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diff --git a/18007.txt b/18007.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2ce70c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/18007.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3246 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of More Songs From Vagabondia, by +Bliss Carman and Richard Hovey + +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: More Songs From Vagabondia + +Author: Bliss Carman and Richard Hovey + +Release Date: March 17, 2006 [EBook #18007] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MORE SONGS FROM VAGABONDIA *** + + + + +Produced by Thierry Alberto, Paul Motsuk and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + + + + + + +MORE SONGS FROM VAGABONDIA + +Bliss Carman +Richard Hovey + + +Designs by +Tom B. Meteyard + + +Boston: Copeland and Day +London: Elkin Mathews + +MDCCCXCVI + + + + +_To M. G. M., so good to lighten cares, +The boys inscribe this second book of theirs._ + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +JONGLEURS 1 +EARTH'S LYRIC 5 +THE WOOD-GOD 6 +A FAUN'S SONG 7 +QUINCE TO LILAC 7 +AN EASTER MARKET 11 +DAISIES 13 +THE MOCKING-BIRD 13 +KARLENE 14 +KARLENE 16 +CONCERNING KAVIN 21 +KAVIN AGAIN 21 +ACROSS THE TABLE 21 +BARNEY MCGEE 22 +THE SEA GYPSY 25 +SPEECH AND SILENCE 26 +SECRETS 26 +THE FIRST JULEP 26 +A STEIN SONG 27 +THE UNSAINTING OF KAVIN 28 +IN THE WAYLAND WILLOWS 29 +WHEN I WAS TWENTY 31 +IN A SILENCE 32 +THE BATHER 33 +NOCTURNE: IN ANJOU 33 +NOCTURNE: IN PROVENCE 34 +JUNE NIGHT IN WASHINGTON 35 +A SONG FOR MARNA 38 +SEPTEMBER WOODLANDS 38 +NANCIBEL 39 +A VAGABOND SONG 39 +THREE OF A KIND 40 +WOOD-FOLK LORE 42 +AT MICHAELMAS 44 +THE MOTHER OF POETS 48 +A GOOD-BY 49 +IN A COPY OF BROWNING 49 +SHAKESPEARE HIMSELF 53 +AT THE ROAD-HOUSE 56 +VERLAINE 58 +DISTILLATION 59 +A FRIEND'S WISH 59 +LAL OF KILRUDDEN 60 +HUNTING-SONG 61 +BUIE ANNAJOHN 62 +MARY OF MARKA 63 +PREMONITION 63 +THE HEARSE-HORSE 64 +THE NIGHT-WASHERS 64 +MR. MOON 66 +HEM AND HAW 70 +ACCIDENT IN ART 71 +IN A GARDEN 71 +AT THE END OF THE DAY 72 + + + + +_And ever with the vanguard + The vagrant singers come + The gamins of the city +Who dance before the drum_ + + + + +JONGLEURS. + + +What is the stir in the street? +Hurry of feet! +And after, +A sound as of pipes and of tabers! + +Men of the conflicts and labors, +Struggling and shifting and shoving, +Pushing and pounding your neighbors, +Fighting for leeway for laughter, +Toiling for leisure for loving! +Hark, through the window and up to the rafter, +Madder and merrier, +Deeper and verier, +Sweeter, contrarier, +Dafter and dafter, +A song arises,-- +A thrill, an intrusion, +A reel, an illusion, +A rapture, a crisis +Of bells in the air! + +Ay, up from your work and look out of the window! +"Who are the newcomers, Arab or Hindoo? +Persians, or Japs, or the children of Isis?" +--Guesses, surmises-- +Forth with you, fare +Down in the street to draw nearer and stare! +Come from your palaces, come from your hovels! +Lay down your ledgers, your picks and your shovels, +Your trowels and bricks, +Hammers and nails, +Scythes and flails, +Bargains and sales, +And the trader's tricks, +Deals, overreachings, +Worries and griefs, +Teachings and preachings, +Boluses, briefs, +Writs and attachments, +Quarterings, hatchments, +Clans and cognomens, +Comments and scholia, +(World's melancholia)-- +Cast them aside, and good riddance to rubbish! +Here at the street-corner, hearken, a strain, +Rough and off-hand and a bit rub-a-dub-ish, +Gives us a taste of the life we'd attain. + +Who are they, what are they, whence have they come to us? +Where will they go when their singing is done? +What is the garb they wear, tattered and sumptuous, +Faded with days and superb in the sun? +What are they singing of? +Hush! +... There's a ringing of +Delicate chimes; +And the blush +Of a veiled bride morning +Beats in the rhymes. +Listen! +Out of the merriment, +Clear as the glisten +Of dew on the brier, +A silver warning! +Sudden, a dare-- +Lyric experiment-- +Up like a lark in the air, +Higher and higher and higher, +The song shoots out of our blunder +Of thought to the blue sky of wonder, +And broken strains only fall down +Like pearls on the roofs of the town. + +Somebody says they have come from the moon, +Seen with their eyes Eldorado, +Sat in the Bo-tree's shadow, +Wandered at noon +In the valleys of Van, +Tented in Lebanon, tarried in Ophir, +Last year in Tartary piped for the Khan. +Now it's the song of a lover; +Now it's the lilt of a loafer,-- +Under the trees in a midsummer noon, +Dreaming the haze into isles to discover, +Beating the silences into a croon; +Soon +Up from the marshes a fall of the plover! +Out from the cover +A flurry of quail! +Down from the height where the slow hawks hover, +The thin far ghost of a hail! +And near, and near, +Throbbing and tingling,-- +With a human cheer +In the earth-song mingling,-- +Mirth and carousal, +Wooing, espousal, +Clinking of glasses +And laughter of lasses-- +And the wind in the garden stoops down as it passes +To play with the hair +Of the loveliest there, +And the wander-lust catches the will in its snare; +Hill-wind and spray-lure, +Call of the heath; +Dare in the teeth +Of the balk and the failure; +The clasp and the linger +Of loosening finger, +Loth to dissever; +Thrill of the comrade heart to its fellow +Through droughts that sicken and blasts that bellow +From purple furrow to harvest yellow, +Now and forever. +How our feet itch to keep time to their measure! +How our hearts lift to the lilt of their song! +Let the world go, for a day's royal pleasure! +Not every summer such waifs come along. + +Now they are off to the inn; +Hear the clean ring of their laughter! +Cool as a hill-brook after +The beat of the noon sets in! +Gentlemen even in jollity-- +Certainly people of quality!-- +Waifs and estrays no less, +Roofless and penniless, +They are the wayside strummers +Whose lips are man's renown, +Those wayward brats of Summer's +Who stroll from town to town; +Spendthrift of life, they ravish +The days of an endless store, +And ever the more they lavish +The heap of the hoard is more. +For joy and love and vision +Are alive and breed and stay +When dust shall hold in derision +The misers of a day. + + + + +EARTH'S LYRIC. + + +April. You hearken, my fellow, +Old slumberer down in my heart? +There's a whooping of ice in the rivers; +The sap feels a start. + +The snow-melted torrents are brawling; +The hills, orange-misted and blue, +Are touched with the voice of the rainbird +Unsullied and new. + +The houses of frost are deserted, +Their slumber is broken and done, +And empty and pale are the portals +Awaiting the sun. + +The bands of Arcturus are slackened; +Orion goes forth from his place +On the slopes of the night, leading homeward +His hound from the chase. + +The Pleiades weary and follow +The dance of the ghostly dawn; +The revel of silence is over; +Earth's lyric comes on. + +A golden flute in the cedars, +A silver pipe in the swales, +And the slow large life of the forest +Wells bade and prevails. + +A breath of the woodland spirit +Has blown out the bubble of spring +To this tenuous hyaline glory +One touch sets a-wing. + + + + +THE WOOD-GOD. + + +Brother, lost brother! +Thou of mine ancient kin! +Thou of the swift will that no ponderings smother! +The dumb life in me fumbles out to the shade +Thou lurkest in. +In vain--evasive ever through the glade +Departing footsteps fail; +And only where the grasses have been pressed, +Or by snapped twigs I follow a fruitless trail. +So--give o'er the quest! +Sprawl on the roots and moss! +Let the lithe garter squirm across my throat! +Let the slow clouds and leaves above me float +Into mine eyeballs and across,-- +Nor think them further! Lo, the marvel! now, +Thou whom my soul desireth, even thou +Sprawl'st by my side, who fled'st at my pursuit. +I hear thy fluting; at my shoulder there +I see the sharp ears through the tangled hair, +And birds and bunnies at thy music mute. + + + + +A FAUN'S SONG. + + +Cool! cool! cool! +Cool and sweet +The feel of the moss at my feet! +And sweet and cool +The touch of the wind, of the wind! + +Cool wind out of the blue, +At the touch of you +A little wave crinkles and flows +All over me down to my toes. + +"Coo-loo! Coo-loo!" +Hear the doves in the tree-tops croon. +"Coo-loo! Coo-loo!" +Love comes soon. + +"June! June!" +The veery sings, +Sings and sings, +"June! June!"-- +A pretty tune! + +Wind with your weight of perfume, +Bring me the bluebells' bloom! + + + + +QUINCE TO LILAC: To G. H. + + +Dear _Lilac_, how enchanting +To hear of you this way! +The Man who comes a-mouching +To visit me each day + +Says you too have a lover +Far lovelier than I. +And from his rapt description, +She loves you gloriously. + +The Man prowls out each morning +To see if spring's begun. +What infinite amusement +These creatures offer one! + +He asks me such conundrums +As no one ever heard: +The name of April's father, +The trail of every bird, + +What keeps me warm in winter, +Who wakes me up in time, +And why procrastination +Is such a fearful crime. + +And yet, who knows? He may be +Our equal ages hence-- +With such pathetic glimmers +Of weird intelligence! + +But this your blessed alien, +Why strays she roving here? +Was Orpheus not her brother, +Persephone her peer? + +Was she not once a dryad +Whom Syrinx lulled to sleep +Beside the Dorian water, +And still her eyelids keep + +The glad unperished secret +From centuries of joy, +And memories of the morning +When Helen sailed for Troy? + +Is her name Gertrude, Kitty, +Hypatia, or what? +I seem to half remember, +And yet have quite forgot. + +That soft Hellenic laughter! +I marvel you don't make +An effort to be early +In budding for her sake. + +Just fancy hearing daily +That velvet voice of hers! +How do you quell the riot +Of sap her coming stirs? + +Perhaps she puts her face up, +(Dear Charity she is!) +For messages of summer +And better worlds than this. + +You cannot blush, poor Lilac; +It is not in your race. +I simply should go crimson, +If I were in your place. + +Do tell her all your secrets! +The Man declares she knows +Better than any mortal +The wonder-trick of prose. + +_Our_ prose, I mean,--how beauty +Appears to you and me; +The truth that seems so simple, +Which they call poetry. + +They put it down in writing +And label it with tags, +The funny conscious people +Who mask in colored rags! + +They have a thing called _science_, +With phrases strange and pat. +My dear, can you imagine +Intelligence like that? + +And when they first discover +That yellows are not greens, +They pucker up their foreheads +And ponder what it means. + +And then those cave-like places, +Churches and Capitols, +Where they all come together +Like troops of talking dolls, + +To govern, as they term it, +(It's really very odd!) +And have what they call worship +Of something they call God. + +But Kitty, or whatever +May be her tender name, +Is more like us. She guesses +What sets the year aflame. + +She knows beyond her senses; +Do tell her all you can! +The funny people need it,-- +At least, so says The Man. + +Good-by, dear. I must idle. +Sweet suns and happy rains! +How nice to have these humans +With their inventive brains,-- + +Their little scraps of paper! +They certainly evince +Remarkable discernment. +Your ever loving _Quince_. + + + + +AN EASTER MARKET. + + +Today, through your Easter market +In the lazy Southern sun, +I strolled with hands in pockets +Past the flower-stalls one by one. + +Indolent, dreamy, ready +For anything to amuse, +Shyfoot out for a ramble +In his oldest hat and shoes. + +Roses creamy and yellow, +Azaleas crimson and white, +And the flaky fresh carnations +My Orient of delight,-- + +Masses and banks of blossom +That dazzle and summon the eye, +Till the buyers are half bewildered +To know what they want. Not I. + +Who would not rather be artist +And slip through the crowd unseen +To gather it all in a picture +And guess what the faces mean? + +So down through the chaffering darkies +I pass to the sidewalk's end, +Through the smiling gingham bonnets +With their small farm-stuff to vend. + +When, hello! my dreamer, sudden +As call at the dead of night, +What sets your pulses a-quiver, +What sets your fancy alight? + +Sure of it! Mayflowers, mayflowers, +Scent of the North in spring! +Out in the vernal distance, +Heart of me, whither a-wing? + +"Give me some!" Clutch the first handful, +Hungering rover of earth! +How I devour and kiss them, +Beauties that brought me to birth, + +Away in the great north country, +The land of the lonely sun, +Where God has few for his fellows, +And the wolves of the snowdrift run. + +Once more to the frost-bound valley +Comes April with rain in her jar; +I can hear the vesper sparrow +Under the silver star. + +And many and dear and gracious +Are the dreams that walk at my side +From the land of the lingering shadows, +As out of the throng I stride. + +Oh, well for you, mere onlooker, +Who drift through the world's great mart! +But we of the human sorrow +Have a joy beyond your art. + + + + +DAISIES. + + +Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune +I saw the white daisies go down to the sea, +A host in the sunshine, an army in June, +The people God sends us to set our heart free. + +The bobolinks rallied them up from the dell, +The orioles whistled them out of the wood; +And all of their singing was, "Earth, it is well!" +And all of their dancing was, "Life, thou art good!" + + + + +THE MOCKING-BIRD. + + +_Hear! hear! hear!_ +Listen! the word +Of the mocking-bird! +_Hear! hear! hear! +I will make all clear; +I will let you know +Where the footfalls go +That through the thicket and over the hill +Allure, allure._ +How the bird-voice cleaves +Through the weft of leaves +With a leap and a thrill +Like the flash of a weaver's shuttle, swift and sudden and sure! + +And la, he is gone--even while I turn +The wisdom of his runes to learn. +He knows the mystery of the wood, +The secret of the solitude; +But he will not tell, he will not tell, +For all he promises so well. + + + + +KARLENE. + + +Word of a little one born in the West,-- +How like a sea-bird it comes from the sea, +Out of the league-weary waters' unrest +Blown with white wings, for a token, to me! + +Blown with a skriel and a flurry of plumes +(Sea-spray and flight-rapture whirled in a gleam!) +Here for a sign of the comrade that looms +Large in the mist of my love as I dream. + +He with the heart of an old violin, +Vibrant at every least stir in the place, +Lyric of woods where the thrushes begin, +Wave-questing wanderer, still for a space,-- + +What will the child of his be (so I muse), +Wood-flower, sea-flower, star-flower rare? +Worlds here to choose from, and which will she choose, +She whose first world is an armsweep of air? + +Baby Karlene, you are wondering now +Why you can't reach the great moon that you see +Just at your hand on the edge of the bough +That waves in the window-pane--how can it be? + +All your world yet hardly lies out of reach +Of ten little fingers and ten little toes. +You are a seed for the sky there to teach +(And the sun and the wind and the rain) as it grows. + +Just a green leaf piercing up to the day, +Pale fleck of June to come, just to be seen +Through the rough crumble of rubble and clay +Lifting its loveliness, dawn-child, Karlene! + +Fragile as fairycraft, dew-dream of love,-- +Never a clod that has marred the slim stalk, +Never a stone but its frail fingers move, +Bent on the blue sky and nothing can balk! + +Blue sky and wind-laughters, that is thy dream. +Ah the brave days when thy leafage shall toss +High where gold noondays and sunsets a-stream +Mix with its moving and kiss it across. + +There the great clouds shall go lazily by, +Coo! thee with shadows and dazzle with shine, +Drench thee with rain-guerdons, bless thee with sky, +Till all the knowledge of earth shall be thine. + +Wind from the ice-floe and wind from the palm, +Wind from the mountains and wind from the lea-- +How they will sing thee of tempest and calm! +How they will lure thee with tales of the sea! + +What will you be in that summer, Karlene? +Apple-tree, cherry-tree, lily, or corn? +Red rose or yellow rose, gray leaf or green? +Which will you choose now the year's at its morn? + +Somewhere even now in thy heart is the will,-- +"I shall be Golden Rod, slender and tall-- +I shall be Pond Lily, secret and still-- +I shall be Sweetbriar, Queen of them all-- + +"I shall give shade for the weary to rest-- +I shall grow flax for the naked to wear-- +Figs for a feast and all comers to guest-- +Wreaths that girls twine in the laugh of their hair-- + +"Ivy for scholars and myrtle for lovers, +Laurel for conquerors, poets, and kings-- +Broad-spreading beech-boughs whose benison covers +Clamor of bird-notes and flutter of wings-- + +"I shall rise tall as an elm in my grace-- +I shall be clothed as catalpa is clad-- +Poets shall crown me with lyrics of praise-- +Lovers for lure of my blossoms go mad!" + +Which shall it be, baby? Guess you at all? +Only I know in the lull of the year +You have said now where your choosing shall fall, +Only you have not yet heard yourself, dear. + +So, like a mocking-bird, up in the trees, +I watching wondering where you have grown, +Borrow a note from a birdfellow's glees, +Fittest to sing you, and make it my own. + +Only I know as I wonder, Karlene, +Singing up here where you think me a star, +Heaven's still above me, and some one serene +Laughs in the blue sky and knows what you are. + + + + +KARLENE. + + +Good-morning, Karlene. It's a very +Fine beautiful world we are in. +Well, you _do_ look as ripe as a berry; +And, pardon me, such a real chin! + +And may I--Ah, thank you; the pleasure +Is mine; just one kiss by your ear!-- +May I introduce myself as your +Most dutiful godfather, dear? + +I have fumed, like champagne that is fizzy, +To pay my respects at your door. +But the publishers keep one _so_ busy. +Forgive my not calling before! + +Karlene, you're a very small lady +To venture so far all alone; +Especially into so shady +A place as this planet has grown. + +When _I_ now, my dear, was at _your_ age, +When nobody tried to be rich, +But lived on high thinking and porridge +(And didn't know t' other from which!), + +For a girl to go out unattended +Was considered "not only unwise +And improper--" Our grandmothers ended +By lifting to heaven their eyes. + +And yet even now, though it's shocking +To slander these wonderful years, +I dare say an inch of black stocking +Could set all the world by the ears. + +Black, mind you, not blue! It's a trifle; +But trifling in stockings won't do; +For love has an eye like a rifle +(His bandage is slipping askew). + +But there! You are simply _too_ charming. +No doubt you'll be modern enough +(Though the speed of the world is alarming) +To win with a delicate bluff, + +As we say when we're raking the chips in, +On a hand that was not over strong-- +But I see you are pursing your lips in; +Perhaps I am prating too long. + +Anyhow you'll be learned in isms, +And talk pterodactyls in French, +And know polyhedrons from prisms,-- +Though you may not know how to retrench. + +You will fall out of love with digamma +To fall in again with Delsarte; +You will make a new Syriac grammar, +And know all the popes off by heart. + +What Socrates said to Xantippe +When the lash of her tongue made him grieve; +What makes the banana peel slippy; +And what the snake whispered to Eve; + +The music that Nero had played him, +When Rome was touched off with a match; +Why the king let the lady upbraid him +For burning her buns in a batch; + +Why Hebrew is written left-handed; +And what Venus did with her arms; +What the Conqueror said when he landed; +The acres in Horace's farms; + +The use of _hirundo_ and _passer_: +All this you will probe to the pith +As a freshman at Wellesley or Vassar +Or Bryn Mawr--though _I_ prefer Smith. + +You will solve every riddle in Browning; +And learn how to paddle and swim; +And save other people from drowning; +And play basket ball in the gym. + +But you'll scorn to know why there's a tax on +All reading that isn't a bore, +When Mallarme's filtered through Saxon +And the Symbolists come to the fore. + +All winter you'll read mathematics +(Oh, you'll be a terrible "prod"), +And in June, at the Senior Dramatics, +You will play like a star. But it's odd, + +Since you'll quote every cadence in Kipling +And Arnold (of course I mean Matt), +If you don't make a bard of some stripling +Before he knows where he is at. + +I am sure you'll be lovely as Trilby, +The loveliest bud of the year; +But remember, Karlene, I shall still be +Your doting old godfather, dear. + +When you hear Archimedes' conundrum, +Like enough you'll be wanting to try +Whether one little girl _contra mundum_ +Can't lift the old thing with a pry! + +You will turn up your nose at poor "Thy will," +With a haughty agnostical sniff, +Till you find the imperative "I will" +Has a future conditional "if." + +And then you will come to your senses, +And find out why women were made; +And men too; and why there are fences +All round the whole lot where you strayed, + +While you wore yourself down to a shadow +Yet failed to discover your sphere; +For you'll see Adam down in the meadow +And think what a goosey you were! + +And then when your classmates are singing +Once more for good-by the old glees, +And the round painted lanterns are swinging +And sputtering out in the trees, + +When everything stales and withers +Except the great stars up above, +Your heartstrings will all go to smithers, +You'll just be one crumple of love. + +And Adam will be such a duffer +(Dear fellow, I mean), he'll contrive, +Till you make him, to not make him suffer, +The happiest mortal alive. + +Oh, it makes me too ill to continue, +Imagining how it will be +When some dapper youth comes to win you +And smiles condescension on me! + +I shall loathe his immaculate breeding, +And advise you in time to refuse. +To think he will share in your reading, +And even unbutton your shoes! + +And yet when for that precious laddie +Your hair is all crinkled and curled, +I guess you'll be just like your daddy, +The dearest old soul in the world! + + + + +CONCERNING KAVIN. + + +When Kavin comes back from the barber, +Although he no longer is young, +One cheek is as soft as his heart, +And the other as smooth as his tongue. + + + + +KAVIN AGAIN. + + +It is not anything he says, +It's just his presence and his smile, +The blarney of his silences +That cocker and beguile. + + + + +ACROSS THE TABLE. To A. L. L. + + +Here's to you, Arthur! You and I +Have seen a lot of stormy weather, +Since first we clinked cups on the sly +At school together. + +The winds of fate have had their will +And blown our crafts so far apart +We hardly knew if either still +Were on the chart. + +But now I know the love of man +Is more than time or space or fate, +And laugh to scorn the powers that ban, +With you for mate. + +It's good to have you sitting by, +Old man, to prove the world no botch, +To shame the devil with your eye +And pass the Scotch. + + + + +BARNEY McGEE. + + +Barney McGee, there's no end of good luck in you, +Will-o'-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in you, +Wild as a bull-pup and all of his pluck in you,-- +Let a man tread on your coat and he'll see!-- +Eyes like the lakes of Killarney for clarity, +Nose that turns up without any vulgarity, +Smile like a cherub, and hair that is carroty,-- +Wow, you're a rarity, Barney McGee! +Mellow as Tarragon, +Prouder than Aragon-- +Hardly a paragon, +You will agree-- +Here's all that's fine to you! +Books and old wine to you! +Girls be divine to you, +Barney McGee! + +Lucky the day when I met you unwittingly, +Dining where vagabonds came and went flittingly. +Here's some _Barbera_ to drink it befittingly, +That day at _Silvio's_, Barney McGee! +Many's the time we have quaffed our Chianti there, +Listened to Silvio quoting us Dante there,-- +Once more to drink _Nebiolo spumante_ there, +How we'd pitch Pommery into the sea! +There where the gang of us +Met ere Rome rang of us, +They had the hang of us +To a degree. +How they would trust to you! +That was but just to you. +Here's o'er their dust to you, +Barney McGee! + +Barney McGee, when you're sober you scintillate, +But when you're in drink you're the pride of the intellect; +Divil a one of us ever came in till late, +Once at the bar where you happened to be-- +Every eye there like a spoke in you centering, +You with your eloquence, blarney, and bantering-- +All Vagabondia shouts at your entering, +King of the Tenderloin, Barney McGee! +There's no satiety +In your society +With the variety +Of your _esprit_. +Here's a long purse to you, +And a great thirst to you! +Fate be no worse to you, +Barney McGee! + +Och, and the girls whose poor hearts you deracinate, +Whirl and bewilder and flutter and fascinate! +Faith, it's so killing you are, you assassinate,-- +Murder's the word for you, Barney McGee! +Bold when they're sunny and smooth when they're showery,-- +Oh, but the style of you, fluent and flowery! +Chesterfield's way, with a touch of the Bowery! +How would they silence you, Barney _machree_? +Naught can your gab allay, +Learned as Rabelais +(You in his abbey lay +Once on the spree). +Here's to the smile of you, +(Oh, but the guile of you!) +And a long while of you, +Barney McGee! + +Facile with phrases of length and Latinity, +Like _honorificabilitudinity_, +Where is the maid could resist your vicinity, +Wiled by the impudent grace of your plea? +Then your vivacity and pertinacity +Carry the day with the divil's audacity; +No mere veracity robs your sagacity +Of perspicacity, Barney McGee. +When all is new to them, +What will you do to them? +Will you be true to them? +Who shall decree? +Here's a fair strife to you! +Health and long life to you! +And a great wife to you, +Barney McGee! + +Barney McGee, you're the pick of gentility; +Nothing can phase you, you've such a facility; +Nobody ever yet found your utility,-- +That is the charm of you, Barney McGee; +Under conditions that others would stammer in, +Still unperturbed as a cat or a Cameron, +Polished as somebody in the Decameron, +Putting the glamour on prince or Pawnee! +In your meanderin', +Love, and philanderin', +Calm as a mandarin +Sipping his tea! +Under the art of you, +Parcel and part of you, +Here's to the heart of you, +Barney McGee! + +You who were ever alert to befriend a man, +You who were ever the first to defend a man, +You who had always the money to lend a man, +Down on his luck and hard up for a V! +Sure, you'll be playing a harp in beatitude +(And a quare sight you will be in that attitude)-- +Some day, where gratitude seems but a platitude, +You'll find your latitude, Barney McGee. +That's no flim-flam at all, +Frivol or sham at all, +Just the plain--Damn it all, +Have one with me! +Here's luck and more to you! +Friends by the score to you, +True to the core to you, +Barney McGee! + + + + +THE SEA GYPSY. + + +I am fevered with the sunset, +I am fretful with the bay, +For the wander-thirst is on me +And my soul is in Cathay. + +There's a schooner in the offing, +With her topsails shot with fire, +And my heart has gone aboard her +For the Islands of Desire. + +I must forth again to-morrow! +With the sunset I must be +Hull down on the trail of rapture +In the wonder of the sea. + + + + +SPEECH AND SILENCE. + + +The words that pass from lip to lip +For souls still out of reach! +A friend for that companionship +That's deeper than all speech! + + + + +SECRETS. + + +Three secrets that never were said: +The stir of the sap in the spring, +The desire of a man to a maid, +The urge of a poet to sing. + + + + +THE FIRST JULEP. + + +I love the lazy Southern spring, +The way she melts around a chap +And lets the great magnolias fling +Their languid petals in his lap. + +I love to travel down half-way +And meet her coming up the earth, +With hurdy-gurdy men who play +And make the children dance for mirth. + +But best of all I love to steer +For quiet corners not too far, +Where the first juleps reappear +With fresh green mint behind the bar. + +P. S. Perhaps you'll think it queer, +But I do not dislike a hint +To let the juleps disappear +And stick my nose into the mint. + + + + +A STEIN SONG. + + +Give a rouse, then, in the Maytime +For a life that knows no fear! +Turn night-time into daytime +With the sunlight of good cheer! +For it's always fair weather +When good fellows get together, +With a stein on the table and a good song ringing clear. + +When the wind comes up from Cuba +And the birds are on the wing, +And our hearts are patting juba +To the banjo of the spring, +Then it's no wonder whether +The boys will get together, +With a stein on the table and a cheer for everything. + +For we're all frank-and-twenty +When the spring is in the air; +And we've faith and hope a-plenty, +And we've life and love to spare; +And it's birds of a feather +When we all get together, +With a stein on the table and a heart without a care. + +For we know the world is glorious, +And the goal a golden thing, +And that God is not censorious +When his children have their fling; +And life slips its tether +When the boys get together, +With a stein on the table in the fellowship of spring. + + + + +THE UNSAINTING OF KAVIN. + + +Saint Kavin was a gentleman, +He came from Tipperary; +And woman was the only thing +That ever made him scary. + +For Kavin was a tender youth, +And he was very simple; +He feared the wiles of maiden smiles, +And fainted at a dimple. + +But when Kathleen at seventeen +Came down the street one morning, +The luck of man came over him +And took him without warning. + +Afraid to meet a foolish fate +By green sea or by dry land, +He fled away without delay +And sought a desert island. + +But even there he felt despair; +For happiness is only +The hope of doing something else; +And he was very lonely. + +He vowed to lead a life of prayer +Because that he had lost her; +And every time he thought of her +He said a _Pater noster_. + +Yet hard it is for man to change +The less love for the greater; +And every time he reached _Amen_, +He must go back to _Pater_. + +And so he grew a year or two +Disconsolate and holy, +While friends he'd known long since had grown +Papas and roly-poly. + +Until one day, one blessed day, +A-moping like a Hindoo, +He saw Kathleen in mournful mien +A-passing by his window. + +He threw away his rosary, +His _Paters_ and his _Aves_; +For love is stronger than the wind +That wafts a thousand navies. + +The holy man went forth to war, +But not against the devil. +He led the maid within for shade, +And treated her most civil. + +He gave her cakes, he gave her wine, +He set his best before her; +And then invited her to dine-- +Thenceforth--with her adorer. + +Her little head went round for joy; +She tried to kick the rafter: +So Kavin was a saint no more, +And happy ever after. + + + + +IN THE WAYLAND WILLOWS. + + +Once I met a soncy maid, +Soncy maid, soncy maid, +Once I met a soncy maid +In the Wayland willows. + +All her hair was goldy brown, +Goldy brown, goldy brown, +In the sun a single braid +To her waist hung down. + +Honey bees, honey bees, +You are roving fellows! +Idly went the doxy wind +In the Wayland willows. + +There I caught her eye a-dance, +Through the catkins downy. +"Heigho, Brownie-pate," said I; +"Heigho," said my Brownie. + +Then I kissed my soncy maid, +Soncy maid, soncy maid, +Kissed and kissed my soncy maid +In the Wayland willows. + +Goldy eyes and goldy hair, +And little gypsy bosom, +Chin and lip and shoulder tip, +Blossom after blossom! + +Hand in hand and cheek by cheek +All the morning weather! +How the yellow butterflies +Danced and winked together! + +Till the day went down the hill +Where the shadows waded. +"Heigho, Soncy!" "Heigho, me!" +Then I did as day did. + +All her tousled beauty bright +And teasing as before, +I left her there in sweet despair, +A soncy maid no more. + + + + +WHEN I WAS TWENTY. + + +_It was June, and I was twenty. +All my wisdom, poor but plenty, +Never learned_ Festina lente. +_Youth is gone, but whither went he?_ + +Madeline came down the orchard +With a mischief in her eye, +Half demure and half inviting, +Melting, wayward, wistful, shy. + +Four bright eyes that found life lovely, +And forgot to wonder why; +Four warm lips at one love-lesson, +Learned by heart so easily. + +We gained something of that knowledge +No man ever yet put by, +But his after days of sorrow +Left him nothing but to die. + +Madeline went up the orchard, +Down the hurrying world went I; +Now I know love has no morrow, +Happiness no by-and-by. + +_Youth is gone, but whither went he? +All my wisdom, poor but plenty, +Never learned_ Festina lente. +_It was June, and I was twenty._ + + + + +IN A SILENCE + + +Heart to heart! +And the stillness of night and the moonlight, like hushed breathing +Silently, stealthily moving across thy hair! + +O womanly face! +Tender and strong and lucent with infinite feeling, +Shrinking with startled joy, like wind-struck water, +And yet so frank, so unashamed of love! + +Ay, for there it is, love--that's the deepest. +Love's not love in the dark. +Light loves wither i' the sun, but Love endureth, +Clothing himself with the light as with a robe. + +I would bare my soul to thy sight-- +Leave not a secret deep unsearched, +Unrevealing its shame or its glory. +Love without Truth shall die as a soul without God. +A lying love is the love of a day +But the brave and true shall love forever. + +Build Love a house; +Let the walls be thick; +Shut him in from the sight of men; +But hide not Love from himself. + +Ah, the summer night! +The wind in the trees and the moonlight! +And my kisses on thy throat +And thy breathing in my hair! + +Silent, lips to lips! +But our souls have held speech, thought answering echoing thought, +Though the only words were kisses. + + + + +THE BATHER. + + +I saw him go down to the water to bathe; +He stood naked upon the bank. + +His breast was like a white cloud in the heaven, + that catches the sun; +It swelled with the sharp joy of the air. + +His legs rose with the spring and curve of young birches; +The hollow of his back caught the blue shadows: + +With his head thrown up to the lips of the wind; +And the curls of his forehead astir with the wind. + +I would that I were a man, they are so beautiful; +Their bodies are like the bows of the Indians; +They have the spring and the grace of bows of hickory. + +I know that women are beautiful, and that I am beautiful; +But the beauty of a man is so lithe and alive and triumphant, +Swift as the night of a swallow and sure as the + pounce of the eagle. + + + + +NOCTURNE: IN ANJOU. + + +I dreamed of Sappho on a summer night. +Her nightingales were singing in the trees +Beside the castled river; and the wind +Fell like a woman's fingers on my cheek. +And then I slept and dreamed and marked no change; +The night went on with me into my dream. +This only I remember, that I cried: +"O Sappho! ere I leave this paradise, +Sing me one song of those lost books of yours +For which we poets still go sorrowing; +That when I meet my fellows on the earth +I may rejoice them more than many pearls;" +And she, the sweetly smiling, answered me, +As one who dreams, "I have forgotten them." + + + + +NOCTURNE: IN PROVENCE. + + +The blue night, like an angel, came into the room,-- +Came through the open window from the silent sky +Down trellised stairs of moonlight into the dear room +As if a whisper breathed of some divine one nigh. +The nightingales, like brooks of song in Paradise, +Gurgled their serene rapture to the silent sky-- +Like springs of laughter bubbling up in Paradise, +The serene nightingales along the riverside +Purled low in every tree their star-cool melodies +Of joy--in every tree along the riverside. + +Did the vain garments melt in music from your side? +Did you rise from them as a lily flowers i' the air? +--But you were there before me like the Night's own bride-- +I dared not call you mine. So still and tall you were, +I never dreamed that you were mine--I never dreamed +I loved you--I forgot I loved you. You were air +And music, and the shadows that you stood in, seemed +Like priests that keep their sombre vigil round a shrine-- +Like sombre priests that watch about a glorious shrine. + +And then you stepped into the moonlight and laid bare +The wonder of your body to the night, and stood +With all the stars of heaven looking at you there, +As simply as a saint might bare her soul to God-- +As simply as a saint might bathe in lakes of prayer-- +Stood with the holy moonlight falling on you there +Until I thought that in a glory unaware +I had seen a soul stand forth and bare itself to God-- +A saintly soul lay bare its innocence to God. + + + + +JUNE NIGHT IN WASHINGTON. + + +The scent of honeysuckle, +Drugging the twilight +With its sweet opiate of lovers' dreams! +The last red glow of the setting sun +On the red brick wall +Of the neighboring house, +And the scramble of red roses over it! + +Slowly, slowly +The night smokes up from the city to the stars, +The faint foreshadowed stars; +The smouldering night +Breathes upward like the breath +Of a woman asleep +With dim breast rising and falling +And a smile of delicate dreams. + +Softly, softly +The wind comes into the garden, +Like a lover that fears lest he waken his love, +And his hands drip with the scent of the roses +And his locks weep with the opiate odor of honeysuckle. +Sighing, sighing +As a lover that yearns for the lips of his love, +In a torment of bliss, +In a passionate dreaming of bliss, +The wind in the trees of the garden! + +How intimate are the trees,-- +Rustling like the secret darkness of the soul! +How still is the starlight,-- +Aloof in the placidity of dream! + +Outside the garden +A group of negroes passing in the street +Sing with ripe lush voices, +Sing with voices that swim +Like great slow gliding fishes +Through the scent of the honeysuckle: + +_My love's waitin', +Waitin' by the river, +Waitin' till I come along! +Wait there, child; I'm comin'. + +Jay-bird tol' me, +Tol' me in the mornin', +Tol' me she'd be there to-night. +Wait there, child; I'm comin'._ + +Waves of dream! +Spell of the summer night! +Will of the grass that stirs in its sleep! +Desire of the honeysuckle! +And further away, +Like the plash of far-off waves in the fluid night, +The negroes, singing: + +_Whip-po'-will tol' me, +Tol' me in the evenin', +"Down by the bend where the cat-tails grow." +Wait there, child; I'm comin'._ + +Lo, the moon, +Like a galleon sailing the night; +And the wash of the moonlight over the roofs and the trees! + +Oh, my bride, +Come down from yonder lattice where you bide +Like a charmed princess in a Persian song! +I look up at your yellow window-panes, +Set in the night with far-off wizardry. +Come down, come down; the night is fain of you, +The garden waits your footstep on its walks. + +Lo, the moon, +Like a galleon sailing the night; +And the wash of the moonlight over the red brick wall and the roses! + +A gleam of lamplight through an open door! +A footfall like the wind's upon the grass! +A rustle like the wind's among the leaves!... +Dim as a dream of pale peach blooms of light, +Blue in the blue soft pallor of the moon, +She comes between the trees as a faint tune +Falls from a flute far off into the night.... +So Death might come to one who knew him Love. + + + + +A SONG FOR MARNA. + + +Dame of the night of hair +Like blue smoke blown! +World yet undreamed-of there +Lurks to be known. + +Dame of the dizzy eyes, +Lure of dim quests! +World of what midnights lies +Under thy breasts! + +Dame of the quench of love, +Give me to quaff! +There's all the world's made of +Under thy laugh. + +Dame of the dare of gods, +Let the sky lower! +Time, give the world for odds,-- +I choose this hour. + + + + +SEPTEMBER WOODLANDS. + + +This is not sadness in the wood; +The yellowbird +Flits joying through the solitude, +By no thought stirred +Save of his little duskier mate +And rompings jolly. + +If there's a Dryad in the wood, +She is not sad. +Too wise the spirits are to brood; +Divinely glad, +They dream with countenance sedate +Not melancholy. + + + + +NANCIBEL. + + +The ghost of a wind came over the hill, +While day for a moment forgot to die, +And stirred the sheaves +Of the millet leaves, +As Nancibel went by. + +Out of the lands of Long Ago, +Into the land of By and By, +Faded the gleam +Of a journeying dream, +As Nancibel went by. + + + + +A VAGABOND SONG. + + +There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood-- +Touch of manner, hint of mood; +And my heart is like a rhyme, +With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. + +The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry +Of bugles going by. +And my lonely spirit thrills +To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills. + +There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir; +We must rise and follow her, +When from every hill of flame +She calls and calls each vagabond by name. + + + + +THREE OF A KIND. + + +Three of us without a care +In the red September +Tramping down the roads of Maine, +Making merry with the rain, +With the fellow winds a-fare +Where the winds remember. + +Three of us with shocking hats, +Tattered and unbarbered, +Happy with the splash of mud, +With the highways in our blood, +Bearing down on Deacon Platt's +Where last year we harbored. + +We've come down from Kennebec, +Tramping since last Sunday, +Loping down the coast of Maine, +With the sea for a refrain, +And the maples neck and neck +All the way to Fundy. + +Sometimes lodging in an inn, +Cosey as a dormouse-- +Sometimes sleeping on a knoll +With no rooftree but the Pole-- +Sometimes halely welcomed in +At an old-time farmhouse. + +Loafing under ledge and tree, +Leaping over boulders, +Sitting on the pasture bars, +Hail-fellow with storm or stars-- +Three of us alive and free, +With unburdened shoulders! + +Three of us with hearts like pine +That the lightnings splinter, +Clean of cleave and white of grain-- +Three of us afoot again, +With a rapture fresh and fine +As a spring in winter! + +All the hills are red and gold; +And the horns of vision +Call across the crackling air +Till we shout back to them there, +Taken captive in the hold +Of their bluff derision. + +Spray-salt gusts of ocean blow +From the rocky headlands; +Overhead the wild geese fly, +Honking in the autumn sky; +Black sinister flocks of crow +Settle on the dead lands. + +Three of us in love with life, +Roaming like wild cattle, +With the stinging air a-reel +As a warrior might feel +The swift orgasm of the knife +Slay him in mid-battle. + +Three of us to march abreast +Down the hills of morrow! +With a clean heart and a few +Friends to clench the spirit to!-- +Leave the gods to rule the rest, +And good-by, sorrow! + + + + +WOOD-FOLK LORE. To T. B. M. + + +For every one +Beneath the sun, +Where Autumn walks with quiet eyes, +There is a word, +Just overheard +When hill to purple hill replies. + +This afternoon, +As warm as June, +With the red apples on the bough, +I set my ear +To hark and hear +The wood-folk talking, you know how. + +There comes a "Hush!" +And then a "Tush," +As tree to scarlet tree responds, +"Babble away! +He'll not betray +The secrets of us vagabonds. + +"Are we not all, +Both great and small, +Cousins and kindred in a joy +No school can teach, +No worldling reach, +Nor any wreck of chance destroy?" + +And so we are, +However far +We journey ere the journey ends, +One brotherhood +With leaf and bud +And everything that wakes or wends. + +The wind that blows +My autumn rose +Where Grand Pre looks to Blomidon,-- +How great must be +The company +Of roses he has leaned upon, + +Since first he shed +Their petals red +Through Persian gardens long ago, +When Omar heard +His muttered word +Rumoring things we may not know! + +Our brother ghost, +He is a most +Incorrigible wanderer; +And still to-day +He takes his way +About my hills of spruce and fir; + +Will neither bide +By the great tide, +In apple lands of Acadie, +Nor in the leaves +About your eaves, +Where Scituate looks out to sea. + + + + +AT MICHAELMAS. + + +About the time of Michael's feast +And all his angels, +There comes a word to man and beast +By dark evangels. + +Then hearing what the wild things say +To one another, +Those creatures first born of our gray +Mysterious Mother, + +The greatness of the world's unrest +Steals through our pulses; +Our own life takes a meaning guessed +From the torn dulse's. + +The draft and set of deep sea-tides +Swirling and flowing, +Bears every filmy flake that rides, +Grandly unknowing. + +The sunlight listens; thin and fine +The crickets whistle; +And floating midges fill the shine +Like a seeding thistle. + +The hawkbit flies his golden flag +From rocky pasture, +Bidding his legions never lag +Through morning's vasture. + +Soon we shall see the red vines ramp +Through forest borders, +And Indian summer breaking camp +To silent orders. + +The glossy chestnuts swell and burst +Their prickly houses +Agog at news which reached them first +In sap's carouses. + +The long noons turn the ribstons red, +The pippins yellow; +The wild duck from his reedy bed +Summons his fellow. + +The robins keep the underbrush +Songless and wary, +As though they feared some frostier hush +Might bid them tarry; + +Perhaps in the great North they heard +Of silence falling +Upon the world without a word, +White and appalling. + +The ash-tree and the lady-fern, +In russet frondage, +Proclaim 'tis time for our return +To vagabondage. + +All summer idle have we kept; +But on a morning, +Where the blue hazy mountains slept, +A scarlet warning + +Disturbs our day-dream with a start; +A leaf turns over; +And every earthling is at heart +Once more a rover. + +All winter we shall toil and plod, +Eating and drinking; +But now's the little time when God +Sets folk to thinking. + +"Consider," says the quiet sun, +"How far I wander; +Yet when had I not time on one +More flower to squander?" + +"Consider," says the restless tide, +"My endless labor; +Yet when was I content beside +My nearest neighbor?" + +So wander-lust to wander-lure, +As seed to season, +Must rise and wend, possessed and sure +In sweet unreason. + +For doorstone and repose are good, +And kind is duty; +But joy is in the solitude +With shy-heart beauty. + +And Truth is one whose ways are meek +Beyond foretelling; +And far his journey who would seek +Her lowly dwelling. + +She leads him by a thousand heights, +Lonelily faring, +With sunrise and with eagle flights +To mate his daring. + +For her he fronts a vaster fog +Than Leif of yore did, +Voyaging for continents no log +Has yet recorded. + +He travels by a polar star, +Now bright, now hidden, +For a free land, though rest be far +And roads forbidden, + +Till on a day with sweet coarse bread +And wine she stays him, +Then in a cool and narrow bed +To slumber lays him. + +So we are hers. And, fellows mine +Of fin and feather, +By shady wood and shadowy brine, +When comes the weather + +For migrants to be moving on, +By lost indenture +You flock and gather and are gone: +The old adventure! + +I too have my unwritten date, +My gypsy presage; +And on the brink of fall I wait +The darkling message. + +The sign, from prying eyes concealed, +Is yet how flagrant! +Here's ragged-robin in the field, +A simple vagrant. + + + + +THE MOTHER OF POETS. To H. F. H. + + +The typewriter ticketh no more in the twilight; +The mother of poets is sitting alone; +Only the katydid teases the noonday; +Where are the good-for-naught wanderbirds flown? + +Tom's in the North with his purple impressions; +Dickon's in London a-building his fame; +Fred's in the mountains a-minding his cattle; +Kavanagh's teaching and preaching and game. + +Over in Kingscroft a toiler is writing, +The boyish Old Man whom no fate ever floored; +Karl's in New York with his briefs and his logic, +That subtile mind like a velvet-sheathed sword. + +Blomidon welcomes his brother in silence; +Grand Pre is luring him back to her breast; +Faint and far off are the cries of the city, +There in the country of infinite rest. + +All of them turn in their wide vagabondage, +Halt and remember a place they have known, +Where the typewriter ticketh no more in the twilight, +And the mother of poets is sitting alone. + +There they will surely some April forgather, +Drink once together before they depart, +One by one over the threshold of silence, +On the long trail of the wandering heart. + +Fear not, little mother, there may be a region +Where poets have only to smile and keep still. +The tick of the typewriter there will be useless, +But there will be need of a motherkin still. + + + + +A GOOD-BY. + + +For love of the roving foot +And joy of the roving eye, +God send you store of morrows fair +And a good rest by and by! + + + + +IN A COPY OF BROWNING. + + +Browning, old fellow, +Your leaves grow yellow, +Beginning to mellow +As seasons pass. +Your cover is wrinkled, +And stained and sprinkled, +And warped and crinkled +From sleep on the grass. + +Is it a wine stain, +Or only a pine stain, +That makes such a fine stain +On your dull blue,-- +Got as we numbered +The clouds that lumbered +Southward and slumbered +When day was through? + +What is the dear mark +There like an earmark, +Only a tear mark +A woman let fall?-- +As bending over +She bade me discover, +"Who _plays_ the lover, +He loses all!" + +With you for teacher +We learned love's feature +In every creature +That roves or grieves; +When winds were brawling, +Or bird-folk calling, +Or leaf-folk falling, +About our eaves. + +No law must straiten +The ways they wait in, +Whose spirits greaten +And hearts aspire. +The world may dwindle, +And summer brindle, +So love but kindle +The soul to fire. + +Here many a red line, +Or pencilled headline, +Shows love could wed line +To golden sense; +And something better +Than wisdom's fetter +Has made your letter +Dense to the dense. + +No April robin, +Nor clacking bobbin, +Can make of Dobbin +A Pegasus; +But Nature's pleading +To man's unheeding, +Your subtile reading +Made clear to us. + +You made us farers +And equal sharers +With homespun wearers +In home-made joys; +You made us princes +No plea convinces +That spirit winces +At dust and noise. + +When Fate was nagging, +And days were dragging, +And fancy lagging, +You gave it scope,-- +When eaves were drippy, +And pavements slippy,-- +From Lippo Lippi +To Evelyn Hope. + +When winter's arrow +Pierced to the marrow, +And thought was narrow, +You gave it room; +We guessed the warder +On Roland's border, +And helped to order +The Bishop's Tomb. + +When winds were harshish, +And ways were marshish, +We found with Karshish +Escape at need; +Were bold with Waring +In far seafaring, +And strong in snaring +Ben Ezra's creed. + +We felt the menace +Of lovers pen us, +Afloat in Venice +Devising fibs; +And little mattered +The rain that pattered, +While Blougram chattered +To Gigadibs. + +And we too waited +With heart elated +And breathing bated, +For Pippa's song; +Saw Satan hover, +With wings to cover +Porphyria's lover, +Pompilia's wrong. + +Long thoughts were started, +When youth departed +From the half-hearted +Riccardi's bride; +For, saith your fable, +Great Love is able +To slip the cable +And take the tide. + +Or truth compels us +With Paracelsus, +Till nothing else is +Of worth at all. +Del Sarto's vision +Is our own mission, +And art's ambition +Is God's own call. + +Through all the seasons, +You gave us reasons +For splendid treasons +To doubt and fear; +Bade no foot falter, +Though weaklings palter, +And friendships alter +From year to year. + +Since first I sought you, +Found you and bought you, +Hugged you and brought you +Home from Cornhill, +While some upbraid you, +And some parade you, +Nine years have made you +My master still. + + + + +SHAKESPEARE HIMSELF: FOR THE UNVEILING +OF MR. PARTRIDGE'S STATUE +OF THE POET. + + +The body is no prison where we lie +Shut out from our true heritage of sun; +It is the wings wherewith the soul may fly. +Save through this flesh so scorned and spat upon, +No ray of light had reached the caverned mind, +No thrill of pleasure through the life had run, +No love of nature or of humankind, +Were it but love of self, had stirred the heart +To its first deed. Such freedom as we find, +We find but through its service, not apart. +And as an eagle's wings upbear him higher +Than Andes or Himalaya, and chart +Rivers and seas beneath; so our desire, +With more celestial members yet, may soar +Into the space of empyrean fire, +Still bodied but more richly than before. + +The body is the man; what lurks behind +Through it alone unveils itself. Therefore +We are not wrong, who seek to keep in mind +The form and feature of the mighty dead. +So back of all the giving is divined +The giver, back of all things done or said +The man himself in elemental speech +Of flesh and bone and sinew uttered. + +This is thy language, Sculpture. Thine to reach +Beneath all thoughts, all feelings, all desires, +To that which thinks and lives and loves, and teach +The world the primal selfhood of its sires, +Its heroes and its lovers and its gods. +So shall Apollo flame in marble fires, +The mien of Zeus suffice before he nods, +So Gautama in ivory dream out +The calm of Time's untrammelled periods, +So Sigurd's lips be in themselves a shout. + +Mould us our Shakespeare, sculptor, in the form +His comrades knew, rare Ben and all the rout +That found the taproom of the Mermaid warm +With wit and wine and fellowship, the face +Wherein the men he chummed with found a charm +To make them love him; carve for us the grace +That caught Anne Hathaway in Shottery-side, +The hand that clasped Southampton's in the days +Ere that dark dame, of passion and of pride +Burned in his heart the brand of her disdain, +The eyes that wept when little Hamnet died, +The lips that learned from Marlowe's and again +Taught riper lore to Fletcher and the rest, +The presence and demeanor sovereign +At last at Stratford calm and manifest, +That rested on the seventh day and scanned +His work and knew it good, and left the quest +And like his own enchanter broke his wand. + +No viewless mind! The very shape, no less, +He used to speak and smile with, move and stand! +God is most God not in his loneliness, +Unfellowed, discreationed, unrevealed, +Nor thundering on Sinai, pitiless, +Nor when the seven vials are unsealed, +But when his spirit companions with our thought +And in his fellowship our pain is healed; +And we are likest God when we are brought +Most near to all men. Bring us near to him, +The gentle, human soul whose calm might wrought +Imperious Lear and made our eyes grow dim +For Imogen,--who, though he heard the spheres +"Still choiring to the young-eyed cherubim," +Could laugh with Falstaff and his loose compeers +And love the rascal with the same big heart +That o'er Cordelia could not stay its tears. + +For still the man is greater than his art. +And though thy men and women, Shakespeare, rise +Like giants in our fancy and depart, +Thyself art more than all their masteries, +Thy wisdom more than Hamlet's questionings +Or the cold searching of Ulysses' eyes, +Thy mirth more sweet than Benedick's flouts and flings, +Thy smiling dearer than Mercutio's, +Thy dignity past that of all thy kings, +And thy enchantment more than Prospero's. + +For thou couldst not have had Othello's flaw, +Not erred with Brutus,--greater, then, than those +For all their nobleness. Oh, albeit with awe, +Leave we the mighty phantoms and draw near +The man that fashioned them and gave them law! +The Master Poet found with scarce a peer +In all the ages his domain to share, +Yet of all singers gentlest and most dear! +Oh, how shall words thy proper praise declare, +Divine in thy supreme humanity +And near as the inevitable air? + +So he that wrought this image deemed of thee; +So I, thy lover, keep thee in my heart; +So may this figure set for men to see +Where the world passes eager for the mart, +Be as a sudden insight of the soul +That makes a darkness into order start, +And lift thee up for all men, fair and whole, +Till scholar, merchant farmer, artisan, +Seeing, divine beneath the aureole +The fellow heart and know thee for a man. + + + + +AT THE ROAD-HOUSE: IN MEMORY OF +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + +You hearken, fellows? Turned aside +Into the road-house of the past! +The prince of vagabonds is gone +To house among his peers at last. + +The stainless gallant gentleman, +So glad of life, he gave no trace, +No hint he even once beheld +The spectre peering in his face; + +But gay and modest held the road, +Nor feared the Shadow of the Dust; +And saw the whole world rich with joy, +As every valiant farer must. + +I think that old and vasty inn +Will have a welcome guest to-night, +When Chaucer, breaking off some tale +That fills his hearers with delight, + +Shall lift up his demure brown eyes +To bid the stranger in; and all +Will turn to greet the one on whom +The crystal lot was last to fall. + +Keats of the more than mortal tongue +Will take grave Milton by the sleeve +To meet their kin, whose woven words +Had elvish music in the weave. + +Dear Lamb and excellent Montaigne, +Sterne and the credible Defoe, +Borrow, DeQuincey, the great Dean, +The sturdy leisurist Thoreau; + +The furtive soul whose dark romance, +By ghostly door and haunted stair, +Explored the dusty human heart +And the forgotten garrets there; + +The moralist it could not spoil, +To hold an empire in his hands; +Sir Walter, and the brood who sprang +From Homer through a hundred lands, + +Singers of songs on all men's lips, +Tellers of tales in all men's ears, +Movers of hearts that still must beat +To sorrows feigned and fabled tears; + +Horace and Omar, doubting still +What mystery lurks beyond the seen, +Yet blithe and reassured before +That fine unvexed Virgilian mien; + +These will companion him to-night, +Beyond this iron wintry gloom, +When Shakespeare and Cervantes bid +The great joy-masters give him room. + +No alien there in speech or mood, +He will pass in, one traveller more; +And portly Ben will smile to see +The velvet jacket at the door. + + + + +VERLAINE. + + +Avid of life and love, insatiate vagabond, +With quest too furious for the graal he would have won, +He flung himself at the eternal sky, as one +Wrenching his chains but impotent to burst the bond. + +Yet under the revolt, the revel, the despond, +What pools of innocence, what crystal benison! +As through a riven mist that glowers in the sun, +A stretch of God's blue calm glassed in a virgin pond. + +Prowler of obscene streets that riot reek along, +And aisles with incense numb and gardens mad with rose, +Monastic cells and dreams of dim brocaded lawns, + +Death, which has set the calm of Time upon his song, +Surely upon his soul has kissed the same repose +In some fair heaven the Christ has set apart for Fauns. + + + + +DISTILLATION. + + +They that eat the uncrushed grape +Walk with steady heels: +Lo, now, how they stare and gape +Where the poet reels! +He has drunk the sheer divine +Concentration of the vine. + + + + +A FRIEND'S WISH. To C. W. S. + + +Give me your last _Aloha_, +When I go out of sight, +Over the dark rim of the sea +Into the Polar night! + +And all the Northland give you +_Skoal_ for the voyage begun, +When your bright summer sail goes down +Into the zones of sun! + + + + +LAL OF KILRUDDEN. + + +Kilrudden ford, Kilrudden dale, +Kilrudden fronting every gale +On the lorn coast of Inishfree, +And Lal's last bed the plunging sea. + +Lal of Kilrudden with flame-red hair, +And the sea-blue eyes that rove and dare, +And the open heart with never a care; +With her strong brown arms and her ankles bare, +God in heaven, but she was fair, +That night the storm put in from sea? + +The nightingales of Inishkill, +The rose that climbed her window-sill, +The shade that rustled or was still, +The wind that roved and had his will, +And one white sail on the low sea-hill, +Were all she knew of love. + +So when the storm drove in that day, +And her lover's ship on the ledges lay, +Past help and wrecking in the gray, +And the cry was, "Who'll go down the bay, +With half of the lifeboat's crew away?" +Who should push to the front and say, +"I will be one, be others who may," +But Lal of Kilrudden, born at sea! + +The nightingales all night in the rain, +The rose that fell at her window-pane, +The frost that blackened the purple plain, +And the scorn of pitiless disdain +At the hands of the wolfish pirate main, +Quelling her great hot heart in vain, +Were all she knew of death. + +Kilrudden ford, Kilrudden dale, +Kilrudden ruined in the gale +That wrecked the coast of Inishfree, +And Lal's last bed the plunging sea. + + + + +HUNTING-SONG: FROM "KING ARTHUR." + + +Oh, who would stay indoor, indoor, +When the horn is on the hill? (_Bugle:_ Tarantara! +With the crisp air stinging, and the huntsmen singing, +And a ten-tined buck to kill! + +Before the sun goes down, goes down, +We shall slay the buck of ten; (_Bugle:_ Tarantara! +And the priest shall say benison, and we shall ha'e venison, +When we come home again. + +Let him that loves his ease, his ease, +Keep close and house him fair; (_Bugle:_ Tarantara! +He'll still be a stranger to the merry thrill of danger +And the joy of the open air. + +But he that loves the hills, the hills, +Let him come out to-day! (_Bugle:_ Tarantara! +For the horses are neighing, and the hounds are baying, +And the hunt's up, and away! + + + + +BUIE ANNAJOHN. + + +Buie Annajohn was the king's black mare, +Buie, Buie, Buie Annajohn! +Satin was her coat and silk was her hair, +Buie Annajohn, +The young king's own. +March with the white moon, march with the sun, +March with the merry men, Buie Annajohn! + +Buie Annajohn, when the dew lay hoar, +(Buie, Buie, Buie Annajohn!) +Down through the meadowlands went to war,-- +Buie Annajohn, +The young king's own. +March by the river road, march by the dune, +March with the merry men, Buie Annajohn! + +Buie Annajohn had the heart of flame, +Buie, Buie, Buie Annajohn! +First of the hosts to the hostings came +Buie Annajohn, +The young king's own. +March till we march the red sun down, +March with the merry men, Buie Annajohn! + +Back from the battle at the close of day, +(Buie, Buie, Buie Annajohn!) +Came with the war cheers, came with a neigh, +Buie Annajohn, +The young king's own. +Oh, heavy was the sword that we laid on; +But half of the heave was Buie Annajohn, +Buie, Buie, Buie Annajohn! + + + + +MARY OF MARKA. + + +Eric of Marka holds the knife: +"A nameless death for a nameless life."-- + +"Mary of Marka, bid him stay, +And the morrow shall be our wedding-day."-- + +"Will the blessing of priest give back my faith, +Or life to the child you left to death?"-- + +Eric of Marka holds the knife, +And turns to the mother that is no wife: + +"Mary of Marka, have your will! +Shall I spare him, or shall I kill?"-- + +"He wrought me wrong when the days were sweet, +And he'll get no more but a winding-sheet." + + + + +PREMONITION. + + +He said, "Good-night, my heart is light, +To-morrow morn at day +We two together in the dew +Shall forth and fare away. + +"We shall go down, the halls of dawn +To find the doors of joy; +We shall not part again, dear heart." +And he laughed out like a boy. + +He turned and strode down the blue road +Against the western sky +Where the last line of sunset glowed +As sullen embers die. + +The night reached out her kraken arms +To clutch him as he passed, +And for one sudden moment +My soul shrank back aghast. + + + + +THE HEARSE-HORSE. + + +Said the hearse-horse to the coffin, +"What the devil have you there? +I may trot from court to square, +Yet it neither swears nor groans, +When I jolt it over stones." +Said the coffin to the hearse-horse, +"Bones!" + +Said the hearse-horse to the coffin, +"What the devil have you there, +With that purple frozen stare? +Where the devil has it been +To get that shadow grin?" +Said the coffin to the hearse-horse, +"Skin!" + +Said the hearse-horse to the coffin, +"What the devil have you there? +It has fingers, it has hair; +Yet it neither kicks nor squirms +At the undertaker's terms." +Said the coffin to the hearse-horse, +"Worms!" + + + + +THE NIGHT-WASHERS. + + +Whe-ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh! +We are the brothers of ghouls, and who +In the name of the Crooked Saints are you? + +We are the washers of shrouds wherein +The lovers of beauty who sainted sin +Sleep till the Judgment Day begin. + +When the moon is drifting overhead, +We wash the linen of the dead, +Stained with yellow and stiff with red. + +Whe-ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh! +We are the foul night-washers, and who, +By the Seven Lovely sins are you? + +Here we sit by the river reeds, +Rinsing the linen that reeks and bleeds, +And craving the help our labor needs. + +Come, Sir Fop, fall to, fall to! +Show us for once what you can do! +One day there'll be washing enough for you. + +Wade in, wade in, where the river runs +Clear in the moonlight over the stones! +It'll wash the ache from your scrofulous bones. + +Whe-ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh! +We are the gossips of fame, and who +By the Sinners' Litany are you? + +Wade in, wade in! The water is cold, +The stains are deep, and the linen is old; +But surely the sons of the town are bold! + +Work for us here till the break of day +At washing the stains of the dead away, +And you shall be merry, come what may! + +From now till your ninetieth year begins, +You shall sin the Seven Lovely sins, +While wearing the virtue a cardinal wins. + +Refuse, and your arms shall be broken and wried, +To dangle like fenders over the side +Of an empty ship on the harbor tide! + +They shall gather a waist in their grip no more, +As you wander the wide world over and o'er, +With the curs at your heels from door to door. + +With only a stranger to cover your face, +You shall die in the streets of an outcast race, +And your linen be washed in the market-place! + +Whe-ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh! +We are the Scavenger Saints, but who +In the name of the Shadowy Kin are you? + + + + +MR. MOON: A SONG OF THE LITTLE +PEOPLE. + + +O Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? +Down on the hilltop, +Down in the glen, +Out in the clearin', +To play with little men? +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + +O Mr. Moon, +Hurry up your stumps! +Don't you hear Bullfrog +Callin' to his wife, +And old black Cricket +A-wheezin' at his fife? +Hurry up your stumps, +And get on your pumps! +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + +O Mr. Moon, +Hurry up along! +The reeds in the current +Are whisperin' slow; +The river's a-wimplin' +To and fro. +Or you'll miss the song! +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + +O Mr. Moon, +We're all here! +Honey-bug, Thistledrift, +White-imp, Weird, +Wryface, Billiken, +Quidnunc, Queered; +We're all here, +And the coast is clear! +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + +O Mr. Moon, +We're the little men! +Dewlap, Pussymouse, +Ferntip, Freak, +Drink-again, Shambler, +Talkytalk, Squeak; +Three times ten +Of us little men! +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + +O Mr. Moon, +We're all ready! +Tallenough, Squaretoes, +Amble, Tip, +Buddybud, Heigho, +Little black Pip; +We're all ready, +And the wind walks steady! +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + +O Mr. Moon, +We're thirty score; +Yellowbeard, Piper, +Lieabed, Toots, +Meadowbee, Moonboy, +Bully-in-boots; +Three times more +Than thirty score. +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + +O Mr. Moon, +Keep your eye peeled; +Watch out to windward, +Or you'll miss the fun, +Down by the acre +Where the wheat-waves run; +Keep your eye peeled +For the open field. +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + +O Mr. Moon, +There's not much time! +Hurry, if you're comin', +You lazy old bones! +You can sleep to-morrow +While the Buzbuz drones; +There's not much time +Till the church bells chime. +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + +O Mr. Moon, +Just see the clover! +Soon we'll be going +Where the Gray Goose went +When all her money +Was spent, spent, spent! +Down through the clover, +When the revel's over! +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + +O Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? +Down where the Good Folk +Dance in a ring, +Down where the Little Folk +Sing? +Moon, Mr. Moon, +When you comin' down? + + + + +HEM AND HAW. + + +Hem and Haw were the sons of sin, +Created to shally and shirk; +Hem lay 'round and Haw looked on +While God did all the work. + +Hem was a fogy, and Haw was a prig, +For both had the dull, dull mind; +And whenever they found a thing to do, +They yammered and went it blind. + +Hem was the father of bigots and bores; +As the sands of the sea were they. +And Haw was the father of all the tribe +Who criticise to-day. + +But God was an artist from the first, +And knew what he was about; +While over his shoulder sneered these two, +And advised him to rub it out. + +They prophesied ruin ere man was made: +"Such folly must surely fail!" +And when he was done, "Do you think, my Lord, +He's better without a tail?" + +And still in the honest working world, +With posture and hint and smirk, +These sons of the devil are standing by +While Man does all the work. + +They balk endeavor and baffle reform, +In the sacred name of law; +And over the quavering voice of Hem +Is the droning voice of Haw. + + + + +ACCIDENT IN ART. + + +That painter has not with a careless smutch +Accomplished his despair?--one touch revealing +All he had put of life, thought, vigor, feeling, +Into the canvas that without that touch +Showed of his love and labor just so much +Raw pigment, scarce a scrap of soul concealing! +What poet has not found his spirit kneeling +A sudden at the sound of such or such +Strange verses staring from his manuscript, +Written he knows not how, but which will sound +Like trumpets down the years? So Accident +Itself unmasks the likeness of Intent, +And ever in blind Chance's darkest crypt +The shrine-lamp of God's purposing is found. + + + + +IN A GARDEN. + + +Thought is a garden wide and old +For airy creatures to explore, +Where grow the great fantastic flowers +With truth for honey at the core. + +There like a wild marauding bee +Made desperate by hungry fears, +From gorgeous _If_ to dark _Perhaps_ +I blunder down the dusk of years. + + + + +AT THE END OF THE DAY. + + +There is no escape by the river, +There is no flight left by the fen; +We are compassed about by the shiver +Of the night of their marching men. +Give a cheer! +For our hearts shall not give way. +Here's to a dark to-morrow, +And here's to a brave to-day! + +The tale of their hosts is countless, +And the tale of ours a score; +But the palm is naught to the dauntless, +And the cause is more and more. +Give a cheer! +We may die, but not give way. +Here's to a silent morrow, +And here's to a stout to-day! + +God has said: "Ye shall fail and perish; +But the thrill ye have felt to-night +I shall keep in my heart and cherish +When the worlds have passed in night." +Give a cheer! +For the soul shall not give way. +Here's to the greater to-morrow +That is born of a great to-day! + +Now shame on the craven truckler +And the puling things that mope! +We've a rapture for our buckler +That outwears the wings of hope. +Give a cheer! +For our joy shall not give way. +Here's in the teeth of to-morrow +To the glory of to-day! + + + + +THIS BOOK WAS PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON +AND SON, AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, +MASSACHUSETTS, DURING OCTOBER, +1896. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of More Songs From Vagabondia, by +Bliss Carman and Richard Hovey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MORE SONGS FROM VAGABONDIA *** + +***** This file should be named 18007.txt or 18007.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/0/0/18007/ + +Produced by Thierry Alberto, Paul Motsuk and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + +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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