The taciturnity of time.<br /> +He spoke, and words more soft than rain<br /> +Brought the Age of Gold again:<br /> +His action won such reverence sweet<br /> +As hid all measure of the feat.</p> +<h3>CULTURE.</h3> +<p>Can rules or tutors educate<br /> +The semigod whom we await?<br /> +He must be musical,<br /> +Tremulous, impressional,<br /> +Alive to gentle influence<br /> +Of landscape and of sky,<br /> +And tender to the spirit-touch<br /> +Of man’s or maiden’s eye:<br /> +But, to his native centre fast,<br /> +Shall into Future fuse the Past,<br /> +And the world’s flowing fates in his own mould recast.</p> +<h3>FRIENDSHIP.</h3> +<p>A ruddy drop of manly blood<br /> +The surging sea outweighs,<br /> +The world uncertain comes and goes,<br /> +The lover rooted stays.<br /> +I fancied he was fled,—<br /> +And, after many a year,<br /> +Glowed unexhausted kindliness,<br /> +Like daily sunrise there.<br /> +My careful heart was free again,<br /> +O friend, my bosom said,<br /> +Through thee alone the sky is arched,<br /> +Through thee the rose is red;<br /> +All things through thee take nobler form,<br /> +And look beyond the earth,<br /> +The mill-round of our fate appears<br /> +A sun-path in thy worth.<br /> +Me too thy nobleness has taught<br /> +To master my despair;<br /> +The fountains of my hidden life<br /> +Are through thy friendship fair.</p> +<h3>BEAUTY.</h3> +<p>Was never form and never face<br /> +So sweet to SEYD as only grace<br /> +Which did not slumber like a stone,<br /> +But hovered gleaming and was gone.<br /> +Beauty chased he everywhere,<br /> +In flame, in storm, in clouds of air.<br /> +He smote the lake to feed his eye<br /> +With the beryl beam of the broken wave;<br /> +He flung in pebbles well to hear<br /> +The moment’s music which they gave.<br /> +Oft pealed for him a lofty tone<br /> +From nodding pole and belting zone.<br /> +He heard a voice none else could hear<br /> +From centred and from errant sphere.<br /> +The quaking earth did quake in rhyme,<br /> +Seas ebbed and flowed in epic chime.<br /> +In dens of passion, and pits of woe,<br /> +He saw strong Eros struggling through,<br /> +To sun the dark and solve the curse,<br /> +And beam to the bounds of the universe.<br /> +While thus to love he gave his days<br /> +In loyal worship, scorning praise,<br /> +How spread their lures for him in vain<br /> +Thieving Ambition and paltering Gain!<br /> +He thought it happier to be dead,<br /> +To die for Beauty, than live for bread.</p> +<h3>MANNERS.</h3> +<p>Grace, Beauty, and Caprice<br /> +Build this golden portal;<br /> +Graceful women, chosen men,<br /> +Dazzle every mortal.<br /> +Their sweet and lofty countenance<br /> +His enchanted food;<br /> +He need not go to them, their forms<br /> +Beset his solitude.<br /> +He looketh seldom in their face,<br /> +His eyes explore the ground,—<br /> +The green grass is a looking-glass<br /> +Whereon their traits are found.<br /> +Little and less he says to them,<br /> +So dances his heart in his breast;<br /> +Their tranquil mien bereaveth him<br /> +Of wit, of words, of rest.<br /> +Too weak to win, too fond to shun<br /> +The tyrants of his doom,<br /> +The much deceived Endymion<br /> +Slips behind a tomb.</p> +<h3>ART.</h3> +<p>Give to barrows, trays, and pans<br /> +Grace and glimmer of romance;<br /> +Bring the moonlight into noon<br /> +Hid in gleaming piles of stone;<br /> +On the city’s paved street<br /> +Plant gardens lined with lilacs sweet;<br /> +Let spouting fountains cool the air,<br /> +Singing in the sun-baked square;<br /> +Let statue, picture, park, and hall,<br /> +Ballad, flag, and festival,<br /> +The past restore, the day adorn,<br /> +And make to-morrow a new morn.<br /> +So shall the drudge in dusty frock<br /> +Spy behind the city clock<br /> +Retinues of airy kings,<br /> +Skirts of angels, starry wings,<br /> +His fathers shining in bright fables,<br /> +His children fed at heavenly tables.<br /> +’T is the privilege of Art<br /> +Thus to play its cheerful part,<br /> +Man on earth to acclimate,<br /> +And bend the exile to his fate,<br /> +And, moulded of one element<br /> +With the days and firmament,<br /> +Teach him on these as stairs to climb,<br /> +And live on even terms with Time;<br /> +Whilst upper life the slender rill<br /> +Of human sense doth overfill.</p> +<h3>SPIRITUAL LAWS.</h3> +<p>The living Heaven thy prayers respect,<br /> +House at once and architect,<br /> +Quarrying man’s rejected hours,<br /> +Builds therewith eternal towers;<br /> +Sole and self-commanded works,<br /> +Fears not undermining days,<br /> +Grows by decays,<br /> +And, by the famous might that lurks<br /> +In reaction and recoil,<br /> +Makes flame to freeze and ice to boil;<br /> +Forging, through swart arms of Offence,<br /> +The silver seat of Innocence.</p> +<h3>UNITY.</h3> +<p>Space is ample, east and west,<br /> +But two cannot go abreast,<br /> +Cannot travel in it two:<br /> +Yonder masterful cuckoo<br /> +Crowds every egg out of the nest,<br /> +Quick or dead, except its own;<br /> +A spell is laid on sod and stone,<br /> +Night and day were tampered with,<br /> +Every quality and pith<br /> +Surcharged and sultry with a power<br /> +That works its will on age and hour.</p> +<h3>WORSHIP.</h3> +<p>This is he, who, felled by foes,<br /> +Sprung harmless up, refreshed by blows:<br /> +He to captivity was sold,<br /> +But him no prison-bars would hold:<br /> +Though they sealed him in a rock,<br /> +Mountain chains he can unlock:<br /> +Thrown to lions for their meat,<br /> +The crouching lion kissed his feet:<br /> +Bound to the stake, no flames appalled,<br /> +But arched o’er him an honouring vault.<br /> +This is he men miscall Fate,<br /> +Threading dark ways, arriving late,<br /> +But ever coming in time to crown<br /> +The truth, and hurl wrong-doers down.<br /> +He is the oldest, and best known,<br /> +More near than aught thou call’st thy own,<br /> +Yet, greeted in another’s eyes,<br /> +Disconcerts with glad surprise.<br /> +This is Jove, who, deaf to prayers,<br /> +Floods with blessings unawares.<br /> +Draw, if thou canst, the mystic line<br /> +Severing rightly his from thine,<br /> +Which is human, which divine.</p> +<h2>QUATRAINS.</h2> +<h3>S. H.</h3> +<p>With beams December planets dart<br /> +His cold eye truth and conduct scanned,<br /> +July was in his sunny heart,<br /> +October in his liberal hand.</p> +<h3>A. H.</h3> +<p>High was her heart, and yet was well inclined,<br /> +Her manners made of bounty well refined;<br /> +Far capitals, and marble courts, her eye still seemed to see,<br /> +Minstrels, and kings, and high-born dames, and of the best that be.</p> +<h3>“SUUM CUIQUE.”</h3> +<p>Wilt thou seal up the avenues of ill?<br /> +Pay every debt, as if God wrote the bill.</p> +<h3>HUSH!</h3> +<p>Every thought is public,<br /> +Every nook is wide;<br /> +Thy gossips spread each whisper,<br /> +And the gods from side to side.</p> +<h3>ORATOR.</h3> +<p>He who has no hands<br /> +Perforce must use his tongue;<br /> +Foxes are so cunning<br /> +Because they are not strong.</p> +<h3>ARTIST.</h3> +<p>Quit the hut, frequent the palace,<br /> +Reck not what the people say;<br /> +For still, where’er the trees grow biggest,<br /> +Huntsmen find the easiest way.</p> +<h3>POET.</h3> +<p>Ever the Poet <i>from</i> the land<br /> +Steers his bark, and trims his sail;<br /> +Right out to sea his courses stand,<br /> +New worlds to find in pinnace frail.</p> +<h3>POET.</h3> +<p>To clothe the fiery thought<br /> +In simple words succeeds,<br /> +For still the craft of genius is<br /> +To mask a king in weeds.</p> +<h3>BOTANIST.</h3> +<p>Go thou to thy learned task,<br /> +I stay with the flowers of spring:<br /> +Do thou of the ages ask<br /> +What me the flowers will bring.</p> +<h3>GARDENER.</h3> +<p>True Bramin, in the morning meadows wet,<br /> +Expound the Vedas of the violet,<br /> +Or, hid in vines, peeping through many a loop,<br /> +See the plum redden, and the beurré stoop.</p> +<h3>FORESTER.</h3> +<p>He took the colour of his vest<br /> +From rabbit’s coat or grouse’s breast;<br /> +For, as the wood-kinds lurk and hide,<br /> +So walks the woodman, unespied.</p> +<h3>NORTHMAN.</h3> +<p>The gale that wrecked you on the sand,<br /> +It helped my rowers to row;<br /> +The storm is my best galley hand,<br /> +And drives me where I go.</p> +<h3>FROM ALCUIN.</h3> +<p>The sea is the road of the bold,<br /> +Frontier of the wheat-sown plains,<br /> +The pit wherein the streams are rolled,<br /> +And fountain of the rains.</p> +<h3>EXCELSIOR.</h3> +<p>Over his head were the maple buds,<br /> +And over the tree was the moon,<br /> +And over the moon were the starry studs,<br /> +That drop from the angel’s shoon.</p> +<h3>BORROWING.<br /> +FROM THE FRENCH.</h3> +<p>Some of your hurts you have cured,<br /> +And the sharpest you still have survived,<br /> +But what torments of grief you endured<br /> +From evils which never arrived!</p> +<h3>NATURE.</h3> +<p>Boon Nature yields each day a brag which we now first behold,<br /> +And trains us on to slight the new, as if it were the old:<br /> +But blest is he, who, playing deep, yet haply asks not why,<br /> +Too busied with the crowded hour to fear to live or die.</p> +<h3>FATE.</h3> +<p>Her planted eye to-day controls,<br /> +Is in the morrow most at home,<br /> +And sternly calls to being souls<br /> +That curse her when they come.</p> +<h3>HOROSCOPE.</h3> +<p>Ere he was born, the stars of fate<br /> +Plotted to make him rich and great:<br /> +When from the womb the babe was loosed,<br /> +The gate of gifts behind him closed.</p> +<h3>POWER.</h3> +<p>Cast the bantling on the rocks,<br /> +Suckle him with the she-wolf’s teat,<br /> +Wintered with the hawk and fox,<br /> +Power and speed be hands and feet.</p> +<h3>CLIMACTERIC.</h3> +<p>I am not wiser for my age,<br /> +Nor skilful by my grief;<br /> +Life loiters at the book’s first page,—<br /> +Ah! could we turn the leaf.</p> +<h3>HERI, CRAS, HODIE.</h3> +<p>Shines the last age, the next with hope is seen,<br /> +To-day slinks poorly off unmarked between:<br /> +Future or Past no richer secret folds,<br /> +O friendless Present! than thy bosom holds.</p> +<h3>MEMORY.</h3> +<p>Night-dreams trace on Memory’s wall<br /> +Shadows of the thoughts of day,<br /> +And thy fortunes, as they fall,<br /> +The bias of the will betray.</p> +<h3>LOVE.</h3> +<p>Love on his errand bound to go<br /> +Can swim the flood, and wade through snow,<br /> +Where way is none, ’twill creep and wind<br /> +And eat through Alps its home to find.</p> +<h3>SACRIFICE.</h3> +<p>Though love repine, and reason chafe,<br /> +There came a voice without reply,—<br /> +‘’Tis man’s perdition to be safe,<br /> +When for the truth he ought to die.’</p> +<h3>PERICLES.</h3> +<p>Well and wisely said the Greek,<br /> +Be thou faithful, but not fond;<br /> +To the altar’s foot thy fellow seek,<br /> +The Furies wait beyond.</p> +<h3>CASELLA.</h3> +<p>Test of the poet is knowledge of love,<br /> +For Eros is older than Saturn or Jove;<br /> +Never was poet, of late or of yore,<br /> +Who was not tremulous with love-lore.</p> +<h3>SHAKSPEARE.</h3> +<p>I see all human wits<br /> +Are measured but a few,<br /> +Unmeasured still my Shakspeare sits,<br /> +Lone as the blessed Jew.</p> +<h3>HAFIZ.</h3> +<p>Her passions the shy violet<br /> +From Hafiz never hides;<br /> +Love-longings of the raptured bird<br /> +The bird to him confides.</p> +<h3>NATURE IN LEASTS.</h3> +<p>As sings the pine-tree in the wind,<br /> +So sings in the wind a sprig of the pine;<br /> +Her strength and soul has laughing France<br /> +Shed in each drop of wine.</p> +<h3>ΑΔΑΚΡΥΝ ΝΕΜΟΝΤΑΙ +ΑΙΩΝΑ.</h3> +<p>‘A new commandment,’ said the smiling Muse,<br /> +‘I give my darling son, Thou shalt not preach;’—<br /> +Luther, Fox, Behmen, Swedenborg, grew pale,<br /> +And, on the instant, rosier clouds upbore<br /> +Hafiz and Shakspeare with their shining choirs.</p> +<h2>TRANSLATIONS.</h2> +<h3>SONNET OF MICHEL ANGELO BUONAROTI.</h3> +<p>Never did sculptor’s dream unfold<br /> +A form which marble doth not hold<br /> +In its white block; yet it therein shall find<br /> +Only the hand secure and bold<br /> +Which still obeys the mind.<br /> +So hide in thee, thou heavenly dame,<br /> +The ill I shun, the good I claim;<br /> +I, alas! not well alive,<br /> +Miss the aim whereto I strive.</p> +<p>Not love, nor beauty’s pride,<br /> +Not fortune, nor thy coldness, can I chide,<br /> +If, whilst within thy heart abide<br /> +Both death and pity, my unequal skill<br /> +Fails of the life, but draws the death and ill.</p> +<h3>THE EXILE.<br /> +FROM THE PERSIAN OF KERMANI.</h3> +<p>In Farsistan the violet spreads<br /> +Its leaves to the rival sky;<br /> +I ask how far is the Tigris flood,<br /> +And the vine that grows thereby?</p> +<p>Except the amber morning wind,<br /> +Not one salutes me here;<br /> +There is no lover in all Bagdat<br /> +To offer the exile cheer.</p> +<p>I know that thou, O morning wind!<br /> +O’er Kernan’s meadow blowest,<br /> +And thou, heart-warming nightingale!<br /> +My father’s orchard knowest.</p> +<p>The merchant hath stuffs of price,<br /> +And gems from the sea-washed strand,<br /> +And princes offer me grace<br /> +To stay in the Syrian land;</p> +<p>But what is gold <i>for</i>, but for gifts?<br /> +And dark, without love, is the day;<br /> +And all that I see in Bagdat<br /> +Is the Tigris to float me away.</p> +<h3>FROM HAFIZ.</h3> +<p>I said to heaven that glowed above,<br /> +O hide yon sun-filled zone,<br /> +Hide all the stars you boast;<br /> +For, in the world of love<br /> +And estimation true,<br /> +The heaped-up harvest of the moon<br /> +Is worth one barley-corn at most,<br /> +The Pleiads’ sheaf but two.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>If my darling should depart,<br /> +And search the skies for prouder friends,<br /> +God forbid my angry heart<br /> +In other love should seek amends.</p> +<p>When the blue horizon’s hoop<br /> +Me a little pinches here,<br /> +Instant to my grave I stoop,<br /> +And go to find thee in the sphere.</p> +<h3>EPITAPH.</h3> +<p>Bethink, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest<br /> +Mad Destiny this tender stripling played;<br /> +For a warm breast of maiden to his breast,<br /> +She laid a slab of marble on his head.</p> +<p>They say, through patience, chalk<br /> +Becomes a ruby stone;<br /> +Ah, yes! but by the true heart’s blood<br /> +The chalk is crimson grown.</p> +<h3>FRIENDSHIP.</h3> +<p>Thou foolish Hafiz! Say, do churls<br /> +Know the worth of Oman’s pearls?<br /> +Give the gem which dims the moon<br /> +To the noblest, or to none.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Dearest, where thy shadow falls,<br /> +Beauty sits, and Music calls;<br /> +Where thy form and favour come,<br /> +All good creatures have their home.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>On prince or bride no diamond stone<br /> +Half so gracious ever shone,<br /> +As the light of enterprise<br /> +Beaming from a young man’s eyes.</p> +<h3>FROM OMAR CHIAM.</h3> +<p>Each spot where tulips prank their state<br /> +Has drunk the life-blood of the great;<br /> +The violets yon field which stain<br /> +Are moles of beauties time hath slain.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare,<br /> +And he who has one enemy will meet him everywhere.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>On two days it steads not to run from thy grave,<br /> +The appointed, and the unappointed day;<br /> +On the first, neither balm nor physician can save,<br /> +Nor thee, on the second, the Universe slay.</p> +<h3>FROM IBN JEMIN.</h3> +<p>Two things thou shalt not long for, if thou love a mind serene;—<br /> +A woman to thy wife, though she were a crowned queen;<br /> +And the second, borrowed money,—though the smiling lender say,<br /> +That he will not demand the debt until the Judgment Day.</p> +<h3>THE FLUTE.<br /> +FROM HILALI.</h3> +<p>Hark what, now loud, now low, the pining flute complains,<br /> +Without tongue, yellow-cheeked, full of winds that wail and sigh;<br /> +Saying, Sweetheart! the old mystery remains,—<br /> +If I am I; thou, thou; or thou art I?</p> +<h3>TO THE SHAH.<br /> +FROM HAFIZ.</h3> +<p>Thy foes to hunt, thy enviers to strike down,<br /> +Poises Arcturus aloft morning and evening his spear.</p> +<h3>TO THE SHAH.<br /> +FROM ENWERI.</h3> +<p>Not in their houses stand the stars,<br /> +But o’er the pinnacles of thine!</p> +<h3>TO THE SHAH.<br /> +FROM ENWERI.</h3> +<p>From thy worth and weight the stars gravitate,<br /> +And the equipoise of heaven is thy house’s equipoise.</p> +<h3>SONG OF SEID NIMETOLLAH OF KUHISTAN.</h3> +<p>[Among the religious customs of the dervishes is an astronomical +dance, in which the dervish imitates the movements of the heavenly bodies, +by spinning on his own axis, whilst at the same time he revolves round +the Sheikh in the centre, representing the sun; and, as he spins, he +sings the Song of Seid Nimetollah of Kuhistan.]</p> +<p> Spin the ball! I reel, I burn,<br /> +Nor head from foot can I discern,<br /> +Nor my heart from love of mine,<br /> +Nor the wine-cup from the wine.<br /> +All my doing, all my leaving,<br /> +Reaches not to my perceiving;<br /> +Lost in whirling spheres I rove,<br /> +And know only that I love.</p> +<p> I am seeker of the stone,<br /> +Living gem of Solomon;<br /> +From the shore of souls arrived,<br /> +In the sea of sense I dived;<br /> +But what is land, or what is wave,<br /> +To me who only jewels crave?<br /> +Love is the air-fed fire intense,<br /> +And my heart the frankincense;<br /> +As the rich aloes flames, I glow,<br /> +Yet the censer cannot know.<br /> +I’m all-knowing, yet unknowing;<br /> +Stand not, pause not, in my going.</p> +<p> Ask not me, as Muftis can,<br /> +To recite the Alcoran;<br /> +Well I love the meaning sweet,—<br /> +I tread the book beneath my feet.</p> +<p> Lo! the God’s love blazes higher,<br /> +Till all difference expire.<br /> +What are Moslems? what are Giaours?<br /> +All are Love’s, and all are ours.<br /> +I embrace the true believers,<br /> +But I reck not of deceivers.<br /> +Firm to Heaven my bosom clings,<br /> +Heedless of inferior things;<br /> +Down on earth there, underfoot,<br /> +What men chatter know I not.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAY-DAY***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 15963-h.htm or 15963-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/9/6/15963 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: May-Day + and Other Pieces + + +Author: Ralph Waldo Emerson + +Release Date: May 31, 2005 [eBook #15963] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAY-DAY*** + + + + + + +This eBook was prepared from the 1867 George Routledge and Sons edition by +Les Bowler. + + + + + +MAY-DAY AND OTHER PIECES +BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON. + + +CONTENTS. + +MAY-DAY. + +THE ADIRONDACS. + +OCCASIONAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. + + BRAHMA + + NEMESIS + + FATE + + FREEDOM + + ODE SUNG IN THE TOWN HALL, CONCORD, JULY 4, 1857 + + BOSTON HYMN + + VOLUNTARIES + + LOVE AND THOUGHT + + LOVER'S PETITION + + UNA + + LETTERS + + RUBIES + + MERLIN'S SONG + + THE TEST + + SOLUTION + +NATURE AND LIFE. + + NATURE + + THE ROMANY GIRL + + DAYS + + THE CHARTIST'S COMPLAINT + + MY GARDEN + + THE TITMOUSE + + SEA-SHORE + + SONG OF NATURE + + TWO RIVERS + + WALDEINSAMKEIT + + TERMINUS + + THE PAST + + THE LAST FAREWELL + + IN MEMORIAM + +ELEMENTS. + + EXPERIENCE + + COMPENSATION + + POLITICS + + HEROISM + + CHARACTER + + CULTURE + + FRIENDSHIP + + BEAUTY + + MANNERS + + ART + + SPIRITUAL LAWS + + UNITY + + WORSHIP + +QUATRAINS. + +TRANSLATIONS. + + + + +MAY-DAY. + + + Daughter of Heaven and Earth, coy Spring, +With sudden passion languishing, +Maketh all things softly smile, +Painteth pictures mile on mile, +Holds a cup with cowslip-wreaths, +Whence a smokeless incense breathes. +Girls are peeling the sweet willow, +Poplar white, and Gilead-tree, +And troops of boys +Shouting with whoop and hilloa, +And hip, hip three times three. +The air is full of whistlings bland; +What was that I heard +Out of the hazy land? +Harp of the wind, or song of bird, +Or clapping of shepherd's hands, +Or vagrant booming of the air, +Voice of a meteor lost in day? +Such tidings of the starry sphere +Can this elastic air convey. +Or haply 't was the cannonade +Of the pent and darkened lake, +Cooled by the pendent mountain's shade, +Whose deeps, till beams of noonday break, +Afflicted moan, and latest hold +Even unto May the iceberg cold. +Was it a squirrel's pettish bark, +Or clarionet of jay? or hark, +Where yon wedged line the Nestor leads, +Steering north with raucous cry +Through tracts and provinces of sky, +Every night alighting down +In new landscapes of romance, +Where darkling feed the clamorous clans +By lonely lakes to men unknown. +Come the tumult whence it will, +Voice of sport, or rush of wings, +It is a sound, it is a token +That the marble sleep is broken, +And a change has passed on things. + + Beneath the calm, within the light, +A hid unruly appetite +Of swifter life, a surer hope, +Strains every sense to larger scope, +Impatient to anticipate +The halting steps of aged Fate. +Slow grows the palm, too slow the pearl: +When Nature falters, fain would zeal +Grasp the felloes of her wheel, +And grasping give the orbs another whirl. +Turn swiftlier round, O tardy ball! +And sun this frozen side, +Bring hither back the robin's call, +Bring back the tulip's pride. + + Why chidest thou the tardy Spring? +The hardy bunting does not chide; +The blackbirds make the maples ring +With social cheer and jubilee; +The redwing flutes his _o-ka-lee_, +The robins know the melting snow; +The sparrow meek, prophetic-eyed, +Her nest beside the snow-drift weaves, +Secure the osier yet will hide +Her callow brood in mantling leaves; +And thou, by science all undone, +Why only must thy reason fail +To see the southing of the sun? + + As we thaw frozen flesh with snow, +So Spring will not, foolish fond, +Mix polar night with tropic glow, +Nor cloy us with unshaded sun, +Nor wanton skip with bacchic dance, +But she has the temperance +Of the gods, whereof she is one,-- +Masks her treasury of heat +Under east-winds crossed with sleet. +Plants and birds and humble creatures +Well accept her rule austere; +Titan-born, to hardy natures +Cold is genial and dear. +As Southern wrath to Northern right +Is but straw to anthracite; +As in the day of sacrifice, +When heroes piled the pyre, +The dismal Massachusetts ice +Burned more than others' fire, +So Spring guards with surface cold +The garnered heat of ages old: +Hers to sow the seed of bread, +That man and all the kinds be fed; +And, when the sunlight fills the hours, +Dissolves the crust, displays the flowers. + + The world rolls round,--mistrust it not,-- +Befalls again what once befell; +All things return, both sphere and mote, +And I shall hear my bluebird's note, +And dream the dream of Auburn dell. + + When late I walked, in earlier days, +All was stiff and stark; +Knee-deep snows choked all the ways, +In the sky no spark; +Firm-braced I sought my ancient woods, +Struggling through the drifted roads; +The whited desert knew me not, +Snow-ridges masked each darling spot; +The summer dells, by genius haunted, +One arctic moon had disenchanted. +All the sweet secrets therein hid +By Fancy, ghastly spells undid. +Eldest mason, Frost, had piled, +With wicked ingenuity, +Swift cathedrals in the wild; +The piny hosts were sheeted ghosts +In the star-lit minster aisled. +I found no joy: the icy wind +Might rule the forest to his mind. +Who would freeze in frozen brakes? +Back to books and sheltered home, +And wood-fire flickering on the walls, +To hear, when, 'mid our talk and games, +Without the baffled north-wind calls. +But soft! a sultry morning breaks; +The cowslips make the brown brook gay; +A happier hour, a longer day. +Now the sun leads in the May, +Now desire of action wakes, +And the wish to roam. + + The caged linnet in the Spring +Hearkens for the choral glee, +When his fellows on the wing +Migrate from the Southern Sea; +When trellised grapes their flowers unmask, +And the new-born tendrils twine, +The old wine darkling in the cask +Feels the bloom on the living vine, +And bursts the hoops at hint of Spring: +And so, perchance, in Adam's race, +Of Eden's bower some dream-like trace +Survived the Flight, and swam the Flood, +And wakes the wish in youngest blood +To tread the forfeit Paradise, +And feed once more the exile's eyes; +And ever when the happy child +In May beholds the blooming wild, +And hears in heaven the bluebird sing, +"Onward," he cries, "your baskets bring,-- +In the next field is air more mild, +And o'er yon hazy crest is Eden's balmier Spring." + + Not for a regiment's parade, +Nor evil laws or rulers made, +Blue Walden rolls its cannonade, +But for a lofty sign +Which the Zodiac threw, +That the bondage-days are told, +And waters free as winds shall flow. +Lo! how all the tribes combine +To rout the flying foe. +See, every patriot oak-leaf throws +His elfin length upon the snows, +Not idle, since the leaf all day +Draws to the spot the solar ray, +Ere sunset quarrying inches down, +And half-way to the mosses brown; +While the grass beneath the rime +Has hints of the propitious time, +And upward pries and perforates +Through the cold slab a thousand gates, +Till green lances peering through +Bend happy in the welkin blue. + + April cold with dropping rain +Willows and lilacs brings again, +The whistle of returning birds, +And trumpet-lowing of the herds. +The scarlet maple-keys betray +What potent blood hath modest May; +What fiery force the earth renews, +The wealth of forms, the flush of hues; +Joy shed in rosy waves abroad +Flows from the heart of Love, the Lord. + + Hither rolls the storm of heat; +I feel its finer billows beat +Like a sea which me infolds; +Heat with viewless fingers moulds, +Swells, and mellows, and matures, +Paints, and flavours, and allures, +Bird and brier inly warms, +Still enriches and transforms, +Gives the reed and lily length, +Adds to oak and oxen strength, +Boils the world in tepid lakes, +Burns the world, yet burnt remakes; +Enveloping heat, enchanted robe, +Wraps the daisy and the globe, +Transforming what it doth infold, +Life out of death, new out of old, +Painting fawns' and leopards' fells, +Seethes the gulf-encrimsoning shells, +Fires garden with a joyful blaze +Of tulips in the morning's rays. +The dead log touched bursts into leaf, +The wheat-blade whispers of the sheaf. +What god is this imperial Heat, +Earth's prime secret, sculpture's seat? +Doth it bear hidden in its heart +Water-line patterns of all art, +All figures, organs, hues, and graces? +Is it Daedalus? is it Love? +Or walks in mask almighty Jove, +And drops from Power's redundant horn +All seeds of beauty to be born? + + Where shall we keep the holiday, +And duly greet the entering May? +Too strait and low our cottage doors, +And all unmeet our carpet floors; +Nor spacious court, nor monarch's hall, +Suffice to hold the festival. +Up and away! where haughty woods +Front the liberated floods: +We will climb the broad-backed hills, +Hear the uproar of their joy; +We will mark the leaps and gleams +Of the new-delivered streams, +And the murmuring rivers of sap +Mount in the pipes of the trees, +Giddy with day, to the topmost spire, +Which for a spike of tender green +Bartered its powdery cap; +And the colours of joy in the bird, +And the love in its carol heard, +Frog and lizard in holiday coats, +And turtle brave in his golden spots; +We will hear the tiny roar +Of the insects evermore, +While cheerful cries of crag and plain +Reply to the thunder of river and main. + + As poured the flood of the ancient sea +Spilling over mountain chains, +Bending forests as bends the sedge, +Faster flowing o'er the plains,-- +A world-wide wave with a foaming edge +That rims the running silver sheet,-- +So pours the deluge of the heat +Broad northward o'er the land, +Painting artless paradises, +Drugging herbs with Syrian spices, +Fanning secret fires which glow +In columbine and clover-blow, +Climbing the northern zones, +Where a thousand pallid towns +Lie like cockles by the main, +Or tented armies on a plain. +The million-handed sculptor moulds +Quaintest bud and blossom folds, +The million-handed painter pours +Opal hues and purple dye; +Azaleas flush the island floors, +And the tints of heaven reply. + + Wreaths for the May! for happy Spring +To-day shall all her dowry bring, +The love of kind, the joy, the grace, +Hymen of element and race, +Knowing well to celebrate +With song and hue and star and state, +With tender light and youthful cheer, +The spousals of the new-born year. +Lo Love's inundation poured +Over space and race abroad! + + Spring is strong and virtuous, +Broad-sowing, cheerful, plenteous, +Quickening underneath the mould +Grains beyond the price of gold. +So deep and large her bounties are, +That one broad, long midsummer day +Shall to the planet overpay +The ravage of a year of war. + + Drug the cup, thou butler sweet, +And send the nectar round; +The feet that slid so long on sleet +Are glad to feel the ground. +Fill and saturate each kind +With good according to its mind, +Fill each kind and saturate +With good agreeing with its fate, +Willow and violet, maiden and man. + + The bitter-sweet, the haunting air, +Creepeth, bloweth everywhere; +It preys on all, all prey on it, +Blooms in beauty, thinks in wit, +Stings the strong with enterprise, +Makes travellers long for Indian skies, +And where it comes this courier fleet +Fans in all hearts expectance sweet, +As if to-morrow should redeem +The vanished rose of evening's dream. +By houses lies a fresher green, +On men and maids a ruddier mien, +As if time brought a new relay +Of shining virgins every May, +And Summer came to ripen maids +To a beauty that not fades. + + The ground-pines wash their rusty green, +The maple-tops their crimson tint, +On the soft path each track is seen, +The girl's foot leaves its neater print. +The pebble loosened from the frost +Asks of the urchin to be tost. +In flint and marble beats a heart, +The kind Earth takes her children's part, +The green lane is the school-boy's friend, +Low leaves his quarrel apprehend, +The fresh ground loves his top and ball, +The air rings jocund to his call, +The brimming brook invites a leap, +He dives the hollow, climbs the steep. +The youth reads omens where he goes, +And speaks all languages the rose. +The wood-fly mocks with tiny noise +The far halloo of human voice; +The perfumed berry on the spray +Smacks of faint memories far away. +A subtle chain of countless rings +The next unto the farthest brings, +And, striving to be man, the worm +Mounts through all the spires of form. + + I saw the bud-crowned Spring go forth, +Stepping daily onward north +To greet staid ancient cavaliers +Filing single in stately train. +And who, and who are the travellers? +They were Night and Day, and Day and Night, +Pilgrims wight with step forthright. +I saw the Days deformed and low, +Short and bent by cold and snow; +The merry Spring threw wreaths on them, +Flower-wreaths gay with bud and bell; +Many a flower and many a gem, +They were refreshed by the smell, +They shook the snow from hats and shoon, +They put their April raiment on; +And those eternal forms, +Unhurt by a thousand storms, +Shot up to the height of the sky again, +And danced as merrily as young men. +I saw them mask their awful glance +Sidewise meek in gossamer lids; +And to speak my thought if none forbids. +It was as if the eternal gods, +Tired of their starry periods, +Hid their majesty in cloth +Woven of tulips and painted moth. +On carpets green the maskers march +Below May's well-appointed arch, +Each star, each god, each grace amain, +Every joy and virtue speed, +Marching duly in her train, +And fainting Nature at her need +Is made whole again. + + 'T was the vintage-day of field and wood, +When magic wine for bards is brewed; +Every tree and stem and chink +Gushed with syrup to the brink. +The air stole into the streets of towns, +And betrayed the fund of joy +To the high-school and medalled boy: +On from hall to chamber ran, +From youth to maid, from boy to man, +To babes, and to old eyes as well. +'Once more,' the old man cried, 'ye clouds, +Airy turrets purple-piled, +Which once my infancy beguiled, +Beguile me with the wonted spell. +I know ye skilful to convoy +The total freight of hope and joy +Into rude and homely nooks, +Shed mocking lustres on shelf of books, +On farmer's byre, on meadow-pipes, +Or on a pool of dancing chips. +I care not if the pomps you show +Be what they soothfast appear, +Or if yon realms in sunset glow +Be bubbles of the atmosphere. +And if it be to you allowed +To fool me with a shining cloud, +So only new griefs are consoled +By new delights, as old by old, +Frankly I will be your guest, +Count your change and cheer the best. +The world hath overmuch of pain,-- +If Nature give me joy again, +Of such deceit I'll not complain.' + + Ah! well I mind the calendar, +Faithful through a thousand years, +Of the painted race of flowers, +Exact to days, exact to hours, +Counted on the spacious dial +Yon broidered zodiac girds. +I know the pretty almanac +Of the punctual coming-back, +On their due days, of the birds. +I marked them yestermorn, +A flock of finches darting +Beneath the crystal arch, +Piping, as they flew, a march,-- +Belike the one they used in parting +Last year from yon oak or larch; +Dusky sparrows in a crowd, +Diving, darting northward free, +Suddenly betook them all, +Every one to his hole in the wall, +Or to his niche in the apple-tree. +I greet with joy the choral trains +Fresh from palms and Cuba's canes. +Best gems of Nature's cabinet, +With dews of tropic morning wet, +Beloved of children, bards, and Spring, +O birds, your perfect virtues bring, +Your song, your forms, your rhythmic flight, +Your manners for the heart's delight, +Nestle in hedge, or barn, or roof, +Here weave your chamber weather-proof, +Forgive our harms, and condescend +To man, as to a lubber friend, +And, generous, teach his awkward race +Courage, and probity, and grace! + + Poets praise that hidden wine +Hid in milk we drew +At the barrier of Time, +When our life was new. +We had eaten fairy fruit, +We were quick from head to foot, +All the forms we look on shone +As with diamond dews thereon. +What cared we for costly joys, +The Museum's far-fetched toys? +Gleam of sunshine on the wall +Poured a deeper cheer than all +The revels of the Carnival. +We a pine-grove did prefer +To a marble theatre, +Could with gods on mallows dine, +Nor cared for spices or for wine. +Wreaths of mist and rainbow spanned, +Arch on arch, the grimmest land; +Whistle of a woodland bird +Made the pulses dance, +Note of horn in valleys heard +Filled the region with romance. + + None can tell how sweet, +How virtuous, the morning air; +Every accent vibrates well; +Not alone the wood-bird's call, +Or shouting boys that chase their ball, +Pass the height of minstrel skill, +But the ploughman's thoughtless cry, +Lowing oxen, sheep that bleat, +And the joiner's hammer-beat, +Softened are above their will. +All grating discords melt, +No dissonant note is dealt, +And though thy voice be shrill +Like rasping file on steel, +Such is the temper of the air, +Echo waits with art and care, +And will the faults of song repair. + + So by remote Superior Lake, +And by resounding Mackinac, +When northern storms and forests shake, +And billows on the long beach break, +The artful Air doth separate +Note by note all sounds that grate, +Smothering in her ample breast +All but godlike words, +Reporting to the happy ear +Only purified accords. +Strangely wrought from barking waves, +Soft music daunts the Indian braves,-- +Convent-chanting which the child +Hears pealing from the panther's cave +And the impenetrable wild. + + One musician is sure, +His wisdom will not fail, +He has not tasted wine impure, +Nor bent to passion frail. +Age cannot cloud his memory, +Nor grief untune his voice, +Ranging down the ruled scale +From tone of joy to inward wail, +Tempering the pitch of all +In his windy cave. +He all the fables knows, +And in their causes tells,-- +Knows Nature's rarest moods, +Ever on her secret broods. +The Muse of men is coy, +Oft courted will not come; +In palaces and market squares +Entreated, she is dumb; +But my minstrel knows and tells +The counsel of the gods, +Knows of Holy Book the spells, +Knows the law of Night and Day, +And the heart of girl and boy, +The tragic and the gay, +And what is writ on Table Round +Of Arthur and his peers, +What sea and land discoursing say +In sidereal years. +He renders all his lore +In numbers wild as dreams, +Modulating all extremes,-- +What the spangled meadow saith +To the children who have faith; +Only to children children sing, +Only to youth will spring be spring. + + Who is the Bard thus magnified? +When did he sing, and where abide? + + Chief of song where poets feast +Is the wind-harp which thou seest +In the casement at my side. + + AEolian harp, +How strangely wise thy strain! +Gay for youth, gay for youth, +(Sweet is art, but sweeter truth,) +In the hall at summer eve +Fate and Beauty skilled to weave. +From the eager opening strings +Rung loud and bold the song. +Who but loved the wind-harp's note? +How should not the poet doat +On its mystic tongue, +With its primeval memory, +Reporting what old minstrels said +Of Merlin locked the harp within,-- +Merlin paying the pain of sin, +Pent in a dungeon made of air,-- +And some attain his voice to hear, +Words of pain and cries of fear, +But pillowed all on melody, +As fits the griefs of bards to be. +And what if that all-echoing shell, +Which thus the buried Past can tell, +Should rive the Future, and reveal +What his dread folds would fain conceal? +It shares the secret of the earth, +And of the kinds that owe her birth. +Speaks not of self that mystic tone, +But of the Overgods alone: +It trembles to the cosmic breath,-- +As it heareth, so it saith; +Obeying meek the primal Cause, +It is the tongue of mundane laws: +And this, at least, I dare affirm, +Since genius too has bound and term, +There is no bard in all the choir, +Not Homer's self, the poet sire, +Wise Milton's odes of pensive pleasure, +Or Shakspeare, whom no mind can measure, +Nor Collins' verse of tender pain, +Nor Byron's clarion of disdain, +Scott, the delight of generous boys, +Or Wordsworth, Pan's recording voice,-- +Not one of all can put in verse, +Or to this presence could rehearse, +The sights and voices ravishing +The boy knew on the hills in Spring, +When pacing through the oaks he heard +Sharp queries of the sentry-bird, +The heavy grouse's sudden whirr, +The rattle of the kingfisher; +Saw bonfires of the harlot flies +In the lowland, when day dies; +Or marked, benighted and forlorn, +The first far signal-fire of morn. +These syllables that Nature spoke, +And the thoughts that in him woke, +Can adequately utter none +Save to his ear the wind-harp lone. +And best can teach its Delphian chord +How Nature to the soul is moored, +If once again that silent string, +As erst it wont, would thrill and ring. + + Not long ago, at eventide, +It seemed, so listening, at my side +A window rose, and, to say sooth, +I looked forth on the fields of youth: +I saw fair boys bestriding steeds, +I knew their forms in fancy weeds, +Long, long concealed by sundering fates, +Mates of my youth,--yet not my mates, +Stronger and bolder far than I, +With grace, with genius, well attired, +And then as now from far admired, +Followed with love +They knew not of, +With passion cold and shy. +O joy, for what recoveries rare! +Renewed, I breathe Elysian air, +See youth's glad mates in earliest bloom,-- +Break not my dream, obtrusive tomb! +Or teach thou, Spring! the grand recoil +Of life resurgent from the soil +Wherein was dropped the mortal spoil. + + Soft on the south-wind sleeps the haze! +So on thy broad mystic van +Lie the opal-coloured days, +And waft the miracle to man. +Soothsayer of the eldest gods, +Repairer of what harms betide, +Revealer of the inmost powers +Prometheus proffered, Jove denied; +Disclosing treasures more than true, +Or in what far to-morrow due; +Speaking by the tongues of flowers, +By the ten-tongued laurel speaking, +Singing by the oriole songs, +Heart of bird the man's heart seeking; +Whispering hints of treasure hid +Under Morn's unlifted lid, +Islands looming just beyond +The dim horizon's utmost bound;-- +Who can, like thee, our rags upbraid, +Or taunt us with our hope decayed? +Or who like thee persuade, +Making the splendour of the air, +The morn and sparkling dew, a snare? +Or who resent +Thy genius, wiles, and blandishment? + + There is no orator prevails +To beckon or persuade +Like thee the youth or maid: +Thy birds, thy songs, thy brooks, thy gales, +Thy blooms, thy kinds, +Thy echoes in the wilderness, +Soothe pain, and age, and love's distress, +Fire fainting will, and build heroic minds. + + For thou, O Spring! canst renovate +All that high God did first create. +Be still his arm and architect, +Rebuild the ruin, mend defect; +Chemist to vamp old worlds with new, +Coat sea and sky with heavenlier blue, +New-tint the plumage of the birds, +And slough decay from grazing herds, +Sweep ruins from the scarped mountain, +Cleanse the torrent at the fountain, +Purge alpine air by towns defiled, +Bring to fair mother fairer child, +Not less renew the heart and brain, +Scatter the sloth, wash out the stain, +Make the aged eye sun-clear, +To parting soul bring grandeur near. +Under gentle types, my Spring +Masks the might of Nature's king, +An energy that searches thorough +From Chaos to the dawning morrow; +Into all our human plight, +The soul's pilgrimage and flight; +In city or in solitude, +Step by step, lifts bad to good, +Without halting, without rest, +Lifting Better up to Best; +Planting seeds of knowledge pure, +Through earth to ripen, through heaven endure. + + + + +THE ADIRONDACS. + + +_A JOURNAL_. + +DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW-TRAVELLERS IN AUGUST, 1858. + + Wise and polite,--and if I drew + Their several portraits, you would own + Chaucer had no such worthy crew, + Nor Boccace in Decameron. + + We crossed Champlain to Keeseville with our friends, +Thence, in strong country carts, rode up the forks +Of the Ausable stream, intent to reach +The Adirondac lakes. At Martin's Beach +We chose our boats; each man a boat and guide,-- +Ten men, ten guides, our company all told. + + Next morn, we swept with oars the Saranac, +With skies of benediction, to Round Lake, +Where all the sacred mountains drew around us, +Tahawus, Seaward, MacIntyre, Baldhead, +And other Titans without muse or name. +Pleased with these grand companions, we glide on, +Instead of flowers, crowned with a wreath of hills, +And made our distance wider, boat from boat, +As each would hear the oracle alone. +By the bright morn the gay flotilla slid +Through files of flags that gleamed like bayonets, +Through gold-moth-haunted beds of pickerel-flower, +Through scented banks of lilies white and gold, +Where the deer feeds at night, the teal by day, +On through the Upper Saranac, and up +Pere Raquette stream, to a small tortuous pass +Winding through grassy shallows in and out, +Two creeping miles of rushes, pads, and sponge, +To Follansbee Water, and the Lake of Loons. + + Northward the length of Follansbee we rowed, +Under low mountains, whose unbroken ridge +Ponderous with beechen forest sloped the shore. +A pause and council: then, where near the head +On the east a bay makes inward to the land +Between two rocky arms, we climb the bank, +And in the twilight of the forest noon +Wield the first axe these echoes ever heard. +We cut young trees to make our poles and thwarts, +Barked the white spruce to weatherfend the roof, +Then struck a light, and kindled the camp-fire. + + The wood was sovran with centennial trees,-- +Oak, cedar, maple, poplar, beech and fir, +Linden and spruce. In strict society +Three conifers, white, pitch, and Norway pine, +Five-leaved, three-leaved, and two-leaved, grew thereby. +Our patron pine was fifteen feet in girth, +The maple eight, beneath its shapely tower. + + 'Welcome!' the wood god murmured through the leaves,-- +'Welcome, though late, unknowing, yet known to me.' +Evening drew on; stars peeped through maple-boughs, +Which o'erhung, like a cloud, our camping fire. +Decayed millennial trunks, like moonlight flecks, +Lit with phosphoric crumbs the forest floor. + + Ten scholars, wonted to lie warm and soft +In well-hung chambers daintily bestowed, +Lie here on hemlock-boughs, like Sacs and Sioux, +And greet unanimous the joyful change. +So fast will Nature acclimate her sons, +Though late returning to her pristine ways. +Off soundings, seamen do not suffer cold; +And, in the forest, delicate clerks, unbrowned, +Sleep on the fragrant brush, as on down-beds. +Up with the dawn, they fancied the light air +That circled freshly in their forest dress +Made them to boys again. Happier that they +Slipped off their pack of duties, leagues behind, +At the first mounting of the giant stairs. +No placard on these rocks warned to the polls, +No door-bell heralded a visitor, +No courier waits, no letter came or went, +Nothing was ploughed, or reaped, or bought, or sold; +The frost might glitter, it would blight no crop, +The falling rain will spoil no holiday. +We were made freemen of the forest laws, +All dressed, like Nature, fit for her own ends, +Essaying nothing she cannot perform. + + In Adirondac lakes, +At morn or noon, the guide rows bareheaded: +Shoes, flannel shirt, and kersey trousers make +His brief toilette: at night, or in the rain, +He dons a surcoat which he doffs at morn: +A paddle in the right hand, or an oar, +And in the left, a gun, his needful arms. +By turns we praised the stature of our guides, +Their rival strength and suppleness, their skill +To row, to swim, to shoot, to build a camp, +To climb a lofty stem, clean without boughs +Full fifty feet, and bring the eaglet down: +Temper to face wolf, bear, or catamount, +And wit to track or take him in his lair. +Sound, ruddy men, frolic and innocent, +In winter, lumberers; in summer, guides; +Their sinewy arms pull at the oar untired +Three times ten thousand strokes, from morn to eve. + + Look to yourselves, ye polished gentlemen! +No city airs or arts pass current here. +Your rank is all reversed: let men of cloth +Bow to the stalwart churls in overalls: +_They_ are the doctors of the wilderness, +And we the low-prized laymen. +In sooth, red flannel is a saucy test +Which few can put on with impunity. +What make you, master, fumbling at the oar? +Will you catch crabs? Truth tries pretension here. +The sallow knows the basket-maker's thumb; +The oar, the guide's. Dare you accept the tasks +He shall impose, to find a spring, trap foxes, +Tell the sun's time, determine the true north, +Or stumbling on through vast self-similar woods +To thread by night the nearest way to camp? + + Ask you, how went the hours? +All day we swept the lake, searched every cove, +North from Camp Maple, south to Osprey Bay, +Watching when the loud dogs should drive in deer, +Or whipping its rough surface for a trout; +Or bathers, diving from the rock at noon; +Challenging Echo by our guns and cries; +Or listening to the laughter of the loon; +Or, in the evening twilight's latest red, +Beholding the procession of the pines; +Or, later yet, beneath a lighted jack, +In the boat's bows, a silent night-hunter +Stealing with paddle to the feeding-grounds +Of the red deer, to aim at a square mist. +Hark to that muffled roar! a tree in the woods +Is fallen: but hush! it has not scared the buck +Who stands astonished at the meteor light, +Then turns to bound away,--is it too late? + + Sometimes we tried our rifles at a mark, +Six rods, sixteen, twenty, or forty-five; +Sometimes our wits at sally and retort, +With laughter sudden as the crack of rifle; +Or parties scaled the near acclivities +Competing seekers of a rumoured lake, +Whose unauthenticated waves we named +Lake Probability,--our carbuncle, +Long sought, not found. + + Two Doctors in the camp +Dissected the slain deer, weighed the trout's brain, +Captured the lizard, salamander, shrew, +Crab, mice, snail, dragon-fly, minnow, and moth; +Insatiate skill in water or in air +Waved the scoop-net, and nothing came amiss; +The while, one leaden pot of alcohol +Gave an impartial tomb to all the kinds. +Not less the ambitious botanist sought plants, +Orchis and gentian, fern, and long whip-scirpus, +Rosy polygonum, lake-margin's pride, +Hypnum and hydnum, mushroom, sponge, and moss, +Or harebell nodding in the gorge of falls. +Above, the eagle flew, the osprey screamed, +The raven croaked, owls hooted, the woodpecker +Loud hammered, and the heron rose in the swamp. +As water poured through the hollows of the hills +To feed this wealth of lakes and rivulets, +So Nature shed all beauty lavishly +From her redundant horn. + + Lords of this realm, +Bounded by dawn and sunset, and the day +Rounded by hours where each outdid the last +In miracles of pomp, we must be proud, +As if associates of the sylvan gods. +We seemed the dwellers of the zodiac, +So pure the Alpine element we breathed, +So light, so lofty pictures came and went. +We trode on air, contemned the distant town, +Its timorous ways, big trifles, and we planned +That we should build, hard-by, a spacious lodge, +And how we should come hither with our sons, +Hereafter,--willing they, and more adroit. + + Hard fare, hard bed, and comic misery,-- +The midge, the blue-fly, and the mosquito +Painted our necks, hands, ankles, with red bands: +But, on the second day, we heed them not, +Nay, we saluted them Auxiliaries, +Whom earlier we had chid with spiteful names. +For who defends our leafy tabernacle +From bold intrusion of the travelling crowd,-- +Who but the midge, mosquito, and the fly, +Which past endurance sting the tender cit, +But which we learn to scatter with a smudge, +Or baffle by a veil, or slight by scorn? + + Our foaming ale we drunk from hunters' pans, +Ale, and a sup of wine. Our steward gave +Venison and trout, potatoes, beans, wheat-bread; +All ate like abbots, and, if any missed +Their wonted convenance, cheerly hid the loss +With hunters' appetite and peals of mirth. +And Stillman, our guides' guide, and Commodore, +Crusoe, Crusader, Pius AEneas, said aloud, +"Chronic dyspepsia never came from eating +Food indigestible":--then murmured some, +Others applauded him who spoke the truth. + + Nor doubt but visitings of graver thought +Checked in these souls the turbulent heyday +'Mid all the hints and glories of the home. +For who can tell what sudden privacies +Were sought and found, amid the hue and cry +Of scholars furloughed from their tasks, and let +Into this Oreads' fended Paradise, +As chapels in the city's thoroughfares, +Whither gaunt Labour slips to wipe his brow, +And meditate a moment on Heaven's rest. +Judge with what sweet surprises Nature spoke +To each apart, lifting her lovely shows +To spiritual lessons pointed home. +And as through dreams in watches of the night, +So through all creatures in their form and ways +Some mystic hint accosts the vigilant, +Not clearly voiced, but waking a new sense +Inviting to new knowledge, one with old. +Hark to that petulant chirp! what ails the warbler? +Mark his capricious ways to draw the eye. +Now soar again. What wilt thou, restless bird, +Seeking in that chaste blue a bluer light, +Thirsting in that pure for a purer sky? + + And presently the sky is changed; O world! +What pictures and what harmonies are thine! +The clouds are rich and dark, the air serene, +So like the soul of me, what if't were me? +A melancholy better than all mirth. +Comes the sweet sadness at the retrospect, +Or at the foresight of obscurer years? +Like yon slow-sailing cloudy promontory, +Whereon the purple iris dwells in beauty +Superior to all its gaudy skirts. +And, that no day of life may lack romance, +The spiritual stars rise nightly, shedding down +A private beam into each several heart. +Daily the bending skies solicit man, +The seasons chariot him from this exile, +The rainbow hours bedeck his glowing chair, +The storm-winds urge the heavy weeks along, +Suns haste to set, that so remoter lights +Beckon the wanderer to his vaster home. + + With a vermilion pencil mark the day +When of our little fleet three cruising skiffs +Entering Big Tupper, bound for the foaming Falls +Of loud Bog River, suddenly confront +Two of our mates returning with swift oars. +One held a printed journal waving high +Caught from a late-arriving traveller, +Big with great news, and shouted the report +For which the world had waited, now firm fact, +Of the wire-cable laid beneath the sea, +And landed on our coast, and pulsating +With ductile fire. Loud, exulting cries +From boat to boat, and to the echoes round, +Greet the glad miracle. Thought's new-found path +Shall supplement henceforth all trodden ways, +Match God's equator with a zone of art, +And lift man's public action to a height +Worthy the enormous clouds of witnesses, +When linked hemispheres attest his deed. +We have few moments in the longest life +Of such delight and wonder as there grew,-- +Nor yet unsuited to that solitude: +A burst of joy, as if we told the fact +To ears intelligent; as if gray rock +And cedar grove and cliff and lake should know +This feat of wit, this triumph of mankind; +As if we men were talking in a vein +Of sympathy so large, that ours was theirs, +And a prime end of the most subtle element +Were fairly reached at last. Wake, echoing caves! +Bend nearer, faint day-moon! Yon thundertops, +Let them hear well! 't is theirs as much as ours. + + A spasm throbbing through the pedestals +Of Alp and Andes, isle and continent, +Urging astonished Chaos with a thrill +To be a brain, or serve the brain of man. +The lightning has run masterless too long; +He must to school, and learn his verb and noun, +And teach his nimbleness to earn his wage, +Spelling with guided tongue man's messages +Shot through the weltering pit of the salt sea. +And yet I marked, even in the manly joy +Of our great-hearted Doctor in his boat, +(Perchance I erred,) a shade of discontent; +Or was it for mankind a generous shame, +As of a luck not quite legitimate, +Since fortune snatched from wit the lion's part? +Was it a college pique of town and gown, +As one within whose memory it burned +That not academicians, but some lout, +Found ten years since the Californian gold? +And now, again, a hungry company +Of traders, led by corporate sons of trade, +Perversely borrowing from the shop the tools +Of science, not from the philosophers, +Had won the brightest laurel of all time. +'Twas always thus, and will be; hand and head +Are ever rivals: but, though this be swift, +The other slow,--this the Prometheus, +And that the Jove,--yet, howsoever hid, +It was from Jove the other stole his fire, +And, without Jove, the good had never been. +It is not Iroquois or cannibals, +But ever the free race with front sublime, +And these instructed by their wisest too, +Who do the feat, and lift humanity. +Let not him mourn who best entitled was, +Nay, mourn not one: let him exult, +Yea, plant the tree that bears best apples, plant, +And water it with wine, nor watch askance +Whether thy sons or strangers eat the fruit: +Enough that mankind eat, and are refreshed. + + We flee away from cities, but we bring +The best of cities with us, these learned classifiers, +Men knowing what they seek, armed eyes of experts. +We praise the guide, we praise the forest life; +But will we sacrifice our dear-bought lore +Of books and arts and trained experiment, +Or count the Sioux a match for Agassiz? +O no, not we! Witness the shout that shook +Wild Tupper Lake; witness the mute all-hail +The joyful traveller gives, when on the verge +Of craggy Indian wilderness he hears +From a log-cabin stream Beethoven's notes +On the piano, played with master's hand. +'Well done!' he cries; 'the bear is kept at bay, +The lynx, the rattlesnake, the flood, the fire; +All the fierce enemies, ague, hunger, cold, +This thin spruce roof, this clayed log-wall, +This wild plantation will suffice to chase. +Now speed the gay celerities of art, +What in the desert was impossible +Within four walls is possible again,-- +Culture and libraries, mysteries of skill, +Traditioned fame of masters, eager strife +Of keen competing youths, joined or alone +To outdo each other, and extort applause. +Mind wakes a new-born giant from her sleep. +Twirl the old wheels? Time takes fresh start again +On for a thousand years of genius more.' + + The holidays were fruitful, but must end; +One August evening had a cooler breath; +Into each mind intruding duties crept; +Under the cinders burned the fires of home; +Nay, letters found us in our paradise; +So in the gladness of the new event +We struck our camp, and left the happy hills. +The fortunate star that rose on us sank not; +The prodigal sunshine rested on the land, +The rivers gambolled onward to the sea, +And Nature, the inscrutable and mute, +Permitted on her infinite repose +Almost a smile to steal to cheer her sons, +As if one riddle of the Sphinx were guessed. + + + + +OCCASIONAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. + + +BRAHMA. + + +If the red slayer think he slays, + Or if the slain think he is slain, +They know well the subtle ways + I keep, and pass, and turn again. + +Far or forgot to me is near; + Shadow and sunlight are the same; +The vanquished gods to me appear; + And one to me are shame and fame. + +They reckon ill who leave me out; + When me they fly, I am the wings; +I am the doubter and the doubt, + And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. + +The strong gods pine for my abode, + And pine in vain the sacred Seven; +But thou, meek lover of the good! + Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. + + + +NEMESIS. + + + Already blushes in thy cheek +The bosom-thought which thou must speak; +The bird, how far it haply roam +By cloud or isle, is flying home; +The maiden fears, and fearing runs +Into the charmed snare she shuns; +And every man, in love or pride, +Of his fate is never wide. + + Will a woman's fan the ocean smooth? +Or prayers the stony Parcae sooth, +Or coax the thunder from its mark? +Or tapers light the chaos dark? +In spite of Virtue and the Muse, +Nemesis will have her dues, +And all our struggles and our toils +Tighter wind the giant coils. + + + +FATE. + + + Deep in the man sits fast his fate +To mould his fortunes mean or great: +Unknown to Cromwell as to me +Was Cromwell's measure or degree; +Unknown to him, as to his horse, +If he than his groom be better or worse. +He works, plots, fights, in rude affairs, +With squires, lords, kings, his craft compares, +Till late he learned, through doubt and fear, +Broad England harboured not his peer: +Obeying Time, the last to own +The Genius from its cloudy throne. +For the prevision is allied +Unto the thing so signified; +Or say, the foresight that awaits +Is the same Genius that creates. + + + +FREEDOM. + + + Once I wished I might rehearse +Freedom's paean in my verse, +That the slave who caught the strain +Should throb until he snapped his chain. +But the Spirit said, 'Not so; +Speak it not, or speak it low; +Name not lightly to be said, +Gift too precious to be prayed, +Passion not to be expressed +But by heaving of the breast: +Yet,--wouldst thou the mountain find +Where this deity is shrined, +Who gives to seas and sunset skies +Their unspent beauty of surprise, +And, when it lists him, waken can +Brute or savage into man; +Or, if in thy heart he shine, +Blends the starry fates with thine, +Draws angels nigh to dwell with thee, +And makes thy thoughts archangels be; +Freedom's secret wilt thou know?-- +Counsel not with flesh and blood; +Loiter not for cloak or food; +Right thou feelest, rush to do.' + + + +ODE SUNG IN THE TOWN HALL, CONCORD, JULY 4, 1857. + + +O tenderly the haughty day + Fills his blue urn with fire; +One morn is in the mighty heaven, + And one in our desire. + +The cannon booms from town to town, + Our pulses are not less, +The joy-bells chime their tidings down, + Which children's voices bless. + +For He that flung the broad blue fold + O'er-mantling land and sea, +One third part of the sky unrolled + For the banner of the free. + +The men are ripe of Saxon kind + To build an equal state,-- +To take the statute from the mind, + And make of duty fate. + +United States! the ages plead,-- + Present and Past in under-song,-- +Go put your creed into your deed, + Nor speak with double tongue. + +For sea and land don't understand, + Nor skies without a frown +See rights for which the one hand fights + By the other cloven down. + +Be just at home; then write your scroll + Of honour o'er the sea, +And bid the broad Atlantic roll, + A ferry of the free. + +And, henceforth, there shall be no chain, + Save underneath the sea +The wires shall murmur through the main + Sweet songs of LIBERTY. + +The conscious stars accord above, + The waters wild below, +And under, through the cable wove, + Her fiery errands go. + +For He that worketh high and wise, + Nor pauses in his plan, +Will take the sun out of the skies + Ere freedom out of man. + + + +BOSTON HYMN. + + +READ IN MUSIC HALL, JANUARY 1, 1863. + +The word of the Lord by night +To the watching Pilgrims came, +As they sat by the seaside, +And filled their hearts with flame. + +God said, I am tired of kings, +I suffer them no more; +Up to my ear the morning brings +The outrage of the poor. + +Think ye I made this ball +A field of havoc and war, +Where tyrants great and tyrants small +Might harry the weak and poor? + +My angel, his name is Freedom,-- +Choose him to be your king; +He shall cut pathways east and west, +And fend you with his wing. + +Lo! I uncover the land +Which I hid of old time in the West, +As the sculptor uncovers the statue +When he has wrought his best; + +I show Columbia, of the rocks +Which dip their foot in the seas, +And soar to the air-borne flocks +Of clouds, and the boreal fleece. + +I will divide my goods; +Call in the wretch and slave: +None shall rule but the humble, +And none but Toil shall have. + +I will have never a noble, +No lineage counted great; +Fishers and choppers and ploughmen +Shall constitute a state. + +Go, cut down trees in the forest, +And trim the straightest boughs; +Cut down the trees in the forest, +And build me a wooden house. + +Call the people together, +The young men and the sires, +The digger in the harvest field, +Hireling, and him that hires; + +And here in a pine state-house +They shall choose men to rule +In every needful faculty, +In church, and state, and school. + +Lo, now! if these poor men +Can govern the land and sea, +And make just laws below the sun, +As planets faithful be. + +And ye shall succour men; +'T is nobleness to serve; +Help them who cannot help again: +Beware from right to swerve. + +I break your bonds and masterships, +And I unchain the slave: +Free be his heart and hand henceforth +As wind and wandering wave. + +I cause from every creature +His proper good to flow: +As much as he is and doeth, +So much he shall bestow. + +But laying hands on another +To coin his labour and sweat, +He goes in pawn to his victim +For eternal years in debt. + +To-day unbind the captive, +So only are ye unbound; +Lift up a people from the dust, +Trump of their rescue, sound! + +Pay ransom to the owner, +And fill the bag to the brim. +Who is the owner? The slave is owner, +And ever was. Pay him. + +O North! give him beauty for rags, +And honour, O South! for his shame; +Nevada! coin thy golden crags +With Freedom's image and name. + +Up! and the dusky race +That sat in darkness long,-- +Be swift their feet as antelopes, +And as behemoth strong. + +Come, East and West and North, +By races, as snow-flakes, +And carry my purpose forth, +Which neither halts nor shakes. + +My will fulfilled shall be, +For, in daylight or in dark, +My thunderbolt has eyes to see +His way home to the mark. + + + +VOLUNTARIES. + + +I. + + Low and mournful be the strain, +Haughty thought be far from me; +Tones of penitence and pain, +Moanings of the tropic sea; +Low and tender in the cell +Where a captive sits in chains, +Crooning ditties treasured well +From his Afric's torrid plains. +Sole estate his sire bequeathed-- +Hapless sire to hapless son-- +Was the wailing song he breathed, +And his chain when life was done. + + What his fault, or what his crime? +Or what ill planet crossed his prime? +Heart too soft and will too weak +To front the fate that crouches near,-- +Dove beneath the vulture's beak;-- +Will song dissuade the thirsty spear? +Dragged from his mother's arms and breast, +Displaced, disfurnished here, +His wistful toil to do his best +Chilled by a ribald jeer. +Great men in the Senate sate, +Sage and hero, side by side, +Building for their sons the State, +Which they shall rule with pride. +They forbore to break the chain +Which bound the dusky tribe, +Checked by the owners' fierce disdain, +Lured by "Union" as the bribe. +Destiny sat by, and said, +'Pang for pang your seed shall pay, +Hide in false peace your coward head, +I bring round the harvest-day.' + +II. + +Freedom all winged expands, +Nor perches in a narrow place; +Her broad van seeks unplanted lands; +She loves a poor and virtuous race. +Clinging to a colder zone +Whose dark sky sheds the snow-flake down, +The snow-flake is her banner's star, +Her stripes the boreal streamers are. +Long she loved the Northman well: +Now the iron age is done, +She will not refuse to dwell +With the offspring of the Sun; +Foundling of the desert far, +Where palms plume, siroccos blaze, +He roves unhurt the burning ways +In climates of the summer star. +He has avenues to God +Hid from men of Northern brain, +Far beholding, without cloud, +What these with slowest steps attain. +If once the generous chief arrive +To lead him willing to be led, +For freedom he will strike and strive, +And drain his heart till he be dead. + +III. + +In an age of fops and toys, +Wanting wisdom, void of right, +Who shall nerve heroic boys +To hazard all in Freedom's fight,-- +Break sharply off their jolly games, +Forsake their comrades gay, +And quit proud homes and youthful dames, +For famine, toil, and fray? +Yet on the nimble air benign +Speed nimbler messages, +That waft the breath of grace divine +To hearts in sloth and ease. +So nigh is grandeur to our dust, +So near is God to man, +When Duty whispers low, _Thou must_, +The youth replies, _I can_. + +IV. + +O, well for the fortunate soul +Which Music's wings infold, +Stealing away the memory +Of sorrows new and old! +Yet happier he whose inward sight, +Stayed on his subtile thought, +Shuts his sense on toys of time, +To vacant bosoms brought. +But best befriended of the God +He who, in evil times, +Warned by an inward voice, +Heeds not the darkness and the dread, +Biding by his rule and choice, +Feeling only the fiery thread +Leading over heroic ground, +Walled with mortal terror round, +To the aim which him allures, +And the sweet heaven his deed secures. + +Stainless soldier on the walls, +Knowing this,--and knows no more,-- +Whoever fights, whoever falls, +Justice conquers evermore, Justice after as before,-- +And he who battles on her side, +God, though he were ten times slain, +Crowns him victor glorified, +Victor over death and pain; +Forever: but his erring foe, +Self-assured that he prevails, +Looks from his victim lying low, +And sees aloft the red right arm +Redress the eternal scales. +He, the poor foe, whom angels foil, +Blind with pride, and fooled by hate, +Writhes within the dragon coil, +Reserved to a speechless fate. + +V. + +Blooms the laurel which belongs +To the valiant chief who fights; +I see the wreath, I hear the songs +Lauding the Eternal Rights, +Victors over daily wrongs: +Awful victors, they misguide +Whom they will destroy, +And their coming triumph hide +In our downfall, or our joy: +They reach no term, they never sleep, +In equal strength through space abide; +Though, feigning dwarfs, they crouch and creep, +The strong they slay, the swift outstride: +Fate's grass grows rank in valley clods, +And rankly on the castled steep,-- +Speak it firmly, these are gods, +All are ghosts beside. + + + +LOVE AND THOUGHT. + + +Two well-assorted travellers use +The highway, Eros and the Muse. +From the twins is nothing hidden, +To the pair is naught forbidden; +Hand in hand the comrades go +Every nook of nature through: +Each for other they were born, +Each can other best adorn; +They know one only mortal grief +Past all balsam or relief, +When, by false companions crossed, +The pilgrims have each other lost. + + + +LOVER'S PETITION. + + +Good Heart, that ownest all! +I ask a modest boon and small: +Not of lands and towns the gift,-- +Too large a load for me to lift,-- +But for one proper creature, +Which geographic eye, +Sweeping the map of Western earth, +Or the Atlantic coast, from Maine +To Powhatan's domain, +Could not descry. +Is't much to ask in all thy huge creation, +So trivial a part,-- +A solitary heart? + +Yet count me not of spirit mean, +Or mine a mean demand, +For 't is the concentration +And worth of all the land, +The sister of the sea, +The daughter of the strand, +Composed of air and light, +And of the swart earth-might. +So little to thy poet's prayer +Thy large bounty well can spare. +And yet I think, if she were gone, +The world were better left alone. + + + +UNA. + + +Roving, roving, as it seems, +Una lights my clouded dreams; +Still for journeys she is dressed; +We wander far by east and west. + +In the homestead, homely thought; +At my work I ramble not; +If from home chance draw me wide, +Half-seen Una sits beside. + +In my house and garden-plot, +Though beloved, I miss her not; +But one I seek in foreign places, +One face explore in foreign faces. + +At home a deeper thought may light +The inward sky with chrysolite, +And I greet from far the ray, +Aurora of a dearer day. + +But if upon the seas I sail, +Or trundle on the glowing rail, +I am but a thought of hers, +Loveliest of travellers. + +So the gentle poet's name +To foreign parts is blown by fame; +Seek him in his native town, +He is hidden and unknown. + + + +LETTERS. + + +Every day brings a ship, +Every ship brings a word; +Well for those who have no fear, +Looking seaward well assured +That the word the vessel brings +Is the word they wish to hear. + + + +RUBIES. + + +They brought me rubies from the mine, + And held them to the sun; +I said, they are drops of frozen wine + From Eden's vats that run. + +I looked again,--I thought them hearts + Of friends to friends unknown; +Tides that should warm each neighbouring life + Are locked in sparkling stone. + +But fire to thaw that ruddy snow, + To break enchanted ice, +And give love's scarlet tides to flow,-- + When shall that sun arise? + + + +MERLIN'S SONG. + + +Of Merlin wise I learned a song,-- +Sing it low or sing it loud, +It is mightier than the strong, +And punishes the proud. +I sing it to the surging crowd,-- +Good men it will calm and cheer, +Bad men it will chain and cage. +In the heart of the music peals a strain +Which only angels hear; +Whether it waken joy or rage, +Hushed myriads hark in vain, +Yet they who hear it shed their age, +And take their youth again. + + + +THE TEST. (Musa loquitur.) + + +I hung my verses in the wind, +Time and tide their faults may find. +All were winnowed through and through, +Five lines lasted sound and true; +Five were smelted in a pot +Than the South more fierce and hot; +These the siroc could not melt, +Fire their fiercer flaming felt, +And the meaning was more white +Than July's meridian light. +Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, +Nor time unmake what poets know. +Have you eyes to find the five +Which five hundred did survive? + + + +SOLUTION. + + + I am the Muse who sung alway +By Jove, at dawn of the first day. +Star-crowned, sole-sitting, long I wrought +To fire the stagnant earth with thought: +On spawning slime my song prevails, +Wolves shed their fangs, and dragons scales; +Flushed in the sky the sweet May-morn, +Earth smiled with flowers, and man was born. +Then Asia yeaned her shepherd race, +And Nile substructs her granite base,-- +Tented Tartary, columned Nile,-- +And, under vines, on rocky isle, +Or on wind-blown sea-marge bleak, +Forward stepped the perfect Greek: +That wit and joy might find a tongue, +And earth grow civil, HOMER Sung. + + Flown to Italy from Greece, +I brooded long, and held my peace, +For I am wont to sing uncalled, +And in days of evil plight +Unlock doors of new delight; +And sometimes mankind I appalled +With a bitter horoscope, +With spasms of terror for balm of hope. +Then by better thought I lead +Bards to speak what nations need; +So I folded me in fears, +And DANTE searched the triple spheres, +Moulding nature at his will, +So shaped, so coloured, swift or still, +And, sculptor-like, his large design +Etched on Alp and Apennine. + + Seethed in mists of Penmanmaur, +Taught by Plinlimmon's Druid power, +England's genius filled all measure +Of heart and soul, of strength and pleasure, +Gave to the mind its emperor, +And life was larger than before: +Nor sequent centuries could hit +Orbit and sum of SHAKSPEARE's wit. +The men who lived with him became +Poets, for the air was fame. + + Far in the North, where polar night +Holds in check the frolic light, +In trance upborne past mortal goal +The Swede EMANUEL leads the soul. +Through snows above, mines underground, +The inks of Erebus he found; +Rehearsed to men the damned wails +On which the seraph music sails, +In spirit-worlds he trod alone, +But walked the earth unmarked, unknown. +The near by-stander caught no sound,-- +Yet they who listened far aloof +Heard rendings of the skyey roof, +And felt, beneath, the quaking ground; +And his air-sown, unheeded words, +In the next age, are flaming swords. + + In newer days of war and trade, +Romance forgot, and faith decayed, +When Science armed and guided war, +And clerks the Janus-gates unbar, +When France, where poet never grew, +Halved and dealt the globe anew, +GOETHE, raised o'er joy and strife, +Drew the firm lines of Fate and Life, +And brought Olympian wisdom down +To court and mart, to gown and town, +Stooping, his finger wrote in clay +The open secret of to-day. + + So bloom the unfading petals five, +And verses that all verse outlive. + + + + +NATURE AND LIFE. + + +NATURE. + + +I. + +Winters know +Easily to shed the snow, +And the untaught Spring is wise +In cowslips and anemonies. +Nature, hating art and pains, +Baulks and baffles plotting brains; +Casualty and Surprise +Are the apples of her eyes; +But she dearly loves the poor, +And, by marvel of her own, +Strikes the loud pretender down. + +For Nature listens in the rose, +And hearkens in the berry's bell, +To help her friends, to plague her foes, +And like wise God she judges well. +Yet doth much her love excel +To the souls that never fell, +To swains that live in happiness, +And do well because they please, +Who walk in ways that are unfamed, +And feats achieve before they're named. + + + +NATURE. + + +II. + +She is gamesome and good, +But of mutable mood,-- +No dreary repeater now and again, +She will be all things to all men. +She who is old, but nowise feeble, +Pours her power into the people, +Merry and manifold without bar, +Makes and moulds them what they are, +And what they call their city way +Is not their way, but hers, +And what they say they made to-day, +They learned of the oaks and firs. +She spawneth men as mallows fresh, +Hero and maiden, flesh of her flesh; +She drugs her water and her wheat +With the flavours she finds meet, +And gives them what to drink and eat; +And having thus their bread and growth, +They do her bidding, nothing loath. +What's most theirs is not their own, +But borrowed in atoms from iron and stone, +And in their vaunted works of Art +The master-stroke is still her part. + + + +THE ROMANY GIRL. + + +The sun goes down, and with him takes +The coarseness of my poor attire; +The fair moon mounts, and aye the flame +Of Gypsy beauty blazes higher. + +Pale Northern girls! you scorn our race; +You captives of your air-tight halls, +Wear out in-doors your sickly days, +But leave us the horizon walls. + +And if I take you, dames, to task, +And say it frankly without guile, +Then you are Gypsies in a mask, +And I the lady all the while. + +If, on the heath, below the moon, +I court and play with paler blood, +Me false to mine dare whisper none,-- +One sallow horseman knows me good. + +Go, keep your cheek's rose from the rain, +For teeth and hair with shopmen deal; +My swarthy tint is in the grain, +The rocks and forest know it real. + +The wild air bloweth in our lungs, +The keen stars twinkle in our eyes, +The birds gave us our wily tongues, +The panther in our dances flies. + +You doubt we read the stars on high, +Nathless we read your fortunes true; +The stars may hide in the upper sky, +But without glass we fathom you. + + + +DAYS. + + +Damsels of Time, the hypocritic Days, +Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, +And marching single in an endless file, +Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. +To each they offer gifts after his will, +Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. +I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, +Forgot my morning wishes, hastily +Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day +Turned and departed silent. I, too late, +Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn. + + + +THE CHARTIST'S COMPLAINT. + + +Day! hast thou two faces, +Making one place two places? +One, by humble farmer seen, +Chill and wet, unlighted, mean, +Useful only, triste and damp, +Serving for a labourer's lamp? +Have the same mists another side, +To be the appanage of pride, +Gracing the rich man's wood and lake, +His park where amber mornings break, +And treacherously bright to show +His planted isle where roses glow? +O Day! and is your mightiness +A sycophant to smug success? +Will the sweet sky and ocean broad +Be fine accomplices to fraud? +O Sun! I curse thy cruel ray: +Back, back to chaos, harlot Day! + + + +MY GARDEN. + + +If I could put my woods in song, +And tell what's there enjoyed, +All men would to my gardens throng, +And leave the cities void. + +In my plot no tulips blow,-- +Snow-loving pines and oaks instead; +And rank the savage maples grow +From spring's faint flush to autumn red. + +My garden is a forest ledge +Which older forests bound; +The banks slope down to the blue lake-edge, +Then plunge to depths profound. + +Here once the Deluge ploughed, +Laid the terraces, one by one; +Ebbing later whence it flowed, +They bleach and dry in the sun. + +The sowers made haste to depart,-- +The wind and the birds which sowed it; +Not for fame, nor by rules of art, +Planted these, and tempests flowed it. + +Waters that wash my garden side +Play not in Nature's lawful web, +They heed not moon or solar tide,-- +Five years elapse from flood to ebb. + +Hither hasted, in old time, Jove, +And every god,--none did refuse; +And be sure at last came Love, +And after Love, the Muse. + +Keen ears can catch a syllable, +As if one spake to another, +In the hemlocks tall, untameable, +And what the whispering grasses smother. + +AEolian harps in the pine +Ring with the song of the Fates; +Infant Bacchus in the vine,-- +Far distant yet his chorus waits. + +Cast thou copy in verse one chime +Of the wood-bell's peal and cry, +Write in a book the morning's prime, +Or match with words that tender sky? + +Wonderful verse of the gods, +Of one import, of varied tone; +They chant the bliss of their abodes +To man imprisoned in his own. + +Ever the words of the gods resound; +But the porches of man's ear +Seldom in this low life's round +Are unsealed, that he may hear. + +Wandering voices in the air, +And murmurs in the wold, +Speak what I cannot declare, +Yet cannot all withhold. + +When the shadow fell on the lake, +The whirlwind in ripples wrote +Air-bells of fortune that shine and break, +And omens above thought. + +But the meanings cleave to the lake, +Cannot be carried in book or urn; +Go thy ways now, come later back, +On waves and hedges still they burn. + +These the fates of men forecast, +Of better men than live to-day; +If who can read them comes at last, +He will spell in the sculpture, 'Stay!' + + + +THE TITMOUSE. + + + You shall not be overbold +When you deal with arctic cold, +As late I found my lukewarm blood +Chilled wading in the snow-choked wood. +How should I fight? my foeman fine +Has million arms to one of mine: +East, west, for aid I looked in vain, +East, west, north, south, are his domain. +Miles off, three dangerous miles, is home; +Must borrow his winds who there would come. +Up and away for life! be fleet!-- +The frost-king ties my fumbling feet, +Sings in my ears, my hands are stones, +Curdles the blood to the marble bones, +Tugs at the heart-strings, numbs the sense, +And hems in life with narrowing fence. +Well, in this broad bed lie and sleep, +The punctual stars will vigil keep, +Embalmed by purifying cold, +The winds shall sing their dead-march old, +The snow is no ignoble shroud, +The moon thy mourner, and the cloud. + + Softly,--but this way fate was pointing, +'T was coming fast to such anointing, +When piped a tiny voice hard by, +Gay and polite a cheerful cry, +_Chic-chicadeedee_! saucy note +Out of sound heart and merry throat, +As if it said, 'Good day, good sir! +Fine afternoon, old passenger! +Happy to meet you in these places, +Where January brings few faces.' + + This poet, though he live apart, +Moved by his hospitable heart, +Sped, when I passed his sylvan fort, +To do the honours of his court, +As fits a feathered lord of land; +Flew near, with soft wing grazed my hand, +Hopped on the bough, then, darting low, +Prints his small impress on the snow, +Shows feats of his gymnastic play, +Head downward, clinging to the spray. + + Here was this atom in full breath, +Hurling defiance at vast death; +This scrap of valour just for play +Fronts the north-wind in waistcoat gray, +As if to shame my weak behaviour; +I greeted loud my little saviour, +'You pet! what dost here? and what for? +In these woods, thy small Labrador, +At this pinch, wee San Salvador! +What fire burns in that little chest +So frolic, stout, and self-possest? +Henceforth I wear no stripe but thine; +Ashes and jet all hues outshine. +Why are not diamonds black and gray, +To ape thy dare-devil array? +And I affirm, the spacious North +Exists to draw thy virtue forth. +I think no virtue goes with size; +The reason of all cowardice +Is, that men are overgrown, +And, to be valiant, must come down +To the titmouse dimension.' + + 'T is good-will makes intelligence, +And I began to catch the sense +Of my bird's song: 'Live out of doors, +In the great woods, on prairie floors. +I dine in the sun; when he sinks in the sea, +I too have a hole in a hollow tree; +And I like less when Summer beats +With stifling beams on these retreats, +Than noontide twilights which snow makes +With tempest of the blinding flakes. +For well the soul, if stout within, +Can arm impregnably the skin; +And polar frost my frame defied, +Made of the air that blows outside.' + + With glad remembrance of my debt, +I homeward turn; farewell, my pet! +When here again thy pilgrim comes, +He shall bring store of seeds and crumbs. +Doubt not, so long as earth has bread, +Thou first and foremost shalt be fed; +The Providence that is most large +Takes hearts like thine in special charge, +Helps who for their own need are strong, +And the sky dotes on cheerful song. +Henceforth I prize thy wiry chant +O'er all that mass and minster vaunt; +For men mis-hear thy call in spring, +As 't would accost some frivolous wing; +Crying out of the hazel copse, _Phe-be_! +And, in winter, _Chic-a-dee-dee_! +I think old Caesar must have heard +In northern Gaul my dauntless bird, +And, echoed in some frosty wold, +Borrowed thy battle-numbers bold. +And I will write our annals new, +And thank thee for a better clew, +I, who dreamed not when I came here +To find the antidote of fear, +Now hear thee say in Roman key, +_Paean! Veni, vidi, vici_. + + + +SEA-SHORE. + + + I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea +Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come? +Am I not always here, thy summer home? +Is not my voice thy music, morn and eve? +My breath thy healthful climate in the heats, +My touch thy antidote, my bay thy bath? +Was ever building like my terraces? +Was ever couch magnificent as mine? +Lie on the warm rock-ledges, and there learn +A little hut suffices like a town. +I make your sculptured architecture vain, +Vain beside mine. I drive my wedges home, +And carve the coastwise mountain into caves. +Lo! here is Rome, and Nineveh, and Thebes, +Karnak, and Pyramid, and Giant's Stairs, +Half piled or prostrate; and my newest slab +Older than all thy race. + + Behold the Sea, +The opaline, the plentiful and strong, +Yet beautiful as is the rose in June, +Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July; +Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds, +Purger of earth, and medicine of men; +Creating a sweet climate by my breath, +Washing out harms and griefs from memory, +And, in my mathematic ebb and flow, +Giving a hint of that which changes not. +Rich are the sea-gods:--who gives gifts but they? +They grope the sea for pearls, but more than pearls: +They pluck Force thence, and give it to the wise. +For every wave is wealth to Daedalus, +Wealth to the cunning artist who can work +This matchless strength. Where shall he find, O waves! +A load your Atlas shoulders cannot lift? + + I with my hammer pounding evermore +The rocky coast, smite Andes into dust, +Strewing my bed, and, in another age, +Rebuild a continent of better men. +Then I unbar the doors: my paths lead out +The exodus of nations: I disperse +Men to all shores that front the hoary main. + + I too have arts and sorceries; +Illusion dwells forever with the wave. +I know what spells are laid. Leave me to deal +With credulous and imaginative man; +For, though he scoop my water in his palm, +A few rods off he deems it gems and clouds. +Planting strange fruits and sunshine on the shore, +I make some coast alluring, some lone isle, +To distant men, who must go there, or die. + + + +SONG OF NATURE. + + +Mine are the night and morning, +The pits of air, the gulf of space, +The sportive sun, the gibbous moon, +The innumerable days. + +I hide in the solar glory, +I am dumb in the pealing song, +I rest on the pitch of the torrent, +In slumber I am strong. + +No numbers have counted my tallies, +No tribes my house can fill, +I sit by the shining Fount of Life, +And pour the deluge still; + +And ever by delicate powers +Gathering along the centuries +From race on race the rarest flowers, +My wreath shall nothing miss. + +And many a thousand summers +My apples ripened well, +And light from meliorating stars +With firmer glory fell. + +I wrote the past in characters +Of rock and fire the scroll, +The building in the coral sea, +The planting of the coal. + +And thefts from satellites and rings +And broken stars I drew, +And out of spent and aged things +I formed the world anew; + +What time the gods kept carnival, +Tricked out in star and flower, +And in cramp elf and saurian forms +They swathed their too much power. + +Time and thought were my surveyors, +They laid their courses well, +They boiled the sea, and baked the layers +Of granite, marl, and shell. + +But he, the man-child glorious,-- +Where tarries he the while? +The rainbow shines his harbinger, +The sunset gleams his smile. + +My boreal lights leap upward, +Forthright my planets roll, +And still the man-child is not born, +The summit of the whole. + +Must time and tide for ever run? +Will never my winds go sleep in the west? +Will never my wheels which whirl the sun +And satellites have rest? + +Too much of donning and doffing, +Too slow the rainbow fades, +I weary of my robe of snow, +My leaves and my cascades; + +I tire of globes and races, +Too long the game is played; +What without him is summer's pomp, +Or winter's frozen shade? + +I travail in pain for him, +My creatures travail and wait; +His couriers come by squadrons, +He comes not to the gate. + +Twice I have moulded an image, +And thrice outstretched my hand, +Made one of day, and one of night, +And one of the salt sea-sand. + +One in a Judaean manger, +And one by Avon stream, +One over against the mouths of Nile, +And one in the Academe. + +I moulded kings and saviours, +And bards o'er kings to rule;-- +But fell the starry influence short, +The cup was never full. + +Yet whirl the glowing wheels once more, +And mix the bowl again; +Seethe, Fate! the ancient elements, +Heat, cold, wet, dry, and peace, and pain. + +Let war and trade and creeds and song +Blend, ripen race on race, +The sunburnt world a man shall breed +Of all the zones, and countless days. + +No ray is dimmed, no atom worn, +My oldest force is good as new, +And the fresh rose on yonder thorn +Gives back the bending heavens in dew. + + + +TWO RIVERS. + + +Thy summer voice, Musketaquit, +Repeats the music of the rain; +But sweeter rivers pulsing flit +Through thee, as thou through Concord Plain. + +Thou in thy narrow banks are pent: +The stream I love unbounded goes +Through flood and sea and firmament; +Through light, through life, it forward flows. + +I see the inundation sweet, +I hear the spending of the stream +Through years, through men, through nature fleet, +Through passion, thought, through power and dream. + +Musketaquit, a goblin strong, +Of shard and flint makes jewels gay; +They lose their grief who hear his song, +And where he winds is the day of day. + +So forth and brighter fares my stream,-- +Who drinks it shall not thirst again; +No darkness stains its equal gleam, +And ages drop in it like rain. + + + +WALDEINSAMKEIT. + + +I do not count the hours I spend +In wandering by the sea; +The forest is my loyal friend, +Like God it useth me. + +In plains that room for shadows make +Of skirting hills to lie, +Bound in by streams which give and take +Their colours from the sky; + +Or on the mountain-crest sublime, +Or down the oaken glade, +O what have I to do with time? +For this the day was made. + +Cities of mortals woe begone +Fantastic care derides, +But in the serious landscape lone +Stern benefit abides. + +Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy, +And merry is only a mask of sad, +But, sober on a fund of joy, +The woods at heart are glad. + +There the great Planter plants +Of fruitful worlds the grain, +And with a million spells enchants +The souls that walk in pain. + +Still on the seeds of all he made +The rose of beauty burns; +Through times that wear, and forms that fade, +Immortal youth returns. + +The black ducks mounting from the lake, +The pigeon in the pines, +The bittern's boom, a desert make +Which no false art refines. + +Down in yon watery nook, +Where bearded mists divide, +The gray old gods whom Chaos knew, +The sires of Nature, hide. + +Aloft, in secret veins of air, +Blows the sweet breath of song, +O, few to scale those uplands dare, +Though they to all belong! + +See thou bring not to field or stone +The fancies found in books; +Leave authors' eyes, and fetch your own, +To brave the landscape's looks. + +And if, amid this dear delight, +My thoughts did home rebound, +I well might reckon it a slight +To the high cheer I found. + +Oblivion here thy wisdom is, +Thy thrift, the sleep of cares; +For a proud idleness like this +Crowns all thy mean affairs. + + + +TERMINUS. + + +It is time to be old, +To take in sail:-- +The god of bounds, +Who sets to seas a shore, +Came to me in his fatal rounds, +And said: 'No more! +No farther spread +Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root. +Fancy departs: no more invent, +Contract thy firmament +To compass of a tent. +There's not enough for this and that, +Make thy option which of two; +Economize the failing river, +Not the less revere the Giver, +Leave the many and hold the few. +Timely wise accept the terms, +Soften the fall with wary foot; +A little while +Still plan and smile, +And, fault of novel germs, +Mature the unfallen fruit. +Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires, +Bad husbands of their fires, +Who, when they gave thee breath, +Failed to bequeath +The needful sinew stark as once, +The Baresark marrow to thy bones, +But left a legacy of ebbing veins, +Inconstant heat and nerveless reins,-- +Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb, +Amid the gladiators, halt and numb.' +As the bird trims her to the gale, +I trim myself to the storm of time, +I man the rudder, reef the sail, +Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime: +'Lowly faithful, banish fear, +Right onward drive unarmed; +The port, well worth the cruise, is near, +And every wave is charmed.' + + + +THE PAST. + + +The debt is paid, +The verdict said, +The Furies laid, +The plague is stayed, +All fortunes made; +Turn the key and bolt the door, +Sweet is death forevermore. +Nor haughty hope, nor swart chagrin, +Nor murdering hate, can enter in. +All is now secure and fast; +Not the gods can shake the Past; +Flies to the adamantine door +Bolted down forevermore. + +None can re-enter there, +No thief so politic, +No Satan with a royal trick +Steal in by window, chink, or hole, +To bind or unbind, add what lacked, +Insert a leaf, or forge a name, +New-face or finish what is packed, +Alter or mend eternal Fact. + + + +THE LAST FAREWELL. + + +LINES WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR'S BROTHER, EDWARD BLISS EMERSON, WHILST +SAILING OUT OF BOSTON HARBOUR, BOUND FOR THE ISLAND OF PORTO RICO, IN +1832. + +Farewell, ye lofty spires +That cheered the holy light! +Farewell, domestic fires +That broke the gloom of night! +Too soon those spires are lost, +Too fast we leave the bay, +Too soon by ocean tost +From hearth and home away, + Far away, far away. + +Farewell the busy town, +The wealthy and the wise, +Kind smile and honest frown +From bright, familiar eyes. +All these are fading now; +Our brig hastes on her way, +Her unremembering prow +Is leaping o'er the sea, + Far away, far away. + +Farewell, my mother fond, +Too kind, too good to me; +Nor pearl nor diamond +Would pay my debt to thee. +But even thy kiss denies +Upon my cheek to stay; +The winged vessel flies, +And billows round her play, + Far away, far away. + +Farewell, my brothers true, +My betters, yet my peers; +How desert without you +My few and evil years! +But though aye one in heart, +Together sad or gay, +Rude ocean doth us part; +We separate to-day, + Far away, far away. + +Farewell I breathe again +To dim New England's shore; +My heart shall beat not when +I pant for thee no more. +In yon green palmy isle, +Beneath the tropic ray, +I murmur never while +For thee and thine I pray; + Far away, far away. + + + +IN MEMORIAM. + + +E. B. E. + + I mourn upon this battle-field, +But not for those who perished here. +Behold the river-bank +Whither the angry farmers came, +In sloven dress and broken rank, +Nor thought of fame. +Their deed of blood +All mankind praise; +Even the serene Reason says, +It was well done. +The wise and simple have one glance +To greet yon stern head-stone, +Which more of pride than pity gave +To mark the Briton's friendless grave. +Yet it is a stately tomb; +The grand return +Of eve and morn, +The year's fresh bloom, +The silver cloud, +Might grace the dust that is most proud. + + Yet not of these I muse +In this ancestral place, +But of a kindred face +That never joy or hope shall here diffuse. + + Ah, brother of the brief but blazing star! +What hast thou to do with these +Haunting this bank's historic trees? +Thou born for noblest life, +For action's field, for victor's car, +Thou living champion of the right? +To these their penalty belonged: +I grudge not these their bed of death, +But thine to thee, who never wronged +The poorest that drew breath. + + All inborn power that could +Consist with homage to the good +Flamed from his martial eye; +He who seemed a soldier born, +He should have the helmet worn, +All friends to fend, all foes defy, +Fronting foes of God and man, +Frowning down the evil-doer, +Battling for the weak and poor. +His from youth the leader's look +Gave the law which others took, +And never poor beseeching glance +Shamed that sculptured countenance. + + There is no record left on earth, +Save in tablets of the heart, +Of the rich inherent worth, +Of the grace that on him shone, +Of eloquent lips, of joyful wit; +He could not frame a word unfit, +An act unworthy to be done; +Honour prompted every glance, +Honour came and sat beside him, +In lowly cot or painful road, +And evermore the cruel god +Cried, "Onward!" and the palm-crown showed. +Born for success he seemed, +With grace to win, with heart to hold, +With shining gifts that took all eyes, +With budding power in college-halls, +As pledged in coming days to forge +Weapons to guard the State, or scourge +Tyrants despite their guards or walls. +On his young promise Beauty smiled, +Drew his free homage unbeguiled, +And prosperous Age held out his hand, +And richly his large future planned, +And troops of friends enjoyed the tide,-- +All, all was given, and only health denied. + + I see him with superior smile +Hunted by Sorrow's grisly train +In lands remote, in toil and pain, +With angel patience labour on, +With the high port he wore erewhile, +When, foremost of the youthful band, +The prizes in all lists he won; +Nor bate one jot of heart or hope, +And, least of all, the loyal tie +Which holds to home 'neath every sky, +The joy and pride the pilgrim feels +In hearts which round the hearth at home +Keep pulse for pulse with those who roam. + + What generous beliefs console +The brave whom Fate denies the goal! +If others reach it, is content; +To Heaven's high will his will is bent. +Firm on his heart relied, +What lot soe'er betide, +Work of his hand +He nor repents nor grieves, +Pleads for itself the fact, +As unrepenting Nature leaves +Her every act. + + Fell the bolt on the branching oak; +The rainbow of his hope was broke; +No craven cry, no secret tear,-- +He told no pang, he knew no fear; +Its peace sublime his aspect kept, +His purpose woke, his features slept; +And yet between the spasms of pain +His genius beamed with joy again. + + O'er thy rich dust the endless smile +Of Nature in thy Spanish isle +Hints never loss or cruel break +And sacrifice for love's dear sake, +Nor mourn the unalterable Days +That Genius goes and Folly stays. +What matters how, or from what ground, +The freed soul its Creator found? +Alike thy memory embalms +That orange-grove, that isle of palms, +And these loved banks, whose oak-boughs bold +Root in the blood of heroes old. + + + + +ELEMENTS. + + +EXPERIENCE. + + +The lords of life, the lords of life,-- +I saw them pass, +In their own guise, +Like and unlike, +Portly and grim,-- +Use and Surprise, +Surface and Dream, +Succession swift and spectral Wrong, +Temperament without a tongue, +And the inventor of the game +Omnipresent without name;-- +Some to see, some to be guessed, +They march from east to west: +Little man, least of all, +Among the legs of his guardians tall, +Walked about with puzzled look. +Him by the hand dear Nature took, +Dearest Nature, strong and kind, +Whispered, 'Darling, never mind! +To-morrow they will wear another face, +The founder thou; these are thy race!' + + + +COMPENSATION. + + +II. + +The wings of Time are black and white, +Pied with morning and with night. +Mountain tall and ocean deep +Trembling balance duly keep. +In changing moon and tidal wave +Glows the feud of Want and Have. +Gauge of more and less through space, +Electric star or pencil plays, +The lonely Earth amid the balls +That hurry through the eternal halls, +A makeweight flying to the void, +Supplemental asteroid, +Or compensatory spark, +Shoots across the neutral Dark. + +III. + +Man's the elm, and Wealth the vine; +Staunch and strong the tendrils twine: +Though the frail ringlets thee deceive, +None from its stock that vine can reave. +Fear not, then, thou child infirm, +There's no god dare wrong a worm; +Laurel crowns cleave to deserts, +And power to him who power exerts. +Hast not thy share? On winged feet, +Lo! it rushes thee to meet; +And all that Nature made thy own, +Floating in air or pent in stone, +Will rive the hills and swim the sea, +And, like thy shadow, follow thee. + + + +POLITICS. + + +Gold and iron are good +To buy iron and gold; +All earth's fleece and food +For their like are sold. +Hinted Merlin wise, +Proved Napoleon great, +Nor kind nor coinage buys +Aught above its rate. +Fear, Craft, and Avarice +Cannot rear a State. +Out of dust to build +What is more than dust,-- +Walls Amphion piled +Phoebus stablish must. +When the Muses nine +When the Virtues meet, +Find to their design +An Atlantic seat, +By green orchard boughs +Fended from the heat, +Where the statesman ploughs +Furrow for the wheat,-- +When the Church is social worth, +When the state-house is the hearth, +Then the perfect State is come, +The republican at home. + + + +HEROISM. + + +Ruby wine is drunk by knaves, +Sugar spends to fatten slaves, +Rose and vine-leaf deck buffoons; +Thunder-clouds are Jove's festoons, +Drooping oft in wreaths of dread, +Lightning-knotted round his head; +The hero is not fed on sweets, +Daily his own heart he eats; +Chambers of the great are jails, +And head-winds right for royal sails. + + + +CHARACTER. + + +The sun set, but set not his hope: +Stars rose; his faith was earlier up: +Fixed on the enormous galaxy, +Deeper and older seemed his eye; +And matched his sufferance sublime +The taciturnity of time. +He spoke, and words more soft than rain +Brought the Age of Gold again: +His action won such reverence sweet +As hid all measure of the feat. + + + +CULTURE. + + +Can rules or tutors educate +The semigod whom we await? +He must be musical, +Tremulous, impressional, +Alive to gentle influence +Of landscape and of sky, +And tender to the spirit-touch +Of man's or maiden's eye: +But, to his native centre fast, +Shall into Future fuse the Past, +And the world's flowing fates in his own mould recast. + + + +FRIENDSHIP. + + +A ruddy drop of manly blood +The surging sea outweighs, +The world uncertain comes and goes, +The lover rooted stays. +I fancied he was fled,-- +And, after many a year, +Glowed unexhausted kindliness, +Like daily sunrise there. +My careful heart was free again, +O friend, my bosom said, +Through thee alone the sky is arched, +Through thee the rose is red; +All things through thee take nobler form, +And look beyond the earth, +The mill-round of our fate appears +A sun-path in thy worth. +Me too thy nobleness has taught +To master my despair; +The fountains of my hidden life +Are through thy friendship fair. + + + +BEAUTY. + + +Was never form and never face +So sweet to SEYD as only grace +Which did not slumber like a stone, +But hovered gleaming and was gone. +Beauty chased he everywhere, +In flame, in storm, in clouds of air. +He smote the lake to feed his eye +With the beryl beam of the broken wave; +He flung in pebbles well to hear +The moment's music which they gave. +Oft pealed for him a lofty tone +From nodding pole and belting zone. +He heard a voice none else could hear +From centred and from errant sphere. +The quaking earth did quake in rhyme, +Seas ebbed and flowed in epic chime. +In dens of passion, and pits of woe, +He saw strong Eros struggling through, +To sun the dark and solve the curse, +And beam to the bounds of the universe. +While thus to love he gave his days +In loyal worship, scorning praise, +How spread their lures for him in vain +Thieving Ambition and paltering Gain! +He thought it happier to be dead, +To die for Beauty, than live for bread. + + + +MANNERS. + + +Grace, Beauty, and Caprice +Build this golden portal; +Graceful women, chosen men, +Dazzle every mortal. +Their sweet and lofty countenance +His enchanted food; +He need not go to them, their forms +Beset his solitude. +He looketh seldom in their face, +His eyes explore the ground,-- +The green grass is a looking-glass +Whereon their traits are found. +Little and less he says to them, +So dances his heart in his breast; +Their tranquil mien bereaveth him +Of wit, of words, of rest. +Too weak to win, too fond to shun +The tyrants of his doom, +The much deceived Endymion +Slips behind a tomb. + + + +ART. + + +Give to barrows, trays, and pans +Grace and glimmer of romance; +Bring the moonlight into noon +Hid in gleaming piles of stone; +On the city's paved street +Plant gardens lined with lilacs sweet; +Let spouting fountains cool the air, +Singing in the sun-baked square; +Let statue, picture, park, and hall, +Ballad, flag, and festival, +The past restore, the day adorn, +And make to-morrow a new morn. +So shall the drudge in dusty frock +Spy behind the city clock +Retinues of airy kings, +Skirts of angels, starry wings, +His fathers shining in bright fables, +His children fed at heavenly tables. +'T is the privilege of Art +Thus to play its cheerful part, +Man on earth to acclimate, +And bend the exile to his fate, +And, moulded of one element +With the days and firmament, +Teach him on these as stairs to climb, +And live on even terms with Time; +Whilst upper life the slender rill +Of human sense doth overfill. + + + +SPIRITUAL LAWS. + + +The living Heaven thy prayers respect, +House at once and architect, +Quarrying man's rejected hours, +Builds therewith eternal towers; +Sole and self-commanded works, +Fears not undermining days, +Grows by decays, +And, by the famous might that lurks +In reaction and recoil, +Makes flame to freeze and ice to boil; +Forging, through swart arms of Offence, +The silver seat of Innocence. + + + +UNITY. + + +Space is ample, east and west, +But two cannot go abreast, +Cannot travel in it two: +Yonder masterful cuckoo +Crowds every egg out of the nest, +Quick or dead, except its own; +A spell is laid on sod and stone, +Night and day were tampered with, +Every quality and pith +Surcharged and sultry with a power +That works its will on age and hour. + + + +WORSHIP. + + +This is he, who, felled by foes, +Sprung harmless up, refreshed by blows: +He to captivity was sold, +But him no prison-bars would hold: +Though they sealed him in a rock, +Mountain chains he can unlock: +Thrown to lions for their meat, +The crouching lion kissed his feet: +Bound to the stake, no flames appalled, +But arched o'er him an honouring vault. +This is he men miscall Fate, +Threading dark ways, arriving late, +But ever coming in time to crown +The truth, and hurl wrong-doers down. +He is the oldest, and best known, +More near than aught thou call'st thy own, +Yet, greeted in another's eyes, +Disconcerts with glad surprise. +This is Jove, who, deaf to prayers, +Floods with blessings unawares. +Draw, if thou canst, the mystic line +Severing rightly his from thine, +Which is human, which divine. + + + + +QUATRAINS. + + +S. H. + + +With beams December planets dart +His cold eye truth and conduct scanned, +July was in his sunny heart, +October in his liberal hand. + + + +A. H. + + +High was her heart, and yet was well inclined, +Her manners made of bounty well refined; +Far capitals, and marble courts, her eye still seemed to see, +Minstrels, and kings, and high-born dames, and of the best that be. + + + +"SUUM CUIQUE." + + +Wilt thou seal up the avenues of ill? +Pay every debt, as if God wrote the bill. + + + +HUSH! + + +Every thought is public, +Every nook is wide; +Thy gossips spread each whisper, +And the gods from side to side. + + + +ORATOR. + + +He who has no hands +Perforce must use his tongue; +Foxes are so cunning +Because they are not strong. + + + +ARTIST. + + +Quit the hut, frequent the palace, +Reck not what the people say; +For still, where'er the trees grow biggest, +Huntsmen find the easiest way. + + + +POET. + + +Ever the Poet _from_ the land +Steers his bark, and trims his sail; +Right out to sea his courses stand, +New worlds to find in pinnace frail. + + + +POET. + + +To clothe the fiery thought +In simple words succeeds, +For still the craft of genius is +To mask a king in weeds. + + + +BOTANIST. + + +Go thou to thy learned task, +I stay with the flowers of spring: +Do thou of the ages ask +What me the flowers will bring. + + + +GARDENER. + + +True Bramin, in the morning meadows wet, +Expound the Vedas of the violet, +Or, hid in vines, peeping through many a loop, +See the plum redden, and the beurre stoop. + + + +FORESTER. + + +He took the colour of his vest +From rabbit's coat or grouse's breast; +For, as the wood-kinds lurk and hide, +So walks the woodman, unespied. + + + +NORTHMAN. + + +The gale that wrecked you on the sand, +It helped my rowers to row; +The storm is my best galley hand, +And drives me where I go. + + + +FROM ALCUIN. + + +The sea is the road of the bold, +Frontier of the wheat-sown plains, +The pit wherein the streams are rolled, +And fountain of the rains. + + + +EXCELSIOR. + + +Over his head were the maple buds, +And over the tree was the moon, +And over the moon were the starry studs, +That drop from the angel's shoon. + + + +BORROWING. +FROM THE FRENCH. + + +Some of your hurts you have cured, +And the sharpest you still have survived, +But what torments of grief you endured +From evils which never arrived! + + + +NATURE. + + +Boon Nature yields each day a brag which we now first behold, +And trains us on to slight the new, as if it were the old: +But blest is he, who, playing deep, yet haply asks not why, +Too busied with the crowded hour to fear to live or die. + + + +FATE. + + +Her planted eye to-day controls, +Is in the morrow most at home, +And sternly calls to being souls +That curse her when they come. + + + +HOROSCOPE. + + +Ere he was born, the stars of fate +Plotted to make him rich and great: +When from the womb the babe was loosed, +The gate of gifts behind him closed. + + + +POWER. + + +Cast the bantling on the rocks, +Suckle him with the she-wolf's teat, +Wintered with the hawk and fox, +Power and speed be hands and feet. + + + +CLIMACTERIC. + + +I am not wiser for my age, +Nor skilful by my grief; +Life loiters at the book's first page,-- +Ah! could we turn the leaf. + + + +HERI, CRAS, HODIE. + + +Shines the last age, the next with hope is seen, +To-day slinks poorly off unmarked between: +Future or Past no richer secret folds, +O friendless Present! than thy bosom holds. + + + +MEMORY. + + +Night-dreams trace on Memory's wall +Shadows of the thoughts of day, +And thy fortunes, as they fall, +The bias of the will betray. + + + +LOVE. + + +Love on his errand bound to go +Can swim the flood, and wade through snow, +Where way is none, 'twill creep and wind +And eat through Alps its home to find. + + + +SACRIFICE. + + +Though love repine, and reason chafe, +There came a voice without reply,-- +''Tis man's perdition to be safe, +When for the truth he ought to die.' + + + +PERICLES. + + +Well and wisely said the Greek, +Be thou faithful, but not fond; +To the altar's foot thy fellow seek, +The Furies wait beyond. + + + +CASELLA. + + +Test of the poet is knowledge of love, +For Eros is older than Saturn or Jove; +Never was poet, of late or of yore, +Who was not tremulous with love-lore. + + + +SHAKSPEARE. + + +I see all human wits +Are measured but a few, +Unmeasured still my Shakspeare sits, +Lone as the blessed Jew. + + + +HAFIZ. + + +Her passions the shy violet +From Hafiz never hides; +Love-longings of the raptured bird +The bird to him confides. + + + +NATURE IN LEASTS. + + +As sings the pine-tree in the wind, +So sings in the wind a sprig of the pine; +Her strength and soul has laughing France +Shed in each drop of wine. + + + +[GREEK TITLE]. + + +'A new commandment,' said the smiling Muse, +'I give my darling son, Thou shalt not preach;'-- +Luther, Fox, Behmen, Swedenborg, grew pale, +And, on the instant, rosier clouds upbore +Hafiz and Shakspeare with their shining choirs. + + + + +TRANSLATIONS. + + +SONNET OF MICHEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. + + +Never did sculptor's dream unfold +A form which marble doth not hold +In its white block; yet it therein shall find +Only the hand secure and bold +Which still obeys the mind. +So hide in thee, thou heavenly dame, +The ill I shun, the good I claim; +I, alas! not well alive, +Miss the aim whereto I strive. + +Not love, nor beauty's pride, +Not fortune, nor thy coldness, can I chide, +If, whilst within thy heart abide +Both death and pity, my unequal skill +Fails of the life, but draws the death and ill. + + + +THE EXILE. +FROM THE PERSIAN OF KERMANI. + + +In Farsistan the violet spreads +Its leaves to the rival sky; +I ask how far is the Tigris flood, +And the vine that grows thereby? + +Except the amber morning wind, +Not one salutes me here; +There is no lover in all Bagdat +To offer the exile cheer. + +I know that thou, O morning wind! +O'er Kernan's meadow blowest, +And thou, heart-warming nightingale! +My father's orchard knowest. + +The merchant hath stuffs of price, +And gems from the sea-washed strand, +And princes offer me grace +To stay in the Syrian land; + +But what is gold _for_, but for gifts? +And dark, without love, is the day; +And all that I see in Bagdat +Is the Tigris to float me away. + + + +FROM HAFIZ. + + +I said to heaven that glowed above, +O hide yon sun-filled zone, +Hide all the stars you boast; +For, in the world of love +And estimation true, +The heaped-up harvest of the moon +Is worth one barley-corn at most, +The Pleiads' sheaf but two. + +* * * * * + +If my darling should depart, +And search the skies for prouder friends, +God forbid my angry heart +In other love should seek amends. + +When the blue horizon's hoop +Me a little pinches here, +Instant to my grave I stoop, +And go to find thee in the sphere. + + + +EPITAPH. + + +Bethink, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest +Mad Destiny this tender stripling played; +For a warm breast of maiden to his breast, +She laid a slab of marble on his head. + +They say, through patience, chalk +Becomes a ruby stone; +Ah, yes! but by the true heart's blood +The chalk is crimson grown. + + + +FRIENDSHIP. + + +Thou foolish Hafiz! Say, do churls +Know the worth of Oman's pearls? +Give the gem which dims the moon +To the noblest, or to none. + +* * * * * + +Dearest, where thy shadow falls, +Beauty sits, and Music calls; +Where thy form and favour come, +All good creatures have their home. + +* * * * * + +On prince or bride no diamond stone +Half so gracious ever shone, +As the light of enterprise +Beaming from a young man's eyes. + + + +FROM OMAR CHIAM. + + +Each spot where tulips prank their state +Has drunk the life-blood of the great; +The violets yon field which stain +Are moles of beauties time hath slain. + +* * * * * + +He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare, +And he who has one enemy will meet him everywhere. + +* * * * * + +On two days it steads not to run from thy grave, +The appointed, and the unappointed day; +On the first, neither balm nor physician can save, +Nor thee, on the second, the Universe slay. + + + +FROM IBN JEMIN. + + +Two things thou shalt not long for, if thou love a mind serene;-- +A woman to thy wife, though she were a crowned queen; +And the second, borrowed money,--though the smiling lender say, +That he will not demand the debt until the Judgment Day. + + + +THE FLUTE. +FROM HILALI. + + +Hark what, now loud, now low, the pining flute complains, +Without tongue, yellow-cheeked, full of winds that wail and sigh; +Saying, Sweetheart! the old mystery remains,-- +If I am I; thou, thou; or thou art I? + + + +TO THE SHAH. +FROM HAFIZ. + + +Thy foes to hunt, thy enviers to strike down, +Poises Arcturus aloft morning and evening his spear. + + + +TO THE SHAH. +FROM ENWERI. + + +Not in their houses stand the stars, +But o'er the pinnacles of thine! + + + +TO THE SHAH. +FROM ENWERI. + + +From thy worth and weight the stars gravitate, +And the equipoise of heaven is thy house's equipoise. + + + +SONG OF SEID NIMETOLLAH OF KUHISTAN. + + +[Among the religious customs of the dervishes is an astronomical dance, +in which the dervish imitates the movements of the heavenly bodies, by +spinning on his own axis, whilst at the same time he revolves round the +Sheikh in the centre, representing the sun; and, as he spins, he sings +the Song of Seid Nimetollah of Kuhistan.] + + Spin the ball! I reel, I burn, +Nor head from foot can I discern, +Nor my heart from love of mine, +Nor the wine-cup from the wine. +All my doing, all my leaving, +Reaches not to my perceiving; +Lost in whirling spheres I rove, +And know only that I love. + + I am seeker of the stone, +Living gem of Solomon; +From the shore of souls arrived, +In the sea of sense I dived; +But what is land, or what is wave, +To me who only jewels crave? +Love is the air-fed fire intense, +And my heart the frankincense; +As the rich aloes flames, I glow, +Yet the censer cannot know. +I'm all-knowing, yet unknowing; +Stand not, pause not, in my going. + + Ask not me, as Muftis can, +To recite the Alcoran; +Well I love the meaning sweet,-- +I tread the book beneath my feet. + + Lo! the God's love blazes higher, +Till all difference expire. +What are Moslems? what are Giaours? +All are Love's, and all are ours. +I embrace the true believers, +But I reck not of deceivers. +Firm to Heaven my bosom clings, +Heedless of inferior things; +Down on earth there, underfoot, +What men chatter know I not. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAY-DAY*** + + +******* This file should be named 15963.txt or 15963.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/9/6/15963 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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