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diff --git a/26333-h/26333-h.htm b/26333-h/26333-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5eac898 --- /dev/null +++ b/26333-h/26333-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9693 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/html4/loose.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Maurine and Other Poems, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 2em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + h3 { text-align: left; + font-size: 100%; font-style: italic; + font-weight: normal; + clear: both; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: .5em; + } + h3.pg { text-align: center; + font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; + font-weight: bold; + clear: both; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: .5em; + } + hr { width: 75%; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + div.trans-note {border-style: solid; border-width: 1px; + margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: center;} + + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + blockquote{margin-left: 7.5%; margin-right: 7.5%;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 15%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbrs */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + color: #5a5a5a; + position: absolute; + left: 85%; width: 13%; + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + + + .center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em;} + + + ul { list-style-type:none; } + body > + ul.IX {text-indent: -2em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .IX li { text-indent: -2em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em;} + + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: .75em 0em .75em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i12 {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i14 {display: block; margin-left: 14em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i16 {display: block; margin-left: 16em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i18 {display: block; margin-left: 18em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i20 {display: block; margin-left: 20em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + height: 5px; } + pre {font-size: 85%; } + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Maurine and Other Poems, by Ella Wheeler +Wilcox</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Maurine and Other Poems</p> +<p>Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox</p> +<p>Release Date: August 16, 2008 [eBook #26333]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS***</p> +<br><br><center><h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Christina, Joseph Cooper,<br> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3></center><br><br> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>MAURINE</h1> + +<br> + +<h4>AND OTHER POEMS</h4> + +<br> + +<h4><small>BY</small><br> +ELLA WHEELER WILCOX</h4> + +<p> </p> +<br> + +<hr> + +<br> + +<h4>W. B. CONKEY COMPANY<br> +<small>CHICAGO</small></h4> + +<br> + +<hr> + +<br> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1888<br> +By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX</span></h4> + +<br> + +<hr> + +<br><br> + +<blockquote><blockquote><i> +I step across the mystic border-land,<br> +And look upon the wonder-world of Art.<br> +How beautiful, how beautiful its hills!<br> +And all its valleys, how surpassing fair!<br> + +<br> + +The winding paths that lead up to the heights<br> +Are polished by the footsteps of the great.<br> +The mountain‑peaks stand very near to God:<br> +The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon<br> +Have talked with Him, and with the angels walked.<br> + +<br> + +Here are no sounds of discord—no profane<br> +Or senseless gossip of unworthy things—<br> +Only the songs of chisels and of pens.<br> +Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains<br> +Of souls surcharged with music most divine.<br> +Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief<br> +For any day or object left behind—<br> +For time is counted precious, and herein<br> +Is such complete abandonment of Self<br> +That tears turn into rainbows, and enhance<br> +The beauty of the land where all is fair.<br> + +<br> + +Awed and afraid, I cross the border‑land.<br> +Oh, who am I, that I dare enter here<br> +Where the great artists of the world have trod—<br> +The genius‑crowned aristocrats of Earth?<br> +Only the singer of a little song;<br> +Yet loving Art with such a mighty love<br> +I hold it greater to have won a place<br> +Just on the fair land's edge, to make my grave,<br> +Than in the outer world of greed and gain<br> +To sit upon a royal throne and reign.<br> +</i></blockquote></blockquote> + +<br><br> + +<hr> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<h4> +<a href="#MAURINE">MAURINE</a><br> +<a href="#PART_I"><small>PART I.</small></a><br> +<a href="#PART_II"><small>PART II.</small></a><br> +<a href="#PART_III"><small>PART III.</small></a><br> +<a href="#PART_IV"><small>PART IV.</small></a><br> +<a href="#PART_V"><small>PART V.</small></a><br> +<a href="#PART_VI"><small>PART VI.</small></a><br> +<a href="#PART_VII"><small>PART VII.</small></a><br> +<br> +<a href="#TWO_SUNSETS">TWO SUNSETS.</a><br> + +<a href="#UNREST">UNREST.</a><br> + +<a href="#ARTISTS_LIFE">"ARTIST'S LIFE."</a><br> + +<a href="#NOTHING_BUT_STONES">NOTHING BUT STONES.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_COQUETTE">THE COQUETTE.</a><br> + +<a href="#INEVITABLE">INEVITABLE.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_OCEAN_OF_SONG">THE OCEAN OF SONG.</a><br> + +<a href="#IT_MIGHT_HAVE_BEEN">"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN."</a><br> + +<a href="#IF">IF.</a><br> + +<a href="#GETHSEMANE">GETHSEMANE.</a><br> + +<a href="#DUST-SEALED">DUST‑SEALED.</a><br> + +<a href="#ADVICE">"ADVICE."</a><br> + +<a href="#OVER_THE_BANISTERS">OVER THE BANISTERS.</a><br> + +<a href="#MOMUS_GOD_OF_LAUGHTER">MOMUS, GOD OF LAUGHTER.</a><br> + +<a href="#I_DREAM">I DREAM.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_PAST">THE PAST.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_SONNET">THE SONNET.</a><br> + +<a href="#SECRETS">SECRETS.</a><br> + +<a href="#A_DREAM">A DREAM.</a><br> + +<a href="#USELESSNESS">USELESSNESS.</a><br> + +<a href="#WILL">WILL.</a><br> + +<a href="#WINTER_RAIN">WINTER RAIN.</a><br> + +<a href="#APPLAUSE">APPLAUSE.</a><br> + +<a href="#LIFE">LIFE.</a><br> + +<a href="#BURDENED">BURDENED.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_STORY">THE STORY.</a><br> + +<a href="#LET_THEM_GO">LET THEM GO.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_ENGINE">THE ENGINE.</a><br> + +<a href="#NOTHING_NEW">NOTHING NEW.</a><br> + +<a href="#DREAMS">DREAMS.</a><br> + +<a href="#HELENA">HELENA.</a><br> + +<a href="#NOTHING_REMAINS">NOTHING REMAINS.</a><br> + +<a href="#LEAN_DOWN">LEAN DOWN.</a><br> + +<a href="#COMRADES">COMRADES.</a><br> + +<a href="#WHAT_GAIN">WHAT GAIN?</a><br> + +<a href="#LIFE2">LIFE.</a><br> + +<a href="#TO_THE_WEST">TO THE WEST.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_LAND_OF_CONTENT">THE LAND OF CONTENT.</a><br> + +<a href="#A_SONG_OF_LIFE">A SONG OF LIFE.</a><br> + +<a href="#WARNING">WARNING.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_CHRISTIANS_NEW_YEAR_PRAYER">THE CHRISTIAN'S NEW YEAR PRAYER.</a><br> + +<a href="#IN_THE_NIGHT">IN THE NIGHT.</a><br> + +<a href="#GODS_MEASURE">GOD'S MEASURE.</a><br> + +<a href="#A_MARCH_SNOW">A MARCH SNOW.</a><br> + +<a href="#AFTER_THE_BATTLES_ARE_OVER">AFTER THE BATTLES ARE OVER.</a><br> + +<a href="#NOBLESSE_OBLIGE">NOBLESSE OBLIGE.</a><br> + +<a href="#AND_THEY_ARE_DUMB">AND THEY ARE DUMB.</a><br> + +<a href="#NIGHT">NIGHT.</a><br> + +<a href="#ALL_FOR_ME">ALL FOR ME.</a><br> + +<a href="#PHILOSOPHY">PHILOSOPHY.</a><br> + +<a href="#CARLOS">"CARLOS."</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_TWO_GLASSES">THE TWO GLASSES.</a><br> + +<a href="#THROUGH_TEARS">THROUGH TEARS.</a><br> + +<a href="#INTO_SPACE">INTO SPACE.</a><br> + +<a href="#THROUGH_DIM_EYES">THROUGH DIM EYES.</a><br> + +<a href="#LA_MORT_DAMOUR">LA MORT D'AMOUR.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_PUNISHED">THE PUNISHED.</a><br> + +<a href="#HALF_FLEDGED">HALF FLEDGED.</a><br> + +<a href="#LOVES_SLEEP">LOVE'S SLEEP.</a><br> + +<a href="#TRUE_CULTURE">TRUE CULTURE.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_VOLUPTUARY">THE VOLUPTUARY.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_YEAR">THE YEAR.</a><br> + +<a href="#THE_UNATTAINED">THE UNATTAINED.</a><br> + +<a href="#IN_THE_CROWD">IN THE CROWD.</a><br> + +<a href="#LIFE_AND_I">LIFE AND I.</a><br> + +<a href="#GUERDON">GUERDON.</a><br> + +<a href="#SNOWED_UNDER">SNOWED UNDER.</a><br> + +<a href="#PLATONIC">PLATONIC.</a><br> + +<a href="#WHAT_WE_NEEDED">WHAT WE NEEDED.</a><br> + +<a href="#LEUDEMANNS_ON_THE_RIVER">"LEUDEMANN'S‑ON‑THE‑RIVER."</a><br> + +<a href="#IN_THE_LONG_RUN">IN THE LONG RUN.</a><br> + +<a href="#PLEA_TO_SCIENCE">PLEA TO SCIENCE.</a><br> + +<a href="#LOVES_BURIAL">LOVE'S BURIAL.</a><br> + +<a href="#LITTLE_BLUE_HOOD">LITTLE BLUE HOOD.</a><br> + +<a href="#NO_SPRING">NO SPRING.</a><br> + +<a href="#LIPPO">LIPPO.</a><br> + +<a href="#MIDSUMMER">MIDSUMMER.</a><br> + +<a href="#A_REMINISCENCE">A REMINISCENCE.</a><br> + +<a href="#RESPITE">RESPITE.</a><br> + +<a href="#A_GIRLS_FAITH">A GIRL'S FAITH.</a><br> + +<a href="#TWO">TWO.</a><br> + +<a href="#SLIPPING_AWAY">SLIPPING AWAY.</a><br> + +<a href="#IS_IT_DONE">IS IT DONE?</a><br> + +<a href="#A_LEAF">A LEAF.</a><br> + +<a href="#AESTHETIC">ÆSTHETIC.</a><br> + +<a href="#POEMS_OF_THE_WEEK">POEMS OF THE WEEK.</a><br> +<a href="#SUNDAY"><small>SUNDAY</small>.</a><br> +<a href="#MONDAY"><small>MONDAY</small>.</a><br> +<a href="#TUESDAY"><small>TUESDAY</small>.</a><br> +<a href="#WEDNESDAY"><small>WEDNESDAY</small>.</a><br> +<a href="#THURSDAY"><small>THURSDAY</small>.</a><br> +<a href="#FRIDAY"><small>FRIDAY</small>.</a><br> +<a href="#SATURDAY"><small>SATURDAY</small>.</a><br> +<br> +<a href="#GHOSTS">GHOSTS.</a><br> + +<a href="#FLEEING_AWAY">FLEEING AWAY.</a><br> + +<a href="#ALL_MAD">ALL MAD.</a><br> + +<a href="#HIDDEN_GEMS">HIDDEN GEMS.</a><br> + +<a href="#BY-AND-BY">BY‑AND‑BY.</a><br> + +<a href="#OVER_THE_MAY_HILL">OVER THE MAY HILL.</a><br> + +<a href="#A_SONG">A SONG.</a><br> + +<a href="#FOES">FOES.</a><br> + +<a href="#FRIENDSHIP">FRIENDSHIP.</a><br> +</h4> + +<br> + +<a name="MAURINE"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 9]</span><h2>MAURINE</h2> + +<a name="PART_I"></a> + +<h4><i>PART I.</i></h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I sat and sewed, and sang some tender tune,<br> +Oh, beauteous was that morn in early June!<br> +Mellow with sunlight, and with blossoms fair:<br> +The climbing rose‑tree grew about me there,<br> +And checked with shade the sunny portico<br> +Where, morns like this, I came to read, or sew.<br> + +<br> + +I heard the gate click, and a firm quick tread<br> +Upon the walk. No need to turn my head;<br> +I would mistake, and doubt my own voice sounding,<br> +Before his step upon the gravel bounding.<br> +In an unstudied attitude of grace,<br> +He stretched his comely form; and from his face<br> +He tossed the dark, damp curls; and at my knees,<br> +With his broad hat he fanned the lazy breeze,<br> +And turned his head, and lifted his large eyes,<br> +Of that strange hue we see in ocean dyes,<br> +And call it blue sometimes, and sometimes green<br> +And save in poet eyes, not elsewhere seen.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 10]</span>"Lest I should meet with my fair lady's scorning,<br> +For calling quite so early in the morning,<br> +I've brought a passport that can never fail,"<br> +He said, and, laughing, laid the morning mail<br> +Upon my lap. "I'm welcome? so I thought!<br> +I'll figure by the letters that I brought<br> +How glad you are to see me. Only one?<br> +And that one from a lady? I'm undone!<br> +That, lightly skimmed, you'll think me <i>such</i> a bore,<br> +And wonder why I did not bring you four.<br> +It's ever thus: a woman cannot get<br> +So many letters that she will not fret<br> +O'er one that did not come."<br> +                                          "I'll prove you wrong,"<br> +I answered gayly, "here upon the spot!<br> +This little letter, precious if not long,<br> +Is just the one, of all you might have brought,<br> +To please me. You have heard me speak, I'm sure,<br> +Of Helen Trevor: she writes here to say<br> +She's coming out to see me; and will stay<br> +Till Autumn, maybe. She is, like her note,<br> +Petite and dainty, tender, loving, pure.<br> +You'd know her by a letter that she wrote,<br> +For a sweet tinted thing. 'Tis always so:—<br> +Letters all blots, though finely written, show<br> +A slovenly person. Letters stiff and white<br> +Bespeak a nature honest, plain, upright.<br> +And tissuey, tinted, perfumed notes, like this,<br> +Tell of a creature formed to pet and kiss."<br> + +<br> + +My listener heard me with a slow, odd smile;<br> +Stretched in abandon at my feet, the while,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 11]</span>He fanned me idly with his broad‑brimmed hat.<br> +"Then all young ladies must be formed for that!"<br> +He laughed, and said.<br> +                                "Their letters read, and look,<br> +As like as twenty copies of one book.<br> +They're written in a dainty, spider scrawl,<br> +To 'darling, precious Kate,' or 'Fan,' or 'Moll.'<br> +The 'dearest, sweetest' friend they ever had.<br> +They say they 'want to see you, oh, so bad!'<br> +Vow they'll 'forget you, never, _never_, oh!'<br> +And then they tell about a splendid beau—<br> +A lovely hat—a charming dress, and send<br> +A little scrap of this to every friend.<br> +And then to close, for lack of something better,<br> +They beg you'll 'read and burn this horrid letter.'"<br> + +<br> + +He watched me, smiling. He was prone to vex<br> +And hector me with flings upon my sex.<br> +He liked, he said, to have me flash and frown,<br> +So he could tease me, and then laugh me down.<br> +My storms of wrath amused him very much:<br> +He liked to see me go off at a touch;<br> +Anger became me—made my color rise,<br> +And gave an added luster to my eyes.<br> +So he would talk—and so he watched me now,<br> +To see the hot flush mantle cheek and brow.<br> + +<br> + +Instead, I answered coolly, with a smile,<br> +Felling a seam with utmost care, meanwhile.<br> +"The caustic tongue of Vivian Dangerfield<br> +Is barbed as ever, for my sex, this morn.<br> +Still unconvinced, no smallest point I yield.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 12]</span>Woman I love, and trust, despite your scorn.<br> +There is some truth in what you say? Well, yes!<br> +Your statements usually hold more or less.<br> +Some women write weak letters—(some men do;)<br> +Some make professions, knowing them untrue.<br> +And woman's friendship, in the time of need,<br> +I own, too often proves a broken reed.<br> +But I believe, and ever will contend,<br> +Woman can be a sister woman's friend,<br> +Giving from out her large heart's bounteous store<br> +A living love—claiming to do no more<br> +Than, through and by that love, she knows she can;<br> +And living by her professions, _like a man_.<br> +And such a tie, true friendship's silken tether,<br> +Binds Helen Trevor's heart and mine together.<br> +I love her for her beauty, meekness, grace;<br> +For her white lily soul and angel face.<br> +She loves me, for my greater strength, may be;<br> +Loves—and would give her heart's best blood for me<br> +And I, to save her from a pain, or cross,<br> +Would suffer any sacrifice or loss.<br> +Such can be woman's friendship for another.<br> +Could man give more, or ask more from a brother?"<br> + +<br> + +I paused: and Vivian leaned his massive head<br> +Against the pillar of the portico,<br> +Smiled his slow, skeptic smile, then laughed, and said:<br> +"Nay, surely not—if what you say be so.<br> +You've made a statement, but no proof's at hand.<br> +Wait—do not flash your eyes so! Understand<br> +I think you quite sincere in what you say:<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 13]</span>You love your friend, and she loves you, to‑day;<br> +But friendship is not friendship at the best<br> +Till circumstances put it to the test.<br> +Man's, less demonstrative, stands strain and tear,<br> +While woman's, half profession, fails to wear.<br> +Two women love each other passing well—<br> +Say Helen Trevor and Maurine La Pelle,<br> +Just for example.<br> +                             Let them daily meet<br> +At ball and concert, in the church and street,<br> +They kiss and coo, they visit, chat, caress;<br> +Their love increases, rather than grows less;<br> +And all goes well, till 'Helen dear' discovers<br> +That 'Maurine darling' wins too many lovers.<br> + +<br> + +And then her 'precious friend,' her 'pet,' her 'sweet,'<br> +Becomes a 'minx,' a 'creature all deceit.'<br> +Let Helen smile too oft on Maurine's beaux,<br> +Or wear more stylish or becoming clothes,<br> +Or sport a hat that has a longer feather—<br> +And lo! the strain has broken 'friendship's tether.'<br> +Maurine's sweet smile becomes a frown or pout;<br> +'She's just begun to find that Helen out'<br> +The breach grows wider—anger fills each heart;<br> +They drift asunder, whom 'but death could part.'<br> +You shake your head? Oh, well, we'll never know!<br> +It is not likely Fate will test you so.<br> +You'll live, and love; and, meeting twice a year,<br> +While life shall last, you'll hold each other dear.<br> +I pray it may be so; it were not best<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 14]</span>To shake your faith in woman by the test.<br> +Keep your belief, and nurse it while you can.<br> +I've faith in woman's friendship too—for man!<br> +They're true as steel, as mothers, friends, and wives:<br> +And that's enough to bless us all our lives.<br> +That man's a selfish fellow, and a bore,<br> +Who is unsatisfied, and asks for more."<br> + +<br> + +"But there is need of more!" I here broke in.<br> +"I hold that woman guilty of a sin,<br> +Who would not cling to, and defend another,<br> +As nobly as she would stand by a brother.<br> +Who would not suffer for a sister's sake,<br> +And, were there need to prove her friendship, make<br> +'Most any sacrifice, nor count the cost.<br> +Who would not do this for a friend is lost<br> +To every nobler principle."<br> +                                           "Shame, shame!"<br> +Cried Vivian, laughing, "for you now defame<br> +The whole sweet sex; since there's not one would do<br> +The thing you name, nor would I want her to.<br> +I love the sex. My mother was a woman—<br> +I hope my wife will be, and wholly human.<br> +And if she wants to make some sacrifice,<br> +I'll think her far more sensible and wise<br> +To let her husband reap the benefit,<br> +Instead of some old maid or senseless chit.<br> +Selfish? Of course! I hold all love is so:<br> +And I shall love my wife right well, I know.<br> +Now there's a point regarding selfish love,<br> +You thirst to argue with me, and disprove.<br> +But since these cosy hours will soon be gone<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 15]</span>And all our meetings broken in upon,<br> +No more of these rare moments must be spent<br> +In vain discussions, or in argument.<br> +I wish Miss Trevor was in—Jericho!<br> +(You see the selfishness begins to show.)<br> +She wants to see you?—So do I: but she<br> +Will gain her wish, by taking you from me.<br> +'Come all the same?' that means I'll be allowed<br> +To realize that 'three can make a crowd.'<br> +I do not like to feel myself _de trop_.<br> +With two girl cronies would I not be so?<br> +My ring would interrupt some private chat.<br> +You'd ask me in and take my cane and hat,<br> +And speak about the lovely summer day,<br> +And think—'The lout! I wish he'd kept away.'<br> +Miss Trevor'd smile, but just to hide a pout<br> +And count the moments till I was shown out.<br> +And, while I twirled my thumbs, I would sit wishing<br> +That I had gone off hunting birds, or fishing.<br> +No, thanks, Maurine! The iron hand of Fate,<br> +(Or otherwise Miss Trevor's dainty fingers,)<br> +Will bar my entrance into Eden's gate;<br> +And I shall be like some poor soul that lingers<br> +At heaven's portal, paying the price of sin,<br> +Yet hoping to be pardoned and let in."<br> + +<br> + +He looked so melancholy sitting there,<br> +I laughed outright. "How well you act a part;<br> +You look the very picture of despair!<br> +You've missed your calling, sir! suppose you start<br> +Upon a starring tour, and carve your name<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 16]</span>With Booth's and Barrett's on the heights of Fame.<br> +But now, tabooing nonsense, I shall send<br> +For you to help me entertain my friend,<br> +Unless you come without it. 'Cronies?' True,<br> +Wanting our 'private chats' as cronies do<br> +And we'll take those, while you are reading Greek,<br> +Or writing 'Lines to Dora's brow' or 'cheek.'<br> +But when you have an hour or two of leisure,<br> +Call as you now do, and afford like pleasure.<br> +For never yet did heaven's sun shine on,<br> +Or stars discover, that phenomenon,<br> +In any country, or in any clime:<br> +Two maids so bound, by ties of mind and heart.<br> +They did not feel the heavy weight of time<br> +In weeks of scenes wherein no man took part.<br> +God made the sexes to associate:<br> +Nor law of man, nor stern decree of Fate,<br> +Can ever undo what His hand has done,<br> +And, quite alone, make happy either one.<br> +My Helen is an only child:—a pet<br> +Of loving parents: and she never yet<br> +Has been denied one boon for which she pleaded.<br> +A fragile thing, her lightest wish was heeded.<br> +Would she pluck roses? they must first be shorn,<br> +By careful hands, of every hateful thorn.<br> +And loving eyes must scan the pathway where<br> +Her feet may tread, to see no stones are there.<br> +She'll grow dull here, in this secluded nook,<br> +Unless you aid me in the pleasant task<br> +Of entertaining. Drop in with your book—<br> +Read, talk, sing for her sometimes. What I ask,<br> +Do once, to please me: then there'll be no need<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 17]</span>For me to state the case again, or plead.<br> +There's nothing like a woman's grace and beauty<br> +To waken mankind to a sense of duty."<br> + +<br> + +"I bow before the mandate of my queen:<br> +Your slightest wish is law, Ma Belle Maurine,"<br> +He answered smiling, "I'm at your command;<br> +Point but one lily finger, or your wand,<br> +And you will find a willing slave obeying.<br> +There goes my dinner bell! I hear it saying<br> +I've spent two hours here, lying at your feet,<br> +Not profitable, maybe—surely sweet.<br> +All time is money; now were I to measure<br> +The time I spend here by its solid pleasure,<br> +And that were coined in dollars, then I've laid<br> +Each day a fortune at your feet, fair maid.<br> +There goes that bell again! I'll say good‑bye,<br> +Or clouds will shadow my domestic sky.<br> +I'll come again, as you would have me do,<br> +And see your friend, while she is seeing you.<br> +That's like by proxy being at a feast;<br> +Unsatisfactory, to say the least."<br> + +<br> + +He drew his fine shape up, and trod the land<br> +With kingly grace. Passing the gate, his hand<br> +He lightly placed the garden wall upon,<br> +Leaped over like a leopard, and was gone.<br> + +<br> + +And, going, took the brightness from the place,<br> +Yet left the June day with a sweeter grace,<br> +And my young soul so steeped in happy dreams,<br> +Heaven itself seemed shown to me in gleams.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 18]</span>There is a time with lovers, when the heart<br> +First slowly rouses from its dreamless sleep,<br> +To all the tumult of a passion life,<br> +Ere yet have wakened jealousy and strife.<br> +Just as a young, untutored child will start<br> +Out of a long hour's slumber, sound and deep,<br> +And lie and smile with rosy lips, and cheeks,<br> +In a sweet, restful trance, before it speaks.<br> +A time when yet no word the spell has broken,<br> +Save what the heart unto the soul has spoken,<br> +In quickened throbs, and sighs but half suppressed.<br> +A time when that sweet truth, all unconfessed,<br> +Gives added fragrance to the summer flowers,<br> +A golden glory to the passing hours,<br> +A hopeful beauty to the plainest face,<br> +And lends to life a new and tender grace.<br> + +<br> + +When the full heart has climbed the heights of bliss,<br> +And, smiling, looks back o'er the golden past,<br> +I think it finds no sweeter hour than this<br> +In all love‑life. For, later, when the last<br> +Translucent drop o'erflows the cup of joy,<br> +And love, more mighty than the heart's control,<br> +Surges in words of passion from the soul,<br> +And vows are asked and given, shadows rise<br> +Like mists before the sun in noonday skies,<br> +Vague fears, that prove the brimming cup's alloy;<br> +A dread of change—the crowning moment's curse,<br> +Since what is perfect, change but renders worse:<br> +A vain desire to cripple Time, who goes<br> +Bearing our joys away, and bringing woes.<br> +And later, doubts and jealousies awaken.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 19]</span>And plighted hearts are tempest‑tossed, and shaken.<br> +Doubt sends a test, that goes a step too far,<br> +A wound is made, that, healing, leaves a scar,<br> +Or one heart, full with love's sweet satisfaction,<br> +Thinks truth once spoken always understood,<br> +While one is pining for the tender action<br> +And whispered word by which, of old, 'twas wooed.<br> + +<br> + +But this blest hour, in love's glad, golden day,<br> +Is like the dawning, ere the radiant ray<br> +Of glowing Sol has burst upon the eye,<br> +But yet is heralded in earth and sky,<br> +Warm with its fervor, mellow with its light,<br> +While Care still slumbers in the arms of night.<br> +But Hope, awake, hears happy birdlings sing,<br> +And thinks of all a summer day may bring.<br> + +<br> + +In this sweet calm, my young heart lay at rest,<br> +Filled with a blissful sense of peace; nor guessed<br> +That sullen clouds were gathering in the skies<br> +To hide the glorious sun, ere it should rise.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<a name="PART_II"></a> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 20]</span><h4><i>PART II.</i></h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +To little birds that never tire of humming<br> +About the garden, in the summer weather,<br> +Aunt Ruth compared us, after Helen's coming,<br> +As we two roamed, or sat and talked together.<br> +Twelve months apart, we had so much to say<br> +Of school days gone—and time since passed away;<br> +Of that old friend, and this; of what we'd done;<br> +Of how our separate paths in life had run;<br> +Of what we would do, in the coming years;<br> +Of plans and castles, hopes and dreams and fears.<br> +All these, and more, as soon as we found speech,<br> +We touched upon, and skimmed from this to that<br> +But at the first, each only gazed on each,<br> +And, dumb with joy, that did not need a voice<br> +Like lesser joys, to say, "Lo! I rejoice,"<br> +With smiling eyes and clasping hands we sat<br> +Wrapped in that peace, felt but with those dear,<br> +Contented just to know each other near.<br> +But when this silent eloquence gave place<br> +To words, 'twas like the rising of a flood<br> +Above a dam. We sat there, face to face,<br> +And let our talk glide on where'er it would,<br> +Speech never halting in its speed or zest,<br> +Save when our rippling laughter let it rest;<br> +Just as a stream will sometimes pause and play<br> +About a bubbling spring, then dash away.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 21]</span>No wonder, then, the third day's sun was nigh<br> +Up to the zenith when my friend and I<br> +Opened our eyes from slumber long and deep:<br> +Nature demanding recompense for hours<br> +Spent in the portico, among the flowers,<br> +Halves of two nights we should have spent in sleep.<br> + +<br> + +So this third day, we breakfasted at one:<br> +Then walked about the garden in the sun,<br> +Hearing the thrushes and the robins sing,<br> +And looking to see what buds were opening.<br> + +<br> + +The clock chimed three, and we yet strayed at will<br> +About the yard in morning dishabille,<br> +When Aunt Ruth came, with apron o'er her head,<br> +Holding a letter in her hand, and said,<br> +"Here is a note, from Vivian I opine;<br> +At least his servant brought it. And now, girls,<br> +You may think this is no concern of mine,<br> +But in my day young ladies did not go,<br> +Till almost bed‑time roaming to and fro<br> +In morning wrappers, and with tangled curls,<br> +The very pictures of forlorn distress.<br> +'Tis three o'clock, and time for you to dress.<br> +Come! read your note and hurry in, Maurine,<br> +And make yourself fit object to be seen."<br> + +<br> + +Helen was bending o'er an almond bush,<br> +And ere she looked up I had read the note,<br> +And calmed my heart, that, bounding, sent a flush<br> +To brow and cheek, at sight of aught <i>he</i> wrote.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 22]</span>"Ma Belle Maurine:" (so Vivian's billet ran,)<br> +"Is it not time I saw your cherished guest?<br> +'Pity the sorrows of a poor young man,'<br> +Banished from all that makes existence blest.<br> +I'm dying to see—your friend; and I will come<br> +And pay respects, hoping you'll be at home<br> +To‑night at eight. Expectantly, V. D."<br> + +<br> + +Inside my belt I slipped the billet, saying,<br> +"Helen, go make yourself most fair to see:<br> +Quick! hurry now! no time for more delaying!<br> +In just five hours a caller will be here,<br> +And you must look your prettiest, my dear!<br> +Begin your toilet right away. I know<br> +How long it takes you to arrange each bow—<br> +To twist each curl, and loop your skirts aright.<br> +And you must prove you are <i>au fait</i> to‑night,<br> +And make a perfect toilet: for our caller<br> +Is man, and critic, poet, artist, scholar,<br> +And views with eyes of all."<br> +                                             "Oh, oh! Maurine,"<br> +Cried Helen with a well‑feigned look of fear,<br> +"You've frightened me so I shall not appear:<br> +I'll hide away, refusing to be seen<br> +By such an ogre. Woe is me! bereft<br> +Of all my friends, my peaceful home I've left,<br> +And strayed away into the dreadful wood<br> +To meet the fate of poor Red Riding Hood.<br> +No, Maurine, no! you've given me such a fright,<br> +I'll not go near your ugly wolf to‑night."<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 23]</span>Meantime we'd left the garden; and I stood<br> +In Helen's room, where she had thrown herself<br> +Upon a couch, and lay, a winsome elf,<br> +Pouting and smiling, cheek upon her arm,<br> +Not in the least a portrait of alarm.<br> +"Now sweet!" I coaxed, and knelt by her, "be good!<br> +Go curl your hair; and please your own Maurine,<br> +By putting on that lovely grenadine.<br> +Not wolf, nor ogre, neither Caliban,<br> +Nor Mephistopheles, you'll meet to‑night,<br> +But what the ladies call 'a nice young man'!<br> +Yet one worth knowing—strong with health and might<br> +Of perfect manhood; gifted, noble, wise;<br> +Moving among his kind with loving eyes,<br> +And helpful hand; progressive, brave, refined,<br> +After the image of his Maker's mind."<br> + +<br> + +"Now, now, Maurine!" cried Helen, "I believe<br> +It is your lover coming here this eve.<br> +Why have you never written of him, pray?<br> +Is the day set?—and when? Say, Maurine, say!"<br> + +<br> + +Had I betrayed by some too fervent word<br> +The secret love that all my being stirred?<br> +My lover? Ay! My heart proclaimed him so;<br> +But first <i>his</i> lips must win the sweet confession,<br> +Ere even Helen be allowed to know.<br> +I must straightway erase the slight impression<br> +Made by the words just uttered.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 24]</span>                                    "Foolish child!"<br> +I gayly cried, "your fancy's straying wild.<br> +Just let a girl of eighteen hear the name<br> +Of maid and youth uttered about one time,<br> +And off her fancy goes, at break‑neck pace,<br> +Defying circumstances, reason, space—<br> +And straightway builds romances so sublime<br> +They put all Shakespeare's dramas to the shame.<br> +This Vivian Dangerfield is neighbor, friend<br> +And kind companion; bringing books and flowers.<br> +And, by his thoughtful actions without end,<br> +Helping me pass some otherwise long hours;<br> +But he has never breathed a word of love.<br> +If you still doubt me, listen while I prove<br> +My statement by the letter that he wrote.<br> +'Dying to meet—my friend!' (she could not see<br> +The dash between that meant so much to me.)<br> +'Will come this eve, at eight, and hopes we may<br> +Be in to greet him.' Now I think you'll say<br> +'Tis not much like a lover's tender note."<br> + +<br> + +We laugh, we jest, not meaning what we say;<br> +We hide our thoughts, by light words lightly spoken,<br> +And pass on heedless, till we find one day<br> +They've bruised our hearts, or left some other broken.<br> + +<br> + +I sought my room, and trilling some blithe air,<br> +Opened my wardrobe, wondering what to wear.<br> +Momentous question! femininely human!<br> +More than all others, vexing mind of woman,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 25]</span>Since that sad day, when in her discontent,<br> +To search for leaves, our fair first mother went.<br> +All undecided what I should put on,<br> +At length I made selection of a lawn—<br> +White, with a tiny pink vine overrun:—<br> +My simplest robe, but Vivian's favorite one.<br> +And placing a single flowret in my hair,<br> +I crossed the hall to Helen's chamber, where<br> +I found her with her fair locks all let down,<br> +Brushing the kinks out, with a pretty frown.<br> +'T was like a picture, or a pleasing play,<br> +To watch her make her toilet. She would stand,<br> +And turn her head first this and then that way,<br> +Trying effect of ribbon, bow or band.<br> +Then she would pick up something else, and curve<br> +Her lovely neck, with cunning, bird‑like grace,<br> +And watch the mirror while she put it on,<br> +With such a sweetly grave and thoughtful face;<br> +And then to view it all would sway, and swerve<br> +Her lithe young body, like a graceful swan.<br> + +<br> + +Helen was over medium height, and slender<br> +Even to frailty. Her great, wistful eyes<br> +Were like the deep blue of autumnal skies;<br> +And through them looked her soul, large, loving, tender.<br> +Her long, light hair was lusterless, except<br> +Upon the ends, where burnished sunbeams slept,<br> +And on the earlocks; and she looped the curls<br> +Back with a shell comb, studded thick with pearls,<br> +Costly yet simple. Her pale loveliness,<br> +That night, was heightened by her rich, black dress,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 26]</span>That trailed behind her, leaving half in sight<br> +Her taper arms, and shoulders marble white.<br> + +<br> + +I was not tall as Helen, and my face<br> +Was shaped and colored like my grandsire's race;<br> +For through his veins my own received the warm,<br> +Red blood of southern France, which curved my form,<br> +And glowed upon my cheek in crimson dyes,<br> +And bronzed my hair, and darkled in my eyes.<br> +And as the morning trails the skirts of night,<br> +And dusky night puts on the garb of morn,<br> +And walk together when the day is born,<br> +So we two glided down the hall and stair,<br> +Arm clasping arm, into the parlor, where<br> +Sat Vivian, bathed in sunset's gorgeous light.<br> +He rose to greet us. Oh! his form was grand;<br> +And he possessed that power, strange, occult,<br> +Called magnetism, lacking better word,<br> +Which moves the world, achieving great result<br> +Where genius fails completely. Touch his hand,<br> +It thrilled through all your being—meet his eye,<br> +And you were moved, yet knew not how, or why.<br> +Let him but rise, you felt the air was stirred<br> +By an electric current.<br> + +<br> + +                                  This strange force<br> +Is mightier than genius. Rightly used,<br> +It leads to grand achievements; all things yield<br> +Before its mystic presence, and its field<br> +Is broad as earth and heaven. But abused,<br> +It sweeps like a poison simoon on its course<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 27]</span>Bearing miasma in its scorching breath,<br> +And leaving all it touches struck with death.<br> + +<br> + +Far‑reaching science shall yet tear away<br> +The mystic garb that hides it from the day,<br> +And drag it forth and bind it with its laws,<br> +And make it serve the purposes of men,<br> +Guided by common sense and reason. Then<br> +We'll hear no more of seance, table‑rapping,<br> +And all that trash, o'er which the world is gaping,<br> +Lost in effect, while science seeks the cause.<br> + +<br> + +Vivian was not conscious of his power:<br> +Or, if he was, knew not its full extent.<br> +He knew his glance would make a wild beast cower,<br> +And yet he knew not that his large eyes sent<br> +Into the heart of woman the same thrill<br> +That made the lion servant of his will.<br> +And even strong men felt it.<br> + +<br> + +                                            He arose,<br> +Reached forth his hand, and in it clasped my own,<br> +While I held Helen's; and he spoke some word<br> +Of pleasant greeting in his low, round tone,<br> +Unlike all other voices I have heard.<br> +Just as the white cloud, at the sunrise, glows<br> +With roseate colors, so the pallid hue<br> +Of Helen's cheek, like tinted sea‑shells grew.<br> +Through mine, his hand caused hers to tremble; such<br> +Was the all‑mast'ring magic of his touch.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 28]</span>Then we sat down, and talked about the weather,<br> +The neighborhood—some author's last new book.<br> +But, when I could, I left the two together<br> +To make acquaintance, saying I must look<br> +After the chickens—my especial care;<br> +And ran away, and left them, laughing, there.<br> + +<br> + +Knee‑deep, through clover, to the poplar grove,<br> +I waded, where my pets were wont to rove:<br> +And there I found the foolish mother hen<br> +Brooding her chickens underneath a tree,<br> +An easy prey for foxes. "Chick‑a‑dee,"<br> +Quoth I, while reaching for the downy things<br> +That, chirping, peeped from out the mother‑wings,<br> +"How very human is your folly! When<br> +There waits a haven, pleasant, bright, and warm,<br> +And one to lead you thither from the storm<br> +And lurking dangers, yet you turn away.<br> +And, thinking to be your own protector, stray<br> +Into the open jaws of death: for, see!<br> +An owl is sitting in this very tree<br> +You thought safe shelter. Go now to your pen."<br> +And, followed by the clucking, clamorous hen,<br> +So like the human mother here again,<br> +Moaning because a strong, protecting arm<br> +Would shield her little ones from cold and harm,<br> +I carried back my garden hat brimful<br> +Of chirping chickens, like white balls of wool,<br> +And snugly housed them.<br> +                                          And just then I heard<br> +A sound like gentle winds among the trees,<br> +Or pleasant waters in the Summer, stirred<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 29]</span>And set in motion by a passing breeze.<br> +'T was Helen singing: and, as I drew near,<br> +Another voice, a tenor full and clear,<br> +Mingled with hers, as murmuring streams unite,<br> +And flow on stronger in their wedded might.<br> +It was a way of Helen's, not to sing<br> +The songs that other people sang. She took<br> +Sometimes an extract from an ancient book;<br> +Again some floating, fragmentary thing<br> +And such she fitted to old melodies,<br> +Or else composed the music. One of these<br> +She sang that night; and Vivian caught the strain,<br> +And joined her in the chorus, or refrain, + +<blockquote> +                       SONG.<br> + +O thou, mine other, stronger part!<br> +    Whom yet I cannot hear, or see,<br> +Come thou, and take this loving heart,<br> +    That longs to yield its all to thee,<br> +    I call mine own—Oh, come to me!<br> +    Love, answer back, I come to thee,<br> +                                       I come to thee.<br> + +This hungry heart, so warm, so large,<br> +    Is far too great a care for me.<br> +I have grown weary of the charge<br> +    I keep so sacredly for thee.<br> +    Come thou, and take my heart from me.<br> +    Love, answer back, I come to thee,<br> +                                       I come to thee.<br> + +I am aweary, waiting here<br> +    For one who tarries long from me.<br> +O! art thou far, or art thou near?<br> +    And must I still be sad for thee?<br> +    Or wilt thou straightway come to me?<br> +    Love, answer, I am near to thee,<br> +                                       I come to thee.<br> +</blockquote> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 30]</span>The melody, so full of plaintive chords,<br> +Sobbed into silence—echoing down the strings<br> +Like voice of one who walks from us, and sings.<br> +Vivian had leaned upon the instrument<br> +The while they sang. But, as he spoke those words,<br> +"Love, I am near to thee, I come to thee,"<br> +He turned his grand head slowly round, and bent<br> +His lustrous, soulful, speaking gaze on me.<br> +And my young heart, eager to own its king,<br> +Sent to my eyes a great, glad, trustful light<br> +Of love and faith, and hung upon my cheek<br> +Hope's rose‑hued flag. There was no need to speak.<br> +I crossed the room, and knelt by Helen. "Sing<br> +That song you sang a fragment of one night,<br> +Out on the porch, beginning, 'Praise me not,'"<br> +I whispered: and her sweet and plaintive tone<br> +Rose, low and tender, as if she had caught<br> +From some sad passing breeze, and made her own,<br> +The echo of the wind‑harp's sighing strain,<br> +Or the soft music of the falling rain.<br> + +<blockquote> +                       SONG.<br> + +O praise me not with your lips, dear one!<br> +    Though your tender words I prize.<br> +But dearer by far is the soulful gaze<br> +    Of your eyes, your beautiful eyes,<br> +                 Your tender, loving eyes.<br> + +<br> + +O chide me not with your lips, dear one!<br> +    Though I cause your bosom sighs.<br> +You can make repentance deeper far<br> +    By your sad, reproving eyes,<br> +                 Your sorrowful, troubled eyes.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 31]</span>Words, at the best, are but hollow sounds;<br> +    Above, in the beaming skies,<br> +The constant stars say never a word,<br> +    But only smile with their eyes—<br> +                 Smile on with their lustrous eyes.<br> + +<br> + +Then breathe no vow with your lips, dear one;<br> +    On the winged wind speech flies.<br> +But I read the truth of your noble heart<br> +    In your soulful, speaking eyes—<br> +                 In your deep and beautiful eyes.<br> +</blockquote> + +The twilight darkened 'round us, in the room,<br> +While Helen sang; and, in the gathering gloom,<br> +Vivian reached out, and took my hand in his,<br> +And held it so; while Helen made the air<br> +Languid with music. Then a step drew near,<br> +And voice of Aunt Ruth broke the spell:<br> +                                                        "Dear! dear!<br> +Why Maurie, Helen, children! how is this?<br> +I hear you, but you have no light in there.<br> +Your room is dark as Egypt. What a way<br> +For folks to visit!—Maurie, go, I pray,<br> +And order lamps."<br> +                             And so there came a light,<br> +And all the sweet dreams hovering around<br> +The twilight shadows flitted in affright:<br> +And e'en the music had a harsher sound.<br> + +<br> + +In pleasant converse passed an hour away:<br> +And Vivian planned a picnic for next day—<br> +A drive the next, and rambles without end,<br> +That he might help me entertain my friend.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 32]</span>And then he rose, bowed low, and passed from sight,<br> +Like some great star that drops out from the night;<br> +And Helen watched him through the shadows go,<br> +And turned and said, her voice subdued and low,<br> +"How tall he is! in all my life, Maurine,<br> +A grander man I never yet have seen."<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<a name="PART_III"></a> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 33]</span><h4><i>PART III.</i></h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +One golden twelfth‑part of a checkered year;<br> +One summer month, of sunlight, moonlight, mirth<br> +With not a hint of shadows lurking near,<br> +Or storm‑clouds brewing.<br> + +<br> + +                                          'T was a royal day:<br> +Voluptuous July held her lover, Earth,<br> +With her warm arms, upon her glowing breast,<br> +And twined herself about him, as he lay<br> +Smiling and panting in his dream‑stirred rest.<br> +She bound him with her limbs of perfect grace,<br> +And hid him with her trailing robe of green,<br> +And wound him in her long hair's shimmering sheen,<br> +And rained her ardent kisses on his face.<br> + +<br> + +Through the glad glory of the summer land<br> +Helen and I went wandering, hand in hand.<br> +In winding paths, hard by the ripe wheat‑field,<br> +White with the promise of a bounteous yield,<br> +Across the late shorn meadow—down the hill,<br> +Red with the tiger‑lily blossoms, till<br> +We stood upon the borders of the lake,<br> +That like a pretty, placid infant, slept<br> +Low at its base: and little ripples crept<br> +Along its surface, just as dimples chase<br> +Each other o'er an infant's sleeping face<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 34]</span>Helen in idle hours had learned to make<br> +A thousand pretty, feminine knick‑knacks:<br> +For brackets, ottomans, and toilet stands—<br> +Labor just suited to her dainty hands.<br> +That morning she had been at work in wax,<br> +Molding a wreath of flowers for my room,—<br> +Taking her patterns from the living blows,<br> +In all their dewy beauty and sweet bloom,<br> +Fresh from my garden. Fuchsia, tulip, rose,<br> +And trailing ivy, grew beneath her touch,<br> +Resembling the living plants as much<br> +As life is copied in the form of death:<br> +These lacking but the perfume, and that, breath.<br> + +<br> + +And now the wreath was all completed, save<br> +The mermaid blossom of all flowerdom,<br> +A water‑lily, dripping from the wave.<br> +And 'twas in search of it that we had come<br> +Down to the lake, and wandered on the beach,<br> +To see if any lilies grew in reach.<br> +Some broken stalks, where flowers late had been;<br> +Some buds, with all their beauties folded in,<br> +We found, but not the treasure that we sought<br> +And then we turned our footsteps to the spot<br> +Where, all impatient of its chain, my boat,<br> +"The Swan," rocked, asking to be set afloat<br> +It was a dainty row‑boat—strong, yet light;<br> +Each side a swan was painted snowy white:<br> +A present from my uncle, just before<br> +He sailed, with Death, to that mysterious strand,<br> +Where freighted ships go sailing evermore,<br> +But none return to tell us of the land.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 35]</span>I freed the "Swan," and slowly rowed about,<br> +Wherever sea‑weeds, grass, or green leaves lifted<br> +Their tips above the water. So we drifted,<br> +While Helen, opposite, leaned idly out<br> +And watched for lilies in the waves below,<br> +And softly crooned some sweet and dreamy air,<br> +That soothed me like a mother's lullabies.<br> +I dropped the oars, and closed my sun‑kissed eyes,<br> +And let the boat go drifting here and there.<br> +Oh, happy day! the last of that brief time<br> +Of thoughtless youth, when all the world seems bright,<br> +Ere that disguisèd angel men call Woe<br> +Leads the sad heart through valleys dark as night,<br> +Up to the heights exalted and sublime.<br> +On each blest, happy moment, I am fain<br> +To linger long, ere I pass on to pain<br> +And sorrow that succeeded.<br> + +<br> + +                                             From day‑dreams,<br> +As golden as the summer noontide's beams,<br> +I was awakened by a voice that cried:<br> +"Strange ship, ahoy! Fair frigate, whither bound?"<br> +And, starting up, I cast my gaze around,<br> +And saw a sail‑boat o'er the water glide<br> +Close to the "Swan," like some live thing of grace;<br> +And from it looked the glowing, handsome face<br> +Of Vivian.<br> + +<br> + +                    "Beauteous sirens of the sea,<br> +Come sail across the raging main with me!"<br> +He laughed; and leaning, drew our drifting boat<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 36]</span>Beside his own. "There, now! step in!" he said,<br> +"I'll land you anywhere you want to go—<br> +My boat is safer far than yours, I know:<br> +And much more pleasant with its sails all spread.<br> +The Swan? We'll take the oars, and let it float<br> +Ashore at leisure. You, Maurine, sit there—<br> +Miss Helen here. Ye gods and little fishes!<br> +I've reached the height of pleasure, and my wishes.<br> +Adieu despondency! farewell to care!"<br> + +<br> + +'T was done so quickly: that was Vivian's way.<br> +He did not wait for either yea or nay.<br> +He gave commands, and left you with no choice<br> +But just to do the bidding of his voice.<br> +His rare, kind smile, low tones, and manly face<br> +Lent to his quick imperiousness a grace<br> +And winning charm, completely stripping it<br> +Of what might otherwise have seemed unfit.<br> +Leaving no trace of tyranny, but just<br> +That nameless force that seemed to say, "You must."<br> +Suiting its pretty title of "The Dawn,"<br> +(So named, he said, that it might rhyme with "Swan,")<br> +Vivian's sail‑boat, was carpeted with blue,<br> +While all its sails were of a pale rose hue.<br> +The daintiest craft that flirted with the breeze;<br> +A poet's fancy in an hour of ease.<br> + +<br> + +Whatever Vivian had was of the best.<br> +His room was like some Sultan's in the East.<br> +His board was always spread as for a feast.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 37]</span>Whereat, each meal, he was both host and guest.<br> +He would go hungry sooner than he'd dine<br> +At his own table if 'twere illy set.<br> +He so loved things artistic in design—<br> +Order and beauty, all about him. Yet<br> +So kind he was, if it befell his lot<br> +To dine within the humble peasant's cot,<br> +He made it seem his native soil to be,<br> +And thus displayed the true gentility.<br> + +<br> + +Under the rosy banners of the "Dawn,"<br> +Around the lake we drifted on, and on.<br> +It was a time for dreams, and not for speech.<br> +And so we floated on in silence, each<br> +Weaving the fancies suiting such a day.<br> +Helen leaned idly o'er the sail‑boat's side,<br> +And dipped her rosy fingers in the tide;<br> +And I among the cushions half reclined,<br> +Half sat, and watched the fleecy clouds at play<br> +While Vivian with his blank‑book, opposite,<br> +In which he seemed to either sketch or write<br> +Was lost in inspiration of some kind.<br> + +<br> + +No time, no change, no scene, can e'er efface<br> +My mind's impression of that hour and place;<br> +It stands out like a picture. O'er the years,<br> +Black with their robes of sorrow—veiled with tears,<br> +Lying with all their lengthened shapes between,<br> +Untouched, undimmed, I still behold that scene.<br> +Just as the last of Indian‑summer days,<br> +Replete with sunlight, crowned with amber haze,<br> +Followed by dark and desolate December,<br> +Through all the months of winter we remember.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 38]</span>The sun slipped westward. That peculiar change<br> +Which creeps into the air, and speaks of night<br> +While yet the day is full of golden light,<br> +We felt steal o'er us.<br> +                                   Vivian broke the spell<br> +Of dream‑fraught silence, throwing down his book:<br> +"Young ladies, please allow me to arrange<br> +These wraps about your shoulders. I know well<br> +The fickle nature of our atmosphere,—<br> +Her smile swift followed by a frown or tear,—<br> +And go prepared for changes. Now you look,<br> +Like—like—oh, where's a pretty simile?<br> +Had you a pocket mirror here you'd see<br> +How well my native talent is displayed<br> +In shawling you. Red on the brunette maid;<br> +Blue on the blonde—and quite without design<br> +(Oh, where <i>is</i> that comparison of mine?)<br> +Well—like a June rose and a violet blue<br> +In one bouquet! I fancy that will do.<br> +And now I crave your patience and a boon,<br> +Which is to listen, while I read my rhyme,<br> +A floating fancy of the summer time.<br> +'Tis neither witty, wonderful, nor wise,<br> +So listen kindly—but don't criticise<br> +My maiden effort of the afternoon:<br> + +<blockquote> +"If all the ships I have at sea<br> + Should come a‑sailing home to me,<br> + Ah, well! the harbor could not hold<br> + So many sails as there would be<br> + If all my ships came in from sea.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 39]</span>"If half my ships came home from sea,<br> + And brought their precious freight to me,<br> + Ah, well! I should have wealth as great<br> + As any king who sits in state—<br> + So rich the treasures that would be<br> + In half my ships now out at sea.<br> + +<br> + +"If just one ship I have at sea<br> + Should come a‑sailing home to me,<br> + Ah, well! the storm‑clouds then might frown:<br> + For if the others all went down<br> + Still rich and proud and glad I'd be,<br> + If that one ship came back to me.<br> + +<br> + +"If that one ship went down at sea,<br> + And all the others came to me,<br> + Weighed down with gems and wealth untold,<br> + With glory, honor, riches, gold,<br> + The poorest soul on earth I'd be<br> + If that one ship came not to me.<br> + +<br> + +"O skies be calm? O winds blow free—<br> + Blow all my ships safe home to me.<br> + But if thou sendest some a‑wrack<br> + To never more come sailing back,<br> + Send any—all, that skim the sea,<br> + But bring my love‑ship home to me."<br> +</blockquote> + +Helen was leaning by me, and her head<br> +Rested against my shoulder: as he read,<br> +I stroked her hair, and watched the fleecy skies,<br> +And when he finished, did not turn my eyes.<br> +I felt too happy and too shy to meet<br> +His gaze just then. I said, "'Tis very sweet,<br> +And suits the day; does it not, Helen, dear?"<br> +But Helen, voiceless, did not seem to hear.<br> +"'Tis strange," I added, "how you poets sing<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 40]</span>So feelingly about the very thing<br> +You care not for! and dress up an ideal<br> +So well, it looks a living, breathing real!<br> +Now, to a listener, your love song seemed<br> +A heart's out‑pouring; yet I've heard you say<br> +Almost the opposite; or that you deemed<br> +Position, honor, glory, power, fame,<br> +Gained without loss of conscience or good name,<br> +The things to live for."<br> +                             "Have you? Well you may,"<br> +Laughed Vivian, "but 'twas years—or months ago!<br> +And Solomon says wise men change, you know!<br> +I now speak truth! if she I hold most dear<br> +Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left,<br> +My heart would find the years more lonely here.<br> +Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends, bereft,<br> +And sent an exile to a foreign land."<br> + +<br> + +His voice was low, and measured: as he spoke,<br> +New, unknown chords of melody awoke<br> +Within my soul. I felt my heart expand<br> +With that sweet fullness born of love. I turned<br> +To hide the blushes on my cheek that burned,<br> +And leaning over Helen, breathed her name.<br> +She lay so motionless I thought she slept:<br> +But, as I spoke, I saw her eyes unclose,<br> +And o'er her face a sudden glory swept,<br> +And a slight tremor thrilled all through her frame.<br> +"Sweet friend," I said, "your face is full of light:<br> +What were the dreams that made your eyes so bright?"<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 41]</span>She only smiled for answer, and arose<br> +From her reclining posture at my side,<br> +Threw back the clust'ring ringlets from her face<br> +With a quick gesture, full of easy grace,<br> +And, turning, spoke to Vivian. "Will you guide<br> +The boat up near that little clump of green<br> +Off to the right? There's where the lilies grow.<br> +We quite forgot our errand here, Maurine,<br> +And our few moments have grown into hours.<br> +What will Aunt Ruth think of our ling'ring so?<br> +There—that will do—now I can reach the flowers."<br> + +<br> + +"Hark! just hear that!" and Vivian broke forth singing,<br> +"Row, brothers, row." "The six o'clock bell's ringing!<br> +Who ever knew three hours to go so fast<br> +In all the annals of the world, before?<br> +I could have sworn not over one had passed.<br> +Young ladies, I am forced to go ashore!<br> +I thank you for the pleasure you have given;<br> +This afternoon has been a glimpse of heaven.<br> +Good night—sweet dreams! and by your gracious leave,<br> +I'll pay my compliments to‑morrow eve."<br> + +<br> + +A smile, a bow, and he had gone his way:<br> +And, in the waning glory of the day,<br> +Down cool, green lanes, and through the length'ning shadows,<br> +Silent, we wandered back across the meadows.<br> +The wreath was finished, and adorned my room;<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 42]</span>Long afterward, the lilies' copied bloom<br> +Was like a horrid specter in my sight,<br> +Staring upon me morning, noon, and night.<br> + +<br> + +The sun went down. The sad new moon rose up,<br> +And passed before me, like an empty cup,<br> +The Great Unseen brims full of pain or bliss,<br> +And gives His children, saying, "Drink of this."<br> + +<br> + +A light wind, from the open casement, fanned<br> +My brow and Helen's, as we, hand in hand,<br> +Sat looking out upon the twilight scene,<br> +In dreamy silence. Helen's dark blue eyes,<br> +Like two lost stars that wandered from the skies<br> +Some night adown the meteor's shining track,<br> +And always had been grieving to go back,<br> +Now gazed up, wistfully, at heaven's dome,<br> +And seemed to recognize and long for home.<br> +Her sweet voice broke the silence: "Wish, Maurine,<br> +Before you speak! you know the moon is new,<br> +And anything you wish for will come true<br> +Before it wanes. I do believe the sign!<br> +Now tell me your wish, and I'll tell you mine."<br> + +<br> + +I turned and looked up at the slim young moon;<br> +And, with an almost superstitious heart,<br> +I sighed, "Oh, new moon! help me, by thine art,<br> +To grow all grace and goodness, and to be<br> +Worthy the love a true heart proffers me."<br> +Then smiling down, I said, "Dear one! my boon,<br> +I fear, is quite too silly or too sweet<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 43]</span>For my repeating: so we'll let it stay<br> +Between the moon and me. But if I may<br> +I'll listen now to your wish. Tell me, please!"<br> + +<br> + +All suddenly she nestled at my feet,<br> +And hid her blushing face upon my knees.<br> +Then drew my hand against her glowing cheek,<br> +And, leaning on my breast, began to speak,<br> +Half sighing out the words my tortured ear<br> +Reached down to catch, while striving not to hear.<br> + +<br> + +"Can you not guess who 'twas about, Maurine?<br> +Oh, my sweet friend! you must ere this have seen<br> +The love I tried to cover from all eyes<br> +And from myself. Ah, foolish little heart!<br> +As well it might go seeking for some art<br> +Whereby to hide the sun in noonday skies.<br> +When first the strange sound of his voice I heard,<br> +Looked on his noble face, and touched his hand,<br> +My slumb'ring heart thrilled through and through, and stirred<br> +As if to say, 'I hear, and understand.'<br> +And day by day mine eyes were blest beholding<br> +The inner beauty of his life, unfolding<br> +In countless words and actions, that portrayed<br> +The noble stuff of which his soul was made.<br> +And more and more I felt my heart upreaching<br> +Toward the truth, drawn gently by his teaching,<br> +As flowers are drawn by sunlight. And there grew<br> +A strange, shy something in its depths, I knew<br> +At length was love, because it was so sad,<br> +And yet so sweet, and made my heart so glad,<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 44]</span>Yet seemed to pain me. Then, for very shame,<br> +Lest all should read my secret and its name.<br> +I strove to hide it in my breast away,<br> +Where God could see it only. But each day<br> +It seemed to grow within me, and would rise,<br> +Like my own soul, and look forth from my eyes,<br> +Defying bonds of silence; and would speak,<br> +In its red‑lettered language, on my cheek,<br> +If but his name was uttered. You were kind,<br> +My own Maurine! as you alone could be,<br> +So long the sharer of my heart and mind,<br> +While yet you saw, in seeming not to see.<br> +In all the years we have been friends, my own.<br> +And loved as women very rarely do,<br> +My heart no sorrow and no joy has known<br> +It has not shared at once, in full, with you<br> +And I so longed to speak to you of this,<br> +When first I felt its mingled pain and bliss;<br> +Yet dared not, lest you, knowing him, should say,<br> +In pity for my folly—'Lack‑a‑day!<br> +You are undone: because no mortal art<br> +Can win the love of such a lofty heart.'<br> +And so I waited, silent and in pain,<br> +Till I could know I did not love in vain.<br> +And now I know, beyond a doubt or fear.<br> +Did he not say, 'If she I hold most dear<br> +Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left,<br> +My heart would find the years more lonely here<br> +Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends, bereft,<br> +And sent, an exile, to a foreign land'?<br> +Oh, darling, you must <i>love</i>, to understand<br> +The joy that thrilled all through me at those words.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 45]</span>It was as if a thousand singing birds<br> +Within my heart broke forth in notes of praise.<br> +I did not look up, but I knew his gaze<br> +Was on my face, and that his eyes must see<br> +The joy I felt almost transfigured me.<br> +He loves me—loves me! so the birds kept singing,<br> +And all my soul with that sweet strain is ringing.<br> +If there were added but one drop of bliss,<br> +No more my cup would hold: and so, this eve,<br> +I made a wish that I might feel his kiss<br> +Upon my lips, ere yon pale moon should leave<br> +The stars all lonely, having waned away,<br> +Too old and weak and bowed with care to stay."<br> + +<br> + +Her voice sighed into silence. While she spoke<br> +My heart writhed in me, praying she would cease—<br> +Each word she uttered falling like a stroke<br> +On my bare soul. And now a hush like death,<br> +Save that 'twas broken by a quick‑drawn breath,<br> +Fell 'round me, but brought not the hoped‑for peace.<br> +For when the lash no longer leaves its blows,<br> +The flesh still quivers, and the blood still flows.<br> + +<br> + +She nestled on my bosom like a child.<br> +And 'neath her head my tortured heart throbbed wild<br> +With pain and pity. She had told her tale—<br> +Her self‑deceiving story to the end.<br> +How could I look down on her as she lay<br> +So fair, and sweet, and lily‑like, and frail—<br> +A tender blossom on my breast, and say,<br> +"Nay, you are wrong—you do mistake, dear friend!<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 46]</span>'Tis I am loved, not you"? Yet that were truth,<br> +And she must know it later.<br> +                                        Should I speak,<br> +And spread a ghastly pallor o'er the cheek<br> +Flushed now with joy?—And while I, doubting, pondered,<br> +She spoke again. "Maurine! I oft have wondered<br> +Why you and Vivian were not lovers. He<br> +Is all a heart could ask its king to be;<br> +And you have beauty, intellect and youth.<br> +I think it strange you have not loved each other—<br> +Strange how he could pass by you for another<br> +Not half so fair or worthy. Yet I know<br> +A loving Father pre‑arranged it so.<br> +I think my heart has known him all these years,<br> +And waited for him. And if when he came<br> +It had been as a lover of my friend,<br> +I should have recognized him, all the same,<br> +As my soul‑mate, and loved him to the end,<br> +Hiding my grief, and forcing back my tears<br> +Till on my heart, slow dropping, day by day,<br> +Unseen they fell, and wore it all away.<br> +And so a tender Father kept him free,<br> +With all the largeness of his love, for me—<br> +For me, unworthy such a precious gift!<br> +Yet I will bend each effort of my life<br> +To grow in grace and goodness, and to lift<br> +My soul and spirit to his lofty height,<br> +So to deserve that holy name, his wife.<br> +Sweet friend, it fills my whole heart with delight<br> +To breathe its long hid secret in your ear.<br> +Speak, my Maurine, and say you love to hear!"<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 47]</span>The while she spoke, my active brain gave rise<br> +To one great thought of mighty sacrifice<br> +And self‑denial. Oh! it blanched my cheek,<br> +And wrung my soul; and from my heart it drove<br> +All life and feeling. Coward‑like, I strove<br> +To send it from me; but I felt it cling<br> +And hold fast on my mind like some live thing;<br> +And all the Self within me felt its touch<br> +And cried, "No, no! I cannot do so much—<br> +I am not strong enough—there is no call."<br> +And then the voice of Helen bade me speak,<br> +And with a calmness born of nerve, I said,<br> +Scarce knowing what I uttered, "Sweetheart, all<br> +Your joys and sorrows are with mine own wed.<br> +I thank you for your confidence, and pray<br> +I may deserve it always. But, dear one,<br> +Something—perhaps our boat‑ride in the sun,<br> +Has set my head to aching. I must go<br> +To bed directly; and you will, I know,<br> +Grant me your pardon, and another day<br> +We'll talk of this together. Now good night<br> +And angels guard you with their wings of light."<br> + +<br> + +I kissed her lips, and held her on my heart,<br> +And viewed her as I ne'er had done before.<br> +I gazed upon her features o'er and o'er;<br> +Marked her white, tender face—her fragile form,<br> +Like some frail plant that withers in the storm;<br> +Saw she was fairer in her new‑found joy<br> +Than e'er before; and thought, "Can I destroy<br> +God's handiwork, or leave it at the best<br> +A broken harp, while I close clasp my bliss?"<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 48]</span>I bent my head and gave her one last kiss,<br> +And sought my room, and found there such relief<br> +As sad hearts feel when first alone with grief.<br> + +<br> + +The moon went down, slow sailing from my sight,<br> +And left the stars to watch away the night.<br> +O stars, sweet stars, so changeless and serene!<br> +What depths of woe your pitying eyes have seen!<br> +The proud sun sets, and leaves us with our sorrow,<br> +To grope alone in darkness till the morrow.<br> +The languid moon, e'en if she deigns to rise,<br> +Soon seeks her couch, grown weary of our sighs;<br> +But from the early gloaming till the day<br> +Sends golden‑liveried heralds forth to say<br> +He comes in might; the patient stars shine on,<br> +Steadfast and faithful, from twilight to dawn.<br> +And, as they shone upon Gethsemane,<br> +And watched the struggle of a God‑like soul,<br> +Now from the same far height they shone on me,<br> +And saw the waves of anguish o'er me roll.<br> + +<br> + +The storm had come upon me all unseen:<br> +No sound of thunder fell upon my ear;<br> +No cloud arose to tell me it was near;<br> +But under skies all sunlit, and serene,<br> +I floated with the current of the stream,<br> +And thought life all one golden‑haloed dream.<br> +When lo! a hurricane, with awful force,<br> +Swept swift upon its devastating course,<br> +Wrecked my frail bark, and cast me on the wave<br> +Where all my hopes had found a sudden grave.<br> +Love makes us blind and selfish: otherwise<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 49]</span>I had seen Helen's secret in her eyes;<br> +So used I was to reading every look<br> +In her sweet face, as I would read a book.<br> +But now, made sightless by love's blinding rays,<br> +I had gone on unseeing, to the end<br> +Where Pain dispelled the mist of golden haze<br> +That walled me in, and lo! I found my friend<br> +Who journeyed with me—at my very side,<br> +Had been sore wounded to the heart, while I<br> +Both deaf and blind, saw not, nor heard her cry.<br> +And then I sobbed, "O God! I would have died<br> +To save her this." And as I cried in pain,<br> +There leaped forth from the still, white realm of Thought<br> +Where Conscience dwells, that unimpassioned spot<br> +As widely different from the heart's domain<br> +As north from south—the impulse felt before,<br> +And put away; but now it rose once more,<br> +In greater strength, and said, "Heart, would'st thou prove<br> +What lips have uttered? Then go lay thy love<br> +On Friendship's altar, as thy offering."<br> +"Nay!" cried my heart, "ask any other thing—<br> +Ask life itself—'twere easier sacrifice.<br> +But ask not love, for that I cannot give."<br> + +<br> + +"But," spoke the voice, "the meanest insect dies,<br> +And is no hero! heroes dare to live<br> +When all that makes life sweet is snatched away."<br> +So with my heart, in converse, till the day<br> +In gold and crimson billows, rose and broke,<br> +The voice of Conscience, all unwearied, spoke.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 50]</span>Love warred with Friendship: heart with Conscience fought,<br> +Hours rolled away, and yet the end was not.<br> +And wily Self, tricked out like tenderness,<br> +Sighed, "Think how one, whose life thou wert to bless,<br> +Will be cast down, and grope in doubt and fear!<br> +Wouldst thou wound him, to give thy friend relief?<br> +Can wrong make right?"<br> +                       "Nay!" Conscience said, "but Pride<br> +And Time can heal the saddest hurts of Love.<br> +While Friendship's wounds gape wide and yet more wide,<br> +And bitter fountains of the spirit prove."<br> + +<br> + +At length, exhausted with the wearing strife,<br> +I cast the new‑found burden of my life<br> +On God's broad breast, and sought that deep repose<br> +That only he who watched with sorrow knows.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<a name="PART_IV"></a> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 51]</span><h4><i>PART IV.</i></h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +"Maurine, Maurine! 'tis ten o'clock! arise,<br> +My pretty sluggard! open those dark eyes,<br> +And see where yonder sun is! Do you know<br> +I made my toilet just four hours ago?"<br> + +<br> + +'T was Helen's voice: and Helen's gentle kiss<br> +Fell on my cheek. As from a deep abyss,<br> +I drew my weary self from that strange sleep<br> +That rests not, nor refreshes. Scarce awake<br> +Or conscious, yet there seemed a heavy weight<br> +Bound on my breast, as by a cruel Fate.<br> +I knew not why, and yet I longed to weep.<br> +Some dark cloud seemed to hang upon the day;<br> +And, for a moment, in that trance I lay,<br> +When suddenly the truth did o'er me break,<br> +Like some great wave upon a helpless child.<br> +The dull pain in my breast grew like a knife—<br> +The heavy throbbing of my heart grew wild,<br> +And God gave back the burden of the life<br> +He kept what time I slumbered.<br> +                                                    "You are ill,"<br> +Cried Helen, "with that blinding headache still!<br> +You look so pale and weary. Now let me<br> +Play nurse, Maurine, and care for you to‑day!<br> +And first I'll suit some dainty to your taste,<br> +And bring it to you, with a cup of tea."<br> +And off she ran, not waiting my reply.<br> +But, wanting most the sunshine and the light,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 52]</span>I left my couch, and clothed myself in haste,<br> +And, kneeling, sent to God an earnest cry<br> +For help and guidance.<br> +                                       "Show Thou me the way,<br> +Where duty leads; for I am blind! my sight<br> +Obscured by self. Oh, lead my steps aright!<br> +Help me see the path: and if it may,<br> +Let this cup pass:—and yet Thou heavenly One<br> +Thy will in all things, not mine own, be done."<br> +Rising, I went upon my way, receiving<br> +The strength prayer gives alway to hearts believing.<br> +I felt that unseen hands were leading me,<br> +And knew the end was peace.<br> +                                             "What! are you up?"<br> +Cried Helen, coming with a tray, and cup,<br> +Of tender toast, and fragrant smoking tea.<br> +"You naughty girl! you should have stayed in bed<br> +Until you ate your breakfast, and were better<br> +I've something hidden for you here—a letter.<br> +But drink your tea before you read it, dear!<br> +'Tis from some distant cousin, Auntie said,<br> +And so you need not hurry. Now be good,<br> +And mind your Helen."<br> +                                       So, in passive mood,<br> +I laid the still unopened letter near,<br> +And loitered at my breakfast more to please<br> +My nurse, than any hunger to appease.<br> +Then listlessly I broke the seal and read<br> +The few lines written in a bold free hand:<br> +"New London, Canada. Dear Coz. Maurine!<br> +(In spite of generations stretched between<br> +Our natural right to that most handy claim<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 53]</span>Of cousinship, we'll use it all the same)<br> +I'm coming to see you! honestly, in truth!<br> +I've threatened often—now I mean to act.<br> +You'll find my coming is a stubborn fact.<br> +Keep quiet though, and do not tell Aunt Ruth<br> +I wonder if she'll know her petted boy<br> +In spite of changes. Look for me until<br> +You see me coming. As of old I'm still<br> +Your faithful friend, and loving cousin, Roy."<br> + +<br> + +So Roy was coming! He and I had played<br> +As boy and girl, and later, youth and maid,<br> +Full half our lives together. He had been,<br> +Like me, an orphan; and the roof of kin<br> +Gave both kind shelter. Swift years sped away<br> +Ere change was felt: and then one summer day<br> +A long lost uncle sailed from India's shore—<br> +Made Roy his heir, and he was ours no more.<br> + +<br> + +"He'd write us daily, and we'd see his face<br> +Once every year." Such was his promise given<br> +The morn he left. But now the years were seven<br> +Since last he looked upon the olden place.<br> +He'd been through college, traveled in all lands,<br> +Sailed over seas, and trod the desert sands.<br> +Would write and plan a visit, then, ere long,<br> +Would write again from Egypt or Hong Kong—<br> +Some fancy called him thither unforeseen.<br> +So years had passed, till seven lay between<br> +His going and the coming of this note,<br> +Which I hid in my bosom, and replied<br> +To Aunt Ruth's queries, "What the truant wrote?"<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 54]</span>By saying he was still upon the wing,<br> +And merely dropped a line, while journeying,<br> +To say he lived: and she was satisfied.<br> + +<br> + +Sometimes it happens, in this world so strange,<br> +A human heart will pass through mortal strife,<br> +And writhe in torture: while the old sweet life<br> +So full of hope, and beauty, bloom and grace,<br> +Is slowly strangled by remorseless Pain:<br> +And one stern, cold, relentless, takes its place—<br> +A ghastly, pallid specter of the slain.<br> +Yet those in daily converse see no change<br> +Nor dream the heart has suffered.<br> +                                                     So that day<br> +I passed along toward the troubled way<br> +Stern duty pointed, and no mortal guessed<br> +A mighty conflict had disturbed my breast.<br> + +<br> + +I had resolved to yield up to my friend<br> +The man I loved. Since she, too, loved him so<br> +I saw no other way in honor left.<br> +She was so weak and fragile, once bereft<br> +Of this great hope, that held her with such power<br> +She would wilt down, like some frost‑bitten flower<br> +And swift untimely death would be the end.<br> +But I was strong: and hardy plants, which grow<br> +In out‑door soil, can bear bleak winds that blow<br> +From Arctic lands, whereof a single breath<br> +Would lay the hot‑house blossom low in death.<br> + +<br> + +The hours went by, too slow, and yet too fast.<br> +All day I argued with my foolish heart<br> +That bade me play the shrinking coward's part<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 55]</span>And hide from pain. And when the day had past<br> +And time for Vivian's call drew near and nearer,<br> +It pleaded. "Wait, until the way seems clearer:<br> +Say you are ill—or busy: keep away<br> +Until you gather strength enough to play<br> +The part you have resolved on."<br> + +<br> + +                                                  "Nay, not so,"<br> +Made answer clear‑eyed Reason, "Do you go<br> +And put your resolution to the test.<br> +Resolve, however nobly formed, at best<br> +Is but a still born babe of Thought, until<br> +It proves existence of its life and will<br> +By sound or action."<br> +                                   So when Helen came<br> +And knelt by me, her fair face all aflame<br> +With sudden blushes, whispering, "My sweet!<br> +My heart can hear the music of his feet—<br> +Go down with me to meet him," I arose,<br> +And went with her all calmly, as one goes<br> +To look upon the dear face of the dead.<br> + +<br> + +That eve, I know not what I did or said.<br> +I was not cold—my manner was not strange:<br> +Perchance I talked more freely than my wont,<br> +But in my speech was naught could give affront;<br> +Yet I conveyed, as only woman can,<br> +That nameless <i>something</i>, which bespeaks a change.<br> + +<br> + +'Tis in the power of woman, if she be<br> +Whole‑souled and noble, free from coquetry—<br> +Her motives all unselfish, worthy, good,<br> +To make herself and feelings understood<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 56]</span>By nameless acts—thus sparing what to man,<br> +However gently answered, causes pain,<br> +The offering of his hand and heart in vain.<br> + +<br> + +She can be friendly, unrestrained, and kind,<br> +Assume no airs of pride or arrogance;<br> +But in her voice, her manner, and her glance,<br> +Convey that mystic something, undefined,<br> +Which men fail not to understand and read,<br> +And, when not blind with egoism, heed.<br> +My task was harder. 'T was the slow undoing<br> +Of long sweet months of unimpeded wooing.<br> +It was to hide and cover and conceal<br> +The truth—assuming, what I did not feel.<br> +It was to dam love's happy singing tide<br> +That blessed me with its hopeful, tuneful tone,<br> +By feigned indiff'rence, till it turned aside,<br> +And changed its channel, leaving me alone<br> +To walk parched plains, and thirst for that sweet draught<br> +My lips had tasted, but another quaffed.<br> +It could be done. For no words yet were spoken—<br> +None to recall—no pledges to be broken.<br> +"He will be grieved, then angry, cold, then cross,"<br> +I reasoned, thinking what would be his part<br> +In this strange drama. "Then, because his he<br> +Feels something lacking, to make good his loss,<br> +He'll turn to Helen: and her gentle grace<br> +And loving acts will win her soon the place<br> +I hold to‑day: and like a troubled dream<br> +At length, our past, when he looks back, will seem."<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 57]</span>That evening passed with music, chat and song:<br> +But hours that once had flown on airy wings<br> +Now limped on weary, aching limbs along,<br> +Each moment like some dreaded step that brings<br> +A twinge of pain.<br> +                            As Vivian rose to go,<br> +Slow bending to me, from his greater height,<br> +He took my hand, and, looking in my eyes,<br> +With tender questioning and pained surprise,<br> +Said, "Maurine, you are not yourself to‑night!<br> +What is it? Are you ailing?"<br> +                                                 "Ailing? no,"<br> +I answered, laughing lightly, "I am not:<br> +Just see my cheek, sir! is it thin, or pale?<br> +Now tell me, am I looking very frail?"<br> +"Nay, nay!" he answered, "it can not be <i>seen</i>,<br> +The change I speak of—'twas more in your mien:<br> +Preoccupation, or—I know not what!<br> +Miss Helen, am I wrong, or does Maurine<br> +Seem to have something on her mind this eve?"<br> +"She does!" laughed Helen, "and I do believe<br> +I know what 'tis! A letter came to‑day<br> +Which she read slyly, and then hid away<br> +Close to her heart, not knowing I was near:<br> +And since she's been as you have seen her here.<br> +See how she blushes! so my random shot<br> +We must believe has struck a tender spot."<br> + +<br> + +Her rippling laughter floated through the room,<br> +And redder yet I felt the hot blood rise,<br> +Then surge away to leave me pale as death,<br> +Under the dark and swiftly gathering gloom<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 58]</span>Of Vivian's questioning, accusing eyes,<br> +That searched my soul. I almost shrieked beneath<br> +That stern, fixed gaze; and stood spellbound until<br> +He turned with sudden movement, gave his hand<br> +To each in turn, and said, "You must not stand<br> +Longer, young ladies, in this open door.<br> +The air is heavy with a cold damp chill.<br> +We shall have rain to‑morrow, or before.<br> +Good night."<br> +                   He vanished in the darkling shade;<br> +And so the dreaded evening found an end,<br> +That saw me grasp the conscience‑whetted blade,<br> +And strike a blow for honor and for friend.<br> + +<br> + +"How swiftly passed the evening!" Helen sighed.<br> +"How long the hours!" my tortured heart replied.<br> +Joy, like a child, with lightsome steps doth glide<br> +By Father Time, and, looking in his face,<br> +Cries, snatching blossoms from the fair road‑side,<br> +"I could pluck more, but for thy hurried pace."<br> +The while her elder brother Pain, man grown,<br> +Whose feet are hurt by many a thorn and stone,<br> +Looks to some distant hill‑top, high and calm,<br> +Where he shall find not only rest, but balm<br> +For all his wounds, and cries in tones of woe,<br> +"O Father Time! why is thy pace so slow?"<br> + +<br> + +Two days, all sad with lonely wind and rain,<br> +Went sobbing by, repeating o'er and o'er<br> +The miserere, desolate and drear,<br> +Which every human heart must sometime hear.<br> +Pain is but little varied. Its refrain,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 59]</span>Whate'er the words are, is for aye the same.<br> +The third day brought a change: for with it came<br> +Not only sunny smiles to Nature's face,<br> +But Roy, our Roy came back to us. Once more<br> +We looked into his laughing, handsome eyes,<br> +Which, while they gave Aunt Ruth a glad surprise<br> +In no way puzzled her: for one glance told<br> +What each succeeding one confirmed, that he<br> +Who bent above her with the lissome grace<br> +Of his fine form, though grown so tall, could be<br> +No other than the Roy Montaine of old.<br> + +<br> + +It was a sweet reunion: and he brought<br> +So much of sunshine with him, that I caught,<br> +Just from his smile alone, enough of gladness<br> +To make my heart forget a time its sadness.<br> +We talked together of the dear old days:<br> +Leaving the present, with its depths and heights<br> +Of life's maturer sorrows and delights,<br> +I turned back to my childhood's level land,<br> +And Roy and I, dear playmates, hand in hand,<br> +Wandered in mem'ry, through the olden ways.<br> + +<br> + +It was the second evening of his coming.<br> +Helen was playing dreamily, and humming<br> +Some wordless melody of white‑souled thought,<br> +While Roy and I sat by the open door,<br> +Re‑living childish incidents of yore.<br> +My eyes were glowing, and my cheeks were hot<br> +With warm young blood; excitement, joy, or pain<br> +Alike would send swift coursing through each vein.<br> +Roy, always eloquent, was waxing fine,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 60]</span>And bringing vividly before my gaze<br> +Some old adventure of those halcyon days,<br> +When suddenly in pauses of the talk,<br> +I heard a well‑known step upon the walk,<br> +And looked up quickly to meet full in mine<br> +The eyes of Vivian Dangerfield. A flash<br> +Shot from their depths:—a sudden blaze of light<br> +Like that swift followed by the thunder's crash,<br> +Which said, "Suspicion is confirmed by sight,"<br> +As they fell on the pleasant door‑way scene.<br> +Then o'er his clear‑cut face, a cold white look<br> +Crept, like the pallid moonlight o'er a brook,<br> +And, with a slight, proud bending of the head,<br> +He stepped toward us haughtily and said,<br> +"Please pardon my intrusion, Miss Maurine:<br> +I called to ask Miss Trevor for a book<br> +She spoke of lending me: nay, sit you still!<br> +And I, by grant of your permission, will<br> +Pass by to where I hear her playing."<br> +                                                         "Stay!"<br> +I said, "one moment, Vivian, if you please;"<br> +And suddenly bereft of all my ease,<br> +And scarcely knowing what to do, or say,<br> +Confused as any school‑girl, I arose,<br> +And some way made each to the other known<br> +They bowed, shook hands: then Vivian turned away<br> +And sought out Helen, leaving us alone.<br> + +<br> + +"One of Miss Trevor's, or of Maurine's beaux?<br> +Which may he be, who cometh like a prince<br> +With haughty bearing, and an eagle eye?"<br> +Roy queried, laughing: and I answered, "Since<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 61]</span>You saw him pass me for Miss Trevor's side,<br> +I leave your own good judgment to reply."<br> + +<br> + +And straightway caused the tide of talk to glide<br> +In other channels, striving to dispel<br> +The sudden gloom that o'er my spirit fell.<br> + +<br> + +We mortals are such hypocrites at best!<br> +When Conscience tries our courage with a test,<br> +And points to some steep pathway, we set out<br> +Boldly, denying any fear or doubt;<br> +But pause before the first rock in the way,<br> +And, looking back, with tears, at Conscience, say<br> +"We are so sad, dear Conscience! for we would<br> +Most gladly do what to thee seemeth good;<br> +But lo! this rock! we cannot climb it, so<br> +Thou must point out some other way to go."<br> +Yet secretly we are rejoicing: and,<br> +When right before our faces, as we stand<br> +In seeming grief, the rock is cleft in twain,<br> +Leaving the pathway clear, we shrink in pain!<br> +And loth to go, by every act reveal<br> +What we so tried from Conscience to conceal.<br> + +<br> + +I saw that hour, the way made plain, to do<br> +With scarce an effort, what had seemed a strife<br> +That would require the strength of my whole life.<br> + +<br> + +Women have quick perceptions: and I knew<br> +That Vivian's heart was full of jealous pain,<br> +Suspecting—nay <i>believing</i> Roy Montaine<br> +To be my lover.—First my altered mien—<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 62]</span>And next the letter—then the door‑way scene—<br> +My flushed face gazing in the one above<br> +That bent so near me, and my strange confusion<br> +When Vivian came, all led to one conclusion:<br> +That I had but been playing with his love,<br> +As women sometimes cruelly do play<br> +With hearts when their true lovers are away.<br> + +<br> + +There could be nothing easier, than just<br> +To let him linger on in this belief<br> +Till hourly‑fed Suspicion and Distrust<br> +Should turn to scorn and anger all his grief.<br> +Compared with me, so doubly sweet and pure<br> +Would Helen seem, my purpose would be sure,<br> +And certain of completion in the end.<br> +But now, the way was made so straight and clear,<br> +My coward heart shrank back in guilty fear,<br> +Till Conscience whispered with her "still small voice,"<br> +"The precious time is passing—make thy choice—<br> +Resign thy love, or slay thy trusting friend."<br> + +<br> + +The growing moon, watched by the myriad eyes<br> +Of countless stars, went sailing through the skies,<br> +Like some young prince, rising to rule a nation,<br> +To whom all eyes are turned in expectation.<br> +A woman who possesses tact and art<br> +And strength of will can take the hand of doom,<br> +And walk on, smiling sweetly as she goes,<br> +With rosy lips, and rounded cheeks of bloom,<br> +Cheating a loud‑tongued world that never knows<br> +The pain and sorrow of her hidden heart.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 63]</span>And so I joined in Roy's bright changing chat;<br> +Answered his sallies—talked of this and that,<br> +My brow unruffled as the calm still wave<br> +That tells not of the wrecked ship, and the grave<br> +Beneath its surface.<br> +                              Then we heard, ere long,<br> +The sound of Helen's gentle voice in song,<br> +And, rising, entered where the subtle power<br> +Of Vivian's eyes, forgiving while accusing,<br> +Finding me weak, had won me, in that hour;<br> +But Roy, alway polite and debonair<br> +Where ladies were, now hung about my chair<br> +With nameless delicate attentions, using<br> +That air devotional, and those small arts<br> +Acquaintance with society imparts<br> +To men gallant by nature.<br> +                                          'T was my sex<br> +And not myself he bowed to. Had my place<br> +Been filled that evening by a dowager,<br> +Twice his own age, he would have given her<br> +The same attentions. But they served to vex<br> +Whatever hope in Vivian's heart remained.<br> +The cold, white look crept back upon his face,<br> +Which told how deeply he was hurt and pained.<br> + +<br> + +Little by little all things had conspired,<br> +To bring events I dreaded, yet desired.<br> +We were in constant intercourse: walks, rides,<br> +Picnics and sails, filled weeks of golden weather,<br> +And almost hourly we were thrown together.<br> +No words were spoken of rebuke or scorn:<br> +Good friends we seemed. But as a gulf divides<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 64]</span>This land and that, though lying side by side,<br> +So rolled a gulf between us—deep and wide—<br> +The gulf of doubt, which widened slowly morn<br> +And noon and night.<br> +                              Free and informal were<br> +These picnics and excursions. Yet, although<br> +Helen and I would sometimes choose to go<br> +Without our escorts, leaving them quite free.<br> +It happened alway Roy would seek out me<br> +Ere passed the day, while Vivian walked with her.<br> +I had no thought of flirting. Roy was just<br> +Like some dear brother, and I quite forgot<br> +The kinship was so distant it was not<br> +Safe to rely upon in perfect trust,<br> +Without reserve or caution. Many a time<br> +When there was some steep mountain side to climb,<br> +And I grew weary, he would say, "Maurine,<br> +Come rest you here." And I would go and lean<br> +My head upon his shoulder, or would stand<br> +And let him hold in his my willing hand.<br> +The while he stroked it gently with his own.<br> +Or I would let him clasp me with his arm,<br> +Nor entertained a thought of any harm,<br> +Nor once supposed but Vivian was alone<br> +In his suspicions. But ere long the truth<br> +I learned in consternation! both Aunt Ruth<br> +And Helen, honestly, in faith believed<br> +That Roy and I were lovers.<br> +                                          Undeceived,<br> +Some careless words might open Vivian's eyes<br> +And spoil my plans. So reasoning in this wise,<br> +To all their sallies I in jest replied,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 65]</span>To naught assented, and yet naught denied,<br> +With Roy unchanged remaining, confident<br> +Each understood just what the other meant.<br> + +<br> + +If I grew weary of this double part,<br> +And self‑imposed deception caused my heart<br> +Sometimes to shrink, I needed but to gaze<br> +On Helen's face: that wore a look ethereal,<br> +As if she dwelt above the things material<br> +And held communion with the angels. So<br> +I fed my strength and courage through the days.<br> +What time the harvest moon rose full and clear<br> +And cast its ling'ring radiance on the earth,<br> +We made a feast; and called from far and near,<br> +Our friends, who came to share the scene of mirth.<br> +Fair forms and faces flitted to and fro;<br> +But none more sweet than Helen's. Robed in white,<br> +She floated like a vision through the dance.<br> +So frailly fragile and so phantom fair,<br> +She seemed like some stray spirit of the air,<br> +And was pursued by many an anxious glance<br> +That looked to see her fading from the sight<br> +Like figures that a dreamer sees at night.<br> + +<br> + +And noble men and gallants graced the scene:<br> +Yet none more noble or more grand of mien<br> +Than Vivian—broad of chest and shoulder, tall<br> +And finely formed, as any Grecian god<br> +Whose high‑arched foot on Mount Olympus trod.<br> +His clear‑cut face was beardless; and, like those<br> +Same Grecian statues, when in calm repose,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 66]</span>Was it in hue and feature. Framed in hair<br> +Dark and abundant; lighted by large eyes<br> +That could be cold as steel in winter air,<br> +Or warm and sunny as Italian skies.<br> + +<br> + +Weary of mirth and music, and the sound<br> +Of tripping feet, I sought a moment's rest<br> +Within the lib'ry, where a group I found<br> +Of guests, discussing with apparent zest<br> +Some theme of interest—Vivian, near the while,<br> +Leaning and listening with his slow odd smile.<br> +"Now Miss La Pelle, we will appeal to you,"<br> +Cried young Guy Semple, as I entered. "We<br> +Have been discussing right before his face,<br> +All unrebuked by him, as you may see,<br> +A poem lately published by our friend:<br> +And we are quite divided. I contend<br> +The poem is a libel and untrue<br> +I hold the fickle women are but few,<br> +Compared with those who are like yon fair moon<br> +That, ever faithful, rises in her place<br> +Whether she's greeted by the flowers of June,<br> +Or cold and dreary stretches of white space."<br> + +<br> + +"Oh!" cried another, "Mr. Dangerfield,<br> +Look to your laurels! or you needs must yield<br> +The crown to Semple, who, 'tis very plain,<br> +Has mounted Pegasus and grasped his mane."<br> + +<br> + +All laughed: and then, as Guy appealed to me<br> +I answered lightly, "My young friend, I fear<br> +You chose a most unlucky simile<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 67]</span>To prove the truth of woman. To her place<br> +The moon does rise—but with a different face<br> +Each time she comes. But now I needs must hear<br> +The poem read, before I can consent<br> +To pass my judgment on the sentiment."<br> + +<br> + +All clamored that the author was the man<br> +To read the poem: and, with tones that said<br> +More than the cutting, scornful words he read,<br> +Taking the book Guy gave him, he began:<br> + +<br> + +<blockquote>              HER LOVE.<br> + +<br> + +The sands upon the ocean side<br> +That change about with every tide,<br> +And never true to one abide,<br> +    A woman's love I liken to.<br> + +<br> + +The summer zephyrs, light and vain,<br> +That sing the same alluring strain<br> +To every grass blade on the plain—<br> +    A woman's love is nothing more.<br> + +<br> + +The sunshine of an April day<br> +That comes to warm you with its ray,<br> +But while you smile has flown away—<br> +    A woman's love is like to this.<br> + +<br> + +God made poor woman with no heart,<br> +But gave her skill, and tact, and art,<br> +And so she lives, and plays her part.<br> +    We must not blame, but pity her.<br> + +<br> + +She leans to man—but just to hear<br> +The praise he whispers in her ear,<br> +Herself, not him, she holdeth dear—<br> +    O fool! to be deceived by her.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 68]</span>To sate her selfish thirst she quaffs<br> +The love of strong hearts in sweet draughts<br> +Then throws them lightly by and laughs,<br> +    Too weak to understand their pain.<br> + +<br> + +As changeful as the winds that blow<br> +From every region, to and fro,<br> +Devoid of heart, she cannot know<br> +    The suffering of a human heart.<br> +</blockquote> + +<br> + +I knew the cold, fixed gaze of Vivian's eyes<br> +Saw the slow color to my forehead rise;<br> +But lightly answered, toying with my fan,<br> +"That sentiment is very like a man!<br> +Men call us fickle, but they do us wrong;<br> +We're only frail and helpless, men are strong;<br> +And when love dies, they take the poor dead thing<br> +And make a shroud out of their suffering,<br> +And drag the corpse about with them for years.<br> +But we?—we mourn it for a day with tears!<br> +And then we robe it for its last long rest,<br> +And being women, feeble things at best,<br> +We cannot dig the grave ourselves. And so<br> +We call strong‑limbed New Love to lay it low:<br> +Immortal sexton he! whom Venus sends<br> +To do this service for her earthly friends,<br> +The trusty fellow digs the grave so deep<br> +Nothing disturbs the dead laid there to sleep."<br> + +<br> + +The laugh that followed had not died away<br> +Ere Roy Montaine came seeking me, to say<br> +The band was tuning for our waltz, and so<br> +Back to the ball‑room bore me. In the glow<br> +And heat and whirl, my strength ere long was spent,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 69]</span>And I grew faint and dizzy, and we went<br> +Out on the cool moonlighted portico,<br> +And, sitting there, Roy drew my languid head<br> +Upon the shelter of his breast, and bent<br> +His smiling eyes upon me, as he said,<br> +"I'll try the mesmerism of my touch<br> +To work a cure: be very quiet now,<br> +And let me make some passes o'er your brow.<br> +Why, how it throbs! you've exercised too much!<br> +I shall not let you dance again to‑night."<br> + +<br> + +Just then before us, in the broad moonlight,<br> +Two forms were mirrored: and I turned my face<br> +To catch the teasing and mischievous glance<br> +Of Helen's eyes, as, heated by the dance,<br> +Leaning on Vivian's arm, she sought this place.<br> +<br> +"I beg your pardon," came in that round tone<br> +Of his low voice. "I think we do intrude."<br> +Bowing, they turned, and left us quite alone<br> +Ere I could speak, or change my attitude.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<a name="PART_V"></a> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 70]</span><h4><i>PART V.</i></h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +A visit to a cave some miles away<br> +Was next in order. So, one sunny day,<br> +Four prancing steeds conveyed a laughing load<br> +Of merry pleasure‑seekers o'er the road.<br> +A basket picnic, music and croquet<br> +Were in the programme. Skies were blue and clear,<br> +And cool winds whispered of the Autumn near.<br> +The merry‑makers filled the time with pleasure:<br> +Some floated to the music's rhythmic measure,<br> +Some played, some promenaded on the green.<br> + +<br> + +Ticked off by happy hearts, the moments passed.<br> +The afternoon, all glow and glimmer, came.<br> +Helen and Roy were leaders of some game,<br> +And Vivian was not visible.<br> +                                               "Maurine,<br> +I challenge you to climb yon cliff with me!<br> +And who shall tire, or reach the summit last<br> +Must pay a forfeit," cried a romping maid.<br> +"Come! start at once, or own you are afraid."<br> +So challenged I made ready for the race,<br> +Deciding first the forfeit was to be<br> +A handsome pair of bootees to replace<br> +The victor's loss who made the rough ascent.<br> +The cliff was steep and stony. On we went<br> +As eagerly as if the path was Fame,<br> +And what we climbed for, glory and a name.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 71]</span>My hands were bruised; my garments sadly rent,<br> +But on I clambered. Soon I heard a cry,<br> +"Maurine! Maurine! my strength is wholly spent!<br> +You've won the boots! I'm going back—good bye!"<br> +And back she turned, in spite of laugh and jeer.<br> + +<br> + +I reached the summit: and its solitude,<br> +Wherein no living creature did intrude,<br> +Save some sad birds that wheeled and circled near,<br> +I found far sweeter than the scene below.<br> +Alone with One who knew my hidden woe,<br> +I did not feel so much alone as when<br> +I mixed with th' unthinking throngs of men.<br> + +<br> + +Some flowers that decked the barren, sterile place<br> +I plucked, and read the lesson they conveyed,<br> +That in our lives, albeit dark with shade<br> +And rough and hard with labor, yet may grow<br> +The flowers of Patience, Sympathy, and Grace.<br> + +<br> + +As I walked on in meditative thought,<br> +A serpent writhed across my pathway; not<br> +A large or deadly serpent; yet the sight<br> +Filled me with ghastly terror and affright.<br> +I shrieked aloud: a darkness veiled my eyes—<br> +And I fell fainting 'neath the watchful skies.<br> + +<br> + +I was no coward. Country‑bred and born,<br> +I had no feeling but the keenest scorn<br> +For those fine lady "ah's" and "oh's" of fear<br> +So much assumed (when any man is near).<br> +But God implanted in each human heart<br> +A natural horror, and a sickly dread<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 72]</span>Of that accursèd, slimy, creeping thing<br> +That squirms a limbless carcass o'er the ground.<br> +And where that inborn loathing is not found<br> +You'll find the serpent qualities instead.<br> +Who fears it not, himself is next of kin,<br> +And in his bosom holds some treacherous art<br> +Whereby to counteract its venomed sting.<br> +And all are sired by Satan—Chief of Sin.<br> + +<br> + +Who loathes not that foul creature of the dust,<br> +However fair in seeming, I distrust.<br> + +<br> + +I woke from my unconsciousness, to know<br> +I leaned upon a broad and manly breast,<br> +And Vivian's voice was speaking, soft and low,<br> +Sweet whispered words of passion, o'er and o'er.<br> +I dared not breathe. Had I found Eden's shore?<br> +Was this a foretaste of eternal bliss?<br> +"My love," he sighed, his voice like winds that moan<br> +Before a rain in Summer time, "My own,<br> +For one sweet stolen moment, lie and rest<br> +Upon this heart that loves and hates you both!<br> +O fair false face! Why were you made so fair!<br> +O mouth of Southern sweetness! that ripe kiss<br> +That hangs upon you, I do take an oath<br> +<i>His</i> lips shall never gather. There!—and there!<br> +I steal it from him. Are you his—all his?<br> +Nay you are mine, this moment, as I dreamed—<br> +Blind fool—believing you were what you seemed—<br> +You would be mine in all the years to come.<br> +Fair fiend! I love and hate you in a breath.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 73]</span>O God! if this white pallor were but <i>death</i>,<br> +And I were stretched beside you, cold and dumb,<br> +My arms about you, so—in fond embrace!<br> +My lips pressed, so—upon your dying face!"<br> + +<br> + +"Woman, how dare you bring me to such shame!<br> +How dare you drive me to an act like this,<br> +To steal from your unconscious lips the kiss<br> +You lured me on to think my rightful claim!<br> +O frail and puny woman! could you know<br> +The devil that you waken in the hearts<br> +You snare and bind in your enticing arts,<br> +The thin, pale stuff that in your veins doth flow<br> +Would freeze in terror.<br> +                                 Strange you have such power<br> +To please, or pain us, poor, weak, soulless things—<br> +Devoid of passion as a senseless flower!<br> +Like butterflies, your only boast, your wings.<br> +There, now, I scorn you—scorn you from this hour,<br> +And hate myself for having talked of love!"<br> + +<br> + +He pushed me from him. And I felt as those<br> +Doomed angels must, when pearly gates above<br> +Are closed against them.<br> +                                       With a feigned surprise<br> +I started up and opened wide my eyes,<br> +And looked about. Then in confusion rose<br> +And stood before him.<br> + +<br> + +                                     "Pardon me, I pray!"<br> +He said quite coldly. "Half an hour ago<br> +I left you with the company below,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 74]</span>And sought this cliff. A moment since you cried,<br> +It seemed, in sudden terror and alarm.<br> +I came in time to see you swoon away.<br> +You'll need assistance down the rugged side<br> +Of this steep cliff. I pray you take my arm."<br> + +<br> + +So, formal and constrained, we passed along,<br> +Rejoined our friends, and mingled with the throng<br> +To have no further speech again that day.<br> + +<br> + +Next morn there came a bulky document,<br> +The legal firm of Blank & Blank had sent,<br> +Containing news unlooked for. An estate<br> +Which proved a cosy fortune—no‑wise great<br> +Or princely—had in France been left to me,<br> +My grandsire's last descendant. And it brought<br> +A sense of joy and freedom in the thought<br> +Of foreign travel, which I hoped would be<br> +A panacea for my troubled mind,<br> +That longed to leave the olden scenes behind<br> +With all their recollections, and to flee<br> +To some strange country.<br> +                                          I was in such haste<br> +To put between me and my native land<br> +The briny ocean's desolating waste,<br> +I gave Aunt Ruth no peace, until she planned<br> +To sail that week, two months: though she was fain<br> +To wait until the Springtime. Roy Montaine<br> +Would be our guide and escort.<br> +                                             No one dreamed<br> +The cause of my strange hurry, but all seemed<br> +To think good fortune had quite turned my brain.<br> +One bright October morning, when the woods<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 75]</span>Had donned their purple mantles and red hoods<br> +In honor of the Frost King, Vivian came,<br> +Bringing some green leaves, tipped with crimson flame,—<br> +First trophies of the Autumn time.<br> +                                                    And Roy<br> +Made a proposal that we all should go<br> +And ramble in the forest for a while.<br> +But Helen said she was not well—and so<br> +Must stay at home. Then Vivian, with a smile,<br> +Responded, "I will stay and talk to you,<br> +And they may go;" at which her two cheeks grew<br> +Like twin blush roses;—dyed with love's red wave,<br> +Her fair face shone transfigured with great joy.<br> + +<br> + +And Vivian saw—and suddenly was grave.<br> + +<br> + +Roy took my arm in that protecting way<br> +Peculiar to some men, which seems to say,<br> +"I shield my own," a manner pleasing, e'en<br> +When we are conscious that it does not mean<br> +More than a simple courtesy. A woman<br> +Whose heart is wholly feminine and human,<br> +And not unsexed by hobbies, likes to be<br> +The object of that tender chivalry,<br> +That guardianship which man bestows on her,<br> +Yet mixed with deference; as if she were<br> +Half child, half angel.<br> +                                   Though she may be strong,<br> +Noble and self‑reliant, not afraid<br> +To raise her hand and voice against all wrong<br> +And all oppression, yet if she be made,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 76]</span>With all the independence of her thought,<br> +A woman womanly, as God designed,<br> +Albeit she may have as great a mind<br> +As man, her brother, yet his strength of arm<br> +His muscle and his boldness she has not,<br> +And cannot have without she loses what<br> +Is far more precious, modesty and grace.<br> +So, walking on in her appointed place,<br> +She does not strive to ape him, nor pretend<br> +But that she needs him for a guide and friend,<br> +To shield her with his greater strength from harm.<br> + +<br> + +We reached the forest; wandered to and fro<br> +Through many a winding path and dim retreat.<br> +Till I grew weary: when I chose a seat<br> +Upon an oak tree, which had been laid low<br> +By some wind storm, or by some lightning stroke.<br> +And Roy stood just below me, where the ledge<br> +On which I sat sloped steeply to the edge<br> +Of sunny meadows lying at my feet.<br> +One hand held mine; the other grasped a limb<br> +That cast its checkered shadows over him;<br> +And, with his head thrown back, his dark eyes raised<br> +And fixed upon me, silently he gazed<br> +Until I, smiling, turned to him and spoke:<br> +"Give words, my cousin, to those thoughts that rise,<br> +And, like dumb spirits, look forth from your eyes."<br> + +<br> + +The smooth and even darkness of his cheek<br> +Was stained one moment by a flush of red.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 77]</span>He swayed his lithe form nearer as he stood<br> +Still clinging to the branch above his head.<br> +His brilliant eyes grew darker; and he said,<br> +With sudden passion, "Do you bid me speak?<br> +I can not, then, keep silence if I would.<br> +That hateful fortune, coming as it did,<br> +Forbade my speaking sooner; for I knew<br> +A harsh tongued world would quickly misconstrue<br> +My motive for a meaner one. But, sweet,<br> +So big my heart has grown with love for you<br> +I can not shelter it, or keep it hid.<br> +And so I cast it throbbing at your feet,<br> +For you to guard and cherish, or to break.<br> +Maurine, I love you better than my life.<br> +My friend—my cousin—be still more, my wife!<br> +Maurine, Maurine, what answer do you make?"<br> + +<br> + +I scarce could breathe for wonderment; and numb<br> +With truth that fell too suddenly, sat dumb<br> +With sheer amaze, and stared at Roy with eyes<br> +That looked no feeling but complete surprise.<br> +He swayed so near his breath was on my cheek.<br> +"Maurine, Maurine," he whispered, "will you speak?"<br> + +<br> + +Then suddenly, as o'er some magic glass<br> +One picture in a score of shapes will pass,<br> +I seemed to see Roy glide before my gaze.<br> +First, as the playmate of my earlier days—<br> +Next, as my kin—and then my valued friend,<br> +And last, my lover. As when colors blend<br> +In some unlooked‑for group before our eyes,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 78]</span>We hold the glass, and look them o'er and o'er<br> +So now I gazed on Roy in his new guise,<br> +In which he ne'er appeared to me before.<br> + +<br> + +His form was like a panther's in its grace,<br> +So lithe and supple, and of medium height,<br> +And garbed in all the elegance of fashion.<br> +His large black eyes were full of fire and passion,<br> +And in expression fearless, firm, and bright.<br> +His hair was like the very deeps of night,<br> +And hung in raven clusters 'round a face<br> +Of dark and flashing beauty.<br> +                                            He was more<br> +Like some romantic maiden's grand ideal<br> +Than like a common being. As I gazed<br> +Upon the handsome face to mine upraised,<br> +I saw before me, living, breathing, real,<br> +The hero of my early day‑dreams: though<br> +So full my heart was with that clear‑cut face,<br> +Which, all unlike, yet claimed the hero's place,<br> +I had not recognized him so before,<br> +Or thought of him, save as a valued friend.<br> +So now I called him, adding,<br> +                                            "Foolish boy!<br> +Each word of love you utter aims a blow<br> +At that sweet trust I had reposed in you.<br> +I was so certain I had found a true,<br> +Steadfast man friend, on whom I could depend,<br> +And go on wholly trusting, to the end.<br> +Why did you shatter my delusion, Roy,<br> +By turning to a lover?"<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 79]</span>                                      "Why, indeed!<br> +Because I loved you more than any brother,<br> +Or any friend could love." Then he began<br> +To argue like a lawyer, and to plead<br> +With all his eloquence. And, listening,<br> +I strove to think it was a goodly thing<br> +To be so fondly loved by such a man,<br> +And it were best to give his wooing heed,<br> +And not deny him. Then before my eyes<br> +In all its clear‑cut majesty, that other<br> +Haughty and poet‑handsome face would rise<br> +And rob my purpose of all life and strength.<br> + +<br> + +Roy urged and argued, as Roy only could,<br> +With that impetuous, boyish eloquence.<br> +He held my hands, and vowed I must, and should<br> +Give some least hope; till, in my own defense,<br> +I turned upon him, and replied at length:<br> +"I thank you for the noble heart you offer:<br> +But it deserves a true one in exchange.<br> +I could love you if I loved not another<br> +Who keeps my heart; so I have none to proffer."<br> + +<br> + +Then, seeing how his dark eyes flashed, I said,<br> +"Dear Roy! I know my words seem very strange;<br> +But I love one I cannot hope to wed.<br> +A river rolls between us, dark and deep.<br> +To cross it—were to stain with blood my hand.<br> +You force my speech on what I fain would keep<br> +In my own bosom, but you understand?<br> +My heart is given to love that's sanctified,<br> +And now can feel no other.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 80]</span>                                               Be you kind<br> +Dear Roy, my brother! speak of this no more,<br> +Lest pleading and denying should divide<br> +The hearts so long united. Let me find<br> +In you my cousin and my friend of yore<br> +And now come home. The morning, all too soon<br> +And unperceived, has melted into noon.<br> +Helen will miss us, and we must return."<br> + +<br> + +He took my hand, and helped me to arise,<br> +Smiling upon me with his sad dark eyes.<br> +Where passion's fires had, sudden, ceased to burn.<br> + +<br> + +"And so," he said, "too soon and unforeseen<br> +My friendship melted into love, Maurine.<br> +But, sweet! I am not wholly in the blame,<br> +For what you term my folly. You forgot,<br> +So long we'd known each other, I had not<br> +In truth a brother's or a cousin's claim.<br> +But I remembered, when through every nerve<br> +Your lightest touch went thrilling; and began<br> +To love you with that human love of man<br> +For comely woman. By your coaxing arts,<br> +You won your way into my heart of hearts,<br> +And all Platonic feelings put to rout.<br> +A maid should never lay aside reserve<br> +With one who's not her kinsman, out and out.<br> +But as we now, with measured steps, retrace<br> +The path we came, e'en so my heart I'll send,<br> +At your command, back to the olden place,<br> +And strive to love you only as a friend."<br> +I felt the justice of his mild reproof,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 81]</span>But answered laughing, "'Tis the same old cry:<br> +'The woman tempted me, and I did eat.'<br> +Since Adam's time we've heard it. But I'll try<br> +And be more prudent, sir, and hold aloof<br> +The fruit I never once had thought so sweet<br> +'Twould tempt you any. Now go dress for dinner,<br> +Thou sinned against! as also will the sinner.<br> +And guard each act, that no least look betray<br> +What's passed between us."<br> +                                               Then I turned away<br> +And sought my room, low humming some old air<br> +That ceased upon the threshold; for mine eyes<br> +Fell on a face so glorified and fair<br> +All other senses, merged in that of sight,<br> +Were lost in contemplation of the bright<br> +And wond'rous picture, which had otherwise<br> +Made dim my vision.<br> +                                   Waiting in my room,<br> +Her whole face lit as by an inward flame<br> +That shed its halo 'round her, Helen stood;<br> +Her fair hands folded like a lily's leaves<br> +Weighed down by happy dews of summer eves.<br> +Upon her cheek the color went and came<br> +As sunlight flickers o'er a bed of bloom;<br> +And, like some slim young sapling of the wood,<br> +Her slender form leaned slightly; and her hair<br> +Fell 'round her loosely, in long curling strands<br> +All unconfined, and as by loving hands<br> +Tossed into bright confusion.<br> +                                                 Standing there,<br> +Her starry eyes uplifted, she did seem<br> +Like some unearthly creature of a dream;<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 82]</span>Until she started forward, gliding slowly,<br> +And broke the breathless silence, speaking lowly,<br> +As one grown meek, and humble in an hour,<br> +Bowing before some new and mighty power.<br> +<br> +"Maurine, Maurine!" she murmured, and again,<br> +"Maurine, my own sweet friend, Maurine!"<br> +                                                            And then,<br> +Laying her love light hands upon my head,<br> +She leaned, and looked into my eyes, and said<br> +With voice that bore her joy in ev'ry tone,<br> +As winds that blow across a garden bed<br> +Are weighed with fragrance, "He is mine alone,<br> +And I am his—all his—his very own.<br> +So pledged this hour, by that most sacred tie<br> +Save one beneath God's over‑arching sky.<br> +I could not wait to tell you of my bliss:<br> +I want your blessing, sweetheart! and your kiss."<br> +So hiding my heart's trouble with a smile,<br> +I leaned and kissed her dainty mouth; the while<br> +I felt a guilt‑joy, as of some sweet sin,<br> +When my lips fell where his so late had been.<br> +And all day long I bore about with me<br> +A sense of shame—yet mixed with satisfaction,<br> +As some starved child might steal a loaf, and be<br> +Sad with the guilt resulting from her action,<br> +While yet the morsel in her mouth was sweet.<br> +That ev'ning when the house had settled down<br> +To sleep and quiet, to my room there crept<br> +A lithe young form, robed in a long white gown:<br> +With steps like fall of thistle‑down she came,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 83]</span>Her mouth smile‑wreathed; and, breathing low my name,<br> +Nestled in graceful beauty at my feet.<br> + +<br> + +"Sweetheart," she murmured softly, "ere I sleep,<br> +I needs must tell you all my tale of joy.<br> +Beginning where you left us—you and Roy.<br> +You saw the color flame upon my cheek<br> +When Vivian spoke of staying. So did he;—<br> +And, when we were alone, he gazed at me<br> +With such a strange look in his wond'rous eyes.<br> +The silence deepened; and I tried to speak<br> +Upon some common topic, but could not,<br> +My heart was in such tumult.<br> +                                              In this wise<br> +Five happy moments glided by us, fraught<br> +With hours of feeling. Vivian rose up then,<br> +And came and stood by me, and stroked my hair.<br> +And, in his low voice, o'er and o'er again,<br> +Said, 'Helen, little Helen, frail and fair.'<br> +Then took my face, and turned it to the light,<br> +And looking in my eyes, and seeing what<br> +Was shining from them, murmured, sweet and low,<br> +'Dear eyes, you cannot veil the truth from sight.<br> +You love me, Helen! answer, is it so?'<br> +And I made answer straightway, 'With my life<br> +And soul and strength I love you, O my love!'<br> +He leaned and took me gently to his breast,<br> +And said, 'Here then this dainty head shall rest<br> +Henceforth forever: O my little dove!<br> +My lily‑bud—my fragile blossom‑wife!'<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 84]</span>"And then I told him all my thoughts; and he<br> +Listened, with kisses for his comments, till<br> +My tale was finished. Then he said, 'I will<br> +Be frank with you, my darling, from the start,<br> +And hide no secret from you in my heart.<br> +I love you, Helen, but you are not first<br> +To rouse that love to being. Ere we met<br> +I loved a woman madly—never dreaming<br> +She was not all in truth she was in seeming.<br> +Enough! she proved to be that thing accursed<br> +Of God and man—a wily vain coquette.<br> +I hate myself for having loved her. Yet<br> +So much my heart spent on her, it must give<br> +A love less ardent, and less prodigal,<br> +Albeit just as tender and as true—<br> +A milder, yet a faithful love to you.<br> +Just as some evil fortune might befall<br> +A man's great riches, causing him to live<br> +In some low cot, all unpretending, still<br> +As much his home—as much his loved retreat,<br> +As was the princely palace on the hill,<br> +E'en so I give you all that's left, my sweet!<br> +Of my heart‑fortune.'<br> +                                    'That were more to me,'<br> +I made swift smiling answer, 'than to be<br> +The worshiped consort of a king.' And so<br> +Our faith was pledged. But Vivian would not go<br> +Until I vowed to wed him New Year day.<br> +And I am sad because you go away<br> +Before that time. I shall not feel half wed<br> +Without you here. Postpone your trip and stay,<br> +And be my bridesmaid."<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 85]</span>                                        "Nay, I cannot, dear!<br> +'Twould disarrange our plans for half a year.<br> +I'll be in Europe New Year day," I said,<br> +"And send congratulations by the cable."<br> +And from my soul thanked Providence for sparing<br> +The pain, to me, of sharing in, and wearing<br> +The festal garments of a wedding scene,<br> +While all my heart was hung with sorrow's sable.<br> +Forgetting for a season, that between<br> +The cup and lip lies many a chance of loss,<br> +I lived in my near future, confident<br> +All would be as I planned it; and, across<br> +The briny waste of waters, I should find<br> +Some balm and comfort for my troubled mind.<br> +The sad Fall days, like maidens auburn‑tressed<br> +And amber‑eyed, in purple garments dressed,<br> +Passed by, and dropped their tears upon the tomb<br> +Of fair Queen Summer, buried in her bloom.<br> + +<br> + +Roy left us for a time, and Helen went<br> +To make the nuptial preparations. Then,<br> +Aunt Ruth complained one day of feeling ill:<br> +Her veins ran red with fever; and the skill<br> +Of two physicians could not stem the tide.<br> +The house, that rang so late with laugh and jest,<br> +Grew ghostly with low whispered sounds; and when<br> +The Autumn day, that I had thought to be<br> +Bounding upon the billows of the sea,<br> +Came sobbing in, it found me pale and worn,<br> +Striving to keep away that unloved guest<br> +Who comes unbidden, making hearts to mourn.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 86]</span>Through all the anxious weeks I watched beside<br> +The suff'rer's couch, Roy was my help and stay;<br> +Others were kind, but he alone each day<br> +Brought strength and comfort, by his cheerful face,<br> +And hopeful words, that fell in that sad place<br> +Like rays of light upon a darkened way.<br> +November passed; and Winter, crisp and chill,<br> +In robes of ermine walked on plain and hill.<br> +Returning light and life dispelled the gloom<br> +That cheated Death had brought us from the tomb.<br> +Aunt Ruth was saved, and slowly getting better—<br> +Was dressed each day, and walked about the room.<br> +Then came one morning in the Eastern mail,<br> +A little white‑winged birdling of a letter.<br> +I broke the seal and read,<br> +                                        "Maurine, my own!<br> +I hear Aunt Ruth is better, and am glad.<br> +I felt so sorry for you; and so sad<br> +To think I left you when I did—alone<br> +To bear your pain and worry, and those nights<br> +Of weary, anxious watching.<br> +                                                Vivian writes<br> +Your plans are changed now, and you will not sail<br> +Before the Springtime. So you'll come and be<br> +My bridesmaid, darling! Do not say me nay.<br> +But three weeks more of girlhood left to me.<br> +Come, if you can, just two weeks from to‑day,<br> +And make your preparations here. My sweet!<br> +Indeed I am not glad Aunt Ruth was ill—<br> +I'm sorry she has suffered so; and still<br> +I'm thankful something happened, so you stayed.<br> +I'm sure my wedding would be incomplete<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 87]</span>Without your presence. Selfish, I'm afraid<br> +You'll think your Helen. But I love you so,<br> +How can I be quite willing you should go?<br> +Come Christmas Eve, or earlier. Let me know<br> +And I will meet you, dearie! at the train.<br> +Your happy, loving Helen."<br> +                                            Then the pain<br> +That, hidden under later pain and care,<br> +Had made no moan, but silent, seemed to sleep,<br> +Woke from its trance‑like lethargy, to steep<br> +My tortured heart in anguish and despair.<br> + +<br> + +I had relied too fully on my skill<br> +In bending circumstances to my will:<br> +And now I was rebuked and made to see<br> +That God alone knoweth what is to be.<br> +Then came a messenger from Vivian, who<br> +Came not himself, as he was wont to do,<br> +But sent his servant each new day to bring<br> +A kindly message, or an offering<br> +Of juicy fruits to cool the lips of fever,<br> +Or dainty hot‑house blossoms, with their bloom<br> +To brighten up the convalescent's room.<br> +But now the servant only brought a line<br> +From Vivian Dangerfield to Roy Montaine,<br> +"Dear Sir, and Friend"—in letters bold and plain,<br> +Written on cream‑white paper, so it ran:<br> +"It is the will and pleasure of Miss Trevor,<br> +And therefore doubly so a wish of mine,<br> +That you shall honor me next New Year Eve,<br> +My wedding hour, by standing as best man.<br> +Miss Trevor has six bridesmaids I believe.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 88]</span>Being myself a novice in the art—<br> +If I should fail in acting well my part,<br> +I'll need protection 'gainst the regiment<br> +Of outraged ladies. So, I pray, consent<br> +To stand by me in time of need, and shield<br> +Your friend sincerely, Vivian Dangerfield."<br> + +<br> + +The last least hope had vanished; I must drain,<br> +E'en to the dregs, this bitter cup of pain.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<a name="PART_VI"></a> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 89]</span><h4><i>PART VI.</i></h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +There was a week of bustle and of hurry;<br> +A stately home echoed to voices sweet,<br> +Calling, replying; and to tripping feet<br> +Of busy bridesmaids, running to and fro,<br> +With all that girlish fluttering and flurry<br> +Preceding such occasions.<br> +                                        Helen's room<br> +Was like a lily‑garden, all in bloom,<br> +Decked with the dainty robes of her trousseau.<br> +My robe was fashioned by swift, skillful hands—<br> +A thing of beauty, elegant and rich,<br> +A mystery of loopings, puffs and bands;<br> +And as I watched it growing, stitch by stitch,<br> +I felt as one might feel who should behold<br> +With vision trance‑like, where his body lay<br> +In deathly slumber, simulating clay,<br> +His grave‑cloth sewed together, fold on fold.<br> + +<br> + +I lived with ev'ry nerve upon the strain,<br> +As men go into battle; and the pain,<br> +That, more and more, to my sad heart revealed,<br> +Grew ghastly with its horrors, was concealed<br> +From mortal eyes by superhuman power,<br> +That God bestowed upon me, hour by hour.<br> + +<br> + +What night the Old Year gave unto the New<br> +The key of human happiness and woe,<br> +The pointed stars, upon their field of blue,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 90]</span>Shone, white and perfect, o'er a world below,<br> +Of snow‑clad beauty; all the trees were dressed<br> +In gleaming garments, decked with diadems,<br> +Each seeming like a bridal‑bidden guest,<br> +Coming o'er‑laden with a gift of gems.<br> + +<br> + +The bustle of the dressing room; the sound<br> +Of eager voices in discourse; the clang<br> +Of "sweet bells jangled"; thud of steel‑clad feet<br> +That beat swift music on the frozen ground—<br> +All blent together in my brain, and rang<br> +A medley of strange noises, incomplete,<br> +And full of discords.<br> +                                   Then out on the night<br> +Streamed from this open vestibule, a light<br> +That lit the velvet blossoms which we trod,<br> +With all the hues of those that deck the sod.<br> +The grand cathedral windows were ablaze<br> +With gorgeous colors; through a sea of bloom,<br> +Up the long aisle, to join the waiting groom,<br> +The bridal cortege passed.<br> +                                          As some lost soul<br> +Might surge on with the curious crowd, to gaze<br> +Upon its coffined body, so I went<br> +With that glad festal throng. The organ sent<br> +Great waves of melody along the air,<br> +That broke and fell, in liquid drops, like spray,<br> +On happy hearts that listened. But to me<br> +It sounded faintly, as if miles away,<br> +A troubled spirit, sitting in despair<br> +Beside the sad and ever‑moaning sea,<br> +Gave utterance to sighing sounds of dole.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 91]</span>We paused before the altar. Framed in flowers,<br> +The white‑robed man of God stood forth.<br> +                                                              I heard<br> +The solemn service open; through long hours<br> +I seemed to stand and listen, while each word<br> +Fell on my ear as falls the sound of clay<br> +Upon the coffin of the worshiped dead.<br> +The stately father gave the bride away:<br> +The bridegroom circled with a golden band<br> +The taper finger of her dainty hand.<br> +The last imposing, binding words were said—<br> +"What God has joined let no man put asunder"—<br> +And all my strife with self was at an end;<br> +My lover was the husband of my friend.<br> + +<br> + +How strangely, in some awful hour of pain,<br> +External trifles with our sorrows blend!<br> +I never hear the mighty organ's thunder,<br> +I never catch the scent of heliotrope,<br> +Nor see stained windows all ablaze with light,<br> +Without that dizzy whirling of the brain,<br> +And all the ghastly feeling of that night,<br> +When my sick heart relinquished love and hope.<br> + +<br> + +The pain we feel so keenly may depart,<br> +And e'en its memory cease to haunt the heart;<br> +But some slight thing, a perfume, or a sound<br> +Will probe the closed recesses of the wound,<br> +And for a moment bring the old‑time smart.<br> + +<br> + +Congratulations, kisses, tears and smiles,<br> +Good‑byes and farewells given; then across<br> +The snowy waste of weary wintry miles,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 92]</span>Back to my girlhood's home, where, through each room,<br> +For evermore pale phantoms of delight<br> +Should aimless wander, always in my sight,<br> +Pointing, with ghostly fingers, to the tomb<br> +Wet with the tears of living pain and loss.<br> + +<br> + +The sleepless nights of watching and of care,<br> +Followed by that one week of keenest pain,<br> +Taxing my weakened system, and my brain,<br> +Brought on a ling'ring illness.<br> +                                               Day by day,<br> +In that strange, apathetic state I lay,<br> +Of mental and of physical despair.<br> +I had no pain, no fever, and no chill,<br> +But lay without ambition, strength, or will,<br> +Knowing no wish for anything but rest,<br> +Which seemed, of all God's store of gifts, the best.<br> +<br> +Physicians came and shook their heads and sighed;<br> +And to their score of questions I replied,<br> +With but one languid answer, o'er and o'er.<br> +"I am so weary—weary—nothing more."<br> + +<br> + +I slept, and dreamed I was some feathered thing,<br> +Flying through space with ever‑aching wing,<br> +Seeking a ship called Rest all snowy white,<br> +That sailed and sailed before me, just in sight,<br> +But always one unchanging distance kept,<br> +And woke more weary than before I slept.<br> +<br> + +I slept, and dreamed I ran to win a prize.<br> +A hand from heaven held down before my eyes.<br> +All eagerness I sought it—it was gone,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 93]</span>But shone in all its beauty farther on.<br> +I ran, and ran, and ran, in eager quest<br> +Of that great prize, whereon was written "rest,"<br> +Which ever just beyond my reach did gleam,<br> +And wakened doubly weary with my dream.<br> + +<br> + +I dreamed I was a crystal drop of rain,<br> +That saw a snow‑white lily on the plain,<br> +And left the cloud to nestle in her breast.<br> +I fell and fell, but nevermore found rest—<br> +I fell and fell, but found no stopping place,<br> +Through leagues and leagues of never‑ending space,<br> +While space illimitable stretched before.<br> + +<br> + +And all these dreams but wearied me the more.<br> + +<br> + +Familiar voices sounded in my room—<br> +Aunt Ruth's and Roy's, and Helen's: but they seemed<br> +A part of some strange fancy I had dreamed,<br> +And now remembered dimly.<br> +                                               Wrapped in gloom,<br> +My mind, o'er taxed, lost hold of time at last,<br> +Ignored its future, and forgot its past,<br> +And groped along the present, as a light,<br> +Carried, uncovered, through the fogs of night,<br> +Will flicker faintly.<br> +                              But I felt, at length,<br> +When March winds brought vague rumors of the spring,<br> +A certain sense of "restlessness with rest."<br> +My aching frame was weary of repose,<br> +And wanted action.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 94]</span>                                 Then slow‑creeping strength<br> +Came back with Mem'ry, hand in hand, to bring<br> +And lay upon my sore and bleeding breast,<br> +Grim‑visaged Recollection's thorny rose.<br> +I gained, and failed. One day could ride and walk,<br> +The next would find me prostrate: while a flock<br> +Of ghostly thoughts, like phantom birds, would flit<br> +About the chambers of my heart, or sit,<br> +Pale spectres of the past, with folded wings,<br> +Perched, silently, upon the voiceless strings,<br> +That once resounded to Hope's happy lays.<br> + +<br> + +So passed the ever‑changing April days.<br> +When May came, lightsome footed, o'er the lea,<br> +Accompanied by kind Aunt Ruth and Roy,<br> +I bade farewell to home with secret joy,<br> +And turned my wan face eastward to the sea.<br> +Roy planned our route of travel: for all lands<br> +Were one to him. Or Egypt's burning sands,<br> +Or Alps of Switzerland, or stately Rome,<br> +All were familiar as the fields of home.<br> + +<br> + +There was a year of wand'ring to and fro,<br> +Like restless spirits; scaling mountain heights;<br> +Dwelling among the countless, rare delights<br> +Of lands historic; turning dusty pages,<br> +Stamped with the tragedies of mighty ages;<br> +Gazing upon the scenes of bloody acts,<br> +Of kings long buried—bare, unvarnished facts,<br> +Surpassing wildest fictions of the brain;<br> +Rubbing against all people, high and low,<br> +And by this contact feeling Self to grow<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 95]</span>Smaller and less important, and the vein<br> +Of human kindness deeper, seeing God,<br> +Unto the humble delver of the sod,<br> +And to the ruling monarch on the throne,<br> +Has given hope, ambition, joy, and pain,<br> +And that all hearts have feelings like our own.<br> + +<br> + +There is no school that disciplines the mind,<br> +And broadens thought, like contact with mankind.<br> +The college‑prisoned greybeard, who has burned<br> +The midnight lamp, and book‑bound knowledge learned,<br> +Till sciences or classics hold no lore<br> +He has not conned and studied, o'er and o'er,<br> +Is but a babe in wisdom, when compared<br> +With some unlettered wand'rer, who has shared<br> +The hospitalities of every land;<br> +Felt touch of brother in each proffered hand;<br> +Made man his study, and the world his college,<br> +And gained this grand epitome of knowledge:<br> +Each human being has a heart and soul,<br> +And self is but an atom of the whole.<br> +I hold he is best learnèd and most wise,<br> +Who best and most can love and sympathize.<br> +Book‑wisdom makes us vain and self‑contained;<br> +Our banded minds go round in little grooves;<br> +But constant friction with the world removes<br> +These iron foes to freedom, and we rise<br> +To grander heights, and, all untrammeled, find<br> +A better atmosphere and clearer skies;<br> +And through its broadened realm, no longer chained,<br> +Thought travels freely, leaving Self behind.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 96]</span>Where'er we chanced to wander or to roam,<br> +Glad letters came from Helen; happy things,<br> +Like little birds that followed on swift wings,<br> +Bringing their tender messages from home.<br> +Her days were poems, beautiful, complete.<br> +The rhythm perfect, and the burden sweet.<br> +She was so happy—happy, and so blest.<br> + +<br> + +My heart had found contentment in that year.<br> +With health restored, my life seemed full of cheer<br> +The heart of youth turns ever to the light;<br> +Sorrow and gloom may curtain it like night,<br> +But, in its very anguish and unrest,<br> +It beats and tears the pall‑like folds away,<br> +And finds again the sunlight of the day.<br> + +<br> + +And yet, despite the changes without measure,<br> +Despite sight‑seeing, round on round of pleasure;<br> +Despite new friends, new suitors, still my heart<br> +Was conscious of a something lacking, where<br> +Love once had dwelt, and afterward despair.<br> +Now love was buried; and despair had flown<br> +Before the healthful zephyrs that had blown<br> +From heights serene and lofty; and the place<br> +Where both had dwelt, was empty, voiceless space<br> +And so I took my long‑loved study, art,<br> +The dreary vacuum in my life to fill,<br> +And worked, and labored, with a right good will.<br> +Aunt Ruth and I took rooms in Rome; while Roy<br> +Lingered in Scotland, with his new‑found joy.<br> +A dainty little lassie, Grace Kildare,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 97]</span>Had snared him in her flossy, flaxen hair,<br> +And made him captive.<br> +                                   We were thrown, by chance,<br> +In contact with her people while in France<br> +The previous season: she was wholly sweet<br> +And fair and gentle; so näive, and yet<br> +So womanly, she was at once the pet<br> +Of all our party; and, ere many days,<br> +Won by her fresh face, and her artless ways,<br> +Roy fell a helpless captive at her feet.<br> +Her home was in the Highlands; and she came<br> +Of good old stock, of fair untarnished fame.<br> + +<br> + +Through all these months Roy had been true as steel;<br> +And by his every action made me feel<br> +He was my friend and brother, and no more.<br> +The same big‑souled and trusty friend of yore.<br> +Yet, in my secret heart, I wished I knew<br> +Whether the love he felt one time was dead,<br> +Or only hidden, for my sake, from view.<br> +So when he came to me one day, and said,<br> +The velvet blackness of his eyes ashine<br> +With light of love and triumph: "Cousin, mine,<br> +Congratulate me! She whom I adore<br> +Has pledged to me the promise of her hand;<br> +Her heart I have already," I was glad<br> +With double gladness, for it freed my mind<br> +Of fear that he, in secret, might be sad.<br> + +<br> + +From March till June had left her moons behind,<br> +And merged her rose‑red beauty in July,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 98]</span>There was no message from my native land.<br> +Then came a few brief lines, by Vivian penned:<br> +Death had been near to Helen, but passed by;<br> +The danger was now over. God was kind;<br> +The mother and the child were both alive;<br> +No other child was ever known to thrive<br> +As throve this one, nurse had been heard to say.<br> +The infant was a wonder, every way.<br> +And, at command of Helen he would send<br> +A lock of baby's golden hair to me.<br> +And did I, on my honor, ever see<br> +Such hair before? Helen would write, ere long:<br> +She gained quite slowly, but would soon be strong—<br> +Stronger than ever, so the doctors said.<br> +I took the tiny ringlet, golden—fair,<br> +Mayhap his hand had severed from the head<br> +Of his own child, and pressed it to my cheek<br> +And to my lips, and kissed it o'er and o'er.<br> +All my maternal instincts seemed to rise,<br> +And clamor for their rights, while my wet eyes,<br> +Rained tears upon the silken tress of hair.<br> +The woman struggled with her heart before!<br> +It was the mother in me now did speak,<br> +Moaning, like Rachel, that her babes were not,<br> +And crying out against her barren lot.<br> + +<br> + +Once I bemoaned the long and lonely years<br> +That stretched before me, dark with love's eclipse;<br> +And thought how my unmated heart would miss<br> +The shelter of a broad and manly breast—<br> +The strong, bold arm—the tender clinging kiss—<br> +And all pure love's possessions, manifold;<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 99]</span>But now I wept a flood of bitter tears,<br> +Thinking of little heads of shining gold,<br> +That would not on my bosom sink to rest;<br> +Of little hands that would not touch my cheek;<br> +Of little lisping voices, and sweet lips,<br> +That never in my list'ning ear would speak<br> +The blessed name of mother.<br> +                                             Oh, in woman<br> +How mighty is the love of offspring! Ere<br> +Unto her wond'ring, untaught mind unfolds<br> +The myst'ry that is half divine, half human,<br> +Of life and birth, the love of unborn souls<br> +Within her, and the mother‑yearning creeps<br> +Through her warm heart, and stirs its hidden deeps,<br> +And grows and strengthens with each riper year.<br> + +<br> + +As storms may gather in a placid sky,<br> +And spend their fury, and then pass away,<br> +Leaving again the blue of cloudless day,<br> +E'en so the tempest of my grief passed by.<br> +'T was weak to mourn for what I had resigned,<br> +With the deliberate purpose of my mind,<br> +To my sweet friend.<br> +                                Relinquishing my love,<br> +I gave my dearest hope of joy to her.<br> +If God, from out his boundless store above,<br> +Had chosen added blessings to confer,<br> +I would rejoice, for her sake—not repine<br> +That th' immortal treasures were not mine.<br> + +<br> + +Better my lonely sorrow, than to know<br> +My selfish joy had been another's woe;<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 100]</span>Better my grief and my strength to control,<br> +Than the despair of her frail‑bodied soul;<br> +Better to go on, loveless, to the end,<br> +Than wear love's rose, whose thorn had slain my friend.<br> + +<br> + +Work is the salve that heals the wounded heart.<br> +With will most resolute I set my aim<br> +To enter on the weary race for Fame,<br> +And if I failed to climb the dizzy height,<br> +To reach some point of excellence in art.<br> + +<br> + +E'en as the Maker held earth incomplete,<br> +Till man was formed, and placed upon the sod,<br> +The perfect, living image of his God,<br> +All landscape scenes were lacking in my sight,<br> +Wherein the human figure had no part.<br> +In that, all lines of symmetry did meet—<br> +All hues of beauty mingle. So I brought<br> +Enthusiasm in abundance, thought,<br> +Much study, and some talent, day by day,<br> +To help me in my efforts to portray<br> +The wond'rous power, majesty and grace<br> +Stamped on some form, or looking from some face.<br> +This was to be my specialty: To take<br> +Human emotion for my theme, and make<br> +The unassisted form divine express<br> +Anger or Sorrow, Pleasure, Pain, Distress;<br> +And thus to build Fame's monument above<br> +The grave of my departed hope and love.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 101]</span>This is not Genius. Genius spreads its wings<br> +And soars beyond itself, or selfish things.<br> +Talent has need of stepping‑stones: some cross,<br> +Some cheated purpose, some great pain or loss,<br> +Must lay the groundwork, and arouse ambition,<br> +Before it labors onward to fruition.<br> + +<br> + +But, as the lark from beds of bloom will rise<br> +And sail and sing among the very skies,<br> +Still mounting near and nearer to the light,<br> +Impelled alone by love of upward flight,<br> +So Genius soars—it does not need to climb—<br> +Upon God‑given wings, to heights sublime.<br> +Some sportman's shot, grazing the singer's throat,<br> +Some venomous assault of birds of prey,<br> +May speed its flight toward the realm of day,<br> +And tinge with triumph every liquid note.<br> +So deathless Genius mounts but higher yet,<br> +When Strife and Envy think to slay or fret.<br> + +<br> + +There is no balking Genius. Only death<br> +Can silence it, or hinder. While there's breath<br> +Or sense of feeling, it will spurn the sod,<br> +And lift itself to glory, and to God.<br> +The acorn sprouted—weeds nor flowers can choke<br> +The certain growth of th' upreaching oak.<br> + +<br> + +Talent was mine, not Genius; and my mind<br> +Seemed bound by chains, and would not leave behind<br> +Its selfish love and sorrow.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 102]</span>                                        Did I strive<br> +To picture some emotion, lo! <i>his</i> eyes,<br> +Of emerald beauty, dark as ocean dyes,<br> +Looked from the canvas: and my buried pain<br> +Rose from its grave, and stood by me alive.<br> +Whate'er my subject, in some hue or line,<br> +The glorious beauty of his face would shine.<br> + +<br> + +So for a time my labor seemed in vain,<br> +Since it but freshened, and made keener yet,<br> +The grief my heart was striving to forget.<br> + +<br> + +While in his form all strength and magnitude<br> +With grace and supple sinews were entwined,<br> +While in his face all beauties were combined<br> +Of perfect features, intellect and truth,<br> +With all that fine rich coloring of youth,<br> +How could my brush portray aught good or fair<br> +Wherein no fatal likeness should intrude<br> +Of him my soul had worshiped?<br> +                                                   But, at last,<br> +Setting a watch upon my unwise heart<br> +That thus would mix its sorrow with my art,<br> +I resolutely shut away the past,<br> +And made the toilsome present passing bright<br> +With dreams of what was hidden from my sight<br> +In the far distant future, when the soil<br> +Should yield me golden fruit for all my toil.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<a name="PART_VII"></a> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 103]</span><h4><i>PART VII.</i></h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +With much hard labor and some pleasure fraught,<br> +The months rolled by me noiselessly, that taught<br> +My hand to grow more skillful in its art,<br> +Strengthened my daring dream of fame, and brought<br> +Sweet hope and resignation to my heart.<br> + +<br> + +Brief letters came from Helen, now and then:<br> +She was quite well—oh, yes! quite well, indeed!<br> +But still so weak and nervous. By and by,<br> +When baby, being older, should not need<br> +Such constant care, she would grow strong again.<br> +She was as happy as a soul could be;<br> +No least cloud hovered in her azure sky;<br> +She had not thought life held such depths of bliss.<br> +Dear baby sent Maurine a loving kiss,<br> +And said she was a naughty, naughty girl,<br> +Not to come home and see ma's little pearl.<br> + +<br> + +No gift of costly jewels, or of gold,<br> +Had been so precious or so dear to me,<br> +As each brief line wherein her joy was told.<br> +It lightened toil, and took the edge from pain,<br> +Knowing my sacrifice was not in vain.<br> + +<br> + +Roy purchased fine estates in Scotland, where<br> +He built a pretty villa‑like retreat.<br> +And when the Roman Summer's languid heat<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 104]</span>Made work a punishment, I turned my face<br> +Toward the Highlands, and with Roy and Grace<br> +Found rest and freedom from all thought and care.<br> + +<br> + +I was a willing worker. Not an hour<br> +Passed idly by me: each, I would employ<br> +To some good purpose, ere it glided on<br> +To swell the tide of hours forever gone.<br> +My first completed picture, known as "Joy,"<br> +Won pleasant words of praise. "Possesses power,"<br> +"Displays much talent," "Very fairly done."<br> +So fell the comments on my grateful ear.<br> + +<br> + +Swift in the wake of Joy, and always near,<br> +Walks her sad sister Sorrow. So my brush<br> +Began depicting sorrow, heavy‑eyed,<br> +With pallid visage, ere the rosy flush<br> +Upon the beaming face of Joy had dried.<br> +The careful study of long months, it won<br> +Golden opinions; even bringing forth<br> +That certain sign of merit—a critique<br> +Which set both pieces down as daubs, and weak<br> +As empty heads that sang their praises—so<br> +Proving conclusively the pictures' worth.<br> +These critics and reviewers do not use<br> +Their precious ammunition to abuse<br> +A worthless work. That, left alone, they know<br> +Will find its proper level; and they aim<br> +Their batteries at rising works which claim<br> +Too much of public notice. But this shot<br> +Resulted only in some noise, which brought<br> +A dozen people, where one came before<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 105]</span>To view my pictures; and I had my hour<br> +Of holding those frail baubles, Fame and Pow'r.<br> +An English Baron who had lived two score<br> +Of his allotted three score years and ten,<br> +Bought both the pieces. He was very kind,<br> +And so attentive, I, not being blind,<br> +Must understand his meaning.<br> +                                              Therefore, when<br> +He said,<br> +           "Sweet friend, whom I would make my wife,<br> +The 'Joy' and 'Sorrow' this dear hand portrayed<br> +I have in my possession: now resign<br> +Into my careful keeping, and make mine,<br> +The joy and sorrow of your future life,"—<br> +I was prepared to answer, but delayed,<br> +Grown undecided suddenly.<br> +                                             My mind<br> +Argued the matter coolly pro and con,<br> +And made resolve to speed his wooing on<br> +And grant him favor. He was good and kind;<br> +Not young, no doubt he would be quite content<br> +With my respect, nor miss an ardent love;<br> +Could give me ties of family and home;<br> +And then, perhaps, my mind was not above<br> +Setting some value on a titled name—<br> +Ambitious woman's weakness!<br> +                                                 Then my art<br> +Would be encouraged and pursued the same,<br> +And I could spend my winters all in Rome.<br> +Love never more could touch my wasteful heart<br> +That all its wealth upon one object spent.<br> +Existence would be very bleak and cold,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 106]</span>After long years, when I was gray and old,<br> +With neither home nor children.<br> +                                                   Once a wife,<br> +I would forget the sorrow of my life,<br> +And pile new sods upon the grave of pain.<br> +My mind so argued; and my sad heart heard,<br> +But made no comment.<br> +                                     Then the Baron spoke,<br> +And waited for my answer. All in vain<br> +I strove for strength to utter that one word<br> +My mind dictated. Moments rolled away—<br> +Until at last my torpid heart awoke,<br> +And forced my trembling lips to say him nay.<br> +And then my eyes with sudden tears o'erran,<br> +In pity for myself and for this man<br> +Who stood before me, lost in pained surprise.<br> +"Dear friend," I cried, "Dear generous friend forgive<br> +A troubled woman's weakness! As I live,<br> +In truth I meant to answer otherwise.<br> +From out its store, my heart can give you naught<br> +But honor and respect; and yet methought<br> +I would give willing answer, did you sue.<br> +But now I know 'twere cruel wrong I planned;<br> +Taking a heart that beat with love most true,<br> +And giving in exchange an empty hand.<br> +Who weds for love alone, may not be wise:<br> +Who weds without it, angels must despise.<br> +Love and respect together must combine<br> +To render marriage holy and divine;<br> +And lack of either, sure as Fate, destroys<br> +Continuation of the nuptial joys,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 107]</span>And brings regret, and gloomy discontent,<br> +To put to rout each tender sentiment.<br> +Nay, nay! I will not burden all your life<br> +By that possession—an unloving wife;<br> +Nor will I take the sin upon my soul<br> +Of wedding where my heart goes not in whole.<br> +However bleak may be my single lot,<br> +I will not stain my life with such a blot.<br> +Dear friend, farewell! the earth is very wide;<br> +It holds some fairer woman for your bride;<br> +I would I had a heart to give to you,<br> +But, lacking it, can only say—adieu!"<br> + +<br> + +He whom temptation never has assailed,<br> +Knows not that subtle sense of moral strength;<br> +When sorely tried, we waver, but at length,<br> +Rise up and turn away, not having failed.<br> + +<br> + +<hr> + +<br> + +The Autumn of the third year came and went;<br> +The mild Italian winter was half spent,<br> +When this brief message came across the sea:<br> +"My darling! I am dying. Come to me.<br> +Love, which so long the growing truth concealed,<br> +Stands pale within its shadow. O, my sweet!<br> +This heart of mine grows fainter with each beat—<br> +Dying with very weight of bliss. O, come!<br> +And take the legacy I leave to you,<br> +Before these lips forevermore are dumb.<br> +In life or death, Yours, Helen Dangerfield."<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 108]</span>This plaintive letter bore a month old date;<br> +And, wild with fears lest I had come too late,<br> +I bade the old world and new friends adieu.<br> +And with Aunt Ruth, who long had sighed for home,<br> +I turned my back on glory, art, and Rome.<br> + +<br> + +All selfish thoughts were merged in one wild fear<br> +That she for whose dear sake my heart had bled,<br> +Rather than her sweet eyes should know one tear,<br> +Was passing from me; that she might be dead;<br> +And, dying, had been sorely grieved with me,<br> +Because I made no answer to her plea.<br> + +<br> + +"O, ship, that sailest slowly, slowly on,<br> +Make haste before a wasting life is gone!<br> +Make haste that I may catch a fleeting breath!<br> +And true in life, be true e'en unto death.<br> + +<br> + +"O, ship, sail on! and bear me o'er the tide<br> +To her for whom my woman's heart once died.<br> +Sail, sail, O, ship! for she hath need of me,<br> +And I would know what her last wish may be!<br> +I have been true, so true, through all the past,<br> +Sail, sail, O, ship! I would not fail at last."<br> + +<br> + +So prayed my heart still o'er, and ever o'er,<br> +Until the weary lagging ship reached shore.<br> +All sad with fears that I had come too late,<br> +By that strange source whence men communicate,<br> +Though miles on miles of space between them lie,<br> +I spoke with Vivian: "Does she live? Reply."<br> +The answer came. "She lives, but hasten, friend!<br> +Her journey draweth swiftly to its end."<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 109]</span>Ah me! ah me! when each remembered spot,<br> +My own dear home, the lane that led to his—<br> +The fields, the woods, the lake, burst on my sight,<br> +Oh! then, Self rose up in asserting might;<br> +Oh, then, my bursting heart all else forgot,<br> +But those sweet early years of lost delight,<br> +Of hope, defeat, of anguish and of bliss.<br> + +<br> + +I have a theory, vague, undefined,<br> +That each emotion of the human mind,<br> +Love, pain or passion, sorrow or despair,<br> +Is a live spirit, dwelling in the air,<br> +Until it takes possession of some breast;<br> +And, when at length, grown weary of unrest,<br> +We rise up strong and cast it from the heart,<br> +And bid it leave us wholly, and depart,<br> +It does not die, it cannot die; but goes<br> +And mingles with some restless wind that blows<br> +About the region where it had its birth.<br> +And though we wander over all the earth,<br> +That spirit waits, and lingers, year by year,<br> +Invisible, and clothèd like the air,<br> +Hoping that we may yet again draw near,<br> +And it may haply take us unaware,<br> +And once more find safe shelter in the breast<br> +It stirred of old with pleasure or unrest.<br> + +<br> + +Told by my heart, and wholly positive,<br> +Some old emotion long had ceased to live;<br> +That, were it called, it could not hear or come,<br> +Because it was so voiceless and so dumb,<br> +Yet, passing where it first sprang into life,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 110]</span>My very soul has suddenly been rife<br> +With all the old intensity of feeling.<br> +It seemed a living spirit, which came stealing<br> +Into my heart from that departed day;<br> +Exiled emotion, which I fancied clay.<br> + +<br> + +So now into my troubled heart, above<br> +The present's pain and sorrow, crept the love<br> +And strife and passion of a by‑gone hour,<br> +Possessed of all their olden might and power.<br> +'T was but a moment, and the spell was broken<br> +By pleasant words of greeting, gently spoken,<br> +And Vivian stood before us.<br> +                                          But I saw<br> +In him the husband of my friend alone.<br> +The old emotions might at times return,<br> +And smold'ring fires leap up an hour and burn;<br> +But never yet had I transgressed God's law,<br> +By looking on the man I had resigned,<br> +With any hidden feeling in my mind,<br> +Which she, his wife, my friend, might not have known.<br> +He was but little altered. From his face<br> +The nonchalant and almost haughty grace,<br> +The lurking laughter waiting in his eyes,<br> +The years had stolen, leaving in their place<br> +A settled sadness, which was not despair,<br> +Nor was it gloom, nor weariness, nor care,<br> +But something like the vapor o'er the skies<br> +Of Indian summer, beautiful to see,<br> +But spoke of frosts, which had been and would be.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 111]</span>There was that in his face which cometh not,<br> +Save when the soul has many a battle fought,<br> +And conquered self by constant sacrifice.<br> + +<br> + +There are two sculptors, who, with chisels fine,<br> +Render the plainest features half divine.<br> +All other artists strive and strive in vain,<br> +To picture beauty perfect and complete.<br> +Their statues only crumble at their feet,<br> +Without the master touch of Faith and Pain.<br> +And now his face, that perfect seemed before,<br> +Chiseled by these two careful artists, wore<br> +A look exalted, which the spirit gives<br> +When soul has conquered, and the body lives<br> +Subservient to its bidding.<br> +<br> +                                       In a room<br> +Which curtained out the February gloom,<br> +And, redolent with perfume, bright with flowers,<br> +Rested the eye like one of Summer's bowers,<br> +I found my Helen, who was less mine now<br> +Than Death's; for on the marble of her brow,<br> +His seal was stamped indelibly.<br> +                                                  Her form<br> +Was like the slendor willow, when some storm<br> +Has stripped it bare of foliage. Her face,<br> +Pale always, now was ghastly in its hue:<br> +And, like two lamps, in some dark, hollow place,<br> +Burned her large eyes, grown more intensely blue.<br> +Her fragile hands displayed each cord and vein,<br> +And on her mouth was that drawn look, of pain<br> +Which is not uttered. Yet an inward light<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 112]</span>Shone through and made her wasted features bright<br> +With an unearthly beauty; and an awe<br> +Crept o'er me, gazing on her, for I saw<br> +She was so near to Heaven that I seemed<br> +To look upon the face of one redeemed.<br> +She turned the brilliant luster of her eyes<br> +Upon me. She had passed beyond surprise,<br> +Or any strong emotion linked with clay.<br> +But as I glided to her where she lay,<br> +A smile, celestial in its sweetness, wreathed<br> +Her pallid features. "Welcome home!" she breathed,<br> +"Dear hands! dear lips! I touch you and rejoice."<br> +And like the dying echo of a voice<br> +Were her faint tones that thrilled upon my ear.<br> + +<br> + +I fell upon my knees beside her bed;<br> +All agonies within my heart were wed,<br> +While to the aching numbness of my grief,<br> +Mine eyes refused the solace of a tear,—<br> +The tortured soul's most merciful relief.<br> +Her wasted hand caressed my bended head<br> +For one sad, sacred moment. Then she said,<br> +In that low tone so like the wind's refrain,<br> +"Maurine, my own! give not away to pain;<br> +The time is precious. Ere another dawn<br> +My soul may hear the summons and pass on.<br> +Arise, sweet sister! rest a little while,<br> +And when refreshed, come hither. I grow weak<br> +With every hour that passes. I must speak<br> +And make my dying wishes known to‑night.<br> +Go now." And in the halo of her smile,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 113]</span>Which seemed to fill the room with golden light,<br> +I turned and left her.<br> +                                   Later in the gloom,<br> +Of coming night, I entered that dim room,<br> +And sat down by her. Vivian held her hand:<br> +And on the pillow at her side, there smiled<br> +The beauteous count'nance of a sleeping child.<br> + +<br> + +"Maurine," spoke Helen, "for three blissful years,<br> +My heart has dwelt in an enchanted land;<br> +And I have drank the sweetened cup of joy,<br> +Without one drop of anguish or alloy.<br> +And so, ere Pain embitters it with gall,<br> +Or sad‑eyed Sorrow fills it full of tears,<br> +And bids me quaff, which is the Fate of all<br> +Who linger long upon this troubled way,<br> +God takes me to the realm of Endless Day,<br> +To mingle with his angels, who alone<br> +Can understand such bliss as I have known.<br> +I do not murmur. God has heaped my measure,<br> +In three short years, full to the brim with pleasure;<br> +And, from the fullness of an earthly love,<br> +I pass to th' Immortal arms above,<br> +Before I even brush the skirts of Woe.<br> + +<br> + +"I leave my aged parents here below,<br> +With none to comfort them. Maurine, sweet friend!<br> +Be kind to them, and love them to the end,<br> +Which may not be far distant.<br> +                                              And I leave<br> +A soul immortal in your charge, Maurine.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 114]</span>From this most holy, sad and sacred eve,<br> +Till God shall claim her, she is yours to keep,<br> +To love and shelter, to protect and guide."<br> +She touched the slumb'ring cherub at her side,<br> +And Vivian gently bore her, still asleep,<br> +And laid the precious burden on my breast.<br> + +<br> + +A solemn silence fell upon the scene.<br> +And when the sleeping infant smiled, and pressed<br> +My yielding bosom with her waxen cheek,<br> +I felt it would be sacrilege to speak,<br> +Such wordless joy possessed me.<br> +                                                 Oh! at last<br> +This infant, who, in that tear‑blotted past,<br> +Had caused my soul such travail, was my own:<br> +Through all the lonely coming years to be<br> +Mine own to cherish—wholly mine alone.<br> +And what I mourned, so hopelessly as lost<br> +Was now restored, and given back to me.<br> + +<br> + +The dying voice continued:<br> +                                              "In this child<br> +You yet have me, whose mortal life she cost.<br> +But all that was most pure and undefiled,<br> +And good within me, lives in her again.<br> +Maurine, my husband loves me; yet I know,<br> +Moving about the wide world, to and fro,<br> +And through, and in the busy haunts of men,<br> +Not always will his heart be dumb with woe,<br> +But sometime waken to a later love.<br> +Nay, Vivian, hush! my soul has passed above<br> +All selfish feelings! I would have it so.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 115]</span>While I am with the angels, blest and glad,<br> +I would not have you sorrowing and sad,<br> +In loneliness go mourning to the end.<br> +But, love! I could not trust to any other<br> +The sacred office of a foster‑mother<br> +To this sweet cherub, save my own heart‑friend.<br> + +<br> + +"Teach her to love her father's name, Maurine,<br> +Where'er he wanders. Keep my memory green<br> +In her young heart, and lead her in her youth,<br> +To drink from th' eternal fount of Truth;<br> +Vex her not with sectarian discourse,<br> +Nor strive to teach her piety by force;<br> +Ply not her mind with harsh and narrow creeds,<br> +Nor frighten her with an avenging God,<br> +Who rules his subjects with a burning rod;<br> +But teach her that each mortal simply needs<br> +To grow in hate of hate and love of love,<br> +To gain a kingdom in the courts above.<br> + +<br> + +"Let her be free and natural as the flowers,<br> +That smile and nod throughout the summer hours.<br> +Let her rejoice in all the joys of youth,<br> +But first impress upon her mind this truth:<br> +No lasting happiness is e'er attained<br> +Save when the heart some <i>other</i> seeks to please.<br> +The cup of selfish pleasures soon is drained,<br> +And full of gall and bitterness the lees.<br> +Next to her God, teach her to love her land;<br> +In her young bosom light the patriot's flame<br> +Until the heart within her shall expand<br> +With love and fervor at her country's name.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 116]</span>"No coward‑mother bears a valiant son.<br> +And this, my last wish, is an earnest one.<br> + +<br> + +"Maurine, my o'er‑taxed strength is waning; you<br> +Have heard my wishes, and you will be true<br> +In death as you have been in life, my own!<br> +Now leave me for a little while alone<br> +With him—my husband. Dear love! I shall rest<br> +So sweetly with no care upon my breast.<br> +Good night, Maurine, come to me in the morning."<br> + +<br> + +But lo! the bridegroom with no further warning<br> +Came for her at the dawning of the day.<br> +She heard his voice, and smiled, and passed away<br> +Without a struggle.<br> +                              Leaning o'er her bed<br> +To give her greeting, I found but her clay,<br> +And Vivian bowed beside it.<br> + +<br> + +                                        And I said,<br> +"Dear friend! my soul shall treasure thy request,<br> +And when the night of fever and unrest<br> +Melts in the morning of Eternity,<br> +Like a freed bird, then I will come to thee.<br> + +<br> + +"I will come to thee in the morning, sweet!<br> +I have been true; and soul with soul shall meet<br> +Before God's throne, and shall not be afraid.<br> +Thou gav'st me trust, and it was not betrayed.<br> + +<br> + +"I will come to thee in the morning, dear!<br> +The night is dark. I do not know how near<br> +The morn may be of that Eternal Day;<br> +I can but keep my faithful watch and pray.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 117]</span>"I will come to thee in the morning, love!<br> +Wait for me on the Eternal Heights above.<br> +The way is troubled where my feet must climb,<br> +Ere I shall tread the mountain‑top sublime.<br> + +<br> + +"I will come in the morning, O, mine own!<br> +But for a time must grope my way alone,<br> +Through tears and sorrow, till the Day shall dawn,<br> +And I shall hear the summons, and pass on.<br> + +<br> + +"I will come in the morning. Rest secure!<br> +My hope is certain and my faith is sure.<br> +After the gloom and darkness of the night<br> +I will come to thee with the morning light."<br> + +<br> + +<hr> + +<br> + +Three peaceful years slipped silently away.<br> + +<br> + +We dwelt together in my childhood's home,<br> +Aunt Ruth and I, and sunny‑hearted May.<br> +She was a fair and most exquisite child;<br> +Her pensive face was delicate and mild<br> +Like her dead mother's; but through her dear eyes<br> +Her father smiled upon me, day by day.<br> +Afar in foreign countries did he roam,<br> +Now resting under Italy's blue skies,<br> +And now with Roy in Scotland.<br> +                                             And he sent<br> +Brief, friendly letters, telling where he went<br> +And what he saw, addressed to May or me.<br> +And I would write and tell him how she grew—<br> +And how she talked about him o'er the sea<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 118]</span>In her sweet baby fashion; how she knew<br> +His picture in the album; how each day<br> +She knelt and prayed the blessed Lord would bring<br> +Her own papa back to his little May.<br> + +<br> + +It was a warm bright morning in the Spring.<br> +I sat in that same sunny portico,<br> +Where I was sitting seven years ago<br> +When Vivian came. My eyes were full of tears,<br> +As I looked back across the checkered years.<br> +How many were the changes they had brought!<br> +Pain, death, and sorrow! but the lesson taught<br> +To my young heart had been of untold worth.<br> +I had learned how to "suffer and grow strong"—<br> +That knowledge which best serves us here on earth,<br> +And brings reward in Heaven.<br> + +<br> + +                                                Oh! how long<br> +The years had been since that June morning when<br> +I heard his step upon the walk, and yet<br> +I seemed to hear its echo still.<br> +                                                     Just then<br> +Down that same path I turned my eyes, tear‑wet,<br> +And lo! the wanderer from a foreign land<br> +Stood there before me!—holding out his hand<br> +And smiling with those wond'rous eyes of old.<br> + +<br> + +To hide my tears, I ran and brought his child;<br> +But she was shy, and clung to me, when told<br> +This was papa, for whom her prayers were said.<br> +She dropped her eyes and shook her little head,<br> +And would not by his coaxing be beguiled,<br> +Or go to him.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 119]</span>                       Aunt Ruth was not at home,<br> +And we two sat and talked, as strangers might,<br> +Of distant countries which we both had seen.<br> +But once I thought I saw his large eyes light<br> +With sudden passion, when there came a pause<br> +In our chit‑chat, and then he spoke:<br> +                                                        "Maurine,<br> +I saw a number of your friends in Rome.<br> +We talked of you. They seemed surprised, because<br> +You were not 'mong the seekers for a name.<br> +They thought your whole ambition was for fame."<br> + +<br> + +"It might have been," I answered, "when my heart<br> +Had nothing else to fill it. Now my art<br> +Is but a recreation. I have <i>this</i><br> +To love and live for, which I had not then."<br> +And, leaning down, I pressed a tender kiss<br> +Upon my child's fair brow.<br> + +<br> + +                                         "And yet," he said,<br> +The old light leaping to his eyes again,<br> +"And yet, Maurine, they say you might have wed<br> +A noble Baron! one of many men<br> +Who laid their hearts and fortunes at your feet.<br> +Why won the bravest of them no return?"<br> + +<br> + +I bowed my head, nor dared his gaze to meet.<br> +On cheek and brow I felt the red blood burn,<br> +And strong emotion strangled speech.<br> +                                                           He rose<br> +And came and knelt beside me.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 120]</span>                                            "Sweet, my sweet!"<br> +He murmured softly, "God in Heaven knows<br> +How well I loved you seven years ago.<br> +He only knows my anguish, and my grief,<br> +When your own acts forced on me the belief<br> +That I had been your plaything and your toy.<br> +Yet from his lips I since have learned that Roy<br> +Held no place nearer than a friend and brother.<br> +And then a faint suspicion, undefined,<br> +Of what had been—was—might be, stirred my mind,<br> +And that great love, I thought died at a blow,<br> +Rose up within me, strong with hope and life.<br> + +<br> + +"Before all heaven and the angel mother<br> +Of this sweet child that slumbers on your heart,<br> +Maurine, Maurine, I claim you for my wife—<br> +Mine own, forever, until death shall part!"<br> + +<br> + +Through happy mists of upward welling tears,<br> +I leaned, and looked into his beauteous eyes.<br> +"Dear heart," I said, "if she who dwells above<br> +Looks down upon us, from yon azure skies,<br> +She can but bless us, knowing all these years<br> +My soul had yearned in silence for the love<br> +That crowned her life, and left mine own so bleak.<br> +I turned you from me for her fair, frail sake.<br> +For her sweet child's, and for my own, I take<br> +You back to be all mine, for evermore."<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 121]</span>Just then the child upon my breast awoke<br> +From her light sleep, and laid her downy cheek<br> +Against her father as he knelt by me.<br> +And this unconscious action seemed to be<br> +A silent blessing, which the mother spoke<br> +Gazing upon us from the mystic shore.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="TWO_SUNSETS"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 122]</span><h2>TWO SUNSETS.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +In the fair morning of his life,<br> +   When his pure heart lay in his breast,<br> +   Panting, with all that wild unrest<br> +To plunge into the great world's strife<br> + +<br> + +That fills young hearts with mad desire,<br> +   He saw a sunset. Red and gold<br> +   The burning billows surged and rolled,<br> +And upward tossed their caps of fire.<br> + +<br> + +He looked. And as he looked, the sight<br> +   Sent from his soul through breast and brain<br> +   Such intense joy, it hurt like pain.<br> +His heart seemed bursting with delight.<br> + +<br> + +So near the Unknown seemed, so close<br> +   He might have grasped it with his hand.<br> +   He felt his inmost soul expand,<br> +As sunlight will expand a rose.<br> + +<br> + +One day he heard a singing strain—<br> +   A human voice, in bird‑like trills.<br> +   He paused, and little rapture‑rills<br> +Went trickling downward through each vein.<br> + +<br> + +And in his heart the whole day long,<br> +   As in a temple veiled and dim,<br> +   He kept and bore about with him<br> +The beauty of that singer's song.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 123]</span>And then? But why relate what then?<br> +   His smouldering heart flamed into fire—<br> +   He had his one supreme desire.<br> +And plunged into the world of men.<br> + +<br> + +For years queen Folly held her sway.<br> +   With pleasures of the grosser kind<br> +   She fed his flesh and drugged his mind,<br> +Till, shamed, he sated turned away.<br> + +<br> + +He sought his boyhood's home. That hour<br> +   Triumphant should have been, in sooth,<br> +   Since he went forth an unknown youth,<br> +And came back crowned with wealth and power.<br> + +<br> + +The clouds made day a gorgeous bed;<br> +   He saw the splendor of the sky<br> +   With unmoved heart and stolid eye;<br> +He only knew the West was red.<br> + +<br> + +Then suddenly a fresh young voice<br> +   Rose, bird‑like, from some hidden place,<br> +   He did not even turn his face;<br> +It struck him simply as a noise.<br> + +<br> + +He trod the old paths up and down.<br> +   Their rich‑hued leaves by Fall winds whirled—<br> +   How dull they were—how dull the world—<br> +Dull even in the pulsing town.<br> + +<br> + +O! worst of punishments, that brings<br> +   A blunting of all finer sense,<br> +   A loss of feelings keen, intense,<br> +And dulls us to the higher things.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 124]</span>O! penalty most dire, most sure,<br> +   Swift following after gross delights,<br> +   That we no more see beauteous sights,<br> +Or hear as hear the good and pure.<br> + +<br> + +O! shape more hideous and more dread<br> +   Than Vengeance takes in creed‑taught minds,<br> +   This certain doom that blunts and blinds,<br> +And strikes the holiest feelings dead.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="UNREST"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>UNREST.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +In the youth of the year, when the birds were building,<br> +   When the green was showing on tree and hedge,<br> +And the tenderest light of all lights was gilding<br> +   The world from zenith to outermost edge,<br> +My soul grew sad and longingly lonely!<br> +   I sighed for the season of sun and rose,<br> +And I said, "In the Summer and that time only<br> +   Lies sweet contentment and blest repose."<br> + +<br> + +With bee and bird for her maids of honor<br> +   Came Princess Summer in robes of green.<br> +And the King of day smiled down upon her<br> +   And wooed her, and won her, and made her queen.<br> +Fruit of their union and true love's pledges,<br> +   Beautiful roses bloomed day by day,<br> +And rambled in gardens and hid in hedges<br> +   Like royal children in sportive play.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 125]</span>My restless soul for a little season<br> +   Reveled in rapture of glow and bloom,<br> +And then, like a subject who harbors treason,<br> +   Grew full of rebellion and gray with gloom.<br> +And I said, "I am sick of the Summer's blisses,<br> +   Of warmth and beauty, and nothing more.<br> +The full fruition my sad soul misses<br> +   That beauteous Fall time holds in store!"<br> + +<br> + +But now when the colors are almost blinding,<br> +   Burning and blending on bush and tree,<br> +And the rarest fruits are mine for the finding,<br> +   And the year is ripe as a year can be,<br> +My soul complains in the same old fashion;<br> +   Crying aloud in my troubled breast<br> +Is the same old longing, the same old passion.<br> +   O where is the treasure which men call rest?<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="ARTISTS_LIFE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>"ARTIST'S LIFE."</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote,<br> +   Mad with melody, rhythm—rife<br> +From the very first to the final note,<br> +   Give me his "Artist's Life!"<br> + +<br> + +It stirs my blood to my finger ends,<br> +   Thrills me and fills me with vague unrest,<br> +And all that is sweetest and saddest blends<br> +   Together within my breast.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 126]</span>It brings back that night in the dim arcade,<br> +   In love's sweet morning and life's best prime.<br> +When the great brass orchestra played and played.<br> +   And set our thoughts to rhyme.<br> + +<br> + +It brings back that Winter of mad delights,<br> +   Of leaping pulses and tripping feet,<br> +And those languid moon‑washed Summer nights<br> +   When we heard the band in the street.<br> + +<br> + +It brings back rapture and glee and glow,<br> +   It brings back passion and pain and strife,<br> +And so of all the waltzes I know,<br> +   Give me the "Artist's Life."<br> + +<br> + +For it is so full of the dear old time—<br> +   So full of the dear old friends I knew.<br> +And under its rhythm, and lilt, and rhyme,<br> +   I am always finding—<i>you</i>.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="NOTHING_BUT_STONES"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>NOTHING BUT STONES.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I think I never passed so sad an hour,<br> +   Dear friend, as that one at the church to‑night.<br> +The edifice from basement to the tower<br> +   Was one resplendent blaze of colored light.<br> +Up through broad aisles the stylish crowd was thronging,<br> +   Each richly robed like some king's bidden guest.<br> +"Here will I bring my sorrow and my longing,"<br> +   I said, "and here find rest."<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 127]</span>I heard the heavenly organ's voice of thunder,<br> +   It seemed to give me infinite relief.<br> +I wept. Strange eyes looked on in well‑bred wonder.<br> +   I dried my tears: their gaze profaned my grief.<br> +Wrapt in the costly furs, and silks and laces<br> +   Beat alien hearts, that had no part with me.<br> +I could not read, in all those proud cold faces,<br> +   One thought of sympathy.<br> + +<br> + +I watched them bowing and devoutly kneeling,<br> +   Heard their responses like sweet waters roll.<br> +But only the glorious organ's sacred pealing<br> +   Seemed gushing from a full and fervent soul.<br> +I listened to the man of holy calling,<br> +   He spoke of creeds, and hailed his own as best;<br> +Of man's corruption and of Adam's falling,<br> +   But naught that gave me rest.<br> + +<br> + +Nothing that helped me bear the daily grinding<br> +   Of soul with body, heart with heated brain.<br> +Nothing to show the purpose of this blinding<br> +   And sometimes overwhelming sense of pain.<br> +And then, dear friend, I thought of thee, so lowly,<br> +   So unassuming, and so gently kind,<br> +And lo! a peace, a calm serene and holy,<br> +   Settled upon my mind.<br> + +<br> + +Ah, friend, my friend! one true heart, fond and tender,<br> +   That understands our troubles and our needs,<br> +Brings us more near to God than all the splendor<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 128]</span>   And pomp of seeming worship and vain creeds.<br> +One glance of thy dear eyes so full of feeling,<br> +   Doth bring me closer to the Infinite,<br> +Than all that throng of worldly people kneeling<br> +   In blaze of gorgeous light.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_COQUETTE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>THE COQUETTE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Alone she sat with her accusing heart,<br> +   That, like a restless comrade frightened sleep,<br> +And every thought that found her, left a dart<br> +   That hurt her so, she could not even weep.<br> + +<br> + +Her heart that once had been a cup well filled<br> +   With love's red wine, save for some drops of gall<br> +She knew was empty; though it had not spilled<br> +   Its sweets for one, but wasted them on all.<br> + +<br> + +She stood upon the grave of her dead truth,<br> +   And saw her soul's bright armor red with rust,<br> +And knew that all the riches of her youth<br> +   Were Dead Sea apples, crumbling into dust.<br> + +<br> + +Love that had turned to bitter, biting scorn,<br> +   Hearthstones despoiled, and homes made desolate,<br> +Made her cry out that she was ever born,<br> +   To loathe her beauty and to curse her fate.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="INEVITABLE"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 129]</span><h2>INEVITABLE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +To‑day I was so weary and I lay<br> +   In that delicious state of semi‑waking,<br> +When baby, sitting with his nurse at play,<br> +   Cried loud for "mamma," all his toys forsaking.<br> + +<br> + +I was so weary and I needed rest,<br> +   And signed to nurse to bear him from the room.<br> +Then, sudden, rose and caught him to my breast,<br> +   And kissed the grieving mouth and cheeks of bloom.<br> + +<br> + +For swift as lightning came the thought to me,<br> +   With pulsing heart‑throes and a mist of tears,<br> +Of days inevitable, that are to be,<br> +   If my fair darling grows to manhood's years;<br> + +<br> + +Days when he will not call for "mamma," when<br> +   The world with many a pleasure and bright joy,<br> +Shall tempt him forth into the haunts of men<br> +   And I shall lose the first place with my boy;<br> + +<br> + +When other homes and loves shall give delight,<br> +   When younger smiles and voices will seem best.<br> +And so I held him to my heart to‑night,<br> +   Forgetting all my need of peace and rest.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 130]</span><a name="THE_OCEAN_OF_SONG"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>THE OCEAN OF SONG</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +In a land beyond sight or conceiving,<br> +   In a land where no blight is, no wrong,<br> +No darkness, no graves, and no grieving,<br> +   There lies the great ocean of song.<br> +And its waves, oh, its waves unbeholden<br> +   By any save gods, and their kind,<br> +Are not blue, are not green, but are golden,<br> +   Like moonlight and sunlight combined.<br> + +<br> + +It was whispered to me that their waters<br> +   Were made from the gathered‑up tears,<br> +That were wept by the sons and the daughters<br> +   Of long‑vanished eras and spheres.<br> +Like white sands of heaven the spray is<br> +   That falls all the happy day long,<br> +And whoever it touches straightway is<br> +   Made glad with the spirit of song.<br> + +<br> + +Up, up to the clouds where their hoary<br> +   Crowned heads melt away in the skies,<br> +The beautiful mountains of glory<br> +   Each side of the song ocean rise.<br> +Here day is one splendor of sky light<br> +   Of God's light with beauty replete.<br> +Here night is not night, but is twilight,<br> +   Pervading, enfolding and sweet.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 131]</span>Bright birds from all climes and all regions<br> +   That sing the whole glad summer long,<br> +Are dumb, till they flock here in legions<br> +   And lave in the ocean of song.<br> +It is here that the four winds of heaven,<br> +   The winds that do sing and rejoice,<br> +It is here they first came and were given<br> +   The secret of sound and a voice.<br> + +<br> + +Far down along beautiful beeches,<br> +   By night and by glorious day,<br> +The throng of the gifted ones reaches,<br> +   Their foreheads made white with the spray.<br> +And a few of the sons and the daughters<br> +   Of this kingdom, cloud‑hidden from sight,<br> +Go down in the wonderful waters,<br> +   And bathe in those billows of light<br> + +<br> + +And their souls ever more are like fountains,<br> +   And liquid and lucent and strong,<br> +High over the tops of the mountains<br> +   Gush up the sweet billows of song.<br> +No drouth‑time of waters can dry them.<br> +   Whoever has bathed in that sea,<br> +All dangers, all deaths, they defy them,<br> +   And are gladder than gods are, with glee.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="IT_MIGHT_HAVE_BEEN"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 132]</span><h2>"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN."</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +We will be what we could be. Do not say,<br> +   "It might have been, had not or that, or this."<br> +No fate can keep us from the chosen way;<br> +            He only might, who <i>is</i>.<br> + +<br> + +We will do what we could do. Do not dream<br> +   Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve.<br> +I hold, all men are greatly what they seem;<br> +            He does, who could achieve.<br> + +<br> + +We will climb where we could climb. Tell me not<br> +   Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height.<br> +What eagle ever missed the peak he sought?<br> +            He always climbs who might.<br> + +<br> + +I do not like the phrase, "It might have been!"<br> +   It lacks all force, and life's best truths perverts:<br> +For I believe we have, and reach, and win,<br> +            Whatever our deserts.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="IF"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>IF.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Dear love, if you and I could sail away,<br> +   With snowy pennons to the winds unfurled,<br> +Across the waters of some unknown bay,<br> +   And find some island far from all the world;<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 133]</span>If we could dwell there, ever more alone,<br> +   While unrecorded years slip by apace,<br> +Forgetting and forgotten and unknown<br> +   By aught save native song‑birds of the place;<br> + +<br> + +If Winter never visited that land,<br> +   And Summer's lap spilled o'er with fruits and flowers,<br> +And tropic trees cast shade on every hand,<br> +   And twinèd boughs formed sleep‑inviting bowers;<br> + +<br> + +If from the fashions of the world set free,<br> +   And hid away from all its jealous strife,<br> +I lived alone for you, and you for me—<br> +   Ah! then, dear love, how sweet were wedded life.<br> + +<br> + +But since we dwell here in the crowded way,<br> +   Where hurrying throngs rush by to seek for gold,<br> +And all is common‑place and work‑a‑day,<br> +   As soon as love's young honeymoon grows old;<br> + +<br> + +Since fashion rules and nature yields to art,<br> +   And life is hurt by daily jar and fret,<br> +'Tis best to shut such dreams down in the heart<br> +   And go our ways alone, love, and forget.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="GETHSEMANE"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 134]</span><h2>GETHSEMANE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +In golden youth when seems the earth<br> +A Summer‑land of singing mirth,<br> +When souls are glad and hearts are light,<br> +And not a shadow lurks in sight,<br> +We do not know it, but there lies<br> +Somewhere veiled under evening skies<br> +A garden which we all must see—<br> +The garden of Gethsemane.<br> + +<br> + +With joyous steps we go our ways,<br> +Love lends a halo to our days;<br> +Light sorrows sail like clouds afar,<br> +We laugh, and say how strong we are.<br> +We hurry on; and hurrying, go<br> +Close to the border‑land of woe,<br> +That waits for you, and waits for me—<br> +Forever waits Gethsemane.<br> + +<br> + +Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams<br> +Bridged over by our broken dreams;<br> +Behind the misty caps of years,<br> +Beyond the great salt fount of tears,<br> +The garden lies. Strive as you may,<br> +You cannot miss it in your way.<br> +All paths that have been, or shall be,<br> +Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 135]</span>All those who journey, soon or late,<br> +Must pass within the garden's gate;<br> +Must kneel alone in darkness there,<br> +And battle with some fierce despair.<br> +God pity those who can not say,<br> +"Not mine but thine," who only pray,<br> +"Let this cup pass," and cannot see<br> +The <i>purpose</i> in Gethsemane.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="DUST-SEALED"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>DUST‑SEALED.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I know not wherefore, but mine eyes<br> +   See bloom, where other eyes see blight.<br> +They find a rainbow, a sunrise,<br> +   Where others but discern deep night.<br> + +<br> + +Men call me an enthusiast,<br> +   And say I look through gilded haze:<br> +Because where'er my gaze is cast,<br> +   I see some thing that calls for praise.<br> + +<br> + +I say, "Behold those lovely eyes—<br> +   That tinted cheek of flower‑like grace."<br> +They answer in amused surprise:<br> +   "We thought it such a common face."<br> + +<br> + +I say, "Was ever scene more fair?<br> +   I seem to walk in Eden's bowers."<br> +They answer with a pitying air,<br> +   "The weeds are choking out the flowers."<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 136]</span>I know not wherefore, but God lent<br> +   A deeper vision to my sight.<br> +On whatsoe'er my gaze is bent<br> +   I catch the beauty Infinite;<br> + +<br> + +That underlying, hidden half<br> +   That all things hold of Deity.<br> +So let the dull crowd sneer and laugh—<br> +   Their eyes are blind, they cannot see.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="ADVICE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>"ADVICE."</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I must do as you do? Your way I own<br> +   Is a very good way. And still,<br> +There are sometimes two straight roads to a town,<br> +   One over, one under the hill.<br> + +<br> + +You are treading the safe and the well‑worn way,<br> +   That the prudent choose each time;<br> +And you think me reckless and rash to‑day,<br> +   Because I prefer to climb.<br> + +<br> + +Your path is the right one, and so is mine.<br> +   We are not like peas in a pod,<br> +Compelled to lie in a certain line,<br> +   Or else be scattered abroad.<br> + +<br> + +'Twere a dull old world, methinks, my friend,<br> +   If we all went just one way;<br> +Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end,<br> +   Though they lead apart to‑day.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 137]</span>You like the shade, and I like the sun;<br> +   You like an even pace,<br> +I like to mix with the crowd and run,<br> +   And then rest after the race.<br> + +<br> + +I like danger, and storm and strife,<br> +   You like a peaceful time;<br> +I like the passion and surge of life,<br> +   You like its gentle rhyme.<br> + +<br> + +You like buttercups, dewy sweet,<br> +   And crocuses, framed in snow;<br> +I like roses, born of the heat,<br> +   And the red carnation's glow.<br> + +<br> + +I must live my life, not yours, my friend,<br> +   For so it was written down;<br> +We must follow our given paths to the end,<br> +   But I trust we shall meet—in town.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="OVER_THE_BANISTERS"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>OVER THE BANISTERS.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Over the banisters bends a face,<br> +   Daringly sweet and beguiling.<br> +Somebody stands in careless grace,<br> +   And watches the picture, smiling.<br> + +<br> + +The light burns dim in the hall below,<br> +   Nobody sees her standing,<br> +Saying good‑night again, soft and slow,<br> +   Half way up to the landing.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 138]</span>Nobody only the eyes of brown,<br> +   Tender and full of meaning,<br> +That smile on the fairest face in town,<br> +   Over the banisters leaning.<br> + +<br> + +Tired and sleepy, with drooping head,<br> +   I wonder why she lingers;<br> +Now, when the good‑nights all are said,<br> +   Why somebody holds her fingers.<br> + +<br> + +He holds her fingers and draws her down,<br> +   Suddenly growing bolder,<br> +Till the loose hair drops its masses brown<br> +   Like a mantle over his shoulder.<br> + +<br> + +Over the banisters soft hands, fair,<br> +   Brush his cheeks like a feather,<br> +And bright brown tresses and dusky hair,<br> +   Meet and mingle together.<br> + +<br> + +There's a question asked, there's a swift caress,<br> +   She has flown like a bird from the hallway,<br> +But over the banisters drops a "yes,"<br> +   That shall brighten the world for him alway.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="MOMUS_GOD_OF_LAUGHTER"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2> MOMUS, GOD OF LAUGHTER.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Though with gods the world is cumbered,<br> +Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered,<br> +Never god was known to be<br> +Who had not his devotee.<br> +So I dedicate to mine,<br> +Here in verse, my temple‑shrine.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 139]</span>'Tis not Ares,—mighty Mars,<br> +Who can give success in wars.<br> +'Tis not Morpheus, who doth keep<br> +Guard above us while we sleep,<br> +'Tis not Venus, she whose duty<br> +'Tis to give us love and beauty;<br> +Hail to these, and others, after<br> +Momus, gleesome god of laughter.<br> + +<br> + +Quirinus would guard my health!<br> +Plutus would insure me wealth<br> +Mercury looks after trade,<br> +Hera smiles on youth and maid.<br> +All are kind, I own their worth,<br> +After Momus, god of mirth.<br> + +<br> + +Though Apollo, out of spite,<br> +Hides away his face of light.<br> +Though Minerva looks askance,<br> +Deigning me no smiling glance,<br> +Kings and queens may envy me<br> +While I claim the god of glee.<br> + +<br> + +Wisdom wearies, Love has wings—<br> +Wealth makes burdens, Pleasure stings,<br> +Glory proves a thorny crown—<br> +So all gifts the gods throw down<br> +Bring their pains and troubles after;<br> +All save Momus, god of laughter.<br> +He alone gives constant joy,<br> +Hail to Momus, happy boy.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="I_DREAM"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 140]</span><h2> I DREAM.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Oh, I have dreams. I sometimes dream of Life<br> +   In the full meaning of that splendid word.<br> +   Its subtle music which few men have heard,<br> +Though all may hear it, sounding through earth's strife.<br> +Its mountain heights by mystic breezes kissed,<br> +   Lifting their lovely peaks above the dust;<br> +   Its treasures which no touch of time can rust,<br> +Its emerald seas, its dawns of amethyst,<br> +   Its certain purpose, its serene repose,<br> +   Its usefulness, that finds no hour for woes,<br> +            This is my dream of Life.<br> + +<br> + +Yes, I have dreams. I ofttimes dream of Love<br> +   As radiant and brilliant as a star.<br> +   As changeless, too, as that fixed light afar<br> +Which glorifies vast worlds of space above.<br> +Strong as the tempest when it holds its breath,<br> +   Before it bursts in fury; and as deep<br> +   As the unfathomed seas, where lost worlds sleep<br> +And sad as birth, and beautiful as death.<br> +   As fervent as the fondest soul could crave,<br> +   Yet holy as the moonlight on a grave.<br> +            This is my dream of Love.<br> + +<br> + +Yes, yes, I dream. One oft‑recurring dream,<br> +   Is beautiful and comforting and blest.<br> +   Complete with certain promises of rest.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 141]</span>Divine content, and ecstasy supreme.<br> +When that strange essence, author of all faith,<br> +   That subtle something, which cries for the light,<br> +   Like a lost child who wanders in the night,<br> +Shall solve the mighty mystery of Death,<br> +   Shall find eternal progress, or sublime<br> +   And satisfying slumber for all time.<br> +            This is my dream of Death.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_PAST"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>THE PAST.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I fling my past behind me, like a robe<br> +Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date.<br> +I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep<br> +And dwell upon its beauty, and its dyes<br> +Of Oriental splendor, or complain<br> +That I must needs discard it? I can weave<br> +Upon the shuttles of the future years<br> +A fabric far more durable. Subdued,<br> +It may be, in the blending of its hues,<br> +Where somber shades commingle, yet the gleam<br> +Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through,<br> +While over all a fadeless luster lies,<br> +And starred with gems made out of crystalled tears,<br> +My new robe shall be richer than the old.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_SONNET"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 142]</span><h2>THE SONNET.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Alone it stands in Poesy's fair land,<br> +   A temple by the muses set apart;<br> +   A perfect structure of consummate art,<br> +By artists builded and by genius planned.<br> +Beyond the reach of the apprentice hand,<br> +   Beyond the ken of the untutored heart,<br> +   Like a fine carving in a common mart,<br> +Only the favored few will understand.<br> +A <i>chef‑d'œuvre</i> toiled over with great care,<br> +   Yet which the unseeing careless crowd goes by,<br> +A plainly set, but well‑cut solitaire,<br> +An ancient bit of pottery, too rare<br> +   To please or hold aught save the special eye,<br> +These only with the sonnet can compare.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="SECRETS"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>SECRETS.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Think not some knowledge rests with thee alone;<br> +   Why, even God's stupendous secret, Death,<br> +   We one by one, with our expiring breath,<br> +Do pale with wonder seize and make our own;<br> +The bosomed treasures of the earth are shown,<br> +   Despite her careful hiding; and the air<br> +   Yields its mysterious marvels in despair<br> +To swell the mighty store‑house of things known.<br> +In vain the sea expostulates and raves;<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 143]</span>   It cannot cover from the keen world's sight<br> +   The curious wonders of its coral caves.<br> +And so, despite thy caution or thy tears,<br> +The prying fingers of detective years<br> +   Shall drag <i>thy</i> secret out into the light.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="A_DREAM"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>A DREAM.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +That was a curious dream; I thought the three<br> +   Great planets that are drawing near the sun<br> +   With such unerring certainty, begun<br> +To talk together in a mighty glee.<br> +They spoke of vast convulsions which would be<br> +   Throughout the solar system—the rare fun<br> +   Of watching haughty stars drop, one by one,<br> +And vanish in a seething vapor sea.<br> + +<br> + +I thought I heard them comment on the earth—<br> +   That small dark object—doomed beyond a doubt.<br> +   They wondered if live creatures moved about<br> +Its tiny surface, deeming it of worth.<br> +   And then they laughed—'twas such a ringing shout<br> +That I awoke and joined too in their mirth.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="USELESSNESS"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>USELESSNESS.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Let mine not be that saddest fate of all<br> +   To live beyond my greater self; to see<br> +   My faculties decaying, as the tree<br> +Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall.<br> +Let me hear rather the imperious call,<br> +   Which all men dread, in my glad morning time,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 144]</span>   And follow death ere I have reached my prime,<br> +Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life's gall.<br> +The lightning's stroke or the fierce tempest blast<br> +   Which fells the green tree to the earth to‑day<br> +Is kinder than the calm that lets it last,<br> +   Unhappy witness of its own decay.<br> +   May no man ever look on me and say,<br> +"She lives, but all her usefulness is past."<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="WILL"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>WILL</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +There is no chance, no destiny, no fate,<br> +   Can circumvent or hinder or control<br> +   The firm resolve of a determined soul.<br> +Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great;<br> +All things give way before it, soon or late.<br> +   What obstacle can stay the mighty force<br> +   Of the sea‑seeking river in its course,<br> +Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait?<br> + +<br> + +Each well‑born soul must win what it deserves.<br> +Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate<br> +   Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves,<br> +   Whose slightest action or inaction serves<br> +The one great aim.<br> +                           Why, even Death stands still,<br> +And waits an hour sometimes for such a will.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="WINTER_RAIN"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 145]</span><h2>WINTER RAIN.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Falling upon the frozen world last night,<br> +   I heard the slow beat of the Winter rain—<br> +   Poor foolish drops, down‑dripping all in vain;<br> +The ice‑bound Earth but mocked their puny might,<br> +Far better had the fixedness of white<br> +And uncomplaining snows—which make no sign,<br> +But coldly smile, when pitying moonbeams shine—<br> +Concealed its sorrow from all human sight.<br> +Long, long ago, in blurred and burdened years,<br> +   I learned the uselessness of uttered woe.<br> +   Though sinewy Fate deals her most skillful blow,<br> +I do not waste the gall now of my tears,<br> +But feed my pride upon its bitter, while<br> +I look straight in the world's bold eyes, and smile.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="APPLAUSE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>APPLAUSE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I hold it one of the sad certain laws<br> +   Which makes our failures sometimes seem more kind<br> +   Than that success which brings sure loss behind—<br> +True greatness dies, when sounds the world's applause<br> +Fame blights the object it would bless, because<br> +   Weighed down with men's expectancy, the mind<br> +   Can no more soar to those far heights, and find<br> +That freedom which its inspiration was.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 146]</span>When once we listen to its noisy cheers<br> +   Or hear the populace' approval, then<br> +We catch no more the music of the spheres,<br> +   Or walk with gods, and angels, but with men.<br> +Till, impotent from our self‑conscious fears,<br> +The plaudits of the world turn into sneers.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LIFE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>LIFE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Life, like a romping schoolboy, full of glee,<br> +   Doth bear us on his shoulders for a time.<br> +   There is no path too steep for him to climb,<br> +With strong, lithe limbs, as agile and as free,<br> +As some young roe, he speeds by vale and sea,<br> +   By flowery mead, by mountain peak sublime,<br> +   And all the world seems motion set to rhyme,<br> +Till, tired out, he cries, "Now carry me!"<br> +   In vain we murmur, "Come," Life says, "fair play!"<br> +And seizes on us. God! he goads us so!<br> +   He does not let us sit down all the day.<br> +At each new step we feel the burden grow,<br> +Till our bent backs seem breaking as we go,<br> +   Watching for Death to meet us on the way.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="BURDENED"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>BURDENED.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<small>"Genius, a man's weapon, a woman's burden."—<i>Lamartine.</i></small><br> + +<br> + +Dear God! there is no sadder fate in life,<br> +   Than to be burdened so that you can not<br> +   Sit down contented with the common lot<br> +Of happy mother and devoted wife.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 147]</span>To feel your brain wild and your bosom rife<br> +   With all the sea's commotion; to be fraught<br> +   With fires and frenzies which you have not sought,<br> +And weighed down with the wide world's weary strife.<br> + +<br> + +To feel a fever alway in your breast,<br> +   To lean and hear half in affright, half shame.<br> +   A loud‑voiced public boldly mouth your name,<br> +To reap your hard‑sown harvest in unrest,<br> +   And know, however great your meed of fame,<br> +You are but a weak woman at the best.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_STORY"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>THE STORY.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +They met each other in the glade—<br> +   She lifted up her eyes;<br> +Alack the day! Alack the maid!<br> +   She blushed in swift surprise.<br> +Alas! alas! the woe that comes from lifting up the eyes.<br> + +<br> + +The pail was full, the path was steep—<br> +   He reached to her his hand;<br> +She felt her warm young pulses leap,<br> +   But did not understand.<br> +Alas! alas! the woe that comes from clasping hand with hand.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 148]</span>She sat beside him in the wood—<br> +   He wooed with words and sighs;<br> +Ah! love in spring seems sweet and good,<br> +   And maidens are not wise.<br> +Alas! alas! the woe that comes from listing lovers' sighs.<br> + +<br> + +The summer sun shone fairly down,<br> +   The wind blew from the south;<br> +As blue eyes gazed in eyes of brown,<br> +   His kiss fell on her mouth.<br> +Alas! alas! the woe that comes from kisses on the mouth.<br> + +<br> + +And now the autumn time is near,<br> +   The lover roves away,<br> +With breaking heart and falling tear,<br> +   She sits the livelong day.<br> +Alas! alas! for breaking hearts when lovers rove away.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LET_THEM_GO"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>LET THEM GO.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Let the dream go. Are there not other dreams<br> +   In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight<br> +That yet shall gild with beautiful gold gleams,<br> +   And shoot the shadows through and through with light?<br> +   What matters one lost vision of the night?<br> +               Let the dream go!<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 149]</span>Let the hope set. Are there not other hopes<br> +   That yet shall rise like new stars in thy sky?<br> +Not long a soul in sullen darkness gropes<br> +   Before some light is lent it from on high;<br> +   What folly to think happiness gone by!<br> +               Let the hope set!<br> + +<br> + +Let the joy fade. Are there not other joys,<br> +   Like frost‑bound bulbs, that yet shall start and bloom?<br> +Severe must be the winter that destroys<br> +   The hardy roots locked in their silent tomb.<br> +   What cares the earth for her brief time of gloom?<br> +               Let the joy fade!<br> + +<br> + +Let the love die. Are there not other loves<br> +   As beautiful and full of sweet unrest,<br> +Flying through space like snowy‑pinioned doves?<br> +   They yet shall come and nestle in thy breast,<br> +   And thou shalt say of each, "Lo, this is best!"<br> +               Let the love die!<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_ENGINE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>THE ENGINE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Into the gloom of the deep, dark night,<br> +   With panting breath and a startled scream;<br> +Swift as a bird in sudden flight<br> +   Darts this creature of steel and steam.<br> + +<br> + +Awful dangers are lurking nigh,<br> +   Rocks and chasms are near the track,<br> +But straight by the light of its great white eye<br> +   It speeds through the shadows, dense and black.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 150]</span>Terrible thoughts and fierce desires<br> +   Trouble its mad heart many an hour,<br> +Where burn and smoulder the hidden fires,<br> +   Coupled ever with might and power.<br> + +<br> + +It hates, as a wild horse hates the rein,<br> +   The narrow track by vale and hill;<br> +And shrieks with a cry of startled pain,<br> +   And longs to follow its own wild will.<br> + +<br> + +Oh, what am I but an engine, shod<br> +   With muscle and flesh, by the hand of God,<br> +Speeding on through the dense, dark night,<br> +   Guided alone by the soul's white light.<br> + +<br> + +Often and often my mad heart tires,<br> +   And hates its way with a bitter hate,<br> +And longs to follow its own desires,<br> +   And leave the end in the hand of fate.<br> + +<br> + +O mighty engine of steel and steam;<br> +   O human engine of blood and bone,<br> +Follow the white light's certain beam—<br> +   There lies safety and there alone.<br> + +<br> + +The narrow track of fearless truth,<br> +   Lit by the soul's great eye of light,<br> +O passionate heart of restless youth,<br> +   Alone will carry you through the night.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="NOTHING_NEW"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 151]</span><h2>NOTHING NEW.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +From the dawn of spring till the year grows hoary,<br> +   Nothing is new that is done or said,<br> +The leaves are telling the same old story—<br> +   "Budding, bursting, dying, dead."<br> +And ever and always the wild bird's chorus<br> +   Is "coming, building, flying, fled."<br> + +<br> + +Never the round earth roams or ranges<br> +   Out of her circuit, so old, so old,<br> +And the smile o' the sun knows but these changes—<br> +   Beaming, burning, tender, cold,<br> +As Spring time softens or Winter estranges<br> +   The mighty heart of this orb of gold.<br> + +<br> + +From our great sire's birth to the last morn's breaking<br> +   There were tempest, sunshine, fruit and frost,<br> +And the sea was calm or the sea was shaking<br> +   His mighty main like a lion crossed,<br> +And ever this cry the heart was making—<br> +   Longing, loving, losing, lost.<br> + +<br> + +Forever the wild wind wanders, crying,<br> +   Southerly, easterly, north and west,<br> +And one worn song the fields are sighing,<br> +   "Sowing, growing, harvest, rest,"<br> +And the tired thought of the world, replying<br> +   Like an echo to what is last and best,<br> +            Murmurs—"Rest."<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="DREAMS"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 152]</span><h2>DREAMS.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Thank God for dreams! I, desolate and lone,<br> +   In the dark curtained night, did seem to be<br> +The centre where all golden sun‑rays shone,<br> +   And, sitting there, held converse sweet with thee.<br> +No shadow lurked between us; all was bright<br> +   And beautiful as in the hours gone by,<br> +I smiled, and was rewarded by the light<br> +   Of olden days soft beaming from thine eye.<br> +Thank God, thank God for dreams!<br> + +<br> + +I thought the birds all listened; for thy voice<br> +   Pulsed through the air, like beat of silver wings.<br> +It made each chamber of my soul rejoice<br> +   And thrilled along my heart's tear‑rusted strings.<br> +As some devout and ever‑prayerful nun<br> +   Tells her bright beads, and counts them o'er and o'er,<br> +Thy golden words I gathered, one by one,<br> +   And slipped them into memory's precious store.<br> +Thank God, thank God for dreams!<br> + +<br> + +My lips met thine in one ecstatic kiss.<br> +   Hand pressed in hand, and heart to heart we sat.<br> +Why even now I am surcharged with bliss—<br> +   With joy supreme, if I but think of that.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 153]</span>No fear of separation or of change<br> +   Crept in to mar our sweet serene content.<br> +In that blest vision, nothing could estrange<br> +   Our wedded souls, in perfect union blent.<br> +Thank God, thank God for dreams!<br> + +<br> + +Thank God for dreams! when nothing else is left.<br> +   When the sick soul, all tortured with its pain,<br> +Knowing itself forever more bereft,<br> +   Finds waiting hopeless and all watching vain,<br> +When empty arms grow rigid with their ache,<br> +   When eyes are blinded with sad tides of tears,<br> +When stricken hearts do suffer, yet not break,<br> +   For loss of those who come not with the years—<br> +Thank God, thank God for dreams!<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="HELENA"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>HELENA.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Last night I saw Helena. She whose praise<br> +   Of late all men have sounded. She for whom<br> +   Young Angus rashly sought a silent tomb<br> +Rather than live without her all his days.<br> + +<br> + +Wise men go mad who look upon her long,<br> +   She is so ripe with dangers. Yet meanwhile<br> +   I find no fascination in her smile,<br> +Although I make her theme of this poor song.<br> + +<br> + +"Her golden tresses?" yes, they may be fair,<br> +   And yet to me each shining silken tress<br> +   Seems robbed of beauty and all lusterless—<br> +Too many hands have stroked Helena's hair.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 154]</span>(I know a little maiden so demure<br> +   She will not let her one true lover's hands<br> +   In playful fondness touch her soft brown bands,<br> +So dainty‑minded is she, and so pure.)<br> + +<br> + +"Her great dark eyes that flash like gems at night?<br> +   Large, long‑lashed eyes and lustrous?" that may be,<br> +   And yet they are not beautiful to me.<br> +Too many hearts have sunned in their delight.<br> + +<br> + +(I mind me of two tender blue eyes, hid<br> +   So underneath white curtains, and so veiled<br> +   That I have sometimes plead for hours, and failed<br> +To see more than the shyly lifted lid.)<br> + +<br> + +"Her perfect mouth so like a carvèd kiss?"<br> +   "Her honeyed mouth, where hearts do, fly‑like, drown?"<br> +   I would not taste its sweetness for a crown;<br> +Too many lips have drank its nectared bliss.<br> + +<br> + +(I know a mouth whose virgin dew, undried,<br> +   Lies like a young grape's bloom, untouched and sweet,<br> +   And though I plead in passion at her feet,<br> +She would not let me brush it if I died.)<br> + +<br> + +In vain, Helena! though wise men may vie<br> +   For thy rare smile or die from loss of it,<br> +   Armored by my sweet lady's trust, I sit,<br> +And know thou art not worth her faintest sigh.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="NOTHING_REMAINS"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 155]</span><h2>NOTHING REMAINS.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Nothing remains of unrecorded ages<br> +   That lie in the silent cemetery of time;<br> +Their wisdom may have shamed our wisest sages,<br> +   Their glory may have been indeed sublime.<br> +How weak do seem our strivings after power,<br> +   How poor the grandest efforts of our brains,<br> +If out of all we are, in one short hour<br> +            Nothing remains.<br> + +<br> + +Nothing remains but the Eternal Spaces,<br> +   Time and decay uproot the forest trees.<br> +Even the mighty mountains leave their places,<br> +   And sink their haughty heads beneath strange seas;<br> +The great earth writhes in some convulsive spasm<br> +   And turns the proudest cities into plains.<br> +The level sea becomes a yawning chasm—<br> +            Nothing remains.<br> + +<br> + +Nothing remains but the Eternal Forces,<br> +   The sad seas cease complaining and grow dry;<br> +Rivers are drained and altered in their courses,<br> +   Great stars pass out and vanish from the sky.<br> +Ideas die and old religions perish,<br> +   Our rarest pleasures and our keenest pains<br> +Are swept away with all we hate or cherish—<br> +            Nothing remains.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 156]</span>Nothing remains but the Eternal Nameless<br> +   And all‑creative spirit of the Law,<br> +Uncomprehended, comprehensive, blameless,<br> +   Invincible, resistless, with no flaw;<br> +So full of love it must create forever,<br> +   Destroying that it may create again<br> +Persistent and perfecting in endeavor,<br> +   It yet must bring forth angels, after men—<br> +            This, this remains.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LEAN_DOWN"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>LEAN DOWN.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Lean down and lift me higher, Josephine!<br> +From the Eternal Hills hast thou not seen<br> +How I do strive for heights? but lacking wings,<br> +I cannot grasp at once those better things<br> +To which I in my inmost soul aspire.<br> +Lean down and lift me higher.<br> + +<br> + +I grope along—not desolate or sad,<br> +For youth and hope and health all keep me glad;<br> +But too bright sunlight, sometimes, makes us blind,<br> +And I do grope for heights I cannot find.<br> +Oh, thou must know my one supreme desire—<br> +Lean down and lift me higher.<br> + +<br> + +Not long ago we trod the self‑same way.<br> +Thou knowest how, from day to fleeting day<br> +Our souls were vexed with trifles, and our feet,<br> +Were lured aside to by‑paths which seemed sweet,<br> +But only served to hinder and to tire;<br> +Lean down and lift me higher.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 157]</span>Thou hast gone onward to the heights serene,<br> +And left me here, my loved one, Josephine;<br> +I am content to stay until the end,<br> +For life is full of promise; but, my friend,<br> +Canst thou not help me in my best desire<br> +And lean, and lift me higher?<br> + +<br> + +Frail as thou wert, thou hast grown strong and wise,<br> +And quick to understand and sympathize<br> +With all a full soul's needs. It must be so,<br> +Thy year with God hath made thee great I know.<br> +Thou must see how I struggle and aspire—<br> +Oh, warm me with a breath of heavenly fire,<br> +And lean, and lift me higher.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="COMRADES"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>COMRADES.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I and my Soul are alone to‑day,<br> +   All in the shining weather;<br> +We were sick of the world, and we put it away,<br> +   So we could rejoice together.<br> + +<br> + +Our host, the Sun, in the blue, blue sky<br> +   Is mixing a rare, sweet wine,<br> +In the burnished gold of his cup on high,<br> +   For me, and this Soul of mine.<br> + +<br> + +We find it a safe and royal drink,<br> +   And a cure for every pain;<br> +It helps us to love, and helps us to think,<br> +   And strengthens body and brain.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 158]</span>And sitting here, with my Soul alone,<br> +   Where the yellow sun‑rays fall,<br> +Of all the friends I have ever known<br> +   I find it the <i>best</i> of all.<br> + +<br> + +We rarely meet when the World is near,<br> +   For the World hath a pleasing art<br> +And brings me so much that is bright and dear<br> +   That my Soul it keepeth apart.<br> + +<br> + +But when I grow weary of mirth and glee,<br> +   Of glitter, and glow, and splendor,<br> +Like a tried old friend it comes to me,<br> +   With a smile that is sad and tender.<br> + +<br> + +And we walk together as two friends may,<br> +   And laugh, and drink God's wine.<br> +Oh, a royal comrade any day<br> +   I find this Soul of mine.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="WHAT_GAIN"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>WHAT GAIN?</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Now, while thy rounded cheek is fresh and fair,<br> +   While beauty lingers, laughing, in thine eyes,<br> +Ere thy young heart shall meet the stranger, "Care,"<br> +   Or thy blithe soul become the home of sighs,<br> +Were it not kindness should I give thee rest<br> +By plunging this sharp dagger in thy breast?<br> +Dying so young, with all thy wealth of youth,<br> +What part of life wouldst thou not claim, in sooth?<br> +            Only the woe,<br> +      Sweetheart, that sad souls know.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 159]</span>Now, in this sacred hour of supreme trust,<br> +   Of pure delight and palpitating joy,<br> +Ere change can come, as come it surely must,<br> +   With jarring doubts and discords, to destroy<br> +Our far too perfect peace, I pray thee, Sweet,<br> +Were it not best for both of us, and meet,<br> +If I should bring swift death to seal our bliss?<br> +Dying so full of joy, what could we miss?<br> +            Nothing but tears,<br> +      Sweetheart, and weary years.<br> + +<br> + +How slight the action! Just one well‑aimed blow<br> +   Here where I feel thy warm heart's pulsing beat,<br> +And then another through my own, and so<br> +   Our perfect union would be made complete:<br> +So past all parting, I should claim thee mine.<br> +Dead with our youth, and faith, and love divine,<br> +Should we not keep the best of life that way?<br> +What shall we gain by living day on day?<br> +            What shall we gain,<br> +      Sweetheart, but bitter pain?<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LIFE2"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>LIFE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I feel the great immensity of life.<br> +All little aims slip from me, and I reach<br> +My yearning soul toward the Infinite.<br> + +<br> + +As when a mighty forest, whose green leaves<br> +Have shut it in, and made it seem a bower<br> +For lovers' secrets, or for children's sports,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 160]</span>Casts all its clustering foliage to the winds,<br> +And lets the eye behold it, limitless,<br> +And full of winding mysteries of ways:<br> +So now with life that reaches out before,<br> +And borders on the unexplained Beyond.<br> + +<br> + +I see the stars above me, world on world:<br> +I hear the awful language of all Space;<br> +I feel the distant surging of great seas,<br> +That hide the secrets of the Universe<br> +In their eternal bosoms; and I know<br> +That I am but an atom of the Whole.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="TO_THE_WEST"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>TO THE WEST.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><small>[In an interview with Lawrence Barrett, he said: "The literature of the New World must look to the West for its poetry."]</small></p> + +Not to the crowded East,<br> +   Where, in a well‑worn groove,<br> +Like the harnessed wheel of a great machine,<br> +   The trammeled mind must move—<br> +Where Thought must follow the fashion of Thought,<br> +Or be counted vulgar and set at naught.<br> + +<br> + +Not to the languid South,<br> +   Where the mariners of the brain<br> +Are lured by the Sirens of the Sense,<br> +   And wrecked upon its main—<br> +Where Thought is rocked, on the sweet wind's breath,<br> +To a torpid sleep that ends in death.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 161]</span>But to the mighty West,<br> +   That chosen realm of God,<br> +Where Nature reaches her hands to men,<br> +   And Freedom walks abroad—<br> +Where mind is King, and fashion is naught:<br> +There shall the New World look for thought.<br> + +<br> + +To the West, the beautiful West,<br> +   She shall look, and not in vain—<br> +For out of its broad and boundless store<br> +   Come muscle, and nerve, and brain.<br> +Let the bards of the East and the South be dumb—<br> +For out of the West shall the Poets come.<br> + +<br> + +They shall come with souls as great<br> +   As the cradle where they were rocked;<br> +They shall come with brows that are touched with fire,<br> +   Like the Gods with whom they have walked;<br> +They shall come from the West in royal state,<br> +The Singers and Thinkers for whom we wait.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_LAND_OF_CONTENT"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>THE LAND OF CONTENT.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I set out for the Land of Content,<br> +   By the gay crowded pleasure‑highway,<br> +With laughter, and jesting, I went<br> +   With the mirth‑loving throng for a day;<br> +   Then I knew I had wandered astray,<br> +For I met returned pilgrims, belated,<br> +Who said, "We are weary and sated,<br> +But we found not the Land of Content."<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 162]</span>I turned to the steep path of fame,<br> +   I said, "It is over yon height—<br> +This land with the beautiful name—<br> +   Ambition will lend me its light."<br> +   But I paused in my journey ere night,<br> +For the way grew so lonely and troubled;<br> +I said—my anxiety doubled—<br> +"This is not the road to Content."<br> + +<br> + +Then I joined the great rabble and throng<br> +   That frequents the moneyed world's mart;<br> +But the greed, and the grasping and wrong,<br> +   Left me only one wish—to depart.<br> +   And sickened, and saddened at heart,<br> +I hurried away from the gateway,<br> +For my soul and my spirit said straightway,<br> +"This is not the road to Content."<br> + +<br> + +Then weary in body and brain,<br> +   An overgrown path I detected,<br> +And I said "I will hide with my pain<br> +   In this by‑way, unused and neglected."<br> +   Lo! it led to the realm God selected<br> +To crown with his best gifts of beauty,<br> +And through the dark pathway of duty<br> +I came to the land of Content.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="A_SONG_OF_LIFE"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 163]</span><h2>A SONG OF LIFE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +In the rapture of life and of living,<br> +   I lift up my heart and rejoice,<br> +And I thank the great Giver for giving<br> +   The soul of my gladness a voice.<br> +In the glow of the glorious weather,<br> +   In the sweet‑scented sensuous air,<br> +My burdens seem light as a feather—<br> +   They are nothing to bear.<br> + +<br> + +In the strength and the glory of power,<br> +   In the pride and the pleasure of wealth,<br> +(For who dares dispute me my dower<br> +   Of talents and youth‑time and health?)<br> +I can laugh at the world and its sages—<br> +   I am greater than seers who are sad,<br> +For he is most wise in all ages<br> +   Who knows how to be glad.<br> + +<br> + +I lift up my eyes to Apollo,<br> +   The god of the beautiful days,<br> +And my spirit soars off like a swallow<br> +   And is lost in the light of its rays.<br> +Are you troubled and sad? I beseech you<br> +   Come out of the shadows of strife—<br> +Come out in the sun while I teach you<br> +   The secret of life.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 164]</span>Come out of the world—come above it—<br> +   Up over its crosses and graves,<br> +Though the green earth is fair and I love it,<br> +   We must love it as masters, not slaves.<br> +Come up where the dust never rises—<br> +   But only the perfume of flowers—<br> +And your life shall be glad with surprises<br> +   Of beautiful hours.<br> +Come up where the rare golden wine is<br> +   Apollo distills in my sight,<br> +And your life shall be happy as mine is,<br> +   And as full of delight.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="WARNING"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>WARNING.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +High in the heavens I saw the moon this morning,<br> +   Albeit the sun shone bright;<br> +Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning,<br> +            "Remember Night!"<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_CHRISTIANS_NEW_YEAR_PRAYER"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>THE CHRISTIAN'S NEW YEAR PRAYER.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Thou Christ of mine, thy gracious ear low bending<br> +   Through these glad New Year days,<br> +To catch the countless prayers to Heaven ascending—<br> +   For e'en hard hearts do raise<br> +Some secret wish for fame, or gold, or power,<br> +   Or freedom from all care—<br> +Dear, patient Christ, who listeneth hour on hour,<br> +   Hear now a Christian's prayer.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 165]</span>Let this young year that, silent, walks beside me,<br> +   Be as a means of grace<br> +To lead me up, no matter what betide me,<br> +   Nearer the Master's face.<br> +If it need be that ere I reach the fountain<br> +   Where Living waters play,<br> +My feet should bleed from sharp stones on the mountain,<br> +   Then cast them in my way.<br> + +<br> + +If my vain soul needs blows and bitter losses<br> +   To shape it for thy crown,<br> +Then bruise it, burn it, burden it with crosses,<br> +   With sorrows bear it down.<br> +Do what thou wilt to mold me to thy pleasure,<br> +   And if I should complain,<br> +Heap full of anguish yet another measure<br> +   Until I smile at pain.<br> +Send dangers—deaths! but tell me how to dare them;<br> +   Enfold me in thy care.<br> +Send trials, tears! but give me strength to bear them—<br> +   This is a Christian's prayer.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="IN_THE_NIGHT"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 166]</span><h2>IN THE NIGHT.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Sometimes at night, when I sit and write,<br> +   I hear the strangest things,—<br> +As my brain grows hot with burning thought,<br> +   That struggles for form and wings,<br> +I can hear the beat of my swift blood's feet,<br> +   As it speeds with a rush and a whir<br> +From heart to brain and back again,<br> +   Like a race‑horse under the spur.<br> + +<br> + +With my soul's fine ear I listen and hear<br> +   The tender Silence speak,<br> +As it leans on the breast of Night to rest,<br> +   And presses his dusky cheek.<br> +And the darkness turns in its sleep, and yearns<br> +   For something that is kin;<br> +And I hear the hiss of a scorching kiss,<br> +   As it folds and fondles Sin.<br> + +<br> + +In its hurrying race through leagues of space,<br> +   I can hear the Earth catch breath,<br> +As it heaves and moans, and shudders and groans,<br> +   And longs for the rest of Death.<br> +And high and far, from a distant star,<br> +   Whose name is unknown to me,<br> +I hear a voice that says, "Rejoice,<br> +   For I keep ward o'er thee!"<br> + +<br> + +Oh, sweet and strange are the sounds that range<br> +   Through the chambers of the night;<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 167]</span>And the watcher who waits by the dim, dark gates,<br> +   May hear, if he lists aright.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="GODS_MEASURE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>GOD'S MEASURE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +God measures souls by their capacity<br> +For entertaining his best Angel, Love.<br> +Who loveth most is nearest kin to God,<br> +Who is all Love, or Nothing.<br> +                  He who sits<br> +And looks out on the palpitating world,<br> +And feels his heart swell in him large enough<br> +To hold all men within it, he is near<br> +His great Creator's standard, though he dwells<br> +Outside the pale of churches, and knows not<br> +A feast‑day from a fast‑day, or a line<br> +Of Scripture even. What God wants of us<br> +Is that outreaching bigness that ignores<br> +All littleness of aims, or loves, or creeds,<br> +And clasps all Earth and Heaven in its embrace.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="A_MARCH_SNOW"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>A MARCH SNOW.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Let the old snow be covered with the new:<br> +   The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden.<br> +Let it be hidden wholly from our view<br> +   By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden.<br> +When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet,<br> +Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 168]</span>Let the old life be covered by the new:<br> +   The old past life so full of sad mistakes,<br> +Let it be wholly hidden from the view<br> +   By deeds as white and silent as snow‑flakes.<br> +Ere this earth life melts in the eternal Spring<br> +Let the white mantle of repentance, fling<br> +Soft drapery about it, fold on fold,<br> +Even as the new snow covers up the old.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="AFTER_THE_BATTLES_ARE_OVER"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>AFTER THE BATTLES ARE OVER.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p><small>[Read at Re‑union of the G. A. T., Madison, Wis., July 4, 1872.]</small></p> + +After the battles are over,<br> +   And the war drums cease to beat,<br> +And no more is heard on the hillside<br> +   The sound of hurrying feet,<br> +Full many a noble action,<br> +   That was done in the days of strife,<br> +By the soldier is half forgotten,<br> +   In the peaceful walks of life.<br> + +<br> + +Just as the tangled grasses,<br> +   In Summer's warmth and light,<br> +Grow over the graves of the fallen<br> +   And hide them away from sight,<br> +So many an act of valor,<br> +   And many a deed sublime,<br> +Fade from the mind of the soldier,<br> +   O'ergrown by the grass of time.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 169]</span>Not so should they be rewarded,<br> +   Those noble deeds of old;<br> +They should live forever and ever,<br> +   When the heroes' hearts are cold.<br> +Then rally, ye brave old comrades,<br> +   Old veterans, re‑unite!<br> +Uproot Time's tangled grasses—<br> +   Live over the march, and the fight.<br> + +<br> + +Let Grant come up from the White House,<br> +   And clasp each brother's hand,<br> +First chieftain of the army,<br> +   Last chieftain of the land.<br> +Let him rest from a nation's burdens,<br> +   And go, in thought, with his men,<br> +Through the fire and smoke of Shiloh,<br> +   And save the day again.<br> + +<br> + +This silent hero of battles<br> +   Knew no such word as defeat.<br> +It was left for the rebels' learning,<br> +   Along with the word—retreat.<br> +He was not given to talking,<br> +   But he found that guns would preach<br> +In a way that was more convincing<br> +   Than fine and flowery speech.<br> + +<br> + +Three cheers for the grave commander<br> +   Of the grand old Tennessee!<br> +Who won the first great battle—<br> +   Gained the first great victory.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 170]</span>His motto was always "Conquer,"<br> +   "Success" was his countersign,<br> +And "though it took all Summer,"<br> +   He kept fighting upon "that line."<br> + +<br> + +Let Sherman, the stern old General,<br> +   Come rallying with his men;<br> +Let them march once more through Georgia<br> +   And down to the sea again.<br> +Oh! that grand old tramp to Savannah,<br> +   Three hundred miles to the coast,<br> +It will live in the heart of the nation,<br> +   Forever its pride and boast.<br> + +<br> + +As Sheridan went to the battle,<br> +   When a score of miles away,<br> +He has come to the feast and banquet,<br> +   By the iron horse, to‑day.<br> +Its pace is not much swifter<br> +   Than the pace of that famous steed<br> +Which bore him down to the contest<br> +   And saved the day by his speed.<br> + +<br> + +Then go over the ground to‑day, boys,<br> +   Tread each remembered spot.<br> +It will be a gleesome journey,<br> +   On the swift‑shod feet of thought;<br> +You can fight a bloodless battle,<br> +   You can skirmish along the route,<br> +But it's not worth while to forage,<br> +   There are rations enough without.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 171]</span>Don't start if you hear the cannon,<br> +   It is not the sound of doom,<br> +It does not call to the contest—<br> +   To the battle's smoke and gloom.<br> +"Let us have peace," was spoken,<br> +   And lo! peace ruled again;<br> +And now the nation is shouting,<br> +   Through the cannon's voice, "Amen."<br> + +<br> + +O boys who besieged old Vicksburg,<br> +   Can time e'er wash away<br> +The triumph of her surrender,<br> +   Nine years ago to‑day?<br> +Can you ever forget the moment,<br> +   When you saw the flag of white,<br> +That told how the grim old city<br> +   Had fallen in her might?<br> + +<br> + +Ah, 'twas a bold brave army,<br> +   When the boys, with a right good will,<br> +Went gayly marching and singing<br> +   To the fight at Champion Hill.<br> +They met with a warm reception,<br> +   But the soul of "Old John Brown"<br> +Was abroad on that field of battle,<br> +   And our flag did NOT go down.<br> + +<br> + +Come, heroes of Look Out Mountain,<br> +   Of Corinth and Donelson,<br> +Of Kenesaw and Atlanta,<br> +   And tell how the day was won!<br> +Hush! bow the head for a moment—<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 172]</span>   There are those who cannot come.<br> +No bugle‑call can arouse them—<br> +   No sound of fife or drum.<br> + +<br> + +Oh, boys who died for the country,<br> +   Oh, dear and sainted dead!<br> +What can we say about you<br> +   That has not once been said?<br> +Whether you fell in the contest,<br> +   Struck down by shot and shell,<br> +Or pined 'neath the hand of sickness<br> +   Or starved in the prison cell,<br> + +<br> + +We know that you died for Freedom,<br> +   To save our land from shame,<br> +To rescue a periled Nation,<br> +   And we give you deathless fame.<br> +'T was the cause of Truth and Justice<br> +   That you fought and perished for,<br> +And we say it, oh, so gently,<br> +   "Our boys who died in the war."<br> + +<br> + +Saviors of our Republic,<br> +   Heroes who wore the blue,<br> +We owe the peace that surrounds us—<br> +   And our Nation's strength to you.<br> +We owe it to you that our banner,<br> +   The fairest flag in the world,<br> +Is to‑day unstained, unsullied,<br> +   On the Summer air unfurled.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 173]</span>We look on its stripes and spangles,<br> +   And our hearts are filled the while<br> +With love for the brave commanders,<br> +   And the boys of the rank and file.<br> +The grandest deeds of valor<br> +   Were never written out,<br> +The noblest acts of virtue<br> +   The world knows nothing about.<br> + +<br> + +And many a private soldier,<br> +   Who walks his humble way,<br> +With no sounding name or title,<br> +   Unknown to the world to‑day,<br> +In the eyes of God is a hero<br> +   As worthy of the bays,<br> +As any mighty General<br> +   To whom the world gives praise.<br> + +<br> + +Brave men of a mighty army,<br> +   We extend you friendship's hand!<br> +I speak for the "Loyal Women,"<br> +   Those pillars of our land.<br> +We wish you a hearty welcome,<br> +   We are proud that you gather here<br> +To talk of old times together<br> +   On this brightest day in the year.<br> + +<br> + +And if Peace, whose snow‑white pinions,<br> +   Brood over our land to‑day,<br> +Should ever again go from us,<br> +   (God grant she may ever stay!)<br> +Should our Nation call in her peril<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 174]</span>   For "Six hundred thousand more,"<br> +The loyal women would hear her,<br> +   And send you out as before.<br> + +<br> + +We would bring out the treasured knapsack,<br> +   We would take the sword from the wall,<br> +And hushing our own hearts' pleadings,<br> +   Hear only the country's call.<br> +For next to our God, is our Nation;<br> +   And we cherish the honored name,<br> +Of the bravest of all brave armies<br> +   Who fought for that Nation's fame.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="NOBLESSE_OBLIGE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>NOBLESSE OBLIGE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I hold it the duty of one who is gifted,<br> +   And specially dowered in all men's sight,<br> +To know no rest till his life is lifted<br> +   Fully up to his great gifts' height.<br> + +<br> + +He must mold the man into rare completeness,<br> +   For gems are set only in gold refined.<br> +He must fashion his thoughts into perfect sweetness,<br> +   And cast out folly and pride from his mind.<br> + +<br> + +For he who drinks from a god's gold fountain<br> +   Of art or music or rhythmic song<br> +Must sift from his soul the chaff of malice,<br> +   And weed from his heart the roots of wrong.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 175]</span>Great gifts should be worn, like a crown befitting!<br> +   And not like gems in a beggar's hands.<br> +And the toil must be constant and unremitting<br> +   Which lifts up the king to the crown's demands.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="AND_THEY_ARE_DUMB"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>AND THEY ARE DUMB.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I have been across the bridges of the years.<br> +         Wet with tears<br> +Were the ties on which I trod, going back<br> +         Down the track<br> +To the valley where I left, 'neath skies of Truth,<br> +         My lost youth.<br> + +<br> + +As I went, I dropped my burdens, one and all—<br> +         Let them fall;<br> +All my sorrows, all my wrinkles, all my care,<br> +         My white hair,<br> +I laid down, like some lone pilgrim's heavy pack,<br> +         By the track.<br> + +<br> + +As I neared the happy valley with light feet,<br> +         My heart beat<br> +To the rhythm of a song I used to know<br> +         Long ago,<br> +And my spirits gushed and bubbled like a fountain<br> +         Down a mountain.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 176]</span>On the border of that valley I found you,<br> +         Tried and true;<br> +And we wandered through the golden Summer‑Land<br> +         Hand in hand.<br> +And my pulses beat with rapture in the blisses<br> +         Of your kisses.<br> + +<br> + +And we met there, in those green and verdant places,<br> +         Smiling faces,<br> +And sweet laughter echoed upward from the dells<br> +         Like gold bells.<br> +And the world was spilling over with the glory<br> +         Of Youth's story.<br> + +<br> + +It was but a dreamer's journey of the brain;<br> +         And again<br> +I have left the happy valley far behind;<br> +         And I find<br> +Time stands waiting with his burdens in a pack<br> +         For my back.<br> + +<br> + +As he speeds me, like a rough, well‑meaning friend,<br> +         To the end,<br> +Will I find again the lost ones loved so well?<br> +         Who can tell!<br> +But the dead know what the life will be to come—<br> +         And they are dumb!<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="NIGHT"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 177]</span><h2>NIGHT.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +As some dusk mother shields from all alarms<br> +   The tired child she gathers to her breast,<br> +The brunette Night doth fold me in her arms,<br> +   And hushes me to perfect peace and rest.<br> +Her eyes of stars shine on me, and I hear<br> +Her voice of winds low crooning on my ear.<br> +O Night, O Night, how beautiful thou art!<br> +Come, fold me closer to thy pulsing heart.<br> + +<br> + +The day is full of gladness, and the light<br> +   So beautifies the common outer things,<br> +I only see with my external sight,<br> +   And only hear the great world's voice which rings<br> +But silently from daylight and from din<br> +The sweet Night draws me—whispers, "Look within!"<br> +And looking, as one wakened from a dream,<br> +I see what <i>is</i>—no longer what doth seem.<br> + +<br> + +The Night says, "Listen!" and upon my ear<br> +   Revealed, as are the visions to my sight,<br> +The voices known as "Beautiful" come near<br> +   And whisper of the vastly Infinite.<br> +Great, blue‑eyed Truth, her sister Purity,<br> +Their brother Honor, all converse with me,<br> +And kiss my brow, and say, "Be brave of heart!"<br> +O holy three! how beautiful thou art!<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 178]</span>The Night says, "Child, sleep that thou may'st arise<br> +   Strong for to‑morrow's struggle." And I feel<br> +Her shadowy fingers pressing on my eyes:<br> +   Like thistledown I float to the Ideal—<br> +The Slumberland, made beautiful and bright<br> +As death, by dreams of loved ones gone from sight,<br> +O food for soul's, sweet dreams of pure delight,<br> +How beautiful the holy hours of Night!<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="ALL_FOR_ME"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>ALL FOR ME.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +The world grows green on a thousand hills—<br> +   By a thousand willows the bees are humming,<br> +And a million birds by a million rills,<br> +   Sing of the golden season coming.<br> +But, gazing out on the sun‑kist lea,<br> +   And hearing a thrush and a blue‑bird singing,<br> +I feel that the Summer is all for me,<br> +   And all for me are the joys it is bringing.<br> + +<br> + +All for me the bumble‑bee<br> +   Drones his song in the perfect weather;<br> +And, just on purpose to sing to me,<br> +   Thrush and blue‑bird came North together.<br> +Just for me, in red and white,<br> +   Bloom and blossom the fields of clover;<br> +And all for me and my delight<br> +   The wild Wind follows and plays the lover.<br> + +<br> + +The mighty sun, with a scorching kiss<br> +   (I have read, and heard, and do not doubt it)<br> +Has burned up a thousand worlds like this,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 179]</span>   And never stopped to think about it.<br> +And yet I believe he hurries up<br> +   Just on purpose to kiss my flowers—<br> +To drink the dew from the lily‑cup,<br> +   And help it to grow through golden hours.<br> + +<br> + +I know I am only a speck of dust,<br> +   An individual mite of masses,<br> +Clinging upon the outer crust<br> +   Of a little ball of cooling gases.<br> +And yet, and yet, say what you will,<br> +   And laugh, if you please, at my lack of reason,<br> +For me wholly, and for me still,<br> +   Blooms and blossoms the Summer season.<br> + +<br> + +Nobody else has ever heard<br> +   The story the Wind to me discloses;<br> +And none but I and the humming‑bird<br> +   Can read the hearts of the crimson roses.<br> +Ah, my Summer—my love—my own!<br> +   The world grows glad in your smiling weather;<br> +Yet all for me, and me alone,<br> +   You and your Court came north together.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="PHILOSOPHY"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>PHILOSOPHY.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +At morn the wise man walked abroad,<br> +   Proud with the learning of great fools.<br> +He laughed and said, "There is no God—<br> +   'Tis force creates, 'tis reason rules."<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 180]</span>Meek with the wisdom of great faith,<br> +   At night he knelt while angels smiled,<br> +And wept and cried with anguished breath,<br> +   "Jehovah, <i>God</i>, save thou my child."<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="CARLOS"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>"CARLOS."</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Last night I knelt low at my lady's feet.<br> +One soft, caressing hand played with my hair,<br> +And one I kissed and fondled. Kneeling there,<br> +I deemed my meed of happiness complete.<br> + +<br> + +She was so fair, so full of witching wiles—<br> +Of fascinating tricks of mouth and eye;<br> +So womanly withal, but not too shy—<br> +And all my heaven was compassed by her smiles.<br> + +<br> + +Her soft touch on my cheek and forehead sent,<br> +Like little arrows, thrills of tenderness<br> +Through all my frame. I trembled with excess<br> +Of love, and sighed the sigh of great content.<br> + +<br> + +When any mortal dares to so rejoice,<br> +I think a jealous Heaven, bending low,<br> +Reaches a stern hand forth and deals a blow.<br> +Sweet through the dusk I heard my lady's voice.<br> + +<br> + +"My love!" she sighed, "My Carlos!" even now<br> +I feel the perfumed zephyr of her breath<br> +Bearing to me those words of living death,<br> +And starting out the cold drops on my brow.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 181]</span>For I am <i>Paul</i>—not Carlos! Who is he<br> +That, in the supreme hour of love's delight,<br> +Veiled by the shadows of the falling night,<br> +She should breathe low his name, forgetting me?<br> + +<br> + +I will not ask her! 'twere a fruitless task,<br> +For, woman‑like, she would make me believe<br> +Some well‑told tale; and sigh, and seem to grieve,<br> +And call me cruel. Nay, I will not ask.<br> + +<br> + +But this man Carlos, whosoe'er he be,<br> +Has turned my cup of nectar into gall,<br> +Since I know he has claimed some one or all<br> +Of these delights my lady grants to me.<br> + +<br> + +He must have knelt and kissed her, in some sad<br> +And tender twilight, when the day grew dim.<br> +How else could I remind her so of him?<br> +Why, reveries like these have made men mad!<br> + +<br> + +He must have felt her soft hand on his brow.<br> +If Heaven was shocked at such presumptuous wrongs,<br> +And plunged him in the grave, where he belongs,<br> +<i>Still she remembers</i>, though she loves me now.<br> + +<br> + +And if he lives, and meets me to his cost,<br> +Why, what avails it? I must hear and see<br> +That curst name "Carlos" always haunting me—<br> +So has another Paradise been lost.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_TWO_GLASSES"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 182]</span><h2>THE TWO GLASSES.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +There sat two glasses filled to the brim,<br> +On a rich man's table, rim to rim.<br> +One was ruddy and red as blood,<br> +And one was clear as the crystal flood.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 183]</span>Said the glass of wine to his paler brother,<br> +"Let us tell tales of the past to each other;<br> +I can tell of a banquet, and revel, and mirth,<br> +Where I was king, for I ruled in might;<br> +For the proudest and grandest souls on earth<br> +Fell under my touch, as though struck with blight.<br> +From the heads of kings I have torn the crown;<br> +From the heights of fame I have hurled men down.<br> +I have blasted many an honored name;<br> +I have taken virtue and given shame;<br> +I have tempted the youth with a sip, a taste,<br> +That has made his future a barren waste.<br> +Far greater than any king am I,<br> +Or than any army beneath the sky.<br> +I have made the arm of the driver fail,<br> +And sent the train from the iron rail.<br> +I have made good ships go down at sea,<br> +And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me.<br> +Fame, strength, wealth, genius before me fall;<br> +And my might and power are over all!<br> +Ho, ho! pale brother," said the wine,<br> +"Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?"<br> + +<br> + +Said the water‑glass: "I cannot boast<br> +Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host,<br> +But I can tell of hearts that were sad<br> +By my crystal drops made bright and glad;<br> +Of thirsts I have quenched, and brows I have laved;<br> +Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved.<br> +I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the mountain,<br> +Slept in the sunshine, and dripped from the fountain.<br> +I have burst my cloud‑fetters, and dropped from the sky.<br> +And everywhere gladdened the prospect and eye;<br> +I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain;<br> +I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain.<br> +I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill,<br> +That ground out the flour, and turned at my will.<br> +I can tell of manhood debased by you,<br> +That I have uplifted and crowned anew<br> +I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid;<br> +I gladden the heart of man and maid;<br> +I set the wine‑chained captive free,<br> +And all are better for knowing me."<br> + +<br> + +These are the tales they told each other,<br> +The glass of wine and its paler brother,<br> +As they sat together, filled to the brim,<br> +On a rich man's table, rim to rim.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THROUGH_TEARS"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 184]</span><h2>THROUGH TEARS.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +An artist toiled over his pictures;<br> +   He labored by night and by day.<br> +He struggled for glory and honor,<br> +   But the world, it had nothing to say.<br> +His walls were ablaze with the splendors<br> +   We see in the beautiful skies;<br> +But the world beheld only the colors<br> +   That were made out of chemical dyes.<br> + +<br> + +Time sped. And he lived, loved, and suffered;<br> +   He passed through the valley of grief.<br> +Again he toiled over his canvas,<br> +   Since in labor alone was relief.<br> +It showed not the splendor of colors<br> +   Of those of his earlier years,<br> +But the world? the world bowed down before it,<br> +   Because it was painted with tears.<br> + +<br> + +A poet was gifted with genius,<br> +   And he sang, and he sang all the days.<br> +He wrote for the praise of the people,<br> +   But the people accorded no praise.<br> +Oh, his songs were as blithe as the morning,<br> +   As sweet as the music of birds;<br> +But the world had no homage to offer,<br> +   Because they were nothing but words.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 185]</span>Time sped. And the poet through sorrow<br> +   Became like his suffering kind.<br> +Again he toiled over his poems<br> +   To lighten the grief of his mind.<br> +They were not so flowing and rhythmic<br> +   As those of his earlier years,<br> +But the world? lo! it offered its homage<br> +   Because they were written in tears.<br> + +<br> + +So ever the price must be given<br> +   By those seeking glory in art;<br> +So ever the world is repaying<br> +   The grief‑stricken, suffering heart.<br> +The happy must ever be humble;<br> +   Ambition must wait for the years,<br> +Ere hoping to win the approval<br> +   Of a world that looks on through its tears.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="INTO_SPACE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>INTO SPACE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +If the sad old world should jump a cog<br> +   Sometime, in its dizzy spinning,<br> +And go off the track with a sudden jog,<br> +   What an end would come to the sinning.<br> +What a rest from strife and the burdens of life<br> +   For the millions of people in it,<br> +What a way out of care, and worry and wear,<br> +   All in a beautiful minute.<br> + +<br> + +As 'round the sun with a curving sweep<br> +   It hurries and runs and races,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 186]</span>Should it lose its balance, and go with a leap<br> +   Into the vast sea‑spaces,<br> +What a blest relief it would bring to the grief,<br> +   And the trouble and toil about us,<br> +To be suddenly hurled from the solar world<br> +   And let it go on without us.<br> + +<br> + +With not a sigh or a sad good‑by<br> +   For loved ones left behind us,<br> +We would go with a lunge and a mighty plunge<br> +   Where never a grave should find us.<br> +What a wild mad thrill our veins would fill<br> +   As the great earth, life a feather,<br> +Should float through the air to God knows where,<br> +   And carry us all together.<br> + +<br> + +No dark, damp tomb and no mourner's gloom,<br> +   No tolling bell in the steeple,<br> +But in one swift breath a painless death<br> +   For a million billion people.<br> +What greater bliss could we ask than this,<br> +   To sweep with a bird's free motion<br> +Through leagues of space to a resting place,<br> +   In a vast and vapory ocean—<br> +To pass away from this life for aye<br> +   With never a dear tie sundered,<br> +And a world on fire for a funeral pyre,<br> +   While the stars looked on and wondered?<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THROUGH_DIM_EYES"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 187]</span><h2>THROUGH DIM EYES.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Is it the world, or my eyes, that are sadder?<br> +I see not the grace that I used to see<br> +In the meadow‑brook whose song was so glad, or<br> +In the boughs of the willow tree.<br> +The brook runs slower—its song seems lower,<br> +And not the song that it sang of old;<br> +And the tree I admired looks weary and tired<br> +Of the changeless story of heat and cold.<br> + +<br> + +When the sun goes up, and the stars go under,<br> +In that supreme hour of the breaking day,<br> +Is it my eyes, or the dawn I wonder,<br> +That finds less of the gold, and more of the gray?<br> +I see not the splendor, the tints so tender,<br> +The rose‑hued glory I used to see;<br> +And I often borrow a vague half‑sorrow<br> +That another morning has dawned for me.<br> + +<br> + +When the royal smile of that welcome comer<br> +Beams on the meadow and burns in the sky,<br> +Is it my eyes, or does the Summer<br> +Bring less of bloom than in days gone by?<br> +The beauty that thrilled me, the rapture that filled me,<br> +To an overflowing of happy tears,<br> +I pass unseeing, my sad eyes being<br> +Dimmed by the shadow of vanished years.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 188]</span>When the heart grows weary, all things seem dreary;<br> +When the burden grows heavy, the way seems long.<br> +Thank God for sending kind death as an ending,<br> +Like a grand Amen to a minor song.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LA_MORT_DAMOUR"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>LA MORT D'AMOUR.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +When was it that love died? We were so fond,<br> +   So very fond, a little while ago.<br> +   With leaping pulses, and blood all aglow,<br> +We dreamed about a sweeter life beyond,<br> + +<br> + +When we should dwell together as one heart,<br> +   And scarce could wait that happy time to come.<br> +   Now side by side we sit with lips quite dumb,<br> +And feel ourselves a thousand miles apart.<br> + +<br> + +How was it that love died! I do not know.<br> +   I only know that all its grace untold<br> +   Has faded into gray! I miss the gold<br> +From our dull skies; but did not see it go.<br> + +<br> + +Why should love die? We prized it, I am sure;<br> +   We thought of nothing else when it was ours;<br> +   We cherished it in smiling, sunlit bowers;<br> +It was our all; why could it not endure?<br> + +<br> + +Alas, we know not how, or when or why<br> +   This dear thing died. We only know it went,<br> +   And left us dull, cold, and indifferent;<br> +We who found heaven once in each other's sigh.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 189]</span>How pitiful it is, and yet how true<br> +   That half the lovers in the world, one day,<br> +   Look questioning in each other's eyes this way<br> +And know love's gone forever, as we do.<br> + +<br> + +Sometimes I cannot help but think, dear heart,<br> +   As I look out o'er all the wide, sad earth<br> +   And see love's flame gone out on many a hearth,<br> +That those who would keep love must dwell apart.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_PUNISHED"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>THE PUNISHED.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Not they who know the awful gibbet's anguish,<br> +   Not they who, while sad years go by them, in<br> +The sunless cells of lonely prisons languish,<br> +   Do suffer fullest penalty for sin.<br> + +<br> + +'Tis they who walk the highways unsuspected<br> +   Yet with grim fear forever at their side,<br> +Who hug the corpse of some sin undetected,<br> +   A corpse no grave or coffin‑lid can hide—<br> + +<br> + +'Tis they who are in their own chambers haunted<br> +   By thoughts that like unbidden guests intrude,<br> +And sit down, uninvited and unwanted,<br> +   And make a nightmare of the solitude.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="HALF_FLEDGED"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 190]</span><h2>HALF FLEDGED.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I feel the stirrings in me of great things.<br> +New half‑fledged thoughts rise up and beat their wings,<br> +And tremble on the margin of their nest,<br> +Then flutter back, and hide within my breast.<br> + +<br> + +Beholding space, they doubt their untried strength.<br> +Beholding men, they fear them. But at length<br> +Grown all too great and active for the heart<br> +That broods them with such tender mother art,<br> +Forgetting fear, and men, and all, that hour,<br> +Save the impelling consciousness of power<br> +That stirs within them—they shall soar away<br> +Up to the very portals of the Day.<br> + +<br> + +Oh, what exultant rapture thrills me through<br> +When I contemplate all those thoughts may do;<br> +Like snow‑white eagles penetrating space,<br> +They may explore full many an unknown place,<br> +And build their nests on mountain heights unseen,<br> +Whereon doth lie that dreamed‑of rest serene.<br> + +<br> + +Stay thou a little longer in my breast,<br> +Till my fond heart shall push thee from the nest,<br> +Anxious to see thee soar to heights divine—<br> +Oh, beautiful but half‑fledged thoughts of mine.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LOVES_SLEEP"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 191]</span><h2>LOVE'S SLEEP.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +(Vers de Société.)<br> + +<br> + +We'll cover Love with roses,<br> +   And sweet sleep he shall take.<br> +None but a fool supposes<br> +   Love always keeps awake.<br> +I've known loves without number.<br> +   True loves were they, and tried;<br> +And just for want of slumber<br> +   They pined away and died.<br> + +<br> + +Our love was bright and cheerful<br> +   A little while agone;<br> +Now he is pale and tearful,<br> +   And—yes, I've seen him yawn.<br> +So tired is he of kisses<br> +   That he can only weep;<br> +The one dear thing he misses<br> +   And longs for now is sleep.<br> + +<br> + +We could not let him leave us<br> +   One time, he was so dear,<br> +But now it would not grieve us<br> +   If he slept half a year.<br> +For he has had his season,<br> +   Like the lily and the rose,<br> +And it but stands to reason<br> +   That he should want repose.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 192]</span>We prized the smiling Cupid<br> +   Who made our days so bright;<br> +But he has grown so stupid<br> +   We gladly say good‑night.<br> +And if he wakens tender<br> +   And fond, and fair as when<br> +He filled our lives with splendor,<br> +   We'll take him back again.<br> + +<br> + +And should he never waken,<br> +   As that perchance may be,<br> +We will not weep forsaken,<br> +   But sing, "Love, tra‑la‑lee!"<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="TRUE_CULTURE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>TRUE CULTURE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +The highest culture is to speak no ill;<br> +The best reformer is the man whose eyes<br> +Are quick to see all beauty and all worth;<br> +And by his own discreet, well‑ordered life,<br> +Alone reproves the erring.<br> +                                       When they gaze<br> +Turns it on thine own soul, be most severe.<br> +But when it falls upon a fellow‑man<br> +Let kindliness control it; and refrain<br> +From that belittling censure that springs forth<br> +From common lips like weeds from marshy soil.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_VOLUPTUARY"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 193]</span><h2>THE VOLUPTUARY.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Oh, I am sick of love reciprocated,<br> +   Of hopes fulfilled, ambitions gratified.<br> +Life holds no thing to be anticipated,<br> +   And I am sad from being satisfied.<br> + +<br> + +The eager joy felt climbing up the mountain<br> +   Has left me now the highest point is gained.<br> +The crystal spray that fell from Fame's fair fountain<br> +   Was sweeter than the waters were when drained.<br> + +<br> + +The gilded apple which the world calls pleasure,<br> +   And which I purchased with my youth and strength,<br> +Pleased me a moment. But the empty treasure<br> +   Lost all its lustre, and grew dim at length.<br> + +<br> + +And love, all glowing with a golden glory,<br> +   Delighted me a season with its tale.<br> +It pleased the longest, but at last the story<br> +   So oft repeated, to my heart grew stale.<br> + +<br> + +I lived for self, and all I asked was given,<br> +   I have had all, and now am sick of bliss,<br> +No other punishment designed by Heaven<br> +   Could strike me half so forcibly as this.<br> + +<br> + +I feel no sense of aught but enervation<br> +   In all the joys my selfish aims have brought,<br> +And know no wish but for annihilation,<br> +   Since that would give me freedom from the thought.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 194]</span>Oh, blest is he who has some aim defeated;<br> +   Some mighty loss to balance all his gain.<br> +For him there is a hope not yet completed;<br> +   For him hath life yet draughts of joy and pain.<br> + +<br> + +But cursed is he who has no balked ambition,<br> +   No hopeless hope, no loss beyond repair,<br> +But sick and sated with complete fruition,<br> +   Keeps not the pleasure even of despair.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_YEAR"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2> THE YEAR.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +What can be said in New Year rhymes,<br> +That's not been said a thousand times?<br> + +<br> + +The new years come, the old years go,<br> +We know we dream, we dream we know.<br> + +<br> + +We rise up laughing with the light,<br> +We lie down weeping with the night.<br> + +<br> + +We hug the world until it stings,<br> +We curse it then and sigh for wings.<br> + +<br> + +We live, we love, we woo, we wed,<br> +We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead.<br> + +<br> + +We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,<br> +And that's the burden of the year.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THE_UNATTAINED"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 195]</span><h2>THE UNATTAINED.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +A vision beauteous as the morn,<br> +   With heavenly eyes and tresses streaming,<br> +Slow glided o'er a field late shorn<br> +   Where walked a poet idly dreaming.<br> +He saw her, and joy lit his face,<br> +   "Oh, vanish not at human speaking,"<br> +He cried, "thou form of magic grace,<br> +   Thou art the poem I am seeking.<br> + +<br> + +"I've sought thee long! I claim thee now—<br> +   My thought embodied, living, real."<br> +She shook the tresses from her brow.<br> +   "Nay, nay!" she said, "I am ideal.<br> +I am the phantom of desire—<br> +   The spirit of all great endeavor,<br> +I am the voice that says, 'Come higher,'<br> +   That calls men up and up forever.<br> + +<br> + +"'Tis not alone thy thought supreme<br> +   That here upon thy path has risen;<br> +I am the artist's highest dream,<br> +   The ray of light he cannot prison.<br> +I am the sweet ecstatic note<br> +   Than all glad music gladder, clearer,<br> +That trembles in the singer's throat,<br> +   And dies without a human hearer.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 196]</span>"I am the greater, better yield,<br> +   That leads and cheers thy farmer neighbor,<br> +For me he bravely tills the field<br> +   And whistles gayly at his labor.<br> +Not thou alone, O poet soul,<br> +   Dost seek me through an endless morrow,<br> +But to the toiling, hoping whole<br> +   I am at once the hope and sorrow.<br> + +<br> + +The spirit of the unattained,<br> +   I am to those who seek to name me,<br> +A good desired but never gained.<br> +   All shall pursue, but none shall claim me."<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="IN_THE_CROWD"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>IN THE CROWD.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +How happy they are, in all seeming,<br> +   How gay, or how smilingly proud,<br> +How brightly their faces are beaming,<br> +   These people who make up the crowd.<br> +How they bow, how they bend, how they flutter,<br> +   How they look at each other and smile,<br> +How they glow, and what <i>bon mots</i> they utter!<br> +   But a strange thought has found me the while!<br> + +<br> + +It is odd, but I stand here and fancy<br> +   These people who now play a part,<br> +All forced by some strange necromancy<br> +   To speak, and to act, from the heart.<br> +What a hush would come over the laughter!<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 197]</span>   What a silence would fall on the mirth!<br> +And then what a wail would sweep after,<br> +   As the night‑wind sweeps over the earth.<br> + +<br> + +If the secrets held under and hidden<br> +   In the intricate hearts of the crowd,<br> +Were suddenly called to, and bidden<br> +   To rise up and cry out aloud,<br> +How strange one would look to another!<br> +   Old friends of long standing and years—<br> +Own brothers would not know each other,<br> +   Robed new in their sorrows and fears.<br> + +<br> + +From broadcloth, and velvet, and laces,<br> +   Would echo the groans of despair,<br> +And there would be blanching of faces<br> +   And wringing of hands and of hair.<br> +That man with his record of honor,<br> +   That lady down there with the rose,<br> +That girl with Spring's freshness upon her,<br> +   Who knoweth the secrets of those?<br> + +<br> + +Smile on, O ye maskers, smile sweetly!<br> +   Step lightly, bow low and laugh loud!<br> +Though the world is deceived and completely,<br> +   I know ye, O sad‑hearted crowd!<br> +I watch you with infinite pity:<br> +   But play on, play ever your part,<br> +Be gleeful, be joyful, be witty!<br> +   'Tis better than showing the heart.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LIFE_AND_I"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 198]</span><h2>LIFE AND I.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Life and I are lovers, straying<br> +   Arm in arm along:<br> +Often like two children Maying,<br> +   Full of mirth and song.<br> + +<br> + +Life plucks all the blooming hours<br> +   Growing by the way;<br> +Binds them on my brow like flowers;<br> +   Calls me Queen of May.<br> + +<br> + +Then again, in rainy weather,<br> +   We sit vis‑a‑vis,<br> +Planning work we'll do together<br> +   In the years to be.<br> + +<br> + +Sometimes Life denies me blisses,<br> +   And I frown or pout;<br> +But we make it up with kisses<br> +   Ere the day is out.<br> + +<br> + +Woman‑like, I sometimes grieve him,<br> +   Try his trust and faith,<br> +Saying I shall one day leave him<br> +   For his rival Death.<br> + +<br> + +Then he always grows more zealous,<br> +   Tender, and more true;<br> +Loves the more for being jealous,<br> +   As all lovers do.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 199]</span>Though I swear by stars above him,<br> +   And by worlds beyond,<br> +That I love him—love him—love him;<br> +   Though my heart is fond;<br> + +<br> + +Though he gives me, doth my lover,<br> +   Kisses with each breath—<br> +I shall one day throw him over,<br> +   And plight troth with Death.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="GUERDON"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>GUERDON.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year<br> +         I saw a tear.<br> +Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow<br> +         So soon a sorrow.<br> +Just then the sunlight fell with sudden flame:<br> +         The tear became<br> +A wond'rous diamond sparkling in the light—<br> +         A beauteous sight.<br> + +<br> + +Upon my soul there fell such woeful loss,<br> +         I said, "The Cross<br> +Is grievous for a life as young as mine."<br> +         Just then, like wine,<br> +God's sunlight shone from His high Heavens down;<br> +         And lo! a crown<br> +Gleamed in the place of what I thought a burden—<br> +         My sorrow's guerdon.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="SNOWED_UNDER"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 200]</span><h2>SNOWED UNDER.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Of a thousand things that the Year snowed under—<br> +   The busy Old Year who has gone away—<br> +How many will rise in the Spring, I wonder,<br> +   Brought to life by the sun of May?<br> +Will the rose‑tree branches, so wholly hidden<br> +   That never a rose‑tree seems to be,<br> +At the sweet Spring's call come forth unbidden,<br> +   And bud in beauty, and bloom for me?<br> + +<br> + +Will the fair, green Earth, whose throbbing bosom<br> +   Is hid like a maid's in her gown at night,<br> +Wake out of her sleep, and with blade and blossom<br> +   Gem her garments to please my sight?<br> +Over the knoll in the valley yonder<br> +   The loveliest buttercups bloomed and grew;<br> +When the snow has gone that drifted them under,<br> +   Will they shoot up sunward, and bloom anew?<br> + +<br> + +When wild winds blew, and a sleet‑storm pelted,<br> +   I lost a jewel of priceless worth;<br> +If I walk that way when snows have melted,<br> +   Will the gem gleam up from the bare, brown Earth?<br> +I laid a love that was dead or dying,<br> +   For the year to bury and hide from sight;<br> +But out of a trance will it waken, crying,<br> +   And push to my heart, like a leaf to the light?<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 201]</span>Under the snow lie things so cherished—<br> +   Hopes, ambitions, and dreams of men—<br> +Faces that vanished, and trusts that perished,<br> +   Never to sparkle and glow again.<br> +The Old Year greedily grasped his plunder,<br> +   And covered it over and hurried away:<br> +Of the thousand things that he did, I wonder<br> +   How many will rise at the call of May?<br> +O wise Young Year, with your hands held under<br> +   Your mantle of ermine, tell me, pray!<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="PLATONIC"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>PLATONIC.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I knew it the first of the Summer—<br> +   I knew it the same at the end—<br> +That you and your love were plighted,<br> +   But couldn't you be my friend?<br> +Couldn't we sit in the twilight,<br> +   Couldn't we walk on the shore,<br> +With only a pleasant friendship<br> +   To bind us, and nothing more?<br> + +<br> + +There was never a word of nonsense<br> +   Spoken between us two,<br> +Though we lingered oft in the garden<br> +   Till the roses were wet with dew.<br> +We touched on a thousand subjects—<br> +   The moon and the stars above;<br> +But our talk was tinctured with science,<br> +   With never a hint of love.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 202]</span>"A wholly platonic friendship,"<br> +   You said I had proved to you,<br> +"Could bind a man and a woman<br> +   The whole long season through,<br> +With never a thought of folly,<br> +   Though both are in their youth."<br> +What would you have said, my lady,<br> +   If you had known the truth?<br> + +<br> + +Had I done what my mad heart prompted—<br> +   Gone down on my knees to you,<br> +And told you my passionate story<br> +   There in the dusk and dew;<br> +My burning, burdensome story,<br> +   Hidden and hushed so long,<br> +My story of hopeless loving—<br> +   Say, would you have thought it wrong?<br> + +<br> + +But I fought with my heart and conquered:<br> +   I hid my wound from sight;<br> +You were going away in the morning<br> +   And I said a calm good‑night.<br> +But now, when I sit in the twilight<br> +   Or when I walk by the sea,<br> +That friendship quite "platonic"<br> +   Comes surging over me.<br> +And a passionate longing fills me<br> +   For the roses, the dusk and the dew,—<br> +For the beautiful Summer vanished—<br> +   For the moonlit talks—and you.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="WHAT_WE_NEEDED"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 203]</span><h2>WHAT WE NEEDED.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +What does our country need? Not armies standing<br> +   With sabres gleaming ready for the fight.<br> +Not increased navies, skillful and commanding,<br> +   To bound the waters with an iron might.<br> +Not haughty men with glutted purses trying<br> +   To purchase souls, and keep the power of place.<br> +Not jeweled dolls with one another vieing<br> +   For palms of beauty, elegance and grace.<br> + +<br> + +But we want women, strong of soul, yet lowly,<br> +   With that rare meekness, born of gentleness,<br> +Women whose lives are pure and clean and holy,<br> +   The women whom all little children bless.<br> +Brave, earnest women, helpful to each other,<br> +   With finest scorn for all things low and mean.<br> +Women who hold the names of wife and mother,<br> +   Far nobler than the title of a Queen.<br> + +<br> + +O these are they who mold the men of story,<br> +   These mothers, ofttimes shorn of grace and youth,<br> +Who, worn and weary, ask no greater glory<br> +   Than making some young soul the home of truth,<br> +Who sow in hearts all fallow for the sowing<br> +   The seeds of virtue and of scorn for sin,<br> +And, patient, watch the beauteous harvest growing<br> +   And weed out tares which crafty hands cast in.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 204]</span>Women who do not hold the gift of beauty<br> +   As some rare treasure to be bought and sold,<br> +But guard it as a precious aid to duty—<br> +   The outer framing of the inner gold;<br> +Women who, low above their cradles bending,<br> +   Let flattery's voice go by, and give no heed,<br> +While their pure prayers like incense are ascending:<br> + <i>These</i> are our country's pride, our country's need.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LEUDEMANNS_ON_THE_RIVER"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>"LEUDEMANN'S‑ON‑THE‑RIVER."</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Toward even when the day leans down<br> +   To kiss the upturned face of night,<br> +Out just beyond the loud‑voiced town<br> +   I know a spot of calm delight.<br> +Like crimson arrows from a quiver<br> +   The red rays pierce the waters flowing<br> +While we go dreaming, singing, rowing<br> +   To Leudemann's‑on‑the‑River.<br> + +<br> + +The hills, like some glad mocking‑bird,<br> +   Send back our laughter and our singing,<br> +While faint—and yet more faint is heard<br> +   The steeple bells all sweetly ringing.<br> +Some message did the winds deliver<br> +   To each glad heart that August night,<br> +All heard, but all heard not aright;<br> +   By Leudemann's‑on‑the‑River.<br> + +<br> + +Night falls as in some foreign clime,<br> +   Between the hills that slope and rise.<br> +So dusk the shades at landing time,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 205]</span>   We could not see each other's eyes.<br> +We only saw the moonbeams quiver<br> +   Far down upon the stream! that night<br> +The new moon gave but little light<br> +   By Leudemann's‑on‑the‑River.<br> + +<br> + +How dusky were those paths that led<br> +   Up from the river to the hall.<br> +The tall trees branching overhead<br> +   Invite the early shades that fall.<br> +In all the glad blithe world, oh, never<br> +   Were hearts more free from care than when<br> +We wandered through those walks, we ten,<br> +   By Leudemann's‑on‑the‑River.<br> + +<br> + +So soon, so soon, the changes came.<br> +   This August day we two alone,<br> +On that same river, not the same,<br> +   Dream of a night forever flown.<br> +Strange distances have come to sever<br> +   The hearts that gayly beat in pleasure,<br> +Long miles we cannot cross or measure—<br> +   From Leudemann's‑on‑the‑River.<br> + +<br> + +We'll pluck two leaves, dear friend, to‑day.<br> +   The green, the russet! seems it strange<br> +So soon, so soon, the leaves can change!<br> +   Ah, me! so runs all life away.<br> +This night wind chills me, and I shiver;<br> +   The Summer time is almost past.<br> +One more good‑bye—perhaps the last<br> +   To Leudemann's‑on‑the‑River.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="IN_THE_LONG_RUN"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 206]</span><h2>IN THE LONG RUN.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +In the long run fame finds the deserving man.<br> +   The lucky wight may prosper for a day,<br> +But in good time true merit leads the van,<br> +   And vain pretense, unnoticed, goes its way.<br> +There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,<br> +But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,<br> +         In the long run.<br> + +<br> + +In the long run all goodly sorrow pays,<br> +   There is no better thing than righteous pain,<br> +The sleepless nights, the awful thorn‑crowned days,<br> +   Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.<br> +Unmeaning joys enervate in the end.<br> +But sorrow yields a glorious dividend<br> +         In the long run.<br> + +<br> + +In the long run all hidden things are known,<br> +   The eye of truth will penetrate the night,<br> +And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,<br> +   However well 'tis guarded from the light.<br> +All the unspoken motives of the breast<br> +Are fathomed by the years and stand confest<br> +         In the long run.<br> + +<br> + +In the long run all love is paid by love,<br> +   Though undervalued by the hosts of earth;<br> +The great eternal Government above<br> +   Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 207]</span>Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;<br> +So beautiful a thing was never lost<br> +         In the long run.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="PLEA_TO_SCIENCE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>PLEA TO SCIENCE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +O Science reaching backward through the distance,<br> +         Most earnest child of God,<br> +Exposing all the secrets of existence,<br> +         With thy divining rod,<br> +I bid thee speed up to the heights supernal,<br> +         Clear thinker, ne'er sufficed;<br> +Go seek and bind the laws and truths eternal,<br> +         But leave me Christ.<br> + +<br> + +Upon the vanity of pious sages<br> +         Let in the light of day.<br> +Break down the superstitions of all ages—<br> +         Thrust bigotry away;<br> +Stride on, and bid all stubborn foes defiance<br> +         Let Truth and Reason reign.<br> +But I beseech thee, O Immortal Science,<br> +         Let Christ remain.<br> + +<br> + +What canst thou give to help me bear my crosses,<br> +         In place of Him, my Lord?<br> +And what to recompense for all my losses,<br> +         And bring me sweet reward?<br> +<i>Thou</i> couldst not with thy clear, cold eyes of reason,<br> +         Thou couldst not comfort me<br> +Like one who passed through that tear‑blotted season,<br> +         In sad Gethsemane!<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 208]</span>Through all the weary, wearing hour of sorrow,<br> +         What word that thou hast said,<br> +Would make me strong to wait for some to‑morrow<br> +         When I should find my dead?<br> +When I am weak, and desolate, and lonely—<br> +         And prone to follow wrong?<br> +Not thou, O Science—Christ, my Savior, only<br> +         Can make me strong.<br> + +<br> + +Thou are so cold, so lofty and so distant,<br> +         Though great my need might be,<br> +No prayer, however constant and persistent,<br> +         Could bring thee down to me.<br> +Christ stands so near, to help me through each hour,<br> +         To guide me day by day.<br> +O Science, sweeping all before thy power<br> +         Leave Christ, I pray!<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LOVES_BURIAL"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>LOVE'S BURIAL.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Let us clear a little space,<br> +And make Love a burial place.<br> + +<br> + +He is dead, dear, as you see,<br> +And he wearies you and me,<br> + +<br> + +Growing heavier, day by day,<br> +Let us bury him, I say.<br> + +<br> + +Wings of dead white butterflies,<br> +These shall shroud him, as he lies<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 209]</span>In his casket rich and rare,<br> +Made of finest maiden‑hair.<br> + +<br> + +With the pollen of the rose<br> +Let us his white eye‑lids close.<br> + +<br> + +Put the rose thorn in his hand,<br> +Shorn of leaves—you understand.<br> + +<br> + +Let some holy water fall<br> +On his dead face, tears of gall—<br> + +<br> + +As we kneel by him and say,<br> +"Dreams to dreams," and turn away.<br> + +<br> + +Those grave diggers, Doubt, Distrust,<br> +They will lower him to the dust.<br> + +<br> + +Let us part here with a kiss,<br> +You go that way, I go this.<br> + +<br> + +Since we buried Love to‑day<br> +We will walk a separate way.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LITTLE_BLUE_HOOD"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>LITTLE BLUE HOOD.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Every morning and every night<br> +   There passes our window near the street,<br> +A little girl with an eye so bright,<br> +   And a cheek so round and a lip so sweet;<br> +The daintiest, jauntiest little miss<br> +That ever any one longed to kiss.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 210]</span>She is neat as wax, and fresh to view,<br> +   And her look is wholesome and clean, and good.<br> +Whatever her gown, her hood is blue,<br> +   And so we call her our "Little Blue Hood,"<br> +For we know not the name of the dear little lass,<br> +But we call to each other to see her pass.<br> + +<br> + +"Little Blue Hood is coming now!"<br> +   And we watch from the window while she goes by,<br> +She has such a bonny, smooth, white brow,<br> +   And a fearless look in her long‑lashed eye;<br> +And a certain dignity wedded to grace,<br> +Seems to envelop her form and face.<br> + +<br> + +Every morning, in sun or rain,<br> +   She walks by the window with sweet, grave air,<br> +And never guesses behind the pane<br> +   We two are watching and thinking her fair;<br> +Lovingly watching her down the street,<br> +Dear little Blue Hood, bright and sweet.<br> + +<br> + +Somebody ties that hood of blue<br> +   Under the face so fair to see,<br> +Somebody loves her, beside we two,<br> +   Somebody kisses her—why can't we?<br> +Dear Little Blue Hood fresh and fair,<br> +Are you glad we love you, or don't you care?<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="NO_SPRING"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 211]</span><h2>NO SPRING.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Up from the South come the birds that were banished,<br> +   Frightened away by the presence of frost.<br> +Back to the vale comes the verdure that vanished,<br> +   Back to the forest the leaves that were lost.<br> +Over the hillside the carpet of splendor,<br> +   Folded through Winter, Spring spreads down again;<br> +Along the horizon, the tints that were tender,<br> +   Lost hues of Summer time, burn bright as then.<br> + +<br> + +Only the mountains' high summits are hoary,<br> +   To the ice‑fettered river the sun gives a key.<br> +Once more the gleaming shore lists to the story<br> +   Told by an amorous Summer‑kissed sea.<br> +All things revive that in Winter time perished,<br> +   The rose buds again in the light o' the sun,<br> +All that was beautiful, all that was cherished,<br> +   Sweet things and dear things and all things—save one.<br> + +<br> + +Late, when the year and the roses were lying<br> +   Low with the ruins of Summer and bloom,<br> +Down in the dust fell a love that was dying,<br> +   And the snow piled above it, and made it a tomb.<br> +Lo! now! the roses are budded for blossom—<br> +   Lo! now! the Summer is risen again.<br> +Why dost thou bud not, O Love of my bosom?<br> +   Why dost thou rise not, and thrill me as then?<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 212]</span>Life without love, is a year without Summer,<br> +   Heart without love, is a wood without song.<br> +Rise then, revive then, thou indolent comer,<br> +   Why dost thou lie in the dark earth so long?<br> +Rise! ah, thou canst not! the rose‑tree that sheddest<br> +   Its beautiful leaves, in the Spring time may bloom,<br> +But of cold things the coldest, of dead things the deadest,<br> +   Love buried once, rises not from the tomb.<br> +Green things may grow on the hillside and heather,<br> +   Birds seek the forest and build there and sing.<br> +All things revive in the beautiful weather,<br> +   But unto a dead love there cometh no Spring.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="LIPPO"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>LIPPO.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Now we must part, my Lippo. Even so,<br> +I grieve to see thy sudden pained surprise;<br> +Gaze not on me with such accusing eyes—<br> +'T was thine own hand which dealt dear Love's death‑blow.<br> + +<br> + +I loved thee fondly yesterday. Till then<br> +Thy heart was like a covered golden cup<br> +Always above my eager lip held up.<br> +I fancied thou wert not as other men.<br> + +<br> + +I knew that heart was filled with Love's sweet wine,<br> +Pressed wholly for my drinking. And my lip<br> +Grew parched with thirsting for one nectared sip<br> +Of what, denied me, seemed a draught divine.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 213]</span>Last evening, in the gloaming, that cup spilled<br> +Its precious contents. Even to the lees<br> +Were offered to me, saying, "Drink of these!"<br> +And when I saw it empty, Love was killed.<br> + +<br> + +No word was left unsaid, no act undone,<br> +To prove to me thou wert my abject slave.<br> +Ah, Love! hadst thou been wise enough to save<br> +One little drop of that sweet wine—but one—<br> + +<br> + +I still had loved thee, longing for it then.<br> +But even the cup is mine. I look within,<br> +And find it holds not one last drop to win,<br> +And cast it down.—Thou art as other men.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="MIDSUMMER"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>MIDSUMMER.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +After the May time, and after the June time<br> +   Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet,<br> +Cometh the round world's royal noon time,<br> +   The red midsummer of blazing heat.<br> +When the sun, like an eye that never closes,<br> +   Bends on the earth its fervid gaze,<br> +And the winds are still, and the crimson roses<br> +   Droop and wither and die in its rays.<br> + +<br> + +Unto my heart has come that season,<br> +   O my lady, my worshiped one,<br> +When over the stars of Pride and Reason<br> +   Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun.<br> +Like a great red ball in my bosom burning<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 214]</span>   With fires that nothing can quench or tame.<br> +It glows till my heart itself seems turning<br> +   Into a liquid lake of flame.<br> + +<br> + +The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender,<br> +   The dreams and fears of an earlier day,<br> +Under the noontide's royal splendor,<br> +   Droop like roses and wither away.<br> +From the hills of doubt no winds are blowing,<br> +   From the isle of pain no breeze is sent.<br> +Only the sun in a white heat glowing<br> +   Over an ocean of great content.<br> + +<br> + +Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory,<br> +   Die, O my heart, in thy rapture‑swoon,<br> +For the Autumn must come with its mournful story,<br> +   And Love's midsummer will fade too soon.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="A_REMINISCENCE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>A REMINISCENCE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +I saw the wild honey‑bee kissing a rose<br> +         A wee one, that grows<br> +Down low on the bush, where her sisters above<br> +         Cannot see all that's done<br> +         As the moments roll on.<br> +Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love.<br> + +<br> + +They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the sun,<br> +         And they flirt, every one,<br> +With the wild bees who pass, and the gay butterflies.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 215]</span>         And that wee thing in pink—<br> +         Why, they never once think<br> +That she's won a lover right under their eyes.<br> + +<br> + +It reminded me, Kate, of a time—you know when!<br> +         You were so petite then,<br> +Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small.<br> +         Your sisters, Maud‑Belle<br> +         And Madeline—well,<br> +They <i>both</i> set their caps for me, after that ball.<br> + +<br> + +How the blue eyes and black eyes smiled up in my face!<br> +         'T was a neck‑and‑neck race,<br> +Till that day when you opened the door in the hall,<br> +         And looked up and looked down,<br> +         With your sweet eyes of brown,<br> +And <i>you</i> seemed so tiny, and <i>I</i> felt so tall.<br> + +<br> + +Your sisters had sent you to keep me, my dear,<br> +         Till they should appear.<br> +Then you were dismissed like a child in disgrace.<br> +         How meekly you went!<br> +         But your brown eyes, they sent<br> +A thrill to my heart, and a flush to my face.<br> + +<br> + +We always were meeting some way after that.<br> +         You hung up my hat,<br> +And got it again, when I finished my call.<br> +         Sixteen, and <i>so</i> sweet!<br> +         Oh, those cute little feet!<br> +Shall I ever forget how they tripped down the hall?<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 216]</span>Shall I ever forget the first kiss by the door,<br> +         Or the vows murmured o'er,<br> +Or the rage and surprise of Maud‑Belle? Well‑a‑day,<br> +         How swiftly time flows,<br> +         And who would suppose<br> +That a <i>bee</i> could have carried me so far away.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="RESPITE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>RESPITE.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +The mighty conflict, which we call existence,<br> +   Doth wear upon the body and the soul.<br> +Our vital forces wasted in resistance,<br> +   So much there is to conquer and control.<br> + +<br> + +The rock which meets the billows with defiance.<br> +   Undaunted and unshaken day by day,<br> +In spite of its unyielding self‑reliance,<br> +   Is by the warfare surely worn away.<br> + +<br> + +And there are depths and heights of strong emotions<br> +   That surge at times within the human breast,<br> +More fierce than all the tides of all the oceans<br> +   Which sweep on ever in divine unrest.<br> + +<br> + +I sometimes think the rock worn with adventures,<br> +   And sad with thoughts of conflicts yet to be,<br> +Must envy the frail reed which no one censures,<br> +   When overcome 'tis swallowed by the sea.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 217]</span>This life is all resistance and repression,<br> +   Dear God, if in that other world unseen,<br> +Not rest, we find, but new life and progression,<br> +   Grant us a respite in the grave between.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="A_GIRLS_FAITH"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>A GIRL'S FAITH.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Across the miles that stretch between,<br> +   Through days of gloom or glad sunlight,<br> +There shines a face I have not seen<br> +   Which yet doth make my world more bright.<br> + +<br> + +He may be near, he may be far,<br> +   Or near or far I cannot see,<br> +But faithful as the morning star<br> +   He yet shall rise and come to me.<br> + +<br> + +What though fate leads us separate ways,<br> +   The world is round, and time is fleet.<br> +A journey of a few brief days,<br> +   And face to face we two shall meet.<br> + +<br> + +Shall meet beneath God's arching skies,<br> +   While suns shall blaze, or stars shall gleam,<br> +And looking in each other's eyes<br> +   Shall hold the past but as a dream.<br> + +<br> + +But round and perfect and complete,<br> +   Life like a star shall climb the height,<br> +As we two press with willing feet<br> +   Together toward the Infinite.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 218]</span>And still behind the space between,<br> +   As back of dawns the sunbeams play,<br> +There shines the face I have not seen,<br> +   Whose smile shall wake my world to Day.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="TWO"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>TWO.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +One leaned on velvet cushions like a queen—<br> +   To see him pass, the hero of an hour,<br> +Whom men called great. She bowed with languid mien,<br> +   And smiled, and blushed, and knew her beauty's power.<br> + +<br> + +One trailed her tinseled garments through the street,<br> +   And thrust aside the crowd, and found a place<br> +So near, the blooded courser's praning feet<br> +   Cast sparks of fire upon her painted face.<br> + +<br> + +One took the hot‑house blossoms from her breast,<br> +   And tossed them down, as he went riding by.<br> +And blushed rose‑red to see them fondly pressed<br> +   To bearded lips, while eye spoke unto eye.<br> + +<br> + +One, bold and hardened with her sinful life,<br> +   Yet shrank and shivered painfully, because<br> +His cruel glance cut keener than a knife,<br> +   The glance of him who made her what she was.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 219]</span>One was observed, and lifted up to fame,<br> +   Because the hero smiled upon her! while<br> +One who was shunned and hated, found her shame<br> +   In basking in the death‑light of his smile.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="SLIPPING_AWAY"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>SLIPPING AWAY.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Slipping away—slipping away!<br> +Out of our brief year slips the May;<br> +And Winter lingers, and Summer flies;<br> +And Sorrow abideth, and Pleasure dies;<br> +And the days are short, and the nights are long;<br> +And little is right, and much is wrong.<br> + +<br> + +Slipping away is the Summer time;<br> +It has lost its rhythm and lilting rhyme—<br> +For the grace goes out of the day so soon,<br> +And the tired head aches in the glare of noon,<br> +And the way seems long to the hills that lie<br> +Under the calm of the western sky.<br> + +<br> + +Slipping away are the friends whose worth<br> +Lent a glow to the sad old earth:<br> +One by one they slip from our sight;<br> +One by one their graves gleam white;<br> +Or we count them lost by the crueler death<br> +Of a trust betrayed, or a murdered faith.<br> + +<br> + +Slipping away are the hopes that made<br> +Bliss out of sorrow, and sun out of shade.<br> +Slipping away is our hold on life.<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 220]</span>And out of the struggle and wearing strife,<br> +From joys that diminish, and woes that increase,<br> +We are slipping away to the shores of Peace.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="IS_IT_DONE"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>IS IT DONE?</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +It is done! in the fire's fitful flashes,<br> +   The last line has withered and curled.<br> +In a tiny white heap of dead ashes<br> +   Lie buried the hopes of your world.<br> +There were mad foolish vows in each letter,<br> +   It is well they have shriveled and burned,<br> +And the ring! oh, the ring was a fetter,<br> +   It was better removed and returned.<br> + +<br> + +But ah, is it done? in the embers<br> +   Where letters and tokens were cast,<br> +Have you burned up the heart that remembers,<br> +   And treasures its beautiful past?<br> +Do you think in this swift reckless fashion<br> +   To ruthlessly burn and destroy<br> +The months that were freighted with passion,<br> +   The dreams that were drunken with joy?<br> + +<br> + +Can you burn up the rapture of kisses<br> +   That flashed from the lips to the soul?<br> +Or the heart that grows sick for lost blisses<br> +   In spite of its strength of control?<br> +Have you burned up the touch of warm fingers<br> +   That thrilled through each pulse and each vein,<br> +Or the sound of a voice that still lingers<br> +   And hurts with a haunting refrain?<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 221]</span>Is it done? is the life drama ended?<br> +   You have put all the lights out, and yet,<br> +Though the curtain, rung down, has descended,<br> +   Can the actors go home and forget?<br> +Ah, no! they will turn in their sleeping<br> +   With a strange restless pain in their hearts,<br> +And in darkness, and anguish and weeping,<br> +   Will dream they are playing their parts.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="A_LEAF"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>A LEAF.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve,<br> +   That you were married, or soon to be.<br> +I have not thought of you, I believe,<br> +   Since last we parted. Let me see:<br> +Five long Summers have passed since then—<br> +   Each has been pleasant in its own way—<br> +And you are but one of a dozen men<br> +   Who have played the suitor a Summer day.<br> + +<br> + +But, nevertheless, when I heard your name,<br> +   Coupled with some one's, not my own,<br> +There burned in my bosom a sudden flame,<br> +   That carried me back to the day that is flown.<br> +I was sitting again by the laughing brook,<br> +   With you at my feet, and the sky above,<br> +And my heart was fluttering under your look—<br> +   The unmistakable look of Love.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 222]</span>Again your breath, like a South wind, fanned<br> +   My cheek, where the blushes came and went;<br> +And the tender clasp of your strong, warm hand<br> +   Sudden thrills through my pulses sent.<br> +Again you were mine by Love's own right—<br> +   Mine forever by Love's decree:<br> +So for a moment it seemed last night,<br> +   When somebody mentioned your name to me.<br> + +<br> + +Just for the moment I thought you mine—<br> +   Loving me, wooing me, as of old.<br> +The tale remembered seemed half divine—<br> +   Though I held it lightly enough when told.<br> +The past seemed fairer than when it was near,<br> +   As "Blessings brighten when taking flight;"<br> +And just for the moment I held you dear—<br> +   When somebody mentioned your name last night.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="AESTHETIC"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>AESTHETIC.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +In a garb that was guiltless of colors<br> +   She stood, with a dull, listless air—<br> +A creature of dumps and of dolors,<br> +   But most undeniably fair.<br> + +<br> + +The folds of her garment fell round her,<br> +   Revealing the curve of each limb;<br> +Well proportioned and graceful I found her,<br> +   Although quite alarmingly slim.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 223]</span>From the hem of her robe peeped one sandal—<br> +   "High art" was she down to her feet;<br> +And though I could not understand all<br> +   She said, I could see she was sweet.<br> + +<br> + +Impressed by her limpness and languor,<br> +   I proffered a chair near at hand;<br> +She looked back a mild sort of anger—<br> +   Posed anew, and continued to stand.<br> + +<br> + +Some praises I next tried to mutter<br> +   Of the fan that she held to her face;<br> +She said it was "utterly utter,"<br> +   And waved it with languishing grace.<br> + +<br> + +I then, in a strain quite poetic,<br> +   Begged her gaze on the bow in the sky,<br> +She looked—said its curve was "æsthetic."<br> +   But the "tone was too dreadfully high."<br> + +<br> + +Her lovely face, lit by the splendor<br> +   That glorified landscape and sea,<br> +Woke thoughts that were daring and tender:<br> +   Did <i>her</i> thoughts, too, rest upon me?<br> + +<br> + +"Oh, tell me," I cried, growing bolder,<br> +   "Have I in your musings a place?"<br> +"Well, yes," she said over her shoulder:<br> +   "I was thinking of nothing in space."<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="POEMS_OF_THE_WEEK"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 224]</span><h2>POEMS OF THE WEEK.</h2> + +<a name="SUNDAY"></a> + +<h4>SUNDAY.</h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Lie still and rest, in that serene repose<br> +That on this holy morning comes to those<br> +Who have been burdened with the cares which make<br> +The sad heart weary and the tired head ache.<br> +            Lie still and rest—<br> +         God's day of all is best.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="MONDAY"></a> + +<h4>MONDAY.</h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Awake! arise! Cast off thy drowsy dreams!<br> +Red in the East, behold the Morning gleams.<br> +"As Monday goes, so goes the week," dames say.<br> +Refreshed, renewed, use well the initial day.<br> +            And see! thy neighbor<br> +         Already seeks his labor.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="TUESDAY"></a> + +<h4>TUESDAY.</h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Another morning's banners are unfurled—<br> +Another day looks smiling on the world.<br> +It holds new laurels for thy soul to win:<br> +Mar not its grace by slothfulness or sin,<br> +            Nor sad, away,<br> +         Send it to yesterday.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="WEDNESDAY"></a> + +<h4>WEDNESDAY.</h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Half‑way unto the end—the week's high noon.<br> +The morning hours do speed away so soon!<br> +And, when the noon is reached, however bright,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 225]</span>Instinctively we look toward the night.<br> +            The glow is lost<br> +         Once the meridian crost.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="THURSDAY"></a> + +<h4>THURSDAY.</h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +So well the week has sped, hast thou a friend<br> +Go spend an hour in converse. It will lend<br> +New beauty to thy labors and thy life<br> +To pause a little sometimes in the strife.<br> +            Toil soon seems rude<br> +         That has no interlude.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="FRIDAY"></a> + +<h4>FRIDAY.</h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +From feasts abstain; be temperate, and pray;<br> +Fast if thou wilt; and yet, throughout the day,<br> +Neglect no labor and no duty shirk:<br> +Not many hours are left thee for thy work—<br> +            And it were meet<br> +         That all should be complete.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="SATURDAY"></a> + +<h4>SATURDAY.</h4> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Now with the almost finished task make haste;<br> +So near the night thou hast no time to waste.<br> +Post up accounts, and let thy Soul's eyes look<br> +For flaws and errors in Life's ledger‑book.<br> +            When labors cease,<br> +         How sweet the sense of peace!<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="GHOSTS"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 226]</span><h2>GHOSTS.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +         There are ghosts in the room.<br> +As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there<br> +         They come out of the gloom,<br> +And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair.<br> + +<br> + +         There's the ghost of a Hope<br> +That lighted my days with a fanciful glow,<br> +         In her hand is the rope<br> +That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago.<br> + +<br> + +         But her ghost comes to‑night,<br> +With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes,<br> +         And it stands in the light,<br> +And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs.<br> + +<br> + +         There's the ghost of a Joy,<br> +A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much,<br> +         And the hands that destroy<br> +Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch.<br> + +<br> + +         There's the ghost of a Love,<br> +Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest,<br> +         But he towers above<br> +All the others—this ghost: yet a ghost at the best.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 227]</span>         I am weary, and fain<br> +Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host<br> +         Make my struggle in vain,<br> +In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="FLEEING_AWAY"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>FLEEING AWAY.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +My thoughts soar not as they ought to soar,<br> +   Higher and higher on soul‑lent wings;<br> +But ever and often, and more and more<br> +   They are dragged down earthward by little things,<br> +By little troubles and little needs,<br> +As a lark might be tangled among the weeds.<br> + +<br> + +My purpose is not what it ought to be,<br> +   Steady and fixed, like a star on high,<br> +But more like a fisherman's light at sea;<br> +   Hither and thither it seems to fly—<br> +Sometimes feeble, and sometimes bright,<br> +Then suddenly lost in the gloom of night.<br> + +<br> + +My life is far from my dream of life—<br> +   Calmly contented, serenely glad;<br> +But, vexed and worried by daily strife,<br> +   It is always troubled, and ofttimes sad—<br> +And the heights I had thought I should reach one day<br> +Grow dimmer and dimmer, and farther away.<br> + +<br> + +My heart finds never the longed‑for rest;<br> +   Its worldly striving, its greed for gold,<br> +Chilled and frightened the calm‑eyed guest,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 228]</span>   Who sometimes sought me in days of old;<br> +And ever fleeing away from me<br> +Is the higher self that I long to be.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="ALL_MAD"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>ALL MAD.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +"He is mad as a hare, poor fellow,<br> +   And should be in chains," you say.<br> +I haven't a doubt of your statement,<br> +   But who isn't mad, I pray?<br> +Why, the world is a great asylum,<br> +   And people are all insane,<br> +Gone daft with pleasure or folly,<br> +   Or crazed with passion and pain.<br> + +<br> + +The infant who shrieks at a shadow,<br> +   The child with his Santa Claus faith,<br> +The woman who worships Dame Fashion,<br> +   Each man with his notions of death,<br> +The miser who hoards up his earnings,<br> +   The spendthrift who wastes them too soon,<br> +The scholar grown blind in his delving,<br> +   The lover who stares at the moon.<br> + +<br> + +The poet who thinks life a pæan,<br> +   The cynic who thinks it a fraud,<br> +The youth who goes seeking for pleasure,<br> +   The preacher who dares talk of God,<br> +All priests with their creeds and their croaking,<br> +   All doubters who dare to deny,<br> +The gay who find aught to wake laughter,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 229]</span>   The sad who find aught worth a sigh,<br> +Whoever is downcast or solemn,<br> +   Whoever is gleeful and glad,<br> +Are only the dupes of delusions—<br> +   We are all of us—all of us mad.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="HIDDEN_GEMS"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>HIDDEN GEMS.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +We know not what lies in us, till we seek;<br> +   Men dive for pearls—they are not found on shore,<br> +The hillsides most unpromising and bleak<br> +   Do sometimes hide the ore.<br> + +<br> + +Go, dive in the vast ocean of thy mind,<br> +   O man! far down below the noisy waves,<br> +Down in the depths and silence thou mayst find<br> +   Rare pearls and coral caves.<br> + +<br> + +Sink thou a shaft into the mine of thought;<br> +   Be patient, like the seekers after gold;<br> +Under the rocks and rubbish lieth what<br> +   May bring thee wealth untold.<br> + +<br> + +Reflected from the vasty Infinite,<br> +   However dulled by earth, each human mind<br> +Holds somewhere gems of beauty and of light<br> +   Which, seeking, thou shalt find.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="BY-AND-BY"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 230]</span><h2> BY‑AND‑BY.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +"By‑and‑by," the maiden sighed—"by‑and‑by<br> +He will claim me for his bride,<br> +Hope is strong and time is fleet;<br> +Youth is fair, and love is sweet,<br> +Clouds will pass that fleck my sky.<br> +He will come back by‑and‑by—by‑and‑by."<br> + +<br> + +"By‑and‑by," the soldier said—"by‑and‑by,<br> +After I have fought and bled,<br> +I shall go home from the wars,<br> +Crowned with glory, seamed with scars.<br> +Joy will flash from some one's eye<br> +When she greets me by‑and‑by—by‑and‑by."<br> + +<br> + +"By‑and‑by," the mother cried—"by‑and‑by,<br> +Strong and sturdy at my side,<br> +Like a staff supporting me,<br> +Will my bonnie baby be.<br> +Break my rest, then, wail and cry—<br> +Thou'lt repay me by‑and‑by—by‑and‑by."<br> + +<br> + +Fleeting years of time have sped—hurried by—<br> +Still the maiden is unwed;<br> +All unknown the soldier lies,<br> +Buried under alien skies;<br> +And the son, with blood‑shot eye<br> +Saw his mother starve and die.<br> +God in Heaven! dost Thou on high,<br> +Keep the promised by‑and‑by—by‑and‑by?<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="OVER_THE_MAY_HILL"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 231]</span><h2>OVER THE MAY HILL.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +All through the night time, and all through the day time,<br> +   Dreading the morning and dreading the night,<br> +Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time<br> +   Season of beauty and season of blight,<br> +Leaves on the linden, and sun on the meadow,<br> +   Green in the garden, and bloom everywhere,<br> +Gloom in my heart, and a terrible shadow,<br> +   Walks by me, sits by me, stands by my chair.<br> + +<br> + +Oh, but the birds by the brooklet are cheery,<br> +   Oh, but the woods show such delicate greens,<br> +Strange how you droop and how soon you are weary—<br> +   Too well I know what that weariness means.<br> +But how could I know in the crisp winter weather<br> +   (Though sometimes I noticed a catch in your breath),<br> +Riding and singing and dancing together,<br> +   How could I know you were racing with death?<br> + +<br> + +How could I know when we danced until morning,<br> +   And you were the gayest of all the gay crowd—<br> +With only that shortness of breath for a warning,<br> +   How could I know that you danced for a shroud?<br> +Whirling and whirling through moonlight and starlight,<br> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 232]</span>   Rocking as lightly as boats on the wave,<br> +Down in your eyes shone a deep light—a far light,<br> +   How could I know 'twas the light to your grave?<br> + +<br> + +Day by day, day by day, nearing and nearing,<br> +   Hid under greenness, and beauty and bloom,<br> +Cometh the shape and the shadow I'm fearing,<br> +   "Over the May hill" is waiting your tomb.<br> +The season of mirth and of music is over—<br> +   I have danced my last dance, I have sung my last song,<br> +Under the violets, under the clover,<br> +   My heart and my love will be lying ere long.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="A_SONG"></a> + +<hr> + +<h2>A SONG.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Is any one sad in the world, I wonder?<br> +   Does any one weep on a day like this,<br> +With the sun above, and the green earth under?<br> +   Why, what is life but a dream of bliss?<br> + +<br> + +With the sun, and the skies, and the birds above me,<br> +   Birds that sing as they wheel and fly—<br> +With the winds to follow and say they love me—<br> +   Who could be lonely? O ho, not I!<br> + +<br> + +Somebody said, in the street this morning,<br> +   As I opened my window to let in the light,<br> +That the darkest day of the world was dawning;<br> +   But I looked, and the East was a gorgeous sight.<br> + +<br> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 233]</span>One who claims that he knows about it<br> +   Tells me the Earth is a vale of sin;<br> +But I and the bees and the birds—we doubt it,<br> +   And think it a world worth living in.<br> + +<br> + +Some one says that hearts are fickle,<br> +   That love is sorrow, that life is care,<br> +And the reaper Death, with his shining sickle,<br> +   Gathers whatever is bright and fair.<br> + +<br> + +I told the thrush, and we laughed together,<br> +   Laughed till the woods were all a‑ring:<br> +And he said to me, as he plumed each feather,<br> +   "Well, people must croak, if they cannot sing."<br> + +<br> + +Up he flew, but his song, remaining,<br> +   Rang like a bell in my heart all day,<br> +And silenced the voices of weak complaining,<br> +   That pipe like insects along the way.<br> + +<br> + +O world of light, and O world of beauty!<br> +   Where are there pleasures so sweet as thine?<br> +Yes, life is love, and love is duty;<br> +   And what heart sorrows? O no, not mine!<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="FOES"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 234]</span><h2>FOES.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Thank Fate for foes! I hold mine dear<br> +   As valued friends. He cannot know<br> +The zest of life who runneth here<br> +   His earthly race without a foe.<br> + +<br> + +I saw a prize. "Run," cried my friend;<br> +   "'Tis thine to claim without a doubt."<br> +But ere I half‑way reached the end,<br> +   I felt my strength was giving out.<br> + +<br> + +My foe looked on the while I ran;<br> +   A scornful triumph lit his eyes.<br> +With that perverseness born in man,<br> +   I nerved myself, and won the prize.<br> + +<br> + +All blinded by the crimson glow<br> +   Of sin's disguise, I tempted Fate.<br> +"I knew thy weakness!" sneered my foe,<br> +   I saved myself, and balked his hate.<br> + +<br> + +For half my blessings, half my gain,<br> +   I needs must thank my trusty foe;<br> +Despite his envy and disdain,<br> +   He serves me well where'er I go.<br> + +<br> + +So may I keep him to the end,<br> +   Nor may his enmity abate:<br> +More faithful than the fondest friend,<br> +   He guards me ever with his hate.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<br> + +<a name="FRIENDSHIP"></a> + +<hr> + +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 235]</span><h2>FRIENDSHIP.</h2> + +<blockquote><blockquote> +Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving<br> +   Thy strong regard for me,<br> +Make me no vows. Lip‑service is not loving;<br> +   Let thy faith speak for thee.<br> + +<br> + +Swear not to me that nothing can divide us—<br> +   So little such oaths mean.<br> +But when distrust and envy creep beside us<br> +   Let them not come between.<br> + +<br> + +Say not to me the depths of thy devotion<br> +   Are deeper than the sea;<br> +But watch, lest doubt or some unkind emotion<br> +   Embitter them for me.<br> + +<br> + +Vow not to love me ever and forever,<br> +   Words are such idle things;<br> +But when we differ in opinions, never<br> +   Hurt me by little stings.<br> + +<br> + +I'm sick of words: they are so lightly spoken,<br> +   And spoken, are but air.<br> +I'd rather feel thy trust in me unbroken<br> +   Than list thy words so fair.<br> + +<br> + +If all the little proofs of trust are heeded,<br> +   If thou art always kind,<br> +No sacrifice, no promise will be needed<br> +   To satisfy my mind.<br> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 26333-h.txt or 26333-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/6/3/3/26333">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/3/3/26333</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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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