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diff --git a/16229.txt b/16229.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a830770 --- /dev/null +++ b/16229.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14824 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poems of Henry Van Dyke, by Henry Van Dyke + +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: The Poems of Henry Van Dyke + +Author: Henry Van Dyke + +Release Date: July 7, 2005 [EBook #16229] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF HENRY VAN DYKE *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Daniel Emerson Griffith and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +BY HENRY VAN DYKE + + Six Days of the Week + + Little Rivers + Fisherman's Luck + Days Off + Out-of-Doors in the Holy Land + + The Ruling Passion + The Blue Flower + The Unknown Quantity + The Valley of Vision + + Camp-Fires and Guide-Posts + Companionable Books + + Poems, Collection in one volume + + Songs out of Doors + Golden Stars + The Red Flower + The Grand Canyon, and Other Poems + The White Bees, and Other Poems + The Builders, and Other Poems + Music, and Other Poems + The Toiling of Felix, and Other Poems + The House of Rimmon + + Studies in Tennyson + Poems of Tennyson + Fighting for Peace + + CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + + + +THE POEMS OF + +HENRY VAN DYKE + + +A NEW AND REVISED EDITION +WITH MANY HITHERTO UNCOLLECTED + + +LONDON ARTHUR F. BIRD MCMXXV + +[From an edition:] +Printed by The Scribner Press, +New York, U.S.A. + + +Dedicated in Friendship to + +KATRINA TRASK + +AND + +JOHN HUSTON FINLEY + + + + +CONTENTS + + +SONGS OUT OF DOORS + +EARLY VERSES + + The After-Echo + Dulciora + Three Alpine Sonnets + Matins + The Parting and the Coming Guest + If All the Skies + Wings of a Dove + The Fall of the Leaves + A Snow-Song + Roslin and Hawthornden + + +SONGS OUT OF DOORS + +LATER POEMS + + When Tulips Bloom + The Whip-Poor-Will + The Lily of Yorrow + The Veery + The Song-Sparrow + The Maryland Yellow-Throat + A November Daisy + The Angler's Reveille + The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet + School + Indian Summer + Spring in the North + Spring in the South + A Noon Song + Light Between the Trees + The Hermit Thrush + Turn o' the Tide + Sierra Madre + The Grand Canyon + The Heavenly Hills of Holland + Flood-Tide of Flowers + God of the Open Air + + +NARRATIVE POEMS + + The Toiling of Felix + Vera + Another Chance + A Legend of Service + The White Bees + New Year's Eve + The Vain King + The Foolish Fir-Tree + "Gran' Boule" + Heroes of the "Titanic" + The Standard-Bearer + The Proud Lady + + +LABOUR AND ROMANCE + + A Mile with Me + The Three Best Things + Reliance + Doors of Daring + The Child in the Garden + Love's Reason + The Echo in the Heart + "Undine" + "Rencontre" + Love in a Look + My April Lady + A Lover's Envy + Fire-Fly City + The Gentle Traveller + Nepenthe + Day and Night + Hesper + Arrival + Departure + The Black Birds + Without Disguise + An Hour + "Rappelle-Toi" + Love's Nearness + Two Songs of Heine + Eight Echoes from the Poems of Auguste Angellier + Rappel d'Amour + The River of Dreams + + +HEARTH AND ALTAR + + A Home Song + "Little Boatie" + A Mother's Birthday + Transformation + Rendezvous + Gratitude + Peace + Santa Christina + The Bargain + To the Child Jesus + Bitter-Sweet + Hymn of Joy + Song of a Pilgrim-Soul + Ode to Peace + Three Prayers for Sleep and Waking + Portrait and Reality + The Wind of Sorrow + Hide and Seek + Autumn in the Garden + The Message + Dulcis Memoria + The Window + Christmas Tears + Dorothea, 1888-1912 + + +EPIGRAMS, GREETINGS, AND INSCRIPTIONS + + For Katrina's Sun-Dial + For Katrina's Window + For the Friends at Hurstmont + The Sun-Dial at Morven + The Sun-Dial at Wells College + To Mark Twain + Stars and the Soul + To Julia Marlowe + To Joseph Jefferson + The Mocking-Bird + The Empty Quatrain + Pan Learns Music + The Shepherd of Nymphs + Echoes from the Greek Anthology + One World + Joy and Duty + The Prison and the Angel + The Way + Love and Light + _Facta non Verba_ + Four Things + The Great River + Inscription for a Tomb in England + The Talisman + Thorn and Rose + "The Signs" + + +PRO PATRIA + + Patria + America + The Ancestral Dwellings + Hudson's Last Voyage + Sea-Gulls of Manhattan + A Ballad of Claremont Hill + Urbs Coronata + Mercy for Armenia + Sicily, December, 1908 + "Come Back Again, Jeanne d'Arc" + National Monuments + The Monument of Francis Makemie + The Statue of Sherman by St. Gaudens + "America for Me" + The Builders + Spirit of the Everlasting Boy + Texas + Who Follow the Flag + Stain not the Sky + Peace-Hymn of the Republic + + +THE RED FLOWER AND GOLDEN STARS + + The Red Flower + A Scrap of Paper + Stand Fast + Lights Out + Remarks About Kings + Might and Right + The Price of Peace + Storm-Music + The Bells of Malines + Jeanne d'Arc Returns + The Name of France + America's Prosperity + The Glory of Ships + Mare Liberum + "Liberty Enlightening the World" + The Oxford Thrushes + Homeward Bound + The Winds of War-News + Righteous Wrath + The Peaceful Warrior + From Glory Unto Glory + Britain, France, America + The Red Cross + Easter Road + America's Welcome Home + The Surrender of the German Fleet + Golden Stars + In the Blue Heaven + A Shrine in the Pantheon + + +IN PRAISE OF POETS + + Mother Earth + Milton + Wordsworth + Keats + Shelley + Robert Browning + Tennyson + "In Memoriam" + Victor Hugo + Longfellow + Thomas Bailey Aldrich + Edmund Clarence Stedman + To James Whitcomb Riley + Richard Watson Gilder + The Valley of Vain Verses + + +MUSIC + + Music + Master of Music + The Pipes o' Pan + To a Young Girl Singing + The Old Flute + The First Bird o' Spring + + +THE HOUSE OF RIMMON + +A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS + + The House of Rimmon + Dramatis Personae + + +APPENDIX + +CARMINA FESTIVA + + The Little-Neck Clam + A Fairy Tale + The Ballad of the Solemn Ass + A Ballad of Santa Claus + Ars Agricolaris + Angler's Fireside Song + How Spring Comes to Shasta Jim + A Bunch of Trout-Flies + + +Index of First Lines + + + + +SONGS OUT OF DOORS + +EARLY VERSES + + + +THE AFTER-ECHO + + + How long the echoes love to play + Around the shore of silence, as a wave + Retreating circles down the sand! + One after one, with sweet delay, + The mellow sounds that cliff and island gave, + Have lingered in the crescent bay, + Until, by lightest breezes fanned, + They float far off beyond the dying day + And leave it still as death. + But hark,-- + Another singing breath + Comes from the edge of dark; + A note as clear and slow + As falls from some enchanted bell, + Or spirit, passing from the world below, + That whispers back, Farewell. + + So in the heart, + When, fading slowly down the past, + Fond memories depart, + And each that leaves it seems the last; + Long after all the rest are flown, + Returns a solitary tone,-- + The after-echo of departed years,-- + And touches all the soul to tears. + +1871. + + + +DULCIORA + + + A tear that trembles for a little while + Upon the trembling eyelid, till the world + Wavers within its circle like a dream, + Holds more of meaning in its narrow orb + Than all the distant landscape that it blurs. + + A smile that hovers round a mouth beloved, + Like the faint pulsing of the Northern Light, + And grows in silence to an amber dawn + Born in the sweetest depths of trustful eyes, + Is dearer to the soul than sun or star. + + A joy that falls into the hollow heart + From some far-lifted height of love unseen, + Unknown, makes a more perfect melody + Than hidden brooks that murmur in the dusk, + Or fall athwart the cliff with wavering gleam. + + Ah, not for their own sake are earth and sky + And the fair ministries of Nature dear, + But as they set themselves unto the tune + That fills our life; as light mysterious + Flows from within and glorifies the world. + + For so a common wayside blossom, touched + With tender thought, assumes a grace more sweet + Than crowns the royal lily of the South; + And so a well-remembered perfume seems + The breath of one who breathes in Paradise. + +1872. + + + +THREE ALPINE SONNETS + + +I + +THE GLACIER + + At dawn in silence moves the mighty stream, + The silver-crested waves no murmur make; + But far away the avalanches wake + The rumbling echoes, dull as in a dream; + Their momentary thunders, dying, seem + To fall into the stillness, flake by flake, + And leave the hollow air with naught to break + The frozen spell of solitude supreme. + + At noon unnumbered rills begin to spring + Beneath the burning sun, and all the walls + Of all the ocean-blue crevasses ring + With liquid lyrics of their waterfalls; + As if a poet's heart had felt the glow + Of sovereign love, and song began to flow. + +Zermatt, 1872. + + +II + +THE SNOW-FIELD + + White Death had laid his pall upon the plain, + And crowned the mountain-peaks like monarchs dead; + The vault of heaven was glaring overhead + With pitiless light that filled my eyes with pain; + And while I vainly longed, and looked in vain + For sign or trace of life, my spirit said, + "Shall any living thing that dares to tread + This royal lair of Death escape again?" + + But even then I saw before my feet + A line of pointed footprints in the snow: + Some roving chamois, but an hour ago, + Had passed this way along his journey fleet, + And left a message from a friend unknown + To cheer my pilgrim-heart, no more alone. + +Zermatt, 1872. + + +III + +MOVING BELLS + + I love the hour that comes, with dusky hair + And dewy feet, along the Alpine dells, + To lead the cattle forth. A thousand bells + Go chiming after her across the fair + And flowery uplands, while the rosy flare + Of sunset on the snowy mountain dwells, + And valleys darken, and the drowsy spells + Of peace are woven through the purple air. + + Dear is the magic of this hour: she seems + To walk before the dark by falling rills, + And lend a sweeter song to hidden streams; + She opens all the doors of night, and fills + With moving bells the music of my dreams, + That wander far among the sleeping hills. + +Gstaad, August, 1909. + + + +MATINS + + + Flowers rejoice when night is done, + Lift their heads to greet the sun; + Sweetest looks and odours raise, + In a silent hymn of praise. + + So my heart would turn away + From the darkness to the day; + Lying open in God's sight + Like a flower in the light. + + + +THE PARTING AND THE COMING GUEST + + + Who watched the worn-out Winter die? + Who, peering through the window-pane + At nightfall, under sleet and rain + Saw the old graybeard totter by? + Who listened to his parting sigh, + The sobbing of his feeble breath, + His whispered colloquy with Death, + And when his all of life was done + Stood near to bid a last good-bye? + Of all his former friends not one + Saw the forsaken Winter die. + + Who welcomed in the maiden Spring? + Who heard her footfall, swift and light + As fairy-dancing in the night? + Who guessed what happy dawn would bring + The flutter of her bluebird's wing, + The blossom of her mayflower-face + To brighten every shady place? + One morning, down the village street, + "Oh, here am I," we heard her sing,-- + And none had been awake to greet + The coming of the maiden Spring. + + But look, her violet eyes are wet + With bright, unfallen, dewy tears; + And in her song my fancy hears + A note of sorrow trembling yet. + Perhaps, beyond the town, she met + Old Winter as he limped away + To die forlorn, and let him lay + His weary head upon her knee, + And kissed his forehead with regret + For one so gray and lonely,--see, + Her eyes with tender tears are wet. + + And so, by night, while we were all at rest, + I think the coming sped the parting guest. + +1873. + + + +IF ALL THE SKIES + + + If all the skies were sunshine, + Our faces would be fain + To feel once more upon them + The cooling plash of rain. + + If all the world were music, + Our hearts would often long + For one sweet strain of silence. + To break the endless song. + + If life were always merry, + Our souls would seek relief, + And rest from weary laughter + In the quiet arms of grief. + + + +WINGS OF A DOVE + + +I + + At sunset, when the rosy light was dying + Far down the pathway of the west, + I saw a lonely dove in silence flying, + To be at rest. + + Pilgrim of air, I cried, could I but borrow + Thy wandering wings, thy freedom blest, + I'd fly away from every careful sorrow, + And find my rest. + + +II + + But when the filmy veil of dusk was falling, + Home flew the dove to seek his nest, + Deep in the forest where his mate was calling + To love and rest. + + Peace, heart of mine! no longer sigh to wander; + Lose not thy life in barren quest. + There are no happy islands over yonder; + Come home and rest. + +1874. + + + +THE FALL OF THE LEAVES + + +I + + In warlike pomp, with banners flowing, + The regiments of autumn stood: + I saw their gold and scarlet glowing + From every hillside, every wood. + + Above the sea the clouds were keeping + Their secret leaguer, gray and still; + They sent their misty vanguard creeping + With muffled step from hill to hill. + + All day the sullen armies drifted + Athwart the sky with slanting rain; + At sunset for a space they lifted, + With dusk they settled down again. + + +II + + At dark the winds began to blow + With mutterings distant, low; + From sea and sky they called their strength + Till with an angry, broken roar, + Like billows on an unseen shore, + Their fury burst at length. + + I heard through the night + The rush and the clamour; + The pulse of the fight + Like blows of Thor's hammer; + The pattering flight + Of the leaves, and the anguished + Moan of the forest vanquished. + + At daybreak came a gusty song: + "Shout! the winds are strong. + The little people of the leaves are fled. + Shout! The Autumn is dead!" + + +III + + The storm is ended! The impartial sun + Laughs down upon the battle lost and won, + And crowns the triumph of the cloudy host + In rolling lines retreating to the coast. + + But we, fond lovers of the woodland shade, + And grateful friends of every fallen leaf, + Forget the glories of the cloud-parade, + And walk the ruined woods in quiet grief. + + For ever so our thoughtful hearts repeat + On fields of triumph dirges of defeat; + And still we turn on gala-days to tread + Among the rustling memories of the dead. + +1874. + + + +A SNOW-SONG + + + Does the snow fall at sea? + Yes, when the north winds blow, + When the wild clouds fly low, + Out of each gloomy wing, + Silently glimmering, + Over the stormy sea + Falleth the snow. + + Does the snow hide the sea? + Nay, on the tossing plains + Never a flake remains; + Drift never resteth there; + Vanishing everywhere, + Into the hungry sea + Falleth the snow. + + What means the snow at sea? + Whirled in the veering blast, + Thickly the flakes drive past; + Each like a childish ghost + Wavers, and then is lost; + In the forgetful sea + Fadeth the snow. + +1875. + + + +ROSLIN AND HAWTHORNDEN + + + Fair Roslin Chapel, how divine + The art that reared thy costly shrine! + Thy carven columns must have grown + By magic, like a dream in stone. + + Yet not within thy storied wall + Would I in adoration fall, + So gladly as within the glen + That leads to lovely Hawthornden. + + A long-drawn aisle, with roof of green + And vine-clad pillars, while between, + The Esk runs murmuring on its way, + In living music night and day. + + Within the temple of this wood + The martyrs of the covenant stood, + And rolled the psalm, and poured the prayer, + From Nature's solemn altar-stair. + +Edinburgh, 1877. + + + + +SONGS OUT OF DOORS + +LATER POEMS + + + +WHEN TULIPS BLOOM + + +I + + When tulips bloom in Union Square, + And timid breaths of vernal air + Go wandering down the dusty town, + Like children lost in Vanity Fair; + + When every long, unlovely row + Of westward houses stands aglow, + And leads the eyes to sunset skies + Beyond the hills where green trees grow; + + Then weary seems the street parade, + And weary books, and weary trade: + I'm only wishing to go a-fishing; + For this the month of May was made. + + +II + + I guess the pussy-willows now + Are creeping out on every bough + Along the brook; and robins look + For early worms behind the plough. + + The thistle-birds have changed their dun, + For yellow coats, to match the sun; + And in the same array of flame + The Dandelion Show's begun. + + The flocks of young anemones + Are dancing round the budding trees: + Who can help wishing to go a-fishing + In days as full of joy as these? + + +III + + I think the meadow-lark's clear sound + Leaks upward slowly from the ground, + While on the wing the bluebirds ring + Their wedding-bells to woods around. + + The flirting chewink calls his dear + Behind the bush; and very near, + Where water flows, where green grass grows, + Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer." + + And, best of all, through twilight's calm + The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm. + How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing + In days so sweet with music's balm! + + +IV + + 'Tis not a proud desire of mine; + I ask for nothing superfine; + No heavy weight, no salmon great, + To break the record, or my line. + + Only an idle little stream, + Whose amber waters softly gleam, + Where I may wade through woodland shade, + And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream: + + Only a trout or two, to dart + From foaming pools, and try my art: + 'Tis all I'm wishing--old-fashioned fishing, + And just a day on Nature's heart. + +1894. + + + +THE WHIP-POOR-WILL + + + Do you remember, father,-- + It seems so long ago,-- + The day we fished together + Along the Pocono? + At dusk I waited for you, + Beside the lumber-mill, + And there I heard a hidden bird + That chanted, "whip-poor-will," + "_Whippoorwill!_ _whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + + The place was all deserted; + The mill-wheel hung at rest; + The lonely star of evening + Was throbbing in the west; + The veil of night was falling; + The winds were folded still; + And everywhere the trembling air + Re-echoed "whip-poor-will!" + "_Whippoorwill!_ _whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + + You seemed so long in coming, + I felt so much alone; + The wide, dark world was round me, + And life was all unknown; + The hand of sorrow touched me, + And made my senses thrill + With all the pain that haunts the strain + Of mournful whip-poor-will. + "_Whippoorwill!_ _whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + + What knew I then of trouble? + An idle little lad, + I had not learned the lessons + That make men wise and sad. + I dreamed of grief and parting, + And something seemed to fill + My heart with tears, while in my ears + Resounded "whip-poor-will." + "_Whippoorwill!_ _whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + + 'Twas but a cloud of sadness, + That lightly passed away; + But I have learned the meaning + Of sorrow, since that day. + For nevermore at twilight, + Beside the silent mill, + I'll wait for you, in the falling dew, + And hear the whip-poor-will. + "_Whippoorwill!_ _whippoorwill!_" + Sad and shrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + + But if you still remember + In that fair land of light, + The pains and fears that touch us + Along this edge of night, + I think all earthly grieving, + And all our mortal ill, + To you must seem like a sad boy's dream. + Who hears the whip-poor-will. + "_Whippoorwill!_ _whippoorwill!_" + A passing thrill,--"_whippoorwill!_" + +1894. + + + +THE LILY OF YORROW + + + Deep in the heart of the forest the lily of Yorrow is growing; + Blue is its cup as the sky, and with mystical odour o'erflowing; + Faintly it falls through the shadowy glades when the south wind is + blowing. + + Sweet are the primroses pale and the violets after a shower; + Sweet are the borders of pinks and the blossoming grapes on the bower; + Sweeter by far is the breath of that far-away woodland flower. + + Searching and strange in its sweetness, it steals like a perfume + enchanted + Under the arch of the forest, and all who perceive it are haunted, + Seeking and seeking for ever, till sight of the lily is granted. + + Who can describe how it grows, with its chalice of lazuli leaning + Over a crystalline spring, where the ferns and the mosses are greening? + Who can imagine its beauty, or utter the depth of its meaning? + + Calm of the journeying stars, and repose of the mountains olden, + Joy of the swift-running rivers, and glory of sunsets golden, + Secrets that cannot be told in the heart of the flower are holden. + + Surely to see it is peace and the crown of a life-long endeavour; + Surely to pluck it is gladness,--but they who have found it can never + Tell of the gladness and peace: they are hid from our vision for ever. + + 'Twas but a moment ago that a comrade was walking near me: + Turning aside from the pathway he murmured a greeting to cheer me,-- + Then he was lost in the shade, and I called but he did not hear me. + + Why should I dream he is dead, and bewail him with passionate sorrow? + Surely I know there is gladness in finding the lily of Yorrow: + He has discovered it first, and perhaps I shall find it to-morrow. + +1894. + + + +THE VEERY + + + The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring, + When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost love deploring. + So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie; + I longed to hear a simpler strain,--the wood-notes of the veery. + + The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish heather; + It sprinkles down from far away like light and love together; + He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie; + I only know one song more sweet,--the vespers of the veery. + + In English gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure, + I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure: + The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery, + And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the veery. + + But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing; + New England woods, at close of day, with that clear chant are ringing: + And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary, + I fain would hear, before I go, the wood-notes of the veery. + +1895. + + + +THE SONG-SPARROW + + + There is a bird I know so well, + It seems as if he must have sung + Beside my crib when I was young; + Before I knew the way to spell + The name of even the smallest bird, + His gentle-joyful song I heard. + Now see if you can tell, my dear. + What bird it is that, every year, + Sings "_Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer._" + + He comes in March, when winds are strong, + And snow returns to hide the earth; + But still he warms his heart with mirth, + And waits for May. He lingers long + While flowers fade; and every day + Repeats his small, contented lay; + As if to say, we need not fear + The season's change, if love is here + With "_Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer._" + + He does not wear a Joseph's-coat + Of many colours, smart and gay; + His suit is Quaker brown and gray, + With darker patches at his throat. + And yet of all the well-dressed throng + Not one can sing so brave a song. + It makes the pride of looks appear + A vain and foolish thing, to hear + His "_Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer._" + + A lofty place he does not love, + But sits by choice, and well at ease, + In hedges, and in little trees + That stretch their slender arms above + The meadow-brook; and there he sings + Till all the field with pleasure rings; + And so he tells in every ear, + That lowly homes to heaven are near + In "_Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer._" + + I like the tune, I like the words; + They seem so true, so free from art, + So friendly, and so full of heart, + That if but one of all the birds + Could be my comrade everywhere, + My little brother of the air, + I'd choose the song-sparrow, my dear, + Because he'd bless me, every year, + With "_Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer._" + +1895. + + + +THE MARYLAND YELLOW-THROAT + + + When May bedecks the naked trees + With tassels and embroideries, + And many blue-eyed violets beam + Along the edges of the stream, + I hear a voice that seems to say, + Now near at hand, now far away, + "_Witchery--witchery--witchery._" + + An incantation so serene, + So innocent, befits the scene: + There's magic in that small bird's note-- + See, there he flits--the Yellow-throat; + A living sunbeam, tipped with wings, + A spark of light that shines and sings + "_Witchery--witchery--witchery._" + + You prophet with a pleasant name, + If out of Mary-land you came, + You know the way that thither goes + Where Mary's lovely garden grows: + Fly swiftly back to her, I pray, + And try to call her down this way, + "_Witchery--witchery--witchery!_" + + Tell her to leave her cockle-shells, + And all her little silver bells + That blossom into melody, + And all her maids less fair than she. + She does not need these pretty things, + For everywhere she comes, she brings + "_Witchery--witchery--witchery!_" + + The woods are greening overhead, + And flowers adorn each mossy bed; + The waters babble as they run-- + One thing is lacking, only one: + If Mary were but here to-day, + I would believe your charming lay, + "_Witchery--witchery--witchery!_" + + Along the shady road I look-- + Who's coming now across the brook? + A woodland maid, all robed in white-- + The leaves dance round her with delight, + The stream laughs out beneath her feet-- + Sing, merry bird, the charm's complete, + "_Witchery--witchery--witchery!_" + +1895. + + + +A NOVEMBER DAISY + + + Afterthought of summer's bloom! + Late arrival at the feast, + Coming when the songs have ceased + And the merry guests departed, + Leaving but an empty room, + Silence, solitude, and gloom,-- + Are you lonely, heavy-hearted; + You, the last of all your kind, + Nodding in the autumn-wind; + Now that all your friends are flown, + Blooming late and all alone? + + Nay, I wrong you, little flower, + Reading mournful mood of mine + In your looks, that give no sign + Of a spirit dark and cheerless! + You possess the heavenly power + That rejoices in the hour. + Glad, contented, free, and fearless, + Lift a sunny face to heaven + When a sunny day is given! + Make a summer of your own, + Blooming late and all alone! + + Once the daisies gold and white + Sea-like through the meadow rolled: + Once my heart could hardly hold + All its pleasures. I remember, + In the flood of youth's delight + Separate joys were lost to sight. + That was summer! Now November + Sets the perfect flower apart; + Gives each blossom of the heart + Meaning, beauty, grace unknown,-- + Blooming late and all alone. + +November, 1899. + + + +THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE + + + What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, + And all the little watchman-stars have fallen asleep in light, + 'Tis then a merry wind awakes, and runs from tree to tree, + And borrows words from all the birds to sound the reveille. + + This is the carol the Robin throws + Over the edge of the valley; + Listen how boldly it flows, + Sally on sally: + _Tirra-lirra, + Early morn, + New born! + Day is near, + Clear, clear. + Down the river + All a-quiver, + Fish are breaking; + Time for waking, + Tup, tup, tup! + Do you hear? + All clear-- + Wake up!_ + + The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and vanished with the dark, + And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark; + Now forth she fares thro' friendly woods and diamond-fields of dew, + While every voice cries out "Rejoice!" as if the world were new. + + This is the ballad the Bluebird sings, + Unto his mate replying, + Shaking the tune from his wings + While he is flying: + _Surely, surely, surely, + Life is dear + Even here. + Blue above, + You to love, + Purely, purely, purely._ + + There's wild azalea on the hill, and iris down the dell, + And just one spray of lilac still abloom beside the well; + The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds grow pink, + Along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink. + + This is the song of the Yellow-throat, + Fluttering gaily beside you; + Hear how each voluble note + Offers to guide you: + _Which way, sir? + I say, sir, + Let me teach you, + I beseech you! + Are you wishing + Jolly fishing? + This way, sir! + I'll teach you._ + + Then come, my friend, forget your foes and leave your fears behind, + And wander forth to try your luck, with cheerful, quiet mind; + For be your fortune great or small, you take what God will give, + And all the day your heart will say, "'Tis luck enough to live." + + This is the song the Brown Thrush flings + Out of his thicket of roses; + Hark how it bubbles and rings, + Mark how it closes: + _Luck, luck, + What luck? + Good enough for me, + I'm alive, you see! + Sun shining, + No repining; + Never borrow + Idle sorrow; + Drop it! + Cover it up! + Hold your cup! + Joy will fill it, + Don't spill it, + Steady, be ready, + Good luck!_ + +1899. + + + +THE RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET + + +I + + Where's your kingdom, little king? + Where the land you call your own, + Where your palace and your throne? + Fluttering lightly on the wing + Through the blossom-world of May, + Whither lies your royal way, + Little king? + + _Far to northward lies a land + Where the trees together stand + Closely as the blades of wheat + When the summer is complete. + Rolling like an ocean wide + Over vale and mountainside, + Balsam, hemlock, spruce and pine,-- + All those mighty trees are mine. + There's a river flowing free,-- + All its waves belong to me. + There's a lake so clear and bright + Stars shine out of it all night; + Rowan-berries round it spread + Like a belt of coral red. + Never royal garden planned + Fair as my Canadian land! + There I build my summer nest, + There I reign and there I rest, + While from dawn to dark I sing, + Happy kingdom! Lucky king!_ + + +II + + Back again, my little king! + Is your happy kingdom lost + To the rebel knave, Jack Frost? + Have you felt the snow-flakes sting? + Houseless, homeless in October, + Whither now? Your plight is sober, + Exiled king! + + _Far to southward lie the regions + Where my loyal flower-legions + Hold possession of the year, + Filling every month with cheer. + Christmas wakes the winter rose; + New Year daffodils unclose; + Yellow jasmine through the wood + Flows in February flood, + Dropping from the tallest trees + Golden streams that never freeze. + Thither now I take my flight + Down the pathway of the night, + Till I see the southern moon + Glisten on the broad lagoon, + Where the cypress' dusky green, + And the dark magnolia's sheen, + Weave a shelter round my home. + There the snow-storms never come; + There the bannered mosses gray + Like a curtain gently sway, + Hanging low on every side + Round the covert where I bide, + Till the March azalea glows, + Royal red and heavenly rose, + Through the Carolina glade + Where my winter home is made. + There I hold my southern court, + Full of merriment and sport: + There I take my ease and sing, + Happy kingdom! Lucky king!_ + + +III + + Little boaster, vagrant king, + Neither north nor south is yours, + You've no kingdom that endures! + Wandering every fall and spring, + With your ruby crown so slender, + Are you only a Pretender, + Landless king? + + _Never king by right divine + Ruled a richer realm than mine! + What are lands and golden crowns, + Armies, fortresses and towns, + Jewels, sceptres, robes and rings,-- + What are these to song and wings? + Everywhere that I can fly, + There I own the earth and sky; + Everywhere that I can sing. + There I'm happy as a king._ + +1900. + + + +SCHOOL + + + I put my heart to school + In the world where men grow wise: + "Go out," I said, "and learn the rule; + Come back when you win a prize." + + My heart came back again: + "Now where is the prize?" I cried.-- + "The rule was false, and the prize was pain, + And the teacher's name was Pride." + + I put my heart to school + In the woods where veeries sing + And brooks run clear and cool, + In the fields where wild flowers spring. + + "And why do you stay so long + My heart, and where do you roam?" + The answer came with a laugh and a song,-- + "I find this school is home." + +April, 1901. + + + +INDIAN SUMMER + + + A silken curtain veils the skies, + And half conceals from pensive eyes + The bronzing tokens of the fall; + A calmness broods upon the hills, + And summer's parting dream distils + A charm of silence over all. + + The stacks of corn, in brown array, + Stand waiting through the tranquil day, + Like tattered wigwams on the plain; + The tribes that find a shelter there + Are phantom peoples, forms of air, + And ghosts of vanished joy and pain. + + At evening when the crimson crest + Of sunset passes down the West, + I hear the whispering host returning; + On far-off fields, by elm and oak, + I see the lights, I smell the smoke,-- + The Camp-fires of the Past are burning. + +_Tertius and Henry van Dyke._ + +November, 1903. + + + +SPRING IN THE NORTH + + +I + + Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days, + Why the sweet Spring delays, + And where she hides,--the dear desire + Of every heart that longs + For bloom, and fragrance, and the ruby fire + Of maple-buds along the misty hills, + And that immortal call which fills + The waiting wood with songs? + The snow-drops came so long ago, + It seemed that Spring was near! + But then returned the snow + With biting winds, and earth grew sere, + And sullen clouds drooped low + To veil the sadness of a hope deferred: + Then rain, rain, rain, incessant rain + Beat on the window-pane, + Through which I watched the solitary bird + That braved the tempest, buffeted and tossed + With rumpled feathers down the wind again. + Oh, were the seeds all lost + When winter laid the wild flowers in their tomb? + I searched the woods in vain + For blue hepaticas, and trilliums white, + And trailing arbutus, the Spring's delight, + Starring the withered leaves with rosy bloom. + But every night the frost + To all my longing spoke a silent nay, + And told me Spring was far away. + Even the robins were too cold to sing, + Except a broken and discouraged note,-- + Only the tuneful sparrow, on whose throat + Music has put her triple finger-print, + Lifted his head and sang my heart a hint,-- + "Wait, wait, wait! oh, wait a while for Spring!" + + +II + + But now, Carina, what divine amends + For all delay! What sweetness treasured up, + What wine of joy that blends + A hundred flavours in a single cup, + Is poured into this perfect day! + For look, sweet heart, here are the early flowers + That lingered on their way, + Thronging in haste to kiss the feet of May, + Entangled with the bloom of later hours,-- + Anemones and cinque-foils, violets blue + And white, and iris richly gleaming through + The grasses of the meadow, and a blaze + Of butter-cups and daisies in the field, + Filling the air with praise, + As if a chime of golden bells had pealed! + The frozen songs within the breast + Of silent birds that hid in leafless woods, + Melt into rippling floods + Of gladness unrepressed. + Now oriole and bluebird, thrush and lark, + Warbler and wren and vireo, + Mingle their melody; the living spark + Of Love has touched the fuel of desire, + And every heart leaps up in singing fire. + It seems as if the land + Were breathing deep beneath the sun's caress, + Trembling with tenderness, + While all the woods expand, + In shimmering clouds of rose and gold and green, + To veil a joy too sacred to be seen. + + +III + + Come, put your hand in mine, + True love, long sought and found at last, + And lead me deep into the Spring divine + That makes amends for all the wintry past. + For all the flowers and songs I feared to miss + Arrive with you; + And in the lingering pressure of your kiss + My dreams come true; + And in the promise of your generous eyes + I read the mystic sign + Of joy more perfect made + Because so long delayed, + And bliss enhanced by rapture of surprise. + Ah, think not early love alone is strong; + He loveth best whose heart has learned to wait: + Dear messenger of Spring that tarried long, + You're doubly dear because you come so late. + + + +SPRING IN THE SOUTH + + + Now in the oak the sap of life is welling, + Tho' to the bough the rusty leafage clings; + Now on the elm the misty buds are swelling; + Every little pine-wood grows alive with wings; + Blue-jays are fluttering, yodeling and crying, + Meadow-larks sailing low above the faded grass, + Red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying,-- + Who has waked the birds up? What has come to pass? + + Last year's cotton-plants, desolately bowing, + Tremble in the March-wind, ragged and forlorn; + Red are the hillsides of the early ploughing, + Gray are the lowlands, waiting for the corn. + Earth seems asleep, but she is only feigning; + Deep in her bosom thrills a sweet unrest; + Look where the jasmine lavishly is raining + Jove's golden shower into Danaee's breast! + + Now on the plum-tree a snowy bloom is sifted, + Now on the peach-tree, the glory of the rose, + Far o'er the hills a tender haze is drifted, + Full to the brim the yellow river flows. + Dark cypress boughs with vivid jewels glisten, + Greener than emeralds shining in the sun. + Whence comes the magic? Listen, sweetheart, listen! + The mocking-bird is singing: Spring is begun. + + Hark, in his song no tremor of misgiving! + All of his heart he pours into his lay,-- + "Love, love, love, and pure delight of living: + Winter is forgotten: here's a happy day!" + Fair in your face I read the flowery presage, + Snowy on your brow and rosy on your mouth: + Sweet in your voice I hear the season's message,-- + Love, love, love, and Spring in the South! + +1904. + + + +A NOON SONG + + + There are songs for the morning and songs for the night, + For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon; + But who will give praise to the fulness of light, + And sing us a song of the glory of noon? + Oh, the high noon, the clear noon, + The noon with golden crest; + When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns + With his face to the way of the west! + + How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength! + How slowly he crept as the morning wore by! + Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length + To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky. + Oh, the long toil, the slow toil, + The toil that may not rest, + Till the sun looks down from his journey's crown, + To the wonderful way of the west! + + Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill, + The wings of the wind in the forest are furled, + The river runs softly, the birds are all still, + The workers are resting all over the world. + Oh, the good hour, the kind hour, + The hour that calms the breast! + Little inn half-way on the road of the day, + Where it follows the turn to the west! + + There's a plentiful feast in the maple-tree shade, + The lilt of a song to an old-fashioned tune, + The talk of a friend, or the kiss of a maid, + To sweeten the cup that we drink to the noon. + Oh, the deep noon, the full noon, + Of all the day the best! + When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns + To his home by the way of the west! + +1906. + + + +LIGHT BETWEEN THE TREES + + + Long, long, long the trail + Through the brooding forest-gloom, + Down the shadowy, lonely vale + Into silence, like a room + Where the light of life has fled, + And the jealous curtains close + Round the passionless repose + Of the silent dead. + + Plod, plod, plod away, + Step by step in mouldering moss; + Thick branches bar the day + Over languid streams that cross + Softly, slowly, with a sound + Like a smothered weeping, + In their aimless creeping + Through enchanted ground. + + "Yield, yield, yield thy quest," + Whispers through the woodland deep; + "Come to me and be at rest; + I am slumber, I am sleep." + Then the weary feet would fail, + But the never-daunted will + Urges "Forward, forward still! + Press along the trail!" + + Breast, breast, breast the slope + See, the path is growing steep. + Hark! a little song of hope + Where the stream begins to leap. + Though the forest, far and wide, + Still shuts out the bending blue, + We shall finally win through, + Cross the long divide. + + On, on, on we tramp! + Will the journey never end? + Over yonder lies the camp; + Welcome waits us there, my friend. + Can we reach it ere the night? + Upward, upward, never fear! + Look, the summit must be near; + See the line of light! + + Red, red, red the shine + Of the splendour in the west, + Glowing through the ranks of pine, + Clear along the mountain-crest! + Long, long, long the trail + Out of sorrow's lonely vale; + But at last the traveller sees + Light between the trees! + +March, 1904. + + + +THE HERMIT THRUSH + + + O wonderful! How liquid clear + The molten gold of that ethereal tone, + Floating and falling through the wood alone, + A hermit-hymn poured out for God to hear! + + _O holy, holy, holy! Hyaline, + Long light, low light, glory of eventide! + Love far away, far up,--up,--love divine! + Little love, too, for ever, ever near, + Warm love, earth love, tender love of mine, + In the leafy dark where you hide, + You are mine,--mine,--mine!_ + + Ah, my beloved, do you feel with me + The hidden virtue of that melody, + The rapture and the purity of love, + The heavenly joy that can not find the word? + Then, while we wait again to hear the bird, + Come very near to me, and do not move,-- + Now, hermit of the woodland, fill anew + The cool, green cup of air with harmony, + And we will drink the wine of love with you. + +May, 1908. + + + +TURN O' THE TIDE + + + The tide flows in to the harbour,-- + The bold tide, the gold tide, the flood o' the sunlit sea,-- + And the little ships riding at anchor, + Are swinging and slanting their prows to the ocean, panting + To lift their wings to the wide wild air, + And venture a voyage they know not where,-- + To fly away and be free! + + The tide runs out of the harbour,-- + The low tide, the slow tide, the ebb o' the moonlit bay,-- + And the little ships rocking at anchor, + Are rounding and turning their bows to the landward, yearning + To breathe the breath of the sun-warmed strand, + To rest in the lee of the high hill land,-- + To hold their haven and stay! + + My heart goes round with the vessels,-- + My wild heart, my child heart, in love with the sea and the land,-- + And the turn o' the tide passes through it, + In rising and falling with mystical currents, calling + At morn, to range where the far waves foam, + At night, to a harbour in love's true home, + With the hearts that understand! + +Seal Harbour, August 12, 1911. + + + +SIERRA MADRE + + + O Mother mountains! billowing far to the snow-lands, + Robed in aerial amethyst, silver, and blue, + Why do ye look so proudly down on the lowlands? + What have their groves and gardens to do with you? + + Theirs is the languorous charm of the orange and myrtle, + Theirs are the fruitage and fragrance of Eden of old,-- + Broad-boughed oaks in the meadows fair and fertile, + Dark-leaved orchards gleaming with globes of gold. + + You, in your solitude standing, lofty and lonely, + Bear neither garden nor grove on your barren breasts; + Rough is the rock-loving growth of your canyons, and only + Storm-battered pines and fir-trees cling to your crests. + + Why are ye throned so high, and arrayed in splendour + Richer than all the fields at your feet can claim? + What is your right, ye rugged peaks, to the tender + Queenly promise and pride of the mother-name? + + Answered the mountains, dim in the distance dreaming: + "Ours are the forests that treasure the riches of rain; + Ours are the secret springs and the rivulets gleaming + Silverly down through the manifold bloom of the plain. + + "Vain were the toiling of men in the dust of the dry land, + Vain were the ploughing and planting in waterless fields, + Save for the life-giving currents we send from the sky-land, + Save for the fruit our embrace with the storm-cloud yields." + + O mother mountains, Madre Sierra, I love you! + Rightly you reign o'er the vale that your bounty fills-- + Kissed by the sun, or with big, bright stars above you,-- + I murmur your name and lift up mine eyes to the hills. + +Pasadena, March, 1913. + + + +THE GRAND CANYON + +DAYBREAK + + + What makes the lingering Night so cling to thee? + Thou vast, profound, primeval hiding-place + Of ancient secrets,--gray and ghostly gulf + Cleft in the green of this high forest land, + And crowded in the dark with giant forms! + Art thou a grave, a prison, or a shrine? + + A stillness deeper than the dearth of sound + Broods over thee: a living silence breathes + Perpetual incense from thy dim abyss. + The morning-stars that sang above the bower + Of Eden, passing over thee, are dumb + With trembling bright amazement; and the Dawn + Steals through the glimmering pines with naked feet, + Her hand upon her lips, to look on thee! + She peers into thy depths with silent prayer + For light, more light, to part thy purple veil. + O Earth, swift-rolling Earth, reveal, reveal,-- + Turn to the East, and show upon thy breast + The mightiest marvel in the realm of Time! + + 'Tis done,--the morning miracle of light,-- + The resurrection of the world of hues + That die with dark, and daily rise again + With every rising of the splendid Sun! + + Be still, my heart! Now Nature holds her breath + To see the solar flood of radiance leap + Across the chasm, and crown the western rim + Of alabaster with a far-away + Rampart of pearl, and flowing down by walls + Of changeful opal, deepen into gold + Of topaz, rosy gold of tourmaline, + Crimson of garnet, green and gray of jade, + Purple of amethyst, and ruby red, + Beryl, and sard, and royal porphyry; + Until the cataract of colour breaks + Upon the blackness of the granite floor. + + How far below! And all between is cleft + And carved into a hundred curving miles + Of unimagined architecture! Tombs, + Temples, and colonnades are neighboured there + By fortresses that Titans might defend, + And amphitheatres where Gods might strive. + Cathedrals, buttressed with unnumbered tiers + Of ruddy rock, lift to the sapphire sky + A single spire of marble pure as snow; + And huge aerial palaces arise + Like mountains built of unconsuming flame. + Along the weathered walls, or standing deep + In riven valleys where no foot may tread, + Are lonely pillars, and tall monuments + Of perished aeons and forgotten things. + My sight is baffled by the wide array + Of countless forms: my vision reels and swims + Above them, like a bird in whirling winds. + Yet no confusion fills the awful chasm; + But spacious order and a sense of peace + Brood over all. For every shape that looms + Majestic in the throng, is set apart + From all the others by its far-flung shade, + Blue, blue, as if a mountain-lake were there. + + How still it is! Dear God, I hardly dare + To breathe, for fear the fathomless abyss + Will draw me down into eternal sleep. + + What force has formed this masterpiece of awe? + What hands have wrought these wonders in the waste? + O river, gleaming in the narrow rift + Of gloom that cleaves the valley's nether deep,-- + Fierce Colorado, prisoned by thy toil, + And blindly toiling still to reach the sea,-- + Thy waters, gathered from the snows and springs + Amid the Utah hills, have carved this road + Of glory to the Californian Gulf. + But now, O sunken stream, thy splendour lost, + 'Twixt iron walls thou rollest turbid waves, + Too far away to make their fury heard! + + At sight of thee, thou sullen labouring slave + Of gravitation,--yellow torrent poured + From distant mountains by no will of thine, + Through thrice a hundred centuries of slow + Fallings and liftings of the crust of Earth,-- + At sight of thee my spirit sinks and fails. + Art thou alone the Maker? Is the blind + Unconscious power that drew thee dumbly down + To cut this gash across the layered globe, + The sole creative cause of all I see? + Are force and matter all? The rest a dream? + + Then is thy gorge a canyon of despair, + A prison for the soul of man, a grave + Of all his dearest daring hopes! The world + Wherein we live and move is meaningless, + No spirit here to answer to our own! + The stars without a guide: The chance-born Earth + Adrift in space, no Captain on the ship: + Nothing in all the universe to prove + Eternal wisdom and eternal love! + And man, the latest accident of Time,-- + Who thinks he loves, and longs to understand, + Who vainly suffers, and in vain is brave, + Who dupes his heart with immortality,-- + Man is a living lie,--a bitter jest + Upon himself,--a conscious grain of sand + Lost in a desert of unconsciousness, + Thirsting for God and mocked by his own thirst. + + Spirit of Beauty, mother of delight, + Thou fairest offspring of Omnipotence + Inhabiting this lofty lone abode, + Speak to my heart again and set me free + From all these doubts that darken earth and heaven! + Who sent thee forth into the wilderness + To bless and comfort all who see thy face? + Who clad thee in this more than royal robe + Of rainbows? Who designed these jewelled thrones + For thee, and wrought these glittering palaces? + Who gave thee power upon the soul of man + To lift him up through wonder into joy? + God! let the radiant cliffs bear witness, God! + Let all the shining pillars signal, God! + He only, on the mystic loom of light. + Hath woven webs of loveliness to clothe + His most majestic works: and He alone + Hath delicately wrought the cactus-flower + To star the desert floor with rosy bloom. + + O Beauty, handiwork of the Most High, + Where'er thou art He tells his Love to man, + And lo, the day breaks, and the shadows flee! + + Now, far beyond all language and all art + In thy wild splendour, Canyon marvellous, + The secret of thy stillness lies unveiled + In wordless worship! This is holy ground; + Thou art no grave, no prison, but a shrine. + Garden of Temples filled with Silent Praise, + If God were blind thy Beauty could not be! + +February 24-26, 1913. + + + +THE HEAVENLY HILLS OF HOLLAND + + + The heavenly hills of Holland,-- + How wondrously they rise + Above the smooth green pastures + Into the azure skies! + With blue and purple hollows, + With peaks of dazzling snow, + Along the far horizon + The clouds are marching slow. + + No mortal foot has trodden + The summits of that range, + Nor walked those mystic valleys + Whose colours ever change; + Yet we possess their beauty, + And visit them in dreams, + While ruddy gold of sunset + From cliff and canyon gleams. + + In days of cloudless weather + They melt into the light; + When fog and mist surround us + They're hidden from our sight; + But when returns a season + Clear shining after rain, + While the northwest wind is blowing, + We see the hills again. + + The old Dutch painters loved them, + Their pictures show them fair,-- + Old Hobbema and Ruysdael, + Van Goyen and Vermeer. + Above the level landscape, + Rich polders, long-armed mills, + Canals and ancient cities,-- + Float Holland's heavenly hills. + +The Hague, November, 1916. + + + +FLOOD-TIDE OF FLOWERS + +IN HOLLAND + + + The laggard winter ebbed so slow + With freezing rain and melting snow, + It seemed as if the earth would stay + Forever where the tide was low, + In sodden green and watery gray. + + But now from depths beyond our sight, + The tide is turning in the night, + And floods of colour long concealed + Come silent rising toward the light, + Through garden bare and empty field. + + And first, along the sheltered nooks, + The crocus runs in little brooks + Of joyance, till by light made bold + They show the gladness of their looks + In shining pools of white and gold. + + The tiny scilla, sapphire blue, + Is gently seeping in, to strew + The earth with heaven; and sudden rills + Of sunlit yellow, sweeping through, + Spread into lakes of daffodils. + + The hyacinths, with fragrant heads, + Have overflowed their sandy beds, + And fill the earth with faint perfume, + The breath that Spring around her sheds. + And now the tulips break in bloom! + + A sea, a rainbow-tinted sea, + A splendour and a mystery, + Floods o'er the fields of faded gray: + The roads are full of folks in glee, + For lo,--to-day is Easter Day! + +April, 1916. + + + +ODE + +GOD OF THE OPEN AIR + + +I + + Thou who hast made thy dwelling fair + With flowers below, above with starry lights + And set thine altars everywhere,-- + On mountain heights, + In woodlands dim with many a dream, + In valleys bright with springs, + And on the curving capes of every stream: + Thou who hast taken to thyself the wings + Of morning, to abide + Upon the secret places of the sea, + And on far islands, where the tide + Visits the beauty of untrodden shores, + Waiting for worshippers to come to thee + In thy great out-of-doors! + To thee I turn, to thee I make my prayer, + God of the open air. + + +II + + Seeking for thee, the heart of man + Lonely and longing ran, + In that first, solitary hour, + When the mysterious power + To know and love the wonder of the morn + Was breathed within him, and his soul was born; + And thou didst meet thy child, + Not in some hidden shrine, + But in the freedom of the garden wild, + And take his hand in thine,-- + There all day long in Paradise he walked, + And in the cool of evening with thee talked. + + +III + + Lost, long ago, that garden bright and pure, + Lost, that calm day too perfect to endure, + And lost the child-like love that worshipped and was sure! + For men have dulled their eyes with sin, + And dimmed the light of heaven with doubt, + And built their temple walls to shut thee in, + And framed their iron creeds to shut thee out. + But not for thee the closing of the door, + O Spirit unconfined! + Thy ways are free + As is the wandering wind, + And thou hast wooed thy children, to restore + Their fellowship with thee, + In peace of soul and simpleness of mind. + + +IV + + Joyful the heart that, when the flood rolled by, + Leaped up to see the rainbow in the sky; + And glad the pilgrim, in the lonely night, + For whom the hills of Haran, tier on tier, + Built up a secret stairway to the height + Where stars like angel eyes were shining clear. + From mountain-peaks, in many a land and age, + Disciples of the Persian seer + Have hailed the rising sun and worshipped thee; + And wayworn followers of the Indian sage + Have found the peace of God beneath a spreading tree. + + +V + + But One, but One,--ah, Son most dear, + And perfect image of the Love Unseen,-- + Walked every day in pastures green, + And all his life the quiet waters by, + Reading their beauty with a tranquil eye. + To him the desert was a place prepared + For weary hearts to rest; + The hillside was a temple blest; + The grassy vale a banquet-room + Where he could feed and comfort many a guest. + With him the lily shared + The vital joy that breathes itself in bloom; + And every bird that sang beside the nest + Told of the love that broods o'er every living thing. + He watched the shepherd bring + His flock at sundown to the welcome fold, + The fisherman at daybreak fling + His net across the waters gray and cold, + And all day long the patient reaper swing + His curving sickle through the harvest-gold. + So through the world the foot-path way he trod, + Breathing the air of heaven in every breath; + And in the evening sacrifice of death + Beneath the open sky he gave his soul to God. + Him will I trust, and for my Master take; + Him will I follow; and for his dear sake, + God of the open air, + To thee I make my prayer. + + +VI + + From the prison of anxious thought that greed has builded, + From the fetters that envy has wrought and pride has gilded, + From the noise of the crowded ways and the fierce confusion, + From the folly that wastes its days in a world of illusion, + (Ah, but the life is lost that frets and languishes there!) + I would escape and be free in the joy of the open air. + + By the breadth of the blue that shines in silence o'er me, + By the length of the mountain-lines that stretch before me, + By the height of the cloud that sails, with rest in motion, + Over the plains and the vales to the measureless ocean, + (Oh, how the sight of the greater things enlarges the eyes!) + Draw me away from myself to the peace of the hills and skies. + + While the tremulous leafy haze on the woodland is spreading, + And the bloom on the meadow betrays where May has been treading; + While the birds on the branches above, and the brooks flowing under, + Are singing together of love in a world full of wonder, + (Lo, in the magic of Springtime, dreams are changed into truth!) + Quicken my heart, and restore the beautiful hopes of youth. + + By the faith that the wild-flowers show when they bloom unbidden, + By the calm of the river's flow to a goal that is hidden, + By the strength of the tree that clings to its deep foundation, + By the courage of birds' light wings on the long migration, + (Wonderful spirit of trust that abides in Nature's breast!) + Teach me how to confide, and live my life, and rest. + + For the comforting warmth of the sun that my body embraces, + For the cool of the waters that run through the shadowy places, + For the balm of the breezes that brush my face with their fingers, + For the vesper-hymn of the thrush when the twilight lingers, + For the long breath, the deep breath, the breath of a heart without + care,-- + I will give thanks and adore thee, God of the open air! + + +VII + + These are the gifts I ask + Of thee, Spirit serene: + Strength for the daily task, + Courage to face the road, + Good cheer to help me bear the traveller's load, + And, for the hours of rest that come between, + An inward joy in all things heard and seen. + These are the sins I fain + Would have thee take away: + Malice, and cold disdain, + Hot anger, sullen hate, + Scorn of the lowly, envy of the great, + And discontent that casts a shadow gray + On all the brightness of the common day. + These are the things I prize + And hold of dearest worth: + Light of the sapphire skies, + Peace of the silent hills, + Shelter of forests, comfort of the grass, + Music of birds, murmur of little rills, + Shadows of cloud that swiftly pass, + And, after showers, + The smell of flowers + And of the good brown earth,-- + And best of all, along the way, friendship and mirth. + So let me keep + These treasures of the humble heart + In true possession, owning them by love; + And when at last I can no longer move + Among them freely, but must part + From the green fields and from the waters clear, + Let me not creep + Into some darkened room and hide + From all that makes the world so bright and dear; + But throw the windows wide + To welcome in the light; + And while I clasp a well-beloved hand, + Let me once more have sight + Of the deep sky and the far-smiling land,-- + Then gently fall on sleep, + And breathe my body back to Nature's care, + My spirit out to thee, God of the open air. + +1904. + + + + +NARRATIVE POEMS + + + +THE TOILING OF FELIX + +A LEGEND ON A NEW SAYING OF JESUS + + +In the rubbish heaps of the ancient city of Oxyrhynchus, near the +River Nile, a party of English explorers, in the winter of 1897, +discovered a fragment of a papyrus book, written in the second or +third century, and hitherto unknown. This single leaf contained +parts of seven short sentences of Christ, each introduced by the +words, "Jesus says." It is to the fifth of these Sayings of Jesus +that the following poem refers. + + + +THE TOILING OF FELIX + + +I + +PRELUDE + + Hear a word that Jesus spake + Nineteen hundred years ago, + Where the crimson lilies blow + Round the blue Tiberian lake: + There the bread of life He brake, + Through the fields of harvest walking + With His lowly comrades, talking + Of the secret thoughts that feed + Weary souls in time of need. + Art thou hungry? Come and take; + Hear the word that Jesus spake! + 'Tis the sacrament of labour, bread and wine divinely blest; + Friendship's food and sweet refreshment, strength and courage, joy and + rest. + + But this word the Master said + Long ago and far away, + Silent and forgotten lay + Buried with the silent dead, + Where the sands of Egypt spread + Sea-like, tawny billows heaping + Over ancient cities sleeping, + While the River Nile between + Rolls its summer flood of green + Rolls its autumn flood of red: + There the word the Master said, + Written on a frail papyrus, wrinkled, scorched by fire, and torn, + Hidden by God's hand was waiting for its resurrection morn. + + Now at last the buried word + By the delving spade is found, + Sleeping in the quiet ground. + Now the call of life is heard: + Rise again, and like a bird, + Fly abroad on wings of gladness + Through the darkness and the sadness, + Of the toiling age, and sing + Sweeter than the voice of Spring, + Till the hearts of men are stirred + By the music of the word,-- + Gospel for the heavy-laden, answer to the labourer's cry: + "_Raise the stone, and thou shall find me; cleave the wood and there + am I._" + + +II + +LEGEND + + Brother-men who look for Jesus, long to see Him close and clear, + Hearken to the tale of Felix, how he found the Master near. + + Born in Egypt, 'neath the shadow of the crumbling gods of night, + He forsook the ancient darkness, turned his young heart toward the Light. + + Seeking Christ, in vain he waited for the vision of the Lord; + Vainly pondered many volumes where the creeds of men were stored; + + Vainly shut himself in silence, keeping vigil night and day; + Vainly haunted shrines and churches where the Christians came to pray. + + One by one he dropped the duties of the common life of care, + Broke the human ties that bound him, laid his spirit waste and bare, + + Hoping that the Lord would enter that deserted dwelling-place, + And reward the loss of all things with the vision of His face. + + Still the blessed vision tarried; still the light was unrevealed; + Still the Master, dim and distant, kept His countenance concealed. + + Fainter grew the hope of finding, wearier grew the fruitless quest; + Prayer and penitence and fasting gave no comfort, brought no rest. + + Lingering in the darkened temple, ere the lamp of faith went out, + Felix knelt before the altar, lonely, sad, and full of doubt. + + "Hear me, O my Lord and Master," from the altar-step he cried, + "Let my one desire be granted, let my hope be satisfied! + + "Only once I long to see Thee, in the fulness of Thy grace: + Break the clouds that now enfold Thee, with the sunrise of Thy face! + + "All that men desire and treasure have I counted loss for Thee; + Every hope have I forsaken, save this one, my Lord to see. + + "Loosed the sacred bands of friendship, solitary stands my heart; + Thou shalt be my sole companion when I see Thee as Thou art. + + "From Thy distant throne in glory, flash upon my inward sight, + Fill the midnight of my spirit with the splendour of Thy light. + + "All Thine other gifts and blessings, common mercies, I disown; + Separated from my brothers, I would see Thy face alone. + + "I have watched and I have waited as one waiteth for the morn: + Still the veil is never lifted, still Thou leavest me forlorn. + + "Now I seek Thee in the desert, where the holy hermits dwell; + There, beside the saint Serapion, I will find a lonely cell. + + "There at last Thou wilt be gracious; there Thy presence, + long-concealed, + In the solitude and silence to my heart shall be revealed. + + "Thou wilt come, at dawn or twilight, o'er the rolling waves of sand; + I shall see Thee close beside me, I shall touch Thy pierced hand. + + "Lo, Thy pilgrim kneels before Thee; bless my journey with a word; + Tell me now that if I follow, I shall find Thee, O my Lord!" + + Felix listened: through the darkness, like a murmur of the wind, + Came a gentle sound of stillness: "Never faint, and thou shalt find." + + Long and toilsome was his journey through the heavy land of heat, + Egypt's blazing sun above him, blistering sand beneath his feet. + + Patiently he plodded onward, from the pathway never erred, + Till he reached the river-headland called the Mountain of the Bird. + + There the tribes of air assemble, once a year, their noisy flock, + Then, departing, leave a sentinel perched upon the highest rock. + + Far away, on joyful pinions, over land and sea they fly; + But the watcher on the summit lonely stands against the sky. + + There the eremite Serapion in a cave had made his bed; + There the faithful bands of pilgrims sought his blessing, brought him + bread. + + Month by month, in deep seclusion, hidden in the rocky cleft, + Dwelt the hermit, fasting, praying; once a year the cave he left. + + On that day a happy pilgrim, chosen out of all the band, + Won a special sign of favour from the holy hermit's hand. + + Underneath the narrow window, at the doorway closely sealed, + While the afterglow of sunset deepened round him, Felix kneeled. + + "Man of God, of men most holy, thou whose gifts cannot be priced! + Grant me thy most precious guerdon; tell me how to find the Christ." + + Breathless, Felix bent and listened, but no answering voice he heard; + Darkness folded, dumb and deathlike, round the Mountain of the Bird. + + Then he said, "The saint is silent; he would teach my soul to wait: + I will tarry here in patience, like a beggar at his gate." + + Near the dwelling of the hermit Felix found a rude abode, + In a shallow tomb deserted, close beside the pilgrim-road. + + So the faithful pilgrims saw him waiting there without complaint,-- + Soon they learned to call him holy, fed him as they fed the saint. + + Day by day he watched the sunrise flood the distant plain with gold, + While the River Nile beneath him, silvery coiling, sea-ward rolled. + + Night by night he saw the planets range their glittering court on high, + Saw the moon, with queenly motion, mount her throne and rule the sky. + + Morn advanced and midnight fled, in visionary pomp attired; + Never morn and never midnight brought the vision long-desired. + + Now at last the day is dawning when Serapion makes his gift; + Felix kneels before the threshold, hardly dares his eyes to lift. + + Now the cavern door uncloses, now the saint above him stands, + Blesses him without a word, and leaves a token in his hands. + + 'Tis the guerdon of thy waiting! Look, thou happy pilgrim, look! + Nothing but a tattered fragment of an old papyrus book. + + Read! perchance the clue to guide thee hidden in the words may lie: + "_Raise the stone, and thou shalt find me; cleave the wood, and there + am I._" + + Can it be the mighty Master spake such simple words as these? + Can it be that men must seek Him at their toil 'mid rocks and trees? + + Disappointed, heavy-hearted, from the Mountain of the Bird + Felix mournfully descended, questioning the Master's word. + + Not for him a sacred dwelling, far above the haunts of men: + He must turn his footsteps backward to the common life again. + + From a quarry near the river, hollowed out amid the hills, + Rose the clattering voice of labour, clanking hammers, clinking drills. + + Dust, and noise, and hot confusion made a Babel of the spot: + There, among the lowliest workers, Felix sought and found his lot. + + Now he swung the ponderous mallet, smote the iron in the rock-- + Muscles quivering, tingling, throbbing--blow on blow and shock on shock; + + Now he drove the willow wedges, wet them till they swelled and split, + With their silent strength, the fragment, sent it thundering down the + pit. + + Now the groaning tackle raised it; now the rollers made it slide; + Harnessed men, like beasts of burden, drew it to the river-side. + + Now the palm-trees must be riven, massive timbers hewn and dressed; + Rafts to bear the stones in safety on the rushing river's breast. + + Axe and auger, saw and chisel, wrought the will of man in wood: + 'Mid the many-handed labour Felix toiled, and found it good. + + Every day the blood ran fleeter through his limbs and round his heart; + Every night he slept the sweeter, knowing he had done his part. + + Dreams of solitary saintship faded from him; but, instead, + Came a sense of daily comfort in the toil for daily bread. + + Far away, across the river, gleamed the white walls of the town + Whither all the stones and timbers day by day were floated down. + + There the workman saw his labour taking form and bearing fruit, + Like a tree with splendid branches rising from a humble root. + + Looking at the distant city, temples, houses, domes, and towers, + Felix cried in exultation: "All that mighty work is ours. + + "Every toiler in the quarry, every builder on the shore, + Every chopper in the palm-grove, every raftsman at the oar, + + "Hewing wood and drawing water, splitting stones and cleaving sod, + All the dusty ranks of labour, in the regiment of God, + + "March together toward His triumph, do the task His hands prepare: + Honest toil is holy service; faithful work is praise and prayer." + + While he bore the heat and burden Felix felt the sense of rest + Flowing softly like a fountain, deep within his weary breast; + + Felt the brotherhood of labour, rising round him like a tide, + Overflow his heart and join him to the workers at his side. + + Oft he cheered them with his singing at the breaking of the light, + Told them tales of Christ at noonday, taught them words of prayer at + night. + + Once he bent above a comrade fainting in the mid-day heat, + Sheltered him with woven palm-leaves, gave him water, cool and sweet. + + Then it seemed, for one swift moment, secret radiance filled the place; + Underneath the green palm-branches flashed a look of Jesus' face. + + Once again, a raftsman, slipping, plunged beneath the stream and sank; + Swiftly Felix leaped to rescue, caught him, drew him toward the bank-- + + Battling with the cruel river, using all his strength to save-- + Did he dream? or was there One beside him walking on the wave? + + Now at last the work was ended, grove deserted, quarry stilled; + Felix journeyed to the city that his hands had helped to build. + + In the darkness of the temple, at the closing hour of day, + As of old he sought the altar, as of old he knelt to pray: + + "Hear me, O Thou hidden Master! Thou hast sent a word to me; + It is written--Thy commandment--I have kept it faithfully. + + "Thou hast bid me leave the visions of the solitary life, + Bear my part in human labour, take my share in human strife. + + "I have done Thy bidding, Master; raised the rock and felled the tree, + Swung the axe and plied the hammer, working every day for Thee. + + "Once it seemed I saw Thy presence through the bending palm-leaves gleam; + Once upon the flowing water--Nay, I know not; 'twas a dream! + + "This I know: Thou hast been near me: more than this I dare not ask. + Though I see Thee not, I love Thee. Let me do Thy humblest task!" + + Through the dimness of the temple slowly dawned a mystic light; + There the Master stood in glory, manifest to mortal sight: + + Hands that bore the mark of labour, brow that bore the print of care; + Hands of power, divinely tender; brow of light, divinely fair. + + "Hearken, good and faithful servant, true disciple, loyal friend! + Thou hast followed me and found me; I will keep thee to the end. + + "Well I know thy toil and trouble; often weary, fainting, worn, + I have lived the life of labour, heavy burdens I have borne. + + "Never in a prince's palace have I slept on golden bed, + Never in a hermit's cavern have I eaten unearned bread. + + "Born within a lowly stable, where the cattle round me stood, + Trained a carpenter in Nazareth, I have toiled, and found it good. + + "They who tread the path of labour follow where my feet have trod; + They who work without complaining do the holy will of God. + + "Where the many toil together, there am I among my own; + Where the tired workman sleepeth, there am I with him alone. + + "I, the peace that passeth knowledge, dwell amid the daily strife; + I, the bread of heaven, am broken in the sacrament of life. + + "Every task, however simple, sets the soul that does it free; + Every deed of love and mercy, done to man, is done to me. + + "Thou hast learned the open secret; thou hast come to me for rest; + With thy burden, in thy labour, thou art Felix, doubly blest. + + "Nevermore thou needest seek me; I am with thee everywhere; + _Raise the stone, and thou shall find me; cleave the wood, and + I am there._" + + +III + +ENVOY + + The legend of Felix is ended, the toiling of Felix is done; + The Master has paid him his wages, the goal of his journey is won; + He rests, but he never is idle; a thousand years pass like a day, + In the glad surprise of that Paradise where work is sweeter than play. + + Yet often the King of that country comes out from His tireless host, + And walks in this world of the weary as if He loved it the most; + For here in the dusty confusion, with eyes that are heavy and dim, + He meets again the labouring men who are looking and longing for Him. + + He cancels the curse of Eden, and brings them a blessing instead: + Blessed are they that labour, for Jesus partakes of their bread. + He puts His hand to their burdens, He enters their homes at night: + Who does his best shall have as a guest the Master of life and light. + + And courage will come with His presence, and patience return at His + touch, + And manifold sins be forgiven to those who love Him much; + The cries of envy and anger will change to the songs of cheer, + The toiling age will forget its rage when the Prince of Peace draws near. + + This is the gospel of labour, ring it, ye bells of the kirk! + The Lord of Love came down from above, to live with the men who work. + This is the rose that He planted, here in the thorn-curst soil: + Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of Earth is toil. + +1898. + + + +VERA + + +I + + A silent world,--yet full of vital joy + Uttered in rhythmic movements manifold, + And sunbeams flashing on the face of things + Like sudden smilings of divine delight,-- + A world of many sorrows too, revealed + In fading flowers and withering leaves and dark + Tear-laden clouds, and tearless, clinging mists + That hung above the earth too sad to weep,-- + A world of fluent change, and changeless flow, + And infinite suggestion of new thought, + Reflected in the crystal of the heart,-- + A world of many meanings but no words, + A silent world was Vera's home. + For her + The inner doors of sound were closely sealed + The outer portals, delicate as shells + Suffused with faintest rose of far-off morn, + Like underglow of daybreak in the sea,-- + The ear-gates of the garden of her soul, + Shaded by drooping tendrils of brown hair,-- + Waited in vain for messengers to pass, + And thread the labyrinth with flying feet, + And swiftly knock upon the inmost door, + And enter in, and speak the mystic word. + But through those gates no message ever came. + Only with eyes did she behold and see,-- + With eyes as luminous and bright and brown + As waters of a woodland river,--eyes + That questioned so they almost seemed to speak, + And answered so they almost seemed to hear,-- + Only with wondering eyes did she behold + The silent splendour of a living world. + + She saw the great wind ranging freely down + Interminable archways of the wood, + While tossing boughs and bending tree-tops hailed + His coming: but no sea-toned voice of pines, + No roaring of the oaks, no silvery song + Of poplars or of birches, followed him. + He passed; they waved their arms and clapped their hands; + There was no sound. + The torrents from the hills + Leaped down their rocky pathways, like wild steeds + Breaking the yoke and shaking manes of foam. + The lowland brooks coiled smoothly through the fields, + And softly spread themselves in glistening lakes + Whose ripples merrily danced among the reeds. + The standing waves that ever keep their place + In the swift rapids, curled upon themselves, + And seemed about to break and never broke; + And all the wandering waves that fill the sea + Came buffeting in along the stony shore, + Or plunging in along the level sands, + Or creeping in along the winding creeks + And inlets. Yet from all the ceaseless flow + And turmoil of the restless element + Came neither song of joy nor sob of grief; + For there were many waters, but no voice. + + Silent the actors all on Nature's stage + Performed their parts before her watchful eyes, + Coming and going, making war and love, + Working and playing, all without a sound. + The oxen drew their load with swaying necks; + The cows came sauntering home along the lane; + The nodding sheep were led from field to fold + In mute obedience. Down the woodland track + The hounds with panting sides and lolling tongues + Pursued their flying prey in noiseless haste. + The birds, the most alive of living things, + Mated, and built their nests, and reared their young, + And swam the flood of air like tiny ships + Rising and falling over unseen waves, + And, gathering in great navies, bore away + To North or South, without a note of song. + + All these were Vera's playmates; and she loved + To watch them, wondering oftentimes how well + They knew their parts, and how the drama moved + So swiftly, smoothly on from scene to scene + Without confusion. But she sometimes dreamed + There must be something hidden in the play + Unknown to her, an utterance of life + More clear than action and more deep than looks. + And this she felt most deeply when she watched + Her human comrades and the throngs of men, + Who met and parted oft with moving lips + That had a meaning more than she could see. + She saw a lover bend above a maid, + With moving lips; and though he touched her not + A sudden rose of joy bloomed in her face. + She saw a hater stand before his foe + And move his lips; whereat the other shrank + As if he had been smitten on the mouth. + She saw the regiments of toiling men + Marshalled in ranks and led by moving lips. + And once she saw a sight more strange than all: + A crowd of people sitting charmed and still + Around a little company of men + Who touched their hands in measured, rhythmic time + To curious instruments; a woman stood + Among them, with bright eyes and heaving breast, + And lifted up her face and moved her lips. + Then Vera wondered at the idle play, + But when she looked around, she saw the glow + Of deep delight on every face, as if + Some visitor from a celestial world + Had brought glad tidings. But to her alone + No angel entered, for the choir of sound + Was vacant in the temple of her soul, + And worship lacked her golden crown of song. + + So when by vision baffled and perplexed + She saw that all the world could not be seen, + And knew she could not know the whole of life + Unless a hidden gate should be unsealed, + She felt imprisoned. In her heart there grew + The bitter creeping plant of discontent, + The plant that only grows in prison soil, + Whose root is hunger and whose fruit is pain. + The springs of still delight and tranquil joy + Were drained as dry as desert dust to feed + That never-flowering vine, whose tendrils clung + With strangling touch around the bloom of life + And made it wither. Vera could not rest + Within the limits of her silent world; + Along its dumb and desolate paths she roamed + A captive, looking sadly for escape. + + Now in those distant days, and in that land + Remote, there lived a Master wonderful, + Who knew the secret of all life, and could, + With gentle touches and with potent words, + Open all gates that ever had been sealed, + And loose all prisoners whom Fate had bound. + Obscure he dwelt, not in the wilderness, + But in a hut among the throngs of men, + Concealed by meekness and simplicity. + And ever as he walked the city streets, + Or sat in quietude beside the sea, + Or trod the hillsides and the harvest fields, + The multitude passed by and knew him not. + But there were some who knew, and turned to him + For help; and unto all who asked, he gave. + Thus Vera came, and found him in the field, + And knew him by the pity in his face. + She knelt to him and held him by one hand, + And laid the other hand upon her lips + In mute entreaty. Then she lifted up + The coils of hair that hung about her neck, + And bared the beauty of the gates of sound,-- + Those virgin gates through which no voice had passed,-- + She made them bare before the Master's sight, + And looked into the kindness of his face + With eyes that spoke of all her prisoned pain, + And told her great desire without a word. + + The Master waited long in silent thought, + As one reluctant to bestow a gift, + Not for the sake of holding back the thing + Entreated, but because he surely knew + Of something better that he fain would give + If only she would ask it. Then he stooped + To Vera, smiling, touched her ears and spoke: + "Open, fair gates, and you, reluctant doors, + Within the ivory labyrinth of the ear, + Let fall the bar of silence and unfold! + Enter, you voices of all living things, + Enter the garden sealed,--but softly, slowly, + Not with a noise confused and broken tumult,-- + Come in an order sweet as I command you, + And bring the double gift of speech and hearing." + + Vera began to hear. At first the wind + Breathed a low prelude of the birth of sound, + As if an organ far away were touched + By unseen fingers; then the little stream + That hurried down the hillside, swept the harp + Of music into merry, tinkling notes; + And then the lark that poised above her head + On wings a-quiver, overflowed the air + With showers of song; and one by one the tones + Of all things living, in an order sweet, + Without confusion and with deepening power, + Entered the garden sealed. And last of all + The Master's voice, the human voice divine, + Passed through the gates and called her by her name, + And Vera heard. + + +II + + What rapture of new life + Must come to one for whom a silent world + Is suddenly made vocal, and whose heart + By the same magic is awaked at once, + Without the learner's toil and long delay, + Out of a night of dumbly moving dreams, + Into a day that overflows with music! + This joy was Vera's; and to her it seemed + As if a new creative morn had risen + Upon the earth, and after the full week + When living things unfolded silently, + And after the long, quiet Sabbath day, + When all was still, another day had dawned, + And through the calm expectancy of heaven + A secret voice had said, "Let all things speak." + The world responded with an instant joy; + And all the unseen avenues of sound + Were thronged with varying forms of viewless life. + + To every living thing a voice was given + Distinct and personal. The forest trees + Were not more varied in their shades of green + Than in their tones of speech; and every bird + That nested in their branches had a song + Unknown to other birds and all his own. + The waters spoke a hundred dialects + Of one great language; now with pattering fall + Of raindrops on the glistening leaves, and now + With steady roar of rivers rushing down + To meet the sea, and now with rhythmic throb + And measured tumult of tempestuous waves, + And now with lingering lisp of creeping tides,-- + The manifold discourse of many waters. + But most of all the human voice was full + Of infinite variety, and ranged + Along the scale of life's experience + With changing tones, and notes both sweet and sad, + All fitted to express some unseen thought, + Some vital motion of the hidden heart. + So Vera listened with her new-born sense + To all the messengers that passed the gates, + In measureless delight and utter trust, + Believing that they brought a true report + From every living thing of its true life, + And hoping that at last they would make clear + The mystery and the meaning of the world. + + But soon there came a trouble in her joy, + A note discordant that dissolved the chord + And broke the bliss of hearing into pain. + Not from the harsher sounds and voices wild + Of anger and of anguish, that reveal + The secret strife in nature, and confess + The touch of sorrow on the heart of life,-- + From these her trouble came not. For in these, + However sad, she felt the note of truth, + And truth, though sad, is always musical. + The raging of the tempest-ridden sea, + The crash of thunder, and the hollow moan + Of winds complaining round the mountain-crags, + The shrill and quavering cry of birds of prey, + The fiercer roar of conflict-loving beasts,-- + All these wild sounds are potent in their place + Within life's mighty symphony; the charm + Of truth attunes them, and the hearing ear + Finds pleasure in their rude sincerity. + Even the broken and tumultuous noise + That rises from great cities, where the heart + Of human toil is beating heavily + With ceaseless murmurs of the labouring pulse, + Is not a discord; for it speaks to life + Of life unfeigned, and full of hopes and fears, + And touched through all the trouble of its notes + With something real and therefore glorious. + + One voice alone of all that sound on earth, + Is hateful to the soul, and full of pain,-- + The voice of falsehood. So when Vera heard + This mocking voice, and knew that it was false; + When first she learned that human lips can speak + The thing that is not, and betray the ear + Of simple trust with treachery of words; + The joy of hearing withered in her heart. + For now she felt that faithless messengers + Could pass the open and unguarded gates + Of sound, and bring a message all untrue, + Or half a truth that makes the deadliest lie, + Or idle babble, neither false nor true, + But hollow to the heart, and meaningless. + She heard the flattering voices of deceit, + That mask the hidden purposes of men + With fair attire of favourable words, + And hide the evil in the guise of good: + The voices vain and decorous and smooth, + That fill the world with empty-hearted talk; + The foolish voices, wandering and confused, + That never clearly speak the thing they would, + But ramble blindly round their true intent + And tangle sense in hopeless coils of sound,-- + All these she heard, and with a deep mistrust + Began to doubt the value of her gift. + It seemed as if the world, the living world, + Sincere, and vast, and real, were still concealed, + And she, within the prison of her soul, + Still waiting silently to hear the voice + Of perfect knowledge and of perfect peace. + + So with the burden of her discontent + She turned to seek the Master once again, + And found him sitting in the market-place, + Half-hidden in the shadow of a porch, + Alone among the careless crowd. + She spoke: + "Thy gift was great, dear Master, and my heart + Has thanked thee many times because I hear + But I have learned that hearing is not all; + For underneath the speech of men, there flows + Another current of their hidden thoughts; + Behind the mask of language I perceive + The eyes of things unsaid. + Touch me again, + O Master, with thy liberating hand, + And free me from the bondage of deceit. + Open another gate, and let me hear + The secret thoughts and purposes of men; + For only thus my heart will be at rest, + And only thus, at last, I shall perceive + The mystery and the meaning of the world." + + The Master's face was turned aside from her; + His eyes looked far away, as if he saw + Something beyond her sight; and yet she knew + That he was listening; for her pleading voice + No sooner ceased than he put forth his hand + To touch her brow, and very gently spoke: + "Thou seekest for thyself a wondrous gift,-- + The opening of the second gate, a gift + That many wise men have desired in vain: + But some have found it,--whether well or ill + For their own peace, they have attained the power + To hear unspoken thoughts of other men. + And thou hast begged this gift? Thou shalt receive,-- + Not knowing what thou seekest,--it is thine: + The second gate is open! Thou shalt hear + All that men think and feel within their hearts: + Thy prayer is granted, daughter, go thy way! + But if thou findest sorrow on this path, + Come back again,--there is a path to peace." + + +III + + Beyond our power of vision, poets say, + There is another world of forms unseen, + Yet visible to purer eyes than ours. + And if the crystal of our sight were clear, + We should behold the mountain-slopes of cloud, + The moving meadows of the untilled sea, + The groves of twilight and the dales of dawn, + And every wide and lonely field of air, + More populous than cities, crowded close + With living creatures of all shapes and hues. + But if that sight were ours, the things that now + Engage our eyes would seem but dull and dim + Beside the wonders of our new-found world, + And we should be amazed and overwhelmed + Not knowing how to use the plenitude + Of vision. + So in Vera's soul, at first, + The opening of the second gate of sound + Let in confusion like a whirling flood. + The murmur of a myriad-throated mob; + The trampling of an army through a place + Where echoes hide; the sudden, whistling flight + Of an innumerable flock of birds + Along the highway of the midnight sky; + The many-whispered rustling of the reeds + Beneath the passing feet of all the winds; + The long-drawn, inarticulate, wailing cry + Of million-pebbled beaches when the lash + Of stormy waves is drawn across their back,-- + All these were less bewildering than to hear + What now she heard at once: the tangled sound + Of all that moves within the minds of men. + For now there was no measured flow of words + To mark the time; nor any interval + Of silence to repose the listening ear. + But through the dead of night, and through the calm + Of weary noon-tide, through the solemn hush + That fills the temple in the pause of praise, + And through the breathless awe in rooms of death, + She heard the ceaseless motion and the stir + Of never-silent hearts, that fill the world + With interwoven thoughts of good and ill, + With mingled music of delight and grief, + With songs of love, and bitter cries of hate, + With hymns of faith, and dirges of despair, + And murmurs deeper and more vague than all,-- + Thoughts that are born and die without a name, + Or rather, never die, but haunt the soul, + With sad persistence, till a name is given. + These Vera heard, at first with mind perplexed + And half-benumbed by the disordered sound. + But soon a clearer sense began to pierce + The cloudy turmoil with discerning power. + She learned to know the tones of human thought + As plainly as she knew the tones of speech. + She could divide the evil from the good, + Interpreting the language of the mind, + And tracing every feeling like a thread + Within the mystic web the passions weave + From heart to heart around the living world. + + But when at last the Master's second gift + Was perfected within her, and she heard + And understood the secret thoughts of men, + A sadness fell upon her, and the load + Of insupportable knowledge pressed her down + With weary wishes to know more, or less. + For all she knew was like a broken word + Inscribed upon the fragment of a ring; + And all she heard was like a broken strain + Preluding music that is never played. + + Then she remembered in her sad unrest + The Master's parting word,--"a path to peace,"-- + And turned again to seek him with her grief. + She found him in a hollow of the hills, + Beside a little spring that issued forth + Beneath the rocks and filled a mossy cup + With never-failing water. There he sat, + With waiting looks that welcomed her afar. + "I know that thou hast heard, my child," he said, + "For all the wonder of the world of sound + Is written in thy face. But hast thou heard, + Among the many voices, one of peace? + And is thy heart that hears the secret thoughts, + The hidden wishes and desires of men, + Content with hearing? Art thou satisfied?" + "Nay, Master," she replied, "thou knowest well + That I am not at rest, nor have I heard + The voice of perfect peace; but what I hear + Brings me disquiet and a troubled mind. + The evil voices in the souls of men, + Voices of rage and cruelty and fear + Have not dismayed me; for I have believed + The voices of the good, the kind, the true, + Are more in number and excel in strength. + There is more love than hate, more hope than fear, + In the deep throbbing of the human heart. + But while I listen to the troubled sound, + One thing torments me, and destroys my rest + And presses me with dull, unceasing pain. + For out of all the minds of all mankind, + There rises evermore a questioning voice + That asks the meaning of this mighty world + And finds no answer,--asks, and asks again, + With patient pleading or with wild complaint, + But wakens no response, except the sound + Of other questions, wandering to and fro, + From other souls in doubt. And so this voice + Persists above all others that I hear, + And binds them up together into one, + Until the mingled murmur of the world + Sounds through the inner temple of my heart + Like an eternal question, vainly asked + By every human soul that thinks and feels. + This is the heaviness that weighs me down, + And this the pain that will not let me rest. + Therefore, dear Master, shut the gates again, + And let me live in silence as before! + Or else,--and if there is indeed a gate + Unopened yet, through which I might receive + An answer in the voice of perfect peace--" + + She ceased; and in her upward faltering tone + The question echoed. + Then the Master said: + "There is another gate, not yet unclosed. + For through the outer portal of the ear + Only the outer voice of things may pass; + And through the middle doorway of the mind + Only the half-formed voice of human thoughts, + Uncertain and perplexed with endless doubt; + But through the inmost gate the spirit hears + The voice of that great Spirit who is Life. + Beneath the tones of living things He breathes + A deeper tone than ever ear hath heard; + And underneath the troubled thoughts of men + He thinks forever, and His thought is peace. + Behold, I touch thee once again, my child: + The third and last of those three hidden gates + That closed around thy soul and shut thee in, + Is open now, and thou shalt truly hear." + + Then Vera heard. The spiritual gate + Was opened softly as a full-blown flower + Unfolds its heart to welcome in the dawn, + And on her listening face there shone a light + Of still amazement and completed joy + In the full gift of hearing. + What she heard + I cannot tell; nor could she ever tell + In words; because all human words are vain. + There is no speech nor language, to express + The secret messages of God, that make + Perpetual music in the hearing heart. + Below the voice of waters, and above + The wandering voice of winds, and underneath + The song of birds, and all the varying tones + Of living things that fill the world with sound, + God spoke to her, and what she heard was peace. + + So when the Master questioned, "Dost thou hear?" + She answered, "Yea, at last I hear." And then + He asked her once again, "What hearest thou? + What means the voice of Life?" She answered, "Love! + For love is life, and they who do not love + Are not alive. But every soul that loves, + Lives in the heart of God and hears Him speak." + +1898. + + + +ANOTHER CHANCE + +A DRAMATIC LYRIC + + + Come, give me back my life again, you heavy-handed Death! + Uncrook your fingers from my throat, and let me draw my breath. + You do me wrong to take me now--too soon for me to die-- + Ah, loose me from this clutching pain, and hear the reason why. + + I know I've had my forty years, and wasted every one; + And yet, I tell you honestly, my life is just begun; + I've walked the world like one asleep, a dreamer in a trance; + But now you've gripped me wide awake--I want another chance. + + My dreams were always beautiful, my thoughts were high and fine; + No life was ever lived on earth to match those dreams of mine. + And would you wreck them unfulfilled? What folly, nay, what crime! + You rob the world, you waste a soul; give me a little time. + + You'll hear me? Yes, I'm sure you will, my hope is not in vain: + I feel the even pulse of peace, the sweet relief from pain; + The black fog rolls away from me; I'm free once more to plan: + Another chance is all I need to prove myself a man! + + * * * * * + + The world is full of warfare 'twixt the evil and the good; + I watched the battle from afar as one who understood + The shouting and confusion, the bloody, blundering fight-- + How few there are that see it clear, how few that wage it right! + + The captains flushed with foolish pride, the soldiers pale with fear, + The faltering flags, the feeble fire from ranks that swerve and veer, + The wild mistakes, the dismal doubts, the coward hearts that flee-- + The good cause needs a nobler knight to win the victory. + + A man whose soul is pure and strong, whose sword is bright and keen, + Who knows the splendour of the fight and what its issues mean; + Who never takes one step aside, nor halts, though hope be dim, + But cleaves a pathway thro' the strife, and bids men follow him. + + No blot upon his stainless shield, no weakness in his arm; + No sign of trembling in his face to break his valour's charm: + A man like this could stay the flight and lead the wavering line; + Ah, give me but a year of life--I'll make that glory mine! + + * * * * * + + Religion? Yes, I know it well; I've heard its prayers and creeds, + And seen men put them all to shame with poor, half-hearted deeds. + They follow Christ, but far away; they wander and they doubt. + I'll serve him in a better way, and live his precepts out. + + You see, I waited just for this; I could not be content + To own a feeble, faltering faith with human weakness blent. + Too many runners in the race move slowly, stumble, fall; + But I will run so straight and swift I shall outstrip them all. + + Oh, think what it will mean to men, amid their foolish strife, + To see the clear, unshadowed light of one true Christian life, + Without a touch of selfishness, without a taint of sin,-- + With one short month of such a life a new world would begin! + + * * * * * + + And love!--I often dream of that--the treasure of the earth; + How little they who use the coin have realised its worth! + 'Twill pay all debts, enrich all hearts, and make all joys secure. + But love, to do its perfect work, must be sincere and pure. + + My heart is full of virgin gold. I'll pour it out and spend + My hidden wealth with open hand on all who call me friend. + Not one shall miss the kindly deed, the largess of relief, + The generous fellowship of joy, the sympathy of grief. + + I'll say the loyal, helpful things that make life sweet and fair, + I'll pay the gratitude I owe for human love and care. + Perhaps I've been at fault sometimes--I'll ask to be forgiven, + And make this little room of mine seem like a bit of heaven. + + For one by one I'll call my friends to stand beside my bed; + I'll speak the true and tender words so often left unsaid; + And every heart shall throb and glow, all coldness melt away + Around my altar-fire of love--ah, give me but one day! + + * * * * * + + What's that? I've had another day, and wasted it again? + A priceless day in empty dreams, another chance in vain? + Thou fool--this night--it's very dark--the last--this choking breath-- + One prayer--have mercy on a dreamer's soul--God, this is death! + + + +A LEGEND OF SERVICE + + + It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise His name!) + To hear, one day, report from those who came + With pitying sorrow, or exultant joy, + To tell of earthly tasks in His employ. + For some were grieved because they saw how slow + The stream of heavenly love on earth must flow; + And some were glad because their eyes had seen, + Along its banks, fresh flowers and living green. + At last, before the whiteness of the throne + The youngest angel, Asmiel, stood alone; + Nor glad, nor sad, but full of earnest thought, + And thus his tidings to the Master brought + "Lord, in the city Lupon I have found + Three servants of thy holy name, renowned + Above their fellows. One is very wise, + With thoughts that ever range beyond the skies; + And one is gifted with the golden speech + That makes men gladly hear when he will teach; + And one, with no rare gift or grace endued, + Has won the people's love by doing good. + With three such saints Lupon is trebly blest; + But, Lord, I fain would know, which loves Thee best?" + Then spake the Lord of Angels, to whose look + The hearts of all are like an open book: + "In every soul the secret thought I read, + And well I know who loves me best indeed. + But every life has pages vacant still, + Whereon a man may write the thing he will; + Therefore I read the record, day by day, + And wait for hearts untaught to learn my way. + But thou shalt go to Lupon, to the three + Who serve me there, and take this word from me: + Tell each of them his Master bids him go + Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow; + There he shall find a certain task for me: + But what, I do not tell to them nor thee. + Give thou the message, make my word the test, + And crown for me the one who loves me best." + Silent the angel stood, with folded hands, + To take the imprint of his Lord's commands; + Then drew one breath, obedient and elate, + And passed the self-same hour, through Lupon's gate. + + * * * * * + + First to the Temple door he made his way; + And there, because it was a holy-day, + He saw the folk in thousands thronging, stirred + By ardent thirst to hear the preacher's word. + Then, while the people whispered Bernol's name, + Through aisles that hushed behind him Bernol came; + Strung to the keenest pitch of conscious might, + With lips prepared and firm, and eyes alight. + One moment at the pulpit step he knelt + In silent prayer, and on his shoulder felt + The angel's hand:--"The Master bids thee go + Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, + To serve Him there." Then Bernol's hidden face + Went white as death, and for about the space + Of ten slow heart-beats there was no reply; + Till Bernol looked around and whispered, "_Why?_" + But answer to his question came there none; + The angel sighed, and with a sigh was gone. + + * * * * * + + Within the humble house where Malvin spent + His studious years, on holy things intent, + Sweet stillness reigned; and there the angel found + The saintly sage immersed in thought profound, + Weaving with patient toil and willing care + A web of wisdom, wonderful and fair: + A seamless robe for Truth's great bridal meet, + And needing but one thread to be complete. + Then Asmiel touched his hand, and broke the thread + Of fine-spun thought, and very gently said, + "The One of whom thou thinkest bids thee go + Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, + To serve Him there." With sorrow and surprise + Malvin looked up, reluctance in his eyes. + The broken thought, the strangeness of the call, + The perilous passage of the mountain-wall, + The solitary journey, and the length + Of ways unknown, too great for his frail strength, + Appalled him. With a doubtful brow + He scanned the doubtful task, and muttered "_How?_" + But Asmiel answered, as he turned to go, + With cold, disheartened voice, "I do not know." + + * * * * * + + Now as he went, with fading hope, to seek + The third and last to whom God bade him speak, + Scarce twenty steps away whom should he meet + But Fermor, hurrying cheerful down the street, + With ready heart that faced his work like play, + And joyed to find it greater every day! + The angel stopped him with uplifted hand, + And gave without delay his Lord's command: + "He whom thou servest here would have thee go + Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, + To serve Him there." Ere Asmiel breathed again + The eager answer leaped to meet him, "_When?_" + + The angel's face with inward joy grew bright, + And all his figure glowed with heavenly light; + He took the golden circlet from his brow + And gave the crown to Fermor, answering, "Now! + For thou hast met the Master's hidden test, + And I have found the man who loves Him best. + Not thine, nor mine, to question or reply + When He commands us, asking 'how?' or 'why?' + He knows the cause; His ways are wise and just; + Who serves the King must serve with perfect trust." + +February, 1902. + + + +THE WHITE BEES + + +I + +LEGEND + + Long ago Apollo called to Aristaeus, youngest of the shepherds, + Saying, "I will make you keeper of my bees." + Golden were the hives and golden was the honey; golden, too, the music + Where the honey-makers hummed among the trees. + + Happy Aristaeus loitered in the garden, wandered in the orchard, + Careless and contented, indolent and free; + Lightly took his labour, lightly took his pleasure, till the fated moment + When across his pathway came Eurydice. + + Then her eyes enkindled burning love within him; drove him wild with + longing + For the perfect sweetness of her flower-like face; + Eagerly he followed, while she fled before him, over mead and mountain, + On through field and forest, in a breathless race. + + But the nymph, in flying, trod upon a serpent; like a dream she vanished; + Pluto's chariot bore her down among the dead! + Lonely Aristaeus, sadly home returning, found his garden empty, + All the hives deserted, all the music fled. + + Mournfully bewailing,--"Ah, my honey-makers, where have you departed?" + Far and wide he sought them over sea and shore; + Foolish is the tale that says he ever found them, brought them home in + triumph,-- + Joys that once escape us fly for evermore. + + Yet I dream that somewhere, clad in downy whiteness, dwell the + honey-makers, + In aerial gardens that no mortal sees: + And at times returning, lo, they flutter round us, gathering mystic + harvest,-- + So I weave the legend of the long-lost bees. + + +II + +THE SWARMING OF THE BEES + + Who can tell the hiding of the white bees' nest? + Who can trace the guiding of their swift home flight? + Far would be his riding on a life-long quest: + Surely ere it ended would his beard grow white. + + Never in the coming of the rose-red Spring, + Never in the passing of the wine-red Fall, + May you hear the humming of the white bee's wing + Murmur o'er the meadow ere the night bells call. + + Wait till winter hardens in the cold gray sky, + Wait till leaves are fallen and the brooks all freeze, + Then above the gardens where the dead flowers lie, + Swarm the merry millions of the wild white bees. + + Out of the high-built airy hive, + Deep in the clouds that veil the sun, + Look how the first of the swarm arrive; + Timidly venturing, one by one, + Down through the tranquil air, + Wavering here and there, + Large, and lazy in flight,-- + Caught by a lift of the breeze, + Tangled among the naked trees,-- + Dropping then, without a sound, + Feather-white, feather-light, + To their rest on the ground. + + Thus the swarming is begun. + Count the leaders, every one + Perfect as a perfect star + Till the slow descent is done. + Look beyond them, see how far + Down the vistas dim and gray, + Multitudes are on the way. + Now a sudden brightness + Dawns within the sombre day, + Over fields of whiteness; + And the sky is swiftly alive + With the flutter and the flight + Of the shimmering bees, that pour + From the hidden door of the hive + Till you can count no more. + + Now on the branches of hemlock and pine + Thickly they settle and cluster and swing, + Bending them low; and the trellised vine + And the dark elm-boughs are traced with a line + Of beauty wherever the white bees cling. + Now they are hiding the wrecks of the flowers, + Softly, softly, covering all, + Over the grave of the summer hours + Spreading a silver pall. + Now they are building the broad roof ledge, + Into a cornice smooth and fair, + Moulding the terrace, from edge to edge, + Into the sweep of a marble stair. + Wonderful workers, swift and dumb, + Numberless myriads, still they come, + Thronging ever faster, faster, faster! + Where is their queen? Who is their master? + The gardens are faded, the fields are frore,-- + What is the honey they toil to store + In the desolate day, where no blossoms gleam? + _Forgetfulness and a dream!_ + + But now the fretful wind awakes; + I hear him girding at the trees; + He strikes the bending boughs, and shakes + The quiet clusters of the bees + To powdery drift; + He tosses them away, + He drives them like spray; + He makes them veer and shift + Around his blustering path. + In clouds blindly whirling, + In rings madly swirling, + Full of crazy wrath, + So furious and fast they fly + They blur the earth and blot the sky + In wild, white mirk. + They fill the air with frozen wings + And tiny, angry, icy stings; + They blind the eyes, and choke the breath, + They dance a maddening dance of death + Around their work, + Sweeping the cover from the hill, + Heaping the hollows deeper still, + Effacing every line and mark, + And swarming, storming in the dark + Through the long night; + Until, at dawn, the wind lies down + Weary of fight; + The last torn cloud, with trailing gown, + Passes the open gates of light; + And the white bees are lost in flight. + + Look how the landscape glitters wide and still, + Bright with a pure surprise! + The day begins with joy, and all past ill, + Buried in white oblivion, lies + Beneath the snow-drifts under crystal skies. + New hope, new love, new life, new cheer, + Flow in the sunrise beam,-- + The gladness of Apollo when he sees, + Upon the bosom of the wintry year, + The honey-harvest of his wild white bees, + _Forgetfulness and a dream!_ + + +III + +LEGEND + + Listen, my beloved, while the silver morning, like a tranquil vision, + Fills the world around us and our hearts with peace; + Quiet is the close of Aristaeus' legend, happy is the ending-- + Listen while I tell you how he found release. + + Many months he wandered far away in sadness, desolately thinking + Only of the vanished joys he could not find; + Till the great Apollo, pitying his shepherd, loosed him from the burden + Of a dark, reluctant, backward-looking mind. + + Then he saw around him all the changeful beauty of the changing seasons, + In the world-wide regions where his journey lay; + Birds that sang to cheer him, flowers that bloomed beside him, stars that + shone to guide him,-- + Traveller's joy was plenty all along the way! + + Everywhere he journeyed strangers made him welcome, listened while he + taught them + Secret lore of field and forest he had learned: + How to train the vines and make the olives fruitful; how to guard the + sheepfolds; + How to stay the fever when the dog-star burned. + + Friendliness and blessing followed in his footsteps; richer were the + harvests, + Happier the dwellings, wheresoe'er he came; + Little children loved him, and he left behind him, in the hour of + parting, + Memories of kindness and a god-like name. + + So he travelled onward, desolate no longer, patient in his seeking, + Reaping all the wayside comfort of his quest; + Till at last in Thracia, high upon Mount Haemus, far from human dwelling, + Weary Aristaeus laid him down to rest. + + Then the honey-makers, clad in downy whiteness, fluttered soft around + him, + Wrapt him in a dreamful slumber pure and deep. + This is life, beloved: first a sheltered garden, then a troubled journey, + Joy and pain of seeking,--and at last we sleep! + +1905. + + + +NEW YEAR'S EVE + + +I + + The other night I had a dream, most clear + And comforting, complete + In every line, a crystal sphere, + And full of intimate and secret cheer. + Therefore I will repeat + That vision, dearest heart, to you, + As of a thing not feigned, but very true, + Yes, true as ever in my life befell; + And you, perhaps, can tell + Whether my dream was really sad or sweet. + + +II + + The shadows flecked the elm-embowered street + I knew so well, long, long ago; + And on the pillared porch where Marguerite + Had sat with me, the moonlight lay like snow. + But she, my comrade and my friend of youth, + Most gaily wise, + Most innocently loved,-- + She of the blue-gray eyes + That ever smiled and ever spoke the truth,-- + From that familiar dwelling, where she moved + Like mirth incarnate in the years before, + Had gone into the hidden house of Death. + I thought the garden wore + White mourning for her blessed innocence, + And the syringa's breath + Came from the corner by the fence + Where she had made her rustic seat, + With fragrance passionate, intense, + As if it breathed a sigh for Marguerite. + My heart was heavy with a sense + Of something good for ever gone. I sought + Vainly for some consoling thought, + Some comfortable word that I could say + To her sad father, whom I visited again + For the first time since she had gone away. + The bell rang shrill and lonely,--then + The door was opened, and I sent my name + To him,--but ah! 'twas Marguerite who came! + There in the dear old dusky room she stood + Beneath the lamp, just as she used to stand, + In tender mocking mood. + "You did not ask for me," she said, + "And so I will not let you take my hand; + But I must hear what secret talk you planned + With father. Come, my friend, be good, + And tell me your affairs of state: + Why you have stayed away and made me wait + So long. Sit down beside me here,-- + And, do you know, it seems a year + Since we have talked together,--why so late?" + Amazed, incredulous, confused with joy + I hardly dared to show, + And stammering like a boy, + I took the place she showed me at her side; + And then the talk flowed on with brimming tide + Through the still night, + While she with influence light + Controlled it, as the moon the flood. + She knew where I had been, what I had done, + What work was planned, and what begun; + My troubles, failures, fears she understood, + And touched them with a heart so kind, + That every care was melted from my mind, + And every hope grew bright, + And life seemed moving on to happy ends. + (Ah, what self-beggared fool was he + That said a woman cannot be + The very best of friends?) + Then there were memories of old times, + Recalled with many a gentle jest; + And at the last she brought the book of rhymes + We made together, trying to translate + The Songs of Heine (hers were always best). + "Now come," she said, + "To-night we will collaborate + Again; I'll put you to the test. + Here's one I never found the way to do,-- + The simplest are the hardest ones, you know,-- + I give this song to you." + And then she read: + _Mein Kind, wir waren Kinder, + Zwei Kinder, jung und froh._ + + * * * * * + + But all the while, a silent question stirred + Within me, though I dared not speak the word: + "Is it herself, and is she truly here, + And was I dreaming when I heard + That she was dead last year? + Or was it true, and is she but a shade + Who brings a fleeting joy to eye and ear, + Cold though so kind, and will she gently fade + When her sweet ghostly part is played + And the light-curtain falls at dawn of day?" + + But while my heart was troubled by this fear + So deeply that I could not speak it out, + Lest all my happiness should disappear, + I thought me of a cunning way + To hide the question and dissolve the doubt. + "Will you not give me now your hand, + Dear Marguerite," I asked, "to touch and hold, + That by this token I may understand + You are the same true friend you were of old?" + She answered with a smile so bright and calm + It seemed as if I saw the morn arise + In the deep heaven of her eyes; + And smiling so, she laid her palm + In mine. Dear God, it was not cold + But warm with vital heat! + "You live!" I cried, "you live, dear Marguerite!" + When I awoke; but strangely comforted, + Although I knew again that she was dead. + + +III + + Yes, there's the dream! And was it sweet or sad? + Dear mistress of my waking and my sleep, + Present reward of all my heart's desire, + Watching with me beside the winter fire, + Interpret now this vision that I had. + But while you read the meaning, let me keep + The touch of you: for the Old Year with storm + Is passing through the midnight, and doth shake + The corners of the house,--and oh! my heart would break + Unless both dreaming and awake + My hand could feel your hand was warm, warm, warm! + +1905. + + + +THE VAIN KING + + + In robes of Tyrian blue the King was drest, + A jewelled collar shone upon his breast, + A giant ruby glittered in his crown: + Lord of rich lands and many a splendid town, + In him the glories of an ancient line + Of sober kings, who ruled by right divine, + Were centred; and to him with loyal awe + The people looked for leadership and law. + Ten thousand knights, the safeguard of the land, + Were like a single sword within his hand; + A hundred courts, with power of life and death, + Proclaimed decrees of justice by his breath; + And all the sacred growths that men had known + Of order and of rule upheld his throne. + + Proud was the King: yet not with such a heart + As fits a man to play a royal part. + Not his the pride that honours as a trust + The right to rule, the duty to be just: + Not his the dignity that bends to bear + The monarch's yoke, the master's load of care, + And labours like the peasant at his gate, + To serve the people and protect the State. + Another pride was his, and other joys: + To him the crown and sceptre were but toys, + With which he played at glory's idle game, + To please himself and win the wreaths of fame. + The throne his fathers held from age to age, + To his ambition seemed a fitting stage + Built for King Martin to display at will, + His mighty strength and universal skill. + No conscious child, that, spoiled with praising, tries + At every step to win admiring eyes, + No favourite mountebank, whose acting draws + From gaping crowds the thunder of applause, + Was vainer than the King: his only thirst + Was to be hailed, in every race, the first. + When tournament was held, in knightly guise + The King would ride the lists and win the prize; + When music charmed the court, with golden lyre + The King would take the stage and lead the choir; + In hunting, his the lance to slay the boar; + In hawking, see his falcon highest soar; + In painting, he would wield the master's brush; + In high debate,--"the King is speaking! Hush!" + Thus, with a restless heart, in every field + He sought renown, and made his subjects yield. + But while he played the petty games of life + His kingdom fell a prey to inward strife; + Corruption through the court unheeded crept, + And on the seat of honour justice slept. + The strong trod down the weak; the helpless poor + Groaned under burdens grievous to endure; + The nation's wealth was spent in vain display, + And weakness wore the nation's heart away. + + Yet think not Earth is blind to human woes-- + Man has more friends and helpers than he knows; + And when a patient people are oppressed, + The land that bore them feels it in her breast. + Spirits of field and flood, of heath and hill, + Are grieved and angry at the spreading ill; + The trees complain together in the night, + Voices of wrath are heard along the height, + And secret vows are sworn, by stream and strand, + To bring the tyrant low and free the land. + + But little recked the pampered King of these; + He heard no voice but such as praise and please. + Flattered and fooled, victor in every sport, + One day he wandered idly with his court + Beside the river, seeking to devise + New ways to show his skill to wondering eyes. + There in the stream a patient angler stood, + And cast his line across the rippling flood. + His silver spoil lay near him on the green: + "Such fish," the courtiers cried, "were never seen! + Three salmon longer than a cloth-yard shaft-- + This man must be the master of his craft!" + "An easy art!" the jealous King replied: + "Myself could learn it better, if I tried, + And catch a hundred larger fish a week-- + Wilt thou accept the challenge, fellow? Speak!" + The angler turned, came near, and bent his knee: + "'Tis not for kings to strive with such as me; + Yet if the King commands it, I obey. + But one condition of the strife I pray: + The fisherman who brings the least to land + Shall do whate'er the other may command." + Loud laughed the King: "A foolish fisher thou! + For I shall win, and rule thee then as now." + + Then to Prince John, a sober soul, sedate + And slow, King Martin left the helm of State, + While to the novel game with eager zest + He all his time and all his powers addressed. + Sure such a sight was never seen before! + In robe and crown the monarch trod the shore; + His golden hooks were decked with feathers fine, + His jewelled reel ran out a silken line. + With kingly strokes he flogged the crystal stream; + Far-off the salmon saw his tackle gleam; + Careless of kings, they eyed with calm disdain + The gaudy lure, and Martin fished in vain. + On Friday, when the week was almost spent, + He scanned his empty creel with discontent, + Called for a net, and cast it far and wide, + And drew--a thousand minnows from the tide! + Then came the angler to conclude the match, + And at the monarch's feet spread out his catch-- + A hundred salmon, greater than before. + "I win!" he cried: "the King must pay the score." + Then Martin, angry, threw his tackle down: + "Rather than lose this game I'd lose my crown!" + "Nay, thou hast lost them both," the angler said; + And as he spoke a wondrous light was shed + Around his form; he dropped his garments mean, + And in his place the River-god was seen. + "Thy vanity has brought thee in my power, + And thou must pay the forfeit at this hour: + For thou hast shown thyself a royal fool, + Too proud to angle, and too vain to rule, + Eager to win in every trivial strife,-- + Go! Thou shalt fish for minnows all thy life!" + Wrathful, the King the magic sentence heard; + He strove to answer, but he only _chirr-r-ed_: + His royal robe was changed to wings of blue, + His crown a ruby crest,--away he flew! + + So every summer day along the stream + The vain King-fisher darts, an azure gleam, + And scolds the angler with a mocking scream. + +April, 1904. + + + +THE FOOLISH FIR-TREE + + + _A tale that the poet Rueckert told + To German children, in days of old; + Disguised in a random, rollicking rhyme + Like a merry mummer of ancient time, + And sent, in its English dress, to please + The little folk of the Christmas trees._ + + + A little fir grew in the midst of the wood + Contented and happy, as young trees should. + His body was straight and his boughs were clean; + And summer and winter the bountiful sheen + Of his needles bedecked him, from top to root, + In a beautiful, all-the-year, evergreen suit. + + But a trouble came into his heart one day, + When he saw that the other trees were gay + In the wonderful raiment that summer weaves + Of manifold shapes and kinds of leaves: + He looked at his needles so stiff and small, + And thought that his dress was the poorest of all. + Then jealousy clouded the little tree's mind, + And he said to himself, "It was not very kind + To give such an ugly old dress to a tree! + If the fays of the forest would only ask me, + I'd tell them how I should like to be dressed,-- + In a garment of gold, to bedazzle the rest!" + So he fell asleep, but his dreams were bad. + When he woke in the morning, his heart was glad; + For every leaf that his boughs could hold + Was made of the brightest beaten gold. + I tell you, children, the tree was proud; + He was something above the common crowd; + And he tinkled his leaves, as if he would say + To a pedlar who happened to pass that way, + "Just look at me! Don't you think I am fine? + And wouldn't you like such a dress as mine?" + "Oh, yes!" said the man, "and I really guess + I must fill my pack with your beautiful dress." + So he picked the golden leaves with care, + And left the little tree shivering there. + + "Oh, why did I wish for golden leaves?" + The fir-tree said, "I forgot that thieves + Would be sure to rob me in passing by. + If the fairies would give me another try, + I'd wish for something that cost much less, + And be satisfied with glass for my dress!" + Then he fell asleep; and, just as before, + The fairies granted his wish once more. + When the night was gone, and the sun rose clear, + The tree was a crystal chandelier; + And it seemed, as he stood in the morning light, + That his branches were covered with jewels bright. + "Aha!" said the tree. "This is something great!" + And he held himself up, very proud and straight; + But a rude young wind through the forest dashed, + In a reckless temper, and quickly smashed + The delicate leaves. With a clashing sound + They broke into pieces and fell on the ground, + Like a silvery, shimmering shower of hail, + And the tree stood naked and bare to the gale. + + Then his heart was sad; and he cried, "Alas + For my beautiful leaves of shining glass! + Perhaps I have made another mistake + In choosing a dress so easy to break. + If the fairies only would hear me again + I'd ask them for something both pretty and plain: + It wouldn't cost much to grant my request,-- + In leaves of green lettuce I'd like to be dressed!" + By this time the fairies were laughing, I know; + But they gave him his wish in a second; and so + With leaves of green lettuce, all tender and sweet, + The tree was arrayed, from his head to his feet. + "I knew it!" he cried, "I was sure I could find + The sort of a suit that would be to my mind. + There's none of the trees has a prettier dress, + And none as attractive as I am, I guess." + But a goat, who was taking an afternoon walk, + By chance overheard the fir-tree's talk. + So he came up close for a nearer view;-- + "My salad!" he bleated, "I think so too! + You're the most attractive kind of a tree, + And I want your leaves for my five-o'clock tea." + So he ate them all without saying grace, + And walked away with a grin on his face; + While the little tree stood in the twilight dim, + With never a leaf on a single limb. + + Then he sighed and groaned; but his voice was weak-- + He was so ashamed that he could not speak. + He knew at last he had been a fool, + To think of breaking the forest rule, + And choosing a dress himself to please, + Because he envied the other trees. + But it couldn't be helped, it was now too late, + He must make up his mind to a leafless fate! + So he let himself sink in a slumber deep, + But he moaned and he tossed in his troubled sleep, + Till the morning touched him with joyful beam, + And he woke to find it was all a dream. + For there in his evergreen dress he stood, + A pointed fir in the midst of the wood! + His branches were sweet with the balsam smell, + His needles were green when the white snow fell. + And always contented and happy was he,-- + The very best kind of a Christmas tree. + + + +"GRAN' BOULE" + +A SEAMAN'S TALE OF THE SEA + + + We men hat go down for a livin' in ships to the sea,-- + We love it a different way from you poets that 'bide on the land. + We are fond of it, sure! But, you take it as comin' from me, + There's a fear and a hate in our love that a landsman can't understand. + + Oh, who could help likin' the salty smell, and the blue + Of the waves that are lazily breathin' as if they dreamed in the sun? + She's a Sleepin' Beauty, the sea,--but you can't tell what she'll do; + And the seamen never trust her,--they know too well what she's done! + + She's a wench like one that I saw in a singin'-play,-- + Carmen they called her,--Lord, what a life her lovers did lead! + She'd cuddle and kiss you, and sing you and dance you away; + And then,--she'd curse you, and break you, and throw you down like a + weed. + + You may chance it awhile with the girls like that, if you please; + But you want a woman to trust when you settle down with a wife; + And a seaman's thought of growin' old at his ease + Is a snug little house on the land to shelter the rest of his life. + + So that was old Poisson's dream,--did you know the Cap'? + A brown little Frenchman, clever, and brave, and quick as a fish,-- + Had a wife and kids on the other side of the map,-- + And a rose-covered cottage for them and him was his darlin' wish. + + "I 'ave sail," says he, in his broken-up Frenchy talk, + "Mos' forty-two year; I 'ave go on all part of de worl' dat ees wet. + I'm seeck of de boat and de water. I rader walk + Wid ma Josephine in one garden; an' eef we get tire', we set! + + "You see dat _bateau_, _Sainte Brigitte_? I bring 'er dh'are + From de Breton coas', by gar, jus' feefteen year bifore. + She ole w'en she come on Kebec, but _Holloway Freres_ + Dey buy 'er, an' hire me run 'er along dat dam' Nort' Shore. + + "Dose engine one leetl' bit cranky,--too ole, you see,-- + She roll and peetch in de wave'. But I lak' 'er pretty well; + An' dat sheep she lak' 'er captaine, sure, dat's me! + Wit' forty ton coal in de bunker, I tek' dat sheep t'rou' hell. + + "But I don' wan' risk it no more; I had _bonne chance_: + I save already ten t'ousan' dollar', dat's plenty I s'pose! + Nex' winter I buy dat house wid de garden on France + An' I tell _adieu_ to de sea, and I leev' on de lan' in ripose." + + All summer he talked of his house,--you could see the flowers + Abloom, and the pear-trees trained on the garden-wall so trim, + And the Captain awalkin' and smokin' away the hours,-- + He thought he had done with the sea, but the sea hadn't done with him! + + It was late in the fall when he made the last regular run, + Clear down to the Esquimault Point and back with his rickety ship; + She hammered and pounded a lot, for the storms had begun; + But he drove her,--and went for his season's pay at the end of the trip. + + Now the Holloway Brothers are greedy and thin little men, + With their eyes set close together, and money's their only God; + So they told the Cap' he must run the "Bridget" again, + To fetch a cargo from Moisie, two thousand quintals of cod. + + He said the season was over. They said: "Not yet. + You finish the whole of your job, old man, or you don't draw a cent!" + (They had the "Bridget" insured for all they could get.) + And the Captain objected, and cursed, and cried. But he _went_. + + They took on the cargo at Moisie, and folks beside,-- + Three traders, a priest, and a couple of nuns, and a girl + For a school at Quebec,--when the Captain saw her he sighed, + And said: "Ma littl' Fifi got hair lak' dat, all curl!" + + The snow had fallen a foot, and the wind was high, + When the "Bridget" butted her way thro' the billows on Moisie bar. + The darkness grew with the gale, not a star in the sky, + And the Captain swore: "We mus' make _Sept Isles_ to-night, by gar!" + + He couldn't go back, for he didn't dare to turn; + The sea would have thrown the ship like a mustang noosed with a rope; + For the monstrous waves were leapin' high astern, + And the shelter of Seven Island Bay was the only hope. + + There's a bunch of broken hills half sunk in the mouth + Of the bay, with their jagged peaks afoam; and the Captain thought + He could pass to the north; but the sea kept shovin' him south, + With her harlot hands, in the snow-blind murk, till she had him caught. + + She had waited forty years for a night like this,-- + Did he think he could leave her now, and live in a cottage, the fool? + She headed him straight for the island he couldn't miss; + And heaved his boat in the dark,--and smashed it against _Gran' Boule_. + + How the Captain and half of the people clambered ashore, + Through the surf and the snow in the gloom of that horrible night, + There's no one ever will know. For two days more + The death-white shroud of the tempest covered the island from sight. + + How they suffered, and struggled, and died, will never be told; + We discovered them all at last when we reached _Gran' Boule_ with a boat; + The drowned and the frozen were lyin' stiff and cold, + And the poor little girl with the curls was wrapped in the Captain's + coat. + + Go write your song of the sea as the landsmen do, + And call her your "great sweet mother," your "bride," and all the rest; + She was made to be loved,--but remember, she won't love you,-- + The men who trust her the least are the sailors who know her the best. + + + +HEROES OF THE "TITANIC" + + + Honour the brave who sleep + Where the lost "Titanic" lies, + The men who knew what a man must do + When he looks Death in the eyes. + + "Women and children first,"-- + Ah, strong and tender cry! + The sons whom women had borne and nursed, + Remembered,--and dared to die. + + The boats crept off in the dark: + The great ship groaned: and then,-- + O stars of the night, who saw that sight, + Bear witness, _These were men!_ + +November 9, 1912. + + + +THE STANDARD-BEARER + + +I + + "How can I tell," Sir Edmund said, + "Who has the right or the wrong o' this thing? + Cromwell stands for the people's cause, + Charles is crowned by the ancient laws; + English meadows are sopping red, + Englishmen striking each other dead,-- + Times are black as a raven's wing. + Out of the ruck and the murk I see + Only one thing! + The King has trusted his banner to me, + And I must fight for the King." + + +II + + Into the thick of the Edgehill fight + Sir Edmund rode with a shout; and the ring + Of grim-faced, hard-hitting Parliament men + Swallowed him up,--it was one against ten! + He fought for the standard with all his might, + Never again did he come to sight-- + Victor, hid by the raven's wing! + After the battle had passed we found + Only one thing,-- + The hand of Sir Edmund gripped around + The banner-staff of his King. + +1914. + + + +THE PROUD LADY + + + When Staevoren town was in its prime + And queened the Zuyder Zee, + Her ships went out to every clime + With costly merchantry. + + A lady dwelt in that rich town, + The fairest in all the land; + She walked abroad in a velvet gown, + With many rings on her hand. + + Her hair was bright as the beaten gold, + Her lips as coral red, + Her roving eyes were blue and bold, + And her heart with pride was fed. + + For she was proud of her father's ships, + As she watched them gaily pass; + And pride looked out of her eyes and lips + When she saw herself in the glass. + + "Now come," she said to the captains ten, + Who were ready to put to sea, + "Ye are all my men and my father's men, + And what will ye do for me?" + + "Go north and south, go east and west, + And get me gifts," she said. + "And he who bringeth me home the best, + With that man will I wed." + + So they all fared forth, and sought with care + In many a famous mart, + For satins and silks and jewels rare, + To win that lady's heart. + + She looked at them all with never a thought, + And careless put them by; + "I am not fain of the things ye brought, + Enough of these have I." + + The last that came was the head of the fleet, + His name was Jan Borel; + He bent his knee at the lady's feet,-- + In truth he loved her well. + + "I've brought thee home the best i' the world, + A shipful of Danzig corn!" + She stared at him long; her red lips curled, + Her blue eyes filled with scorn. + + "Now out on thee, thou feckless kerl, + A loon thou art," she said. + "Am I a starving beggar girl? + Shall I ever lack for bread?" + + "Go empty all thy sacks of grain + Into the nearest sea, + And never show thy face again + To make a mock of me." + + Young Jan Borel, he answered naught, + But in the harbour cast + The sacks of golden corn he brought, + And groaned when fell the last. + + Then Jan Borel, he hoisted sail, + And out to sea he bore; + He passed the Helder in a gale + And came again no more. + + But the grains of corn went drifting down + Like devil-scattered seed, + To sow the harbour of the town + With a wicked growth of weed. + + The roots were thick and the silt and sand + Were gathered day by day, + Till not a furlong out from land + A shoal had barred the way. + + Then Staevoren town saw evil years, + No ships could out or in, + The boats lay rotting at the piers, + And the mouldy grain in the bin. + + The grass-grown streets were all forlorn, + The town in ruin stood, + The lady's velvet gown was torn, + Her rings were sold for food. + + Her father had perished long ago, + But the lady held her pride, + She walked with a scornful step and slow, + Till at last in her rags she died. + + Yet still on the crumbling piers of the town, + When the midnight moon shines free, + A woman walks in a velvet gown + And scatters corn in the sea. + +1917. + + + + +LYRICS OF LABOUR AND ROMANCE + + + +A MILE WITH ME + + + O who will walk a mile with me + Along life's merry way? + A comrade blithe and full of glee, + Who dares to laugh out loud and free, + And let his frolic fancy play, + Like a happy child, through the flowers gay + That fill the field and fringe the way + Where he walks a mile with me. + + And who will walk a mile with me + Along life's weary way? + A friend whose heart has eyes to see + The stars shine out o'er the darkening lea, + And the quiet rest at the end o' the day,-- + A friend who knows, and dares to say, + The brave, sweet words that cheer the way + Where he walks a mile with me. + + With such a comrade, such a friend, + I fain would walk till journeys end, + Through summer sunshine, winter rain, + And then?--Farewell, we shall meet again! + + + +THE THREE BEST THINGS + + +I + +WORK + + Let me but do my work from day to day, + In field or forest, at the desk or loom, + In roaring market-place or tranquil room; + Let me but find it in my heart to say, + When vagrant wishes beckon me astray, + "This is my work; my blessing, not my doom; + Of all who live, I am the one by whom + This work can best be done in the right way." + + Then shall I see it not too great, nor small, + To suit my spirit and to prove my powers; + Then shall I cheerful greet the labouring hours, + And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall + At eventide, to play and love and rest, + Because I know for me my work is best. + + +II + +LOVE + + Let me but love my love without disguise, + Nor wear a mask of fashion old or new, + Nor wait to speak till I can hear a clue, + Nor play a part to shine in others' eyes, + Nor bow my knees to what my heart denies; + But what I am, to that let me be true, + And let me worship where my love is due, + And so through love and worship let me rise. + + For love is but the heart's immortal thirst + To be completely known and all forgiven, + Even as sinful souls that enter Heaven: + So take me, dear, and understand my worst, + And freely pardon it, because confessed, + And let me find in loving thee, my best. + + +III + +LIFE + + Let me but live my life from year to year, + With forward face and unreluctant soul; + Not hurrying to, nor turning from, the goal; + Not mourning for the things that disappear + In the dim past, nor holding back in fear + From what the future veils; but with a whole + And happy heart, that pays its toll + To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer. + + So let the way wind up the hill or down, + O'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy: + Still seeking what I sought when but a boy, + New friendship, high adventure, and a crown, + My heart will keep the courage of the quest, + And hope the road's last turn will be the best. + + + +RELIANCE + + + Not to the swift, the race: + Not to the strong, the fight: + Not to the righteous, perfect grace + Not to the wise, the light. + + But often faltering feet + Come surest to the goal; + And they who walk in darkness meet + The sunrise of the soul. + + A thousand times by night + The Syrian hosts have died; + A thousand times the vanquished right + Hath risen, glorified. + + The truth the wise men sought + Was spoken by a child; + The alabaster box was brought + In trembling hands defiled. + + Not from my torch, the gleam, + But from the stars above: + Not from my heart, life's crystal stream, + But from the depths of Love. + + + +DOORS OF DARING + + + The mountains that inclose the vale + With walls of granite, steep and high, + Invite the fearless foot to scale + Their stairway toward the sky. + + The restless, deep, dividing sea + That flows and foams from shore to shore, + Calls to its sunburned chivalry, + "Push out, set sail, explore!" + + The bars of life at which we fret, + That seem to prison and control, + Are but the doors of daring, set + Ajar before the soul. + + Say not, "Too poor," but freely give; + Sigh not, "Too weak," but boldly try; + You never can begin to live + Until you dare to die. + + + +THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN + + + When to the garden of untroubled thought + I came of late, and saw the open door, + And wished again to enter, and explore + The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought, + And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught, + It seemed some purer voice must speak before + I dared to tread that garden loved of yore, + That Eden lost unknown and found unsought. + + Then just within the gate I saw a child,-- + A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear; + He held his hands to me, and softly smiled + With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear: + "Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me; + I am the little child you used to be." + + + +LOVE'S REASON + + + For that thy face is fair I love thee not; + Nor yet because thy brown benignant eyes + Have sudden gleams of gladness and surprise, + Like woodland brooks that cross a sunlit spot: + Nor for thy body, born without a blot, + And loveliest when it shines with no disguise + Pure as the star of Eve in Paradise,-- + For all these outward things I love thee not: + + But for a something in thy form and face, + Thy looks and ways, of primal harmony; + A certain soothing charm, a vital grace + That breathes of the eternal womanly, + And makes me feel the warmth of Nature's breast, + When in her arms, and thine, I sink to rest. + + + +THE ECHO IN THE HEART + + + It's little I can tell + About the birds in books; + And yet I know them well, + By their music and their looks: + When May comes down the lane, + Her airy lovers throng + To welcome her with song, + And follow in her train: + Each minstrel weaves his part + In that wild-flowery strain, + And I know them all again + By their echo in my heart. + + It's little that I care + About my darling's place + In books of beauty rare, + Or heraldries of race: + For when she steps in view, + It matters not to me + What her sweet type may be, + Of woman, old or new. + I can't explain the art, + But I know her for my own, + Because her lightest tone + Wakes an echo in my heart. + + + +"UNDINE" + + + 'Twas far away and long ago, + When I was but a dreaming boy, + This fairy tale of love and woe + Entranced my heart with tearful joy; + And while with white Undine I wept + Your spirit,--ah, how strange it seems,-- + Was cradled in some star, and slept, + Unconscious of her coming dreams. + + + +"RENCONTRE" + + + Oh, was I born too soon, my dear, or were you born too late, + That I am going out the door while you come in the gate? + For you the garden blooms galore, the castle is _en fete_; + You are the coming guest, my dear,--for me the horses wait. + + I know the mansion well, my dear, its rooms so rich and wide; + If you had only come before I might have been your guide, + And hand in hand with you explore the treasures that they hide; + But you have come to stay, my dear, and I prepare to ride. + + Then walk with me an hour, my dear, and pluck the reddest rose + Amid the white and crimson store with which your garden glows,-- + A single rose,--I ask no more of what your love bestows; + It is enough to give, my dear,--a flower to him who goes. + + The House of Life is yours, my dear, for many and many a day, + But I must ride the lonely shore, the Road to Far Away: + So bring the stirrup-cup and pour a brimming draught, I pray, + And when you take the road, my dear, I'll meet you on the way. + + + +LOVE IN A LOOK + + + Let me but feel thy look's embrace, + Transparent, pure, and warm, + And I'll not ask to touch thy face, + Or fold thee in mine arm. + For in thine eyes a girl doth rise, + Arrayed in candid bliss, + And draws me to her with a charm + More close than any kiss. + + A loving-cup of golden wine, + Songs of a silver brook, + And fragrant breaths of eglantine, + Are mingled in thy look. + More fair they are than any star, + Thy topaz eyes divine-- + And deep within their trysting-nook + Thy spirit blends with mine. + + + +MY APRIL LADY + + + When down the stair at morning + The sunbeams round her float, + Sweet rivulets of laughter + Are rippling in her throat; + The gladness of her greeting + Is gold without alloy; + And in the morning sunlight + I think her name is Joy. + + When in the evening twilight + The quiet book-room lies, + We read the sad old ballads, + While from her hidden eyes + The tears are falling, falling, + That give her heart relief; + And in the evening twilight, + I think her name is Grief. + + My little April lady, + Of sunshine and of showers + She weaves the old spring magic, + And my heart breaks in flowers! + But when her moods are ended, + She nestles like a dove; + Then, by the pain and rapture, + I know her name is Love. + + + +A LOVER'S ENVY + + + I envy every flower that blows + Along the meadow where she goes, + And every bird that sings to her, + And every breeze that brings to her + The fragrance of the rose. + + I envy every poet's rhyme + That moves her heart at eventime, + And every tree that wears for her + Its brightest bloom, and bears for her + The fruitage of its prime. + + I envy every Southern night + That paves her path with moonbeams white, + And silvers all the leaves for her, + And in their shadow weaves for her + A dream of dear delight. + + I envy none whose love requires + Of her a gift, a task that tires: + I only long to live to her, + I only ask to give to her, + All that her heart desires. + + + +FIRE-FLY CITY + + + Like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting, + Bearing me far away, after a perfect day of love's delight: + Wakeful with all the sad-sweet memories of parting, + I lift the narrow window-shade and look out on the night. + + Lonely the land unknown, and like a river flowing, + Forest and field and hill are gliding backward still athwart my dream; + Till in that country strange, and ever stranger growing, + A magic city full of lights begins to glow and gleam. + + Wide through the landscape dim the lamps are lit in millions; + Long avenues unfold clear-shining lines of gold across the green; + Clusters and rings of light, and luminous pavilions,-- + Oh, who will tell the city's name, and what these wonders mean? + + Why do they beckon me, and what have they to show me? + Crowds in the blazing street, mirth where the feasters meet, kisses and + wine: + Many to laugh with me, but never one to know me: + A cityful of stranger-hearts and none to beat with mine! + + Look how the glittering lines are wavering and lifting,-- + Softly the breeze of night scatters the vision bright: and, passing + fair, + Over the meadow-grass and through the forest drifting, + The Fire-Fly City of the Dark is lost in empty air! + + + +THE GENTLE TRAVELLER + + + "Through many a land your journey ran, + And showed the best the world can boast: + Now tell me, traveller, if you can, + The place that pleased you most." + + She laid her hands upon my breast, + And murmured gently in my ear, + "The place I loved and liked the best + Was in your arms, my dear!" + + + +NEPENTHE + + + Yes, it was like you to forget, + And cancel in the welcome of your smile + My deep arrears of debt, + And with the putting forth of both your hands + To sweep away the bars my folly set + Between us--bitter thoughts, and harsh demands, + And reckless deeds that seemed untrue + To love, when all the while + My heart was aching through and through + For you, sweet heart, and only you. + + Yet, as I turned to come to you again, + I thought there must be many a mile + Of sorrowful reproach to cross, + And many an hour of mutual pain + To bear, until I could make plain + That all my pride was but the fear of loss, + And all my doubt the shadow of despair + To win a heart so innocent and fair; + And even that which looked most ill + Was but the fever-fret and effort vain + To dull the thirst which you alone could still. + + But as I turned, the desert miles were crossed, + And when I came, the weary hours were sped! + For there you stood beside the open door, + Glad, gracious, smiling as before, + And with bright eyes and tender hands outspread + Restored me to the Eden I had lost. + Never a word of cold reproof, + No sharp reproach, no glances that accuse + The culprit whom they hold aloof,-- + Ah, 'tis not thus that other women use + The empire they have won! + For there is none like you, beloved,--none + Secure enough to do what you have done. + Where did you learn this heavenly art,-- + You sweetest and most wise of all that live,-- + With silent welcome to impart + Assurance of the royal heart + That never questions where it would forgive? + + None but a queen could pardon me like this! + My sovereign lady, let me lay + Within each rosy palm a loyal kiss + Of penitence, then close the fingers up, + Thus--thus! Now give the cup + Of full nepenthe in your crimson mouth, + And come--the garden blooms with bliss, + The wind is in the south, + The rose of love with dew is wet-- + Dear, it was like you to forget! + + + +DAY AND NIGHT + + + _How long is the night, brother, + And how long is the day?_ + Oh, the day's too short for a happy task, + And the day's too short for play; + And the night's too short for the bliss of love, + For look, how the edge of the sky grows gray, + While the stars die out in the blue above, + And the wan moon fades away. + + _How short is the day, brother, + And how short is the night?_ + Oh, the day's too long for a heavy task, + And long, long, long is the night, + When the wakeful hours are filled with pain, + And the sad heart waits for the thing it fears, + And sighs for the dawn to come again,-- + The night is a thousand years! + + _How long is a life, dear God, + And how fast does it flow?_ + The measure of life is a flame in the soul: + It is neither swift nor slow. + But the vision of time is the shadow cast + By the fleeting world on the body's wall; + When it fades there is neither future nor past, + But love is all in all. + + + +HESPER + + + Her eyes are like the evening air, + Her voice is like a rose, + Her lips are like a lovely song, + That ripples as it flows, + And she herself is sweeter than + The sweetest thing she knows. + + A slender, haunting, twilight form + Of wonder and surprise, + She seemed a fairy or a child, + Till, deep within her eyes, + I saw the homeward-leading star + Of womanhood arise. + + + +ARRIVAL + + + Across a thousand miles of sea, a hundred leagues of land, + Along a path I had not traced and could not understand, + I travelled fast and far for this,--to take thee by the hand. + + A pilgrim knowing not the shrine where he would bend his knee, + A mariner without a dream of what his port would be, + So fared I with a seeking heart until I came to thee. + + O cooler than a grove of palm in some heat-weary place, + O fairer than an isle of calm after the wild sea race, + The quiet room adorned with flowers where first I saw thy face! + + Then furl the sail, let fall the oar, forget the paths of foam! + The fate that made me wander far at last has brought me home + To thee, dear haven of my heart, and I no more will roam. + + + +DEPARTURE + + + Oh, why are you shining so bright, big Sun, + And why is the garden so gay? + Do you know that my days of delight are done, + Do you know I am going away? + If you covered your face with a cloud, I'd dream + You were sorry for me in my pain, + And the heavily drooping flowers would seem + To be weeping with me in the rain. + + But why is your head so low, sweet heart, + And why are your eyes overcast? + Are you crying because you know we must part, + Do you think this embrace is our last? + Then kiss me again, and again, and again, + Look up as you bid me good-bye! + For your face is too dear for the stain of a tear, + And your smile is the sun in my sky. + + + +THE BLACK BIRDS + + +I + + Once, only once, I saw it clear,-- + That Eden every human heart has dreamed + A hundred times, but always far away! + Ah, well do I remember how it seemed, + Through the still atmosphere + Of that enchanted day, + To lie wide open to my weary feet: + A little land of love and joy and rest, + With meadows of soft green, + Rosy with cyclamen, and sweet + With delicate breath of violets unseen,-- + And, tranquil 'mid the bloom + As if it waited for a coming guest, + A little house of peace and joy and love + Was nested like a snow-white dove. + + +II + + From the rough mountain where I stood, + Homesick for happiness, + Only a narrow valley and a darkling wood + To cross, and then the long distress + Of solitude would be forever past,-- + I should be home at last. + But not too soon! oh, let me linger here + And feed my eyes, hungry with sorrow, + On all this loveliness, so near, + And mine to-morrow! + + +III + + Then, from the wood, across the silvery blue, + A dark bird flew, + Silent, with sable wings. + Close in his wake another came,-- + Fragments of midnight floating through + The sunset flame,-- + Another and another, weaving rings + Of blackness on the primrose sky,-- + Another, and another, look, a score, + A hundred, yes, a thousand rising heavily + From that accursed, dumb, and ancient wood, + They boiled into the lucid air + Like smoke from some deep caldron of despair! + And more, and more, and ever more, + The numberless, ill-omened brood + Flapping their ragged plumes, + Possessed the landscape and the evening light + With menaces and glooms. + Oh, dark, dark, dark they hovered o'er the place + Where once I saw the little house so white + Amid the flowers, covering every trace + Of beauty from my troubled sight,-- + And suddenly it was night! + + +IV + + At break of day I crossed the wooded vale; + And while the morning made + A trembling light among the tree-tops pale, + I saw the sable birds on every limb, + Clinging together closely in the shade, + And croaking placidly their surly hymn. + But, oh, the little land of peace and love + That those night-loving wings had poised above,-- + Where was it gone? + Lost, lost, forevermore! + Only a cottage, dull and gray, + In the cold light of dawn, + With iron bars across the door: + Only a garden where the drooping head + Of one sad rose, foreboding its decay, + Hung o'er a barren bed: + Only a desolate field that lay + Untilled beneath the desolate day,-- + Where Eden seemed to bloom I found but these! + So, wondering, I passed along my way, + With anger in my heart, too deep for words, + Against that grove of evil-sheltering trees, + And the black magic of the croaking birds. + + + +WITHOUT DISGUISE + + + If I have erred in showing all my heart, + And lost your favour by a lack of pride; + If standing like a beggar at your side + With naked feet, I have forgot the art + Of those who bargain well in passion's mart, + And win the thing they want by what they hide; + Be mine the fault as mine the hope denied, + Be mine the lover's and the loser's part. + + The sin, if sin it was, I do repent, + And take the penance on myself alone; + Yet after I have borne the punishment, + I shall not fear to stand before the throne + Of Love with open heart, and make this plea: + "At least I have not lied to her nor Thee!" + + + +AN HOUR + + + You only promised me a single hour: + But in that hour I journeyed through a year + Of life: the joy of finding you,--the fear + Of losing you again,--the sense of power + To make you all my own,--the sudden shower + Of tears that came because you were more dear + Than words could ever tell you,--then,--the clear + Soft rapture when I plucked love's crimson flower. + + An hour,--a year,--I felt your bosom rise + And fall with mystic tides, and saw the gleam + Of undiscovered stars within your eyes,-- + A year,--an hour? I knew not, for the stream + Of love had carried me to Paradise, + Where all the forms of Time are like a dream. + + + +"RAPPELLE-TOI" + + + Remember, when the timid light + Through the enchanted hall of dawn is gleaming; + Remember, when the pensive night + Beneath her silver-sprinkled veil walks dreaming; + When pleasure calls thee and thy heart beats high, + When tender joys through evening shades draw nigh, + Hark, from the woodland deeps + A gentle whisper creeps, + Remember! + + Remember, when the hand of fate + My life from thine forevermore has parted; + When sorrow, exile, and the weight + Of lonely years have made me heavy-hearted; + Think of my loyal love, my last adieu; + Absence and time are naught, if we are true; + Long as my heart shall beat, + To thine it will repeat, + Remember! + + Remember, when the cool, dark tomb + Receives my heart into its quiet keeping, + And some sweet flower begins to bloom + Above the grassy mound where I am sleeping; + Ah then, my face thou nevermore shalt see, + But still my soul will linger close to thee, + And in the holy place of night, + The litany of love recite,-- + Remember! + +_Freely rendered from the French of Alfred de Musset._ + + + +LOVE'S NEARNESS + + + I think of thee when golden sunbeams glimmer + Across the sea; + And when the waves reflect the moon's pale shimmer + I think of thee. + + I see thy form when down the distant highway + The dust-clouds rise; + In darkest night, above the mountain by-way + I see thine eyes. + + I hear thee when the ocean-tides returning + Aloud rejoice; + And on the lonely moor in silence yearning + I hear thy voice. + + I dwell with thee; though thou art far removed, + Yet thou art near. + The sun goes down, the stars shine out,--Beloved + If thou wert here! + +_From the German of Goethe_, 1898. + + + +TWO SONGS OF HEINE + + +I + +"EIN FICHTENBAUM" + + A fir-tree standeth lonely + On a barren northern height, + Asleep, while winter covers + His rest with robes of white. + + In dreams, he sees a palm-tree + In the golden morning-land; + She droops alone and silent + In burning wastes of sand. + + +II + +"DU BIST WIE EINE BLUME" + + Fair art thou as a flower + And innocent and shy: + I look on thee and sorrow; + I grieve, I know not why. + + I long to lay, in blessing, + My hand upon thy brow, + And pray that God may keep thee + As fair and pure as now. + +1872. + + + +EIGHT ECHOES FROM THE POEMS OF AUGUSTE ANGELLIER + + +I + +THE IVORY CRADLE + + The cradle I have made for thee + Is carved of orient ivory, + And curtained round with wavy silk + More white than hawthorn-bloom or milk. + + A twig of box, a lilac spray, + Will drive the goblin-horde away; + And charm thy childlike heart to keep + Her happy dream and virgin sleep. + + Within that pure and fragrant nest, + I'll rock thy gentle soul to rest, + With tender songs we need not fear + To have a passing angel hear. + + Ah, long and long I fain would hold + The snowy curtain's guardian fold + Around thy crystal visions, born + In clearness of the early morn. + + But look, the sun is glowing red + With triumph in his golden bed; + Aurora's virgin whiteness dies + In crimson glory of the skies. + + The rapid flame will burn its way + Through these white curtains, too, one day; + The ivory cradle will be left + Undone, and broken, and bereft. + + +II + +DREAMS + + Often I dream your big blue eyes, + Though loth their meaning to confess, + Regard me with a clear surprise + Of dawning tenderness. + + Often I dream you gladly hear + The words I hardly dare to breathe,-- + The words that falter in their fear + To tell what throbs beneath. + + Often I dream your hand in mine + Falls like a flower at eventide, + And down the path we leave a line + Of footsteps side by side. + + But ah, in all my dreams of bliss, + In passion's hunger, fever's drouth, + I never dare to dream of this: + My lips upon your mouth. + + And so I dream your big blue eyes, + That look on me with tenderness, + Grow wide, and deep, and sad, and wise, + And dim with dear distress. + + +III + +THE GARLAND OF SLEEP + + A wreath of poppy flowers, + With leaves of lotus blended, + Is carved on Life's facade of hours, + From night to night suspended. + + Along the columned wall, + From birth's low portal starting, + It flows, with even rise and fall, + To death's dark door of parting. + + How short each measured arc, + How brief the columns' number! + The wreath begins and ends in dark, + And leads from sleep to slumber. + + The marble garland seems, + With braided leaf and bloom, + To deck the palace of our dreams + As if it were a tomb. + + +IV + +TRANQUIL HABIT + + Dear tranquil Habit, with her silent hands, + Doth heal our deepest wounds from day to day + With cooling, soothing oil, and firmly lay + Around the broken heart her gentle bands. + + Her nursing is as calm as Nature's care; + She doth not weep with us; yet none the less + Her quiet fingers weave forgetfulness,-- + We fall asleep in peace when she is there. + + Upon the mirror of the mind her breath + Is like a cloud, to hide the fading trace + Of that dear smile, of that remembered face, + Whose presence were the joy and pang of death. + + And he who clings to sorrow overmuch, + Weeping for withered grief, has cause to bless, + More than all cries of pity and distress,-- + Dear tranquil Habit, thy consoling touch! + + +V + +THE OLD BRIDGE + + On the old, old bridge, with its crumbling stones + All covered with lichens red and gray, + Two lovers were talking in sweet low tones: + And we were they! + + As he leaned to breathe in her willing ear + The love that he vowed would never die, + He called her his darling, his dove most dear: + And he was I! + + She covered her face from the pale moonlight + With her trembling hands, but her eyes looked through, + And listened and listened with long delight: + And she was you! + + On the old, old bridge, where the lichens rust, + Two lovers are learning the same old lore; + He tells his love, and she looks her trust: + But we,--no more! + + +VI + +EYES AND LIPS + + +1 + + Our silent eyes alone interpreted + The new-born feeling in the heart of each: + In yours I read your sorrow without speech, + Your lonely struggle in their tears unshed. + Behind their dreamy sweetness, as a veil, + I saw the moving lights of trouble shine; + And then my eyes were brightened as with wine, + My spirit reeled to see your face grow pale! + + Our deepening love, that is not yet allowed + Another language than the eyes, doth learn + To speak it perfectly: above the crowd + Our looks exchange avowals and desires,-- + Like wave-divided beacon lights that burn, + And talk to one another by their fires. + + +2 + + When I embrace her in a fragrant shrine + Of climbing roses, my first kiss shall fall + On you, sweet eyes, that mutely told me all,-- + Through you my soul will rise to make her mine. + Upon your drooping lids, blue-veined and fair, + The touch of tenderness I first will lay, + You springs of joy, lights of my gloomy day, + Whose dear discovered secret bade me dare! + + And when you open, eyes of my fond dove, + Your look will shine with new delight, made sure + By this forerunner of a faithful love. + Tis just, dear eyes, so pensive and so pure, + That you should bear the sealing kisses true + Of love unhoped that came to me through you. + + +3 + + This was my thought; but when beneath the rose + That hides the lonely bench where lovers rest, + In friendly dusk I held her on my breast + For one brief moment,--while I saw you close, + Dear, yielding eyes, as if your lids, blue-veined + And pure, were meekly fain at last to bear + The proffered homage of my wistful prayer,-- + In that high moment, by your grace obtained, + + Forgetting your avowals, your alarms, + Your anguish and your tears, sweet weary eyes, + Forgetting that you gave her to my arms, + I broke my promise; and my first caress, + Ungrateful, sought her lips in sweet surprise,-- + Her lips, which breathed a word of tenderness! + + +VII + +AN EVOCATION + + When first upon my brow I felt your kiss, + A sudden splendour filled me, like the ray + That promptly runs to crown the hills with bliss + Of purple dawn before the golden day, + And ends the gloom it crosses at one leap. + My brow was not unworthy your caress; + For some foreboding joy had bade me keep + From all affront the place your lips would bless. + + Yet when your mouth upon my mouth did lay + The royal touch, no rapture made me thrill, + But I remained confused, ashamed, and still. + Beneath your kiss, my queen without a stain, + I felt,--like ghosts who rise at Judgment Day,-- + A throng of ancient kisses vile and vain! + + +VIII + +RESIGNATION + + +1 + + Well, you will triumph, dear and noble friend! + The holy love that wounded you so deep + Will bring you balm, and on your heart asleep + The fragrant dew of healing will descend. + Your children,--ah, how quickly they will grow + Between us, like a wall that fronts the sun, + Lifting a screen with rosy buds o'errun, + To hide the shaded path where I must go. + + You'll walk in light; and dreaming less and less + Of him who droops in gloom beyond the wall, + Your mother-soul will fill with happiness + When first you hear your grandchild's babbling call, + Beneath the braided bloom of flower and leaf + That We has wrought to veil your vanished grief. + + +2 + + Then I alone shall suffer! I shall bear + The double burden of our grief alone, + While I enlarge my soul to take your share + Of pain and hold it close beside my own. + Our love is torn asunder; but the crown + Of thorns that love has woven I will make + My relic sacrosanct, and press it down + Upon my bleeding heart that will not break. + + Ah, that will be the depth of solitude! + For my regret, that evermore endures, + Will know that new-born hope has conquered yours; + And when the evening comes, no gentle brood + Of wondering children, gathered at my side, + Will soothe away the tears I cannot hide. + +_Freely rendered from the French_, 1911. + + + +RAPPEL D'AMOUR + + + Come home, my love, come home! + The twilight is falling, + The whippoorwill calling, + The night is very near, + And the darkness full of fear, + Come home to my arms, come home! + + Come home, my love, come home! + In folly we parted, + And now, lonely hearted, + I know you look in vain + For a love like mine again; + Come home to my arms, come home! + + Come home, dear love, come home! + I've much to forgive you, + And more yet to give you. + I'll put a little light + In the window every night,-- + Come home to my arms, come home. + + + +THE RIVER OF DREAMS + + + The river of dreams runs quietly down + From its hidden home in the forest of sleep, + With a measureless motion calm and deep; + And my boat slips out on the current brown, + In a tranquil bay where the trees incline + Far over the waves, and creepers twine + Far over the boughs, as if to steep + Their drowsy bloom in the tide that goes + By a secret way that no man knows, + Under the branches bending, + Under the shadows blending, + And the body rests, and the passive soul + Is drifted along to an unseen goal, + While the river of dreams runs down. + + The river of dreams runs gently down, + With a leisurely flow that bears my bark + Out of the visionless woods of dark, + Into a glory that seems to crown + Valley and hill with light from far, + Clearer than sun or moon or star, + Luminous, wonderful, weird, oh, mark + How the radiance pulses everywhere, + In the shadowless vault of lucid air! + Over the mountains shimmering, + Up from the fountains glimmering,-- + Tis the mystical glow of the inner light, + That shines in the very noon of night, + While the river of dreams runs down. + + The river of dreams runs murmuring down, + Through the fairest garden that ever grew; + And now, as my boat goes drifting through, + A hundred voices arise to drown + The river's whisper, and charm my ear + With a sound I have often longed to hear,-- + A magical music, strange and new, + The wild-rose ballad, the lilac-song, + The virginal chant of the lilies' throng, + Blue-bells silverly ringing, + Pansies merrily singing,-- + For all the flowers have found their voice; + And I feel no wonder, but only rejoice, + While the river of dreams runs down. + + The river of dreams runs broadening down, + Away from the peaceful garden-shore, + With a current that deepens more and more, + By the league-long walls of a mighty town; + And I see the hurrying crowds of men + Gather like clouds and dissolve again; + But never a face I have seen before. + They come and go, they shift and change, + Their ways and looks are wild and strange,-- + This is a city haunted, + A multitude enchanted! + At the sight of the throng I am dumb with fear, + And never a sound from their lips I hear, + While the river of dreams runs down. + + The river of dreams runs darkly down + Into the heart of a desolate land, + With ruined temples half-buried in sand, + And riven hills, whose black brows frown + Over the shuddering, lonely wave. + The air grows dim with the dust of the grave; + No sign of life on the dreary strand; + No ray of light on the mountain's crest; + And a weary wind that cannot rest + Comes down the valley creeping, + Lamenting, wailing, weeping,-- + I strive to cry out, but my fluttering breath + Is choked with the clinging fog of death, + While the river of dreams runs down. + + The river of dreams runs trembling down, + Out of the valley of nameless fear, + Into a country calm and clear, + With a mystical name of high renown,-- + A name that I know, but may not tell,-- + And there the friends that I loved so well, + Old companions forever dear, + Come beckoning down to the river shore, + And hail my boat with the voice of yore. + Fair and sweet are the places + Where I see their unchanged faces! + And I feel in my heart with a secret thrill, + That the loved and lost are living still, + While the river of dreams runs down. + + The river of dreams runs dimly down + By a secret way that no man knows; + But the soul lives on while the river flows + Through the gardens bright and the forests brown; + And I often think that our whole life seems + To be more than half made up of dreams. + The changing sights and the passing shows, + The morning hopes and the midnight fears, + Are left behind with the vanished years; + Onward, with ceaseless motion, + The life-stream flows to the ocean, + While we follow the tide, awake or asleep, + Till we see the dawn on Love's great deep, + And the shadows melt, and the soul is free,-- + The river of dreams has reached the sea. + +1900. + + + + +SONGS OF HEARTH AND ALTAR + + + +A HOME SONG + + + I read within a poet's book + A word that starred the page: + "Stone walls do not a prison make, + Nor iron bars a cage!" + + Yes, that is true, and something more: + You'll find, where'er you roam, + That marble floors and gilded walls + Can never make a home. + + But every house where Love abides, + And Friendship is a guest, + Is surely home, and home-sweet-home: + For there the heart can rest. + + + +"LITTLE BOATIE" + +A SLUMBER-SONG FOR THE FISHERMAN'S CHILD + + + Furl your sail, my little boatie; + Here's the haven still and deep, + Where the dreaming tides in-streaming + Up the channel creep. + Now the sunset breeze is dying; + Hear the plover, landward flying, + Softly down the twilight crying; + Come to anchor, little boatie, + In the port of Sleep. + + Far away, my little boatie, + Roaring waves are white with foam; + Ships are striving, onward driving, + Day and night they roam. + Father's at the deep-sea trawling, + In the darkness, rowing, hauling, + While the hungry winds are calling,-- + God protect him, little boatie, + Bring him safely home! + + Not for you, my little boatie, + Is the wide and weary sea; + You're too slender, and too tender, + You must bide with me. + All day long you have been straying + Up and down the shore and playing; + Come to harbour, no delaying! + Day is over, little boatie, + Night falls suddenly. + + Furl your sail, my little boatie, + Fold your wings, my weary dove. + Dews are sprinkling, stars are twinkling + Drowsily above. + Cease from sailing, cease from rowing; + Rock upon the dream-tide, knowing + Safely o'er your rest are glowing, + All the night, my little boatie, + Harbour-lights of love. + +1897. + + + +A MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY + + + Lord Jesus, Thou hast known + A mother's love and tender care: + And Thou wilt hear, + While for my own + Mother most dear + I make this birthday prayer. + + Protect her life, I pray, + Who gave the gift of life to me; + And may she know, + From day to day, + The deepening glow + Of joy that comes from Thee. + + As once upon her breast + Fearless and well content I lay, + So let her heart, + On Thee at rest, + Feel fear depart + And trouble fade away. + + Ah, hold her by the hand, + As once her hand held mine; + And though she may + Not understand + Life's winding way, + Lead her in peace divine. + + I cannot pay my debt + For all the love that she has given; + But Thou, love's Lord, + Wilt not forget + Her due reward,-- + Bless her in earth and heaven. + + + +TRANSFORMATION + + + Only a little shrivelled seed, + It might be flower, or grass, or weed; + Only a box of earth on the edge + Of a narrow, dusty window-ledge; + Only a few scant summer showers; + Only a few clear shining hours; + That was all. Yet God could make + Out of these, for a sick child's sake, + A blossom-wonder, fair and sweet + As ever broke at an angel's feet. + + Only a life of barren pain, + Wet with sorrowful tears for rain, + Warmed sometimes by a wandering gleam + Of joy, that seemed but a happy dream; + A life as common and brown and bare + As the box of earth in the window there; + Yet it bore, at last, the precious bloom + Of a perfect soul in that narrow room; + Pure as the snowy leaves that fold + Over the flower's heart of gold. + + + +RENDEZVOUS + + + I count that friendship little worth + Which has not many things untold, + Great longings that no words can hold, + And passion-secrets waiting birth. + + Along the slender wires of speech + Some message from the heart is sent; + But who can tell the whole that's meant? + Our dearest thoughts are out of reach. + + I have not seen thee, though mine eyes + Hold now the image of thy face; + In vain, through form, I strive to trace + The soul I love: that deeper lies. + + A thousand accidents control + Our meeting here. Clasp hand in hand, + And swear to meet me in that land + Where friends hold converse soul to soul. + + + +GRATITUDE + + + "Do you give thanks for this?--or that?" No, God be thanked + I am not grateful + In that cold, calculating way, with blessings ranked + As one, two, three, and four,--that would be hateful. + + I only know that every day brings good above + My poor deserving; + I only feel that in the road of Life true Love + Is leading me along and never swerving. + + Whatever gifts and mercies to my lot may fall, + I would not measure + As worth a certain price in praise, or great or small; + But take and use them all with simple pleasure. + + For when we gladly eat our daily bread, we bless + The Hand that feeds us; + And when we tread the road of Life in cheerfulness, + Our very heart-beats praise the Love that leads us. + + + +PEACE + + + With eager heart and will on fire, + I strove to win my great desire. + "Peace shall be mine," I said; but life + Grew bitter in the barren strife. + + My soul was weary, and my pride + Was wounded deep; to Heaven I cried, + "God grant me peace or I must die;" + The dumb stars glittered no reply. + + Broken at last, I bowed my head, + Forgetting all myself, and said, + "Whatever comes, His will be done;" + And in that moment peace was won. + + + +SANTA CHRISTINA + + + Saints are God's flowers, fragrant souls + That His own hand hath planted, + Not in some far-off heavenly place, + Or solitude enchanted, + But here and there and everywhere,-- + In lonely field, or crowded town, + God sees a flower when He looks down. + + Some wear the lily's stainless white, + And some the rose of passion, + And some the violet's heavenly blue, + But each in its own fashion, + With silent bloom and soft perfume, + Is praising Him who from above + Beholds each lifted face of love. + + One such I knew,--and had the grace + To thank my God for knowing: + The beauty of her quiet life + Was like a rose in blowing, + So fair and sweet, so all-complete + And all unconscious, as a flower, + That light and fragrance were her dower. + + No convent-garden held this rose, + Concealed like secret treasure; + No royal terrace guarded her + For some sole monarch's pleasure. + She made her shrine, this saint of mine, + In a bright home where children played; + And there she wrought and there she prayed. + + In sunshine, when the days were glad, + She had the art of keeping + The clearest rays, to give again + In days of rain and weeping; + Her blessed heart could still impart + Some portion of its secret grace, + And charity shone in her face. + + In joy she grew from year to year; + And sorrow made her sweeter; + And every comfort, still more kind; + And every loss, completer. + Her children came to love her name,-- + "Christina,"--'twas a lip's caress; + And when they called, they seemed to bless. + + No more they call, for she is gone + Too far away to hear them; + And yet they often breathe her name + As if she lingered near them; + They cannot reach her with love's speech, + But when they say "Christina" now + 'Tis like a prayer or like a vow: + + A vow to keep her life alive + In deeds of pure affection, + So that her love shall find in them + A daily resurrection; + A constant prayer that they may wear + Some touch of that supernal light + With which she blossoms in God's sight. + + + +THE BARGAIN + + + What shall I give for thee, + Thou Pearl of greatest price? + For all the treasures I possess + Would not suffice. + + I give my store of gold; + It is but earthly dross: + But thou wilt make me rich, beyond + All fear of loss. + + Mine honours I resign; + They are but small at best: + Thou like a royal star wilt shine + Upon my breast. + + My worldly joys I give, + The flowers with which I played; + Thy beauty, far more heavenly fair, + Shall never fade. + + Dear Lord, is that enough? + _Nay, not a thousandth part._ + Well, then, I have but one thing more: + Take Thou my heart. + + + +TO THE CHILD JESUS + + +I + +THE NATIVITY + + Could every time-worn heart but see Thee once again, + A happy human child, among the homes of men, + The age of doubt would pass,--the vision of Thy face + Would silently restore the childhood of the race. + + +II + +THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT + + Thou wayfaring Jesus, a pilgrim and stranger, + Exiled from heaven by love at thy birth, + Exiled again from thy rest in the manger, + A fugitive child 'mid the perils of earth,-- + Cheer with thy fellowship all who are weary, + Wandering far from the land that they love; + Guide every heart that is homeless and dreary, + Safe to its home in thy presence above. + + + +BITTER-SWEET + + + Just to give up, and trust + All to a Fate unknown, + Plodding along life's road in the dust, + Bounded by walls of stone; + Never to have a heart at peace; + Never to see when care will cease; + Just to be still when sorrows fall-- + This is the bitterest lesson of all. + + Just to give up, and rest + All on a Love secure, + Out of a world that's hard at the best, + Looking to heaven as sure; + Ever to hope, through cloud and fear, + In darkest night, that the dawn is near; + Just to wait at the Master's feet-- + Surely, now, the bitter is sweet. + + + +HYMN OF JOY + +TO THE MUSIC OF BEETHOVEN'S NINTH SYMPHONY + + + Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee, + God of glory, Lord of love; + Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee, + Praising Thee their sun above. + Melt the clouds of sin and sadness; + Drive the dark of doubt away; + Giver of immortal gladness, + Fill us with the light of day! + + All Thy works with joy surround Thee, + Earth and heaven reflect Thy rays, + Stars and angels sing around Thee, + Centre of unbroken praise: + Field and forest, vale and mountain, + Blooming meadow, flashing sea, + Chanting bird and flowing fountain, + Call us to rejoice in Thee. + + Thou art giving and forgiving, + Ever blessing, ever blest, + Well-spring of the joy of living, + Ocean-depth of happy rest! + Thou our Father, Christ our Brother,-- + All who live in love are Thine: + Teach us how to love each other, + Lift us to the Joy Divine. + + Mortals join the mighty chorus, + Which the morning stars began; + Father-love is reigning o'er us, + Brother-love binds man to man. + Ever singing march we onward, + Victors in the midst of strife; + Joyful music lifts us sunward + In the triumph song of life. + +1908. + + + +SONG OF A PILGRIM-SOUL + + + March on, my soul, nor like a laggard stay! + March swiftly on. Yet err not from the way + Where all the nobly wise of old have trod,-- + The path of faith, made by the sons of God. + + Follow the marks that they have set beside + The narrow, cloud-swept track, to be thy guide: + Follow, and honour what the past has gained, + And forward still, that more may be attained. + + Something to learn, and something to forget: + Hold fast the good, and seek the better yet: + Press on, and prove the pilgrim-hope of youth: + The Creeds are milestones on the road to Truth. + + + +ODE TO PEACE + + +I + +IN EXCELSIS + + Two dwellings, Peace, are thine. + One is the mountain-height, + Uplifted in the loneliness of light + Beyond the realm of shadows,--fine, + And far, and clear,--where advent of the night + Means only glorious nearness of the stars, + And dawn unhindered breaks above the bars + That long the lower world in twilight keep. + Thou sleepest not, and hast no need of sleep, + For all thy cares and fears have dropped away; + The night's fatigue, the fever-fret of day, + Are far below thee; and earth's weary wars, + In vain expense of passion, pass + Before thy sight like visions in a glass,-- + Or like the wrinkles of the storm that creep + Across the sea and leave no trace + Of trouble on that immemorial face,-- + So brief appear the conflicts, and so slight + The wounds men give, the things for which they fight! + Here hangs a fortress on the distant steep,-- + A lichen clinging to the rock. + There sails a fleet upon the deep,-- + A wandering flock + Of snow-winged gulls. And yonder, in the plain, + A marble palace shines,--a grain + Of mica glittering in the rain. + Beneath thy feet the clouds are rolled + By voiceless winds: and far between + The rolling clouds, new shores and peaks are seen, + In shimmering robes of green and gold, + And faint aerial hue + That silent fades into the silent blue. + Thou, from thy mountain-hold, + All day in tranquil wisdom looking down + On distant scenes of human toil and strife, + All night, with eyes aware of loftier life + Uplifted to the sky where stars are sown, + Dost watch the everlasting fields grow white + Unto the harvest of the sons of light, + And welcome to thy dwelling-place sublime + The few strong souls that dare to climb + The slippery crags, and find thee on the height. + + +II + +DE PROFUNDIS + + But in the depth thou hast another home, + For hearts less daring, or more frail. + Thou dwellest also in the shadowy vale; + And pilgrim-souls that roam + With weary feet o'er hill and dale, + Bearing the burden and the heat + Of toilful days, + Turn from the dusty ways + To find thee in thy green and still retreat. + Here is no vision wide outspread + Before the lonely and exalted seat + Of all-embracing knowledge. Here, instead, + A little cottage, and a garden-nook, + With outlooks brief and sweet + Across the meadows, and along the brook,-- + A little stream that nothing knows + Of the great sea to which it gladly flows,-- + A little field that bears a little wheat + To make a portion of earth's daily bread. + The vast cloud-armies overhead + Are marshalled, and the wild wind blows + Its trumpet, but thou canst not tell + Whence comes the wind nor where it goes; + Nor dost thou greatly care, since all is well. + Thy daily task is done, + And now the wages of repose are won. + Here friendship lights the fire, and every heart, + Sure of itself and sure of all the rest, + Dares to be true, and gladly takes its part + In open converse, bringing forth its best: + And here is music, melting every chain + Of lassitude and pain: + And here, at last, is sleep with silent gifts,-- + Kind sleep, the tender nurse who lifts + The soul grown weary of the waking world, + And lays it, with its thoughts all furled, + Its fears forgotten, and its passions still, + On the deep bosom of the Eternal Will. + + + +THREE PRAYERS FOR SLEEP AND WAKING + + +I + +BEDTIME + + Ere thou sleepest gently lay + Every troubled thought away: + Put off worry and distress + As thou puttest off thy dress: + Drop thy burden and thy care + In the quiet arms of prayer. + + _Lord, Thou knowest how I live, + All I've done amiss forgive: + All of good I've tried to do, + Strengthen, bless, and carry through, + All I love in safety keep, + While in Thee I fall asleep._ + + +II + +NIGHT WATCH + + If slumber should forsake + Thy pillow in the dark, + Fret not thyself to mark + How long thou liest awake. + There is a better way; + Let go the strife and strain, + Thine eyes will close again, + If thou wilt only pray. + + _Lord, Thy peaceful gift restore, + Give my body sleep once more: + While I wait my soul will rest + Like a child upon Thy breast._ + + +III + +NEW DAY + + Ere thou risest from thy bed, + Speak to God Whose wings were spread + O'er thee in the helpless night: + Lo, He wakes thee now with light! + Lift thy burden and thy care + In the mighty arms of prayer. + + _Lord, the newness of this day + Calls me to an untried way: + Let me gladly take the road, + Give me strength to bear my load, + Thou my guide and helper be-- + I will travel through with Thee._ + +The Mission Inn, California, Easter, 1913. + + + +PORTRAIT AND REALITY + + + If on the closed curtain of my sight + My fancy paints thy portrait far away, + I see thee still the same, by night or day; + Crossing the crowded street, or moving bright + 'Mid festal throngs, or reading by the light + Of shaded lamp some friendly poet's lay, + Or shepherding the children at their play,-- + The same sweet self, and my unchanged delight. + + But when I see thee near, I recognize + In every dear familiar way some strange + Perfection, and behold in April guise + The magic of thy beauty that doth range + Through many moods with infinite surprise,-- + Never the same, and sweeter with each change. + + + +THE WIND OF SORROW + + + The fire of love was burning, yet so low + That in the peaceful dark it made no rays, + And in the light of perfect-placid days + The ashes hid the smouldering embers' glow. + Vainly, for love's delight, we sought to throw + New pleasures on the pyre to make it blaze: + In life's calm air and tranquil-prosperous ways + We missed the radiant heat of long ago. + + Then in the night, a night of sad alarms, + Bitter with pain and black with fog of fears + That drove us trembling to each other's arms, + Across the gulf of darkness and salt tears + Into life's calm the wind of sorrow came, + And fanned the fire of love to clearest name. + + + +HIDE AND SEEK + + +I + + All the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still, + All the fleecy flocks of cloud, gone beyond the hill; + Through the noon-day silence, down the woods of June, + Hark, a little hunter's voice, running with a tune. + "Hide and seek! + When I speak, + You must answer me: + Call again, + Merry men, + Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" + + Now I hear his footsteps rustling in the grass: + Hidden in my leafy nook, shall I let him pass? + Just a low, soft whistle,--quick the hunter turns, + Leaps upon me laughing loud, rolls me in the ferns. + "Hold him fast, + Caught at last! + Now you're it, you see. + Hide your eye, + Till I cry, + Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" + + +II + + Long ago he left me, long and long ago; + Now I wander thro' the world, seeking high and low. + Hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place,-- + If I could but hear his voice, soon I'd see his face! + Far away, + Many a day, + Where can Barney be? + Answer, dear, + Don't you hear? + Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee! + + Birds that every spring-time sung him full of joy, + Flowers he loved to pick for me, mind me of my boy. + Somewhere he is waiting till my steps come nigh; + Love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die. + Heart, be glad, + The little lad + Will call again to thee: + "Father dear, + Heaven is here, + Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" + +1898. + + + +AUTUMN IN THE GARDEN + + + When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark + Makes its mark + On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves + Over fallen leaves; + Then my olden garden, where the golden soil + Through the toil + Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep, + Whispers in its sleep. + + 'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox, + Where the box + Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks, + There's a voice that talks + Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here + Year by year,-- + And the dreams that brightened all the labouring hours. + Fading as the flowers. + + Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief; + But relief + For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow + From the Long-Ago, + When I think of other lives that learned, like mine, + To resign, + And remember that the sadness of the fall + Comes alike to all. + + What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs I + And what prayers + For the silent strength that nerves us to endure + Things we cannot cure! + Pacing up and down the garden where they paced, + I have traced + All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find + Comfort in my mind. + + Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear: + Yet how near + Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face, + Of the human race! + Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart,-- + Not apart! + They who know the sorrows other lives have known + Never walk alone. + +October, 1903. + + + +THE MESSAGE + + + Waking from tender sleep, + My neighbour's little child + Put out his baby hand to me, + Looked in my face, and smiled. + + It seems as if he came + Home from a happy land, + To bring a message to my heart + And make me understand. + + Somewhere, among bright dreams, + A child that once was mine + Has whispered wordless love to him, + And given him a sign. + + Comfort of kindly speech, + And counsel of the wise, + Have helped me less than what I read + In those deep-smiling eyes. + + Sleep sweetly, little friend, + And dream again of heaven: + With double love I kiss your hand,-- + Your message has been given. + +November, 1903. + + + +DULCIS MEMORIA + + + Long, long ago I heard a little song, + (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) + So lowly, slowly wound the tune along, + That far into my heart it found the way: + A melody consoling and endearing; + And now, in silent hours, I'm often hearing + The small, sweet song that does not die away. + + Long, long ago I saw a little flower-- + (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) + So fair of face and fragrant for an hour, + That something dear to me it seemed to say,-- + A wordless joy that blossomed into being; + And now, in winter days, I'm often seeing + The friendly flower that does not fade away. + + Long, long ago we had a little child,-- + (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?) + Into his mother's eyes and mine he smiled + Unconscious love; warm in our arms he lay. + An angel called! Dear heart, we could not hold him; + Yet secretly your arms and mine infold him-- + Our little child who does not go away. + + Long, long ago? Ah, memory, make it clear-- + (It was not long ago, but yesterday.) + So little and so helpless and so dear-- + Let not the song be lost, the flower decay! + His voice, his waking eyes, his gentle sleeping: + The smallest things are safest in thy keeping,-- + Sweet memory, keep our child with us alway. + +November, 1903. + + + +THE WINDOW + + + All night long, by a distant bell + The passing hours were notched + On the dark, while her breathing rose and fell; + And the spark of life I watched + In her face was glowing, or fading,--who could tell?-- + And the open window of the room, + With a flare of yellow light, + Was peering out into the gloom, + Like an eye that searched the night. + + _Oh, what do you see in the dark, little window, and why do you peer? + "I see that the garden is crowded with creeping forms of fear: + Little white ghosts in the locust-tree, wave in the night-wind's breath, + And low in the leafy laurels the lurking shadow of death."_ + + Sweet, clear notes of a waking bird + Told of the passing away + Of the dark,--and my darling may have heard; + For she smiled in her sleep, while the ray + Of the rising dawn spoke joy without a word, + Till the splendour born in the east outburned + The yellow lamplight, pale and thin, + And the open window slowly turned + To the eye of the morning, looking in. + + _Oh, what do you see in the room, little window, that makes you so + bright? + "I see that a child is asleep on her pillow, soft and white: + With the rose of life on her lips, the pulse of life in her breast, + And the arms of God around her, she quietly takes her rest."_ + +Neuilly, June, 1909. + + + +CHRISTMAS TEARS + + + The day returns by which we date our years: + Day of the joy of giving,--that means love; + Day of the joy of living,--that means hope; + Day of the Royal Child,--and day that brings + To older hearts the gift of Christmas tears! + + Look, how the candles twinkle through the tree, + The children shout when baby claps his hands, + The room is full of laughter and of song! + Your lips are smiling, dearest,--tell me why + Your eyes are brimming full of Christmas tears? + + Was it a silent voice that joined the song? + A vanished face that glimmered once again + Among the happy circle round the tree? + Was it an unseen hand that touched your cheek + And brought the secret gift of Christmas tears? + + Not dark and angry like the winter storm + Of selfish grief,--but full of starry gleams, + And soft and still that others may not weep,-- + Dews of remembered happiness descend + To bless us with the gift of Christmas tears. + + Ah, lose them not, dear heart,--life has no pearls + More pure than memories of joy love-shared. + See, while we count them one by one with prayer, + The Heavenly hope that lights the Christmas tree + Has made a rainbow in our Christmas tears! + +1912. + + + +DOROTHEA + +1888-1912 + + + A deeper crimson in the rose, + A deeper blue in sky and sea, + And ever, as the summer goes, + A deeper loss in losing thee! + + A deeper music in the strain + Of hermit-thrush from lonely tree; + And deeper grows the sense of gain + My life has found in having thee. + + A deeper love, a deeper rest, + A deeper joy in all I see; + And ever deeper in my breast + A silver song that comes from thee! + +Seal Harbour, August 1, 1912. + + + + +EPIGRAMS, GREETINGS, AND INSCRIPTIONS + + + +FOR KATRINA'S SUN-DIAL + +IN HER GARDEN OF YADDO + + + Hours fly, + Flowers die + New days, + New ways, + Pass by. + Love stays. + + * * * + + Time is + Too Slow for those who Wait, + Too Swift for those who Fear, + Too Long for those who Grieve, + Too Short for those who Rejoice; + But for those who Love, + Time is not. + + + +FOR KATRINA'S WINDOW + +IN HER TOWER OF YADDO + + + This is the window's message, + In silence, to the Queen: + "Thou hast a double kingdom + And I am set between: + Look out and see the glory, + On hill and plain and sky: + Look in and see the light of love + That nevermore shall die!" + + +_L'ENVOI_ + + _Window in the Queen's high tower, + This shall be thy magic power! + Shut the darkness and the doubt, + Shut the storm and conflict, out; + Wind and hail and snow and rain + Dash against thee all in vain. + Let in nothing from the night,-- + Let in every ray of light!_ + + + +FOR THE FRIENDS AT HURSTMONT + + +THE HOUSE + + The cornerstone in Truth is laid, + The guardian walls of Honour made, + The roof of Faith is built above, + The fire upon the hearth is Love: + Though rains descend and loud winds call, + This happy house shall never fall. + + +THE HEARTH + + When the logs are burning free, + Then the fire is full of glee: + When each heart gives out its best, + Then the talk is full of zest: + Light your fire and never fear, + Life was made for love and cheer. + + +THE DOOR + + The lintel low enough to keep out pomp and pride: + The threshold high enough to turn deceit aside: + The fastening strong enough from robbers to defend: + This door will open at a touch to welcome every friend. + + +THE DIAL + + Time can never take + What Time did not give; + When my shadows have all passed, + You shall live. + + + +THE SUN-DIAL AT MORVEN + +FOR BAYARD AND HELEN STOCKTON + + + Two hundred years of blessing I record + For Morven's house, protected by the Lord: + And still I stand among old-fashioned flowers + To mark for Morven many sunlit hours. + + + +THE SUN-DIAL AT WELLS COLLEGE + +FOR THE CLASS OF 1904 + + + The shadow by my finger cast + Divides the future from the past: + Before it, sleeps the unborn hour, + In darkness, and beyond thy power: + Behind its unreturning line, + The vanished hour, no longer thine: + One hour alone is in thy hands,-- + The NOW on which the shadow stands. + +March, 1904. + + + +TO MARK TWAIN + + +I + +AT A BIRTHDAY FEAST + + With memories old and wishes new + We crown our cups again, + And here's to you, and here's to you + With love that ne'er shall wane! + And may you keep, at sixty-seven, + The joy of earth, the hope of heaven, + And fame well-earned, and friendship true, + And peace that comforts every pain, + And faith that fights the battle through, + And all your heart's unbounded wealth, + And all your wit, and all your health,-- + Yes, here's a hearty health to you, + And here's to you, and here's to you, + Long life to you, Mark Twain. + +November 30, 1902. + + +II + +AT THE MEMORIAL MEETING + + We knew you well, dear Yorick of the West, + The very soul of large and friendly jest! + You loved and mocked the broad grotesque of things + In this new world where all the folk are kings. + + Your breezy humour cleared the air, with sport + Of shams that haunt the democratic court; + For even where the sovereign people rule, + A human monarch needs a royal fool. + + Your native drawl lent flavour to your wit; + Your arrows lingered but they always hit; + Homeric mirth around the circle ran, + But left no wound upon the heart of man. + + We knew you kind in trouble, brave in pain; + We saw your honour kept without a stain; + We read this lesson of our Yorick's years,-- + True wisdom comes with laughter and with tears. + +November 30, 1910. + + + +STARS AND THE SOUL + +(TO CHARLES A. YOUNG, ASTRONOMER) + + + "Two things," the wise man said, "fill me with awe: + The starry heavens and the moral law." + Nay, add another wonder to thy roll,-- + The living marvel of the human soul! + + Born in the dust and cradled in the dark, + It feels the fire of an immortal spark, + And learns to read, with patient, searching eyes, + The splendid secret of the unconscious skies. + + For God thought Light before He spoke the word; + The darkness understood not, though it heard: + But man looks up to where the planets swim, + And thinks God's thoughts of glory after Him. + + What knows the star that guides the sailor's way, + Or lights the lover's bower with liquid ray, + Of toil and passion, danger and distress, + Brave hope, true love, and utter faithfulness? + + But human hearts that suffer good and ill, + And hold to virtue with a loyal will, + Adorn the law that rules our mortal strife + With star-surpassing victories of life. + + So take our thanks, dear reader of the skies, + Devout astronomer, most humbly wise, + For lessons brighter than the stars can give, + And inward light that helps us all to live. + + + +TO JULIA MARLOWE + +(READING KEATS' ODE ON A GRECIAN URN) + + + Long had I loved this "Attic shape," the brede + Of marble maidens round this urn divine: + But when your golden voice began to read, + The empty urn was filled with Chian wine. + + + +TO JOSEPH JEFFERSON + + +_May 4th_, 1898.--_To-day, fishing down the Swiftwater, I +found Joseph Jefferson on a big rock in the middle of the brook, +casting the fly for trout. He said he had fished this very stream +three-and-forty years ago; and near by, in the Paradise Valley, +he wrote his famous play._--Leaf from my Diary. + + We met on Nature's stage, + And May had set the scene, + With bishop-caps standing in delicate ranks, + And violets blossoming over the banks, + While the brook ran full between. + + The waters rang your call, + With frolicsome waves a-twinkle,-- + They knew you as boy, and they knew you as man, + And every wave, as it merrily ran, + Cried, "Enter Rip van Winkle!" + + + +THE MOCKING-BIRD + + + In mirth he mocks the other birds at noon, + Catching the lilt of every easy tune; + But when the day departs he sings of love,-- + His own wild song beneath the listening moon. + + + +THE EMPTY QUATRAIN + + + A flawless cup: how delicate and fine + The flowing curve of every jewelled line! + Look, turn it up or down, 'tis perfect still,-- + But holds no drop of life's heart-warming wine. + + + +PAN LEARNS MUSIC + +FOR A SCULPTURE BY SARA GREENE + + + Limber-limbed, lazy god, stretched on the rock, + Where is sweet Echo, and where is your flock? + What are you making here? "Listen," said Pan,-- + "Out of a river-reed music for man!" + + + +THE SHEPHERD OF NYMPHS + + + The nymphs a shepherd took + To guard their snowy sheep; + He led them down along the brook, + And guided them with pipe and crook, + Until he fell asleep. + + But when the piping stayed, + Across the flowery mead + The milk-white nymphs ran out afraid: + O Thyrsis, wake! Your flock has strayed,-- + The nymphs a shepherd need. + + + +ECHOES FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY + + +I + +STARLIGHT + + With two bright eyes, my star, my love, + Thou lookest on the stars above: + Ah, would that I the heaven might be + With a million eyes to look on thee. + +_Plato._ + + +II + +ROSELEAF + + A little while the rose, + And after that the thorn; + An hour of dewy morn, + And then the glamour goes. + Ah, love in beauty born, + A little while the rose! + +_Unknown._ + + +III + +PHOSPHOR--HESPER + + O morning star, farewell! + My love I now must leave; + The hours of day I slowly tell, + And turn to her with the twilight bell,-- + O welcome, star of eve! + +_Meleager._ + + +IV + +SEASONS + + Sweet in summer, cups of snow, + Cooling thirsty lips aglow; + Sweet to sailors winter-bound, + Spring arrives with garlands crowned; + Sweeter yet the hour that covers + With one cloak a pair of lovers, + Living lost in golden weather, + While they talk of love together. + +_Asclepiades._ + + +V + +THE VINE AND THE GOAT + + Although you eat me to the root, + I yet shall bear enough of fruit + For wine to sprinkle your dim eyes, + When you are made a sacrifice. + +_Euenus._ + + +VI + +THE PROFESSOR + + Seven pupils, in the class + Of Professor Callias, + Listen silent while he drawls,-- + Three are benches, four are walls. + +_Unknown._ + + + +ONE WORLD + + _"The worlds in which we live are two: + The world 'I am' and the world 'I do,'"_ + + + The worlds in which we live at heart are one, + The world "I am," the fruit of "I have done"; + And underneath these worlds of flower and fruit, + The world "I love,"--the only living root. + + + +JOY AND DUTY + + + "Joy is a Duty,"--so with golden lore + The Hebrew rabbis taught in days of yore, + And happy human hearts heard in their speech + Almost the highest wisdom man can reach. + + But one bright peak still rises far above, + And there the Master stands whose name is Love, + Saying to those whom weary tasks employ: + "Life is divine when Duty is a Joy." + + + +THE PRISON AND THE ANGEL + + + Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul; + Love is the only angel who can bid the gates unroll; + And when he comes to call thee, arise and follow fast; + His way may lie through darkness, but it leads to light at last. + + + +THE WAY + + + Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul, + May keep the path, but will not reach the goal; + While he who walks in love may wander far, + But God will bring him where the Blessed are. + + + +LOVE AND LIGHT + + + There are many kinds of love, as many kinds of light, + And every kind of love makes a glory in the night. + There is love that stirs the heart, and love that gives it rest, + But the love that leads life upward is the noblest and the best. + + + +_FACTA NON VERBA_ + + + _Deeds not Words_: I say so too! + And yet I find it somehow true, + A word may help a man in need, + To nobler act and braver deed. + + + +FOUR THINGS + + + Four things a man must learn to do + If he would make his record true: + To think without confusion clearly; + To love his fellow-men sincerely; + To act from honest motives purely; + To trust in God and Heaven securely. + + + +THE GREAT RIVER + + _"In la sua volontade e nostra pace."_ + + + O mighty river! strong, eternal Will, + Wherein the streams of human good and ill + Are onward swept, conflicting, to the sea! + The world is safe because it floats in Thee. + + + +INSCRIPTION FOR A TOMB IN ENGLAND + + + Read here, O friend unknown, + Our grief, of her bereft; + Yet think not tears alone + Within our hearts are left. + The gifts she came to give, + Her heavenly love and cheer, + Have made us glad to live + And die without a fear. + +1912. + + + +THE TALISMAN + + + What is Fortune, what is Fame? + Futile gold and phantom name,-- + Riches buried in a cave, + Glory written on a grave. + + What is Friendship? Something deep + That the heart can spend and keep: + Wealth that greatens while we give, + Praise that heartens us to live. + + Come, my friend, and let us prove + Life's true talisman is love! + By this charm we shall elude + Poverty and solitude. + +January 21, 1914. + + + +THORN AND ROSE + + + Far richer than a thornless rose + Whose branch with beauty never glows, + Is that which every June adorns + With perfect bloom among its thorns. + + Merely to live without a pain + Is little gladness, little gain, + Ah, welcome joy tho' mixt with grief,-- + The thorn-set flower that crowns the leaf. + +June 20, 1914. + + + +"THE SIGNS" + +_Dedicated to the Zodiac Club_ + + + Who knows how many thousand years ago + The twelvefold Zodiac was made to show + The course of stars above and men below? + + The great sun plows his furrow by its "lines": + From all its "houses" mystic meaning shines: + Deep lore of life is written in its "signs." + + _Aries_--Sacrifice. + Snow-white and sacred is the sacrifice + That Heaven demands for what our heart doth prize: + The man who fears to suffer, ne'er can rise. + + _Taurus_--Strength. + Rejoice, my friend, if God has made you strong: + Put forth your force to move the world along: + Yet never shame your strength to do a wrong. + + _Gemini_--Brotherhood. + Bitter his life who lives for self alone, + Poor would he be with riches and a throne: + But friendship doubles all we are and own. + + _Cancer_--The Wisdom of Retreat. + Learn from the crab, O runner fresh and fleet, + Sideways to move, or backward, when discreet; + Life is not all advance,--sometimes retreat! + + _Leo_--Fire. + The sign of Leo is the sign of fire. + Hatred we hate: but no man should desire + A heart too cold to flame with righteous ire. + + _Virgo_--Love. + Mysterious symbol, words are all in vain + To tell the secret power by which you reign. + The more we love, the less we can explain. + + _Libra_--Justice. + Examine well the scales with which you weigh; + Let justice rule your conduct every day; + For when you face the Judge you'll need fair play. + + _Scorpio_--Self-Defense. + There's not a creature in the realm of night + But has the wish to live, likewise the right: + Don't tread upon the scorpion, or he'll fight. + + _Sagittarius_--The Archer. + Life is an arrow, therefore you must know + What mark to aim at, how to use the bow,-- + Then draw it to the head and let it go! + + _Capricornus_--The Goat. + The goat looks solemn, yet he likes to run, + And leap the rocks, and gambol in the sun: + The truly wise enjoy a little fun. + + _Aquarius_--Water. + "Like water spilt upon the ground,"--alas, + Our little lives flow swiftly on and pass; + Yet may they bring rich harvests and green grass! + + _Pisces_--The Fishes. + Last of the sacred signs, you bring to me + A word of hope, a word of mystery,-- + _We all are swimmers in God's mighty sea._ + +February 28, 1918. + + + + +PRO PATRIA + + + +PATRIA + + + I would not even ask my heart to say + If I could love another land as well + As thee, my country, had I felt the spell + Of Italy at birth, or learned to obey + The charm of France, or England's mighty sway. + I would not be so much an infidel + As once to dream, or fashion words to tell, + What land could hold my heart from thee away. + + For like a law of nature in my blood, + America, I feel thy sovereignty, + And woven through my soul thy vital sign. + My life is but a wave and thou the flood; + I am a leaf and thou the mother-tree; + Nor should I be at all, were I not thine. + +June, 1904. + + + +AMERICA + + + I love thine inland seas, + Thy groves of giant trees, + Thy rolling plains; + Thy rivers' mighty sweep, + Thy mystic canyons deep, + Thy mountains wild and steep, + All thy domains; + + Thy silver Eastern strands, + Thy Golden Gate that stands + Wide to the West; + Thy flowery Southland fair, + Thy sweet and crystal air,-- + O land beyond compare, + Thee I love best! + +March, 1906. + + + +THE ANCESTRAL DWELLINGS + + + Dear to my heart are the ancestral dwellings of America, + Dearer than if they were haunted by ghosts of royal splendour; + They are simple enough to be great in their friendly dignity,-- + Homes that were built by the brave beginners of a nation. + + I love the old white farmhouses nestled in New England valleys, + Ample and long and low, with elm-trees feathering over them: + Borders of box in the yard, and lilacs, and old-fashioned roses, + A fan-light above the door, and little square panes in the windows, + The wood-shed piled with maple and birch and hickory ready for winter, + The gambrel-roof with its garret crowded with household relics,-- + All the tokens of prudent thrift and the spirit of self-reliance. + + I love the weather-beaten, shingled houses that front the ocean; + They seem to grow out of the rocks, there is something indomitable + about them: + Their backs are bowed, and their sides are covered with lichens; + Soft in their colour as gray pearls, they are full of a patient courage. + Facing the briny wind on a lonely shore they stand undaunted, + While the thin blue pennant of smoke from the square-built chimney + Tells of a haven for man, with room for a hearth and a cradle. + + I love the stately southern mansions with their tall white columns, + They look through avenues of trees, over fields where the cotton is + growing; + I can see the flutter of white frocks along their shady porches, + Music and laughter float from the windows, the yards are full of + hounds and horses. + Long since the riders have ridden away, yet the houses have not + forgotten, + They are proud of their name and place, and their doors are always open, + For the thing they remember best is the pride of their ancient + hospitality. + + In the towns I love the discreet and tranquil Quaker dwellings, + With their demure brick faces and immaculate marble doorsteps; + And the gabled houses of the Dutch, with their high stoops and iron + railings, + (I can see their little brass knobs shining in the morning sunlight); + And the solid self-contained houses of the descendants of the Puritans, + Frowning on the street with their narrow doors and dormer-windows; + And the triple-galleried, many-pillared mansions of Charleston, + Standing open sideways in their gardens of roses and magnolias. + + Yes, they are all dear to my heart, and in my eyes they are beautiful; + For under their roofs were nourished the thoughts that have made the + nation; + The glory and strength of America come from her ancestral dwellings. + +July, 1909. + + + +HUDSON'S LAST VOYAGE + +THE SHALLOP ON HUDSON BAY + +June 22, 1611 + + + One sail in sight upon the lonely sea, + And only one! For never ship but mine + Has dared these waters. We were first, + My men, to battle in between the bergs + And floes to these wide waves. This gulf is mine; + I name it! and that flying sail is mine! + And there, hull-down below that flying sail, + The ship that staggers home is mine, mine, mine! + My ship _Discoverie_! + The sullen dogs + Of mutineers, the bitches' whelps that snatched + Their food and bit the hand that nourished them, + Have stolen her. You ingrate Henry Greene, + I picked you from the gutter of Houndsditch, + And paid your debts, and kept you in my house, + And brought you here to make a man of you! + You Robert Juet, ancient, crafty man, + Toothless and tremulous, how many times + Have I employed you as a master's mate + To give you bread? And you Abacuck Prickett, + You sailor-clerk, you salted puritan, + You knew the plot and silently agreed, + Salving your conscience with a pious lie! + Yes, all of you--hounds, rebels, thieves! Bring back + My ship! + Too late,--I rave,--they cannot hear + My voice: and if they heard, a drunken laugh + Would be their answer; for their minds have caught + The fatal firmness of the fool's resolve, + That looks like courage but is only fear. + They'll blunder on, and lose my ship, and drown; + Or blunder home to England and be hanged. + Their skeletons will rattle in the chains + Of some tall gibbet on the Channel cliffs, + While passing mariners look up and say: + "Those are the rotten bones of Hudson's men + Who left their captain in the frozen North!" + + O God of justice, why hast Thou ordained + Plans of the wise and actions of the brave + Dependent on the aid of fools and cowards? + + Look,--there she goes,--her topsails in the sun + Gleam from the ragged ocean edge, and drop + Clean out of sight! So let the traitors go + Clean out of mind! We'll think of braver things! + Come closer in the boat, my friends. John King, + You take the tiller, keep her head nor'west. + You Philip Staffe, the only one who chose + Freely to share our little shallop's fate, + Rather than travel in the hell-bound ship,-- + Too good an English sailor to desert + Your crippled comrades,--try to make them rest + More easy on the thwarts. And John, my son, + My little shipmate, come and lean your head + Against my knee. Do you remember still + The April morn in Ethelburga's church, + Five years ago, when side by side we kneeled + To take the sacrament with all our men, + Before the _Hopewell_ left St. Catherine's docks + On our first voyage? It was then I vowed + My sailor-soul and yours to search the sea + Until we found the water-path that leads + From Europe into Asia. + I believe + That God has poured the ocean round His world, + Not to divide, but to unite the lands. + And all the English captains that have dared + In little ships to plough uncharted waves,-- + Davis and Drake, Hawkins and Frobisher, + Raleigh and Gilbert,--all the other names,-- + Are written in the chivalry of God + As men who served His purpose. I would claim + A place among that knighthood of the sea; + And I have earned it, though my quest should fail! + For, mark me well, the honour of our life + Derives from this: to have a certain aim + Before us always, which our will must seek + Amid the peril of uncertain ways. + Then, though we miss the goal, our search is crowned + With courage, and we find along our path + A rich reward of unexpected things. + Press towards the aim: take fortune as it fares! + + I know not why, but something in my heart + Has always whispered, "Westward seek your goal!" + Three times they sent me east, but still I turned + The bowsprit west, and felt among the floes + Of ruttling ice along the Greenland coast, + And down the rugged shore of Newfoundland, + And past the rocky capes and wooded bays + Where Gosnold sailed,--like one who feels his way + With outstretched hand across a darkened room,-- + I groped among the inlets and the isles, + To find the passage to the Land of Spice. + I have not found it yet,--but I have found + Things worth the finding! + Son, have you forgot + Those mellow autumn days, two years ago, + When first we sent our little ship _Half-Moon_,-- + The flag of Holland floating at her peak,-- + Across a sandy bar, and sounded in + Among the channels, to a goodly bay + Where all the navies of the world could ride? + A fertile island that the redmen called + Manhattan, lay above the bay: the land + Around was bountiful and friendly fair. + But never land was fair enough to hold + The seaman from the calling of the sea. + And so we bore to westward of the isle, + Along a mighty inlet, where the tide + Was troubled by a downward-flowing flood + That seemed to come from far away,--perhaps + From some mysterious gulf of Tartary? + Inland we held our course; by palisades + Of naked rock; by rolling hills adorned + With forests rich in timber for great ships; + Through narrows where the mountains shut us in + With frowning cliffs that seemed to bar the stream; + And then through open reaches where the banks + Sloped to the water gently, with their fields + Of corn and lentils smiling in the sun. + Ten days we voyaged through that placid land, + Until we came to shoals, and sent a boat + Upstream to find,--what I already knew,-- + We travelled on a river, not a strait. + + But what a river! God has never poured + A stream more royal through a land more rich. + Even now I see it flowing in my dream, + While coming ages people it with men + Of manhood equal to the river's pride. + I see the wigwams of the redmen changed + To ample houses, and the tiny plots + Of maize and green tobacco broadened out + To prosperous farms, that spread o'er hill and dale + The many-coloured mantle of their crops. + I see the terraced vineyard on the slope + Where now the fox-grape loops its tangled vine, + And cattle feeding where the red deer roam, + And wild-bees gathered into busy hives + To store the silver comb with golden sweet; + And all the promised land begins to flow + With milk and honey. Stately manors rise + Along the banks, and castles top the hills, + And little villages grow populous with trade, + Until the river runs as proudly as the Rhine,-- + The thread that links a hundred towns and towers! + Now looking deeper in my dream, I see + A mighty city covering the isle + They call Manhattan, equal in her state + To all the older capitals of earth,-- + The gateway city of a golden world,-- + A city girt with masts, and crowned with spires, + And swarming with a million busy men, + While to her open door across the bay + The ships of all the nations flock like doves. + My name will be remembered there, the world + Will say, "This river and this isle were found + By Henry Hudson, on his way to seek + The Northwest Passage." + Yes, I seek it still,-- + My great adventure and my guiding star! + For look ye, friends, our voyage is not done; + We hold by hope as long as life endures! + Somewhere among these floating fields of ice, + Somewhere along this westward widening bay, + Somewhere beneath this luminous northern night, + The channel opens to the Farthest East,-- + I know it,--and some day a little ship + Will push her bowsprit in, and battle through! + And why not ours,--to-morrow,--who can tell? + The lucky chance awaits the fearless heart! + These are the longest days of all the year; + The world is round and God is everywhere, + And while our shallop floats we still can steer. + + So point her up, John King, nor'west by north + We'll keep the honour of a certain aim + Amid the peril of uncertain ways, + And sail ahead, and leave the rest to God. + +July, 1909. + + + +SEA-GULLS OF MANHATTAN + + + Children of the elemental mother, + Born upon some lonely island shore + Where the wrinkled ripples run and whisper, + Where the crested billows plunge and roar; + Long-winged, tireless roamers and adventurers, + Fearless breasters of the wind and sea, + In the far-off solitary places + I have seen you floating wild and free! + + Here the high-built cities rise around you; + Here the cliffs that tower east and west, + Honeycombed with human habitations, + Have no hiding for the sea-bird's nest: + Here the river flows begrimed and troubled; + Here the hurrying, panting vessels fume, + Restless, up and down the watery highway, + While a thousand chimneys vomit gloom. + + Toil and tumult, conflict and confusion, + Clank and clamour of the vast machine + Human hands have built for human bondage-- + Yet amid it all you float serene; + Circling, soaring, sailing, swooping lightly + Down to glean your harvest from the wave; + In your heritage of air and water, + You have kept the freedom Nature gave. + + Even so the wild-woods of Manhattan + Saw your wheeling flocks of white and gray; + Even so you fluttered, followed, floated, + Round the _Half-Moon_ creeping up the bay; + Even so your voices creaked and chattered. + Laughing shrilly o'er the tidal rips, + While your black and beady eyes were glistening + Round the sullen British prison-ships. + + Children of the elemental mother, + Fearless floaters 'mid the double blue, + From the crowded boats that cross the ferries + Many a longing heart goes out to you. + Though the cities climb and close around us, + Something tells us that our souls are free, + While the sea-gulls fly above the harbour, + While the river flows to meet the sea! + +December, 1905. + + + +A BALLAD OF CLAREMONT HILL + + + The roar of the city is low, + Muffled by new-fallen snow, + And the sign of the wintry moon is small and round and still. + Will you come with me to-night, + To see a pleasant sight + Away on the river-side, at the edge of Claremont Hill? + + "And what shall we see there, + But streets that are new and bare, + And many a desolate place that the city is coming to fill; + And a soldier's tomb of stone, + And a few trees standing alone-- + Will you walk for that through the cold, to the edge of Claremont Hill?" + + But there's more than that for me, + In the place that I fain would see: + There's a glimpse of the grace that helps us all to bear life's ill, + A touch of the vital breath + That keeps the world from death, + A flower that never fades, on the edge of Claremont Hill. + + For just where the road swings round, + In a narrow strip of ground, + Where a group of forest trees are lingering fondly still, + There's a grave of the olden time, + When the garden bloomed in its prime, + And the children laughed and sang on the edge of Claremont Hill. + + The marble is pure and white, + And even in this dim light, + You may read the simple words that are written there if you will; + You may hear a father tell + Of the child he loved so well, + A hundred years ago, on the edge of Claremont Hill. + + The tide of the city has rolled + Across that bower of old, + And blotted out the beds of the rose and the daffodil; + But the little playmate sleeps, + And the shrine of love still keeps + A record of happy days, on the edge of Claremont Hill. + + The river is pouring down + To the crowded, careless town, + Where the intricate wheels of trade are grinding on like a mill; + But the clamorous noise and strife + Of the hurrying waves of life + Flow soft by this haven of peace on the edge of Claremont Hill. + + And after all, my friend, + When the tale of our years shall end, + Be it long or short, or lowly or great, as God may will, + What better praise could we hear, + Than this of the child so dear: + You have made my life more sweet, on the edge of Claremont Hill? + +December, 1896. + + + +URBS CORONATA + +(Song for the City College of New York) + + + O youngest of the giant brood + Of cities far-renowned; + In wealth and glory thou hast passed + Thy rivals at a bound; + Thou art a mighty queen, New York; + And how wilt thou be crowned? + + "Weave me no palace-wreath of Pride," + The royal city said; + "Nor forge of frowning fortress-walls + A helmet for my head; + But let me wear a diadem + Of Wisdom's towers instead." + + She bowed herself, she spent herself, + She wrought her will forsooth, + And set upon her island height + A citadel of Truth, + A house of Light, a home of Thought, + A shrine of noble Youth. + + Stand here, ye City College towers, + And look both up and down; + Remember all who wrought for you + Within the toiling town; + Remember all their hopes for you, + And _be_ the City's Crown. + +June, 1908. + + + +MERCY FOR ARMENIA + + +I + +THE TURK'S WAY + + Stand back, ye messengers of mercy! Stand + Far off, for I will save my troubled folk + In my own way. So the false Sultan spoke; + And Europe, hearkening to his base command, + Stood still to see him heal his wounded land. + Through blinding snows of winter and through smoke + Of burning towns, she saw him deal the stroke + Of cruel mercy that his hate had planned. + Unto the prisoners and the sick he gave + New tortures, horrible, without a name; + Unto the thirsty, blood to drink; a sword + Unto the hungry; with a robe of shame + He clad the naked, making life abhorred; + He saved by slaughter, and denied a grave. + + +II + +AMERICA'S WAY + + But thou, my country, though no fault be thine + For that red horror far across the sea; + Though not a tortured wretch can point to thee, + And curse thee for the selfishness supine + Of those great Powers that cowardly combine + To shield the Turk in his iniquity; + Yet, since thy hand is innocent and free, + Arise, and show the world the way divine! + Thou canst not break the oppressor's iron rod, + But thou canst help and comfort the oppressed; + Thou canst not loose the captive's heavy chain, + But thou canst bind his wounds and soothe his pain. + Armenia calls thee, Sovereign of the West, + To play the Good Samaritan for God. + +1896. + + + +SICILY, DECEMBER, 1908 + + + O garden isle, beloved by Sun and Sea, + Whose bluest billows kiss thy curving bays, + Whose light infolds thy hills with golden rays, + Filling with fruit each dark-leaved orange-tree, + What hidden hatred hath the Earth for thee, + That once again, in these dark, dreadful days, + Breaks forth in trembling rage, and swiftly lays + Thy beauty waste in wreck and agony! + Is Nature, then, a strife of jealous powers, + And man the plaything of unconscious fate? + Not so, my troubled heart! God reigns above, + And man is greatest in his darkest hours. + Walking amid the cities desolate, + Behold the Son of God in human love! + +Tertius and Henry van Dyke. + + + +"COME BACK AGAIN, JEANNE D'ARC" + + + The land was broken in despair, + The princes quarrelled in the dark, + When clear and tranquil, through the troubled air + Of selfish minds and wills that did not dare, + Your star arose, Jeanne d'Arc. + + O virgin breast with lilies white, + O sun-burned hand that bore the lance, + You taught the prayer that helps men to unite, + You brought the courage equal to the fight, + You gave a heart to France! + + Your king was crowned, your country free, + At Rheims you had your soul's desire: + And then, at Rouen, maid of Domremy, + The black-robed judges gave your victory + The martyr's crown of fire. + + And now again the times are ill, + And doubtful leaders miss the mark; + The people lack the single faith and will + To make them one,--your country needs you still,-- + Come back again, Jeanne d'Arc! + + O woman-star, arise once more + And shine to bid your land advance: + The old heroic trust in God restore, + Renew the brave, unselfish hopes of yore, + And give a heart to France! + +Paris, July, 1909. + + + +NATIONAL MONUMENTS + + + Count not the cost of honour to the dead! + The tribute that a mighty nation pays + To those who loved her well in former days + Means more than gratitude for glories fled; + For every noble man that she hath bred, + Lives in the bronze and marble that we raise, + Immortalised by art's immortal praise, + To lead our sons as he our fathers led. + + These monuments of manhood strong and high + Do more than forts or battle-ships to keep + Our dear-bought liberty. They fortify + The heart of youth with valour wise and deep; + They build eternal bulwarks, and command + Immortal hosts to guard our native land. + +February, 1905. + + + +THE MONUMENT OF FRANCIS MAKEMIE + +(Presbyter of Christ in America, 1683-1708) + + + To thee, plain hero of a rugged race, + We bring the meed of praise too long delayed! + Thy fearless word and faithful work have made + For God's Republic firmer resting-place + In this New World: for thou hast preached the grace + And power of Christ in many a forest glade, + Teaching the truth that leaves men unafraid + Of frowning tyranny or death's dark face. + + Oh, who can tell how much we owe to thee, + Makemie, and to labour such as thine, + For all that makes America the shrine + Of faith untrammelled and of conscience free? + Stand here, gray stone, and consecrate the sod + Where rests this brave Scotch-Irish man of God! + +April, 1908. + + + +THE STATUE OF SHERMAN BY ST. GAUDENS + + + This is the soldier brave enough to tell + The glory-dazzled world that 'war is hell': + Lover of peace, he looks beyond the strife, + And rides through hell to save his country's life. + +April, 1904. + + + +"AMERICA FOR ME" + + + 'Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down + Among the famous palaces and cities of renown, + To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings,-- + But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things. + + _So it's home again, and home again, America for me! + My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be, + In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars, + Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars._ + + Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air; + And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair; + And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome; + But when it comes to living there is no place like home. + + I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled; + I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled; + But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day + In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way! + + I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack: + The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back. + But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free,-- + We love our land for what she is and what she is to be. + + _Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me! + I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea, + To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars, + Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars._ + +June, 1909. + + + +THE BUILDERS + +ODE FOR THE HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF PRINCETON COLLEGE + +October 21, 1896 + + +I + + Into the dust of the making of man + Spirit was breathed when his life began, + Lifting him up from his low estate, + With masterful passion, the wish to create. + Out of the dust of his making, man + Fashioned his works as the ages ran; + Fortress, and palace, and temple, and tower, + Filling the world with the proof of his power. + Over the dust that awaits him, man, + Building the walls that his pride doth plan, + Dreams they will stand in the light of the sun + Bearing his name till Time is done. + + +II + + The monuments of mortals + Are as the glory of the grass; + Through Time's dim portals + A voiceless, viewless wind doth pass, + The blossoms fall before it in a day, + The forest monarchs year by year decay, + And man's great buildings slowly fade away. + One after one, + They pay to that dumb breath + The tribute of their death, + And are undone. + The towers incline to dust, + The massive girders rust, + The domes dissolve in air, + The pillars that upbear + The lofty arches crumble, stone by stone, + While man the builder looks about him in despair, + For all his works of pride and power are overthrown. + + +III + + A Voice came from the sky: + "Set thy desires more high. + Thy buildings fade away + Because thou buildest clay. + Now make the fabric sure + With stones that will endure! + Hewn from the spiritual rock, + The immortal towers of the soul + At Death's dissolving touch shall mock, + And stand secure while aeons roll." + + +IV + + Well did the wise in heart rejoice + To hear the summons of that Voice, + And patiently begin + The builder's work within, + Houses not made with hands, + Nor founded on the sands. + And thou, Revered Mother, at whose call + We come to keep thy joyous festival, + And celebrate thy labours on the walls of Truth + Through sevenscore years and ten of thine eternal youth-- + A master builder thou, + And on thy shining brow, + Like Cybele, in fadeless light dost wear + A diadem of turrets strong and fair. + + +V + + I see thee standing in a lonely land, + But late and hardly won from solitude, + Unpopulous and rude,-- + On that far western shore I see thee stand, + Like some young goddess from a brighter strand, + While in thine eyes a radiant thought is born, + Enkindling all thy beauty like the morn. + Sea-like the forest rolled, in waves of green, + And few the lights that glimmered, leagues between. + High in the north, for fourscore years alone + Fair Harvard's earliest beacon-tower had shone + When Yale was lighted, and an answering ray + Flashed from the meadows by New Haven Bay. + But deeper spread the forest, and more dark, + Where first Neshaminy received the spark + Of sacred learning to a woodland camp, + And Old Log College glowed with Tennant's lamp. + Thine, Alma Mater, was the larger sight, + That saw the future of that trembling light, + And thine the courage, thine the stronger will, + That built its loftier home on Princeton Hill. + + "New light!" men cried, and murmured that it came + From an unsanctioned source with lawless flame; + It shone too free, for still the church and school + Must only shine according to their rule. + But Princeton answered, in her nobler mood, + "God made the light, and all the light is good. + There is no war between the old and new; + The conflict lies between the false and true. + The stars, that high in heaven their courses run, + In glory differ, but their light is one. + The beacons, gleaming o'er the sea of life, + Are rivals but in radiance, not in strife. + Shine on, ye sister-towers, across the night! + I too will build a lasting house of light." + + +VI + + Brave was that word of faith and bravely was it kept: + With never-wearying zeal that faltered not, nor slept, + Our Alma Mater toiled, and while she firmly laid + The deep foundation-walls, at all her toil she prayed. + And men who loved the truth because it made them free, + And clearly saw the twofold Word of God agree, + Reading from Nature's book and from the Bible's page + By the same inward ray that grows from age to age, + Were built like living stones that beacon to uplift, + And drawing light from heaven gave to the world the gift. + Nor ever, while they searched the secrets of the earth, + Or traced the stream of life through mystery to its birth, + Nor ever, while they taught the lightning-flash to bear + The messages of man in silence through the air, + Fell from their home of light one false, perfidious ray + To blind the trusting heart, or lead the life astray. + But still, while knowledge grew more luminous and broad + It lit the path of faith and showed the way to God. + + +VII + + Yet not for peace alone + Labour the builders. + Work that in peace has grown + Swiftly is overthrown, + When in the darkening skies + Storm-clouds of wrath arise, + And through the cannon's crash, + War's deadly lightning-flash + Smites and bewilders. + Ramparts of strength must frown + Round every placid town + And city splendid; + All that our fathers wrought + With true prophetic thought, + Must be defended! + + +VIII + + But who could raise protecting walls for thee, + Thou young, defenceless land of liberty? + Or who could build a fortress strong enough, + Or stretch a mighty bulwark long enough + To hold thy far-extended coast + Against the overweening host + That took the open path across the sea, + And like a tempest poured + Their desolating horde, + To quench thy dawning light in gloom of tyranny? + Yet not unguarded thou wert found + When on thy shore with sullen sound + The blaring trumpets of an unjust king + Proclaimed invasion. From the ground, + In freedom's darkest hour, there seemed to spring + Unconquerable walls for her defence; + Not trembling, like those battlements of stone + That fell when Joshua's horns were blown; + But firm and stark the living rampart rose, + To meet the onset of imperious foes + With a long line of brave, unyielding men. + This was thy fortress, well-defended land, + And on these walls, the patient, building hand + Of Princeton laboured with the force of ten. + Her sons were foremost in the furious fight; + Her sons were firmest to uphold the right + In council-chambers of the new-born State, + And prove that he who would be free must first be great + In heart, and high in thought, and strong + In purpose not to do or suffer wrong. + Such were the men, impregnable to fear, + Whose souls were framed and fashioned here; + And when war shook the land with threatening shock, + The men of Princeton stood like muniments of rock. + Nor has the breath of Time + Dissolved that proud array + Of never-broken strength: + For though the rocks decay, + And all the iron bands + Of earthly strongholds are unloosed at length, + And buried deep in gray oblivion's sands; + The work that heroes' hands + Wrought in the light of freedom's natal day + Shall never fade away, + But lifts itself, sublime + Into a lucid sphere, + For ever calm and clear, + Preserving in the memory of the fathers' deed, + A never-failing fortress for their children's need. + There we confirm our hearts to-day, and read + On many a stone the signature of fame, + The builder's mark, our Alma Mater's name. + + +IX + + Bear with us then a moment, while we turn + From all the present splendours of this place-- + The lofty towers that like a dream have grown + Where once old Nassau Hall stood all alone-- + Back to that ancient time, with hearts that burn + In filial gratitude, to trace + The glory of our mother's best degree, + In that "high son of Liberty," + Who like a granite block, + Riven from Scotland's rock, + Stood loyal here to keep Columbia free. + Born far away beyond the ocean's tide, + He found his fatherland upon this side; + And every drop of ardent blood that ran + Through his great heart, was true American. + He held no fealty to a distant throne, + But made his new-found country's cause his own. + In peril and distress, + In toil and weariness, + When darkness overcast her + With shadows of disaster, + And voices of confusion + Proclaimed her hope delusion, + Robed in his preacher's gown, + He dared the danger down; + Like some old prophet chanting an inspired rune + In freedom's councils rang the voice of Witherspoon. + + And thou, my country, write it on thy heart: + _Thy sons are they who nobly take thy part; + Who dedicates his manhood at thy shrine, + Wherever born, is born a son of thine. + Foreign in name, but not in soul, they come + To find in thee their long desired home; + Lovers of liberty and haters of disorder, + They shall be built in strength along thy border._ + + Dream not thy future foes + Will all be foreign-born! + Turn thy clear look of scorn + Upon thy children who oppose + Their passions wild and policies of shame + To wreck the righteous splendour of thy name. + Untaught and overconfident they rise, + With folly on their lips, and envy in their eyes: + Strong to destroy, but powerless to create, + And ignorant of all that made our fathers great, + Their hands would take away thy golden crown, + And shake the pillars of thy freedom down + In Anarchy's ocean, dark and desolate. + O should that storm descend, + What fortress shall defend + The land our fathers wrought for, + The liberties they fought for? + What bulwark shall secure + Her shrines of law, and keep her founts of justice pure? + Then, ah then, + As in the olden days, + The builders must upraise + A rampart of indomitable men. + And once again, + Dear Mother, if thy heart and hand be true, + There will be building work for thee to do; + Yea, more than once again, + Thou shalt win lasting praise, + And never-dying honour shall be thine, + For setting many stones in that illustrious line, + To stand unshaken in the swirling strife, + And guard their country's honour as her life. + + +X + + Softly, my harp, and let me lay the touch + Of silence on these rudely clanging strings; + For he who sings + Even of noble conflicts overmuch, + Loses the inward sense of better things; + And he who makes a boast + Of knowledge, darkens that which counts the most,-- + The insight of a wise humility + That reverently adores what none can see. + The glory of our life below + Comes not from what we do, or what we know, + But dwells forevermore in what we are. + There is an architecture grander far + Than all the fortresses of war, + More inextinguishably bright + Than learning's lonely towers of light. + Framing its walls of faith and hope and love + In souls of men, it lifts above + The frailty of our earthly home + An everlasting dome; + The sanctuary of the human host, + The living temple of the Holy Ghost. + + +XI + + If music led the builders long ago, + When Arthur planned the halls of Camelot, + And made the royal city grow, + Fair as a flower in that forsaken spot; + What sweeter music shall we bring, + To weave a harmony divine + Of prayer and holy thought + Into the labours of this loftier shrine, + This consecrated hill, + Where through so many a year + Our Alma Mater's hand hath wrought, + With toil serene and still, + And heavenly hope, to rear + Eternal dwellings for the Only King? + Here let no martial trumpets blow, + Nor instruments of pride proclaim + The loud exultant notes of fame! + But let the chords be clear and low, + And let the anthem deeper grow, + And let it move more solemnly and slow; + For only such an ode + Can seal the harmony + Of that deep masonry + Wherein the soul of man is framed for God's abode. + + +XII + + O Thou whose boundless love bestows + The joy of earth, the hope of Heaven, + And whose unchartered mercy flows + O'er all the blessings Thou hast given; + Thou by whose light alone we see; + And by whose truth our souls set free + Are made imperishably strong; + Hear Thou the solemn music of our song. + + Grant us the knowledge that we need + To solve the questions of the mind, + And light our candle while we read, + To keep our hearts from going blind; + Enlarge our vision to behold + The wonders Thou hast wrought of old; + Reveal thyself in every law, + And gild the towers of truth with holy awe. + + Be Thou our strength if war's wild gust + Shall rage around us, loud and fierce; + Confirm our souls and let our trust + Be like a shield that none can pierce; + Renew the courage that prevails, + The steady faith that never fails, + And make us stand in every fight + Firm as a fortress to defend the right. + + O God, control us as Thou wilt, + And guide the labour of our hand; + Let all our work be surely built + As Thou, the architect, hast planned; + But whatso'er thy power shall make + Of these frail lives, do not forsake + Thy dwelling: let thy presence rest + For ever in the temple of our breast. + + + +SPIRIT OF THE EVERLASTING BOY + +ODE FOR THE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF LAWRENCEVILLE SCHOOL + +June 11, 1910 + + +I + + The British bard who looked on Eton's walls, + Endeared by distance in the pearly gray + And soft aerial blue that ever falls + On English landscape with the dying day, + Beheld in thought his boyhood far away, + Its random raptures and its festivals + Of noisy mirth, + The brief illusion of its idle joys, + And mourned that none of these can stay + With men, whom life inexorably calls + To face the grim realities of earth. + His pensive fancy pictured there at play + From year to year the careless bands of boys, + Unconscious victims kept in golden state, + While haply they await + The dark approach of disenchanting Fate, + To hale them to the sacrifice + Of Pain and Penury and Grief and Care, + Slow-withering Age, or Failure's swift despair. + Half-pity and half-envy dimmed the eyes + Of that old poet, gazing on the scene + Where long ago his youth had flowed serene, + And all the burden of his ode was this: + "Where ignorance is bliss, + 'Tis folly to be wise." + + +II + + But not for us, O plaintive elegist, + Thine epicedial tone of sad farewell + To joy in wisdom and to thought in youth! + Our western Muse would keep her tryst + With sunrise, not with sunset, and foretell + In boyhood's bliss the dawn of manhood's truth. + + +III + + O spirit of the everlasting boy, + Alert, elate, + And confident that life is good, + Thou knockest boldly at the gate, + In hopeful hardihood, + Eager to enter and enjoy + Thy new estate. + + Through the old house thou runnest everywhere, + Bringing a breath of folly and fresh air. + Ready to make a treasure of each toy, + Or break them all in discontented mood; + Fearless of Fate, + Yet strangely fearful of a comrade's laugh; + Reckless and timid, hard and sensitive; + In talk a rebel, full of mocking chaff, + At heart devout conservative; + In love with love, yet hating to be kissed; + Inveterate optimist, + And judge severe, + In reason cloudy but in feeling clear; + Keen critic, ardent hero-worshipper, + Impatient of restraint in little ways, + Yet ever ready to confer + On chosen leaders boundless power and praise; + Adventurous spirit burning to explore + Untrodden paths where hidden danger lies, + And homesick heart looking with wistful eyes + Through every twilight to a mother's door; + Thou daring, darling, inconsistent boy, + How dull the world would be + Without thy presence, dear barbarian, + And happy lord of high futurity! + Be what thou art, our trouble and our joy, + Our hardest problem and our brightest hope! + And while thine elders lead thee up the slope + Of knowledge, let them learn from teaching thee + That vital joy is part of nature's plan, + And he who keeps the spirit of the boy + Shall gladly grow to be a happy man. + + +IV + + What constitutes a school? + Not ancient halls and ivy-mantled towers, + Where dull traditions rule + With heavy hand youth's lightly springing powers; + Not spacious pleasure courts, + And lofty temples of athletic fame, + Where devotees of sports + Mistake a pastime for life's highest aim; + Not fashion, nor renown + Of wealthy patronage and rich estate; + No, none of these can crown + A school with light and make it truly great. + But masters, strong and wise, + Who teach because they love the teacher's task, + And find their richest prize + In eyes that open and in minds that ask; + And boys, with heart aglow + To try their youthful vigour on their work, + Eager to learn and grow, + And quick to hate a coward or a shirk: + These constitute a school,-- + A vital forge of weapons keen and bright, + Where living sword and tool + Are tempered for true toil or noble fight! + But let not wisdom scorn + The hours of pleasure in the playing fields: + There also strength is born, + And every manly game a virtue yields. + Fairness and self-control, + Good-humour, pluck, and patience in the race, + Will make a lad heart-whole + To win with honour, lose without disgrace. + Ah, well for him who gains + In such a school apprenticeship to life: + With him the joy of youth remains + In later lessons and in larger strife! + + +V + + On Jersey's rolling plain, where Washington, + In midnight marching at the head + Of ragged regiments, his army led + To Princeton's victory of the rising sun; + Here in this liberal land, by battle won + For Freedom and the rule + Of equal rights for every child of man, + Arose a democratic school, + To train a virile race of sons to bear + With thoughtful joy the name American, + And serve the God who heard their father's prayer. + No cloister, dreaming in a world remote + From that real world wherein alone we live; + No mimic court, where titled names denote + A dignity that only worth can give; + But here a friendly house of learning stood, + With open door beside the broad highway, + And welcomed lads to study and to play + In generous rivalry of brotherhood. + A hundred years have passed, and Lawrenceville, + In beauty and in strength renewed, + Stands with her open portal still, + And neither time nor fortune brings + To her deep spirit any change of mood, + Or faltering from the faith she held of old. + Still to the democratic creed she clings: + That manhood needs nor rank nor gold + To make it noble in our eyes; + That every boy is born with royal right, + From blissful ignorance to rise + To joy more lasting and more bright, + In mastery of body and of mind, + King of himself and servant of mankind. + + +VI + + Old Lawrenceville, + Thy happy bell + Shall ring to-day, + O'er vale and hill, + O'er mead and dell, + While far away, + With silent thrill, + The echoes roll + Through many a soul, + That knew thee well, + In boyhood's day, + And loves thee still. + + Ah, who can tell + How far away, + Some sentinel + Of God's good will, + In forest cool, + Or desert gray, + By lonely pool, + Or barren hill, + Shall faintly hear, + With inward ear, + The chiming bell, + Of his old school, + Through darkness pealing; + And lowly kneeling, + Shall feel the spell + Of grateful tears + His eyelids fill; + And softly pray + To Him who hears: + God bless old Lawrenceville! + + + +TEXAS + +A DEMOCRATIC ODE [1] + + +I + +THE WILD-BEES + + All along the Brazos river, + All along the Colorado, + In the valleys and the lowlands + Where the trees were tall and stately, + In the rich and rolling meadows + Where the grass was full of wild-flowers, + Came a humming and a buzzing, + Came the murmur of a going + To and fro among the tree-tops, + Far and wide across the meadows. + And the red-men in their tepees + Smoked their pipes of clay and listened. + "What is this?" they asked in wonder; + "Who can give the sound a meaning? + Who can understand the language + Of this going in the tree-tops?" + Then the wisest of the Tejas + Laid his pipe aside and answered: + "O my brothers, these are people, + Very little, winged people, + Countless, busy, banded people, + Coming humming through the timber. + These are tribes of bees, united + By a single aim and purpose, + To possess the Tejas' country, + Gather harvest from the prairies, + Store their wealth among the timber. + These are hive and honey makers, + Sent by Manito to warn us + That the white men now are coming, + With their women and their children. + Not the fiery filibusters + Passing wildly in a moment, + Like a flame across the prairies, + Like a whirlwind through the forest, + Leaving empty lands behind them! + Not the Mexicans and Spaniards, + Indolent and proud hidalgos, + Dwelling in their haciendas, + Dreaming, talking of tomorrow, + While their cattle graze around them, + And their fickle revolutions + Change the rulers, not the people! + Other folk are these who follow + When the wild-bees come to warn us; + These are hive and honey makers, + These are busy, banded people, + Roaming far to swarm and settle, + Working every day for harvest, + Fighting hard for peace and order, + Worshipping as queens their women, + Making homes and building cities + Full of riches and of trouble. + All our hunting-grounds must vanish, + All our lodges fall before them, + All our customs and traditions, + All our happy life of freedom, + Fade away like smoke before them. + Come, my brothers, strike your tepees, + Call your women, load your ponies! + Let us take the trail to westward, + Where the plains are wide and open, + Where the bison-herds are gathered + Waiting for our feathered arrows. + We will live as lived our fathers, + Gleaners of the gifts of nature, + Hunters of the unkept cattle, + Men whose women run to serve them. + If the toiling bees pursue us, + If the white men seek to tame us, + We will fight them off and flee them, + Break their hives and take their honey, + Moving westward, ever westward, + There to live as lived our fathers." + So the red-men drove their ponies, + With the tent-poles trailing after, + Out along the path to sunset, + While along the river valleys + Swarmed the wild-bees, the forerunners; + And the white men, close behind them, + Men of mark from old Missouri, + Men of daring from Kentucky, + Tennessee, Louisiana, + Men of many States and races, + Bringing wives and children with them, + Followed up the wooded valleys, + Spread across the rolling prairies, + Raising homes and reaping harvests. + Rude the toil that tried their patience, + Fierce the fights that proved their courage, + Rough the stone and tough the timber + Out of which they built their order! + Yet they never failed nor faltered, + And the instinct of their swarming + Made them one and kept them working, + Till their toil was crowned with triumph, + And the country of the Tejas + Was the fertile land of Texas. + + +II + +THE LONE STAR + + Behold a star appearing in the South, + A star that shines apart from other stars, + Ruddy and fierce like Mars! + Out of the reeking smoke of cannon's mouth + That veils the slaughter of the Alamo, + Where heroes face the foe, + One man against a score, with blood-choked breath + Shouting the watchword, "Victory or Death--" + Out of the dreadful cloud that settles low + On Goliad's plain, + Where thrice a hundred prisoners lie slain + Beneath the broken word of Mexico-- + Out of the fog of factions and of feuds + That ever drifts and broods + Above the bloody path of border war, + Leaps the Lone Star! + + What light is this that does not dread the dark? + What star is this that fights a stormy way + To San Jacinto's field of victory? + It is the fiery spark + That burns within the breast + Of Anglo-Saxon men, who can not rest + Under a tyrant's sway; + The upward-leading ray + That guides the brave who give their lives away + Rather than not be free! + O question not, but honour every name, + Travis and Crockett, Bowie, Bonham, Ward, + Fannin and King, and all who drew the sword + And dared to die for Texan liberty! + Yea, write them all upon the roll of fame, + But no less love and equal honour give + To those who paid the longer sacrifice-- + Austin and Houston, Burnet, Rusk, Lamar + And all the stalwart men who dared to live + Long years of service to the lonely star. + + Great is the worth of such heroic souls: + Amid the strenuous turmoil of their deeds, + They clearly speak of something that controls + The higher breeds of men by higher needs + Than bees, content with honey in their hives! + Ah, not enough the narrow lives + On profitable toil intent! + And not enough the guerdons of success + Garnered in homes of affluent selfishness! + A noble discontent + Cries for a wider scope + To use the wider wings of human hope; + A vision of the common good + Opens the prison-door of solitude; + And, once beyond the wall, + Breathing the ampler air, + The heart becomes aware + _That life without a country is not life at all._ + A country worthy of a freeman's love; + A country worthy of a good man's prayer; + A country strong, and just, and brave, and fair,-- + A woman's form of beauty throned above + The shrine where noble aspirations meet-- + To live for her is great, to die is sweet! + + Heirs of the rugged pioneers + Who dreamed this dream and made it true, + Remember that they dreamed for you. + They did not fear their fate + In those tempestuous years, + But put their trust in God, and with keen eyes, + Trained in the open air for looking far, + They saw the many-million-acred land + Won from the desert by their hand, + Swiftly among the nations rise,-- + Texas a sovereign State, + And on her brow a star! + + +III + +THE CONSTELLATION + + How strange that the nature of light is a thing beyond our ken, + And the flame of the tiniest candle flows from a fountain sealed! + How strange that the meaning of life, in the little lives of men, + So often baffles our search with a mystery unrevealed! + + But the larger life of man, as it moves in its secular sweep, + Is the working out of a Sovereign Will whose ways appear; + And the course of the journeying stars on the dark blue boundless deep, + Is the place where our science rests in the reign of law most clear. + + I would read the story of Texas as if it were written on high; + I would look from afar to follow her path through the calms and storms; + With a faith in the worldwide sway of the Reason that rules in the sky, + And gathers and guides the starry host in clusters and swarms. + + When she rose in the pride of her youth, she seemed to be moving apart, + As a single star in the South, self-limited, self-possessed; + But the law of the constellation was written deep in her heart, + And she heard when her sisters called, from the North and the East and + the West. + + They were drawn together and moved by a common hope and aim-- + The dream of a sign that should rule a third of the heavenly arch; + The soul of a people spoke in their call, and Texas came + To enter the splendid circle of States in their onward march. + + So the glory gathered and grew and spread from sea to sea, + And the stars of the great republic lent each other light; + For all were bound together in strength, and each was free-- + Suddenly broke the tempest out of the ancient night! + + It came as a clash of the force that drives and the force that draws; + And the stars were riven asunder, the heavens were desolate, + While brother fought with brother, each for his country's cause: + But the country of one was the Nation, the country of other the State. + + Oh, who shall measure the praise or blame in a strife so vast? + And who shall speak of traitors or tyrants when all were true? + We lift our eyes to the sky, and rejoice that the storm is past, + And we thank the God of all that the Union shines in the blue. + + Yea, it glows with the glory of peace and the hope of a mighty race, + High over the grave of broken chains and buried hates; + And the great, big star of Texas is shining clear in its place + In the constellate symbol and sign of the free United States. + + +IV + +AFTER THE PIONEERS + + After the pioneers-- + Big-hearted, big-handed lords of the axe and the plow and the rifle, + Tan-faced tamers of horses and lands, themselves remaining tameless, + Full of fighting, labour and romance, lovers of rude adventure-- + After the pioneers have cleared the way to their homes and graves on the + prairies: + + After the State-builders-- + Zealous and jealous men, dreamers, debaters, often at odds with each + other, + All of them sure it is well to toil and to die, if need be, + Just for the sake of founding a country to leave to their children-- + After the builders have done their work and written their names upon it: + + After the civil war-- + Wildest of all storms, cruel and dark and seemingly wasteful, + Tearing up by the root the vines that were splitting the old foundations, + Washing away with a rain of blood and tears the dust of slavery, + After the cyclone has passed and the sky is fair to the far horizon; + After the era of plenty and peace has come with full hands to Texas, + Then--what then? + + Is it to be the life of an indolent heir, fat-witted and self-contented, + Dwelling at ease in the house that others have builded, + Boasting about the country for which he has done nothing? + Is it to be an age of corpulent, deadly-dull prosperity, + Richer and richer crops to nourish a race of Philistines, + Bigger and bigger cities full of the same confusion and sorrow, + The people increasing mightily but no increase of the joy? + Is this what the forerunners wished and toiled to win for you, + This the reward of war and the fruitage of high endeavor, + This the goal of your hopes and the vision that satisfies you? + + Nay, stand up and answer--I can read what is in your hearts-- + You, the children of those who followed the wild-bees, + You, the children of those who served the Lone Star, + Now that the hives are full and the star is fixed in the constellation, + I know that the best of you still are lovers of sweetness and light! + + You hunger for honey that comes from invisible gardens; + Pure, translucent, golden thoughts and feelings and inspirations, + Sweetness of all the best that has bloomed in the mind of man. + You rejoice in the light that is breaking along the borders of science; + The hidden rays that enable a man to look through a wall of stone; + The unseen, fire-filled wings that carry his words across the ocean; + The splendid gift of flight that shines, half-captured, above him; + The gleam of a thousand half-guessed secrets, just ready to be + discovered! + You dream and devise great things for the coming race-- + Children of yours who shall people and rule the domain of Texas; + They shall know, they shall comprehend more than their fathers, + They shall grow in the vigour of well-rounded manhood and womanhood, + Riper minds, richer hearts, finer souls, the only true wealth of a + nation-- + The league-long fields of the State are pledged to ensure this harvest! + + Your old men have dreamed this dream and your young men have seen this + vision. + The age of romance has not gone, it is only beginning; + Greater words than the ear of man has heard are waiting to be spoken, + Finer arts than the eyes of man have seen are sleeping to be awakened: + Science exploring the scope of the world, + Poetry breathing the hope of the world, + Music to measure and lead the onward march of man! + + Come, ye honoured and welcome guests from the elder nations, + Princes of science and arts and letters, + Look on the walls that embody the generous dream of one of the old men + of Texas, + Enter these halls of learning that rise in the land of the pioneer's + log-cabin, + Read the confessions of faith that are carved on the stones around you: + Faith in the worth of the smallest fact and the laws that govern the + starbeams, + Faith in the beauty of truth and the truth of perfect beauty, + Faith in the God who creates the souls of men by knowledge and love and + worship. + + This is the faith of the New Democracy-- + Proud and humble, patiently pressing forward, + Praising her heroes of old and training her future leaders, + Seeking her crown in a nobler race of men and women-- + After the pioneers, sweetness and light! + +October, 1912. + +[1] Read at the Dedication of the Rice Institute, Houston, Texas, + October, 1912. + + + +WHO FOLLOW THE FLAG + +PHI BETA KAPPA ODE + +HARVARD UNIVERSITY + +June 30, 1910 + + +I + + All day long in the city's canyon-street, + With its populous cliffs alive on either side, + I saw a river of marching men like a tide + Flowing after the flag: and the rhythmic beat + Of the drums, and the bugles' resonant blare + Metred the tramp, tramp, tramp of a myriad feet, + While the red-white-and-blue was fluttering everywhere, + And the heart of the crowd kept time to a martial air: + + _O brave flag, O bright flag, O flag to lead the free! + The glory of thy silver stars, + Engrailed in blue above the bars + Of red for courage, white for truth, + Has brought the world a second youth + And drawn a hundred million hearts to follow after thee._ + + +II + + Old Cambridge saw thee first unfurled, + By Washington's far-reaching hand, + To greet, in Seventy-six, the wintry morn + Of a new year, and herald to the world + Glad tidings from a Western land,-- + A people and a hope new-born! + The double cross then filled thine azure field, + In token of a spirit loath to yield + The breaking ties that bound thee to a throne. + But not for long thine oriflamme could bear + That symbol of an outworn trust in kings. + The wind that bore thee out on widening wings + Called for a greater sign and all thine own,-- + A new device to speak of heavenly laws + And lights that surely guide the people's cause. + Oh, greatly did they hope, and greatly dare, + Who bade the stars in heaven fight for them, + And set upon their battle-flag a fair + New constellation as a diadem! + Along the blood-stained banks of Brandywine + The ragged troops were rallied to this sign; + Through Saratoga's woods it fluttered bright + Amid the perils of the hard-won fight; + O'er Yorktown's meadows broad and green + It hailed the glory of the final scene; + And when at length Manhattan saw + The last invaders' line of scarlet coats + Pass Bowling Green, and fill the waiting boats + And sullenly withdraw, + The flag that proudly flew + Above the battered line of buff and blue, + Marching, with rattling drums and shrilling pipes, + Along the Bowery and down Broadway, + Was this that leads the great parade to-day,-- + The glorious banner of the stars and stripes. + + + _First of the flags of earth to dare + A heraldry so high; + First of the flags of earth to bear + The blazons of the sky; + Long may thy constellation glow, + Foretelling happy fate; + Wider thy starry circle grow, + And every star a State!_ + + +III + + Pass on, pass on, ye flashing files + Of men who march in militant array; + Ye thrilling bugles, throbbing drums, + Ring out, roll on, and die away; + And fade, ye crowds, with the fading day! + Around the city's lofty piles + Of steel and stone + The lilac veil of dusk is thrown, + Entangled full of sparks of fairy light; + And the never-silent heart of the city hums + To a homeward-turning tune before the night. + But far above, on the sky-line's broken height, + From all the towers and domes outlined + In gray and gold along the city's crest, + I see the rippling flag still take the wind + With a promise of good to come for all mankind. + + +IV + + O banner of the west, + No proud and brief parade, + That glorifies a nation's holiday + With show of troops for warfare dressed, + Can rightly measure or display + The mighty army thou hast made + Loyal to guard thy more than royal sway. + Millions have come across the sea + To find beneath thy shelter room to grow; + Millions were born beneath thy folds and know + No other flag but thee. + And other, darker millions bore the yoke + Of bondage in thy borders till the voice + Of Lincoln spoke, + And sent thee forth to set the bondmen free. + Rejoice, dear flag, rejoice! + Since thou hast proved and passed that bitter strife, + Richer thy red with blood of heroes wet, + Purer thy white through sacrificial life, + Brighter thy blue wherein new stars are set. + Thou art become a sign, + Revealed in heaven to speak of things divine: + Of Truth that dares + To slay the lie it sheltered unawares; + Of Courage fearless in the fight, + Yet ever quick its foemen to forgive; + Of Conscience earnest to maintain its right + And gladly grant the same to all who live. + Thy staff is deeply planted in the fact + That nothing can ennoble man + Save his own act, + And naught can make him worthy to be free + But practice in the school of liberty. + The cords are two that lift thee to the sky: + Firm faith in God, the King who rules on high; + And never-failing trust + In human nature, full of faults and flaws, + Yet ever answering to the inward call + That bids it set the "ought" above the "must," + In all its errors wiser than it seems, + In all its failures full of generous dreams, + Through endless conflict rising without pause + To self-dominion, charactered in laws + That pledge fair-play alike to great and small, + And equal rights for each beneath the rule of all. + These are thy halyards, banner bold, + And while these hold, + Thy brightness from the sky shall never fall, + Thy broadening empire never know decrease,-- + Thy strength is union and thy glory peace. + + +V + + Look forth across thy widespread lands, + O flag, and let thy stars to-night be eyes + To see the visionary hosts + Of men and women grateful to be thine, + That joyfully arise + From all thy borders and thy coasts, + And follow after thee in endless line! + They lift to thee a forest of saluting hands; + They hail thee with a rolling ocean-roar + Of cheers; and as the echo dies, + There comes a sweet and moving song + Of treble voices from the childish throng + Who run to thee from every school-house door. + Behold thine army! Here thy power lies: + The men whom freedom has made strong, + And bound to follow thee by willing vows; + The women greatened by the joys + Of motherhood to rule a happy house; + The vigorous girls and boys, + Whose eager faces and unclouded brows + Foretell the future of a noble race, + Rich in the wealth of wisdom and true worth! + While millions such as these to thee belong, + What foe can do thee wrong, + What jealous rival rob thee of thy place + Foremost of all the flags of earth? + + +VI + + My vision darkens as the night descends; + And through the mystic atmosphere + I feel the creeping coldness that portends + A change of spirit in my dream + The multitude that moved with song and cheer + Have vanished, yet a living stream + Flows on and follows still the flag, + But silent now, with leaden feet that lag + And falter in the deepening gloom,-- + A weird battalion bringing up the rear. + Ah, who are these on whom the vital bloom + Of life has withered to the dust of doom? + These little pilgrims prematurely worn + And bent as if they bore the weight of years? + These childish faces, pallid and forlorn, + Too dull for laughter and too hard for tears? + Is this the ghost of that insane crusade + That led ten thousand children long ago, + A flock of innocents, deceived, betrayed, + Yet pressing on through want and woe + To meet their fate, faithful and unafraid? + Nay, for a million children now + Are marching in the long pathetic line, + With weary step and early wrinkled brow; + And at their head appears no holy sign + Of hope in heaven; + For unto them is given + No cross to carry, but a cross to drag. + Before their strength is ripe they bear + The load of labour, toiling underground + In dangerous mines and breathing heavy air + Of crowded shops; their tender lives are bound + To service of the whirling, clattering wheels + That fill the factories with dust and noise; + They are not girls and boys, + But little "hands" who blindly, dumbly feed + With their own blood the hungry god of Greed. + Robbed of their natural joys, + And wounded with a scar that never heals, + They stumble on with heavy-laden soul, + And fall by thousands on the highway lined + With little graves; or reach at last their goal + Of stunted manhood and embittered age, + To brood awhile with dark and troubled mind, + Beside the smouldering fire of sullen rage, + On life's unfruitful work and niggard wage. + Are these the regiments that Freedom rears + To serve her cause in coming years? + Nay, every life that Avarice doth maim + And beggar in the helpless days of youth, + Shall surely claim + A just revenge, and take it without ruth; + And every soul denied the right to grow + Beneath the flag, shall be its secret foe. + Bow down, dear land, in penitence and shame! + Remember now thine oath, so nobly sworn, + To guard an equal lot + For every child within thy borders born! + These are thy children whom thou hast forgot: + They have the bitter right to live, but not + The blessed right to look for happiness. + O lift thy liberating hand once more, + To loose thy little ones from dark duress; + The vital gladness to their hearts restore + In healthful lessons and in happy play; + And set them free to climb the upward way + That leads to self-reliant nobleness. + Speak out, my country, speak at last, + As thou hast spoken in the past, + And clearly, bravely say: + "I will defend + The coming race on whom my hopes depend: + Beneath my flag and on my sacred soil + No child shall bear the crushing yoke of toil." + + +VII + + Look up, look up, ye downcast eyes! + The night is almost gone: + Along the new horizon flies + The banner of the dawn; + The eastern sky is banded low + With white and crimson bars, + While far above the morning glow + The everlasting stars. + + _O bright flag, O brave flag, O flag to lead the free! + The hand of God thy colours blent, + And heaven to earth thy glory lent, + To shield the weak, and guide the strong + To make an end of human wrong, + And draw a countless human host to follow after thee!_ + + + +STAIN NOT THE SKY + + + Ye gods of battle, lords of fear, + Who work your iron will as well + As once ye did with sword and spear, + With rifled gun and rending shell,-- + Masters of sea and land, forbear + The fierce invasion of the inviolate air! + + With patient daring man hath wrought + A hundred years for power to fly; + And will you make his winged thought + A hovering horror in the sky, + Where flocks of human eagles sail, + Dropping their bolts of death on hill and dale? + + Ah no, the sunset is too pure, + The dawn too fair, the noon too bright + For wings of terror to obscure + Their beauty, and betray the night + That keeps for man, above his wars, + The tranquil vision of untroubled stars. + + Pass on, pass on, ye lords of fear! + Your footsteps in the sea are red, + And black on earth your paths appear + With ruined homes and heaps of dead. + Pass on to end your transient reign, + And leave the blue of heaven without a stain. + + The wrong ye wrought will fall to dust, + The right ye shielded will abide; + The world at last will learn to trust + In law to guard, and love to guide; + And Peace of God that answers prayer + Will fall like dew from the inviolate air. + +March 5, 1914. + + + +PEACE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC + + + O Lord our God, Thy mighty hand + Hath made our country free; + From all her broad and happy land + May praise arise to Thee. + Fulfill the promise of her youth, + Her liberty defend; + By law and order, love and truth, + America befriend! + + The strength of every State increase + In Union's golden chain; + Her thousand cities fill with peace, + Her million fields with grain. + The virtues of her mingled blood + In one new people blend; + By unity and brotherhood, + America befriend! + + O suffer not her feet to stray; + But guide her untaught might, + That she may walk in peaceful day, + And lead the world in light. + Bring down the proud, lift up the poor, + Unequal ways amend; + By justice, nation-wide and sure, + America befriend! + + Thro' all the waiting land proclaim + Thy gospel of good-will; + And may the music of Thy name + In every bosom thrill. + O'er hill and vale, from sea to sea. + Thy holy reign extend; + By faith and hope and charity, + America befriend! + + + + +THE RED FLOWER AND GOLDEN STARS + + +_These verses were written during the terrible world-war, and +immediately after. The earlier ones had to be unsigned because +America was still "neutral" and I held a diplomatic post. The +rest of them were printed after I had resigned, and was free to +speak out, and to take active service in the Navy, when America +entered the great conflict for liberty and peace on earth._ + +Avalon, February 22, 1920. + + + +THE RED FLOWER + +June, 1914 + + + In the pleasant time of Pentecost, + By the little river Kyll, + I followed the angler's winding path + Or waded the stream at will, + And the friendly fertile German land + Lay round me green and still. + + But all day long on the eastern bank + Of the river cool and clear, + Where the curving track of the double rails + Was hardly seen though near, + The endless trains of German troops + Went rolling down to Trier. + + They packed the windows with bullet heads + And caps of hodden gray; + They laughed and sang and shouted loud + When the trains were brought to a stay; + They waved their hands and sang again + As they went on their iron way. + + No shadow fell on the smiling land, + No cloud arose in the sky; + I could hear the river's quiet tune + When the trains had rattled by; + But my heart sank low with a heavy sense + Of trouble,--I knew not why. + + Then came I into a certain field + Where the devil's paint-brush spread + 'Mid the gray and green of the rolling hills + A flaring splotch of red,-- + An evil omen, a bloody sign, + And a token of many dead. + + I saw in a vision the field-gray horde + Break forth at the devil's hour, + And trample the earth into crimson mud + In the rage of the Will to Power,-- + All this I dreamed in the valley of Kyll, + At the sign of the blood-red flower. + + + +A SCRAP OF PAPER + + "Will you go to war just for a scrap of paper?"--_Question of the + German Chancellor to the British Ambassador_, _August 5_, 1914. + + + A mocking question! Britain's answer came + Swift as the light and searching as the flame. + + "Yes, for a scrap of paper we will fight + Till our last breath, and God defend the right! + + "A scrap of paper where a name is set + Is strong as duty's pledge and honor's debt. + + "A scrap of paper holds for man and wife + The sacrament of love, the bond of life. + + "A scrap of paper may be Holy Writ + With God's eternal word to hallow it. + + "A scrap of paper binds us both to stand + Defenders of a neutral neighbor land. + + "By God, by faith, by honor, yes! We fight + To keep our name upon that paper white." + +September, 1914. + + + +STAND FAST + + + Stand fast, Great Britain! + Together England, Scotland, Ireland stand + One in the faith that makes a mighty land,-- + True to the bond you gave and will not break + And fearless in the fight for conscience' sake! + Against the Giant Robber clad in steel, + With blood of trampled Belgium on his heel, + Striding through France to strike you down at last, + Britain, stand fast! + + Stand fast, brave land! + The Huns are thundering toward the citadel; + They prate of Culture but their path is Hell; + Their light is darkness, and the bloody sword + They wield and worship is their only Lord. + O land where reason stands secure on right, + O land where freedom is the source of light, + Against the mailed Barbarians' deadly blast, + Britain, stand fast! + + Stand fast, dear land! + Thou island mother of a world-wide race, + Whose children speak thy tongue and love thy face, + Their hearts and hopes are with thee in the strife, + Their hands will break the sword that seeks thy life; + Fight on until the Teuton madness cease; + Fight bravely on, until the word of peace + Is spoken in the English tongue at last,-- + Britain, stand fast! + +September, 1914. + + + +LIGHTS OUT + +(1915) + + + "Lights out" along the land, + "Lights out" upon the sea. + The night must put her hiding hand + O'er peaceful towns where children sleep, + And peaceful ships that darkly creep + Across the waves, as if they were not free. + + The dragons of the air, + The hell-hounds of the deep, + Lurking and prowling everywhere, + Go forth to seek their helpless prey, + Not knowing whom they maim or slay-- + Mad harvesters, who care not what they reap. + + Out with the tranquil lights, + Out with the lights that burn + For love and law and human rights! + Set back the clock a thousand years: + All they have gained now disappears, + And the dark ages suddenly return. + + Kaiser, who loosed wild death, + And terror in the night, + God grant you draw no quiet breath, + Until the madness you began + Is ended, and long-suffering man, + Set free from war lords, cries, "Let there be Light." + +October, 1915. + +Read at the meeting of the American Academy, Boston, November, 1915. + + + +REMARKS ABOUT KINGS + +"_God said I am tired of kings._"--EMERSON. + + + God said, "I am tired of kings,"-- + But that was a long while ago! + And meantime man said, "No,-- + I like their looks in their robes and rings." + So he crowned a few more, + And they went on playing the game as before, + Fighting and spoiling things. + + Man said, "I am tired of kings! + Sons of the robber-chiefs of yore, + They make me pay for their lust and their war; + I am the puppet, they pull the strings; + The blood of my heart is the wine they drink. + I will govern myself for awhile I think, + And see what that brings!" + + Then God, who made the first remark, + Smiled in the dark. + +October, 1915. + +Read at the meeting of the American Academy, Boston, November, 1915. + + + +MIGHT AND RIGHT + + + If Might made Right, life were a wild-beasts' cage; + If Right made Might, this were the golden age; + But now, until we win the long campaign, + Right must gain Might to conquer and to reign. + +July 1, 1915. + + + +THE PRICE OF PEACE + + + Peace without Justice is a low estate,-- + A coward cringing to an iron Fate! + But Peace through Justice is the great ideal,-- + We'll pay the price of war to make it real. + +December 28, 1916. + + + +STORM-MUSIC + + + O Music hast thou only heard + The laughing river, the singing bird, + The murmuring wind in the poplar-trees,-- + Nothing but Nature's melodies? + Nay, thou hearest all her tones, + As a Queen must hear! + Sounds of wrath and fear, + Mutterings, shouts, and moans, + Madness, tumult, and despair,-- + All she has that shakes the air + With voices fierce and wild! + Thou art a Queen and not a dreaming child,-- + Put on thy crown and let us hear thee reign + Triumphant in a world of storm and strain! + + Echo the long-drawn sighs + Of the mounting wind in the pines; + And the sobs of the mounting waves that rise + In the dark of the troubled deep + To break on the beach in fiery lines. + Echo the far-off roll of thunder, + Rumbling loud + And ever louder, under + The blue-black curtain of cloud, + Where the lightning serpents gleam. + Echo the moaning + Of the forest in its sleep + Like a giant groaning + In the torment of a dream. + + Now an interval of quiet + For a moment holds the air + In the breathless hush + Of a silent prayer. + + Then the sudden rush + Of the rain, and the riot + Of the shrieking, tearing gale + Breaks loose in the night, + With a fusillade of hail! + Hear the forest fight, + With its tossing arms that crack and clash + In the thunder's cannonade, + While the lightning's forked flash + Brings the old hero-trees to the ground with a crash! + Hear the breakers' deepening roar, + Driven like a herd of cattle + In the wild stampede of battle, + Trampling, trampling, trampling, to overwhelm the shore! + + Is it the end of all? + Will the land crumble and fall? + Nay, for a voice replies + Out of the hidden skies, + "Thus far, O sea, shalt thou go, + So long, O wind, shalt thou blow: + Return to your bounds and cease, + And let the earth have peace!" + + O Music, lead the way-- + The stormy night is past, + Lift up our hearts to greet the day, + And the joy of things that last. + + The dissonance and pain + That mortals must endure, + Are changed in thine immortal strain + To something great and pure. + + True love will conquer strife, + And strength from conflict flows, + For discord is the thorn of life + And harmony the rose. + +May, 1916. + + + +THE BELLS OF MALINES + +August 17, 1914 + + + The gabled roofs of old Malines + Are russet red and gray and green, + And o'er them in the sunset hour + Looms, dark and huge, St. Rombold's tower. + High in that rugged nest concealed, + The sweetest bells that ever pealed, + The deepest bells that ever rung, + The lightest bells that ever sung, + Are waiting for the master's hand + To fling their music o'er the land. + + And shall they ring to-night, Malines? + In nineteen hundred and fourteen, + The frightful year, the year of woe, + When fire and blood and rapine flow + Across the land from lost Liege, + Storm-driven by the German rage? + The other carillons have ceased: + Fallen is Hasselt, fallen Diest, + From Ghent and Bruges no voices come, + Antwerp is silent, Brussels dumb! + + But in thy belfry, O Malines, + The master of the bells unseen + Has climbed to where the keyboard stands,-- + To-night his heart is in his hands! + Once more, before invasion's hell + Breaks round the tower he loves so well, + Once more he strikes the well-worn keys, + And sends aerial harmonies + Far-floating through the twilight dim + In patriot song and holy hymn. + + O listen, burghers of Malines! + Soldier and workman, pale beguine, + And mother with a trembling flock + Of children clinging to thy frock,-- + Look up and listen, listen all! + What tunes are these that gently fall + Around you like a benison? + "The Flemish Lion," "Brabanconne," + "O brave Liege," and all the airs + That Belgium in her bosom bears. + + Ring up, ye silvery octaves high, + Whose notes like circling swallows fly; + And ring, each old sonorous bell,-- + "Jesu," "Maria," "Michael!" + Weave in and out, and high and low, + The magic music that you know, + And let it float and flutter down + To cheer the heart of the troubled town. + Ring out, "Salvator," lord of all,-- + "Roland" in Ghent may hear thee call! + + O brave bell-music of Malines, + In this dark hour how much you mean! + The dreadful night of blood and tears + Sweeps down on Belgium, but she hears + Deep in her heart the melody + Of songs she learned when she was free. + She will not falter, faint, nor fail, + But fight until her rights prevail + And all her ancient belfries ring + "The Flemish Lion," "God Save the King!" + + + +JEANNE D'ARC RETURNS [2] + +1914-1916 + + + What hast thou done, O womanhood of France, + Mother and daughter, sister, sweetheart, wife, + What hast thou done, amid this fateful strife, + To prove the pride of thine inheritance + In this fair land of freedom and romance? + I hear thy voice with tears and courage rife,-- + Smiling against the swords that seek thy life,-- + Make answer in a noble utterance: + "I give France all I have, and all she asks. + Would it were more! Ah, let her ask and take: + My hands to nurse her wounded, do her tasks,-- + My feet to run her errands through the dark,-- + My heart to bleed in triumph for her sake,-- + And all my soul to follow thee, Jeanne d'Arc!" + +April 16, 1916. + +[2] This sonnet belongs with the poem on page 309, + "Come Back Again, Jeanne D'Arc." + + + +THE NAME OF FRANCE + + + Give us a name to fill the mind + With the shining thoughts that lead mankind, + The glory of learning, the joy of art,-- + A name that tells of a splendid part + In the long, long toil and the strenuous fight + Of the human race to win its way + From the feudal darkness into the day + Of Freedom, Brotherhood, Equal Right,-- + A name like a star, a name of light. + I give you _France_! + + Give us a name to stir the blood + With a warmer glow and a swifter flood, + At the touch of a courage that conquers fear,-- + A name like the sound of a trumpet, clear, + And silver-sweet, and iron-strong, + That calls three million men to their feet, + Ready to march, and steady to meet + The foes who threaten that name with wrong,-- + A name that rings like a battle-song. + I give you _France_! + + Give us a name to move the heart + With the strength that noble griefs impart, + A name that speaks of the blood outpoured + To save mankind from the sway of the sword,-- + A name that calls on the world to share + In the burden of sacrificial strife + When the cause at stake is the world's free life + And the rule of the people everywhere,-- + A name like a vow, a name like a prayer. + I give you _France_! + +The Hague, September, 1916. + + + +AMERICA'S PROSPERITY + + + They tell me thou art rich, my country: gold + In glittering flood has poured into thy chest; + Thy flocks and herds increase, thy barns are pressed + With harvest, and thy stores can hardly hold + Their merchandise; unending trains are rolled + Along thy network rails of East and West; + Thy factories and forges never rest; + Thou art enriched in all things bought and sold! + + But dost _thou_ prosper? Better news I crave. + O dearest country, is it well with thee + Indeed, and is thy soul in health? + A nobler people, hearts more wisely brave, + And thoughts that lift men up and make them free,-- + These are prosperity and vital wealth! + +The Hague, October 1, 1916. + + + +THE GLORY OF SHIPS + + + The glory of ships is an old, old song, + since the days when the sea-rovers ran, + In their open boats through the roaring surf, + and the spread of the world began; + The glory of ships is a light on the sea, + and a star in the story of man. + + When Homer sang of the galleys of Greece + that conquered the Trojan shore, + And Solomon lauded the barks of Tyre + that brought great wealth to his door, + 'Twas little they knew, those ancient men, + what would come of the sail and the oar. + + The Greek ships rescued the West from the East, + when they harried the Persians home; + And the Roman ships were the wings of strength + that bore up the empire, Rome; + And the ships of Spain found a wide new world, + far over the fields of foam. + + Then the tribes of courage at last saw clear + that the ocean was not a bound, + But a broad highway, and a challenge to seek + for treasure as yet unfound; + So the fearless ships fared forth to the search, + in joy that the globe was round. + + Their hulls were heightened, their sails spread out, + they grew with the growth of their quest; + They opened the secret doors of the East, + and the golden gates of the West; + And many a city of high renown + was proud of a ship on its crest. + + The fleets of England and Holland and France + were at strife with each other and Spain; + And battle and storm sent a myriad ships + to sleep in the depths of the main; + But the seafaring spirit could never be drowned, + and it filled up the fleets again. + + They greatened and grew, with the aid of steam, + to a wonderful, vast array, + That carries the thoughts and the traffic of men + into every harbor and bay; + And now in the world-wide work of the ships + 'tis England that leads the way. + + O well for the leading that follows the law + of a common right on the sea! + But ill for the leader who tries to hold + what belongs to mankind in fee! + The way of the ships is an open way, + and the ocean must ever be free! + + Remember, O first of the maritime folk, + how the rise of your greatness began. + It will live if you safeguard the round-the-world road + from the shame of a selfish ban; + For the glory of ships is a light on the sea, + and a star in the story of man! + +September 12, 1916. + + + +MARE LIBERUM + + +I + + You dare to say with perjured lips, + "We fight to make the ocean free"? + _You_, whose black trail of butchered ships + Bestrews the bed of every sea + Where German submarines have wrought + Their horrors! Have you never thought,-- + What you call freedom, men call piracy! + + +II + + Unnumbered ghosts that haunt the wave, + Where you have murdered, cry you down; + And seamen whom you would not save, + Weave now in weed-grown depths a crown + Of shame for your imperious head, + A dark memorial of the dead + Women and children whom you sent to drown. + + +III + + Nay, not till thieves are set to guard + The gold, and corsairs called to keep + O'er peaceful commerce watch and ward, + And wolves to herd the helpless sheep, + Shall men and women look to thee, + Thou ruthless Old Man of the Sea, + To safeguard law and freedom on the deep! + + +IV + + In nobler breeds we put our trust: + The nations in whose sacred lore + The "Ought" stands out above the "Must," + And honor rules in peace and war. + With these we hold in soul and heart, + With these we choose our lot and part, + Till Liberty is safe on sea and shore. + +_London Times_, February 12, 1917. + + + +"LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD" + + + Thou warden of the western gate, above Manhattan Bay, + The fogs of doubt that hid thy face are driven clean away: + Thine eyes at last look far and clear, thou liftest high thy hand + To spread the light of liberty world-wide for every land. + + No more thou dreamest of a peace reserved alone for thee, + While friends are fighting for thy cause beyond the guardian sea: + The battle that they wage is thine; thou fallest if they fall; + The swollen flood of Prussian pride will sweep unchecked o'er all. + + O cruel is the conquer-lust in Hohenzollern brains: + The paths they plot to gain their goal are dark with shameful stains; + No faith they keep, no law revere, no god but naked Might; + They are the foemen of mankind. Up, Liberty, and smite! + + Britain, and France, and Italy, and Russia newly born, + Have waited for thee in the night. Oh, come as comes the morn! + Serene and strong and full of faith, America, arise, + With steady hope and mighty help to join thy brave Allies. + + O dearest country of my heart, home of the high desire, + Make clean thy soul for sacrifice on Freedom's altar-fire: + For thou must suffer, thou must fight, until the warlords cease, + And all the peoples lift their heads in liberty and peace. + +_London Times_, April 12, 1917. + + + +THE OXFORD THRUSHES + +February, 1917 + + + I never thought again to hear + The Oxford thrushes singing clear, + Amid the February rain, + Their sweet, indomitable strain. + + A wintry vapor lightly spreads + Among the trees, and round the beds + Where daffodil and jonquil sleep; + Only the snowdrop wakes to weep. + + It is not springtime yet. Alas, + What dark, tempestuous days must pass, + Till England's trial by battle cease, + And summer comes again with peace. + + The lofty halls, the tranquil towers, + Where Learning in untroubled hours + Held her high court, serene in fame, + Are lovely still, yet not the same. + + The novices in fluttering gown + No longer fill the ancient town; + But fighting men in khaki drest, + And in the Schools the wounded rest. + + Ah, far away, 'neath stranger skies + Full many a son of Oxford lies, + And whispers from his warrior grave, + "I died to keep the faith you gave." + + The mother mourns, but does not fail, + Her courage and her love prevail + O'er sorrow, and her spirit hears + The promise of triumphant years. + + Then sing, ye thrushes, in the rain + Your sweet indomitable strain. + Ye bring a word from God on high + And voices in our hearts reply. + + + +HOMEWARD BOUND + + + Home, for my heart still calls me; + Home, through the danger zone; + Home, whatever befalls me, + I will sail again to my own! + + Wolves of the sea are hiding + Closely along the way, + Under the water biding + Their moment to rend and slay. + + Black is the eagle that brands them, + Black are their hearts as the nights + Black is the hate that sends them + To murder but not to fight. + + Flower of the German Culture, + Boast of the Kaiser's Marine, + Choose for your emblem the vulture, + Cowardly, cruel, obscene! + + Forth from her sheltered haven + Our peaceful ship glides slow, + Noiseless in flight as a raven, + Gray as a hoodie crow. + + She doubles and turns in her bearing, + Like a twisting plover she goes; + The way of her westward faring + Only the captain knows. + + In a lonely bay concealing + She lingers for days, and slips + At dusk from her covert, stealing + Thro' channels feared by the ships. + + Brave are the men, and steady, + Who guide her over the deep,-- + British mariners, ready + To face the sea-wolf's leap. + + Lord of the winds and waters, + Bring our ship to her mark, + Safe from this game of hide-and-seek + With murderers in the dark! + +On the S.S. _Baltic_, May, 1917. + + + +THE WINDS OF WAR-NEWS + + + The winds of war-news change and veer: + Now westerly and full of cheer, + Now easterly, depressing, sour + With tidings of the Teutons' power. + + But thou, America, whose heart + With brave Allies has taken part, + Be not a weathercock to change + With these wild winds that shift and range. + + Be thou a compass ever true, + Through sullen clouds or skies of blue, + To that great star which rules the night,-- + The star of Liberty and Right. + + Lover of peace, oh set thy soul, + Thy strength, thy wealth, thy conscience whole, + To win the peace thine eyes foresee,-- + The triumph of Democracy. + +December 19, 1917. + + + +RIGHTEOUS WRATH + + + There are many kinds of anger, as many kinds of fire; + And some are fierce and fatal with murderous desire; + And some are mean and craven, revengeful, sullen, slow, + They hurt the man that holds them more than they hurt his foe. + + And yet there is an anger that purifies the heart: + The anger of the better against the baser part, + Against the false and wicked, against the tyrant's sword, + Against the enemies of love, and all that hate the Lord. + + O cleansing indignation, O flame of righteous wrath, + Give me a soul to feel thee and follow in thy path! + Save me from selfish virtue, arm me for fearless fight, + And give me strength to carry on, a soldier of the Right! + +January, 1918. + + + +THE PEACEFUL WARRIOR + + + I have no joy in strife, + Peace is my great desire; + Yet God forbid I lose my life + Through fear to face the fire. + + A peaceful man must fight + For that which peace demands,-- + Freedom and faith, honor and right, + Defend with heart and hands. + + Farewell, my friendly books; + Farewell, ye woods and streams; + The fate that calls me forward looks + To a duty beyond dreams. + + Oh, better to be dead + With a face turned to the sky, + Than live beneath a slavish dread + And serve a giant lie. + + Stand up, my heart, and strive + For the things most dear to thee! + Why should we care to be alive + Unless the world is free? + +May, 1918. + + + +FROM GLORY UNTO GLORY + +AMERICAN FLAG SONG + + +1776 + + O dark the night and dim the day + When first our flag arose; + It fluttered bravely in the fray + To meet o'erwhelming foes. + Our fathers saw the splendor shine, + They dared and suffered all; + They won our freedom by the sign-- + The holy sign, the radiant sign-- + Of the stars that never fall. + + +_Chorus_ + + All hail to thee, Young Glory! + Among the flags of earth + We'll ne'er forget the story + Of thy heroic birth. + + +1861 + + O wild the later storm that shook + The pillars of the State, + When brother against brother took + The final arms of fate. + But union lived and peace divine + Enfolded brothers all; + The flag floats o'er them with the sign-- + The loyal sign, the equal sign-- + Of the stars that never fall. + + +_Chorus_ + + All hail to thee, Old Glory! + Of thee our heart's desire + Foretells a golden story, + For thou hast come through fire. + + +1917 + + O fiercer than all wars before + That raged on land or sea, + The Giant Robber's world-wide war + For the things that shall not be! + Thy sister banners hold the line; + To thee, dear flag, they call; + And thou hast joined them with the sign-- + The heavenly sign, the victor sign-- + Of the stars that never fall. + + +_Chorus_ + + All hail to thee, New Glory! + We follow thee unfurled + To write the larger story + Of Freedom for the World. + +September 4, 1918. + + + +BRITAIN, FRANCE, AMERICA + + + The rough expanse of democratic sea + Which parts the lands that live by liberty + Is no division; for their hearts are one. + To fight together till their cause is won. + + For land and water let us make our pact, + And seal the solemn word with valiant act: + No continent is firm, no ocean pure, + Until on both the rights of man are sure. + +April, 1917. + + + +THE RED CROSS + + + Sign of the Love Divine + That bends to bear the load + Of all who suffer, all who bleed, + Along life's thorny road: + + Sign of the Heart Humane, + That through the darkest fight + Would bring to wounded friend and foe + A ministry of light: + + O dear and holy sign, + Lead onward like a star! + The armies of the just are thine, + And all we have and are. + +October 20, 1918. + +For the Red Cross Christmas Roll Call. + + + +EASTER ROAD + +1918 + + + Under the cloud of world-wide war, + While earth is drenched with sorrow, + I have no heart for idle merrymaking, + Or for the fashioning of glad raiment. + I will retrace the divine footmarks, + On the Road of the first Easter. + + Down through the valley of utter darkness + Dripping with blood and tears; + Over the hill of the skull, the little hill of great anguish, + The ambuscade of Death. + Into the no-man's-land of Hades + Bearing despatches of hope to spirits in prison, + Mortally stricken and triumphant + Went the faithful Captain of Salvation. + + Then upward, swiftly upward,-- + Victory, liberty, glory, + The feet that were wounded walked in the tranquil garden, + Bathed in dew and the light of deathless dawn. + + O my soul, my comrades, soldiers of freedom, + Follow the pathway of Easter, for there is no other, + Follow it through to peace, yea, follow it fighting. + This Armageddon is not darker than Calvary. + The day will break when the Dragon is vanquished; + He that exalteth himself as God shall be cast down, + And the Lords of war shall fall, + And the long, long terror be ended, + Victory, justice, peace enduring! + They that die in this cause shall live forever, + And they that live shall never die, + They shall rejoice together in the Easter of a new world. + +March 31, 1918. + + + +AMERICA'S WELCOME HOME + + + Oh, gallantly they fared forth in khaki and in blue, + America's crusading host of warriors bold and true; + They battled for the rights of man beside our brave Allies, + And now they're coming home to us with glory in their eyes. + + _Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me! + Our hearts are turning home again and there we long to be, + In our beautiful big country beyond the ocean bars, + Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars._ + + Our boys have seen the Old World as none have seen before. + They know the grisly horror of the German gods of war: + The noble faith of Britain and the hero-heart of France, + The soul of Belgium's fortitude and Italy's romance. + + They bore our country's great word across the rolling sea, + "America swears brotherhood with all the just and free." + They wrote that word victorious on fields of mortal strife, + And many a valiant lad was proud to seal it with his life. + + Oh, welcome home in Heaven's peace, dear spirits of the dead! + And welcome home ye living sons America hath bred! + The lords of war are beaten down, your glorious task is done; + You fought to make the whole world free, and the victory is won. + + _Now it's home again, and home again, our hearts are turning west, + Of all the lands beneath the sun America is best. + We're going home to our own folks, beyond the ocean bars, + Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars._ + +November 11, 1918. + +A sequel to "America For Me," written in 1909. Page 314. + + + +THE SURRENDER OF THE GERMAN FLEET + + + Ship after ship, and every one with a high-resounding name, + From the robber-nest of Heligoland the German war-fleet came; + Not victory or death they sought, but a rendezvous of shame. + + _Sing out, sing out, + A joyful shout, + Ye lovers of the sea! + The "Kaiser" and the "Kaiserin," + The "Koenig" and the "Prinz," + The potentates of piracy, + Are coming to surrender, + And the ocean shall be free._ + + They never dared the final fate of battle on the blue; + Their sea-wolves murdered merchantmen and mocked the drowning crew; + They stained the wave with martyr-blood,--but we sent our transports + through! + + What flags are these that dumbly droop from the gaff o' the mainmast + tall? + The black of the Kaiser's iron cross, the red of the Empire's fall! + Come down, come down, ye pirate flags. Yea, strike your colors all. + + The Union Jack and the Tricolor and the Starry Flag o' the West + Shall guard the fruit of Freedom's war and the victory confest, + The flags of the brave and just and free shall rule on the ocean's + breast. + + _Sing out, sing out, + A mighty shout, + Ye lovers of the sea! + The "Kaiser" and the "Kaiserin," + The "Koenig" and the "Prinz," + The robber-lords of death and sin, + Have come to their surrender, + And the ocean shall be free!_ + +November 20, 1918. + + + +GOLDEN STARS + + +I + + It was my lot of late to travel far + Through all America's domain, + A willing, gray-haired servitor + Bearing the Fiery Cross of righteous war. + And everywhere, on mountain, vale and plain, + In crowded street and lonely cottage door, + I saw the symbol of the bright blue star. + Millions of stars! Rejoice, dear land, rejoice + That God hath made thee great enough to give + Beneath thy starry flag unfurled + A gift to all the world,-- + Thy living sons that Liberty might live. + + +II + + It seems but yesterday they sallied forth + Boys of the east, the west, the south, the north, + High-hearted, keen, with laughter and with song, + Fearless of lurking danger on the sea, + Eager to fight in Flanders or in France + Against the monstrous German wrong, + And sure of victory! + Brothers in soul with British and with French + They held their ground in many a bloody trench; + And when the swift word came-- + _Advance!_ + Over the top they went through waves of flame,-- + Confident, reckless, irresistible, + Real Americans,-- + Their rush was never stayed + Until the foe fell back, defeated and dismayed. + O land that bore them, write upon thy roll + Of battles won + To liberate the human soul, + Chateau Thierry and Saint Mihiel + And the fierce agony of the Argonne; + Yea, count among thy little rivers, dear + Because of friends whose feet have trodden there, + The Marne, the Meuse, and the Moselle. + + +III + + Now the vile sword + In Potsdam forged and bathed in hell, + Is beaten down, the victory given + To the sword forged in faith and bathed in heaven. + Now home again our heroes come: + Oh, welcome them with bugle and with drum, + Ring bells, blow whistles, make a joyful noise + Unto the Lord, + And welcome home our blue-star boys, + Whose manhood has made known + To all the world America, + Unselfish, brave and free, the Great Republic, + Who lives not to herself alone. + + +IV + + But many a lad we hold + Dear in our heart of hearts + Is missing from the home-returning host. + Ah, say not they are lost, + For they have found and given their life + In sacrificial strife: + Their service stars have changed from blue to gold! + That sudden rapture took them far away, + Yet are they here with us to-day, + Even as the heavenly stars we cannot see + Through the bright veil of sunlight, + Shed their influence still + On our vexed life, and promise peace + From God to all men of good will. + + +V + + What wreaths shall we entwine + For our dear boys to deck their holy shrine? + Mountain-laurel, morning-glory, + Goldenrod and asters blue, + Purple loosestrife, prince's-pine, + Wild-azalea, meadow-rue, + Nodding-lilies, columbine,-- + All the native blooms that grew + In these fresh woods and pastures new, + Wherein they loved to ramble and to play. + Bring no exotic flowers: + America was in their hearts, + And they are ours + For ever and a day. + + +VI + + O happy warriors, forgive the tear + Falling from eyes that miss you: + Forgive the word of grief from mother-lips + That ne'er on earth shall kiss you; + Hear only what our hearts would have you hear,-- + Glory and praise and gratitude and pride + From the dear country in whose cause you died. + Now you have run your race and won your prize, + Old age shall never burden you, the fears + And conflicts that beset our lingering years + Shall never vex your souls in Paradise. + Immortal, young, and crowned with victory, + From life's long battle you have found release. + And He who died for all on Calvary + Has welcomed you, brave soldiers of the cross, + Into eternal Peace. + + +VII + + Come, let us gird our loins and lift our load, + Companions who are left on life's rough road, + And bravely take the way that we must tread + To keep true faith with our beloved dead. + To conquer war they dared their lives to give, + To safeguard peace our hearts must learn to live. + Help us, dear God, our forward faith to hold! + We want a better world than that of old. + Lead us on paths of high endeavor, + Toiling upward, climbing ever, + Ready to suffer for the right, + Until at last we gain a loftier height, + More worthy to behold + Our guiding stars, our hero-stars of gold. + +Ode for the Memorial Service, +Princeton University, December 15, 1918. + + + +IN THE BLUE HEAVEN + + + In the blue heaven the clouds will come and go, + Scudding before the gale, or drifting slow + As galleons becalmed in Sundown Bay: + And through the air the birds will wing their way + Soaring to far-off heights, or flapping low, + Or darting like an arrow from the bow; + And when the twilight comes the stars will show, + One after one, their tranquil bright array + In the blue heaven. + + But ye who fearless flew to meet the foe, + Eagles of freedom,--nevermore, we know, + Shall we behold you floating far away. + Yet clouds and birds and every starry ray + Will draw our heart to where your spirits glow + In the blue Heaven. + +For the American Aviators who died in the war. + +March, 1919. + + + +A SHRINE IN THE PANTHEON + +FOR THE UNNAMED SOLDIERS WHO DIED IN FRANCE + + +Universal approval has been accorded the proposal made in the +French Chamber that the ashes of an unnamed French soldier, +fallen for his country, shall be removed with solemn ceremony to +the Pantheon. In this way it is intended to honor by a symbolic +ceremony the memory of all who lie in unmarked graves. + + + Here the great heart of France, + Victor in noble strife, + Doth consecrate a Poilu's tomb + To those who saved her life! + + Brave son without a name, + Your country calls you home, + To rest among her heirs of fame, + Beneath the Pantheon's dome! + + Now from the height of Heaven, + The souls of heroes look; + Their names, ungraven on this stone, + Are written in God's book. + + Women of France, who mourn + Your dead in unmarked ground, + Come hither! Here the man you loved + In the heart of France is found! + + + + +IN PRAISE OF POETS + + + +MOTHER EARTH + + + Mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed, + Mother of all the grass that weaves over their graves the glory of the + field, + Mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, + impassive, + Silent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows! + Out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below thy breast, + Issued in some strange way, thou lying motionless, voiceless, + All these songs of nature, rhythmical, passionate, yearning. + Coming in music from earth, but not unto earth returning. + + Dust are the blood-red hearts that beat in time to these measures, + Thou hast taken them back to thyself, secretly, irresistibly + Drawing the crimson currents of life down, down, down + Deep into thy bosom again, as a river is lost in the sand. + But the souls of the singers have entered into the songs that revealed + them,-- + Passionate songs, immortal songs of joy and grief and love and longing, + Floating from heart to heart of thy children, they echo above thee: + Do they not utter thy heart, the voices of those that love thee? + + Long hadst thou lain like a queen transformed by some old enchantment + Into an alien shape, mysterious, beautiful, speechless, + Knowing not who thou wert, till the touch of thy Lord and Lover + Wakened the man-child within thee to tell thy secret. + All of thy flowers and birds and forests and flowing waters + Are but the rhythmical forms to reveal the life of the spirit; + Thou thyself, earth-mother, in mountain and meadow and ocean, + Holdest the poem of God, eternal thought and emotion. + +December, 1905. + + + +MILTON + + +I + + Lover of beauty, walking on the height + Of pure philosophy and tranquil song; + Born to behold the visions that belong + To those who dwell in melody and light; + Milton, thou spirit delicate and bright! + What drew thee down to join the Roundhead throng + Of iron-sided warriors, rude and strong, + Fighting for freedom in a world half night? + + Lover of Liberty at heart wast thou, + Above all beauty bright, all music clear: + To thee she bared her bosom and her brow, + Breathing her virgin promise in thine ear, + And bound thee to her with a double vow,-- + Exquisite Puritan, grave Cavalier! + + +II + + The cause, the cause for which thy soul resigned + Her singing robes to battle on the plain, + Was won, O poet, and was lost again; + And lost the labour of thy lonely mind + On weary tasks of prose. What wilt thou find + To comfort thee for all the toil and pain? + What solace, now thy sacrifice is vain + And thou art left forsaken, poor, and blind? + + Like organ-music comes the deep reply: + "The cause of truth looks lost, but shall be won. + For God hath given to mine inward eye + Vision of England soaring to the sun. + And granted me great peace before I die, + In thoughts of lowly duty bravely done." + + +III + + O bend again above thine organ-board, + Thou blind old poet longing for repose! + Thy Master claims thy service not with those + Who only stand and wait for His reward; + He pours the heavenly gift of song restored + Into thy breast, and bids thee nobly close + A noble life, with poetry that flows + In mighty music of the major chord. + + Where hast thou learned this deep, majestic strain, + Surpassing all thy youthful lyric grace, + To sing of Paradise? Ah, not in vain + The griefs that won at Dante's side thy place, + And made thee, Milton, by thy years of pain, + The loftiest poet of the English race! + +1908. + + + +WORDSWORTH + + + Wordsworth, thy music like a river rolls + Among the mountains, and thy song is fed + By living springs far up the watershed; + No whirling flood nor parching drought controls + The crystal current: even on the shoals + It murmurs clear and sweet; and when its bed + Deepens below mysterious cliffs of dread, + Thy voice of peace grows deeper in our souls. + + But thou in youth hast known the breaking stress + Of passion, and hast trod despair's dry ground + Beneath black thoughts that wither and destroy. + Ah, wanderer, led by human tenderness + Home to the heart of Nature, thou hast found + The hidden Fountain of Recovered Joy. + +October, 1906. + + + +KEATS + + + The melancholy gift Aurora gained + From Jove, that her sad lover should not see + The face of death, no goddess asked for thee, + My Keats! But when the scarlet blood-drop stained + Thy pillow, thou didst read the fate ordained,-- + Brief life, wild love, a flight of poesy! + And then,--a shadow fell on Italy: + Thy star went down before its brightness waned. + + Yet thou hast won the gift Tithonus missed: + Never to feel the pain of growing old, + Nor lose the blissful sight of beauty's truth, + But with the ardent lips Urania kissed + To breathe thy song, and, ere thy heart grew cold, + Become the Poet of Immortal Youth. + +August, 1906. + + + +SHELLEY + + + Knight-errant of the Never-ending Quest, + And Minstrel of the Unfulfilled Desire; + For ever tuning thy frail earthly lyre + To some unearthly music, and possessed + With painful passionate longing to invest + The golden dream of Love's immortal fire + With mortal robes of beautiful attire, + And fold perfection to thy throbbing breast! + + What wonder, Shelley, that the restless wave + Should claim thee and the leaping flame consume + Thy drifted form on Viareggio's beach? + These were thine elements,--thy fitting grave. + But still thy soul rides on with fiery plume, + Thy wild song rings in ocean's yearning speech! + +August, 1906. + + + +ROBERT BROWNING + + + How blind the toil that burrows like the mole, + In winding graveyard pathways underground, + For Browning's lineage! What if men have found + Poor footmen or rich merchants on the roll + Of his forbears? Did they beget his soul? + Nay, for he came of ancestry renowned + Through all the world,--the poets laurel-crowned + With wreaths from which the autumn takes no toll. + + The blazons on his coat-of-arms are these: + The flaming sign of Shelley's heart on fire, + The golden globe of Shakespeare's human stage, + The staff and scrip of Chaucer's pilgrimage, + The rose of Dante's deep, divine desire, + The tragic mask of wise Euripides. + +November, 1906. + + + +TENNYSON + +In Lucem Transitus, October, 1892 + + + From the misty shores of midnight, touched with splendours of the moon, + To the singing tides of heaven, and the light more clear than noon, + Passed a soul that grew to music till it was with God in tune. + + Brother of the greatest poets, true to nature, true to art; + Lover of Immortal Love, uplifter of the human heart; + Who shall cheer us with high music, who shall sing, if thou depart? + + Silence here--for love is silent, gazing on the lessening sail; + Silence here--for grief is voiceless when the mighty minstrels fail; + Silence here--but far beyond us, many voices crying, Hail! + + + +"IN MEMORIAM" + + + The record of a faith sublime, + And hope, through clouds, far-off discerned; + The incense of a love that burned + Through pain and doubt defying Time: + + The story of a soul at strife + That learned at last to kiss the rod, + And passed through sorrow up to God, + From living to a higher life: + + A light that gleams across the wave + Of darkness, down the rolling years, + Piercing the heavy mist of tears-- + A rainbow shining o'er a grave. + + + +VICTOR HUGO + +1802-1902 + + + Heart of France for a hundred years, + Passionate, sensitive, proud, and strong, + Quick to throb with her hopes and fears, + Fierce to flame with her sense of wrong! + You, who hailed with a morning song + Dream-light gilding a throne of old: + You, who turned when the dream grew cold, + Singing still, to the light that shone + Pure from Liberty's ancient throne, + Over the human throng! + You, who dared in the dark eclipse,-- + When the pygmy heir of a giant name + Dimmed the face of the land with shame,-- + Speak the truth with indignant lips, + Call him little whom men called great, + Scoff at him, scorn him, deny him, + Point to the blood on his robe of state, + Fling back his bribes and defy him! + + You, who fronted the waves of fate + As you faced the sea from your island home, + Exiled, yet with a soul elate, + Sending songs o'er the rolling foam, + Bidding the heart of man to wait + For the day when all should see + Floods of wrath from the frowning skies + Fall on an Empire founded in lies, + And France again be free! + You, who came in the Terrible Year + Swiftly back to your broken land, + Now to your heart a thousand times more dear,-- + Prayed for her, sung to her, fought for her, + Patiently, fervently wrought for her, + Till once again, + After the storm of fear and pain, + High in the heavens the star of France stood clear! + + You, who knew that a man must take + Good and ill with a steadfast soul, + Holding fast, while the billows roll + Over his head, to the things that make + Life worth living for great and small, + Honour and pity and truth, + The heart and the hope of youth, + And the good God over all! + You, to whom work was rest, + Dauntless Toiler of the Sea, + Following ever the joyful quest + Of beauty on the shores of old Romance, + Bard of the poor of France, + And warrior-priest of world-wide charity! + You who loved little children best + Of all the poets that ever sung, + Great heart, golden heart, + Old, and yet ever young, + Minstrel of liberty, + Lover of all free, winged things, + Now at last you are free,-- + Your soul has its wings! + Heart of France for a hundred years, + Floating far in the light that never fails you, + Over the turmoil of mortal hopes and fears + Victor, forever victor, the whole world hails you! + +March, 1902. + + + +LONGFELLOW + + + In a great land, a new land, a land full of labour and riches and + confusion, + Where there were many running to and fro, and shouting, and striving + together, + In the midst of the hurry and the troubled noise, I heard the voice of + one singing. + + "What are you doing there, O man, singing quietly amid all this tumult? + This is the time for new inventions, mighty shoutings, and blowings of + the trumpet." + But he answered, "I am only shepherding my sheep with music." + + So he went along his chosen way, keeping his little flock around him; + And he paused to listen, now and then, beside the antique fountains, + Where the faces of forgotten gods were refreshed with musically falling + waters; + + Or he sat for a while at the blacksmith's door, and heard the cling-clang + of the anvils; + Or he rested beneath old steeples full of bells, that showered their + chimes upon him; + Or he walked along the border of the sea, drinking in the long roar of + the billows; + + Or he sunned himself in the pine-scented shipyard, amid the tattoo of + the mallets; + Or he leaned on the rail of the bridge, letting his thoughts flow with + the whispering river; + He hearkened also to ancient tales, and made them young again with his + singing. + + Then a flaming arrow of death fell on his flock, and pierced the heart + of his dearest! + Silent the music now, as the shepherd entered the mystical temple of + sorrow: + Long he tarried in darkness there: but when he came out he was singing. + + And I saw the faces of men and women and children silently turning toward + him; + The youth setting out on the journey of life, and the old man waiting + beside the last mile-stone; + The toiler sweating beneath his load; and the happy mother rocking her + cradle; + + The lonely sailor on far-off seas; and the gray-minded scholar in his + book-room; + The mill-hand bound to a clacking machine; and the hunter in the forest; + And the solitary soul hiding friendless in the wilderness of the city; + + Many human faces, full of care and longing, were drawn irresistibly + toward him, + By the charm of something known to every heart, yet very strange and + lovely, + And at the sound of his singing wonderfully all their faces were + lightened. + + "Why do you listen, O you people, to this old and world-worn music? + This is not for you, in the splendour of a new age, in the democratic + triumph! + Listen to the clashing cymbals, the big drums, the brazen trumpets of + your poets." + + But the people made no answer, following in their hearts the simpler + music: + For it seemed to them, noise-weary, nothing could be better worth the + hearing + Than the melodies which brought sweet order into life's confusion. + + So the shepherd sang his way along, until he came unto a mountain: + And I know not surely whether the mountain was called Parnassus, + But he climbed it out of sight, and still I heard the voice of one + singing. + +January, 1907. + + + +THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH + + +I + +BIRTHDAY VERSES, 1906 + + Dear Aldrich, now November's mellow days + Have brought another _Festa_ round to you, + You can't refuse a loving-cup of praise + From friends the fleeting years have bound to you. + + Here come your Marjorie Daw, your dear Bad Boy, + Prudence, and Judith the Bethulian, + And many more, to wish you birthday joy, + And sunny hours, and sky cerulean! + + Your children all, they hurry to your den, + With wreaths of honour they have won for you, + To merry-make your threescore years and ten. + You, old? Why, life has just begun for you! + + There's many a reader whom your silver songs + And crystal stories cheer in loneliness. + What though the newer writers come in throngs? + You're sure to keep your charm of only-ness. + + You do your work with careful, loving touch,-- + An artist to the very core of you,-- + You know the magic spell of "not-too-much": + We read,--and wish that there was more of you. + + And more there is: for while we love your books + Because their subtle skill is part of you; + We love _you_ better, for our friendship looks + Behind them to the human heart of you. + + +II + +MEMORIAL SONNET, 1908 + + This is the house where little Aldrich read + The early pages of Life's wonder-book + With boyish pleasure: in this ingle-nook + He watched the drift-wood fire of Fancy shed + Bright colour on the pictures blue and red: + Boy-like he skipped the longer words, and took + His happy way, with searching, dreamful look + Among the deeper things more simply said. + + Then, came his turn to write: and still the flame + Of Fancy played through all the tales he told, + And still he won the laurelled poet's fame + With simple words wrought into rhymes of gold. + Look, here's the face to which this house is frame,-- + A man too wise to let his heart grow old! + + + +EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN + +(Read at His Funeral, January 21, 1908) + + + Oh, quick to feel the lightest touch + Of beauty or of truth, + Rich in the thoughtfulness of age, + The hopefulness of youth, + The courage of the gentle heart, + The wisdom of the pure, + The strength of finely tempered souls + To labour and endure! + + The blue of springtime in your eyes + Was never quenched by pain; + And winter brought your head the crown + Of snow without a stain. + The poet's mind, the prince's heart, + You kept until the end, + Nor ever faltered in your work, + Nor ever failed a friend. + + You followed, through the quest of life, + The light that shines above + The tumult and the toil of men, + And shows us what to love. + Right loyal to the best you knew, + Reality or dream, + You ran the race, you fought the fight, + A follower of the Gleam. + + We lay upon your folded hands + The wreath of asphodel; + We speak above your peaceful face + The tender word _Farewell!_ + For well you fare, in God's good care, + Somewhere within the blue, + And know, to-day, your dearest dreams + Are true,--and true,--and true! + + + +TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + +ON HIS "BOOK OF JOYOUS CHILDREN" + + + Yours is a garden of old-fashioned flowers; + Joyous children delight to play there; + Weary men find rest in its bowers, + Watching the lingering light of day there. + + Old-time tunes and young love-laughter + Ripple and run among the roses; + Memory's echoes, murmuring after, + Fill the dusk when the long day closes. + + Simple songs with a cadence olden-- + These you learned in the Forest of Arden: + Friendly flowers with hearts all golden-- + These you borrowed from Eden's garden. + + This is the reason why all men love you; + Truth to life is the finest art: + Other poets may soar above you-- + You keep close to the human heart. + +December, 1903. + + + +RICHARD WATSON GILDER + +IN MEMORIAM + + + Soul of a soldier in a poet's frame, + Heart of a hero in a body frail; + Thine was the courage clear that did not quail + Before the giant champions of shame + Who wrought dishonour to the city's name; + And thine the vision of the Holy Grail + Of Love, revealed through Music's lucid veil, + Filling thy life with heavenly song and flame. + + Pure was the light that lit thy glowing eye, + And strong the faith that held thy simple creed. + Ah, poet, patriot, friend, to serve our need + Thou leavest two great gifts that will not die: + Above the city's noise, thy lyric cry,-- + Amid the city's strife, thy noble deed. + +November, 1909. + + + +THE VALLEY OF VAIN VERSES + + + The grief that is but feigning, + And weeps melodious tears + Of delicate complaining + From self-indulgent years; + The mirth that is but madness, + And has no inward gladness + Beneath its laughter straining, + To capture thoughtless ears; + + The love that is but passion + Of amber-scented lust; + The doubt that is but fashion; + The faith that has no trust; + These Thamyris disperses, + In the Valley of Vain Verses + Below the Mount Parnassian,-- + And they crumble into dust. + + + + +MUSIC + + + +MUSIC + + +I + +PRELUDE + + +1 + + Daughter of Psyche, pledge of that wild night + When, pierced with pain and bitter-sweet delight, + She knew her Love and saw her Lord depart, + Then breathed her wonder and her woe forlorn + Into a single cry, and thou wast born! + Thou flower of rapture and thou fruit of grief; + Invisible enchantress of the heart; + Mistress of charms that bring relief + To sorrow, and to joy impart + A heavenly tone that keeps it undefined,-- + Thou art the child + Of Amor, and by right divine + A throne of love is thine, + Thou flower-folded, golden-girdled, star-crowned Queen, + Whose bridal beauty mortal eyes have never seen! + + +2 + + Thou art the Angel of the pool that sleeps, + While peace and joy lie hidden in its deeps, + Waiting thy touch to make the waters roll + In healing murmurs round the weary soul. + Ah, when wilt thou draw near, + Thou messenger of mercy robed in song? + My lonely heart has listened for thee long; + And now I seem to hear + Across the crowded market-place of life, + Thy measured foot-fall, ringing light and clear + Above unmeaning noises and unruly strife. + In quiet cadence, sweet and slow, + Serenely pacing to and fro, + Thy far-off steps are magical and dear,-- + Ah, turn this way, come close and speak to me! + From this dull bed of languor set my spirit free, + And bid me rise, and let me walk awhile with thee. + + +II + +INVOCATION + + Where wilt thou lead me first? + In what still region + Of thy domain, + Whose provinces are legion, + Wilt thou restore me to myself again, + And quench my heart's long thirst? + I pray thee lay thy golden girdle down, + And put away thy starry crown: + For one dear restful hour + Assume a state more mild. + Clad only in thy blossom-broidered gown + That breathes familiar scent of many a flower, + Take the low path that leads through pastures green; + And though thou art a Queen, + Be Rosamund awhile, and in thy bower, + By tranquil love and simple joy beguiled, + Sing to my soul, as mother to her child. + + +III + +PLAY SONG + + O lead me by the hand, + And let my heart have rest, + And bring me back to childhood land, + To find again the long-lost band + Of playmates blithe and blest. + + Some quaint, old-fashioned air, + That all the children knew, + Shall run before us everywhere, + Like a little maid with flying hair, + To guide the merry crew. + + Along the garden ways + We chase the light-foot tune, + And in and out the flowery maze, + With eager haste and fond delays, + In pleasant paths of June. + + For us the fields are new, + For us the woods are rife + With fairy secrets, deep and true, + And heaven is but a tent of blue + Above the game of life. + + The world is far away: + The fever and the fret, + And all that makes the heart grow gray, + Is out of sight and far away, + Dear Music, while I hear thee play + That olden, golden roundelay, + "Remember and forget!" + + +IV + +SLEEP SONG + + Forget, forget! + The tide of life is turning; + The waves of light ebb slowly down the west: + Along the edge of dark some stars are burning + To guide thy spirit safely to an isle of rest. + A little rocking on the tranquil deep + Of song, to soothe thy yearning, + A little slumber and a little sleep, + And so, forget, forget! + + Forget, forget,-- + The day was long in pleasure; + Its echoes die away across the hill; + Now let thy heart beat time to their slow measure, + That swells, and sinks, and faints, and falls, till all is still. + Then, like a weary child that loves to keep + Locked in its arms some treasure, + Thy soul in calm content shall fall asleep, + And so forget, forget. + + Forget, forget,-- + And if thou hast been weeping, + Let go the thoughts that bind thee to thy grief: + Lie still, and watch the singing angels, reaping + The golden harvest of thy sorrow, sheaf by sheaf; + Or count thy joys like flocks of snow-white sheep + That one by one come creeping + Into the quiet fold, until thou sleep, + And so forget, forget! + + Forget, forget,-- + Thou art a child and knowest + So little of thy life! But music tells + The secret of the world through which thou goest + To work with morning song, to rest with evening bells: + Life is in tune with harmony so deep + That when the notes are lowest + Thou still canst lay thee down in peace and sleep, + For God will not forget. + + +V + +HUNTING SONG + + Out of the garden of playtime, out of the bower of rest, + Fain would I follow at daytime, music that calls to a quest. + Hark, how the galloping measure + Quickens the pulses of pleasure; + Gaily saluting the morn + With the long, clear note of the hunting-horn, + Echoing up from the valley, + Over the mountain side,-- + Rally, you hunters, rally, + Rally, and ride! + + Drink of the magical potion music has mixed with her wine, + Full of the madness of motion, joyful, exultant, divine! + Leave all your troubles behind you, + Ride where they never can find you, + Into the gladness of morn, + With the long, clear note of the hunting-horn, + Swiftly o'er hillock and hollow, + Sweeping along with the wind,-- + Follow, you hunters, follow, + Follow and find! + + What will you reach with your riding? What is the charm of the chase? + Just the delight and the striding swing of the jubilant pace. + Danger is sweet when you front her,-- + In at the death, every hunter! + Now on the breeze the mort is borne + In the long, clear note of the hunting-horn, + Winding merrily, over and over,-- + Come, come, come! + Home again, Ranger! home again, Rover! + Turn again, home! + + +VI + +DANCE-MUSIC + + +1 + + Now let the sleep-tune blend with the play-tune, + Weaving the mystical spell of the dance; + Lighten the deep tune, soften the gay tune, + Mingle a tempo that turns in a trance. + Half of it sighing, half of it smiling, + Smoothly it swings, with a triplicate beat; + Calling, replying, yearning, beguiling, + Wooing the heart and bewitching the feet. + Every drop of blood + Rises with the flood, + Rocking on the waves of the strain; + Youth and beauty glide + Turning with the tide-- + Music making one out of twain, + Bearing them away, and away, and away, + Like a tone and its terce-- + Till the chord dissolves, and the dancers stay, + And reverse. + + Violins leading, take up the measure, + Turn with the tune again,--clarinets clear + Answer their pleading,--harps full of pleasure + Sprinkle their silver like light on the mere. + Semiquaver notes, + Merry little motes, + Tangled in the haze + Of the lamp's golden rays, + Quiver everywhere + In the air, + Like a spray,-- + Till the fuller stream of the might of the tune, + Gliding like a dream in the light of the moon, + Bears them all away, and away, and away, + Floating in the trance of the dance. + + +2 + + Then begins a measure stately, + Languid, slow, serene; + All the dancers move sedately, + Stepping leisurely and straitly, + With a courtly mien; + Crossing hands and changing places, + Bowing low between, + While the minuet inlaces + Waving arms and woven paces,-- + Glittering damaskeen. + Where is she whose form is folden + In its royal sheen? + From our longing eyes withholden + By her mystic girdle golden, + Beauty sought but never seen, + Music walks the maze, a queen. + + +VII + +WAR-MUSIC + + Break off! Dance no more! + Danger is at the door. + Music is in arms. + To signal war's alarms. + + Hark, a sudden trumpet calling + Over the hill! + Why are you calling, trumpet, calling? + What is your will? + + Men, men, men! + Men who are ready to fight + For their country's life, and the right + Of a liberty-loving land to be + Free, free, free! + Free from a tyrant's chain, + Free from dishonor's stain, + Free to guard and maintain + All that her fathers fought for, + All that her sons have wrought for, + Resolute, brave, and free! + + Call again, trumpet, call again, + Call up the men! + + Do you hear the storm of cheers + Mingled with the women's tears + And the tramp, tramp, tramp of marching feet? + Do you hear the throbbing drum + As the hosts of battle come + Keeping time, time, time to its beat? + O Music give a song + To make their spirit strong + For the fury of the tempest they must meet. + + The hoarse roar + Of the monster guns; + And the sharp bark + Of the lesser guns; + The whine of the shells, + The rifles' clatter + Where the bullets patter, + The rattle, rattle, rattle + Of the mitrailleuse in battle, + And the yells + Of the men who charge through hells + Where the poison gas descends, + And the bursting shrapnel rends + Limb from limb + In the dim + Chaos and clamor of the strife + Where no man thinks of his life + But only of fighting through, + Blindly fighting through, through! + + 'Tis done + At last! + The victory won, + The dissonance of warfare past! + + O Music mourn the dead + Whose loyal blood was shed, + And sound the taps for every hero slain; + Then lead into the song + That made their spirit strong, + And tell the world they did not die in vain. + + Thank God we can see, in the glory of morn, + The invincible flag that our fathers defended; + And our hearts can repeat what the heroes have sworn, + That war shall not end till the war-lust is ended. + Then the bloodthirsty sword shall no longer be lord + Of the nations oppressed by the conqueror's horde, + But the banners of Liberty proudly shall wave + O'er the _world_ of the free and the lands of the brave. + +May, 1916. + + +VIII + +THE SYMPHONY + + Music, they do thee wrong who say thine art + Is only to enchant the sense. + For every timid motion of the heart, + And every passion too intense + To bear the chain of the imperfect word, + And every tremulous longing, stirred + By spirit winds that come we know not whence + And go we know not where, + And every inarticulate prayer + Beating about the depths of pain or bliss, + Like some bewildered bird + That seeks its nest but knows not where it is, + And every dream that haunts, with dim delight, + The drowsy hour between the day and night, + The wakeful hour between the night and day,-- + Imprisoned, waits for thee, + Impatient, yearns for thee, + The queen who comes to set the captive free! + Thou lendest wings to grief to fly away, + And wings to joy to reach a heavenly height; + And every dumb desire that storms within the breast + Thou leadest forth to sob or sing itself to rest. + + All these are thine, and therefore love is thine. + For love is joy and grief, + And trembling doubt, and certain-sure belief, + And fear, and hope, and longing unexpressed, + In pain most human, and in rapture brief + Almost divine. + Love would possess, yet deepens when denied; + And love would give, yet hungers to receive; + Love like a prince his triumph would achieve; + And like a miser in the dark his joys would hide. + Love is most bold, + He leads his dreams like armed men in line; + Yet when the siege is set, and he must speak, + Calling the fortress to resign + Its treasure, valiant love grows weak, + And hardly dares his purpose to unfold. + Less with his faltering lips than with his eyes + He claims the longed-for prize: + Love fain would tell it all, yet leaves the best untold. + But thou shalt speak for love. Yea, thou shalt teach + The mystery of measured tone, + The Pentecostal speech + That every listener heareth as his own. + For on thy head the cloven tongues of fire,-- + Diminished chords that quiver with desire, + And major chords that glow with perfect peace,-- + Have fallen from above; + And thou canst give release + In music to the burdened heart of love. + + Sound with the 'cellos' pleading, passionate strain + The yearning theme, and let the flute reply + In placid melody, while violins complain, + And sob, and sigh, + With muted string; + Then let the oboe half-reluctant sing + Of bliss that trembles on the verge of pain, + While 'cellos plead and plead again, + With throbbing notes delayed, that would impart + To every urgent tone the beating of the heart. + So runs the andante, making plain + The hopes and fears of love without a word. + Then comes the adagio, with a yielding theme + Through which the violas flow soft as in a dream, + While horns and mild bassoons are heard + In tender tune, that seems to float + Like an enchanted boat + Upon the downward-gliding stream, + Toward the allegro's wide, bright sea + Of dancing, glittering, blending tone, + Where every instrument is sounding free, + And harps like wedding-chimes are rung, and trumpets blown + Around the barque of love + That rides, with smiling skies above, + A royal galley, many-oared, + Into the happy harbour of the perfect chord. + + +IX + +IRIS + + Light to the eye and Music to the ear,-- + These are the builders of the bridge that springs + From earth's dim shore of half-remembered things + To reach the heavenly sphere + Where nothing silent is and nothing dark. + So when I see the rainbow's arc + Spanning the showery sky, far-off I hear + Music, and every colour sings: + And while the symphony builds up its round + Full sweep of architectural harmony + Above the tide of Time, far, far away I see + A bow of colour in the bow of sound. + Red as the dawn the trumpet rings; + Blue as the sky, the choir of strings + Darkens in double-bass to ocean's hue, + Rises in violins to noon-tide's blue, + With threads of quivering light shot through and through; + Green as the mantle that the summer flings + Around the world, the pastoral reeds in tune + Embroider melodies of May and June. + Purer than gold, + Yea, thrice-refined gold, + And richer than the treasures of the mine, + Floods of the human voice divine + Along the arch in choral song are rolled. + So bends the bow complete: + And radiant rapture flows + Across the bridge, so full, so strong, so sweet, + That the uplifted spirit hardly knows + Whether the Music-Light that glows + Within the arch of tones and colours seven, + Is sunset-peace of earth or sunrise-joy of Heaven. + + +X + +SEA AND SHORE + + Music, I yield to thee + As swimmer to the sea, + I give my spirit to the flood of song! + Bear me upon thy breast + In rapture and at rest, + Bathe me in pure delight and make me strong; + From strife and struggle bring release, + And draw the waves of passion into tides of peace. + + Remembered songs most dear + In living songs I hear, + While blending voices gently swing and sway, + In melodies of love, + Whose mighty currents move + With singing near and singing far away; + Sweet in the glow of morning light, + And sweeter still across the starlit gulf of night. + + Music, in thee we float, + And lose the lonely note + Of self in thy celestial-ordered strain, + Until at last we find + The life to love resigned + In harmony of joy restored again; + And songs that cheered our mortal days + Break on the shore of light in endless hymns of praise. + +December, 1901--May, 1903--May, 1916. + + + +MASTER OF MUSIC + +(In memory of Theodore Thomas, 1905) + + + Glory architect, glory of painter, and sculptor, and bard, + Living forever in temple and picture and statue and song,-- + Look how the world with the lights that they lit is illumined and + starred; + Brief was the flame of their life, but the lamps of their art burn + long! + + Where is the Master of Music, and how has he vanished away? + Where is the work that he wrought with his wonderful art in the air? + Gone,--it is gone like the glow on the cloud at the close of the day! + The Master has finished his work and the glory of music is--where? + + Once, at the wave of his wand, all the billows of musical sound + Followed his will, as the sea was ruled by the prophet of old: + Now that his hand is relaxed, and his rod has dropped to the ground, + Silent and dark are the shores where the marvellous harmonies rolled! + + Nay, but not silent the hearts that were filled by that life-giving sea; + Deeper and purer forever the tides of their being will roll, + Grateful and joyful, O Master, because they have listened to thee; + The glory of music endures in the depths of the human soul. + + + +THE PIPES O' PAN + + + Great Nature had a million words, + In tongues of trees and songs of birds, + But none to breathe the heart of man, + Till Music filled the pipes o' Pan. + +1909. + + + +TO A YOUNG GIRL SINGING + + + Oh, what do you know of the song, my dear, + And how have you made it your own? + You have caught the turn of the melody clear, + And you give it again with a golden tone, + Till the wonder-word and the wedded note + Are flowing out of your beautiful throat + With a liquid charm for every ear: + And they talk of your art,--but for you alone + The song is a thing, unheard, unknown; + You only have learned it by rote. + + But when you have lived for awhile, my dear, + I think you will learn it anew! + For a joy will come, or a grief, or a fear, + That will alter the look of the world for you; + And the lyric you learned as a bit of art, + Will wake to life as a wonderful part + Of the love you feel so deep and true; + And the thrill of a laugh or the throb of a tear, + Will come with your song to all who hear; + For then you will know it by heart. + +April, 1911. + + + +THE OLD FLUTE + + + The time will come when I no more can play + This polished flute: the stops will not obey + My gnarled fingers; and the air it weaves + In modulations, like a vine with leaves + Climbing around the tower of song, will die + In rustling autumn rhythms, confused and dry. + My shortened breath no more will freely fill + This magic reed with melody at will; + My stiffened lips will try and try in vain + To wake the liquid, leaping, dancing strain; + The heavy notes will falter, wheeze, and faint, + Or mock my ear with shrillness of complaint. + + Then let me hang this faithful friend of mine + Upon the trunk of some old, sacred pine, + And sit beneath the green protecting boughs + To hear the viewless wind, that sings and soughs + Above me, play its wild, aerial lute, + And draw a ghost of music from my flute! + + So will I thank the gods; and most of all + The Delian Apollo, whom men call + The mighty master of immortal sound,-- + Lord of the billows in their chanting round, + Lord of the winds that fill the wood with sighs, + Lord of the echoes and their sweet replies, + Lord of the little people of the air + That sprinkle drops of music everywhere, + Lord of the sea of melody that laves + The universe with never silent waves,-- + Him will I thank that this brief breath of mine + Has caught one cadence of the song divine; + And these frail fingers learned to rise and fall + In time with that great tune which throbs thro' all; + And these poor lips have lent a lilt of joy + To songless men whom weary tasks employ! + My life has had its music, and my heart + In harmony has borne a little part, + And now I come with quiet, grateful breast + To Death's dim hall of silence and of rest. + +Freely rendered from the French of Auguste Angellier, 1911. + + + +THE FIRST BIRD O' SPRING + +TO OLIVE WHEELER + + + Winter on Mount Shasta, + April down below; + Golden hours of glowing sun, + Sudden showers of snow! + Under leafless thickets + Early wild-flowers cling; + But, oh, my dear, I'm fain to hear + The first bird o' Spring! + + Alders are in tassel, + Maples are in bud; + Waters of the blue McCloud + Shout in joyful flood; + Through the giant pine-trees + Flutters many a wing; + But, oh, my dear, I long to hear + The first bird o' Spring! + + Candle-light and fire-light + Mingle at "the Bend;" + 'Neath the roof of Bo-hai-pan + Light and shadow blend. + Sweeter than a wood-thrush + A maid begins to sing; + And, oh, my dear, I'm glad to hear + The first bird o' Spring! + +The Bend, California, April 29, 1913. + + + + +THE HOUSE OF RIMMON + +A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + +BENHADAD: King of Damascus. +REZON: High Priest of the House of Rimmon. +SABALLIDIN: A Noble. +HAZAEL } +IZDUBHAR } Courtiers. +RAKHAZ } +SHUMAKIM: The King's Fool. +ELISHA: Prophet of Israel. +NAAMAN: Captain of the Armies of Damascus. +RUAHMAH: A Captive Maid of Israel. +TSARPI: Wife to Naaman. +KHAMMA } +NUBTA } Attendants of Tsarpi. + +Soldiers, Servants, Citizens, etc., etc. + +SCENE: _Damascus and the Mountains of Samaria._ + +TIME: 850 _B. C._ + + + +ACT I + + +SCENE I + +_Night, in the garden of NAAMAN at Damascus. At the left the palace, + with softly gleaming lights and music coming from the open latticed + windows. The garden is full of oleanders, roses, pomegranates, + abundance of crimson flowers; the air is heavy with their fragrance: + a fountain at the right is plashing gently: behind it is an arbour + covered with vines. Near the centre of the garden stands a small, + hideous image of the god Rimmon. Beyond the arbour rises the lofty + square tower of the House of Rimmon, which casts a shadow from the + moon across the garden. The background is a wide, hilly landscape, + with the snow-clad summit of Mount Herman in the distance. Enter + by the palace door, the lady TSARPI, robed in red and gold, and + followed by her maids, KHAMMA and NUBTA. She remains on the + terrace: they go down into the garden, looking about, and + returning to her._ + +KHAMMA: + There's no one here; the garden is asleep. + +NUBTA: + The flowers are nodding, all the birds abed,-- + Nothing awake except the watchful stars! + +KHAMMA: + The stars are sentinels discreet and mute: + How many things they know and never tell! + +TSARPI: [Impatiently.] + Unlike the stars, how many things you tell + And do not know! When comes your master home? + +NUBTA: + Lady, his armour-bearer brought us word,-- + At moonset, not before. + +TSARPI: + He haunts the camp + And leaves me much alone; yet I can pass + The time of absence not unhappily, + If I but know the time of his return. + An hour of moonlight yet! Khamma, my mirror! + These curls are ill arranged, this veil too low,-- + So,--that is better, careless maids! Withdraw,-- + But bring me word if Naaman appears! + +KHAMMA: + Mistress, have no concern; for when we hear + The clatter of his horse along the street, + We'll run this way and lead your dancers down + With song and laughter,--you shall know in time. + + [Exeunt KHAMMA and NUBTA laughing, TSARPI descends + the steps.] + +TSARPI: + My guest is late; but he will surely come! + The man who burns to drain the cup of love, + The priest whose greed of glory never fails, + Both, both have need of me, and he will come. + And I,--what do I need? Why everything + That helps my beauty to a higher throne; + All that a priest can promise, all a man + Can give, and all a god bestow, I need: + This may a woman win, and this will I. + + [Enter REZON quietly from the shadow of the trees. + He stands behind TSARPI and listens, smiling, + to her last words. Then he drops his mantle of + leopard-skin, and lifts his high priest's rod of + bronze, shaped at one end like a star.] + +REZON: + Tsarpi! + +TSARPI: [Bowing low before him.] + The mistress of the house of Naaman + Salutes the master of the House of Rimmon. + +REZON: + Rimmon receives you with his star of peace, + For you were once a handmaid of his altar. + + [He lowers the star-point of the rod, which glows + for a moment with rosy light above her head.] + + And now the keeper of his temple asks + The welcome of the woman for the man. + +TSARPI: [Giving him her hand, but holding off his embrace.] + No more,--till I have heard what brings you here + By night, within the garden of the one + Who scorns you most and fears you least in all + Damascus. + +REZON: + Trust me, I repay his scorn + With double hatred,--Naaman, the man + Who stands against the nobles and the priests, + This powerful fool, this impious devotee + Of liberty, who loves the people more + Than he reveres the city's ancient god: + This frigid husband who sets you below + His dream of duty to a horde of slaves: + This man I hate, and I will humble him. + +TSARPI: + I think I hate him too. He stands apart + From me, ev'n while he holds me in his arms, + By something that I cannot understand. + He swears he loves his wife next to his honour! + Next? That's too low! I will be first or nothing. + +REZON: + With me you are the first, the absolute! + When you and I have triumphed you shall reign; + And you and I will bring this hero down. + +TSARPI: + But how? For he is strong. + +REZON: + By this, the hand + Of Tsarpi; and by this, the rod of Rimmon. + +TSARPI: + Your plan? + +REZON: + You know the host of Nineveh + Is marching now against us. Envoys come + To bid us yield before a hopeless war. + Our king is weak: the nobles, being rich, + Would purchase peace to make them richer still: + Only the people and the soldiers, led + By Naaman, would fight for liberty. + Blind fools! To-day the envoys came to me, + And talked with me in secret. Promises, + Great promises! For every noble house + That urges peace, a noble recompense: + The King, submissive, kept in royal state + And splendour: most of all, honour and wealth + Shall crown the House of Rimmon, and his priest,-- + Yea, and his priestess! For we two will rise + Upon the city's fall. The common folk + Shall suffer; Naaman shall sink with them + In wreck; but I shall rise, and you shall rise + Above me! You shall climb, through incense-smoke, + And days of pomp, and nights of revelry, + Unto the topmost room in Rimmon's tower, + The secret, lofty room, the couch of bliss, + And the divine embraces of the god. + +TSARPI: [Throwing out her arms in exultation.] + All, all I wish! What must I do for this? + +REZON: + Turn Naaman away from thoughts of war. + +TSARPI: + But if I fail? His will is proof against + The lure of kisses and the wile of tears. + +REZON: + Where woman fails, woman and priest succeed. + Before the King decides, he must consult + The oracle of Rimmon. This my hands + Prepare,--and you shall read the signs prepared + In words of fear to melt the brazen heart + Of Naaman. + +TSARPI: + But if it flame instead? + +REZON: + I know a way to quench that flame. The cup, + The parting cup your hand shall give to him! + What if the curse of Rimmon should infect + That sacred wine with poison, secretly + To work within his veins, week after week + Corrupting all the currents of his blood, + Dimming his eyes, wasting his flesh? What then? + Would he prevail in war? Would he come back + To glory, or to shame? What think you? + +TSARPI: + I?-- + I do not think; I only do my part. + But can the gods bless this? + +REZON: + The gods can bless + Whatever they decree; their will makes right; + And this is for the glory of the House + Of Rimmon,--and for thee, my queen. Come, come! + The night grows dark: we'll perfect our alliance. + + [REZON draws her with him, embracing her, through + the shadows of the garden. RUAHMAH, who has been + sleeping in the arbour, has been awakened during + the dialogue, and has been dimly visible in her + white dress, behind the vines. She parts them and + comes out, pushing back her long, dark hair from + her temples.] + +RUAHMAH: + What have I heard? O God, what shame is this + Plotted beneath Thy pure and silent stars! + Was it for this that I was brought away + A captive from the hills of Israel + To serve the heathen in a land of lies? + Ah, treacherous, shameful priest! Ah, shameless wife + Of one too noble to suspect thy guilt! + The very greatness of his generous heart + Betrays him to their hands. What can I do! + Nothing,--a slave,--hated and mocked by all + My fellow-slaves! O bitter prison-life! + I smother in this black, betraying air + Of lust and luxury; I faint beneath + The shadow of this House of Rimmon. God + Have mercy! Lead me out to Israel. + To Israel! + + [Music and laughter heard within the palace. The + doors fly open and a flood of men and women, + dancers, players, flushed with wine, dishevelled, + pour down the steps, KHAMMA and NUBTA with them. + They crown the image with roses and dance around + it. RUAHMAH is discovered crouching beside the + arbour. They drag her out beside the image.] + +NUBTA: + Look! Here's the Hebrew maid,-- + She's homesick; let us comfort her! + +KHAMMA: [They put their arms around her.] + Yes, dancing is the cure for homesickness. + We'll make her dance. + +RUAHMAH: [She slips away.] + I pray you, let me go! + I cannot dance, I do not know your measures. + +KHAMMA: + Then sing for us,--a song of Israel! + +RUAHMAH: + How can I sing the songs of Israel + In this strange country? O my heart would break! + +A SERVANT: + A stubborn and unfriendly maid! We'll whip her. + + [They circle around her, striking her with + rose-branches; she sinks to her knees, covering + her face with her bare arms, which bleed.] + +NUBTA: + Look, look! She kneels to Rimmon, she is tamed. + +RUAHMAH: [Springing up and lifting her arms.] + Nay, not to this dumb idol, but to Him + Who made Orion and the seven stars! + +ALL: + She raves,--she mocks at Rimmon! Punish her! + The fountain! Wash her blasphemy away! + + [They push her toward the fountain, laughing and + shouting. In the open door of the palace NAAMAN + appears, dressed in blue and silver, bareheaded + and unarmed. He comes to the top of the steps + and stands for a moment, astonished and angry.] + +NAAMAN: + Silence! What drunken rout is this? Begone, + Ye barking dogs and mewing cats! Out, all! + Poor child, what have they done to thee? + + [Exeunt all except RUAHMAH, who stands with her + face covered by her hands. NAAMAN comes to her, + laying his hand on her shoulder.] + +RUAHMAH: [Looking up in his face.] + Nothing, + My lord and master! They have harmed me not. + +NAAMAN: [Touching her arm.] + Dost call this nothing? + +RUAHMAH: + Since my lord is come! + +NAAMAN: + I do not know thy face,--who art thou, child? + +RUAHMAH: + The handmaid of thy wife. + +NAAMAN: + Whence comest thou? + Thy voice is like thy mistress, but thy looks + Have something foreign. Tell thy name, thy land. + +RUAHMAH: + Ruahmah is my name, a captive maid, + The daughter of a prince in Israel, + Where once, in olden days, I saw my lord + Ride through our highlands, when Samaria + Was allied with Damascus to defeat + Our common foe. + +NAAMAN: + And thou rememberest this? + +RUAHMAH: + As clear as yesterday! Master, I saw + Thee riding on a snow-white horse beside + Our king; and all we joyful little maids + Strewed boughs of palm along the victors' way, + For you had driven out the enemy, + Broken; and both our lands were friends and free. + +NAAMAN: [Sadly.] + Well, they are past, those noble days! The days + When nations would imperil all to keep + Their liberties, are only memories now. + The common cause is lost,--and thou art brought, + The captive of some mercenary raid, + Some skirmish of a gold-begotten war, + To serve within my house. Dost thou fare well? + +RUAHMAH: + Master, thou seest. + +NAAMAN: + Yes, I see! My child, + Why do they hate thee so? + +RUAHMAH: + I do not know, + Unless because I will not bow to Rimmon. + +NAAMAN: + Thou needest not. I fear he is a god + Who pities not his people, will not save. + My heart is sick with doubt of him. But thou + Shalt hold thy faith,--I care not what it is,-- + Worship thy god; but keep thy spirit free. + + [He takes the amulet from his neck and gives it to her.] + + Here, take this chain and wear it with my seal, + None shall molest the maid who carries this. + Thou hast found favour in thy master's eyes; + Hast thou no other gift to ask of me? + +RUAHMAH: [Earnestly.] + My lord, I do entreat thee not to go + To-morrow to the council. Seek the King + And speak with him in secret; but avoid + The audience-hall. + +NAAMAN: + Why, what is this? Thy wits + Are wandering. My honour is engaged + To speak for war, to lead in war against + The Assyrian Bull and save Damascus. + +RUAHMAH: [With confused earnestness.] + Then, lord, if thou must go, I pray thee speak,-- + I know not how,--but so that all must hear. + With magic of unanswerable words + Persuade thy foes. Yet watch,--beware,-- + +NAAMAN: + Of what? + +RUAHMAH: [Turning aside.] + I am entangled in my speech,--no light,-- + How shall I tell him? He will not believe. + O my dear lord, thine enemies are they + Of thine own house. I pray thee to beware,-- + Beware,--of Rimmon! + +NAAMAN: + Child, thy words are wild: + Thy troubles have bewildered all thy brain. + Go, now, and fret no more; but sleep, and dream + Of Israel! For thou shalt see thy home + Among the hills again. + +RUAHMAH: + Master, good-night. + And may thy slumber be as sweet and deep + As if thou camped at snowy Hermon's foot, + Amid the music of his waterfalls. + There friendly oak-trees bend their boughs above + The weary head, pillowed on earth's kind breast, + And unpolluted breezes lightly breathe + A song of sleep among the murmuring leaves. + There the big stars draw nearer, and the sun + Looks forth serene, undimmed by city's mirk + Or smoke of idol-temples, to behold + The waking wonder of the wide-spread world. + There life renews itself with every morn + In purest joy of living. May the Lord + Deliver thee, dear master, from the nets + Laid for thy feet, and lead thee out along + The open path, beneath the open sky! + + [Exit RUAHMAH: NAAMAN stands looking after her.] + + +SCENE II + +TIME: _The following morning_ + +_The audience-hall in BENHADAD'S palace. The sides of the hall are + lined with lofty columns: the back opens toward the city, with + descending steps: the House of Rimmon with its high tower is seen + in the background. The throne is at the right in front: opposite + is the royal door of entrance, guarded by four tall sentinels. + Enter at the rear between the columns, RAKHAZ, SABALLIDIN, HAZAEL, + IZDUBHAR._ + +IZDUBHAR: [An excited old man.] + The city is all in a turmoil. It boils like a pot of lentils. + The people are foaming and bubbling round and round like + beans in the pottage. + +HAZAEL: [A lean, crafty man.] + Fear is a hot fire. + +RAKHAZ: [A fat, pompous man.] + Well may they fear, for the Assyrians are not three days + distant. They are blazing along like a waterspout to + chop Damascus down like a pitcher of spilt milk. + +SABALLIDIN: [Young and frank.] + Cannot Naaman drive them back? + +RAKHAZ: [Puffing and blowing.] + Ho! Naaman? Where have you been living? Naaman is a broken + reed whose claws have been cut. Build no hopes on that + foundation, for it will run away and leave you all adrift + in the conflagration. + +SABALLIDIN: + He clatters like a windmill. What would he say, Hazael? + +HAZAEL: + Naaman can do nothing without the command of the King; and + the King fears to order the army to march without the + approval of the gods. The High Priest is against it. The + House of Rimmon is for peace with Asshur. + +RAKHAZ: + Yes, and all the nobles are for peace. We are the men whose + wisdom lights the rudder that upholds the chariot of state. + Would we be rich if we were not wise? Do we not know better + than the rabble what medicine will silence this fire that + threatens to drown us? + +IZDUBHAR: + But if the Assyrians come, we shall all perish; they will + despoil us all. + +HAZAEL: + Not us, my lord, only the common people. The envoys have + offered favourable terms to the priests, and the nobles, + and the King. No palace, no temple, shall be plundered. + Only the shops, and the markets, and the houses of the + multitude shall be given up to the Bull. He will eat + his supper from the pot of lentils, not from our golden + plate. + +RAKHAZ: + Yes, and all who speak for peace in the council shall be + enriched; our heads shall be crowned with seats of honour + in the procession of the Assyrian king. He needs wise + counsellors to help him guide the ship of empire onto the + solid rock of prosperity. You must be with us, my lords + Izdubhar and Saballidin, and let the stars of your wisdom + roar loudly for peace. + +IZDUBHAR: + He talks like a tablet read upside down,--a wild ass braying + in the wilderness. Yet there is policy in his words. + +SABALLIDIN: + I know not. Can a kingdom live without a people or an army? + If we let the Bull in to sup on the lentils, will he not + make his breakfast in our vineyards? + + [Enter other courtiers following SHUMAKIM, a hump-backed + jester, in blue, green and red, a wreath of poppies + around his neck and a flagon in his hand. He walks + unsteadily, and stutters in his speech.] + +HAZAEL: + Here is Shumakim, the King's fool, with his legs full of + last night's wine. + +SHUMAKIM: [Balancing himself in front of them and chuckling.] + Wrong, my lords, very wrong! This is not last night's wine, + but a draught the King's physician gave me this morning + for a cure. It sobers me amazingly! I know you all, + my lords: any fool would know you. You, master, are a + statesman; and you are a politician; and you are a patriot. + +RAKHAZ: + Am I a statesman? I felt something of the kind about me. + But what is a statesman? + +SHUMAKIM: + A politician that is stuffed with big words; a fat man in a + mask; one that plays a solemn tune on a sackbut full o' wind. + +HAZAEL: + And what is a politician? + +SHUMAKIM: + A statesman that has dropped his mask and cracked his sackbut. + Men trust him for what he is, and he never deceives them, + because he always lies. + +IZDUBHAR: + Why do you call me a patriot? + +SHUMAKIM: + Because you know what is good for you; you love your country + as you love your pelf. You feel for the common people,--as + the wolf feels for the sheep. + +SABALLIDIN: + And what am I? + +SHUMAKIM: + A fool, master, just a plain fool; and there is hope of thee + for that reason. Embrace me, brother, and taste this; but + not too much,--it will intoxicate thee with sobriety. + + [The hall has been slowly filling with courtiers and + soldiers; a crowd of people begin to come up the steps + at the rear, where they are halted by a chain guarded + by servants of the palace. A bell tolls; the royal door + is thrown open; the aged King totters across the hall + and takes his seat on the throne with the four tall + sentinels standing behind him. All bow down shading + their eyes with their hands.] + +BENHADAD: + The hour of royal audience is come. + I'll hear the envoys. Are my counsellors + At hand? Where are the priests of Rimmon's house? + + [Gongs sound. REZON comes in from the side, followed + by a procession of priests in black and yellow. The + courtiers bow; the King rises; REZON takes his stand + on the steps of the throne at the left of the King.] + +BENHADAD: + Where is my faithful servant Naaman, + The captain of my host? + + [Trumpets sound from the city. The crowd on the steps + divide; the chain is lowered; NAAMAN enters, followed + by six soldiers. He is dressed in chain-mail with a + silver helmet and a cloak of blue. He uncovers, and + kneels on the steps of the throne at the King's right.] + +NAAMAN: + My lord the King, + The bearer of thy sword is here. + +BENHADAD: [Giving NAAMAN his hand, and sitting down.] + Welcome, + My strong right arm that never me failed yet! + I am in doubt,--but stay thou close to me + While I decide this cause. Where are the envoys? + Let them appear and give their message. + + [Enter the Assyrian envoys; one in white and the other + in red; both with the golden Bull's head embroidered + on their robes. They come from the right, rear, bow + slightly before the throne, and take the centre of + the hall.] + +WHITE ENVOY: [Stepping forward.] + Greeting from Shalmaneser, Asshur's son, + Who rules the world from Nineveh, + Unto Benhadad, monarch in Damascus! + The conquering Bull has led his army forth; + The south has fallen before him, and the west + His feet have trodden; Hamath is laid waste; + He pauses at your gate, invincible,-- + To offer peace. The princes of your court, + The priests of Rimmon's house, and you, the King, + If you pay homage to your Overlord, + Shall rest secure, and flourish as our friends. + Assyria sends to you this gilded yoke; + Receive it as the sign of proffered peace. + + [He lays a yoke on the steps of the throne.] + +BENHADAD: + What of the city? Said your king no word + Of our Damascus, and the many folk + That do inhabit her and make her great? + What of the soldiers who have fought for us? + +WHITE ENVOY: + Of these my royal master did not speak. + +BENHADAD: + Strange silence! Must we give them up to him? + Is this the price at which he offers us + The yoke of peace? What if we do refuse? + +RED ENVOY: [Stepping forward.] + Then ruthless war! War to the uttermost. + No quarter, no compassion, no escape! + The Bull will gore and trample in his fury + Nobles and priests and king,--none shall be spared! + Before the throne we lay our second gift; + This bloody horn, the symbol of red war. + + [He lays a long bull's horn, stained with blood, on + the steps of the throne.] + +WHITE ENVOY: + Our message is delivered. We return + Unto our master. He will wait three days + To know your royal choice between his gifts. + Keep which you will and send the other back. + The red bull's horn your youngest page may bring; + But with the yoke, best send your mightiest army! + + [The ENVOYS retire, amid confused murmurs of the + people, the King silent, his head, sunken on his + breast.] + +BENHADAD: + Proud words, a bitter message, hard to endure! + We are not now that force which feared no foe: + Our old allies have left us. Can we face the Bull + Alone, and beat him back? Give me your counsel. + + [Many speak at once, confusedly.] + + What babblement is this? Were ye born at Babel? + Give me clear words and reasonable speech. + +RAKHAZ: [Pompously.] + O King, I am a reasonable man! + And there be some who call me very wise + And prudent; but of this I will not speak, + For I am also modest. Let me plead, + Persuade, and reason you to choose for peace. + This golden yoke may be a bitter draught, + But better far to fold it in our arms, + Than risk our cargoes in the savage horn + Of war. Shall we imperil all our wealth, + Our valuable lives? Nobles are few, + Rich men are rare, and wise men rarer still; + The precious jewels on the tree of life, + Wherein the common people are but bricks + And clay and rubble. Let the city go, + But save the corner-stones that float the ship! + Have I not spoken well? + +BENHADAD: [Shaking his head.] + Excellent well! + Most eloquent! But misty in the meaning. + +HAZAEL: [With cold decision.] + Then let me speak, O King, in plainer words! + The days of independent states are past: + The tide of empire sweeps across the earth; + Assyria rides it with resistless power + And thunders on to subjugate the world. + Oppose her, and we fight with Destiny; + Submit to her demands, and we shall ride + With her to victory. Therefore accept + The golden yoke, Assyria's gift of peace. + +NAAMAN: [Starting forward eagerly.] + There is no peace beneath a conqueror's yoke! + For every state that barters liberty + To win imperial favour, shall be drained + Of her best blood, henceforth, in endless wars + To make the empire greater. Here's the choice, + My King, we fight to keep our country free, + Or else we fight forevermore to help + Assyria bind the world as we are bound. + I am a soldier, and I know the hell + Of war! But I will gladly ride through hell + To save Damascus. Master, bid me ride! + Ten thousand chariots wait for your command; + And twenty thousand horsemen strain the leash + Of patience till you let them go; a throng + Of spearmen, archers, swordsmen, like the sea + Chafing against a dike, roar for the onset! + O master, let me launch your mighty host + Against the Bull,--we'll bring him to his knees! + + [Cries of "war!" from the soldiers and the people; + "peace!" from the courtiers and the priests. The + King rises, turning toward NAAMAN, and seems about + to speak. REZON lifts his rod.] + +REZON: + Shall not the gods decide when mortals doubt? + Rimmon is master of the city's fate; + We read his will, by our most ancient-faith, + In omens and in signs of mystery. + Must we not hearken to his high commands? + +BENHADAD: [Sinking back on the throne, submissively.] + I am the faithful son of Rimmon's House. + Consult the oracle. But who shall read? + +REZON: + Tsarpi, the wife of Naaman, who served + Within the temple in her maiden years, + Shall be the mouth-piece of the mighty god, + To-day's high-priestess. Bring the sacrifice! + + [Gongs and cymbals sound: enter priests carrying + an altar on which a lamb is bound. The altar is + placed in the centre of the hall. TSARPI follows + the priests, covered with a long transparent veil + of black, sown with gold stars; RUAHMAH, in white, + bears her train. TSARPI stands before the altar, + facing it, and lifts her right hand holding a + knife. RUAHMAH steps back, near the throne, her + hands crossed on her breast, her head bowed. The + priests close in around TSARPI and the altar. The + knife is seen to strike downward. Gongs and cymbals + sound: cries of "Rimmon, hear us!" The circle of + priests opens, and TSARPI turns slowly to face the + King.] + +TSARPI: [Monotonously.] + _Black is the blood of the victim, + Rimmon is unfavourable, + Asratu is unfavourable; + They will not war against Asshur, + They will make a league with the God of Nineveh. + Evil is in store for Damascus, + A strong enemy will lay waste the land. + Therefore make peace with the Bull; + Hearken to the voice of Rimmon._ + + [She turns again to the altar, and the priests close + in around her. REZON lifts his rod toward the tower + of the temple. A flash of lightning followed by + thunder; smoke rises from the altar; all except + NAAMAN and RUAHMAH cover their faces. The circle + of priests opens again, and TSARPI comes forward + slowly, chanting.] + + CHANT: + + _Hear the words of Rimmon! Thus your Maker speaketh: + I, the god of thunder, riding on the whirlwind, + I, the god of lightning leaping from the storm-cloud, + I will smite with vengeance him who dares defy me! + He who leads Damascus into war with Asshur, + Conquering or conquered, bears my curse upon him. + Surely shall my arrow strike his heart in secret, + Burn his flesh with fever, turn his blood to poison. + Brand him with corruption, drive him into darkness; + He shall surely perish by the doom of Rimmon._ + + [All are terrified and look toward NAAMAN, + shuddering. RUAHMAH alone seems not to heed the + curse, but stands with her eyes fixed on NAAMAN.] + +RUAHMAH: + Be not afraid! There is a greater God + Shall cover thee with His almighty wings: + Beneath his shield and buckler shalt thou trust. + +BENHADAD: + Repent, my son, thou must not brave this curse. + +NAAMAN: + My King, there is no curse as terrible + As that which lights a bosom-fire for him + Who gives away his honour, to prolong + A craven life whose every breath is shame! + If I betray the men who follow me, + The city that has put her trust in me, + What king can shield me from my own deep scorn + What god release me from that self-made hell? + The tender mercies of Assyria + I know; and they are cruel as creeping tigers. + Give up Damascus, and her streets will run + Rivers of innocent blood; the city's heart, + That mighty, labouring heart, wounded and crushed + Beneath the brutal hooves of the wild Bull, + Will cry against her captain, sitting safe + Among the nobles, in some pleasant place. + I shall be safe,--safe from the threatened wrath + Of unknown gods, but damned forever by + The men I know,--that is the curse I fear. + +BENHADAD: + Speak not so high, my son. Must we not bow + Our heads before the sovereignties of heaven? + The unseen rulers are Divine. + +NAAMAN: + O King, + I am unlearned in the lore of priests; + Yet well I know that there are hidden powers + About us, working mortal weal and woe + Beyond the force of mortals to control. + And if these powers appear in love and truth, + I think they must be gods, and worship them. + But if their secret will is manifest + In blind decrees of sheer omnipotence, + That punish where no fault is found, and smite + The poor with undeserved calamity, + And pierce the undefended in the dark + With arrows of injustice, and foredoom + The innocent to burn in endless pain, + I will not call this fierce almightiness + Divine. Though I must bear, with every man, + The burden of my life ordained, I'll keep + My soul unterrified, and tread the path + Of truth and honour with a steady heart! + Have ye not heard, my lords? The oracle + Proclaims to me, to me alone, the doom + Of vengeance if I lead the army out. + "Conquered or conquering!" I grip that chance! + Damascus free, her foes all beaten back, + The people saved from slavery, the King + Upheld in honour on his ancient throne,-- + O what's the cost of this? I'll gladly pay + Whatever gods there be, whatever price + They ask for this one victory. Give me + This gilded sign of shame to carry back; + I'll shake it in the face of Asshur's king, + And break it on his teeth. + +BENHADAD: [Rising.] + Then go, my never-beaten captain, go! + And may the powers that hear thy solemn vow + Forgive thy rashness for Damascus' sake, + Prosper thy fighting, and remit thy pledge. + +REZON: [Standing beside the altar.] + The pledge, O King, this man must seal his pledge + At Rimmon's altar. He must take the cup + Of soldier-sacrament, and bind himself + By thrice-performed libation to abide + The fate he has invoked. + +NAAMAN: [Slowly.] + And so I will. + + [He comes down the steps, toward the altar, where + REZON is filling the cup which TSARPI holds. + RUAHMAH throws herself before NAAMAN, clasping + his knees.] + +RUAHMAH: [Passionately and wildly.] + My lord, I do beseech you, stay! There's death + Within that cup. It is an offering + To devils. See, the wine blazes like fire, + It flows like blood, it is a cursed cup, + Fulfilled of treachery and hate. + Dear master, noble master, touch it not! + +NAAMAN: + Poor maid, thy brain is still distraught. Fear not, + But let me go! Here, treat her tenderly! + + [Gives her into the hands of SABALLIDIN.] + + Can harm befall me from the wife who bears + My name? I take the cup of fate from her. + I greet the unknown powers; [Pours libation.] + I will perform my vow; [Again.] + I will abide my fate; [Again.] + I pledge my life to keep Damascus free. + + [He drains the cup, and lets it fall.] + +_CURTAIN._ + + + +ACT II + + +TIME: _A week later_ + +_The fore-court of the House of Rimmon. At the back the broad + steps and double doors of the shrine; above them the tower of + the god, its summit invisible. Enter various groups of citizens, + talking, laughing, shouting: RAKHAZ, HAZAEL, SHUMAKIM and others._ + +FIRST CITIZEN: + Great news, glorious news, the Assyrians are beaten! + +SECOND CITIZEN: + Naaman is returning, crowned with victory. Glory to our noble + captain! + +THIRD CITIZEN: + No, he is killed. I had it from one of the camp-followers who + saw him fall at the head of the battle. They are bringing + his body to bury it with honour. O sorrowful victory! + +RAKHAZ: + Peace, my good fellows, you are ignorant, you have not been + rightly informed, I will misinform you. The accounts of + Naaman's death are overdrawn. He was killed, but his life + has been preserved. One of his wounds was mortal, but the + other three were curable, and by these the physicians have + saved him. + +SHUMAKIM: [Balancing himself before RAKHAZ in pretended admiration.] + O wonderful! Most admirable logic! One mortal, and three + curable, therefore he must recover as it were, by three + to one. Rakhaz, do you know that you are a marvelous man? + +RAKHAZ: + Yes, I know it, but I make no boast of my knowledge. + +SHUMAKIM: + Too modest, for in knowing this you know more than any other + in Damascus! + + [Enter, from the right, SABALLIDIN in armour: from + the left, TSARPI with her attendants, among whom + is RUAHMAH.] + +HAZAEL: + Here is Saballidin, we'll question him; + He was enflamed by Naaman's wild words, + And rode with him to battle. Give us news, + Of your great captain! Is he safe and well? + When will he come? Or will he come at all? + + [All gather around him listening eagerly.] + +SABALLIDIN: + He comes but now, returning from the field + Where he hath gained a crown of deathless fame! + Three times he led the charge; three times he fell + Wounded, and the Assyrians beat us back. + Yet every wound was but a spur to urge + His valour onward. In the last attack + He rode before us as the crested wave + That leads the flood; and lo, our enemies + Were broken like a dam of river-reeds. + The flying King encircled by his guard + Was lodged like driftwood on a little hill. + Then Naaman, who led our foremost band + Of whirlwind riders, hammered through the hedge + Of spearmen, brandishing the golden yoke. + "Take back this gift," he cried; and shattered it + On Shalmaneser's helmet. So the fight + Dissolved in universal rout; the King, + His chariots and his horsemen fled away; + Our captain stood the master of the field, + And saviour of Damascus! Now he brings, + First to the King, report of this great triumph. + + [Shouts of joy and applause.] + +RUAHMAH: [Coming close to SABALLIDIN.] + But what of him who won it? Fares he well? + My mistress would receive some word of him. + +SABALLIDIN: + Hath she not heard? + +RUAHMAH: + But one brief message came: + A letter saying, "We have fought and conquered," + No word of his own person. Fares he well? + +SABALLIDIN: + Alas, most ill! For he is like a man + Consumed by some strange sickness: wasted, wan,-- + His eyes are dimmed so that he scarce can see; + His ears are dulled; his fearless face is pale + As one who walks to meet a certain doom + Yet will not flinch. It is most pitiful,-- + But you shall see. + +RUAHMAH: + Yea, we shall see a man + Who dared to face the wrath of evil powers + Unknown, and hazard all to save his country. + + [Enter BENHADAD with courtiers.] + +BENHADAD: + Where is my faithful servant Naaman, + The captain of my host? + +SABALLIDIN: + My lord, he comes. + + [Trumpet sounds. Enter company of soldiers in + armour. Then four soldiers bearing captured + standards of Asshur. NAAMAN follows, very pale, + armour dinted and stained; he is blind, and + guides himself by cords from the standards on + each side, but walks firmly. The doors of the + temple open slightly, and REZON appears at the + top of the steps. NAAMAN lets the cords fall, + and gropes his way for a few paces.] + +NAAMAN: [Kneeling.] + Where is my King? + Master, the bearer of thy sword returns. + The golden yoke thou gavest me I broke + On him who sent it. Asshur's Bull hath fled + Dehorned. The standards of his host are thine! + Damascus is all thine, at peace, and free! + +BENHADAD: [Holding out his arms.] + Thou art a mighty man of valour! Come, + And let me fold thy courage to my heart. + +REZON: [Lifting his rod.] + Forbear, O King! Stand back from him, all men! + By the great name of Rimmon I proclaim + This man a leper! See, upon his brow, + This little mark, the death-white seal of doom! + That tiny spot will spread, eating his flesh, + Gnawing his fingers bone from bone, until + The impious heart that dared defy the gods + Dissolves in the slow death which now begins. + Unclean! unclean! Henceforward he is dead: + No human hand shall touch him, and no home + Of men shall give him shelter. He shall walk + Only with corpses of the selfsame death + Down the long path to a forgotten tomb. + Avoid, depart, I do adjure you all, + Leave him to god,--the leper Naaman! + + [All shrink back horrified. REZON retires into the + temple; the crowd melts away, wailing; TSARPI is + among the first to go, followed by her attendants, + except RUAHMAH, who crouches, with her face + covered, not far from NAAMAN.] + +BENHADAD: [Lingering and turning back.] + Alas, my son! O Naaman, my son! + Why did I let thee go? I must obey. + Who can resist the gods? Yet none shall take + Thy glorious title, captain of my host! + I will provide for thee, and thou shalt dwell + With guards of honour in a house of mine + Always. Damascus never shall forget + What thou hast done! O miserable words + Of crowned impotence! O mockery of power + Given to kings who cannot even defend + Their dearest from the secret wrath of heaven! + O Naaman, my son, my son! [Exit.] + +NAAMAN: [Slowly passing his hand over his eyes, and looking up.] + Am I alone + With thee, inexorable one, whose pride + Offended takes this horrible revenge? + I must submit my mortal flesh to thee, + Almighty, but I will not call thee god! + Yet thou hast found the way to wound my soul + Most deeply through the flesh; and I must find + The way to let my wounded soul escape! + + [Drawing his sword.] + + Come, my last friend, thou art more merciful + Than Rimmon. Why should I endure the doom + He sends me? Irretrievably cut off + From all dear intercourse of human love, + From all the tender touch of human hands, + From all brave comradeship with brother-men, + With eyes that see no faces through this dark, + With ears that hear all voices far away, + Why should I cling to misery, and grope + My long, long way from pain to pain, alone? + +RUAHMAH: [At his feet.] + Nay, not alone, dear lord, for I am here; + And I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee! + +NAAMAN: + What voice is that? The silence of my tomb + Is broken by a ray of music,--whose? + +RUAHMAH: [Rising.] + The one who loves thee best in all the world. + +NAAMAN: + Why that should be,--O dare I dream it true? + Tsarpi, my wife? Have I misjudged thy heart + As cold and proud? How nobly thou forgivest! + Thou com'st to hold me from the last disgrace,-- + The coward's flight into the dark. Go back + Unstained, my sword! Life is endurable + While there is one alive on earth who loves us. + +RUAHMAH: + My lord,--my lord,--O listen! You have erred,-- + You do mistake me now,--this dream-- + +NAAMAN: + Ah, wake me not! For I can conquer death + Dreaming this dream. Let me at last believe, + Though gods are cruel, a woman can be kind. + Grant me but this! For see,--I ask so little,-- + Only to know that thou art faithful, + That thou art near me, though I touch thee not,-- + O this will hold me up, though it be given + From pity more than love. + +RUAHMAH: [Trembling, and speaking slowly.] + Not so, my lord! + My pity is a stream; my pride of thee + Is like the sea that doth engulf the stream; + My love for thee is like the sovereign moon + That rules the sea. The tides that fill my soul + Flow unto thee and follow after thee; + And where thou goest I will go; and where + Thou diest I will die,--in the same hour. + + [She lays her hand on his arm. He draws back.] + +NAAMAN: + O touch me not! Thou shalt not share my doom. + +RUAHMAH: + Entreat me not to go. I will obey + In all but this; but rob me not of this,-- + The only boon that makes life worth the living,-- + To walk beside thee day by day, and keep + Thy foot from stumbling; to prepare thy food + When thou art hungry, music for thy rest, + And cheerful words to comfort thy black hour; + And so to lead thee ever on, and on, + Through darkness, till we find the door of hope. + +NAAMAN: + What word is that? The leper has no hope. + +RUAHMAH: + Dear lord, the mark upon thy brow is yet + No broader than my little finger-nail. + Thy force is not abated, and thy step + Is firm. Wilt thou surrender to the enemy + Before thy strength is touched? Why, let me put + A drop of courage from my breast in thine! + There is a hope for thee. The captive maid + Of Israel who dwelt within thy house + Knew of a god very compassionate, + Long-suffering, slow to anger, one who heals + The sick, hath pity on the fatherless, + And saves the poor and him who has no helper. + His prophet dwells nigh to Samaria; + And I have heard that he hath brought the dead + To life again. We'll go to him. The King, + If I beseech him, will appoint a guard + Of thine own soldiers and Saballidin, + Thy friend, to convoy us upon our journey. + He'll give us royal letters to the King + Of Israel to make our welcome sure; + And we will take the open road, beneath + The open sky, to-morrow, and go on + Together till we find the door of hope. + Come, come with me! + + [She grasps his hand.] + +NAAMAN: [Drawing back.] + Thou must not touch me! + +RUAHMAH: [Unclasping her girdle and putting the end in his hand.] + Take my girdle, then! + +NAAMAN: [Kissing the clasp of the girdle.] + I do begin to think there is a God, + Since love on earth can work such miracles: + +_CURTAIN._ + + + +ACT III + + +TIME: _A month later: dawn_ + + +SCENE I + +_NAAMAN'S tent, on high ground among the mountains near Samaria: + the city below. In the distance, a wide and splendid landscape. + SABALLIDIN and soldiers on guard below the tent. Enter RUAHMAH + in hunter's dress, with a lute slung from her shoulder._ + +RUAHMAH: + Peace and good health to you, Saballidin. + Good morrow to you all. How fares my lord? + +SABALLIDIN: + The curtains of his tent are folded still: + They have not moved since we returned, last night, + And told him what befell us in the city. + +RUAHMAH: + Told him! Why did you make report to him + And not to me? Am I not captain here, + Intrusted by the King's command with care + Of Naaman until he is restored? + 'Tis mine to know the first of good or ill + In this adventure: mine to shield his heart + From every arrow of adversity. + What have you told him? Speak! + +SABALLIDIN: + Lady, we feared + To bring our news to you. For when the King + Of Israel had read our monarch's letter, + He rent his clothes, and cried, "Am I a god, + To kill and make alive, that I should heal + A leper? Ye have come with false pretence, + Damascus seeks a quarrel with me. Go!" + But when we told our lord, he closed his tent, + And there remains enfolded in his grief. + I trust he sleeps; 'twere kind to let him sleep! + For now he doth forget his misery, + And all the burden of his hopeless woe + Is lifted from him by the gentle hand + Of slumber. Oh, to those bereft of hope + Sleep is the only blessing left,--the last + Asylum of the weary, the one sign + Of pity from impenetrable heaven. + Waking is strife; sleep is the truce of God! + Ah, lady, wake him not. The day will be + Full long for him to suffer, and for us + To turn our disappointed faces home + On the long road by which we must return. + +RUAHMAH: + Return! Who gave you that command? Not I! + The King made me the leader of this quest, + And bound you all to follow me, because + He knew I never would return without + The thing for which he sent us. I'll go on + Day after day, unto the uttermost parts + Of earth, if need be, and beyond the gates + Of morning, till I find that which I seek,-- + New life for Naaman. Are ye ashamed + To have a woman lead you? Then go back + And tell the King, "This huntress went too far + For us to follow: she pursues the trail + Of hope alone, refusing to forsake + The quarry: we grew weary of the chase; + And so we left her and retraced our steps, + Like faithless hounds, to sleep beside the fire." + Did Naaman forsake his soldiers thus + When you went forth to hunt the Assyrian Bull? + Your manly courage is less durable + Than woman's love, it seems. Go, if you will,-- + Who bids me now farewell? + +SOLDIERS: + Not I, not I! + +SABALLIDIN: + Lady, lead on, we'll follow you forever! + +RUAHMAH: + Why, now you speak like men! Brought you no word + Out of Samaria, except that cry + Of impotence and fear from Israel's King? + +SABALLIDIN: + I do remember while he spoke with us + A rustic messenger came in, and cried + "Elisha saith, bring Naaman to me + At Dothan, he shall surely know there is + A God in Israel." + +RUAHMAH: + What said the King? + +SABALLIDIN: + He only shouted "Go!" more wildly yet, + And rent his clothes again, as if he were + Half-maddened by a coward's fear, and thought + Only of how he might be rid of us. + What comfort could there be for him, what hope + For us, in the rude prophet's misty word? + +RUAHMAH: + It is the very word for which I prayed! + My trust was not in princes; for the crown, + The sceptre, and the purple robe are not + Significant of vital power. The man + Who saves his brother-men is he who lives + His life with Nature, takes deep hold on truth, + And trusts in God. A prophet's word is more + Than all the kings on earth can speak. How far + Is Dothan? + +SOLDIER: + Lady, 'tis but three hours' ride + Along the valley southward. + +RUAHMAH: + Near! so near? + I had not thought to end my task so soon! + Prepare yourselves with speed to take the road. + I will awake my lord. + + [Exeunt all but SABALLIDIN and RUAHMAH. She goes + toward the tent.] + +SABALLIDIN: + Ruahmah, stay! [She turns back.] + I've been your servant in this doubtful quest, + Obedient, faithful, loyal to your will,-- + What have I earned by this? + +RUAHMAH: + The gratitude + Of him we both desire to serve: your friend,-- + My master and my lord. + +SABALLIDIN: + No more than this? + +RUAHMAH: + Yes, if you will, take all the thanks my hands + Can hold, my lips can speak. + +SABALLIDIN: + I would have more. + +RUAHMAH: + My friend, there's nothing more to give to you. + My service to my lord is absolute. + There's not a drop of blood within my veins + But quickens at the very thought of him; + And not a dream of mine but he doth stand + Within its heart and make it bright. No man + To me is other than his friend or foe. + You are his friend, and I believe you true! + +SABALLIDIN: + I have been true to him,--now, I am true + To you. + +RUAHMAH: + Why, then, be doubly true to him. + O let us match our loyalties, and strive + Between us who shall win the higher crown! + Men boast them of a friendship stronger far + Than love of woman. Prove it! I'll not boast, + But I'll contend with you on equal terms + In this brave race: and if you win the prize + I'll hold you next to him: and if I win + He'll hold you next to me; and either way + We'll not be far apart. Do you accept + My challenge? + +SABALLIDIN: + Yes! For you enforce my heart + By honour to resign its great desire, + And love itself to offer sacrifice + Of all disloyal dreams on its own altar. + Yet love remains; therefore I pray you, think + How surely you must lose in our contention. + For I am known to Naaman: but you + He blindly takes for Tsarpi. 'Tis to her + He gives his gratitude: the praise you win + Endears her name. + +RUAHMAH: + Her name? Why, what is that? + A name is but an empty shell, a mask + That does not change the features of the face + Beneath it. Can a name rejoice, or weep, + Or hope? Can it be moved by tenderness + To daily services of love, or feel the warmth + Of dear companionship? How many things + We call by names that have no meaning! Kings + That cannot rule; and gods that are not good; + And wives that do not love! It matters not + What syllables he utters when he calls, + 'Tis I who come,--'tis I who minister + Unto my lord, and mine the living heart + That feels the comfort of his confidence, + The thrill of gladness when he speaks to me,-- + I do not hear the name! + +SABALLIDIN: + And yet, be sure + There's danger in this error,--and no gain! + +RUAHMAH: + I seek no gain: I only tread the path + Marked for me daily by the hand of love. + And if his blindness spared my lord one pang + Of sorrow in his black, forsaken hour,-- + And if this error makes his burdened heart + More quiet, and his shadowed way less dark, + Whom do I rob? Not her who chose to stay + At ease in Rimmon's House! Surely not him! + Only myself! And that enriches me. + Why trouble we the master? Let it go,-- + To-morrow he must know the truth,--and then + He shall dispose of me e'en as he will! + +SABALLIDIN: + To-morrow? + +RUAHMAH: + Yes, for I will tarry here, + While you conduct him to Elisha's house + To find the promised healing. I forebode + A sudden danger from the craven King + Of Israel, or else a secret ambush + From those who hate us in Damascus. Go, + But leave me twenty men: this mountain-pass + Protects the road behind you. Make my lord + Obey the prophet's word, whatever he commands, + And come again in peace. Farewell! + + [Exit SABALLIDIN. RUAHMAH goes toward the tent, then + pauses and turns back. She takes her lute and sings.] + + SONG + + _Above the edge of dark appear the lances of the sun; + Along the mountain-ridges clear his rosy heralds run; + The vapours down the valley go + Like broken armies, dark and low. + Look up, my heart, from every hill + In folds of rose and daffodil + The sunrise banners flow._ + + _O fly away on silent wing, ye boding owls of night! + O welcome little birds that sing the coming-in of light! + For new, and new, and ever-new, + The golden bud within the blue; + And every morning seems to say: + "There's something happy on the way, + And God sends love to you!"_ + +NAAMAN: [Appearing at the entrance of his tent.] + O let me ever wake to music! For the soul + Returns most gently then, and finds its way + By the soft, winding clue of melody, + Out of the dusky labyrinth of sleep, + Into the light. My body feels the sun + Though I behold naught that his rays reveal. + Come, thou who art my daydawn and my sight, + Sweet eyes, come close, and make the sunrise mine! + +RUAHMAH: [Coming near.] + A fairer day, dear lord, was never born + In Paradise! The sapphire cup of heaven + Is filled with golden wine: the earth, adorned + With jewel-drops of dew, unveils her face + A joyful bride, in welcome to her king. + And look! He leaps upon the Eastern hills + All ruddy fire, and claims her with a kiss. + Yonder the snowy peaks of Hermon float + Unmoving as a wind-dropt cloud. The gulf + Of Jordan, filled with violet haze, conceals + The river's winding trail with wreaths of mist. + Below us, marble-crowned Samaria thrones + Upon her emerald hill amid the Vale + Of Barley, while the plains to northward change + Their colour like the shimmering necks of doves. + The lark springs up, with morning on her wings, + To climb her singing stairway in the blue, + And all the fields are sprinkled with her joy! + +NAAMAN: + Thy voice is magical: thy words are visions! + I must content myself with them, for now + My only hope is lost: Samaria's King + Rejects our monarch's message,--hast thou heard? + "Am I a god that I should cure a leper?" + He sends me home unhealed, with angry words, + Back to Damascus and the lingering death. + +RUAHMAH: + What matter where he sends? No god is he + To slay or make alive. Elisha bids + You come to him at Dothan, there to learn + There is a God in Israel. + +NAAMAN: + I fear + That I am grown mistrustful of all gods; + Their secret counsels are implacable. + +RUAHMAH: + Fear not! There's One who rules in righteousness + High over all. + +NAAMAN: + What knowest thou of Him? + +RUAHMAH: + Oh, I have heard,--the maid of Israel,-- + Rememberest thou? She often said her God + Was merciful and kind, and slow to wrath, + And plenteous in forgiveness, pitying us + Like as a father pitieth his children. + +NAAMAN: + If there were such a God, I'd worship Him + Forever! + +RUAHMAH: + Then make haste to hear the word + His prophet promises to speak to thee! + Obey it, my dear lord, and thou shalt find + Healing and peace. The light shall fill thine eyes. + Thou wilt not need my leading any more,-- + Nor me,--for thou wilt see me, all unveiled,-- + I tremble at the thought. + +NAAMAN: + Why, what is this? + Why shouldst thou tremble? Art thou not mine own? + +RUAHMAH: [Turning to him and speaking in broken words.] + I am,--thy handmaid,--all and only thine,-- + The very pulses of my heart are thine! + Feel how they throb to comfort thee to-day-- + To-day! Because it is thy time of trouble. + + [She takes his hand and puts it to her forehead and + her lips, but before she can lay it upon her heart, + he draws away from her.] + +NAAMAN: + Thou art too dear to injure with a kiss,-- + How should I take a gift may bankrupt thee, + Or drain the fragrant chalice of thy love + With lips that may be fatal? Tempt me not + To sweet dishonour; strengthen me to wait + Until thy prophecy is all fulfilled, + And I can claim thee with a joyful heart. + +RUAHMAH: [Turning away.] + Thou wilt not need me then,--and I shall be + No more than the faint echo of a song + Heard half asleep. We shall go back to where + We stood before this journey. + +NAAMAN: + Never again! + For thou art changed by some deep miracle. + The flower of womanhood hath bloomed in thee,-- + Art thou not changed? + +RUAHMAH: + Yea, I am changed,--and changed + Again,--bewildered,--till there's nothing clear + To me but this: I am the instrument + In an Almighty hand to rescue thee + From death. This will I do,--and afterward-- + + [A trumpet is blown without.] + + Hearken, the trumpet sounds, the chariot waits. + Away, dear lord, follow the road to light! + + +SCENE II [3] + +_The house of Elisha, upon a terraced hillside. A low stone + cottage with vine-trellises and flowers; a flight of steps, + at the foot of which is NAAMAN'S chariot. He is standing in + it; SABALLIDIN beside it. Two soldiers come down the steps._ + +FIRST SOLDIER: + We have delivered my lord's greeting and his message. + +SECOND SOLDIER: + Yes, and near lost our noses in the doing of it! For + the servant slammed the door in our faces. A most + unmannerly reception! + +FIRST SOLDIER: + But I take that as a good omen. It is a mark of holy + men to keep ill-conditioned servants. Look, the + door opens, the prophet is coming. + +SECOND SOLDIER: + No, by my head, it is that notable mark of his master's + holiness, that same lantern-jawed lout of a servant. + + [GEHAZI loiters down the steps and comes to NAAMAN + with a slight obeisance.] + +GEHAZI: + My master, the prophet of Israel, sends word to Naaman + the Syrian,--are you he?---"Go wash in Jordan seven + times and be healed." + + [GEHAZI turns and goes slowly up the steps.] + +NAAMAN: + What insolence is this? Am I a man + To be put off with surly messengers? + Has not Damascus rivers more renowned + Than this rude muddy Jordan? Crystal streams, + Abana! Pharpar! flowing smoothly through + A paradise of roses? Might I not + Have bathed in them and been restored at ease? + Come up, Saballidin, and guide me home! + +SABALLIDIN: + Bethink thee, master, shall we lose our quest + Because a servant is uncouth? The road + That seeks the mountain leads us through the vale. + The prophet's word is friendly after all; + For had it been some mighty task he set, + Thou wouldst perform it. How much rather then + This easy one? Hast thou not promised her + Who waits for thy return? Wilt thou go back + To her unhealed? + +NAAMAN: + No! not for all my pride! + I'll make myself most humble for her sake, + And stoop to anything that gives me hope + Of having her. Make haste, Saballidin, + Bring me to Jordan. I will cast myself + Into that river's turbulent embrace + A hundred times, until I save my life + Or lose it! + + [Exeunt. The light fades: musical interlude. + The light increases again with ruddy sunset + shining on the door of ELISHA'S house. The + prophet appears and looks off, shading his + eyes with his hand as he descends the steps. + Trumpet blows,--NAAMAN'S call;--sound of + horses galloping and men shouting. NAAMAN + enters joyously, followed by SABALLIDIN and + soldiers, with gifts.] + +NAAMAN: + Behold a man delivered from the grave + By thee! I rose from Jordan's waves restored + To youth and vigour, as the eagle mounts + Upon the sunbeam and renews his strength! + O mighty prophet deign to take from me + These gifts too poor to speak my gratitude; + Silver and gold and jewels, damask robes,-- + +ELISHA: [Interrupting.] + As thy soul liveth I will not receive + A gift from thee, my son! Give all to Him + Whose mercy hath redeemed thee from thy plague. + +NAAMAN: + He is the only God! I worship Him! + Grant me a portion of the blessed soil + Of this most favoured land where I have found + His mercy; in Damascus will I build + An altar to His name, and praise Him there + Morning and night. There is no other God + In all the world. + +ELISHA: + Thou needst not + This load of earth to build a shrine for Him; + Yet take it if thou wilt. But be assured + God's altar is in every loyal heart, + And every flame of love that kindles there + Ascends to Him and brightens with His praise. + There is no other God! But evil Powers + Make war against Him in the darkened world; + And many temples have been built to them. + +NAAMAN: + I know them well! Yet when my master goes + To worship in the House of Rimmon, I + Must enter with him; for he trusts me, leans + Upon my hand; and when he bows himself + I cannot help but make obeisance too,-- + But not to Rimmon! To my country's King + I'll bow in love and honour. Will the Lord + Pardon thy servant in this thing? + +ELISHA: + My son, + Peace has been granted thee. 'Tis thine to find + The only way to keep it. Go in peace. + +NAAMAN: + Thou hast not answered me,--may I bow down? + +ELISHA: + The answer must be thine. The heart that knows + The perfect peace of gratitude and love, + Walks in the light and needs no other rule. + When next thou comest into Rimmon's House, + Thy heart will tell thee how to go in peace. + +_CURTAIN._ + +[3] Note that this scene is not intended to be put upon the stage, + the effect of the action upon the drama being given at the + beginning of Act IV. + + + +ACT IV + + +SCENE I + +_The interior of NAAMAN'S tent, at night. RUAHMAH alone, sleeping + on the ground. A vision appears to her through the curtains of the + tent: ELISHA standing on the hillside at Dothan: NAAMAN, restored + to sight, comes in and kneels before him. ELISHA blesses him, and + he goes out rejoicing. The vision of the prophet turns to RUAHMAH + and lifts his hand in warning._ + +ELISHA: + Daughter of Israel, what dost thou here? + Thy prayer is granted. Naaman is healed: + Mar not true service with a selfish thought. + Nothing remains for thee to do, except + Give thanks, and go whither the Lord commands. + Obey,--obey! Ere Naaman returns + Thou must depart to thine own house in Shechem. + + [The vision vanishes.] + +RUAHMAH: [Waking and rising slowly.] + A dream, a dream, a messenger of God! + O dear and dreadful vision, art thou true? + Then am I glad with all my broken heart. + Nothing remains,--nothing remains but this,-- + Give thanks, obey, depart,--and so I do. + Farewell, my master's sword! Farewell to you, + My amulet! I lay you on the hilt + His hand shall clasp again: bid him farewell + For me, since I must look upon his face + No more for ever!--Hark, what sound was that? + + [Enter soldier hurriedly.] + +SOLDIER: + Mistress, an armed troop, footmen and horse, + Mounting the hill! + +RUAHMAH: + My lord returns in triumph. + +SOLDIER: + Not so, for these are enemies; they march + In haste and silence, answering not our cries. + +RUAHMAH: + Our enemies? Then hold your ground,--on guard! + Fight! fight! Defend the pass, and drive them down. + + [Exit soldier. RUAHMAH draws NAAMAN'S sword from + the scabbard and hurries out of the tent. Confused + noise of fighting outside. Three or four soldiers + are driven in by a troop of men in disguise. + RUAHMAH follows: she is beaten to her knees, + and her sword is broken.] + +REZON: [Throwing aside the cloth which covers his face.] + Hold her! So, tiger-maid, we've found your lair + And trapped you. Where is Naaman, + Your master? + +RUAHMAH: [Rising, her arms held by two of REZON'S followers.] + He is far beyond your reach. + +REZON: + Brave captain! He has saved himself, the leper, + And left you here? + +RUAHMAH: + The leper is no more. + +REZON: + What mean you? + +RUAHMAH: + He has gone to meet his God. + +REZON: + Dead? Dead? Behold how Rimmon's wrath is swift! + Damascus shall be mine; I'll terrify + The King with this, and make my terms. But no! + False maid, you sweet-faced harlot, you have lied + To save him,--speak. + +RUAHMAH: + I am not what you say, + Nor have I lied, nor will I ever speak + A word to you, vile servant of a traitor-god. + +REZON: + Break off this little flute of blasphemy, + This ivory neck,--twist it, I say! + Give her a swift despatch after her leper! + But stay,--if he still lives he'll follow her, + And so we may ensnare him. Harm her not! + Bind her! Away with her to Rimmon's House! + Is all this carrion dead? There's one that moves,-- + A spear,--fasten him down! All quiet now? + Then back to our Damascus! Rimmon's face + Shall be made bright with sacrifice. + + [Exeunt, forcing RUAHMAH with them. Musical + interlude. A wounded soldier crawls from a + dark corner of the tent and finds the chain + with NAAMAN'S seal, which has fallen to the + ground in the struggle.] + +WOUNDED SOLDIER: + The signet of my lord, her amulet! + Lost, lost! Ah, noble lady,--let me die + With this upon my breast. + + [The tent is dark. Enter NAAMAN and his company + in haste, with torches.] + +NAAMAN: + What bloody work + Is here? God, let me live to punish him + Who wrought this horror! Treacherously slain + At night, by unknown hands, my brave companions: + Tsarpi, my best beloved, light of my soul, + Put out in darkness! O my broken lamp + Of life, where art thou? Nay, I cannot find her. + +WOUNDED SOLDIER: [Raising himself on his arm.] + Master! + +NAAMAN: [Kneels beside him.] + One living? Quick, a torch this way! + Lift up his head,--so,--carefully! + Courage, my friend, your captain is beside you. + Call back your soul and make report to him. + +WOUNDED SOLDIER: + Hail, captain! O my captain,--here! + +NAAMAN: + Be patient,--rest in peace,--the fight is done. + Nothing remains but render your account. + +WOUNDED SOLDIER: + They fell upon us suddenly,--we fought + Our fiercest,--every man,--our lady fought + Fiercer than all. They beat us down,--she's gone. + Rezon has carried her away a captive. See,-- + Her amulet,--I die for you, my captain. + +NAAMAN: [He gently lays the dead soldier on the ground, and rises.] + Farewell. This last report was brave; but strange + Beyond my thought! How came the High Priest here? + And what is this? my chain, my seal! But this + Has never been in Tsarpi's hand. I gave + This signet to a captive maid one night,-- + A maid of Israel. How long ago? + Ruahmah was her name,--almost forgotten! + So long ago,--how comes this token here? + What is this mystery, Saballidin? + +SABALLIDIN: + Ruahmah is her name who brought you hither. + +NAAMAN: + Where then is Tsarpi? + +SABALLIDIN: + In Damascus. + She left you when the curse of Rimmon fell,-- + Took refuge in his House,--and there she waits + Her lord's return,--Rezon's return. + +NAAMAN: + 'Tis false! + +SABALLIDIN: + The falsehood is in her. She hath been friend + With Rezon in his priestly plot to win + Assyria's favour,--friend to his design + To sell his country to enrich his temple,-- + And friend to him in more,--I will not name it. + +NAAMAN: + Nor will I credit it. Impossible! + +SABALLIDIN: + Did she not plead with you against the war, + Counsel surrender, seek to break your will? + +NAAMAN: + She did not love my work, a soldier's task. + She never seemed to be at one with me + Until I was a leper. + +SABALLIDIN: + From whose hand + Did you receive the sacred cup? + +NAAMAN: + From hers. + +SABALLIDIN: + And from that hour the curse began to work. + +NAAMAN: + But did she not have pity when she saw + Me smitten? Did she not beseech the King + For letters and a guard to make this journey? + Has she not been the fountain of my hope, + My comforter and my most faithful guide + In this adventure of the dark? All this + Is proof of perfect love that would have shared + A leper's doom rather than give me up. + Can I doubt her who dared to love like this? + +SABALLIDIN: + O master, doubt her not,--but know her name; + Ruahmah! It was she alone who wrought + This wondrous work of love. She won the King + To furnish forth this company. She led + Our march, kept us in heart, fought off despair, + Watched over you as if you were her child, + Prepared your food, your cup, with her own hands, + Sang you asleep at night, awake at dawn,-- + +NAAMAN: [Interrupting.] + Enough! I do remember every hour + Of that sweet comradeship! And now her voice + Wakens the echoes in my lonely breast. + Shall I not see her, thank her, speak her name? + Ruahmah! Let me live till I have looked + Into her eyes and called her my Ruahmah! + + [To his soldiers.] + + Away! away! I burn to take the road + That leads me back to Rimmon's House,-- + But not to bow,--by God, never to bow! + + +SCENE II + +TIME: _Three days later_ + +_Inner court of the House of Rimmon; a temple with huge pillars at + each side. In the right foreground the seat of the King; at the + left, of equal height, the seat of the High Priest. In the + background a broad flight of steps, rising to a curtain of cloudy + gray, embroidered with two gigantic hands holding thunderbolts. + The temple is in half darkness at first. Enter KHAMMA and NUBTA, + robed as Kharimati, or religious dancers, in gowns of black gauze + with yellow embroideries and mantles._ + +KHAMMA: + All is ready for the rites of worship; our lady will play + a great part in them. She has put on her Tyrian robes, + and all her ornaments. + +NUBTA: + That is a sure sign of a religious purpose. She is most + devout, our lady Tsarpi! + +KHAMMA: + A favourite of Rimmon, too! The High Priest has assured + her of it. He is a great man,--next to the King, now + that Naaman is gone. + +NUBTA: + But if Naaman should come back, healed of the leprosy? + +KHAMMA: + How can he come back? The Hebrew slave that went away + with him, when they caught her, said that he was dead. + The High Priest has shut her up in the prison of the + temple, accusing her of her master's death. + +NUBTA: + Yet I think he does not believe it, for I heard him telling + our mistress what to do if Naaman should return. + +KHAMMA: + What, then? + +NUBTA: + She will claim him as her husband. Was she not wedded to + him before the god? That is a sacred bond. Only the High + Priest can loose it. She will keep her hold on Naaman + for the sake of the House of Rimmon. A wife knows her + husband's secrets, she can tell-- + + [Enter SHUMAKIM, with his flagon, walking unsteadily.] + +KHAMMA: + Hush! here comes the fool Shumakim. He is never sober. + +SHUMAKIM: [Laughing.] + Are there two of you? I see two, but that is no proof. + I think there is only one, but beautiful enough for + two. What were you talking to yourself about, fairest + one! + +KHAMMA: + About the lady Tsarpi, fool, and what she would do if + her husband returned. + +SHUMAKIM: + Fie! fie! That is no talk for an innocent fool to hear. + Has she a husband? + +NUBTA: + You know very well that she is the wife of Lord Naaman. + +SHUMAKIM: + I remember that she used to wear his name and his jewels. + But I thought he had exchanged her,--for a leprosy. + +KHAMMA: + You must have heard that he went away to Samaria to look + for healing. Some say that he died on the journey; but + others say he has been cured, and is on his way home + to his wife. + +SHUMAKIM: + It may be, for this is a mad world, and men never know + when they are well off,--except us fools. But he must + come soon if he would find his wife as he parted from + her,--or the city where he left it. The Assyrians have + returned with a greater army, and this time they will + make an end of us. There is no Naaman now, and the Bull + will devour Damascus like a bunch of leeks, flowers and + all,--flowers and all, my double-budded fair one! Are + you not afraid? + +NUBTA: + We belong to the House of Rimmon. He will protect us. + +SHUMAKIM: + What? The mighty one who hides behind the curtain there, + and tells his secrets to Rezon? No doubt he will take + care of you, and of himself. Whatever game is played, + the gods never lose. But for the protection of the + common people and the rest of us fools, I would rather + have Naaman at the head of an army than all the sacred + images between here and Babylon. + +KHAMMA: + You are a wicked old man. You mock the god. He will + punish you. + +SHUMAKIM: [Bitterly.] + How can he punish me? Has he not already made me a fool? + Hark, here comes my brother the High Priest, and my + brother the King. Rimmon made us all; but nobody knows + who made Rimmon, except the High Priest; and he will + never tell. + +[Gongs and cymbals sound. Enter REZON with priests, and the + King with courtiers. They take their seats. A throng of Khali + and Kharimati come in, TSARPI presiding; a sacred dance is + performed with torches, burning incense, and chanting, in + which TSARPI leads.] + + CHANT + + _Hail, mighty Rimmon, ruler of the whirl-storm, + Hail, shaker of mountains, breaker-down of forests, + Hail, thou who roarest terribly in the darkness, + Hail, thou whose arrows flame across the heavens! + Hail, great destroyer, lord of flood and tempest, + In thine anger almighty, in thy wrath eternal, + Thou who delightest in ruin, maker of desolations, + Immeru, Addu, Berku, Rimmon! + See we tremble before thee, low we bow at thine altar, + Have mercy upon us, be favourable unto us, + Save us from our enemy, accept our sacrifice, + Barku, Immeru, Addu, Rimmon!_ + + [Silence follows, all bowing down.] + +REZON: + O King, last night the counsel from above + Was given in answer to our divination. + Ambassadors must go forthwith to crave + Assyria's pardon, and a second offer + Of the same terms of peace we did reject + Not long ago. + +BENHADAD: + Dishonour! Yet I see + No other way! Assyria will refuse, + Or make still harder terms. Disaster, shame + For this gray head, and ruin for Damascus! + +REZON: + Yet may we trust Rimmon will favour us, + If we adhere devoutly to his worship. + He will incline his brother-god, the Bull, + To spare us, if we supplicate him now + With costly gifts. Therefore I have prepared + A sacrifice: Rimmon shall be well pleased + With the red blood that bathes his knees to-night! + +BENHADAD: + My mind is dark with doubt,--I do forebode + Some horror! Let me go,--I am an old man,-- + If Naaman my captain were alive! + But he is dead,--the glory is departed! + + [He rises, trembling, to leave the throne. Trumpet + sounds,--NAAMAN'S call;--enter NAAMAN, followed + by soldiers; he kneels at the foot of the throne.] + +BENHADAD: [Half-whispering.] + Art thou a ghost escaped from Allatu? + How didst thou pass the seven doors of death? + O noble ghost I am afraid of thee, + And yet I love thee,--let me hear thy voice! + +NAAMAN: + No ghost, my King, but one who lives to serve + Thee and Damascus with his heart and sword + As in the former days. The only God + Has healed my leprosy: my life is clean + To offer to my country and my King. + +BENHADAD: [Starting toward him.] + O welcome to thy King! Thrice welcome! + +REZON: [Leaving his seat and coming toward NAAMAN.] + Stay! + The leper must appear before the priest, + The only one who can pronounce him clean. + + [NAAMAN turns; they stand looking each other in the face.] + + Yea,--thou art cleansed: Rimmon hath pardoned thee,-- + In answer to the daily prayers of her + Whom he restores to thine embrace,--thy wife. + + [TSARPI comes slowly toward NAAMAN.] + +NAAMAN: + From him who rules this House will I receive + Nothing! I seek no pardon from his priest, + No wife of mine among his votaries! + +TSARPI: [Holding out her hands.] + Am I not yours? Will you renounce our vows? + +NAAMAN: + The vows were empty,--never made you mine + In aught but name. A wife is one who shares + Her husband's thought, incorporates his heart + With hers by love, and crowns him with her trust. + She is God's remedy for loneliness, + And God's reward for all the toil of life. + This you have never been to me,--and so + I give you back again to Rimmon's House + Where you belong. Claim what you will of mine,-- + Not me! I do renounce you,--or release you,-- + According to the law. If you demand + A further cause than what I have declared, + I will unfold it fully to the King. + +REZON: [Interposing hurriedly.] + No need of that! This duteous lady yields + To your caprice as she has ever done: + She stands a monument of loyalty + And woman's meekness. + +NAAMAN: + Let her stand for that! + Adorn your temple with her piety! + But you in turn restore to me the treasure + You stole at midnight from my tent. + +REZON: + What treasure! I have stolen none from you. + +NAAMAN: + The very jewel of my soul,--Ruahmah! + My King, the captive maid of Israel, + To whom thou didst commit my broken life + With letters to Samaria,--my light, + My guide, my saviour in this pilgrimage,-- + Dost thou remember? + +BENHADAD: + I recall the maid,-- + But dimly,--for my mind is old and weary, + She was a fearless maid, I trusted her + And gave thee to her charge. Where is she now? + +NAAMAN: + This robber fell upon my camp by night,-- + While I was with Elisha at the Jordan,-- + Slaughtered my soldiers, carried off the maid, + And holds her somewhere in imprisonment. + O give this jewel back to me, my King, + And I will serve thee with a grateful heart + For ever. I will fight for thee, and lead + Thine armies on to glorious victory + Over all foes! Thou shalt no longer fear + The host of Asshur, for thy throne shall stand + Encompassed with a wall of dauntless hearts, + And founded on a mighty people's love, + And guarded by the God of righteousness. + +BENHADAD: + I feel the flame of courage at thy breath + Leap up among the ashes of despair. + Thou hast returned to save us! Thou shalt have + The maid; and thou shalt lead my host again! + Priest, I command you give her back to him. + +REZON: + O master, I obey thy word as thou + Hast ever been obedient to the voice + Of Rimmon. Let thy fiery captain wait + Until the sacrifice has been performed, + And he shall have the jewel that he claims. + Must we not first placate the city's god + With due allegiance, keep the ancient faith, + And pay our homage to the Lord of Wrath? + +BENHADAD: [Sinking back upon his throne in fear.] + I am the faithful son of Rimmon's House,-- + And lo, these many years I worship him! + My thoughts are troubled,--I am very old, + But still a King! O Naaman, be patient! + Priest, let the sacrifice be offered. + + [The High Priest lifts his rod. Gongs and cymbals + sound. The curtain is rolled back, disclosing + the image of Rimmon; a gigantic and hideous idol, + with a cruel human face, four horns, the mane of + a lion, and huge paws stretched in front of him + enclosing a low altar of black stone. RUAHMAH + stands on the altar, chained, her arms are bare + and folded on her breast. The people prostrate + themselves in silence, with signs of astonishment + and horror.] + +REZON: + Behold the sacrifice! Bow down, bow down! + +NAAMAN: [Stabbing him.] + Bow thou, black priest! Down,--down to hell! + Ruahmah! do not die! I come to thee. + + [NAAMAN rushes toward her, attacked by the priests, + crying "Sacrilege! Kill him!" But the soldiers + stand on the steps and beat them back. He springs + upon the altar and clasps her by the hand. Tumult + and confusion. The King rises and speaks with a + loud voice, silence follows.] + +BENHADAD: + Peace, peace! The King commands all weapons down! + O Naaman, what wouldst thou do? Beware + Lest thou provoke the anger of a god. + +NAAMAN: + There is no God but one, the Merciful, + Who gave this perfect woman to my soul + That I might learn through her to worship Him, + And know the meaning of immortal Love. + +BENHADAD: [Agitated.] + Yet she is consecrated, bound, and doomed + To sacrificial death; but thou art sworn + To live and lead my host,--Hast thou not sworn? + +NAAMAN: + Only if thou wilt keep thy word to me! + Break with this idol of iniquity + Whose shadow makes a darkness in the land; + Give her to me who gave me back to thee; + And I will lead thine army to renown + And plant thy banners on the hill of triumph. + But if she dies, I die with her, defying Rimmon. + + [Cries of "Spare them! Release her! Give us back + our Captain!" and "Sacrilege! Let them die!" Then + silence, all turning toward the King.] + +BENHADAD: + Is this the choice? Must we destroy the bond + Of ancient faith, or slay the city's living hope! + I am an old, old man,--and yet the King! + Must I decide?--O let me ponder it! + + [His head sinks upon his breast. All stand eagerly + looking at him.] + +NAAMAN: + Ruahmah, my Ruahmah! I have come + To thee at last! And art thou satisfied? + +RUAHMAH: [Looking into his face.] + Beloved, my beloved, I am glad + Of all, and glad for ever, come what may. + Nothing can harm me,--since my lord is come! + + + + +APPENDIX + +CARMINA FESTIVA + + + +THE LITTLE-NECK CLAM + +A modern verse-sequence, showing how a native American subject, +strictly realistic, may be treated in various manners adapted +to the requirements of different magazines, thus combining +Art-for-Art's-Sake with Writing-for-the-Market. Read at the +First Dinner of the American Periodical Publishers' Association, +in Washington, April, 1904. + + +I + +THE ANTI-TRUST CLAM + +For _McClure's Magazine_ + + The clam that once, on Jersey's banks, + Was like the man who dug it, free, + Now slave-like thro' the market clanks + In chains of corporate tyranny. + + The Standard Fish-Trust of New York + Holds every clam-bank in control; + And like base Beef and menial Pork, + The free-born Clam has lost its soul. + + No more the bivalve treads the sands + In freedom's rapture, free from guilt: + It follows now the harsh commands + Of Morgiman and Rockabilt. + + Rise, freemen, rise! Your wrath is just! + Call on the Sherman Act to dam + The floods of this devouring Trust, + And liberate the fettered Clam. + + +II + +THE WHITMANIAC CLAM + +For the _Bookman_ + + Not Dante when he wandered by the river Arno, + Not Burns who plowed the banks and braes of bonnie Ayr, + Not even Shakspere on the shores of Avon,--ah, no! + Not one of those great bards did taste true Poet's Fare. + + But Whitman, loafing in Long Island and New Jersey, + Found there the sustenance of mighty ode and psalm, + And while his rude emotions swam around in verse, he + Fed chiefly on the wild, impassioned, sea-born clam. + + Thus in his work we feel the waves' bewildering motion, + And winds from mighty mud-flats, weird and wild: + His clam-filled bosom answered to the voice of ocean, + And rose and fell responsively with every tide. + + +III + +IL MERCATORE ITALIANO DELLA CLAMMA + +For the _Century Magazine_ + + "Clam O! Fres' Clam!" How strange it sounds and sweet, + The Dago's cry along the New York street! + "Dago" we call him, like the thoughtless crowd; + And yet this humble man may well be proud + To hail from Petrarch's land, Boccaccio's home,-- + Firenze, Gubbio, Venezia, Rome,-- + From fair Italia, whose enchanted soil + Transforms the lowly cotton-seed to olive-oil. + + To me his chant, with alien accent sung, + Brings back an echo of great Virgil's tongue: + It seems to cry against the city's woe, + In liquid Latin syllables,--_Clamo_! + As thro' the crowded street his cart he jams + And cries aloud, ah, think of more than clams! + Receive his secret plaint with pity warm, + And grant Italia's plea for Tenement-House Reform! + + +IV + +THE SOCIAL CLAM + +For the _Smart Set_ + + Fair Phyllis is another's bride: + Therefore I like to sit beside + Her at a very smart set dinner, + And whisper love, and try to win her. + + The little-necks,--in number six,-- + That from their pearly shells she picks + And swallows whole,--ah, is it selfish + To wish my heart among those shell-fish? + + "But Phyllis is another's wife; + And if she should absorb thy life + 'Twould leave thy bosom vacant."--Well, + I'd keep at least the empty shell! + + +V + +THE RECREANT CLAM + +For the _Outlook_ + + Low dost thou lie amid the languid ooze, + Because thy slothful spirit doth refuse + The bliss of battle and the strain of strife. + Rise, craven clam, and lead the strenuous life! + + + +A FAIRY TALE + +For the Mark Twain Dinner, December 5, 1905 + + + Some three-score years and ten ago + A prince was born at Florida, Mo.; + And though he came _incognito_, + With just the usual yells of woe, + The watchful fairies seemed to know + Precisely what the row meant; + For when he was but five days old, + (December fifth as I've been told,) + They pattered through the midnight cold, + And came around his crib, to hold + A "Council of Endowment." + + "I give him Wit," the eldest said, + And stooped above the little bed, + To touch his forehead round and red. + "Within this bald, unfurnished head, + Where wild luxuriant locks shall spread + And wave in years hereafter, + I kindle now the lively spark, + That still shall flash by day and dark, + And everywhere he goes shall mark + His way with light and laughter." + + The fairies laughed to think of it + That such a rosy, wrinkled bit + Of flesh should be endowed with Wit! + But something serious seemed to hit + The mind of one, as if a fit + Of fear had come upon her. + "I give him Truth," she quickly cried, + "That laughter may not lead aside + To paths where scorn and falsehood hide,-- + I give him Truth and Honour!" + + "I give him Love," exclaimed the third; + And as she breathed the mystic word, + I know not if the baby heard, + But softly in his dream he stirred, + And twittered like a little bird, + And stretched his hands above him. + The fairy's gift was sealed and signed + With kisses twain the deed to bind: + "A heart of love to human-kind, + And human-kind to love him!" + + "Now stay your giving!" cried the Queen. + "These gifts are passing rich I ween; + And if reporters should be mean + Enough to spy upon this scene, + 'Twould make all other babies green + With envy at the rumour. + Yet since I love this child, forsooth, + I'll mix your gifts, Wit, Love and Truth, + With spirits of Immortal Youth, + And call the mixture Humour!" + + The fairies vanished with their glittering train; + But here's the Prince with all their gifts,--_Mark Twain_. + + + +THE BALLAD OF THE SOLEMN ASS + +Recited at the Century Club, New York: Twelfth Night. 1906 + + + Come all ye good Centurions and wise men of the times, + You've made a Poet Laureate, now you must hear his rhymes. + Extend your ears and I'll respond by shortening up my tale:-- + Man cannot live by verse alone, he must have cakes and ale. + + So while you wait for better things and muse on schnapps and salad, + I'll try my Pegasus his wings and sing a little ballad: + A legend of your ancestors, the Wise Men of the East, + Who brought among their baggage train a quaint and curious beast. + + Their horses were both swift and strong, and we should think it lucky + If we could buy, by telephone, such horses from Kentucky; + Their dromedaries paced along, magnificent and large, + Their camels were as stately as if painted by La Farge. + + But this amazing little ass was never satisfied, + He made more trouble every day than all the rest beside: + His ears were long, his legs were short, his eyes were bleared and dim, + But nothing in the wide, wide world was good enough for him. + + He did not like the way they went, but lifted up his voice + And said that any other way would be a better choice. + He braced his feet and stood his ground, and made the wise men wait, + While with his heels at all around he did recalcitrate. + + It mattered not how fair the land through which the road might run, + He found new causes for complaint with every Morning Sun: + And when the shades of twilight fell and all the world grew nappy, + They tied him to his Evening Post, but still he was not happy. + + He thought his load was far too large, he thought his food was bad, + He thought the Star a poor affair, he thought the Wise Men mad: + He did not like to hear them laugh,--'twas childish to be jolly; + And if perchance they sang a hymn,--'twas sentimental folly! + + So day by day this little beast performed his level best + To make their life, in work and play, a burden to the rest: + And when they laid them down at night, he would not let them sleep, + But criticized the Universe with hee-haws loud and deep. + + One evening, as the Wise Men sat before their fire-lit tent, + And ate and drank and talked and sang, in grateful merriment, + The solemn donkey butted in, in his most solemn way, + And broke the happy meeting up with a portentous bray. + + "Now by my head," Balthazar said (his real name was Choate), + "We've had about enough of this! I'll put it to the vote. + I move the donkey be dismissed; let's turn him out to grass, + And travel on our cheerful way, without the solemn ass." + + The vote was aye! and with a whack the Wise Men drove him out; + But still he wanders up and down, and all the world about; + You'll know him by his long, sad face and supercilious ways, + And likewise by his morning kicks and by his evening brays. + + But while we sit at Eagle Roost and make our Twelfth Night cheer, + Full well we know the solemn ass will not disturb us here: + For pleasure rules the roost to-night, by order of the King, + And every one must play his part, and laugh, and likewise sing. + + The road of life is long, we know, and often hard to find, + And yet there's many a pleasant turn for men of cheerful mind: + We've done our day's work honestly, we've earned the right to rest, + We'll take a cup of friendship now and spice it with a jest. + + A silent health to absent friends, their memories are bright! + A hearty health to all who keep the feast with us to-night! + A health to dear Centuria, oh, may she long abide! + A health, a health to all the world,--and the solemn ass, _outside_! + + + +A BALLAD OF SANTA CLAUS + +For the St. Nicholas Society of New York + + + Among the earliest saints of old, before the first Hegira, + I find the one whose name we hold, St. Nicholas of Myra: + The best-beloved name, I guess, in sacred nomenclature,-- + The patron-saint of helpfulness, and friendship, and good-nature. + + A bishop and a preacher too, a famous theologian, + He stood against the Arian crew and fought them like a Trojan: + But when a poor man told his need and begged an alms in trouble, + He never asked about his creed, but quickly gave him double. + + Three pretty maidens, so they say, were longing to be married; + But they were paupers, lack-a-day, and so the suitors tarried. + St. Nicholas gave each maid a purse of golden ducats chinking, + And then, for better or for worse, they wedded quick as winking. + + Once, as he sailed, a storm arose; wild waves the ship surrounded; + The sailors wept and tore their clothes, and shrieked "We'll all be + drownded!" + St. Nicholas never turned a hair; serenely shone his halo; + He simply said a little prayer, and all the billows lay low. + + The wicked keeper of an inn had three small urchins taken, + And cut them up in a pickle-bin, and salted them for bacon. + St. Nicholas came and picked them out, and put their limbs together,-- + They lived, they leaped, they gave a shout, "St. Nicholas forever!" + + And thus it came to pass, you know, that maids without a nickel, + And sailor-lads when tempest blow, and children in a pickle, + And every man that's fatherly, and every kindly matron, + In choosing saints would all agree to call St. Nicholas patron. + + He comes again at Christmas-time and stirs us up to giving; + He rings the merry bells that chime good-will to all the living; + He blesses every friendly deed and every free donation; + He sows the secret, golden seed of love through all creation. + + Our fathers drank to Santa Claus, the sixth of each December, + And still we keep his feast because his virtues we remember. + Among the saintly ranks he stood, with smiling human features, + And said, "_Be good! But not too good to love your fellow-creatures!_" + +December 6, 1907. + + + +ARS AGRICOLARIS + +An Ode for the "Farmer's Dinner," University Club, New York, +January 23, 1913 + + + All hail, ye famous Farmers! + Ye vegetable-charmers, + Who know the art of making barren earth + Smile with prolific mirth + And bring forth twins or triplets at a birth! + Ye scientific fertilizers of the soil, + And horny-handed sons of toil! + To-night from all your arduous cares released, + With manly brows no longer sweat-impearled, + Ye hold your annual feast, + And like the Concord farmers long ago, + Ye meet above the "Bridge" below, + And draw the cork heard round the world! + + What memories are yours! What tales + Of triumph have your tongues rehearsed, + Telling how ye have won your first + Potatoes from the stubborn mead, + (Almost as many as ye sowed for seed!) + And how the luscious cabbages and kails + Have bloomed before you in their bed + At seven dollars a head! + And how your onions took a prize + For bringing tears into the eyes + Of a hard-hearted cook! And how ye slew + The Dragon Cut-worm at a stroke! + And how ye broke, + Routed, and put to flight the horrid crew + Of vile potato-bugs and Hessian flies! + And how ye did not quail + Before th' invading armies of San Jose Scale, + But met them bravely with your little pail + Of poison, which ye put upon each tail + O' the dreadful beasts and made their courage fail! + And how ye did acquit yourselves like men + In fields of agricultural strife, and then, + Like generous warriors, sat you down at ease + And gently to your gardener said, "Let us have _Pease_!" + + But _were_ there Pease? Ah, no, dear Farmers, no! + The course of Nature is not ordered so. + For when we want a vegetable most, + She holds it back; + And when we boast + To our week-endly friends + Of what we'll give them on our farm, alack, + Those things the old dam, Nature, never sends. + + O Pease in bottles, Sparrow-grass in jars, + How often have ye saved from scars + Of shame, and deep embarrassment, + The disingenuous farmer-gent, + To whom some wondering guest has cried, + "How _do_ you raise such Pease and Sparrow-grass?" + Whereat the farmer-gent has not denied + The compliment, but smiling has replied, + "To raise such things you must have lots of glass." + + From wiles like these, true Farmers, hold aloof; + Accept no praise unless you have the proof. + If niggard Nature should withhold the green + And sugary Pea, welcome the humble Bean. + Even the easy Radish, and the Beet, + If grown by your own toil are extra sweet. + Let malefactors of great wealth and banker-felons + Rejoice in foreign artichokes, imported melons; + But you, my Farmers, at your frugal board + Spread forth the fare your Sabine Farms afford. + Say to Maecenas, when he is your guest, + "No peaches! try this turnip, 'tis my best." + Thus shall ye learn from labors in the field + What honesty a farmer's life may yield, + And like G. Washington in early youth, + Though cherries fail, produce a crop of truth. + + But think me not too strict, O followers of the plough; + Some place for fiction in your lives I would allow. + In January when the world is drear, + And bills come in, and no results appear, + And snow-storms veil the skies, + And ice the streamlet clogs, + Then may you warm your heart with pleasant lies + And revel in the seedsmen's catalogues! + What visions and what dreams are these + Of cauliflower obese,-- + Of giant celery, taller than a mast,-- + Of strawberries + Like red pincushions, round and vast,-- + Of succulent and spicy gumbo,-- + Of cantaloupes, as big as Jumbo,-- + Of high-strung beans without the strings,-- + And of a host of other wild, romantic things! + + Why, then, should Doctor Starr declare + That modern habits mental force impair? + And why should H. Marquand complain + That jokes as good as his will never come again? + And why should Bridges wear a gloomy mien + About the lack of fiction for his Magazine? + The seedsman's catalogue is all we need + To stir our dull imaginations + To new creations, + And lead us, by the hand + Of Hope, into a fairy-land. + + So dream, my friendly Farmers, as you will; + And let your fancy all your garners fill + With wondrous crops; but always recollect + That Nature gives us less than we expect. + Scorn not the city where you earn the wealth + That, spent upon your farms, renews your health; + And tell your wife, whene'er the bills have shocked her, + "A country-place is cheaper than a doctor." + May roses bloom for you, and may you find + Your richest harvest in a tranquil mind. + +[Transcriber's note: "fertilizers" above was "fetilizers" +in the original.] + + + +ANGLER'S FIRESIDE SONG + + + Oh, the angler's path is a very merry way, + And his road through the world is bright; + For he lives with the laughing stream all day, + And he lies by the fire at night. + + Sing hey nonny, ho nonny + And likewise well-a-day! + The angler's life is a very jolly life + And that's what the anglers say! + + Oh, the angler plays for the pleasure of the game, + And his creel may be full or light, + But the tale that he tells will be just the same + When he lies by the fire at night. + + Sing hey nonny, ho nonny + And likewise well-a-day! + We love the fire and the music of the lyre, + And that's what the anglers say! + +To the San Francisco Fly-Casting Club, April, 1913. + + + +HOW SPRING COMES TO SHASTA JIM + + + I never seen no "red gods"; I dunno wot's a "lure"; + But if it's sumpin' takin', then Spring has got it sure; + An' it doesn't need no Kiplins, ner yet no London Jacks, + To make up guff about it, w'ile settin' in their shacks. + + It's sumpin' very simple 'at happens in the Spring, + But it changes all the lookin's of every blessed thing; + The buddin' woods look bigger, the mounting twice as high, + But the house looks kindo smaller, tho I couldn't tell ye why. + + It's cur'ous wot a show-down the month of April makes, + Between the reely livin', an' the things 'at's only fakes! + Machines an' barns an' buildin's, they never give no sign; + But the livin' things look lively w'en Spring is on the line. + + She doesn't come too suddin, ner she doesn't come too slow; + Her gaits is some cayprishus, an' the next ye never know,-- + A single-foot o' sunshine, a buck o' snow er hail,-- + But don't be disapp'inted, fer Spring ain't goin' ter fail. + + She's loopin' down the hillside,--the driffs is fadin' out. + She's runnin' down the river,--d'ye see them risin' trout? + She's loafin' down the canyon,--the squaw-bed's growin' blue, + An' the teeny Johnny-jump-ups is jest a-peekin' thru. + + A thousan' miles o' pine-trees, with Douglas firs between, + Is waitin' fer her fingers to freshen up their green; + With little tips o' brightness the firs 'ill sparkle thick, + An' every yaller pine-tree, a giant candle-stick! + + The underbrush is risin' an' spreadin' all around, + Jest like a mist o' greenness 'at hangs above the ground; + A million manzanitas 'ill soon be full o' pink; + So saddle up, my sonny,--it's time to ride, I think! + + We'll ford er swim the river, becos there ain't no bridge; + We'll foot the gulches careful, an' lope along the ridge; + We'll take the trail to Nowhere, an' travel till we tire, + An' camp beneath a pine-tree, an' sleep beside the fire. + + We'll see the blue-quail chickens, an' hear 'em pipin' clear; + An' p'raps we'll sight a brown-bear, er else a bunch o' deer; + But nary a heathen goddess or god 'ill meet our eyes; + For why? There isn't any! They're jest a pack o' lies! + + Oh, wot's the use o' "red gods," an' "Pan," an' all that stuff? + The natcheral facts o' Springtime is wonderful enuff! + An' if there's Someone made 'em, I guess He understood, + To be alive in Springtime would make a man feel good. + +California, 1913. + + + +A BUNCH OF TROUT-FLIES + +For Archie Rutledge + + + Here's a half-a-dozen flies, + Just about the proper size + For the trout of Dickey's Run,-- + Luck go with them every one! + + Dainty little feathered beauties, + Listen now, and learn your duties: + Not to tangle in the box; + Not to catch on logs or rocks, + Boughs that wave or weeds that float, + Nor in the angler's "pants" or coat! + Not to lure the glutton frog + From his banquet in the bog; + Nor the lazy chub to fool, + Splashing idly round the pool; + Nor the sullen horned pout + From the mud to hustle out! + + None of this vulgarian crew, + Dainty flies, is game for you. + Darting swiftly through the air + Guided by the angler's care, + Light upon the flowing stream + Like a winged fairy dream; + Float upon the water dancing, + Through the lights and shadows glancing, + Till the rippling current brings you, + And with quiet motion swings you, + Where a speckled beauty lies + Watching you with hungry eyes. + + Here's your game and here's your prize! + Hover near him, lure him, tease him, + Do your very best to please him, + Dancing on the water foamy, + Like the frail and fair Salome, + Till the monarch yields at last; + Rises, and you have him fast! + Then remember well your duty,-- + Do not lose, but land, your booty; + For the finest fish of all is + _Salvelinus Fontinalis._ + + So, you plumed illusions, go, + Let my comrade Archie know + Every day he goes a-fishing + I'll be with him in well-wishing. + Most of all when lunch is laid + In the dappled orchard shade, + With Will, Corinne, and Dixie too, + Sitting as we used to do + Round the white cloth on the grass + While the lazy hours pass, + And the brook's contented tune + Lulls the sleepy afternoon,-- + Then's the time my heart will be + With that pleasant company! + +June 17, 1913. + + + + +INDEX OF FIRST LINES + + + A deeper crimson in the rose, + A fir-tree standeth lonely + A flawless cup: how delicate and fine + A little fir grew in the midst of the wood + A mocking question! Britain's answer came + A silent world,--yet full of vital joy + A silken curtain veils the skies, + A tear that trembles for a little while + Across a thousand miles of sea, a hundred leagues of land, + Afterthought of summer's bloom! + Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days, + All along the Brazos River, + All day long in the city's canyon-street, + All hail, ye famous Farmers! + All night long, by a distant bell + All the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still, + Among the earliest saints of old, before the first Hegira + At dawn in silence moves the mighty stream, + At sunset, when the rosy light was dying + + Children of the elemental mother, + "Clam O! Fres' Clam!" How strange it sounds and sweet, + Come all ye good Centurions and wise men of the times, + Come, give me back my life again, you heavy-handed Death! + Come home, my love, come home! + Could every time-worn heart but see Thee once again, + Count not the cost of honour to the dead! + + Daughter of Psyche, pledge of that wild night + Dear Aldrich, now November's mellow days + Dear to my heart are the ancestral dwellings of America, + _Deeds not Words_: I say so too! + Deep in the heart of the forest the lily of Yorrow is growing; + "Do you give thanks for this?--or that?" No, God be thanked + Do you remember, father,-- + Does the snow fall at sea? + + Ere thou sleepest gently lay + + Fair Phyllis is another's bride: + Fair Roslin Chapel, how divine + Far richer than a thornless rose + Flowers rejoice when night is done, + For that thy face is fair I love thee not: + Four things a man must learn to do + From the misty shores of midnight, touched with splendours of the moon, + Furl your sail, my little boatie: + + Give us a name to fill the mind + Glory of architect, glory of painter, and sculptor, and bard, + God said, "I am tired of kings,"-- + Great Nature had a million words, + + Hear a word that Jesus spake + Heart of France for a hundred years, + Her eyes are like the evening air, + Here's a half-a-dozen flies, + Here the great heart of France, + Home, for my heart still calls me: + Honour the brave who sleep + Hours fly, + How blind the toil that burrows like the mole, + "How can I tell," Sir Edmund said, + _How long is the night, brother,_ + How long the echoes love to play + + I count that friendship little worth + I envy every flower that blows + I have no joy in strife, + I love thine inland seas, + I never seen no "red gods"; I dunno wot's a "lure"; + I never thought again to hear + I put my heart to school + I read within a poet's book + I think of thee when golden sunbeams glimmer + I would not even ask my heart to say + If all the skies were sunshine, + If I have erred in showing all my heart, + If Might made Right, life were a wild-beasts' cage: + If on the closed curtain of my sight + In a great land, a new land, a land full of labour and riches and + confusion, + In mirth he mocks the other birds at noon, + In robes of Tynan blue the King was drest, + In the blue heaven the clouds will come and go, + In the pleasant time of Pentecost, + Into the dust of the making of man, + In warlike pomp, with banners flowing, + It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise His name!) + It's little I can tell + It was my lot of late to travel far + + "Joy is a Duty,"--so with golden lore + Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee, + Just to give up, and trust + + Knight-Errant of the Never-ending Quest, + + Let me but do my work from day to day, + Let me but feel thy look's embrace, + "Lights out" along the land, + Like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting, + Limber-limbed, lazy god, stretched on the rock, + Lord Jesus, Thou hast known + Long ago Apollo called to Aristaeus, youngest of the shepherds, + Long had I loved this "Attic shape," the brede + Long, long ago I heard a little song, + Long, long, long the trail + Lover of beauty, walking on the height + Low dost thou lie amid the languid ooze, + + March on, my soul, nor like a laggard stay! + Mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed, + + Not Dante when he wandered by the river Arno, + Not to the swift, the race: + Now in the oak the sap of life is welling, + + O dark the night and dim the day + O garden isle, beloved by Sun and Sea, + O Lord our God, Thy mighty hand + O mighty river! strong, eternal Will, + O Mother mountains! billowing far to the snow-lands, + O Music hast thou only heard + O who will walk a mile with me + O wonderful! How liquid clear + O youngest of the giant brood + Oh, gallantly they fared forth in khaki and in blue, + Oh, quick to feel the lightest touch + Oh, the angler's path is a very merry way, + Oh, was I born too soon, my dear, or were you born too late, + Oh, what do you know of the song, my dear, + Oh, why are you shining so bright, big Sun, + Once, only once, I saw it clear,-- + One sail in sight upon the lonely sea, + Only a little shrivelled seed, + + Peace without Justice is a low estate,-- + + Read here, O friend unknown, + Remember, when the timid light + + Saints are God's flowers, fragrant souls + Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul: + Ship after ship, and every one with a high-resounding name, + Sign of the Love Divine + Some three-score years and ten ago + Soul of a soldier in a poet's frame, + Stand back, ye messengers of mercy! Stand + Stand fast, Great Britain! + + The British bard who looked on Eton's walls, + The clam that once, on Jersey's banks, + The cornerstone in Truth is laid, + The cradle I have made for thee + The day returns by which we date our years: + The fire of love was burning, yet so low + The gabled roofs of old Malines + The glory of ships is an old, old song, + The grief that is but feigning, + The heavenly hills of Holland,-- + The laggard winter ebbed so slow + The land was broken in despair, + The melancholy gift Aurora gained + The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring, + The mountains that inclose the vale + The nymphs a shepherd took + The other night I had a dream, most clear + The record of a faith sublime, + The river of dreams runs quietly down + The roar of the city is low, + The rough expanse of democratic sea + The shadow by my finger cast + The tide, flows in to the harbour,-- + The time will come when I no more can play + The winds of war-news change and veer: + The worlds in which we live at heart are one, + There are many kinds of anger, as many kinds of fire: + There are many kinds of love, as many kinds of light, + There are songs for the morning and songs for the night, + There is a bird I know so well, + They tell me thou art rich, my country: gold + This is the soldier brave enough to tell + This is the window's message, + Thou warden of the western gate, above Manhattan Bay, + Thou who hast made thy dwelling fair + "Through many a land your journey ran, + 'Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down + To thee, plain hero of a rugged race, + Two dwellings, Peace, are thine + Two hundred years of blessing I record + "Two things," the wise man said, "fill me with awe: + 'Twas far away and long ago, + + Under the cloud of world-wide war, + + Waking from tender sleep, + We men that go down for a livin' in ships to the sea,-- + We met on Nature's stage, + What hast thou done, O womanhood of France, + What is Fortune, what is Fame? + What makes the lingering Night so cling to thee? + What shall I give for thee, + What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, + When down the stair at morning + When May bedecks the naked trees + When Staevoren town was in its prime + When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark + When tulips bloom in Union Square, + When to the garden of untroubled thought + Where's your kingdom, little king? + Who knows how many thousand years ago + Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul, + Who watched the worn-out Winter die? + Winter on Mount Shasta, + With eager heart and will on fire, + With memories old and wishes new + With two bright eyes, my star, my love + Wordsworth, thy music like a river rolls + + Ye gods of battle, lords of fear, + Yes, it was like you to forget, + You dare to say with perjured lips, + You only promised me a single hour: + Yours is a garden of old-fashioned flowers; + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Poems of Henry Van Dyke, by Henry Van Dyke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF HENRY VAN DYKE *** + +***** This file should be named 16229.txt or 16229.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/2/2/16229/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Daniel Emerson Griffith and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +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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