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diff --git a/26333.txt b/26333.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..99d858b --- /dev/null +++ b/26333.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7752 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Maurine and Other Poems, by Ella Wheeler +Wilcox + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Maurine and Other Poems + + +Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + + +Release Date: August 16, 2008 [eBook #26333] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS*** + + +E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Christina, Joseph Cooper, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS + +by + +ELLA WHEELER WILCOX + + + + + + + +W. B. Conkey Company +Chicago + +Copyright, 1888 +by Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + + + +_I step across the mystic border-land,_ +_And look upon the wonder-world of Art._ +_How beautiful, how beautiful its hills!_ +_And all its valleys, how surpassing fair!_ + +_The winding paths that lead up to the heights_ +_Are polished by the footsteps of the great._ +_The mountain-peaks stand very near to God:_ +_The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon_ +_Have talked with Him, and with the angels walked._ + +_Here are no sounds of discord--no profane_ +_Or senseless gossip of unworthy things--_ +_Only the songs of chisels and of pens._ +_Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains_ +_Of souls surcharged with music most divine._ +_Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief_ +_For any day or object left behind--_ +_For time is counted precious, and herein_ +_Is such complete abandonment of Self_ +_That tears turn into rainbows, and enhance_ +_The beauty of the land where all is fair._ + +_Awed and afraid, I cross the border-land._ +_Oh, who am I, that I dare enter here_ +_Where the great artists of the world have trod--_ +_The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth?_ +_Only the singer of a little song;_ +_Yet loving Art with such a mighty love_ +_I hold it greater to have won a place_ +_Just on the fair land's edge, to make my grave,_ +_Than in the outer world of greed and gain_ +_To sit upon a royal throne and reign._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + Maurine 9 + Two Sunsets 122 + Unrest 124 + "Artist's Life" 125 + Nothing but Stones 126 + The Coquette 128 + Inevitable 129 + The Ocean of Song 130 + "It Might Have Been" 132 + If 132 + Gethsemane 134 + Dust-Sealed 135 + "Advice" 136 + Over the Banisters 137 + Momus, God of Laughter 138 + I Dream 140 + The Past 141 + The Sonnet 142 + Secrets 142 + A Dream 143 + Uselessness 143 + Will 144 + Winter Rain 145 + Applause 145 + Life 146 + Burdened 146 + The Story 147 + Let Them Go 148 + The Engine 149 + Nothing New 151 + Dreams 152 + Helena 153 + Nothing Remains 155 + Lean Down 156 + Comrades 157 + What Gain? 158 + Life 159 + To the West 160 + The Land of Content 161 + A Song of Life 163 + Warning 164 + The Christian's New Year Prayer 164 + In the Night 166 + God's Measure 167 + A March Snow 167 + After the Battles are Over 168 + Noblesse Oblige 174 + And They Are Dumb 175 + Night 177 + All for Me 178 + Philosophy 179 + "Carlos" 180 + The Two Glasses 182 + Through Tears 184 + Into Space 185 + Through Dim Eyes 187 + La Mort d'Amour 188 + The Punished 189 + Half Fledged 190 + Love's Sleep 191 + True Culture 192 + The Voluptuary 193 + The Year 194 + The Unattained 195 + In the Crowd 196 + Life and I 198 + Guerdon 199 + Snowed Under 200 + Platonic 201 + What We Need 203 + "Leudemann's-on-the-River" 204 + In the Long Run 206 + Plea to Science 207 + Love's Burial 208 + Little Blue Hood 209 + No Spring 211 + Lippo 212 + Midsummer 213 + A Reminiscence 214 + Respite 216 + A Girl's Faith 217 + Two 218 + Slipping Away 219 + Is it Done? 220 + A Leaf 221 + AEsthetic 222 + Poems of the Week 224 + Ghosts 226 + Fleeing Away 227 + All Mad 228 + Hidden Gems 229 + By-and-By 230 + Over the May Hill 231 + A Song 232 + Foes 234 + Friendship 235 + + + + +MAURINE + + +_PART I._ + +I sat and sewed, and sang some tender tune, +Oh, beauteous was that morn in early June! +Mellow with sunlight, and with blossoms fair: +The climbing rose-tree grew about me there, +And checked with shade the sunny portico +Where, morns like this, I came to read, or sew. + +I heard the gate click, and a firm quick tread +Upon the walk. No need to turn my head; +I would mistake, and doubt my own voice sounding, +Before his step upon the gravel bounding. +In an unstudied attitude of grace, +He stretched his comely form; and from his face +He tossed the dark, damp curls; and at my knees, +With his broad hat he fanned the lazy breeze, +And turned his head, and lifted his large eyes, +Of that strange hue we see in ocean dyes, +And call it blue sometimes, and sometimes green +And save in poet eyes, not elsewhere seen. + +"Lest I should meet with my fair lady's scorning, +For calling quite so early in the morning, +I've brought a passport that can never fail," +He said, and, laughing, laid the morning mail +Upon my lap. "I'm welcome? so I thought! +I'll figure by the letters that I brought +How glad you are to see me. Only one? +And that one from a lady? I'm undone! +That, lightly skimmed, you'll think me _such_ a bore, +And wonder why I did not bring you four. +It's ever thus: a woman cannot get +So many letters that she will not fret +O'er one that did not come." + "I'll prove you wrong," +I answered gayly, "here upon the spot! +This little letter, precious if not long, +Is just the one, of all you might have brought, +To please me. You have heard me speak, I'm sure, +Of Helen Trevor: she writes here to say +She's coming out to see me; and will stay +Till Autumn, maybe. She is, like her note, +Petite and dainty, tender, loving, pure. +You'd know her by a letter that she wrote, +For a sweet tinted thing. 'Tis always so:-- +Letters all blots, though finely written, show +A slovenly person. Letters stiff and white +Bespeak a nature honest, plain, upright. +And tissuey, tinted, perfumed notes, like this, +Tell of a creature formed to pet and kiss." + +My listener heard me with a slow, odd smile; +Stretched in abandon at my feet, the while, +He fanned me idly with his broad-brimmed hat. +"Then all young ladies must be formed for that!" +He laughed, and said. + "Their letters read, and look, +As like as twenty copies of one book. +They're written in a dainty, spider scrawl, +To 'darling, precious Kate,' or 'Fan,' or 'Moll.' +The 'dearest, sweetest' friend they ever had. +They say they 'want to see you, oh, so bad!' +Vow they'll 'forget you, never, _never_, oh!' +And then they tell about a splendid beau-- +A lovely hat--a charming dress, and send +A little scrap of this to every friend. +And then to close, for lack of something better, +They beg you'll 'read and burn this horrid letter.'" + +He watched me, smiling. He was prone to vex +And hector me with flings upon my sex. +He liked, he said, to have me flash and frown, +So he could tease me, and then laugh me down. +My storms of wrath amused him very much: +He liked to see me go off at a touch; +Anger became me--made my color rise, +And gave an added luster to my eyes. +So he would talk--and so he watched me now, +To see the hot flush mantle cheek and brow. + +Instead, I answered coolly, with a smile, +Felling a seam with utmost care, meanwhile. +"The caustic tongue of Vivian Dangerfield +Is barbed as ever, for my sex, this morn. +Still unconvinced, no smallest point I yield. +Woman I love, and trust, despite your scorn. +There is some truth in what you say? Well, yes! +Your statements usually hold more or less. +Some women write weak letters--(some men do;) +Some make professions, knowing them untrue. +And woman's friendship, in the time of need, +I own, too often proves a broken reed. +But I believe, and ever will contend, +Woman can be a sister woman's friend, +Giving from out her large heart's bounteous store +A living love--claiming to do no more +Than, through and by that love, she knows she can; +And living by her professions, _like a man_. +And such a tie, true friendship's silken tether, +Binds Helen Trevor's heart and mine together. +I love her for her beauty, meekness, grace; +For her white lily soul and angel face. +She loves me, for my greater strength, may be; +Loves--and would give her heart's best blood for me +And I, to save her from a pain, or cross, +Would suffer any sacrifice or loss. +Such can be woman's friendship for another. +Could man give more, or ask more from a brother?" + +I paused: and Vivian leaned his massive head +Against the pillar of the portico, +Smiled his slow, skeptic smile, then laughed, and said: +"Nay, surely not--if what you say be so. +You've made a statement, but no proof's at hand. +Wait--do not flash your eyes so! Understand +I think you quite sincere in what you say: +You love your friend, and she loves you, to-day; +But friendship is not friendship at the best +Till circumstances put it to the test. +Man's, less demonstrative, stands strain and tear, +While woman's, half profession, fails to wear. +Two women love each other passing well-- +Say Helen Trevor and Maurine La Pelle, +Just for example. + Let them daily meet +At ball and concert, in the church and street, +They kiss and coo, they visit, chat, caress; +Their love increases, rather than grows less; +And all goes well, till 'Helen dear' discovers +That 'Maurine darling' wins too many lovers. + +And then her 'precious friend,' her 'pet,' her 'sweet,' +Becomes a 'minx,' a 'creature all deceit.' +Let Helen smile too oft on Maurine's beaux, +Or wear more stylish or becoming clothes, +Or sport a hat that has a longer feather-- +And lo! the strain has broken 'friendship's tether.' +Maurine's sweet smile becomes a frown or pout; +'She's just begun to find that Helen out' +The breach grows wider--anger fills each heart; +They drift asunder, whom 'but death could part.' +You shake your head? Oh, well, we'll never know! +It is not likely Fate will test you so. +You'll live, and love; and, meeting twice a year, +While life shall last, you'll hold each other dear. +I pray it may be so; it were not best +To shake your faith in woman by the test. +Keep your belief, and nurse it while you can. +I've faith in woman's friendship too--for man! +They're true as steel, as mothers, friends, and wives: +And that's enough to bless us all our lives. +That man's a selfish fellow, and a bore, +Who is unsatisfied, and asks for more." + +"But there is need of more!" I here broke in. +"I hold that woman guilty of a sin, +Who would not cling to, and defend another, +As nobly as she would stand by a brother. +Who would not suffer for a sister's sake, +And, were there need to prove her friendship, make +'Most any sacrifice, nor count the cost. +Who would not do this for a friend is lost +To every nobler principle." + "Shame, shame!" +Cried Vivian, laughing, "for you now defame +The whole sweet sex; since there's not one would do +The thing you name, nor would I want her to. +I love the sex. My mother was a woman-- +I hope my wife will be, and wholly human. +And if she wants to make some sacrifice, +I'll think her far more sensible and wise +To let her husband reap the benefit, +Instead of some old maid or senseless chit. +Selfish? Of course! I hold all love is so: +And I shall love my wife right well, I know. +Now there's a point regarding selfish love, +You thirst to argue with me, and disprove. +But since these cosy hours will soon be gone +And all our meetings broken in upon, +No more of these rare moments must be spent +In vain discussions, or in argument. +I wish Miss Trevor was in--Jericho! +(You see the selfishness begins to show.) +She wants to see you?--So do I: but she +Will gain her wish, by taking you from me. +'Come all the same?' that means I'll be allowed +To realize that 'three can make a crowd.' +I do not like to feel myself _de trop_. +With two girl cronies would I not be so? +My ring would interrupt some private chat. +You'd ask me in and take my cane and hat, +And speak about the lovely summer day, +And think--'The lout! I wish he'd kept away.' +Miss Trevor'd smile, but just to hide a pout +And count the moments till I was shown out. +And, while I twirled my thumbs, I would sit wishing +That I had gone off hunting birds, or fishing. +No, thanks, Maurine! The iron hand of Fate, +(Or otherwise Miss Trevor's dainty fingers,) +Will bar my entrance into Eden's gate; +And I shall be like some poor soul that lingers +At heaven's portal, paying the price of sin, +Yet hoping to be pardoned and let in." + +He looked so melancholy sitting there, +I laughed outright. "How well you act a part; +You look the very picture of despair! +You've missed your calling, sir! suppose you start +Upon a starring tour, and carve your name +With Booth's and Barrett's on the heights of Fame. +But now, tabooing nonsense, I shall send +For you to help me entertain my friend, +Unless you come without it. 'Cronies?' True, +Wanting our 'private chats' as cronies do +And we'll take those, while you are reading Greek, +Or writing 'Lines to Dora's brow' or 'cheek.' +But when you have an hour or two of leisure, +Call as you now do, and afford like pleasure. +For never yet did heaven's sun shine on, +Or stars discover, that phenomenon, +In any country, or in any clime: +Two maids so bound, by ties of mind and heart. +They did not feel the heavy weight of time +In weeks of scenes wherein no man took part. +God made the sexes to associate: +Nor law of man, nor stern decree of Fate, +Can ever undo what His hand has done, +And, quite alone, make happy either one. +My Helen is an only child:--a pet +Of loving parents: and she never yet +Has been denied one boon for which she pleaded. +A fragile thing, her lightest wish was heeded. +Would she pluck roses? they must first be shorn, +By careful hands, of every hateful thorn. +And loving eyes must scan the pathway where +Her feet may tread, to see no stones are there. +She'll grow dull here, in this secluded nook, +Unless you aid me in the pleasant task +Of entertaining. Drop in with your book-- +Read, talk, sing for her sometimes. What I ask, +Do once, to please me: then there'll be no need +For me to state the case again, or plead. +There's nothing like a woman's grace and beauty +To waken mankind to a sense of duty." + +"I bow before the mandate of my queen: +Your slightest wish is law, Ma Belle Maurine," +He answered smiling, "I'm at your command; +Point but one lily finger, or your wand, +And you will find a willing slave obeying. +There goes my dinner bell! I hear it saying +I've spent two hours here, lying at your feet, +Not profitable, maybe--surely sweet. +All time is money; now were I to measure +The time I spend here by its solid pleasure, +And that were coined in dollars, then I've laid +Each day a fortune at your feet, fair maid. +There goes that bell again! I'll say good-bye, +Or clouds will shadow my domestic sky. +I'll come again, as you would have me do, +And see your friend, while she is seeing you. +That's like by proxy being at a feast; +Unsatisfactory, to say the least." + +He drew his fine shape up, and trod the land +With kingly grace. Passing the gate, his hand +He lightly placed the garden wall upon, +Leaped over like a leopard, and was gone. + +And, going, took the brightness from the place, +Yet left the June day with a sweeter grace, +And my young soul so steeped in happy dreams, +Heaven itself seemed shown to me in gleams. +There is a time with lovers, when the heart +First slowly rouses from its dreamless sleep, +To all the tumult of a passion life, +Ere yet have wakened jealousy and strife. +Just as a young, untutored child will start +Out of a long hour's slumber, sound and deep, +And lie and smile with rosy lips, and cheeks, +In a sweet, restful trance, before it speaks. +A time when yet no word the spell has broken, +Save what the heart unto the soul has spoken, +In quickened throbs, and sighs but half suppressed. +A time when that sweet truth, all unconfessed, +Gives added fragrance to the summer flowers, +A golden glory to the passing hours, +A hopeful beauty to the plainest face, +And lends to life a new and tender grace. + +When the full heart has climbed the heights of bliss, +And, smiling, looks back o'er the golden past, +I think it finds no sweeter hour than this +In all love-life. For, later, when the last +Translucent drop o'erflows the cup of joy, +And love, more mighty than the heart's control, +Surges in words of passion from the soul, +And vows are asked and given, shadows rise +Like mists before the sun in noonday skies, +Vague fears, that prove the brimming cup's alloy; +A dread of change--the crowning moment's curse, +Since what is perfect, change but renders worse: +A vain desire to cripple Time, who goes +Bearing our joys away, and bringing woes. +And later, doubts and jealousies awaken. +And plighted hearts are tempest-tossed, and shaken. +Doubt sends a test, that goes a step too far, +A wound is made, that, healing, leaves a scar, +Or one heart, full with love's sweet satisfaction, +Thinks truth once spoken always understood, +While one is pining for the tender action +And whispered word by which, of old, 'twas wooed. + +But this blest hour, in love's glad, golden day, +Is like the dawning, ere the radiant ray +Of glowing Sol has burst upon the eye, +But yet is heralded in earth and sky, +Warm with its fervor, mellow with its light, +While Care still slumbers in the arms of night. +But Hope, awake, hears happy birdlings sing, +And thinks of all a summer day may bring. + +In this sweet calm, my young heart lay at rest, +Filled with a blissful sense of peace; nor guessed +That sullen clouds were gathering in the skies +To hide the glorious sun, ere it should rise. + + +_PART II._ + +To little birds that never tire of humming +About the garden, in the summer weather, +Aunt Ruth compared us, after Helen's coming, +As we two roamed, or sat and talked together. +Twelve months apart, we had so much to say +Of school days gone--and time since passed away; +Of that old friend, and this; of what we'd done; +Of how our separate paths in life had run; +Of what we would do, in the coming years; +Of plans and castles, hopes and dreams and fears. +All these, and more, as soon as we found speech, +We touched upon, and skimmed from this to that +But at the first, each only gazed on each, +And, dumb with joy, that did not need a voice +Like lesser joys, to say, "Lo! I rejoice," +With smiling eyes and clasping hands we sat +Wrapped in that peace, felt but with those dear, +Contented just to know each other near. +But when this silent eloquence gave place +To words, 'twas like the rising of a flood +Above a dam. We sat there, face to face, +And let our talk glide on where'er it would, +Speech never halting in its speed or zest, +Save when our rippling laughter let it rest; +Just as a stream will sometimes pause and play +About a bubbling spring, then dash away. +No wonder, then, the third day's sun was nigh +Up to the zenith when my friend and I +Opened our eyes from slumber long and deep: +Nature demanding recompense for hours +Spent in the portico, among the flowers, +Halves of two nights we should have spent in sleep. + +So this third day, we breakfasted at one: +Then walked about the garden in the sun, +Hearing the thrushes and the robins sing, +And looking to see what buds were opening. + +The clock chimed three, and we yet strayed at will +About the yard in morning dishabille, +When Aunt Ruth came, with apron o'er her head, +Holding a letter in her hand, and said, +"Here is a note, from Vivian I opine; +At least his servant brought it. And now, girls, +You may think this is no concern of mine, +But in my day young ladies did not go, +Till almost bed-time roaming to and fro +In morning wrappers, and with tangled curls, +The very pictures of forlorn distress. +'Tis three o'clock, and time for you to dress. +Come! read your note and hurry in, Maurine, +And make yourself fit object to be seen." + +Helen was bending o'er an almond bush, +And ere she looked up I had read the note, +And calmed my heart, that, bounding, sent a flush +To brow and cheek, at sight of aught _he_ wrote. +"Ma Belle Maurine:" (so Vivian's billet ran,) +"Is it not time I saw your cherished guest? +'Pity the sorrows of a poor young man,' +Banished from all that makes existence blest. +I'm dying to see--your friend; and I will come +And pay respects, hoping you'll be at home +To-night at eight. Expectantly, V. D." + +Inside my belt I slipped the billet, saying, +"Helen, go make yourself most fair to see: +Quick! hurry now! no time for more delaying! +In just five hours a caller will be here, +And you must look your prettiest, my dear! +Begin your toilet right away. I know +How long it takes you to arrange each bow-- +To twist each curl, and loop your skirts aright. +And you must prove you are _au fait_ to-night, +And make a perfect toilet: for our caller +Is man, and critic, poet, artist, scholar, +And views with eyes of all." + "Oh, oh! Maurine," +Cried Helen with a well-feigned look of fear, +"You've frightened me so I shall not appear: +I'll hide away, refusing to be seen +By such an ogre. Woe is me! bereft +Of all my friends, my peaceful home I've left, +And strayed away into the dreadful wood +To meet the fate of poor Red Riding Hood. +No, Maurine, no! you've given me such a fright, +I'll not go near your ugly wolf to-night." + +Meantime we'd left the garden; and I stood +In Helen's room, where she had thrown herself +Upon a couch, and lay, a winsome elf, +Pouting and smiling, cheek upon her arm, +Not in the least a portrait of alarm. +"Now sweet!" I coaxed, and knelt by her, "be good! +Go curl your hair; and please your own Maurine, +By putting on that lovely grenadine. +Not wolf, nor ogre, neither Caliban, +Nor Mephistopheles, you'll meet to-night, +But what the ladies call 'a nice young man'! +Yet one worth knowing--strong with health and might +Of perfect manhood; gifted, noble, wise; +Moving among his kind with loving eyes, +And helpful hand; progressive, brave, refined, +After the image of his Maker's mind." + +"Now, now, Maurine!" cried Helen, "I believe +It is your lover coming here this eve. +Why have you never written of him, pray? +Is the day set?--and when? Say, Maurine, say!" + +Had I betrayed by some too fervent word +The secret love that all my being stirred? +My lover? Ay! My heart proclaimed him so; +But first _his_ lips must win the sweet confession, +Ere even Helen be allowed to know. +I must straightway erase the slight impression +Made by the words just uttered. + "Foolish child!" +I gayly cried, "your fancy's straying wild. +Just let a girl of eighteen hear the name +Of maid and youth uttered about one time, +And off her fancy goes, at break-neck pace, +Defying circumstances, reason, space-- +And straightway builds romances so sublime +They put all Shakespeare's dramas to the shame. +This Vivian Dangerfield is neighbor, friend +And kind companion; bringing books and flowers. +And, by his thoughtful actions without end, +Helping me pass some otherwise long hours; +But he has never breathed a word of love. +If you still doubt me, listen while I prove +My statement by the letter that he wrote. +'Dying to meet--my friend!' (she could not see +The dash between that meant so much to me.) +'Will come this eve, at eight, and hopes we may +Be in to greet him.' Now I think you'll say +'Tis not much like a lover's tender note." + +We laugh, we jest, not meaning what we say; +We hide our thoughts, by light words lightly spoken, +And pass on heedless, till we find one day +They've bruised our hearts, or left some other broken. + +I sought my room, and trilling some blithe air, +Opened my wardrobe, wondering what to wear. +Momentous question! femininely human! +More than all others, vexing mind of woman, +Since that sad day, when in her discontent, +To search for leaves, our fair first mother went. +All undecided what I should put on, +At length I made selection of a lawn-- +White, with a tiny pink vine overrun:-- +My simplest robe, but Vivian's favorite one. +And placing a single flowret in my hair, +I crossed the hall to Helen's chamber, where +I found her with her fair locks all let down, +Brushing the kinks out, with a pretty frown. +'T was like a picture, or a pleasing play, +To watch her make her toilet. She would stand, +And turn her head first this and then that way, +Trying effect of ribbon, bow or band. +Then she would pick up something else, and curve +Her lovely neck, with cunning, bird-like grace, +And watch the mirror while she put it on, +With such a sweetly grave and thoughtful face; +And then to view it all would sway, and swerve +Her lithe young body, like a graceful swan. + +Helen was over medium height, and slender +Even to frailty. Her great, wistful eyes +Were like the deep blue of autumnal skies; +And through them looked her soul, large, loving, tender. +Her long, light hair was lusterless, except +Upon the ends, where burnished sunbeams slept, +And on the earlocks; and she looped the curls +Back with a shell comb, studded thick with pearls, +Costly yet simple. Her pale loveliness, +That night, was heightened by her rich, black dress, +That trailed behind her, leaving half in sight +Her taper arms, and shoulders marble white. + +I was not tall as Helen, and my face +Was shaped and colored like my grandsire's race; +For through his veins my own received the warm, +Red blood of southern France, which curved my form, +And glowed upon my cheek in crimson dyes, +And bronzed my hair, and darkled in my eyes. +And as the morning trails the skirts of night, +And dusky night puts on the garb of morn, +And walk together when the day is born, +So we two glided down the hall and stair, +Arm clasping arm, into the parlor, where +Sat Vivian, bathed in sunset's gorgeous light. +He rose to greet us. Oh! his form was grand; +And he possessed that power, strange, occult, +Called magnetism, lacking better word, +Which moves the world, achieving great result +Where genius fails completely. Touch his hand, +It thrilled through all your being--meet his eye, +And you were moved, yet knew not how, or why. +Let him but rise, you felt the air was stirred +By an electric current. + + This strange force +Is mightier than genius. Rightly used, +It leads to grand achievements; all things yield +Before its mystic presence, and its field +Is broad as earth and heaven. But abused, +It sweeps like a poison simoon on its course +Bearing miasma in its scorching breath, +And leaving all it touches struck with death. + +Far-reaching science shall yet tear away +The mystic garb that hides it from the day, +And drag it forth and bind it with its laws, +And make it serve the purposes of men, +Guided by common sense and reason. Then +We'll hear no more of seance, table-rapping, +And all that trash, o'er which the world is gaping, +Lost in effect, while science seeks the cause. + +Vivian was not conscious of his power: +Or, if he was, knew not its full extent. +He knew his glance would make a wild beast cower, +And yet he knew not that his large eyes sent +Into the heart of woman the same thrill +That made the lion servant of his will. +And even strong men felt it. + + He arose, +Reached forth his hand, and in it clasped my own, +While I held Helen's; and he spoke some word +Of pleasant greeting in his low, round tone, +Unlike all other voices I have heard. +Just as the white cloud, at the sunrise, glows +With roseate colors, so the pallid hue +Of Helen's cheek, like tinted sea-shells grew. +Through mine, his hand caused hers to tremble; such +Was the all-mast'ring magic of his touch. + +Then we sat down, and talked about the weather, +The neighborhood--some author's last new book. +But, when I could, I left the two together +To make acquaintance, saying I must look +After the chickens--my especial care; +And ran away, and left them, laughing, there. + +Knee-deep, through clover, to the poplar grove, +I waded, where my pets were wont to rove: +And there I found the foolish mother hen +Brooding her chickens underneath a tree, +An easy prey for foxes. "Chick-a-dee," +Quoth I, while reaching for the downy things +That, chirping, peeped from out the mother-wings, +"How very human is your folly! When +There waits a haven, pleasant, bright, and warm, +And one to lead you thither from the storm +And lurking dangers, yet you turn away. +And, thinking to be your own protector, stray +Into the open jaws of death: for, see! +An owl is sitting in this very tree +You thought safe shelter. Go now to your pen." +And, followed by the clucking, clamorous hen, +So like the human mother here again, +Moaning because a strong, protecting arm +Would shield her little ones from cold and harm, +I carried back my garden hat brimful +Of chirping chickens, like white balls of wool, +And snugly housed them. + And just then I heard +A sound like gentle winds among the trees, +Or pleasant waters in the Summer, stirred +And set in motion by a passing breeze. +'T was Helen singing: and, as I drew near, +Another voice, a tenor full and clear, +Mingled with hers, as murmuring streams unite, +And flow on stronger in their wedded might. +It was a way of Helen's, not to sing +The songs that other people sang. She took +Sometimes an extract from an ancient book; +Again some floating, fragmentary thing +And such she fitted to old melodies, +Or else composed the music. One of these +She sang that night; and Vivian caught the strain, +And joined her in the chorus, or refrain, + + SONG. + + O thou, mine other, stronger part! + Whom yet I cannot hear, or see, + Come thou, and take this loving heart, + That longs to yield its all to thee, + I call mine own--Oh, come to me! + Love, answer back, I come to thee, + I come to thee. + + This hungry heart, so warm, so large, + Is far too great a care for me. + I have grown weary of the charge + I keep so sacredly for thee. + Come thou, and take my heart from me. + Love, answer back, I come to thee, + I come to thee. + + I am aweary, waiting here + For one who tarries long from me. + O! art thou far, or art thou near? + And must I still be sad for thee? + Or wilt thou straightway come to me? + Love, answer, I am near to thee, + I come to thee. + +The melody, so full of plaintive chords, +Sobbed into silence--echoing down the strings +Like voice of one who walks from us, and sings. +Vivian had leaned upon the instrument +The while they sang. But, as he spoke those words, +"Love, I am near to thee, I come to thee," +He turned his grand head slowly round, and bent +His lustrous, soulful, speaking gaze on me. +And my young heart, eager to own its king, +Sent to my eyes a great, glad, trustful light +Of love and faith, and hung upon my cheek +Hope's rose-hued flag. There was no need to speak. +I crossed the room, and knelt by Helen. "Sing +That song you sang a fragment of one night, +Out on the porch, beginning, 'Praise me not,'" +I whispered: and her sweet and plaintive tone +Rose, low and tender, as if she had caught +From some sad passing breeze, and made her own, +The echo of the wind-harp's sighing strain, +Or the soft music of the falling rain. + + SONG. + + O praise me not with your lips, dear one! + Though your tender words I prize. + But dearer by far is the soulful gaze + Of your eyes, your beautiful eyes, + Your tender, loving eyes. + + O chide me not with your lips, dear one! + Though I cause your bosom sighs. + You can make repentance deeper far + By your sad, reproving eyes, + Your sorrowful, troubled eyes. + + Words, at the best, are but hollow sounds; + Above, in the beaming skies, + The constant stars say never a word, + But only smile with their eyes-- + Smile on with their lustrous eyes. + + Then breathe no vow with your lips, dear one; + On the winged wind speech flies. + But I read the truth of your noble heart + In your soulful, speaking eyes-- + In your deep and beautiful eyes. + +The twilight darkened 'round us, in the room, +While Helen sang; and, in the gathering gloom, +Vivian reached out, and took my hand in his, +And held it so; while Helen made the air +Languid with music. Then a step drew near, +And voice of Aunt Ruth broke the spell: + "Dear! dear! +Why Maurie, Helen, children! how is this? +I hear you, but you have no light in there. +Your room is dark as Egypt. What a way +For folks to visit!--Maurie, go, I pray, +And order lamps." + And so there came a light, +And all the sweet dreams hovering around +The twilight shadows flitted in affright: +And e'en the music had a harsher sound. + +In pleasant converse passed an hour away: +And Vivian planned a picnic for next day-- +A drive the next, and rambles without end, +That he might help me entertain my friend. +And then he rose, bowed low, and passed from sight, +Like some great star that drops out from the night; +And Helen watched him through the shadows go, +And turned and said, her voice subdued and low, +"How tall he is! in all my life, Maurine, +A grander man I never yet have seen." + + +_PART III._ + +One golden twelfth-part of a checkered year; +One summer month, of sunlight, moonlight, mirth +With not a hint of shadows lurking near, +Or storm-clouds brewing. + + 'T was a royal day: +Voluptuous July held her lover, Earth, +With her warm arms, upon her glowing breast, +And twined herself about him, as he lay +Smiling and panting in his dream-stirred rest. +She bound him with her limbs of perfect grace, +And hid him with her trailing robe of green, +And wound him in her long hair's shimmering sheen, +And rained her ardent kisses on his face. + +Through the glad glory of the summer land +Helen and I went wandering, hand in hand. +In winding paths, hard by the ripe wheat-field, +White with the promise of a bounteous yield, +Across the late shorn meadow--down the hill, +Red with the tiger-lily blossoms, till +We stood upon the borders of the lake, +That like a pretty, placid infant, slept +Low at its base: and little ripples crept +Along its surface, just as dimples chase +Each other o'er an infant's sleeping face + +Helen in idle hours had learned to make +A thousand pretty, feminine knick-knacks: +For brackets, ottomans, and toilet stands-- +Labor just suited to her dainty hands. +That morning she had been at work in wax, +Molding a wreath of flowers for my room,-- +Taking her patterns from the living blows, +In all their dewy beauty and sweet bloom, +Fresh from my garden. Fuchsia, tulip, rose, +And trailing ivy, grew beneath her touch, +Resembling the living plants as much +As life is copied in the form of death: +These lacking but the perfume, and that, breath. + +And now the wreath was all completed, save +The mermaid blossom of all flowerdom, +A water-lily, dripping from the wave. +And 'twas in search of it that we had come +Down to the lake, and wandered on the beach, +To see if any lilies grew in reach. +Some broken stalks, where flowers late had been; +Some buds, with all their beauties folded in, +We found, but not the treasure that we sought +And then we turned our footsteps to the spot +Where, all impatient of its chain, my boat, +"The Swan," rocked, asking to be set afloat +It was a dainty row-boat--strong, yet light; +Each side a swan was painted snowy white: +A present from my uncle, just before +He sailed, with Death, to that mysterious strand, +Where freighted ships go sailing evermore, +But none return to tell us of the land. + +I freed the "Swan," and slowly rowed about, +Wherever sea-weeds, grass, or green leaves lifted +Their tips above the water. So we drifted, +While Helen, opposite, leaned idly out +And watched for lilies in the waves below, +And softly crooned some sweet and dreamy air, +That soothed me like a mother's lullabies. +I dropped the oars, and closed my sun-kissed eyes, +And let the boat go drifting here and there. +Oh, happy day! the last of that brief time +Of thoughtless youth, when all the world seems bright, +Ere that disguised angel men call Woe +Leads the sad heart through valleys dark as night, +Up to the heights exalted and sublime. +On each blest, happy moment, I am fain +To linger long, ere I pass on to pain +And sorrow that succeeded. + + From day-dreams, +As golden as the summer noontide's beams, +I was awakened by a voice that cried: +"Strange ship, ahoy! Fair frigate, whither bound?" +And, starting up, I cast my gaze around, +And saw a sail-boat o'er the water glide +Close to the "Swan," like some live thing of grace; +And from it looked the glowing, handsome face +Of Vivian. + + "Beauteous sirens of the sea, +Come sail across the raging main with me!" +He laughed; and leaning, drew our drifting boat +Beside his own. "There, now! step in!" he said, +"I'll land you anywhere you want to go-- +My boat is safer far than yours, I know: +And much more pleasant with its sails all spread. +The Swan? We'll take the oars, and let it float +Ashore at leisure. You, Maurine, sit there-- +Miss Helen here. Ye gods and little fishes! +I've reached the height of pleasure, and my wishes. +Adieu despondency! farewell to care!" + +'T was done so quickly: that was Vivian's way. +He did not wait for either yea or nay. +He gave commands, and left you with no choice +But just to do the bidding of his voice. +His rare, kind smile, low tones, and manly face +Lent to his quick imperiousness a grace +And winning charm, completely stripping it +Of what might otherwise have seemed unfit. +Leaving no trace of tyranny, but just +That nameless force that seemed to say, "You must." +Suiting its pretty title of "The Dawn," +(So named, he said, that it might rhyme with "Swan,") +Vivian's sail-boat, was carpeted with blue, +While all its sails were of a pale rose hue. +The daintiest craft that flirted with the breeze; +A poet's fancy in an hour of ease. + +Whatever Vivian had was of the best. +His room was like some Sultan's in the East. +His board was always spread as for a feast. +Whereat, each meal, he was both host and guest. +He would go hungry sooner than he'd dine +At his own table if 'twere illy set. +He so loved things artistic in design-- +Order and beauty, all about him. Yet +So kind he was, if it befell his lot +To dine within the humble peasant's cot, +He made it seem his native soil to be, +And thus displayed the true gentility. + +Under the rosy banners of the "Dawn," +Around the lake we drifted on, and on. +It was a time for dreams, and not for speech. +And so we floated on in silence, each +Weaving the fancies suiting such a day. +Helen leaned idly o'er the sail-boat's side, +And dipped her rosy fingers in the tide; +And I among the cushions half reclined, +Half sat, and watched the fleecy clouds at play +While Vivian with his blank-book, opposite, +In which he seemed to either sketch or write +Was lost in inspiration of some kind. + +No time, no change, no scene, can e'er efface +My mind's impression of that hour and place; +It stands out like a picture. O'er the years, +Black with their robes of sorrow--veiled with tears, +Lying with all their lengthened shapes between, +Untouched, undimmed, I still behold that scene. +Just as the last of Indian-summer days, +Replete with sunlight, crowned with amber haze, +Followed by dark and desolate December, +Through all the months of winter we remember. + +The sun slipped westward. That peculiar change +Which creeps into the air, and speaks of night +While yet the day is full of golden light, +We felt steal o'er us. + Vivian broke the spell +Of dream-fraught silence, throwing down his book: +"Young ladies, please allow me to arrange +These wraps about your shoulders. I know well +The fickle nature of our atmosphere,-- +Her smile swift followed by a frown or tear,-- +And go prepared for changes. Now you look, +Like--like--oh, where's a pretty simile? +Had you a pocket mirror here you'd see +How well my native talent is displayed +In shawling you. Red on the brunette maid; +Blue on the blonde--and quite without design +(Oh, where _is_ that comparison of mine?) +Well--like a June rose and a violet blue +In one bouquet! I fancy that will do. +And now I crave your patience and a boon, +Which is to listen, while I read my rhyme, +A floating fancy of the summer time. +'Tis neither witty, wonderful, nor wise, +So listen kindly--but don't criticise +My maiden effort of the afternoon: + + "If all the ships I have at sea + Should come a-sailing home to me, + Ah, well! the harbor could not hold + So many sails as there would be + If all my ships came in from sea. + + "If half my ships came home from sea, + And brought their precious freight to me, + Ah, well! I should have wealth as great + As any king who sits in state-- + So rich the treasures that would be + In half my ships now out at sea. + + "If just one ship I have at sea + Should come a-sailing home to me, + Ah, well! the storm-clouds then might frown: + For if the others all went down + Still rich and proud and glad I'd be, + If that one ship came back to me. + + "If that one ship went down at sea, + And all the others came to me, + Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, + With glory, honor, riches, gold, + The poorest soul on earth I'd be + If that one ship came not to me. + + "O skies be calm? O winds blow free-- + Blow all my ships safe home to me. + But if thou sendest some a-wrack + To never more come sailing back, + Send any--all, that skim the sea, + But bring my love-ship home to me." + +Helen was leaning by me, and her head +Rested against my shoulder: as he read, +I stroked her hair, and watched the fleecy skies, +And when he finished, did not turn my eyes. +I felt too happy and too shy to meet +His gaze just then. I said, "'Tis very sweet, +And suits the day; does it not, Helen, dear?" +But Helen, voiceless, did not seem to hear. +"'Tis strange," I added, "how you poets sing +So feelingly about the very thing +You care not for! and dress up an ideal +So well, it looks a living, breathing real! +Now, to a listener, your love song seemed +A heart's out-pouring; yet I've heard you say +Almost the opposite; or that you deemed +Position, honor, glory, power, fame, +Gained without loss of conscience or good name, +The things to live for." + "Have you? Well you may," +Laughed Vivian, "but 'twas years--or months ago! +And Solomon says wise men change, you know! +I now speak truth! if she I hold most dear +Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left, +My heart would find the years more lonely here. +Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends, bereft, +And sent an exile to a foreign land." + +His voice was low, and measured: as he spoke, +New, unknown chords of melody awoke +Within my soul. I felt my heart expand +With that sweet fullness born of love. I turned +To hide the blushes on my cheek that burned, +And leaning over Helen, breathed her name. +She lay so motionless I thought she slept: +But, as I spoke, I saw her eyes unclose, +And o'er her face a sudden glory swept, +And a slight tremor thrilled all through her frame. +"Sweet friend," I said, "your face is full of light: +What were the dreams that made your eyes so bright?" + +She only smiled for answer, and arose +From her reclining posture at my side, +Threw back the clust'ring ringlets from her face +With a quick gesture, full of easy grace, +And, turning, spoke to Vivian. "Will you guide +The boat up near that little clump of green +Off to the right? There's where the lilies grow. +We quite forgot our errand here, Maurine, +And our few moments have grown into hours. +What will Aunt Ruth think of our ling'ring so? +There--that will do--now I can reach the flowers." + +"Hark! just hear that!" and Vivian broke forth singing, +"Row, brothers, row." "The six o'clock bell's ringing! +Who ever knew three hours to go so fast +In all the annals of the world, before? +I could have sworn not over one had passed. +Young ladies, I am forced to go ashore! +I thank you for the pleasure you have given; +This afternoon has been a glimpse of heaven. +Good night--sweet dreams! and by your gracious leave, +I'll pay my compliments to-morrow eve." + +A smile, a bow, and he had gone his way: +And, in the waning glory of the day, +Down cool, green lanes, and through the length'ning shadows, +Silent, we wandered back across the meadows. +The wreath was finished, and adorned my room; +Long afterward, the lilies' copied bloom +Was like a horrid specter in my sight, +Staring upon me morning, noon, and night. + +The sun went down. The sad new moon rose up, +And passed before me, like an empty cup, +The Great Unseen brims full of pain or bliss, +And gives His children, saying, "Drink of this." + +A light wind, from the open casement, fanned +My brow and Helen's, as we, hand in hand, +Sat looking out upon the twilight scene, +In dreamy silence. Helen's dark blue eyes, +Like two lost stars that wandered from the skies +Some night adown the meteor's shining track, +And always had been grieving to go back, +Now gazed up, wistfully, at heaven's dome, +And seemed to recognize and long for home. +Her sweet voice broke the silence: "Wish, Maurine, +Before you speak! you know the moon is new, +And anything you wish for will come true +Before it wanes. I do believe the sign! +Now tell me your wish, and I'll tell you mine." + +I turned and looked up at the slim young moon; +And, with an almost superstitious heart, +I sighed, "Oh, new moon! help me, by thine art, +To grow all grace and goodness, and to be +Worthy the love a true heart proffers me." +Then smiling down, I said, "Dear one! my boon, +I fear, is quite too silly or too sweet +For my repeating: so we'll let it stay +Between the moon and me. But if I may +I'll listen now to your wish. Tell me, please!" + +All suddenly she nestled at my feet, +And hid her blushing face upon my knees. +Then drew my hand against her glowing cheek, +And, leaning on my breast, began to speak, +Half sighing out the words my tortured ear +Reached down to catch, while striving not to hear. + +"Can you not guess who 'twas about, Maurine? +Oh, my sweet friend! you must ere this have seen +The love I tried to cover from all eyes +And from myself. Ah, foolish little heart! +As well it might go seeking for some art +Whereby to hide the sun in noonday skies. +When first the strange sound of his voice I heard, +Looked on his noble face, and touched his hand, +My slumb'ring heart thrilled through and through, and stirred +As if to say, 'I hear, and understand.' +And day by day mine eyes were blest beholding +The inner beauty of his life, unfolding +In countless words and actions, that portrayed +The noble stuff of which his soul was made. +And more and more I felt my heart upreaching +Toward the truth, drawn gently by his teaching, +As flowers are drawn by sunlight. And there grew +A strange, shy something in its depths, I knew +At length was love, because it was so sad, +And yet so sweet, and made my heart so glad, + +Yet seemed to pain me. Then, for very shame, +Lest all should read my secret and its name. +I strove to hide it in my breast away, +Where God could see it only. But each day +It seemed to grow within me, and would rise, +Like my own soul, and look forth from my eyes, +Defying bonds of silence; and would speak, +In its red-lettered language, on my cheek, +If but his name was uttered. You were kind, +My own Maurine! as you alone could be, +So long the sharer of my heart and mind, +While yet you saw, in seeming not to see. +In all the years we have been friends, my own. +And loved as women very rarely do, +My heart no sorrow and no joy has known +It has not shared at once, in full, with you +And I so longed to speak to you of this, +When first I felt its mingled pain and bliss; +Yet dared not, lest you, knowing him, should say, +In pity for my folly--'Lack-a-day! +You are undone: because no mortal art +Can win the love of such a lofty heart.' +And so I waited, silent and in pain, +Till I could know I did not love in vain. +And now I know, beyond a doubt or fear. +Did he not say, 'If she I hold most dear +Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left, +My heart would find the years more lonely here +Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends, bereft, +And sent, an exile, to a foreign land'? +Oh, darling, you must _love_, to understand +The joy that thrilled all through me at those words. +It was as if a thousand singing birds +Within my heart broke forth in notes of praise. +I did not look up, but I knew his gaze +Was on my face, and that his eyes must see +The joy I felt almost transfigured me. +He loves me--loves me! so the birds kept singing, +And all my soul with that sweet strain is ringing. +If there were added but one drop of bliss, +No more my cup would hold: and so, this eve, +I made a wish that I might feel his kiss +Upon my lips, ere yon pale moon should leave +The stars all lonely, having waned away, +Too old and weak and bowed with care to stay." + +Her voice sighed into silence. While she spoke +My heart writhed in me, praying she would cease-- +Each word she uttered falling like a stroke +On my bare soul. And now a hush like death, +Save that 'twas broken by a quick-drawn breath, +Fell 'round me, but brought not the hoped-for peace. +For when the lash no longer leaves its blows, +The flesh still quivers, and the blood still flows. + +She nestled on my bosom like a child. +And 'neath her head my tortured heart throbbed wild +With pain and pity. She had told her tale-- +Her self-deceiving story to the end. +How could I look down on her as she lay +So fair, and sweet, and lily-like, and frail-- +A tender blossom on my breast, and say, +"Nay, you are wrong--you do mistake, dear friend! +'Tis I am loved, not you"? Yet that were truth, +And she must know it later. + Should I speak, +And spread a ghastly pallor o'er the cheek +Flushed now with joy?--And while I, doubting, pondered, +She spoke again. "Maurine! I oft have wondered +Why you and Vivian were not lovers. He +Is all a heart could ask its king to be; +And you have beauty, intellect and youth. +I think it strange you have not loved each other-- +Strange how he could pass by you for another +Not half so fair or worthy. Yet I know +A loving Father pre-arranged it so. +I think my heart has known him all these years, +And waited for him. And if when he came +It had been as a lover of my friend, +I should have recognized him, all the same, +As my soul-mate, and loved him to the end, +Hiding my grief, and forcing back my tears +Till on my heart, slow dropping, day by day, +Unseen they fell, and wore it all away. +And so a tender Father kept him free, +With all the largeness of his love, for me-- +For me, unworthy such a precious gift! +Yet I will bend each effort of my life +To grow in grace and goodness, and to lift +My soul and spirit to his lofty height, +So to deserve that holy name, his wife. +Sweet friend, it fills my whole heart with delight +To breathe its long hid secret in your ear. +Speak, my Maurine, and say you love to hear!" +The while she spoke, my active brain gave rise +To one great thought of mighty sacrifice +And self-denial. Oh! it blanched my cheek, +And wrung my soul; and from my heart it drove +All life and feeling. Coward-like, I strove +To send it from me; but I felt it cling +And hold fast on my mind like some live thing; +And all the Self within me felt its touch +And cried, "No, no! I cannot do so much-- +I am not strong enough--there is no call." +And then the voice of Helen bade me speak, +And with a calmness born of nerve, I said, +Scarce knowing what I uttered, "Sweetheart, all +Your joys and sorrows are with mine own wed. +I thank you for your confidence, and pray +I may deserve it always. But, dear one, +Something--perhaps our boat-ride in the sun, +Has set my head to aching. I must go +To bed directly; and you will, I know, +Grant me your pardon, and another day +We'll talk of this together. Now good night +And angels guard you with their wings of light." + +I kissed her lips, and held her on my heart, +And viewed her as I ne'er had done before. +I gazed upon her features o'er and o'er; +Marked her white, tender face--her fragile form, +Like some frail plant that withers in the storm; +Saw she was fairer in her new-found joy +Than e'er before; and thought, "Can I destroy +God's handiwork, or leave it at the best +A broken harp, while I close clasp my bliss?" +I bent my head and gave her one last kiss, +And sought my room, and found there such relief +As sad hearts feel when first alone with grief. + +The moon went down, slow sailing from my sight, +And left the stars to watch away the night. +O stars, sweet stars, so changeless and serene! +What depths of woe your pitying eyes have seen! +The proud sun sets, and leaves us with our sorrow, +To grope alone in darkness till the morrow. +The languid moon, e'en if she deigns to rise, +Soon seeks her couch, grown weary of our sighs; +But from the early gloaming till the day +Sends golden-liveried heralds forth to say +He comes in might; the patient stars shine on, +Steadfast and faithful, from twilight to dawn. +And, as they shone upon Gethsemane, +And watched the struggle of a God-like soul, +Now from the same far height they shone on me, +And saw the waves of anguish o'er me roll. + +The storm had come upon me all unseen: +No sound of thunder fell upon my ear; +No cloud arose to tell me it was near; +But under skies all sunlit, and serene, +I floated with the current of the stream, +And thought life all one golden-haloed dream. +When lo! a hurricane, with awful force, +Swept swift upon its devastating course, +Wrecked my frail bark, and cast me on the wave +Where all my hopes had found a sudden grave. +Love makes us blind and selfish: otherwise +I had seen Helen's secret in her eyes; +So used I was to reading every look +In her sweet face, as I would read a book. +But now, made sightless by love's blinding rays, +I had gone on unseeing, to the end +Where Pain dispelled the mist of golden haze +That walled me in, and lo! I found my friend +Who journeyed with me--at my very side, +Had been sore wounded to the heart, while I +Both deaf and blind, saw not, nor heard her cry. +And then I sobbed, "O God! I would have died +To save her this." And as I cried in pain, +There leaped forth from the still, white realm of Thought +Where Conscience dwells, that unimpassioned spot +As widely different from the heart's domain +As north from south--the impulse felt before, +And put away; but now it rose once more, +In greater strength, and said, "Heart, would'st thou prove +What lips have uttered? Then go lay thy love +On Friendship's altar, as thy offering." +"Nay!" cried my heart, "ask any other thing-- +Ask life itself--'twere easier sacrifice. +But ask not love, for that I cannot give." + +"But," spoke the voice, "the meanest insect dies, +And is no hero! heroes dare to live +When all that makes life sweet is snatched away." +So with my heart, in converse, till the day +In gold and crimson billows, rose and broke, +The voice of Conscience, all unwearied, spoke. +Love warred with Friendship: heart with Conscience fought, +Hours rolled away, and yet the end was not. +And wily Self, tricked out like tenderness, +Sighed, "Think how one, whose life thou wert to bless, +Will be cast down, and grope in doubt and fear! +Wouldst thou wound him, to give thy friend relief? +Can wrong make right?" + "Nay!" Conscience said, "but Pride +And Time can heal the saddest hurts of Love. +While Friendship's wounds gape wide and yet more wide, +And bitter fountains of the spirit prove." + +At length, exhausted with the wearing strife, +I cast the new-found burden of my life +On God's broad breast, and sought that deep repose +That only he who watched with sorrow knows. + + +_PART IV._ + +"Maurine, Maurine! 'tis ten o'clock! arise, +My pretty sluggard! open those dark eyes, +And see where yonder sun is! Do you know +I made my toilet just four hours ago?" + +'T was Helen's voice: and Helen's gentle kiss +Fell on my cheek. As from a deep abyss, +I drew my weary self from that strange sleep +That rests not, nor refreshes. Scarce awake +Or conscious, yet there seemed a heavy weight +Bound on my breast, as by a cruel Fate. +I knew not why, and yet I longed to weep. +Some dark cloud seemed to hang upon the day; +And, for a moment, in that trance I lay, +When suddenly the truth did o'er me break, +Like some great wave upon a helpless child. +The dull pain in my breast grew like a knife-- +The heavy throbbing of my heart grew wild, +And God gave back the burden of the life +He kept what time I slumbered. + "You are ill," +Cried Helen, "with that blinding headache still! +You look so pale and weary. Now let me +Play nurse, Maurine, and care for you to-day! +And first I'll suit some dainty to your taste, +And bring it to you, with a cup of tea." +And off she ran, not waiting my reply. +But, wanting most the sunshine and the light, +I left my couch, and clothed myself in haste, +And, kneeling, sent to God an earnest cry +For help and guidance. + "Show Thou me the way, +Where duty leads; for I am blind! my sight +Obscured by self. Oh, lead my steps aright! +Help me see the path: and if it may, +Let this cup pass:--and yet Thou heavenly One +Thy will in all things, not mine own, be done." +Rising, I went upon my way, receiving +The strength prayer gives alway to hearts believing. +I felt that unseen hands were leading me, +And knew the end was peace. + "What! are you up?" +Cried Helen, coming with a tray, and cup, +Of tender toast, and fragrant smoking tea. +"You naughty girl! you should have stayed in bed +Until you ate your breakfast, and were better +I've something hidden for you here--a letter. +But drink your tea before you read it, dear! +'Tis from some distant cousin, Auntie said, +And so you need not hurry. Now be good, +And mind your Helen." + So, in passive mood, +I laid the still unopened letter near, +And loitered at my breakfast more to please +My nurse, than any hunger to appease. +Then listlessly I broke the seal and read +The few lines written in a bold free hand: +"New London, Canada. Dear Coz. Maurine! +(In spite of generations stretched between +Our natural right to that most handy claim +Of cousinship, we'll use it all the same) +I'm coming to see you! honestly, in truth! +I've threatened often--now I mean to act. +You'll find my coming is a stubborn fact. +Keep quiet though, and do not tell Aunt Ruth +I wonder if she'll know her petted boy +In spite of changes. Look for me until +You see me coming. As of old I'm still +Your faithful friend, and loving cousin, Roy." + +So Roy was coming! He and I had played +As boy and girl, and later, youth and maid, +Full half our lives together. He had been, +Like me, an orphan; and the roof of kin +Gave both kind shelter. Swift years sped away +Ere change was felt: and then one summer day +A long lost uncle sailed from India's shore-- +Made Roy his heir, and he was ours no more. + +"He'd write us daily, and we'd see his face +Once every year." Such was his promise given +The morn he left. But now the years were seven +Since last he looked upon the olden place. +He'd been through college, traveled in all lands, +Sailed over seas, and trod the desert sands. +Would write and plan a visit, then, ere long, +Would write again from Egypt or Hong Kong-- +Some fancy called him thither unforeseen. +So years had passed, till seven lay between +His going and the coming of this note, +Which I hid in my bosom, and replied +To Aunt Ruth's queries, "What the truant wrote?" +By saying he was still upon the wing, +And merely dropped a line, while journeying, +To say he lived: and she was satisfied. + +Sometimes it happens, in this world so strange, +A human heart will pass through mortal strife, +And writhe in torture: while the old sweet life +So full of hope, and beauty, bloom and grace, +Is slowly strangled by remorseless Pain: +And one stern, cold, relentless, takes its place-- +A ghastly, pallid specter of the slain. +Yet those in daily converse see no change +Nor dream the heart has suffered. + So that day +I passed along toward the troubled way +Stern duty pointed, and no mortal guessed +A mighty conflict had disturbed my breast. + +I had resolved to yield up to my friend +The man I loved. Since she, too, loved him so +I saw no other way in honor left. +She was so weak and fragile, once bereft +Of this great hope, that held her with such power +She would wilt down, like some frost-bitten flower +And swift untimely death would be the end. +But I was strong: and hardy plants, which grow +In out-door soil, can bear bleak winds that blow +From Arctic lands, whereof a single breath +Would lay the hot-house blossom low in death. + +The hours went by, too slow, and yet too fast. +All day I argued with my foolish heart +That bade me play the shrinking coward's part +And hide from pain. And when the day had past +And time for Vivian's call drew near and nearer, +It pleaded. "Wait, until the way seems clearer: +Say you are ill--or busy: keep away +Until you gather strength enough to play +The part you have resolved on." + + "Nay, not so," +Made answer clear-eyed Reason, "Do you go +And put your resolution to the test. +Resolve, however nobly formed, at best +Is but a still born babe of Thought, until +It proves existence of its life and will +By sound or action." + So when Helen came +And knelt by me, her fair face all aflame +With sudden blushes, whispering, "My sweet! +My heart can hear the music of his feet-- +Go down with me to meet him," I arose, +And went with her all calmly, as one goes +To look upon the dear face of the dead. + +That eve, I know not what I did or said. +I was not cold--my manner was not strange: +Perchance I talked more freely than my wont, +But in my speech was naught could give affront; +Yet I conveyed, as only woman can, +That nameless _something_, which bespeaks a change. + +'Tis in the power of woman, if she be +Whole-souled and noble, free from coquetry-- +Her motives all unselfish, worthy, good, +To make herself and feelings understood +By nameless acts--thus sparing what to man, +However gently answered, causes pain, +The offering of his hand and heart in vain. + +She can be friendly, unrestrained, and kind, +Assume no airs of pride or arrogance; +But in her voice, her manner, and her glance, +Convey that mystic something, undefined, +Which men fail not to understand and read, +And, when not blind with egoism, heed. +My task was harder. 'T was the slow undoing +Of long sweet months of unimpeded wooing. +It was to hide and cover and conceal +The truth--assuming, what I did not feel. +It was to dam love's happy singing tide +That blessed me with its hopeful, tuneful tone, +By feigned indiff'rence, till it turned aside, +And changed its channel, leaving me alone +To walk parched plains, and thirst for that sweet draught +My lips had tasted, but another quaffed. +It could be done. For no words yet were spoken-- +None to recall--no pledges to be broken. +"He will be grieved, then angry, cold, then cross," +I reasoned, thinking what would be his part +In this strange drama. "Then, because his he +Feels something lacking, to make good his loss, +He'll turn to Helen: and her gentle grace +And loving acts will win her soon the place +I hold to-day: and like a troubled dream +At length, our past, when he looks back, will seem." +That evening passed with music, chat and song: +But hours that once had flown on airy wings +Now limped on weary, aching limbs along, +Each moment like some dreaded step that brings +A twinge of pain. + As Vivian rose to go, +Slow bending to me, from his greater height, +He took my hand, and, looking in my eyes, +With tender questioning and pained surprise, +Said, "Maurine, you are not yourself to-night! +What is it? Are you ailing?" + "Ailing? no," +I answered, laughing lightly, "I am not: +Just see my cheek, sir! is it thin, or pale? +Now tell me, am I looking very frail?" +"Nay, nay!" he answered, "it can not be _seen_, +The change I speak of--'twas more in your mien: +Preoccupation, or--I know not what! +Miss Helen, am I wrong, or does Maurine +Seem to have something on her mind this eve?" +"She does!" laughed Helen, "and I do believe +I know what 'tis! A letter came to-day +Which she read slyly, and then hid away +Close to her heart, not knowing I was near: +And since she's been as you have seen her here. +See how she blushes! so my random shot +We must believe has struck a tender spot." + +Her rippling laughter floated through the room, +And redder yet I felt the hot blood rise, +Then surge away to leave me pale as death, +Under the dark and swiftly gathering gloom +Of Vivian's questioning, accusing eyes, +That searched my soul. I almost shrieked beneath +That stern, fixed gaze; and stood spellbound until +He turned with sudden movement, gave his hand +To each in turn, and said, "You must not stand +Longer, young ladies, in this open door. +The air is heavy with a cold damp chill. +We shall have rain to-morrow, or before. +Good night." + He vanished in the darkling shade; +And so the dreaded evening found an end, +That saw me grasp the conscience-whetted blade, +And strike a blow for honor and for friend. + +"How swiftly passed the evening!" Helen sighed. +"How long the hours!" my tortured heart replied. +Joy, like a child, with lightsome steps doth glide +By Father Time, and, looking in his face, +Cries, snatching blossoms from the fair road-side, +"I could pluck more, but for thy hurried pace." +The while her elder brother Pain, man grown, +Whose feet are hurt by many a thorn and stone, +Looks to some distant hill-top, high and calm, +Where he shall find not only rest, but balm +For all his wounds, and cries in tones of woe, +"O Father Time! why is thy pace so slow?" + +Two days, all sad with lonely wind and rain, +Went sobbing by, repeating o'er and o'er +The miserere, desolate and drear, +Which every human heart must sometime hear. +Pain is but little varied. Its refrain, +Whate'er the words are, is for aye the same. +The third day brought a change: for with it came +Not only sunny smiles to Nature's face, +But Roy, our Roy came back to us. Once more +We looked into his laughing, handsome eyes, +Which, while they gave Aunt Ruth a glad surprise +In no way puzzled her: for one glance told +What each succeeding one confirmed, that he +Who bent above her with the lissome grace +Of his fine form, though grown so tall, could be +No other than the Roy Montaine of old. + +It was a sweet reunion: and he brought +So much of sunshine with him, that I caught, +Just from his smile alone, enough of gladness +To make my heart forget a time its sadness. +We talked together of the dear old days: +Leaving the present, with its depths and heights +Of life's maturer sorrows and delights, +I turned back to my childhood's level land, +And Roy and I, dear playmates, hand in hand, +Wandered in mem'ry, through the olden ways. + +It was the second evening of his coming. +Helen was playing dreamily, and humming +Some wordless melody of white-souled thought, +While Roy and I sat by the open door, +Re-living childish incidents of yore. +My eyes were glowing, and my cheeks were hot +With warm young blood; excitement, joy, or pain +Alike would send swift coursing through each vein. +Roy, always eloquent, was waxing fine, +And bringing vividly before my gaze +Some old adventure of those halcyon days, +When suddenly in pauses of the talk, +I heard a well-known step upon the walk, +And looked up quickly to meet full in mine +The eyes of Vivian Dangerfield. A flash +Shot from their depths:--a sudden blaze of light +Like that swift followed by the thunder's crash, +Which said, "Suspicion is confirmed by sight," +As they fell on the pleasant door-way scene. +Then o'er his clear-cut face, a cold white look +Crept, like the pallid moonlight o'er a brook, +And, with a slight, proud bending of the head, +He stepped toward us haughtily and said, +"Please pardon my intrusion, Miss Maurine: +I called to ask Miss Trevor for a book +She spoke of lending me: nay, sit you still! +And I, by grant of your permission, will +Pass by to where I hear her playing." + "Stay!" +I said, "one moment, Vivian, if you please;" +And suddenly bereft of all my ease, +And scarcely knowing what to do, or say, +Confused as any school-girl, I arose, +And some way made each to the other known +They bowed, shook hands: then Vivian turned away +And sought out Helen, leaving us alone. + +"One of Miss Trevor's, or of Maurine's beaux? +Which may he be, who cometh like a prince +With haughty bearing, and an eagle eye?" +Roy queried, laughing: and I answered, "Since +You saw him pass me for Miss Trevor's side, +I leave your own good judgment to reply." + +And straightway caused the tide of talk to glide +In other channels, striving to dispel +The sudden gloom that o'er my spirit fell. + +We mortals are such hypocrites at best! +When Conscience tries our courage with a test, +And points to some steep pathway, we set out +Boldly, denying any fear or doubt; +But pause before the first rock in the way, +And, looking back, with tears, at Conscience, say +"We are so sad, dear Conscience! for we would +Most gladly do what to thee seemeth good; +But lo! this rock! we cannot climb it, so +Thou must point out some other way to go." +Yet secretly we are rejoicing: and, +When right before our faces, as we stand +In seeming grief, the rock is cleft in twain, +Leaving the pathway clear, we shrink in pain! +And loth to go, by every act reveal +What we so tried from Conscience to conceal. + +I saw that hour, the way made plain, to do +With scarce an effort, what had seemed a strife +That would require the strength of my whole life. + +Women have quick perceptions: and I knew +That Vivian's heart was full of jealous pain, +Suspecting--nay _believing_ Roy Montaine +To be my lover.--First my altered mien-- +And next the letter--then the door-way scene-- +My flushed face gazing in the one above +That bent so near me, and my strange confusion +When Vivian came, all led to one conclusion: +That I had but been playing with his love, +As women sometimes cruelly do play +With hearts when their true lovers are away. + +There could be nothing easier, than just +To let him linger on in this belief +Till hourly-fed Suspicion and Distrust +Should turn to scorn and anger all his grief. +Compared with me, so doubly sweet and pure +Would Helen seem, my purpose would be sure, +And certain of completion in the end. +But now, the way was made so straight and clear, +My coward heart shrank back in guilty fear, +Till Conscience whispered with her "still small voice," +"The precious time is passing--make thy choice-- +Resign thy love, or slay thy trusting friend." + +The growing moon, watched by the myriad eyes +Of countless stars, went sailing through the skies, +Like some young prince, rising to rule a nation, +To whom all eyes are turned in expectation. +A woman who possesses tact and art +And strength of will can take the hand of doom, +And walk on, smiling sweetly as she goes, +With rosy lips, and rounded cheeks of bloom, +Cheating a loud-tongued world that never knows +The pain and sorrow of her hidden heart. +And so I joined in Roy's bright changing chat; +Answered his sallies--talked of this and that, +My brow unruffled as the calm still wave +That tells not of the wrecked ship, and the grave +Beneath its surface. + Then we heard, ere long, +The sound of Helen's gentle voice in song, +And, rising, entered where the subtle power +Of Vivian's eyes, forgiving while accusing, +Finding me weak, had won me, in that hour; +But Roy, alway polite and debonair +Where ladies were, now hung about my chair +With nameless delicate attentions, using +That air devotional, and those small arts +Acquaintance with society imparts +To men gallant by nature. + 'T was my sex +And not myself he bowed to. Had my place +Been filled that evening by a dowager, +Twice his own age, he would have given her +The same attentions. But they served to vex +Whatever hope in Vivian's heart remained. +The cold, white look crept back upon his face, +Which told how deeply he was hurt and pained. + +Little by little all things had conspired, +To bring events I dreaded, yet desired. +We were in constant intercourse: walks, rides, +Picnics and sails, filled weeks of golden weather, +And almost hourly we were thrown together. +No words were spoken of rebuke or scorn: +Good friends we seemed. But as a gulf divides +This land and that, though lying side by side, +So rolled a gulf between us--deep and wide-- +The gulf of doubt, which widened slowly morn +And noon and night. + Free and informal were +These picnics and excursions. Yet, although +Helen and I would sometimes choose to go +Without our escorts, leaving them quite free. +It happened alway Roy would seek out me +Ere passed the day, while Vivian walked with her. +I had no thought of flirting. Roy was just +Like some dear brother, and I quite forgot +The kinship was so distant it was not +Safe to rely upon in perfect trust, +Without reserve or caution. Many a time +When there was some steep mountain side to climb, +And I grew weary, he would say, "Maurine, +Come rest you here." And I would go and lean +My head upon his shoulder, or would stand +And let him hold in his my willing hand. +The while he stroked it gently with his own. +Or I would let him clasp me with his arm, +Nor entertained a thought of any harm, +Nor once supposed but Vivian was alone +In his suspicions. But ere long the truth +I learned in consternation! both Aunt Ruth +And Helen, honestly, in faith believed +That Roy and I were lovers. + Undeceived, +Some careless words might open Vivian's eyes +And spoil my plans. So reasoning in this wise, +To all their sallies I in jest replied, +To naught assented, and yet naught denied, +With Roy unchanged remaining, confident +Each understood just what the other meant. + +If I grew weary of this double part, +And self-imposed deception caused my heart +Sometimes to shrink, I needed but to gaze +On Helen's face: that wore a look ethereal, +As if she dwelt above the things material +And held communion with the angels. So +I fed my strength and courage through the days. +What time the harvest moon rose full and clear +And cast its ling'ring radiance on the earth, +We made a feast; and called from far and near, +Our friends, who came to share the scene of mirth. +Fair forms and faces flitted to and fro; +But none more sweet than Helen's. Robed in white, +She floated like a vision through the dance. +So frailly fragile and so phantom fair, +She seemed like some stray spirit of the air, +And was pursued by many an anxious glance +That looked to see her fading from the sight +Like figures that a dreamer sees at night. + +And noble men and gallants graced the scene: +Yet none more noble or more grand of mien +Than Vivian--broad of chest and shoulder, tall +And finely formed, as any Grecian god +Whose high-arched foot on Mount Olympus trod. +His clear-cut face was beardless; and, like those +Same Grecian statues, when in calm repose, +Was it in hue and feature. Framed in hair +Dark and abundant; lighted by large eyes +That could be cold as steel in winter air, +Or warm and sunny as Italian skies. + +Weary of mirth and music, and the sound +Of tripping feet, I sought a moment's rest +Within the lib'ry, where a group I found +Of guests, discussing with apparent zest +Some theme of interest--Vivian, near the while, +Leaning and listening with his slow odd smile. +"Now Miss La Pelle, we will appeal to you," +Cried young Guy Semple, as I entered. "We +Have been discussing right before his face, +All unrebuked by him, as you may see, +A poem lately published by our friend: +And we are quite divided. I contend +The poem is a libel and untrue +I hold the fickle women are but few, +Compared with those who are like yon fair moon +That, ever faithful, rises in her place +Whether she's greeted by the flowers of June, +Or cold and dreary stretches of white space." + +"Oh!" cried another, "Mr. Dangerfield, +Look to your laurels! or you needs must yield +The crown to Semple, who, 'tis very plain, +Has mounted Pegasus and grasped his mane." + +All laughed: and then, as Guy appealed to me +I answered lightly, "My young friend, I fear +You chose a most unlucky simile +To prove the truth of woman. To her place +The moon does rise--but with a different face +Each time she comes. But now I needs must hear +The poem read, before I can consent +To pass my judgment on the sentiment." + +All clamored that the author was the man +To read the poem: and, with tones that said +More than the cutting, scornful words he read, +Taking the book Guy gave him, he began: + + HER LOVE. + + The sands upon the ocean side + That change about with every tide, + And never true to one abide, + A woman's love I liken to. + + The summer zephyrs, light and vain, + That sing the same alluring strain + To every grass blade on the plain-- + A woman's love is nothing more. + + The sunshine of an April day + That comes to warm you with its ray, + But while you smile has flown away-- + A woman's love is like to this. + + God made poor woman with no heart, + But gave her skill, and tact, and art, + And so she lives, and plays her part. + We must not blame, but pity her. + + She leans to man--but just to hear + The praise he whispers in her ear, + Herself, not him, she holdeth dear-- + O fool! to be deceived by her. + + To sate her selfish thirst she quaffs + The love of strong hearts in sweet draughts + Then throws them lightly by and laughs, + Too weak to understand their pain. + + As changeful as the winds that blow + From every region, to and fro, + Devoid of heart, she cannot know + The suffering of a human heart. + +I knew the cold, fixed gaze of Vivian's eyes +Saw the slow color to my forehead rise; +But lightly answered, toying with my fan, +"That sentiment is very like a man! +Men call us fickle, but they do us wrong; +We're only frail and helpless, men are strong; +And when love dies, they take the poor dead thing +And make a shroud out of their suffering, +And drag the corpse about with them for years. +But we?--we mourn it for a day with tears! +And then we robe it for its last long rest, +And being women, feeble things at best, +We cannot dig the grave ourselves. And so +We call strong-limbed New Love to lay it low: +Immortal sexton he! whom Venus sends +To do this service for her earthly friends, +The trusty fellow digs the grave so deep +Nothing disturbs the dead laid there to sleep." + +The laugh that followed had not died away +Ere Roy Montaine came seeking me, to say +The band was tuning for our waltz, and so +Back to the ball-room bore me. In the glow +And heat and whirl, my strength ere long was spent, +And I grew faint and dizzy, and we went +Out on the cool moonlighted portico, +And, sitting there, Roy drew my languid head +Upon the shelter of his breast, and bent +His smiling eyes upon me, as he said, +"I'll try the mesmerism of my touch +To work a cure: be very quiet now, +And let me make some passes o'er your brow. +Why, how it throbs! you've exercised too much! +I shall not let you dance again to-night." + +Just then before us, in the broad moonlight, +Two forms were mirrored: and I turned my face +To catch the teasing and mischievous glance +Of Helen's eyes, as, heated by the dance, +Leaning on Vivian's arm, she sought this place. + +"I beg your pardon," came in that round tone +Of his low voice. "I think we do intrude." +Bowing, they turned, and left us quite alone +Ere I could speak, or change my attitude. + + +_PART V._ + +A visit to a cave some miles away +Was next in order. So, one sunny day, +Four prancing steeds conveyed a laughing load +Of merry pleasure-seekers o'er the road. +A basket picnic, music and croquet +Were in the programme. Skies were blue and clear, +And cool winds whispered of the Autumn near. +The merry-makers filled the time with pleasure: +Some floated to the music's rhythmic measure, +Some played, some promenaded on the green. + +Ticked off by happy hearts, the moments passed. +The afternoon, all glow and glimmer, came. +Helen and Roy were leaders of some game, +And Vivian was not visible. + "Maurine, +I challenge you to climb yon cliff with me! +And who shall tire, or reach the summit last +Must pay a forfeit," cried a romping maid. +"Come! start at once, or own you are afraid." +So challenged I made ready for the race, +Deciding first the forfeit was to be +A handsome pair of bootees to replace +The victor's loss who made the rough ascent. +The cliff was steep and stony. On we went +As eagerly as if the path was Fame, +And what we climbed for, glory and a name. +My hands were bruised; my garments sadly rent, +But on I clambered. Soon I heard a cry, +"Maurine! Maurine! my strength is wholly spent! +You've won the boots! I'm going back--good bye!" +And back she turned, in spite of laugh and jeer. + +I reached the summit: and its solitude, +Wherein no living creature did intrude, +Save some sad birds that wheeled and circled near, +I found far sweeter than the scene below. +Alone with One who knew my hidden woe, +I did not feel so much alone as when +I mixed with th' unthinking throngs of men. + +Some flowers that decked the barren, sterile place +I plucked, and read the lesson they conveyed, +That in our lives, albeit dark with shade +And rough and hard with labor, yet may grow +The flowers of Patience, Sympathy, and Grace. + +As I walked on in meditative thought, +A serpent writhed across my pathway; not +A large or deadly serpent; yet the sight +Filled me with ghastly terror and affright. +I shrieked aloud: a darkness veiled my eyes-- +And I fell fainting 'neath the watchful skies. + +I was no coward. Country-bred and born, +I had no feeling but the keenest scorn +For those fine lady "ah's" and "oh's" of fear +So much assumed (when any man is near). +But God implanted in each human heart +A natural horror, and a sickly dread +Of that accursed, slimy, creeping thing +That squirms a limbless carcass o'er the ground. +And where that inborn loathing is not found +You'll find the serpent qualities instead. +Who fears it not, himself is next of kin, +And in his bosom holds some treacherous art +Whereby to counteract its venomed sting. +And all are sired by Satan--Chief of Sin. + +Who loathes not that foul creature of the dust, +However fair in seeming, I distrust. + +I woke from my unconsciousness, to know +I leaned upon a broad and manly breast, +And Vivian's voice was speaking, soft and low, +Sweet whispered words of passion, o'er and o'er. +I dared not breathe. Had I found Eden's shore? +Was this a foretaste of eternal bliss? +"My love," he sighed, his voice like winds that moan +Before a rain in Summer time, "My own, +For one sweet stolen moment, lie and rest +Upon this heart that loves and hates you both! +O fair false face! Why were you made so fair! +O mouth of Southern sweetness! that ripe kiss +That hangs upon you, I do take an oath +_His_ lips shall never gather. There!--and there! +I steal it from him. Are you his--all his? +Nay you are mine, this moment, as I dreamed-- +Blind fool--believing you were what you seemed-- +You would be mine in all the years to come. +Fair fiend! I love and hate you in a breath. +O God! if this white pallor were but _death_, +And I were stretched beside you, cold and dumb, +My arms about you, so--in fond embrace! +My lips pressed, so--upon your dying face!" + +"Woman, how dare you bring me to such shame! +How dare you drive me to an act like this, +To steal from your unconscious lips the kiss +You lured me on to think my rightful claim! +O frail and puny woman! could you know +The devil that you waken in the hearts +You snare and bind in your enticing arts, +The thin, pale stuff that in your veins doth flow +Would freeze in terror. + Strange you have such power +To please, or pain us, poor, weak, soulless things-- +Devoid of passion as a senseless flower! +Like butterflies, your only boast, your wings. +There, now, I scorn you--scorn you from this hour, +And hate myself for having talked of love!" + +He pushed me from him. And I felt as those +Doomed angels must, when pearly gates above +Are closed against them. + With a feigned surprise +I started up and opened wide my eyes, +And looked about. Then in confusion rose +And stood before him. + + "Pardon me, I pray!" +He said quite coldly. "Half an hour ago +I left you with the company below, +And sought this cliff. A moment since you cried, +It seemed, in sudden terror and alarm. +I came in time to see you swoon away. +You'll need assistance down the rugged side +Of this steep cliff. I pray you take my arm." + +So, formal and constrained, we passed along, +Rejoined our friends, and mingled with the throng +To have no further speech again that day. + +Next morn there came a bulky document, +The legal firm of Blank & Blank had sent, +Containing news unlooked for. An estate +Which proved a cosy fortune--no-wise great +Or princely--had in France been left to me, +My grandsire's last descendant. And it brought +A sense of joy and freedom in the thought +Of foreign travel, which I hoped would be +A panacea for my troubled mind, +That longed to leave the olden scenes behind +With all their recollections, and to flee +To some strange country. + I was in such haste +To put between me and my native land +The briny ocean's desolating waste, +I gave Aunt Ruth no peace, until she planned +To sail that week, two months: though she was fain +To wait until the Springtime. Roy Montaine +Would be our guide and escort. + No one dreamed +The cause of my strange hurry, but all seemed +To think good fortune had quite turned my brain. +One bright October morning, when the woods +Had donned their purple mantles and red hoods +In honor of the Frost King, Vivian came, +Bringing some green leaves, tipped with crimson flame,-- +First trophies of the Autumn time. + And Roy +Made a proposal that we all should go +And ramble in the forest for a while. +But Helen said she was not well--and so +Must stay at home. Then Vivian, with a smile, +Responded, "I will stay and talk to you, +And they may go;" at which her two cheeks grew +Like twin blush roses;--dyed with love's red wave, +Her fair face shone transfigured with great joy. + +And Vivian saw--and suddenly was grave. + +Roy took my arm in that protecting way +Peculiar to some men, which seems to say, +"I shield my own," a manner pleasing, e'en +When we are conscious that it does not mean +More than a simple courtesy. A woman +Whose heart is wholly feminine and human, +And not unsexed by hobbies, likes to be +The object of that tender chivalry, +That guardianship which man bestows on her, +Yet mixed with deference; as if she were +Half child, half angel. + Though she may be strong, +Noble and self-reliant, not afraid +To raise her hand and voice against all wrong +And all oppression, yet if she be made, +With all the independence of her thought, +A woman womanly, as God designed, +Albeit she may have as great a mind +As man, her brother, yet his strength of arm +His muscle and his boldness she has not, +And cannot have without she loses what +Is far more precious, modesty and grace. +So, walking on in her appointed place, +She does not strive to ape him, nor pretend +But that she needs him for a guide and friend, +To shield her with his greater strength from harm. + +We reached the forest; wandered to and fro +Through many a winding path and dim retreat. +Till I grew weary: when I chose a seat +Upon an oak tree, which had been laid low +By some wind storm, or by some lightning stroke. +And Roy stood just below me, where the ledge +On which I sat sloped steeply to the edge +Of sunny meadows lying at my feet. +One hand held mine; the other grasped a limb +That cast its checkered shadows over him; +And, with his head thrown back, his dark eyes raised +And fixed upon me, silently he gazed +Until I, smiling, turned to him and spoke: +"Give words, my cousin, to those thoughts that rise, +And, like dumb spirits, look forth from your eyes." + +The smooth and even darkness of his cheek +Was stained one moment by a flush of red. +He swayed his lithe form nearer as he stood +Still clinging to the branch above his head. +His brilliant eyes grew darker; and he said, +With sudden passion, "Do you bid me speak? +I can not, then, keep silence if I would. +That hateful fortune, coming as it did, +Forbade my speaking sooner; for I knew +A harsh tongued world would quickly misconstrue +My motive for a meaner one. But, sweet, +So big my heart has grown with love for you +I can not shelter it, or keep it hid. +And so I cast it throbbing at your feet, +For you to guard and cherish, or to break. +Maurine, I love you better than my life. +My friend--my cousin--be still more, my wife! +Maurine, Maurine, what answer do you make?" + +I scarce could breathe for wonderment; and numb +With truth that fell too suddenly, sat dumb +With sheer amaze, and stared at Roy with eyes +That looked no feeling but complete surprise. +He swayed so near his breath was on my cheek. +"Maurine, Maurine," he whispered, "will you speak?" + +Then suddenly, as o'er some magic glass +One picture in a score of shapes will pass, +I seemed to see Roy glide before my gaze. +First, as the playmate of my earlier days-- +Next, as my kin--and then my valued friend, +And last, my lover. As when colors blend +In some unlooked-for group before our eyes, +We hold the glass, and look them o'er and o'er +So now I gazed on Roy in his new guise, +In which he ne'er appeared to me before. + +His form was like a panther's in its grace, +So lithe and supple, and of medium height, +And garbed in all the elegance of fashion. +His large black eyes were full of fire and passion, +And in expression fearless, firm, and bright. +His hair was like the very deeps of night, +And hung in raven clusters 'round a face +Of dark and flashing beauty. + He was more +Like some romantic maiden's grand ideal +Than like a common being. As I gazed +Upon the handsome face to mine upraised, +I saw before me, living, breathing, real, +The hero of my early day-dreams: though +So full my heart was with that clear-cut face, +Which, all unlike, yet claimed the hero's place, +I had not recognized him so before, +Or thought of him, save as a valued friend. +So now I called him, adding, + "Foolish boy! +Each word of love you utter aims a blow +At that sweet trust I had reposed in you. +I was so certain I had found a true, +Steadfast man friend, on whom I could depend, +And go on wholly trusting, to the end. +Why did you shatter my delusion, Roy, +By turning to a lover?" + "Why, indeed! +Because I loved you more than any brother, +Or any friend could love." Then he began +To argue like a lawyer, and to plead +With all his eloquence. And, listening, +I strove to think it was a goodly thing +To be so fondly loved by such a man, +And it were best to give his wooing heed, +And not deny him. Then before my eyes +In all its clear-cut majesty, that other +Haughty and poet-handsome face would rise +And rob my purpose of all life and strength. + +Roy urged and argued, as Roy only could, +With that impetuous, boyish eloquence. +He held my hands, and vowed I must, and should +Give some least hope; till, in my own defense, +I turned upon him, and replied at length: +"I thank you for the noble heart you offer: +But it deserves a true one in exchange. +I could love you if I loved not another +Who keeps my heart; so I have none to proffer." + +Then, seeing how his dark eyes flashed, I said, +"Dear Roy! I know my words seem very strange; +But I love one I cannot hope to wed. +A river rolls between us, dark and deep. +To cross it--were to stain with blood my hand. +You force my speech on what I fain would keep +In my own bosom, but you understand? +My heart is given to love that's sanctified, +And now can feel no other. + + Be you kind +Dear Roy, my brother! speak of this no more, +Lest pleading and denying should divide +The hearts so long united. Let me find +In you my cousin and my friend of yore +And now come home. The morning, all too soon +And unperceived, has melted into noon. +Helen will miss us, and we must return." + +He took my hand, and helped me to arise, +Smiling upon me with his sad dark eyes. +Where passion's fires had, sudden, ceased to burn. + +"And so," he said, "too soon and unforeseen +My friendship melted into love, Maurine. +But, sweet! I am not wholly in the blame, +For what you term my folly. You forgot, +So long we'd known each other, I had not +In truth a brother's or a cousin's claim. +But I remembered, when through every nerve +Your lightest touch went thrilling; and began +To love you with that human love of man +For comely woman. By your coaxing arts, +You won your way into my heart of hearts, +And all Platonic feelings put to rout. +A maid should never lay aside reserve +With one who's not her kinsman, out and out. +But as we now, with measured steps, retrace +The path we came, e'en so my heart I'll send, +At your command, back to the olden place, +And strive to love you only as a friend." +I felt the justice of his mild reproof, +But answered laughing, "'Tis the same old cry: +'The woman tempted me, and I did eat.' +Since Adam's time we've heard it. But I'll try +And be more prudent, sir, and hold aloof +The fruit I never once had thought so sweet +'Twould tempt you any. Now go dress for dinner, +Thou sinned against! as also will the sinner. +And guard each act, that no least look betray +What's passed between us." + Then I turned away +And sought my room, low humming some old air +That ceased upon the threshold; for mine eyes +Fell on a face so glorified and fair +All other senses, merged in that of sight, +Were lost in contemplation of the bright +And wond'rous picture, which had otherwise +Made dim my vision. + Waiting in my room, +Her whole face lit as by an inward flame +That shed its halo 'round her, Helen stood; +Her fair hands folded like a lily's leaves +Weighed down by happy dews of summer eves. +Upon her cheek the color went and came +As sunlight flickers o'er a bed of bloom; +And, like some slim young sapling of the wood, +Her slender form leaned slightly; and her hair +Fell 'round her loosely, in long curling strands +All unconfined, and as by loving hands +Tossed into bright confusion. + Standing there, +Her starry eyes uplifted, she did seem +Like some unearthly creature of a dream; +Until she started forward, gliding slowly, +And broke the breathless silence, speaking lowly, +As one grown meek, and humble in an hour, +Bowing before some new and mighty power. + +"Maurine, Maurine!" she murmured, and again, +"Maurine, my own sweet friend, Maurine!" + And then, +Laying her love light hands upon my head, +She leaned, and looked into my eyes, and said +With voice that bore her joy in ev'ry tone, +As winds that blow across a garden bed +Are weighed with fragrance, "He is mine alone, +And I am his--all his--his very own. +So pledged this hour, by that most sacred tie +Save one beneath God's over-arching sky. +I could not wait to tell you of my bliss: +I want your blessing, sweetheart! and your kiss." +So hiding my heart's trouble with a smile, +I leaned and kissed her dainty mouth; the while +I felt a guilt-joy, as of some sweet sin, +When my lips fell where his so late had been. +And all day long I bore about with me +A sense of shame--yet mixed with satisfaction, +As some starved child might steal a loaf, and be +Sad with the guilt resulting from her action, +While yet the morsel in her mouth was sweet. +That ev'ning when the house had settled down +To sleep and quiet, to my room there crept +A lithe young form, robed in a long white gown: +With steps like fall of thistle-down she came, +Her mouth smile-wreathed; and, breathing low my name, +Nestled in graceful beauty at my feet. + +"Sweetheart," she murmured softly, "ere I sleep, +I needs must tell you all my tale of joy. +Beginning where you left us--you and Roy. +You saw the color flame upon my cheek +When Vivian spoke of staying. So did he;-- +And, when we were alone, he gazed at me +With such a strange look in his wond'rous eyes. +The silence deepened; and I tried to speak +Upon some common topic, but could not, +My heart was in such tumult. + In this wise +Five happy moments glided by us, fraught +With hours of feeling. Vivian rose up then, +And came and stood by me, and stroked my hair. +And, in his low voice, o'er and o'er again, +Said, 'Helen, little Helen, frail and fair.' +Then took my face, and turned it to the light, +And looking in my eyes, and seeing what +Was shining from them, murmured, sweet and low, +'Dear eyes, you cannot veil the truth from sight. +You love me, Helen! answer, is it so?' +And I made answer straightway, 'With my life +And soul and strength I love you, O my love!' +He leaned and took me gently to his breast, +And said, 'Here then this dainty head shall rest +Henceforth forever: O my little dove! +My lily-bud--my fragile blossom-wife!' + +"And then I told him all my thoughts; and he +Listened, with kisses for his comments, till +My tale was finished. Then he said, 'I will +Be frank with you, my darling, from the start, +And hide no secret from you in my heart. +I love you, Helen, but you are not first +To rouse that love to being. Ere we met +I loved a woman madly--never dreaming +She was not all in truth she was in seeming. +Enough! she proved to be that thing accursed +Of God and man--a wily vain coquette. +I hate myself for having loved her. Yet +So much my heart spent on her, it must give +A love less ardent, and less prodigal, +Albeit just as tender and as true-- +A milder, yet a faithful love to you. +Just as some evil fortune might befall +A man's great riches, causing him to live +In some low cot, all unpretending, still +As much his home--as much his loved retreat, +As was the princely palace on the hill, +E'en so I give you all that's left, my sweet! +Of my heart-fortune.' + 'That were more to me,' +I made swift smiling answer, 'than to be +The worshiped consort of a king.' And so +Our faith was pledged. But Vivian would not go +Until I vowed to wed him New Year day. +And I am sad because you go away +Before that time. I shall not feel half wed +Without you here. Postpone your trip and stay, +And be my bridesmaid." + "Nay, I cannot, dear! +'Twould disarrange our plans for half a year. +I'll be in Europe New Year day," I said, +"And send congratulations by the cable." +And from my soul thanked Providence for sparing +The pain, to me, of sharing in, and wearing +The festal garments of a wedding scene, +While all my heart was hung with sorrow's sable. +Forgetting for a season, that between +The cup and lip lies many a chance of loss, +I lived in my near future, confident +All would be as I planned it; and, across +The briny waste of waters, I should find +Some balm and comfort for my troubled mind. +The sad Fall days, like maidens auburn-tressed +And amber-eyed, in purple garments dressed, +Passed by, and dropped their tears upon the tomb +Of fair Queen Summer, buried in her bloom. + +Roy left us for a time, and Helen went +To make the nuptial preparations. Then, +Aunt Ruth complained one day of feeling ill: +Her veins ran red with fever; and the skill +Of two physicians could not stem the tide. +The house, that rang so late with laugh and jest, +Grew ghostly with low whispered sounds; and when +The Autumn day, that I had thought to be +Bounding upon the billows of the sea, +Came sobbing in, it found me pale and worn, +Striving to keep away that unloved guest +Who comes unbidden, making hearts to mourn. +Through all the anxious weeks I watched beside +The suff'rer's couch, Roy was my help and stay; +Others were kind, but he alone each day +Brought strength and comfort, by his cheerful face, +And hopeful words, that fell in that sad place +Like rays of light upon a darkened way. +November passed; and Winter, crisp and chill, +In robes of ermine walked on plain and hill. +Returning light and life dispelled the gloom +That cheated Death had brought us from the tomb. +Aunt Ruth was saved, and slowly getting better-- +Was dressed each day, and walked about the room. +Then came one morning in the Eastern mail, +A little white-winged birdling of a letter. +I broke the seal and read, + "Maurine, my own! +I hear Aunt Ruth is better, and am glad. +I felt so sorry for you; and so sad +To think I left you when I did--alone +To bear your pain and worry, and those nights +Of weary, anxious watching. + Vivian writes +Your plans are changed now, and you will not sail +Before the Springtime. So you'll come and be +My bridesmaid, darling! Do not say me nay. +But three weeks more of girlhood left to me. +Come, if you can, just two weeks from to-day, +And make your preparations here. My sweet! +Indeed I am not glad Aunt Ruth was ill-- +I'm sorry she has suffered so; and still +I'm thankful something happened, so you stayed. +I'm sure my wedding would be incomplete +Without your presence. Selfish, I'm afraid +You'll think your Helen. But I love you so, +How can I be quite willing you should go? +Come Christmas Eve, or earlier. Let me know +And I will meet you, dearie! at the train. +Your happy, loving Helen." + Then the pain +That, hidden under later pain and care, +Had made no moan, but silent, seemed to sleep, +Woke from its trance-like lethargy, to steep +My tortured heart in anguish and despair. + +I had relied too fully on my skill +In bending circumstances to my will: +And now I was rebuked and made to see +That God alone knoweth what is to be. +Then came a messenger from Vivian, who +Came not himself, as he was wont to do, +But sent his servant each new day to bring +A kindly message, or an offering +Of juicy fruits to cool the lips of fever, +Or dainty hot-house blossoms, with their bloom +To brighten up the convalescent's room. +But now the servant only brought a line +From Vivian Dangerfield to Roy Montaine, +"Dear Sir, and Friend"--in letters bold and plain, +Written on cream-white paper, so it ran: +"It is the will and pleasure of Miss Trevor, +And therefore doubly so a wish of mine, +That you shall honor me next New Year Eve, +My wedding hour, by standing as best man. +Miss Trevor has six bridesmaids I believe. +Being myself a novice in the art-- +If I should fail in acting well my part, +I'll need protection 'gainst the regiment +Of outraged ladies. So, I pray, consent +To stand by me in time of need, and shield +Your friend sincerely, Vivian Dangerfield." + +The last least hope had vanished; I must drain, +E'en to the dregs, this bitter cup of pain. + + +_PART VI._ + +There was a week of bustle and of hurry; +A stately home echoed to voices sweet, +Calling, replying; and to tripping feet +Of busy bridesmaids, running to and fro, +With all that girlish fluttering and flurry +Preceding such occasions. + Helen's room +Was like a lily-garden, all in bloom, +Decked with the dainty robes of her trousseau. +My robe was fashioned by swift, skillful hands-- +A thing of beauty, elegant and rich, +A mystery of loopings, puffs and bands; +And as I watched it growing, stitch by stitch, +I felt as one might feel who should behold +With vision trance-like, where his body lay +In deathly slumber, simulating clay, +His grave-cloth sewed together, fold on fold. + +I lived with ev'ry nerve upon the strain, +As men go into battle; and the pain, +That, more and more, to my sad heart revealed, +Grew ghastly with its horrors, was concealed +From mortal eyes by superhuman power, +That God bestowed upon me, hour by hour. + +What night the Old Year gave unto the New +The key of human happiness and woe, +The pointed stars, upon their field of blue, +Shone, white and perfect, o'er a world below, +Of snow-clad beauty; all the trees were dressed +In gleaming garments, decked with diadems, +Each seeming like a bridal-bidden guest, +Coming o'er-laden with a gift of gems. + +The bustle of the dressing room; the sound +Of eager voices in discourse; the clang +Of "sweet bells jangled"; thud of steel-clad feet +That beat swift music on the frozen ground-- +All blent together in my brain, and rang +A medley of strange noises, incomplete, +And full of discords. + Then out on the night +Streamed from this open vestibule, a light +That lit the velvet blossoms which we trod, +With all the hues of those that deck the sod. +The grand cathedral windows were ablaze +With gorgeous colors; through a sea of bloom, +Up the long aisle, to join the waiting groom, +The bridal cortege passed. + As some lost soul +Might surge on with the curious crowd, to gaze +Upon its coffined body, so I went +With that glad festal throng. The organ sent +Great waves of melody along the air, +That broke and fell, in liquid drops, like spray, +On happy hearts that listened. But to me +It sounded faintly, as if miles away, +A troubled spirit, sitting in despair +Beside the sad and ever-moaning sea, +Gave utterance to sighing sounds of dole. +We paused before the altar. Framed in flowers, +The white-robed man of God stood forth. + I heard +The solemn service open; through long hours +I seemed to stand and listen, while each word +Fell on my ear as falls the sound of clay +Upon the coffin of the worshiped dead. +The stately father gave the bride away: +The bridegroom circled with a golden band +The taper finger of her dainty hand. +The last imposing, binding words were said-- +"What God has joined let no man put asunder"-- +And all my strife with self was at an end; +My lover was the husband of my friend. + +How strangely, in some awful hour of pain, +External trifles with our sorrows blend! +I never hear the mighty organ's thunder, +I never catch the scent of heliotrope, +Nor see stained windows all ablaze with light, +Without that dizzy whirling of the brain, +And all the ghastly feeling of that night, +When my sick heart relinquished love and hope. + +The pain we feel so keenly may depart, +And e'en its memory cease to haunt the heart; +But some slight thing, a perfume, or a sound +Will probe the closed recesses of the wound, +And for a moment bring the old-time smart. + +Congratulations, kisses, tears and smiles, +Good-byes and farewells given; then across +The snowy waste of weary wintry miles, +Back to my girlhood's home, where, through each room, +For evermore pale phantoms of delight +Should aimless wander, always in my sight, +Pointing, with ghostly fingers, to the tomb +Wet with the tears of living pain and loss. + +The sleepless nights of watching and of care, +Followed by that one week of keenest pain, +Taxing my weakened system, and my brain, +Brought on a ling'ring illness. + Day by day, +In that strange, apathetic state I lay, +Of mental and of physical despair. +I had no pain, no fever, and no chill, +But lay without ambition, strength, or will, +Knowing no wish for anything but rest, +Which seemed, of all God's store of gifts, the best. + +Physicians came and shook their heads and sighed; +And to their score of questions I replied, +With but one languid answer, o'er and o'er. +"I am so weary--weary--nothing more." + +I slept, and dreamed I was some feathered thing, +Flying through space with ever-aching wing, +Seeking a ship called Rest all snowy white, +That sailed and sailed before me, just in sight, +But always one unchanging distance kept, +And woke more weary than before I slept. + +I slept, and dreamed I ran to win a prize. +A hand from heaven held down before my eyes. +All eagerness I sought it--it was gone, +But shone in all its beauty farther on. +I ran, and ran, and ran, in eager quest +Of that great prize, whereon was written "rest," +Which ever just beyond my reach did gleam, +And wakened doubly weary with my dream. + +I dreamed I was a crystal drop of rain, +That saw a snow-white lily on the plain, +And left the cloud to nestle in her breast. +I fell and fell, but nevermore found rest-- +I fell and fell, but found no stopping place, +Through leagues and leagues of never-ending space, +While space illimitable stretched before. + +And all these dreams but wearied me the more. + +Familiar voices sounded in my room-- +Aunt Ruth's and Roy's, and Helen's: but they seemed +A part of some strange fancy I had dreamed, +And now remembered dimly. + Wrapped in gloom, +My mind, o'er taxed, lost hold of time at last, +Ignored its future, and forgot its past, +And groped along the present, as a light, +Carried, uncovered, through the fogs of night, +Will flicker faintly. + But I felt, at length, +When March winds brought vague rumors of the spring, +A certain sense of "restlessness with rest." +My aching frame was weary of repose, +And wanted action. + + Then slow-creeping strength +Came back with Mem'ry, hand in hand, to bring +And lay upon my sore and bleeding breast, +Grim-visaged Recollection's thorny rose. +I gained, and failed. One day could ride and walk, +The next would find me prostrate: while a flock +Of ghostly thoughts, like phantom birds, would flit +About the chambers of my heart, or sit, +Pale spectres of the past, with folded wings, +Perched, silently, upon the voiceless strings, +That once resounded to Hope's happy lays. + +So passed the ever-changing April days. +When May came, lightsome footed, o'er the lea, +Accompanied by kind Aunt Ruth and Roy, +I bade farewell to home with secret joy, +And turned my wan face eastward to the sea. +Roy planned our route of travel: for all lands +Were one to him. Or Egypt's burning sands, +Or Alps of Switzerland, or stately Rome, +All were familiar as the fields of home. + +There was a year of wand'ring to and fro, +Like restless spirits; scaling mountain heights; +Dwelling among the countless, rare delights +Of lands historic; turning dusty pages, +Stamped with the tragedies of mighty ages; +Gazing upon the scenes of bloody acts, +Of kings long buried--bare, unvarnished facts, +Surpassing wildest fictions of the brain; +Rubbing against all people, high and low, +And by this contact feeling Self to grow +Smaller and less important, and the vein +Of human kindness deeper, seeing God, +Unto the humble delver of the sod, +And to the ruling monarch on the throne, +Has given hope, ambition, joy, and pain, +And that all hearts have feelings like our own. + +There is no school that disciplines the mind, +And broadens thought, like contact with mankind. +The college-prisoned greybeard, who has burned +The midnight lamp, and book-bound knowledge learned, +Till sciences or classics hold no lore +He has not conned and studied, o'er and o'er, +Is but a babe in wisdom, when compared +With some unlettered wand'rer, who has shared +The hospitalities of every land; +Felt touch of brother in each proffered hand; +Made man his study, and the world his college, +And gained this grand epitome of knowledge: +Each human being has a heart and soul, +And self is but an atom of the whole. +I hold he is best learned and most wise, +Who best and most can love and sympathize. +Book-wisdom makes us vain and self-contained; +Our banded minds go round in little grooves; +But constant friction with the world removes +These iron foes to freedom, and we rise +To grander heights, and, all untrammeled, find +A better atmosphere and clearer skies; +And through its broadened realm, no longer chained, +Thought travels freely, leaving Self behind. +Where'er we chanced to wander or to roam, +Glad letters came from Helen; happy things, +Like little birds that followed on swift wings, +Bringing their tender messages from home. +Her days were poems, beautiful, complete. +The rhythm perfect, and the burden sweet. +She was so happy--happy, and so blest. + +My heart had found contentment in that year. +With health restored, my life seemed full of cheer +The heart of youth turns ever to the light; +Sorrow and gloom may curtain it like night, +But, in its very anguish and unrest, +It beats and tears the pall-like folds away, +And finds again the sunlight of the day. + +And yet, despite the changes without measure, +Despite sight-seeing, round on round of pleasure; +Despite new friends, new suitors, still my heart +Was conscious of a something lacking, where +Love once had dwelt, and afterward despair. +Now love was buried; and despair had flown +Before the healthful zephyrs that had blown +From heights serene and lofty; and the place +Where both had dwelt, was empty, voiceless space +And so I took my long-loved study, art, +The dreary vacuum in my life to fill, +And worked, and labored, with a right good will. +Aunt Ruth and I took rooms in Rome; while Roy +Lingered in Scotland, with his new-found joy. +A dainty little lassie, Grace Kildare, +Had snared him in her flossy, flaxen hair, +And made him captive. + We were thrown, by chance, +In contact with her people while in France +The previous season: she was wholly sweet +And fair and gentle; so naeive, and yet +So womanly, she was at once the pet +Of all our party; and, ere many days, +Won by her fresh face, and her artless ways, +Roy fell a helpless captive at her feet. +Her home was in the Highlands; and she came +Of good old stock, of fair untarnished fame. + +Through all these months Roy had been true as steel; +And by his every action made me feel +He was my friend and brother, and no more. +The same big-souled and trusty friend of yore. +Yet, in my secret heart, I wished I knew +Whether the love he felt one time was dead, +Or only hidden, for my sake, from view. +So when he came to me one day, and said, +The velvet blackness of his eyes ashine +With light of love and triumph: "Cousin, mine, +Congratulate me! She whom I adore +Has pledged to me the promise of her hand; +Her heart I have already," I was glad +With double gladness, for it freed my mind +Of fear that he, in secret, might be sad. + +From March till June had left her moons behind, +And merged her rose-red beauty in July, +There was no message from my native land. +Then came a few brief lines, by Vivian penned: +Death had been near to Helen, but passed by; +The danger was now over. God was kind; +The mother and the child were both alive; +No other child was ever known to thrive +As throve this one, nurse had been heard to say. +The infant was a wonder, every way. +And, at command of Helen he would send +A lock of baby's golden hair to me. +And did I, on my honor, ever see +Such hair before? Helen would write, ere long: +She gained quite slowly, but would soon be strong-- +Stronger than ever, so the doctors said. +I took the tiny ringlet, golden--fair, +Mayhap his hand had severed from the head +Of his own child, and pressed it to my cheek +And to my lips, and kissed it o'er and o'er. +All my maternal instincts seemed to rise, +And clamor for their rights, while my wet eyes, +Rained tears upon the silken tress of hair. +The woman struggled with her heart before! +It was the mother in me now did speak, +Moaning, like Rachel, that her babes were not, +And crying out against her barren lot. + +Once I bemoaned the long and lonely years +That stretched before me, dark with love's eclipse; +And thought how my unmated heart would miss +The shelter of a broad and manly breast-- +The strong, bold arm--the tender clinging kiss-- +And all pure love's possessions, manifold; +But now I wept a flood of bitter tears, +Thinking of little heads of shining gold, +That would not on my bosom sink to rest; +Of little hands that would not touch my cheek; +Of little lisping voices, and sweet lips, +That never in my list'ning ear would speak +The blessed name of mother. + Oh, in woman +How mighty is the love of offspring! Ere +Unto her wond'ring, untaught mind unfolds +The myst'ry that is half divine, half human, +Of life and birth, the love of unborn souls +Within her, and the mother-yearning creeps +Through her warm heart, and stirs its hidden deeps, +And grows and strengthens with each riper year. + +As storms may gather in a placid sky, +And spend their fury, and then pass away, +Leaving again the blue of cloudless day, +E'en so the tempest of my grief passed by. +'T was weak to mourn for what I had resigned, +With the deliberate purpose of my mind, +To my sweet friend. + Relinquishing my love, +I gave my dearest hope of joy to her. +If God, from out his boundless store above, +Had chosen added blessings to confer, +I would rejoice, for her sake--not repine +That th' immortal treasures were not mine. + +Better my lonely sorrow, than to know +My selfish joy had been another's woe; +Better my grief and my strength to control, +Than the despair of her frail-bodied soul; +Better to go on, loveless, to the end, +Than wear love's rose, whose thorn had slain my friend. + +Work is the salve that heals the wounded heart. +With will most resolute I set my aim +To enter on the weary race for Fame, +And if I failed to climb the dizzy height, +To reach some point of excellence in art. + +E'en as the Maker held earth incomplete, +Till man was formed, and placed upon the sod, +The perfect, living image of his God, +All landscape scenes were lacking in my sight, +Wherein the human figure had no part. +In that, all lines of symmetry did meet-- +All hues of beauty mingle. So I brought +Enthusiasm in abundance, thought, +Much study, and some talent, day by day, +To help me in my efforts to portray +The wond'rous power, majesty and grace +Stamped on some form, or looking from some face. +This was to be my specialty: To take +Human emotion for my theme, and make +The unassisted form divine express +Anger or Sorrow, Pleasure, Pain, Distress; +And thus to build Fame's monument above +The grave of my departed hope and love. + +This is not Genius. Genius spreads its wings +And soars beyond itself, or selfish things. +Talent has need of stepping-stones: some cross, +Some cheated purpose, some great pain or loss, +Must lay the groundwork, and arouse ambition, +Before it labors onward to fruition. + +But, as the lark from beds of bloom will rise +And sail and sing among the very skies, +Still mounting near and nearer to the light, +Impelled alone by love of upward flight, +So Genius soars--it does not need to climb-- +Upon God-given wings, to heights sublime. +Some sportman's shot, grazing the singer's throat, +Some venomous assault of birds of prey, +May speed its flight toward the realm of day, +And tinge with triumph every liquid note. +So deathless Genius mounts but higher yet, +When Strife and Envy think to slay or fret. + +There is no balking Genius. Only death +Can silence it, or hinder. While there's breath +Or sense of feeling, it will spurn the sod, +And lift itself to glory, and to God. +The acorn sprouted--weeds nor flowers can choke +The certain growth of th' upreaching oak. + +Talent was mine, not Genius; and my mind +Seemed bound by chains, and would not leave behind +Its selfish love and sorrow. + Did I strive +To picture some emotion, lo! _his_ eyes, +Of emerald beauty, dark as ocean dyes, +Looked from the canvas: and my buried pain +Rose from its grave, and stood by me alive. +Whate'er my subject, in some hue or line, +The glorious beauty of his face would shine. + +So for a time my labor seemed in vain, +Since it but freshened, and made keener yet, +The grief my heart was striving to forget. + +While in his form all strength and magnitude +With grace and supple sinews were entwined, +While in his face all beauties were combined +Of perfect features, intellect and truth, +With all that fine rich coloring of youth, +How could my brush portray aught good or fair +Wherein no fatal likeness should intrude +Of him my soul had worshiped? + But, at last, +Setting a watch upon my unwise heart +That thus would mix its sorrow with my art, +I resolutely shut away the past, +And made the toilsome present passing bright +With dreams of what was hidden from my sight +In the far distant future, when the soil +Should yield me golden fruit for all my toil. + + +_PART VII._ + +With much hard labor and some pleasure fraught, +The months rolled by me noiselessly, that taught +My hand to grow more skillful in its art, +Strengthened my daring dream of fame, and brought +Sweet hope and resignation to my heart. + +Brief letters came from Helen, now and then: +She was quite well--oh, yes! quite well, indeed! +But still so weak and nervous. By and by, +When baby, being older, should not need +Such constant care, she would grow strong again. +She was as happy as a soul could be; +No least cloud hovered in her azure sky; +She had not thought life held such depths of bliss. +Dear baby sent Maurine a loving kiss, +And said she was a naughty, naughty girl, +Not to come home and see ma's little pearl. + +No gift of costly jewels, or of gold, +Had been so precious or so dear to me, +As each brief line wherein her joy was told. +It lightened toil, and took the edge from pain, +Knowing my sacrifice was not in vain. + +Roy purchased fine estates in Scotland, where +He built a pretty villa-like retreat. +And when the Roman Summer's languid heat +Made work a punishment, I turned my face +Toward the Highlands, and with Roy and Grace +Found rest and freedom from all thought and care. + +I was a willing worker. Not an hour +Passed idly by me: each, I would employ +To some good purpose, ere it glided on +To swell the tide of hours forever gone. +My first completed picture, known as "Joy," +Won pleasant words of praise. "Possesses power," +"Displays much talent," "Very fairly done." +So fell the comments on my grateful ear. + +Swift in the wake of Joy, and always near, +Walks her sad sister Sorrow. So my brush +Began depicting sorrow, heavy-eyed, +With pallid visage, ere the rosy flush +Upon the beaming face of Joy had dried. +The careful study of long months, it won +Golden opinions; even bringing forth +That certain sign of merit--a critique +Which set both pieces down as daubs, and weak +As empty heads that sang their praises--so +Proving conclusively the pictures' worth. +These critics and reviewers do not use +Their precious ammunition to abuse +A worthless work. That, left alone, they know +Will find its proper level; and they aim +Their batteries at rising works which claim +Too much of public notice. But this shot +Resulted only in some noise, which brought +A dozen people, where one came before +To view my pictures; and I had my hour +Of holding those frail baubles, Fame and Pow'r. +An English Baron who had lived two score +Of his allotted three score years and ten, +Bought both the pieces. He was very kind, +And so attentive, I, not being blind, +Must understand his meaning. + Therefore, when +He said, + "Sweet friend, whom I would make my wife, +The 'Joy' and 'Sorrow' this dear hand portrayed +I have in my possession: now resign +Into my careful keeping, and make mine, +The joy and sorrow of your future life,"-- +I was prepared to answer, but delayed, +Grown undecided suddenly. + My mind +Argued the matter coolly pro and con, +And made resolve to speed his wooing on +And grant him favor. He was good and kind; +Not young, no doubt he would be quite content +With my respect, nor miss an ardent love; +Could give me ties of family and home; +And then, perhaps, my mind was not above +Setting some value on a titled name-- +Ambitious woman's weakness! + Then my art +Would be encouraged and pursued the same, +And I could spend my winters all in Rome. +Love never more could touch my wasteful heart +That all its wealth upon one object spent. +Existence would be very bleak and cold, +After long years, when I was gray and old, +With neither home nor children. + Once a wife, +I would forget the sorrow of my life, +And pile new sods upon the grave of pain. +My mind so argued; and my sad heart heard, +But made no comment. + Then the Baron spoke, +And waited for my answer. All in vain +I strove for strength to utter that one word +My mind dictated. Moments rolled away-- +Until at last my torpid heart awoke, +And forced my trembling lips to say him nay. +And then my eyes with sudden tears o'erran, +In pity for myself and for this man +Who stood before me, lost in pained surprise. +"Dear friend," I cried, "Dear generous friend forgive +A troubled woman's weakness! As I live, +In truth I meant to answer otherwise. +From out its store, my heart can give you naught +But honor and respect; and yet methought +I would give willing answer, did you sue. +But now I know 'twere cruel wrong I planned; +Taking a heart that beat with love most true, +And giving in exchange an empty hand. +Who weds for love alone, may not be wise: +Who weds without it, angels must despise. +Love and respect together must combine +To render marriage holy and divine; +And lack of either, sure as Fate, destroys +Continuation of the nuptial joys, +And brings regret, and gloomy discontent, +To put to rout each tender sentiment. +Nay, nay! I will not burden all your life +By that possession--an unloving wife; +Nor will I take the sin upon my soul +Of wedding where my heart goes not in whole. +However bleak may be my single lot, +I will not stain my life with such a blot. +Dear friend, farewell! the earth is very wide; +It holds some fairer woman for your bride; +I would I had a heart to give to you, +But, lacking it, can only say--adieu!" + +He whom temptation never has assailed, +Knows not that subtle sense of moral strength; +When sorely tried, we waver, but at length, +Rise up and turn away, not having failed. + + * * * * * + +The Autumn of the third year came and went; +The mild Italian winter was half spent, +When this brief message came across the sea: +"My darling! I am dying. Come to me. +Love, which so long the growing truth concealed, +Stands pale within its shadow. O, my sweet! +This heart of mine grows fainter with each beat-- +Dying with very weight of bliss. O, come! +And take the legacy I leave to you, +Before these lips forevermore are dumb. +In life or death, Yours, Helen Dangerfield." + +This plaintive letter bore a month old date; +And, wild with fears lest I had come too late, +I bade the old world and new friends adieu. +And with Aunt Ruth, who long had sighed for home, +I turned my back on glory, art, and Rome. + +All selfish thoughts were merged in one wild fear +That she for whose dear sake my heart had bled, +Rather than her sweet eyes should know one tear, +Was passing from me; that she might be dead; +And, dying, had been sorely grieved with me, +Because I made no answer to her plea. + +"O, ship, that sailest slowly, slowly on, +Make haste before a wasting life is gone! +Make haste that I may catch a fleeting breath! +And true in life, be true e'en unto death. + +"O, ship, sail on! and bear me o'er the tide +To her for whom my woman's heart once died. +Sail, sail, O, ship! for she hath need of me, +And I would know what her last wish may be! +I have been true, so true, through all the past, +Sail, sail, O, ship! I would not fail at last." + +So prayed my heart still o'er, and ever o'er, +Until the weary lagging ship reached shore. +All sad with fears that I had come too late, +By that strange source whence men communicate, +Though miles on miles of space between them lie, +I spoke with Vivian: "Does she live? Reply." +The answer came. "She lives, but hasten, friend! +Her journey draweth swiftly to its end." + +Ah me! ah me! when each remembered spot, +My own dear home, the lane that led to his-- +The fields, the woods, the lake, burst on my sight, +Oh! then, Self rose up in asserting might; +Oh, then, my bursting heart all else forgot, +But those sweet early years of lost delight, +Of hope, defeat, of anguish and of bliss. + +I have a theory, vague, undefined, +That each emotion of the human mind, +Love, pain or passion, sorrow or despair, +Is a live spirit, dwelling in the air, +Until it takes possession of some breast; +And, when at length, grown weary of unrest, +We rise up strong and cast it from the heart, +And bid it leave us wholly, and depart, +It does not die, it cannot die; but goes +And mingles with some restless wind that blows +About the region where it had its birth. +And though we wander over all the earth, +That spirit waits, and lingers, year by year, +Invisible, and clothed like the air, +Hoping that we may yet again draw near, +And it may haply take us unaware, +And once more find safe shelter in the breast +It stirred of old with pleasure or unrest. + +Told by my heart, and wholly positive, +Some old emotion long had ceased to live; +That, were it called, it could not hear or come, +Because it was so voiceless and so dumb, +Yet, passing where it first sprang into life, +My very soul has suddenly been rife +With all the old intensity of feeling. +It seemed a living spirit, which came stealing +Into my heart from that departed day; +Exiled emotion, which I fancied clay. + +So now into my troubled heart, above +The present's pain and sorrow, crept the love +And strife and passion of a by-gone hour, +Possessed of all their olden might and power. +'T was but a moment, and the spell was broken +By pleasant words of greeting, gently spoken, +And Vivian stood before us. + But I saw +In him the husband of my friend alone. +The old emotions might at times return, +And smold'ring fires leap up an hour and burn; +But never yet had I transgressed God's law, +By looking on the man I had resigned, +With any hidden feeling in my mind, +Which she, his wife, my friend, might not have known. +He was but little altered. From his face +The nonchalant and almost haughty grace, +The lurking laughter waiting in his eyes, +The years had stolen, leaving in their place +A settled sadness, which was not despair, +Nor was it gloom, nor weariness, nor care, +But something like the vapor o'er the skies +Of Indian summer, beautiful to see, +But spoke of frosts, which had been and would be. +There was that in his face which cometh not, +Save when the soul has many a battle fought, +And conquered self by constant sacrifice. + +There are two sculptors, who, with chisels fine, +Render the plainest features half divine. +All other artists strive and strive in vain, +To picture beauty perfect and complete. +Their statues only crumble at their feet, +Without the master touch of Faith and Pain. +And now his face, that perfect seemed before, +Chiseled by these two careful artists, wore +A look exalted, which the spirit gives +When soul has conquered, and the body lives +Subservient to its bidding. + + In a room +Which curtained out the February gloom, +And, redolent with perfume, bright with flowers, +Rested the eye like one of Summer's bowers, +I found my Helen, who was less mine now +Than Death's; for on the marble of her brow, +His seal was stamped indelibly. + Her form +Was like the slendor willow, when some storm +Has stripped it bare of foliage. Her face, +Pale always, now was ghastly in its hue: +And, like two lamps, in some dark, hollow place, +Burned her large eyes, grown more intensely blue. +Her fragile hands displayed each cord and vein, +And on her mouth was that drawn look, of pain +Which is not uttered. Yet an inward light +Shone through and made her wasted features bright +With an unearthly beauty; and an awe +Crept o'er me, gazing on her, for I saw +She was so near to Heaven that I seemed +To look upon the face of one redeemed. +She turned the brilliant luster of her eyes +Upon me. She had passed beyond surprise, +Or any strong emotion linked with clay. +But as I glided to her where she lay, +A smile, celestial in its sweetness, wreathed +Her pallid features. "Welcome home!" she breathed, +"Dear hands! dear lips! I touch you and rejoice." +And like the dying echo of a voice +Were her faint tones that thrilled upon my ear. + +I fell upon my knees beside her bed; +All agonies within my heart were wed, +While to the aching numbness of my grief, +Mine eyes refused the solace of a tear,-- +The tortured soul's most merciful relief. +Her wasted hand caressed my bended head +For one sad, sacred moment. Then she said, +In that low tone so like the wind's refrain, +"Maurine, my own! give not away to pain; +The time is precious. Ere another dawn +My soul may hear the summons and pass on. +Arise, sweet sister! rest a little while, +And when refreshed, come hither. I grow weak +With every hour that passes. I must speak +And make my dying wishes known to-night. +Go now." And in the halo of her smile, +Which seemed to fill the room with golden light, +I turned and left her. + Later in the gloom, +Of coming night, I entered that dim room, +And sat down by her. Vivian held her hand: +And on the pillow at her side, there smiled +The beauteous count'nance of a sleeping child. + +"Maurine," spoke Helen, "for three blissful years, +My heart has dwelt in an enchanted land; +And I have drank the sweetened cup of joy, +Without one drop of anguish or alloy. +And so, ere Pain embitters it with gall, +Or sad-eyed Sorrow fills it full of tears, +And bids me quaff, which is the Fate of all +Who linger long upon this troubled way, +God takes me to the realm of Endless Day, +To mingle with his angels, who alone +Can understand such bliss as I have known. +I do not murmur. God has heaped my measure, +In three short years, full to the brim with pleasure; +And, from the fullness of an earthly love, +I pass to th' Immortal arms above, +Before I even brush the skirts of Woe. + +"I leave my aged parents here below, +With none to comfort them. Maurine, sweet friend! +Be kind to them, and love them to the end, +Which may not be far distant. + And I leave +A soul immortal in your charge, Maurine. +From this most holy, sad and sacred eve, +Till God shall claim her, she is yours to keep, +To love and shelter, to protect and guide." +She touched the slumb'ring cherub at her side, +And Vivian gently bore her, still asleep, +And laid the precious burden on my breast. + +A solemn silence fell upon the scene. +And when the sleeping infant smiled, and pressed +My yielding bosom with her waxen cheek, +I felt it would be sacrilege to speak, +Such wordless joy possessed me. + Oh! at last +This infant, who, in that tear-blotted past, +Had caused my soul such travail, was my own: +Through all the lonely coming years to be +Mine own to cherish--wholly mine alone. +And what I mourned, so hopelessly as lost +Was now restored, and given back to me. + +The dying voice continued: + "In this child +You yet have me, whose mortal life she cost. +But all that was most pure and undefiled, +And good within me, lives in her again. +Maurine, my husband loves me; yet I know, +Moving about the wide world, to and fro, +And through, and in the busy haunts of men, +Not always will his heart be dumb with woe, +But sometime waken to a later love. +Nay, Vivian, hush! my soul has passed above +All selfish feelings! I would have it so. +While I am with the angels, blest and glad, +I would not have you sorrowing and sad, +In loneliness go mourning to the end. +But, love! I could not trust to any other +The sacred office of a foster-mother +To this sweet cherub, save my own heart-friend. + +"Teach her to love her father's name, Maurine, +Where'er he wanders. Keep my memory green +In her young heart, and lead her in her youth, +To drink from th' eternal fount of Truth; +Vex her not with sectarian discourse, +Nor strive to teach her piety by force; +Ply not her mind with harsh and narrow creeds, +Nor frighten her with an avenging God, +Who rules his subjects with a burning rod; +But teach her that each mortal simply needs +To grow in hate of hate and love of love, +To gain a kingdom in the courts above. + +"Let her be free and natural as the flowers, +That smile and nod throughout the summer hours. +Let her rejoice in all the joys of youth, +But first impress upon her mind this truth: +No lasting happiness is e'er attained +Save when the heart some _other_ seeks to please. +The cup of selfish pleasures soon is drained, +And full of gall and bitterness the lees. +Next to her God, teach her to love her land; +In her young bosom light the patriot's flame +Until the heart within her shall expand +With love and fervor at her country's name. +"No coward-mother bears a valiant son. +And this, my last wish, is an earnest one. + +"Maurine, my o'er-taxed strength is waning; you +Have heard my wishes, and you will be true +In death as you have been in life, my own! +Now leave me for a little while alone +With him--my husband. Dear love! I shall rest +So sweetly with no care upon my breast. +Good night, Maurine, come to me in the morning." + +But lo! the bridegroom with no further warning +Came for her at the dawning of the day. +She heard his voice, and smiled, and passed away +Without a struggle. + Leaning o'er her bed +To give her greeting, I found but her clay, +And Vivian bowed beside it. + + And I said, +"Dear friend! my soul shall treasure thy request, +And when the night of fever and unrest +Melts in the morning of Eternity, +Like a freed bird, then I will come to thee. + +"I will come to thee in the morning, sweet! +I have been true; and soul with soul shall meet +Before God's throne, and shall not be afraid. +Thou gav'st me trust, and it was not betrayed. + +"I will come to thee in the morning, dear! +The night is dark. I do not know how near +The morn may be of that Eternal Day; +I can but keep my faithful watch and pray. + +"I will come to thee in the morning, love! +Wait for me on the Eternal Heights above. +The way is troubled where my feet must climb, +Ere I shall tread the mountain-top sublime. + +"I will come in the morning, O, mine own! +But for a time must grope my way alone, +Through tears and sorrow, till the Day shall dawn, +And I shall hear the summons, and pass on. + +"I will come in the morning. Rest secure! +My hope is certain and my faith is sure. +After the gloom and darkness of the night +I will come to thee with the morning light." + + * * * * * + +Three peaceful years slipped silently away. + +We dwelt together in my childhood's home, +Aunt Ruth and I, and sunny-hearted May. +She was a fair and most exquisite child; +Her pensive face was delicate and mild +Like her dead mother's; but through her dear eyes +Her father smiled upon me, day by day. +Afar in foreign countries did he roam, +Now resting under Italy's blue skies, +And now with Roy in Scotland. + And he sent +Brief, friendly letters, telling where he went +And what he saw, addressed to May or me. +And I would write and tell him how she grew-- +And how she talked about him o'er the sea +In her sweet baby fashion; how she knew +His picture in the album; how each day +She knelt and prayed the blessed Lord would bring +Her own papa back to his little May. + +It was a warm bright morning in the Spring. +I sat in that same sunny portico, +Where I was sitting seven years ago +When Vivian came. My eyes were full of tears, +As I looked back across the checkered years. +How many were the changes they had brought! +Pain, death, and sorrow! but the lesson taught +To my young heart had been of untold worth. +I had learned how to "suffer and grow strong"-- +That knowledge which best serves us here on earth, +And brings reward in Heaven. + + Oh! how long +The years had been since that June morning when +I heard his step upon the walk, and yet +I seemed to hear its echo still. + Just then +Down that same path I turned my eyes, tear-wet, +And lo! the wanderer from a foreign land +Stood there before me!--holding out his hand +And smiling with those wond'rous eyes of old. + +To hide my tears, I ran and brought his child; +But she was shy, and clung to me, when told +This was papa, for whom her prayers were said. +She dropped her eyes and shook her little head, +And would not by his coaxing be beguiled, +Or go to him. + Aunt Ruth was not at home, +And we two sat and talked, as strangers might, +Of distant countries which we both had seen. +But once I thought I saw his large eyes light +With sudden passion, when there came a pause +In our chit-chat, and then he spoke: + "Maurine, +I saw a number of your friends in Rome. +We talked of you. They seemed surprised, because +You were not 'mong the seekers for a name. +They thought your whole ambition was for fame." + +"It might have been," I answered, "when my heart +Had nothing else to fill it. Now my art +Is but a recreation. I have _this_ +To love and live for, which I had not then." +And, leaning down, I pressed a tender kiss +Upon my child's fair brow. + + "And yet," he said, +The old light leaping to his eyes again, +"And yet, Maurine, they say you might have wed +A noble Baron! one of many men +Who laid their hearts and fortunes at your feet. +Why won the bravest of them no return?" + +I bowed my head, nor dared his gaze to meet. +On cheek and brow I felt the red blood burn, +And strong emotion strangled speech. + He rose +And came and knelt beside me. + "Sweet, my sweet!" +He murmured softly, "God in Heaven knows +How well I loved you seven years ago. +He only knows my anguish, and my grief, +When your own acts forced on me the belief +That I had been your plaything and your toy. +Yet from his lips I since have learned that Roy +Held no place nearer than a friend and brother. +And then a faint suspicion, undefined, +Of what had been--was--might be, stirred my mind, +And that great love, I thought died at a blow, +Rose up within me, strong with hope and life. + +"Before all heaven and the angel mother +Of this sweet child that slumbers on your heart, +Maurine, Maurine, I claim you for my wife-- +Mine own, forever, until death shall part!" + +Through happy mists of upward welling tears, +I leaned, and looked into his beauteous eyes. +"Dear heart," I said, "if she who dwells above +Looks down upon us, from yon azure skies, +She can but bless us, knowing all these years +My soul had yearned in silence for the love +That crowned her life, and left mine own so bleak. +I turned you from me for her fair, frail sake. +For her sweet child's, and for my own, I take +You back to be all mine, for evermore." + +Just then the child upon my breast awoke +From her light sleep, and laid her downy cheek +Against her father as he knelt by me. +And this unconscious action seemed to be +A silent blessing, which the mother spoke +Gazing upon us from the mystic shore. + + + +TWO SUNSETS. + + +In the fair morning of his life, + When his pure heart lay in his breast, + Panting, with all that wild unrest +To plunge into the great world's strife + +That fills young hearts with mad desire, + He saw a sunset. Red and gold + The burning billows surged and rolled, +And upward tossed their caps of fire. + +He looked. And as he looked, the sight + Sent from his soul through breast and brain + Such intense joy, it hurt like pain. +His heart seemed bursting with delight. + +So near the Unknown seemed, so close + He might have grasped it with his hand. + He felt his inmost soul expand, +As sunlight will expand a rose. + +One day he heard a singing strain-- + A human voice, in bird-like trills. + He paused, and little rapture-rills +Went trickling downward through each vein. + +And in his heart the whole day long, + As in a temple veiled and dim, + He kept and bore about with him +The beauty of that singer's song. + +And then? But why relate what then? + His smouldering heart flamed into fire-- + He had his one supreme desire. +And plunged into the world of men. + +For years queen Folly held her sway. + With pleasures of the grosser kind + She fed his flesh and drugged his mind, +Till, shamed, he sated turned away. + +He sought his boyhood's home. That hour + Triumphant should have been, in sooth, + Since he went forth an unknown youth, +And came back crowned with wealth and power. + +The clouds made day a gorgeous bed; + He saw the splendor of the sky + With unmoved heart and stolid eye; +He only knew the West was red. + +Then suddenly a fresh young voice + Rose, bird-like, from some hidden place, + He did not even turn his face; +It struck him simply as a noise. + +He trod the old paths up and down. + Their rich-hued leaves by Fall winds whirled-- + How dull they were--how dull the world-- +Dull even in the pulsing town. + +O! worst of punishments, that brings + A blunting of all finer sense, + A loss of feelings keen, intense, +And dulls us to the higher things. + +O! penalty most dire, most sure, + Swift following after gross delights, + That we no more see beauteous sights, +Or hear as hear the good and pure. + +O! shape more hideous and more dread + Than Vengeance takes in creed-taught minds, + This certain doom that blunts and blinds, +And strikes the holiest feelings dead. + + + +UNREST. + + +In the youth of the year, when the birds were building, + When the green was showing on tree and hedge, +And the tenderest light of all lights was gilding + The world from zenith to outermost edge, +My soul grew sad and longingly lonely! + I sighed for the season of sun and rose, +And I said, "In the Summer and that time only + Lies sweet contentment and blest repose." + +With bee and bird for her maids of honor + Came Princess Summer in robes of green. +And the King of day smiled down upon her + And wooed her, and won her, and made her queen. +Fruit of their union and true love's pledges, + Beautiful roses bloomed day by day, +And rambled in gardens and hid in hedges + Like royal children in sportive play. + +My restless soul for a little season + Reveled in rapture of glow and bloom, +And then, like a subject who harbors treason, + Grew full of rebellion and gray with gloom. +And I said, "I am sick of the Summer's blisses, + Of warmth and beauty, and nothing more. +The full fruition my sad soul misses + That beauteous Fall time holds in store!" + +But now when the colors are almost blinding, + Burning and blending on bush and tree, +And the rarest fruits are mine for the finding, + And the year is ripe as a year can be, +My soul complains in the same old fashion; + Crying aloud in my troubled breast +Is the same old longing, the same old passion. + O where is the treasure which men call rest? + + + +"ARTIST'S LIFE." + + +Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote, + Mad with melody, rhythm--rife +From the very first to the final note, + Give me his "Artist's Life!" + +It stirs my blood to my finger ends, + Thrills me and fills me with vague unrest, +And all that is sweetest and saddest blends + Together within my breast. + +It brings back that night in the dim arcade, + In love's sweet morning and life's best prime. +When the great brass orchestra played and played. + And set our thoughts to rhyme. + +It brings back that Winter of mad delights, + Of leaping pulses and tripping feet, +And those languid moon-washed Summer nights + When we heard the band in the street. + +It brings back rapture and glee and glow, + It brings back passion and pain and strife, +And so of all the waltzes I know, + Give me the "Artist's Life." + +For it is so full of the dear old time-- + So full of the dear old friends I knew. +And under its rhythm, and lilt, and rhyme, + I am always finding--_you_. + + + +NOTHING BUT STONES. + + +I think I never passed so sad an hour, + Dear friend, as that one at the church to-night. +The edifice from basement to the tower + Was one resplendent blaze of colored light. +Up through broad aisles the stylish crowd was thronging, + Each richly robed like some king's bidden guest. +"Here will I bring my sorrow and my longing," + I said, "and here find rest." + +I heard the heavenly organ's voice of thunder, + It seemed to give me infinite relief. +I wept. Strange eyes looked on in well-bred wonder. + I dried my tears: their gaze profaned my grief. +Wrapt in the costly furs, and silks and laces + Beat alien hearts, that had no part with me. +I could not read, in all those proud cold faces, + One thought of sympathy. + +I watched them bowing and devoutly kneeling, + Heard their responses like sweet waters roll. +But only the glorious organ's sacred pealing + Seemed gushing from a full and fervent soul. +I listened to the man of holy calling, + He spoke of creeds, and hailed his own as best; +Of man's corruption and of Adam's falling, + But naught that gave me rest. + +Nothing that helped me bear the daily grinding + Of soul with body, heart with heated brain. +Nothing to show the purpose of this blinding + And sometimes overwhelming sense of pain. +And then, dear friend, I thought of thee, so lowly, + So unassuming, and so gently kind, +And lo! a peace, a calm serene and holy, + Settled upon my mind. + +Ah, friend, my friend! one true heart, fond and tender, + That understands our troubles and our needs, +Brings us more near to God than all the splendor + And pomp of seeming worship and vain creeds. +One glance of thy dear eyes so full of feeling, + Doth bring me closer to the Infinite, +Than all that throng of worldly people kneeling + In blaze of gorgeous light. + + + +THE COQUETTE. + + +Alone she sat with her accusing heart, + That, like a restless comrade frightened sleep, +And every thought that found her, left a dart + That hurt her so, she could not even weep. + +Her heart that once had been a cup well filled + With love's red wine, save for some drops of gall +She knew was empty; though it had not spilled + Its sweets for one, but wasted them on all. + +She stood upon the grave of her dead truth, + And saw her soul's bright armor red with rust, +And knew that all the riches of her youth + Were Dead Sea apples, crumbling into dust. + +Love that had turned to bitter, biting scorn, + Hearthstones despoiled, and homes made desolate, +Made her cry out that she was ever born, + To loathe her beauty and to curse her fate. + + + +INEVITABLE. + + +To-day I was so weary and I lay + In that delicious state of semi-waking, +When baby, sitting with his nurse at play, + Cried loud for "mamma," all his toys forsaking. + +I was so weary and I needed rest, + And signed to nurse to bear him from the room. +Then, sudden, rose and caught him to my breast, + And kissed the grieving mouth and cheeks of bloom. + +For swift as lightning came the thought to me, + With pulsing heart-throes and a mist of tears, +Of days inevitable, that are to be, + If my fair darling grows to manhood's years; + +Days when he will not call for "mamma," when + The world with many a pleasure and bright joy, +Shall tempt him forth into the haunts of men + And I shall lose the first place with my boy; + +When other homes and loves shall give delight, + When younger smiles and voices will seem best. +And so I held him to my heart to-night, + Forgetting all my need of peace and rest. + + + +THE OCEAN OF SONG + + +In a land beyond sight or conceiving, + In a land where no blight is, no wrong, +No darkness, no graves, and no grieving, + There lies the great ocean of song. +And its waves, oh, its waves unbeholden + By any save gods, and their kind, +Are not blue, are not green, but are golden, + Like moonlight and sunlight combined. + +It was whispered to me that their waters + Were made from the gathered-up tears, +That were wept by the sons and the daughters + Of long-vanished eras and spheres. +Like white sands of heaven the spray is + That falls all the happy day long, +And whoever it touches straightway is + Made glad with the spirit of song. + +Up, up to the clouds where their hoary + Crowned heads melt away in the skies, +The beautiful mountains of glory + Each side of the song ocean rise. +Here day is one splendor of sky light + Of God's light with beauty replete. +Here night is not night, but is twilight, + Pervading, enfolding and sweet. + +Bright birds from all climes and all regions + That sing the whole glad summer long, +Are dumb, till they flock here in legions + And lave in the ocean of song. +It is here that the four winds of heaven, + The winds that do sing and rejoice, +It is here they first came and were given + The secret of sound and a voice. + +Far down along beautiful beeches, + By night and by glorious day, +The throng of the gifted ones reaches, + Their foreheads made white with the spray. +And a few of the sons and the daughters + Of this kingdom, cloud-hidden from sight, +Go down in the wonderful waters, + And bathe in those billows of light + +And their souls ever more are like fountains, + And liquid and lucent and strong, +High over the tops of the mountains + Gush up the sweet billows of song. +No drouth-time of waters can dry them. + Whoever has bathed in that sea, +All dangers, all deaths, they defy them, + And are gladder than gods are, with glee. + + + +"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN." + + +We will be what we could be. Do not say, + "It might have been, had not or that, or this." +No fate can keep us from the chosen way; + He only might, who _is_. + +We will do what we could do. Do not dream + Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve. +I hold, all men are greatly what they seem; + He does, who could achieve. + +We will climb where we could climb. Tell me not + Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height. +What eagle ever missed the peak he sought? + He always climbs who might. + +I do not like the phrase, "It might have been!" + It lacks all force, and life's best truths perverts: +For I believe we have, and reach, and win, + Whatever our deserts. + + + +IF. + + +Dear love, if you and I could sail away, + With snowy pennons to the winds unfurled, +Across the waters of some unknown bay, + And find some island far from all the world; + +If we could dwell there, ever more alone, + While unrecorded years slip by apace, +Forgetting and forgotten and unknown + By aught save native song-birds of the place; + +If Winter never visited that land, + And Summer's lap spilled o'er with fruits and flowers, +And tropic trees cast shade on every hand, + And twined boughs formed sleep-inviting bowers; + +If from the fashions of the world set free, + And hid away from all its jealous strife, +I lived alone for you, and you for me-- + Ah! then, dear love, how sweet were wedded life. + +But since we dwell here in the crowded way, + Where hurrying throngs rush by to seek for gold, +And all is common-place and work-a-day, + As soon as love's young honeymoon grows old; + +Since fashion rules and nature yields to art, + And life is hurt by daily jar and fret, +'Tis best to shut such dreams down in the heart + And go our ways alone, love, and forget. + + + +GETHSEMANE. + + +In golden youth when seems the earth +A Summer-land of singing mirth, +When souls are glad and hearts are light, +And not a shadow lurks in sight, +We do not know it, but there lies +Somewhere veiled under evening skies +A garden which we all must see-- +The garden of Gethsemane. + +With joyous steps we go our ways, +Love lends a halo to our days; +Light sorrows sail like clouds afar, +We laugh, and say how strong we are. +We hurry on; and hurrying, go +Close to the border-land of woe, +That waits for you, and waits for me-- +Forever waits Gethsemane. + +Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams +Bridged over by our broken dreams; +Behind the misty caps of years, +Beyond the great salt fount of tears, +The garden lies. Strive as you may, +You cannot miss it in your way. +All paths that have been, or shall be, +Pass somewhere through Gethsemane. + +All those who journey, soon or late, +Must pass within the garden's gate; +Must kneel alone in darkness there, +And battle with some fierce despair. +God pity those who can not say, +"Not mine but thine," who only pray, +"Let this cup pass," and cannot see +The _purpose_ in Gethsemane. + + + +DUST-SEALED. + + +I know not wherefore, but mine eyes + See bloom, where other eyes see blight. +They find a rainbow, a sunrise, + Where others but discern deep night. + +Men call me an enthusiast, + And say I look through gilded haze: +Because where'er my gaze is cast, + I see some thing that calls for praise. + +I say, "Behold those lovely eyes-- + That tinted cheek of flower-like grace." +They answer in amused surprise: + "We thought it such a common face." + +I say, "Was ever scene more fair? + I seem to walk in Eden's bowers." +They answer with a pitying air, + "The weeds are choking out the flowers." + +I know not wherefore, but God lent + A deeper vision to my sight. +On whatsoe'er my gaze is bent + I catch the beauty Infinite; + +That underlying, hidden half + That all things hold of Deity. +So let the dull crowd sneer and laugh-- + Their eyes are blind, they cannot see. + + + +"ADVICE." + + +I must do as you do? Your way I own + Is a very good way. And still, +There are sometimes two straight roads to a town, + One over, one under the hill. + +You are treading the safe and the well-worn way, + That the prudent choose each time; +And you think me reckless and rash to-day, + Because I prefer to climb. + +Your path is the right one, and so is mine. + We are not like peas in a pod, +Compelled to lie in a certain line, + Or else be scattered abroad. + +'Twere a dull old world, methinks, my friend, + If we all went just one way; +Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end, + Though they lead apart to-day. + +You like the shade, and I like the sun; + You like an even pace, +I like to mix with the crowd and run, + And then rest after the race. + +I like danger, and storm and strife, + You like a peaceful time; +I like the passion and surge of life, + You like its gentle rhyme. + +You like buttercups, dewy sweet, + And crocuses, framed in snow; +I like roses, born of the heat, + And the red carnation's glow. + +I must live my life, not yours, my friend, + For so it was written down; +We must follow our given paths to the end, + But I trust we shall meet--in town. + + + +OVER THE BANISTERS. + + +Over the banisters bends a face, + Daringly sweet and beguiling. +Somebody stands in careless grace, + And watches the picture, smiling. + +The light burns dim in the hall below, + Nobody sees her standing, +Saying good-night again, soft and slow, + Half way up to the landing. + +Nobody only the eyes of brown, + Tender and full of meaning, +That smile on the fairest face in town, + Over the banisters leaning. + +Tired and sleepy, with drooping head, + I wonder why she lingers; +Now, when the good-nights all are said, + Why somebody holds her fingers. + +He holds her fingers and draws her down, + Suddenly growing bolder, +Till the loose hair drops its masses brown + Like a mantle over his shoulder. + +Over the banisters soft hands, fair, + Brush his cheeks like a feather, +And bright brown tresses and dusky hair, + Meet and mingle together. + +There's a question asked, there's a swift caress, + She has flown like a bird from the hallway, +But over the banisters drops a "yes," + That shall brighten the world for him alway. + + + +MOMUS, GOD OF LAUGHTER. + + +Though with gods the world is cumbered, +Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered, +Never god was known to be +Who had not his devotee. +So I dedicate to mine, +Here in verse, my temple-shrine. + +'Tis not Ares,--mighty Mars, +Who can give success in wars. +'Tis not Morpheus, who doth keep +Guard above us while we sleep, +'Tis not Venus, she whose duty +'Tis to give us love and beauty; +Hail to these, and others, after +Momus, gleesome god of laughter. + +Quirinus would guard my health! +Plutus would insure me wealth +Mercury looks after trade, +Hera smiles on youth and maid. +All are kind, I own their worth, +After Momus, god of mirth. + +Though Apollo, out of spite, +Hides away his face of light. +Though Minerva looks askance, +Deigning me no smiling glance, +Kings and queens may envy me +While I claim the god of glee. + +Wisdom wearies, Love has wings-- +Wealth makes burdens, Pleasure stings, +Glory proves a thorny crown-- +So all gifts the gods throw down +Bring their pains and troubles after; +All save Momus, god of laughter. +He alone gives constant joy, +Hail to Momus, happy boy. + + + +I DREAM. + + +Oh, I have dreams. I sometimes dream of Life + In the full meaning of that splendid word. + Its subtle music which few men have heard, +Though all may hear it, sounding through earth's strife. +Its mountain heights by mystic breezes kissed, + Lifting their lovely peaks above the dust; + Its treasures which no touch of time can rust, +Its emerald seas, its dawns of amethyst, + Its certain purpose, its serene repose, + Its usefulness, that finds no hour for woes, + This is my dream of Life. + +Yes, I have dreams. I ofttimes dream of Love + As radiant and brilliant as a star. + As changeless, too, as that fixed light afar +Which glorifies vast worlds of space above. +Strong as the tempest when it holds its breath, + Before it bursts in fury; and as deep + As the unfathomed seas, where lost worlds sleep +And sad as birth, and beautiful as death. + As fervent as the fondest soul could crave, + Yet holy as the moonlight on a grave. + This is my dream of Love. + +Yes, yes, I dream. One oft-recurring dream, + Is beautiful and comforting and blest. + Complete with certain promises of rest. +Divine content, and ecstasy supreme. +When that strange essence, author of all faith, + That subtle something, which cries for the light, + Like a lost child who wanders in the night, +Shall solve the mighty mystery of Death, + Shall find eternal progress, or sublime + And satisfying slumber for all time. + This is my dream of Death. + + + +THE PAST. + + +I fling my past behind me, like a robe +Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date. +I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep +And dwell upon its beauty, and its dyes +Of Oriental splendor, or complain +That I must needs discard it? I can weave +Upon the shuttles of the future years +A fabric far more durable. Subdued, +It may be, in the blending of its hues, +Where somber shades commingle, yet the gleam +Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through, +While over all a fadeless luster lies, +And starred with gems made out of crystalled tears, +My new robe shall be richer than the old. + + + +THE SONNET. + + +Alone it stands in Poesy's fair land, + A temple by the muses set apart; + A perfect structure of consummate art, +By artists builded and by genius planned. +Beyond the reach of the apprentice hand, + Beyond the ken of the untutored heart, + Like a fine carving in a common mart, +Only the favored few will understand. +A _chef-d'oeuvre_ toiled over with great care, + Yet which the unseeing careless crowd goes by, +A plainly set, but well-cut solitaire, +An ancient bit of pottery, too rare + To please or hold aught save the special eye, +These only with the sonnet can compare. + + + +SECRETS. + + +Think not some knowledge rests with thee alone; + Why, even God's stupendous secret, Death, + We one by one, with our expiring breath, +Do pale with wonder seize and make our own; +The bosomed treasures of the earth are shown, + Despite her careful hiding; and the air + Yields its mysterious marvels in despair +To swell the mighty store-house of things known. +In vain the sea expostulates and raves; + It cannot cover from the keen world's sight + The curious wonders of its coral caves. +And so, despite thy caution or thy tears, +The prying fingers of detective years + Shall drag _thy_ secret out into the light. + + + +A DREAM. + + +That was a curious dream; I thought the three + Great planets that are drawing near the sun + With such unerring certainty, begun +To talk together in a mighty glee. +They spoke of vast convulsions which would be + Throughout the solar system--the rare fun + Of watching haughty stars drop, one by one, +And vanish in a seething vapor sea. + +I thought I heard them comment on the earth-- + That small dark object--doomed beyond a doubt. + They wondered if live creatures moved about +Its tiny surface, deeming it of worth. + And then they laughed--'twas such a ringing shout +That I awoke and joined too in their mirth. + + + +USELESSNESS. + + +Let mine not be that saddest fate of all + To live beyond my greater self; to see + My faculties decaying, as the tree +Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall. +Let me hear rather the imperious call, + Which all men dread, in my glad morning time, + And follow death ere I have reached my prime, +Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life's gall. +The lightning's stroke or the fierce tempest blast + Which fells the green tree to the earth to-day +Is kinder than the calm that lets it last, + Unhappy witness of its own decay. + May no man ever look on me and say, +"She lives, but all her usefulness is past." + + + +WILL. + + +There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, + Can circumvent or hinder or control + The firm resolve of a determined soul. +Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great; +All things give way before it, soon or late. + What obstacle can stay the mighty force + Of the sea-seeking river in its course, +Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait? + +Each well-born soul must win what it deserves. +Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate + Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves, + Whose slightest action or inaction serves +The one great aim. + Why, even Death stands still, +And waits an hour sometimes for such a will. + + + +WINTER RAIN. + + +Falling upon the frozen world last night, + I heard the slow beat of the Winter rain-- + Poor foolish drops, down-dripping all in vain; +The ice-bound Earth but mocked their puny might, +Far better had the fixedness of white +And uncomplaining snows--which make no sign, +But coldly smile, when pitying moonbeams shine-- +Concealed its sorrow from all human sight. +Long, long ago, in blurred and burdened years, + I learned the uselessness of uttered woe. + Though sinewy Fate deals her most skillful blow, +I do not waste the gall now of my tears, +But feed my pride upon its bitter, while +I look straight in the world's bold eyes, and smile. + + + +APPLAUSE. + + +I hold it one of the sad certain laws + Which makes our failures sometimes seem more kind + Than that success which brings sure loss behind-- +True greatness dies, when sounds the world's applause +Fame blights the object it would bless, because + Weighed down with men's expectancy, the mind + Can no more soar to those far heights, and find +That freedom which its inspiration was. +When once we listen to its noisy cheers + Or hear the populace' approval, then +We catch no more the music of the spheres, + Or walk with gods, and angels, but with men. +Till, impotent from our self-conscious fears, +The plaudits of the world turn into sneers. + + + +LIFE. + + +Life, like a romping schoolboy, full of glee, + Doth bear us on his shoulders for a time. + There is no path too steep for him to climb, +With strong, lithe limbs, as agile and as free, +As some young roe, he speeds by vale and sea, + By flowery mead, by mountain peak sublime, + And all the world seems motion set to rhyme, +Till, tired out, he cries, "Now carry me!" + In vain we murmur, "Come," Life says, "fair play!" +And seizes on us. God! he goads us so! + He does not let us sit down all the day. +At each new step we feel the burden grow, +Till our bent backs seem breaking as we go, + Watching for Death to meet us on the way. + + + +BURDENED. + +"Genius, a man's weapon, a woman's burden."--_Lamartine._ + + +Dear God! there is no sadder fate in life, + Than to be burdened so that you can not + Sit down contented with the common lot +Of happy mother and devoted wife. + +To feel your brain wild and your bosom rife + With all the sea's commotion; to be fraught + With fires and frenzies which you have not sought, +And weighed down with the wide world's weary strife. + +To feel a fever alway in your breast, + To lean and hear half in affright, half shame. + A loud-voiced public boldly mouth your name, +To reap your hard-sown harvest in unrest, + And know, however great your meed of fame, +You are but a weak woman at the best. + + + +THE STORY. + + +They met each other in the glade-- + She lifted up her eyes; +Alack the day! Alack the maid! + She blushed in swift surprise. +Alas! alas! the woe that comes from lifting up the eyes. + +The pail was full, the path was steep-- + He reached to her his hand; +She felt her warm young pulses leap, + But did not understand. +Alas! alas! the woe that comes from clasping hand with hand. + +She sat beside him in the wood-- + He wooed with words and sighs; +Ah! love in spring seems sweet and good, + And maidens are not wise. +Alas! alas! the woe that comes from listing lovers' sighs. + +The summer sun shone fairly down, + The wind blew from the south; +As blue eyes gazed in eyes of brown, + His kiss fell on her mouth. +Alas! alas! the woe that comes from kisses on the mouth. + +And now the autumn time is near, + The lover roves away, +With breaking heart and falling tear, + She sits the livelong day. +Alas! alas! for breaking hearts when lovers rove away. + + + +LET THEM GO. + + +Let the dream go. Are there not other dreams + In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight +That yet shall gild with beautiful gold gleams, + And shoot the shadows through and through with light? + What matters one lost vision of the night? + Let the dream go! + +Let the hope set. Are there not other hopes + That yet shall rise like new stars in thy sky? +Not long a soul in sullen darkness gropes + Before some light is lent it from on high; + What folly to think happiness gone by! + Let the hope set! + +Let the joy fade. Are there not other joys, + Like frost-bound bulbs, that yet shall start and bloom? +Severe must be the winter that destroys + The hardy roots locked in their silent tomb. + What cares the earth for her brief time of gloom? + Let the joy fade! + +Let the love die. Are there not other loves + As beautiful and full of sweet unrest, +Flying through space like snowy-pinioned doves? + They yet shall come and nestle in thy breast, + And thou shalt say of each, "Lo, this is best!" + Let the love die! + + + +THE ENGINE. + + +Into the gloom of the deep, dark night, + With panting breath and a startled scream; +Swift as a bird in sudden flight + Darts this creature of steel and steam. + +Awful dangers are lurking nigh, + Rocks and chasms are near the track, +But straight by the light of its great white eye + It speeds through the shadows, dense and black. + +Terrible thoughts and fierce desires + Trouble its mad heart many an hour, +Where burn and smoulder the hidden fires, + Coupled ever with might and power. + +It hates, as a wild horse hates the rein, + The narrow track by vale and hill; +And shrieks with a cry of startled pain, + And longs to follow its own wild will. + +Oh, what am I but an engine, shod + With muscle and flesh, by the hand of God, +Speeding on through the dense, dark night, + Guided alone by the soul's white light. + +Often and often my mad heart tires, + And hates its way with a bitter hate, +And longs to follow its own desires, + And leave the end in the hand of fate. + +O mighty engine of steel and steam; + O human engine of blood and bone, +Follow the white light's certain beam-- + There lies safety and there alone. + +The narrow track of fearless truth, + Lit by the soul's great eye of light, +O passionate heart of restless youth, + Alone will carry you through the night. + + + +NOTHING NEW. + + +From the dawn of spring till the year grows hoary, + Nothing is new that is done or said, +The leaves are telling the same old story-- + "Budding, bursting, dying, dead." +And ever and always the wild bird's chorus + Is "coming, building, flying, fled." + +Never the round earth roams or ranges + Out of her circuit, so old, so old, +And the smile o' the sun knows but these changes-- + Beaming, burning, tender, cold, +As Spring time softens or Winter estranges + The mighty heart of this orb of gold. + +From our great sire's birth to the last morn's breaking + There were tempest, sunshine, fruit and frost, +And the sea was calm or the sea was shaking + His mighty main like a lion crossed, +And ever this cry the heart was making-- + Longing, loving, losing, lost. + +Forever the wild wind wanders, crying, + Southerly, easterly, north and west, +And one worn song the fields are sighing, + "Sowing, growing, harvest, rest," +And the tired thought of the world, replying + Like an echo to what is last and best, + Murmurs--"Rest." + + + +DREAMS. + + +Thank God for dreams! I, desolate and lone, + In the dark curtained night, did seem to be +The centre where all golden sun-rays shone, + And, sitting there, held converse sweet with thee. +No shadow lurked between us; all was bright + And beautiful as in the hours gone by, +I smiled, and was rewarded by the light + Of olden days soft beaming from thine eye. +Thank God, thank God for dreams! + +I thought the birds all listened; for thy voice + Pulsed through the air, like beat of silver wings. +It made each chamber of my soul rejoice + And thrilled along my heart's tear-rusted strings. +As some devout and ever-prayerful nun + Tells her bright beads, and counts them o'er and o'er, +Thy golden words I gathered, one by one, + And slipped them into memory's precious store. +Thank God, thank God for dreams! + +My lips met thine in one ecstatic kiss. + Hand pressed in hand, and heart to heart we sat. +Why even now I am surcharged with bliss-- + With joy supreme, if I but think of that. +No fear of separation or of change + Crept in to mar our sweet serene content. +In that blest vision, nothing could estrange + Our wedded souls, in perfect union blent. +Thank God, thank God for dreams! + +Thank God for dreams! when nothing else is left. + When the sick soul, all tortured with its pain, +Knowing itself forever more bereft, + Finds waiting hopeless and all watching vain, +When empty arms grow rigid with their ache, + When eyes are blinded with sad tides of tears, +When stricken hearts do suffer, yet not break, + For loss of those who come not with the years-- +Thank God, thank God for dreams! + + + +HELENA. + + +Last night I saw Helena. She whose praise + Of late all men have sounded. She for whom + Young Angus rashly sought a silent tomb +Rather than live without her all his days. + +Wise men go mad who look upon her long, + She is so ripe with dangers. Yet meanwhile + I find no fascination in her smile, +Although I make her theme of this poor song. + +"Her golden tresses?" yes, they may be fair, + And yet to me each shining silken tress + Seems robbed of beauty and all lusterless-- +Too many hands have stroked Helena's hair. + +(I know a little maiden so demure + She will not let her one true lover's hands + In playful fondness touch her soft brown bands, +So dainty-minded is she, and so pure.) + +"Her great dark eyes that flash like gems at night? + Large, long-lashed eyes and lustrous?" that may be, + And yet they are not beautiful to me. +Too many hearts have sunned in their delight. + +(I mind me of two tender blue eyes, hid + So underneath white curtains, and so veiled + That I have sometimes plead for hours, and failed +To see more than the shyly lifted lid.) + +"Her perfect mouth so like a carved kiss?" + "Her honeyed mouth, where hearts do, fly-like, drown?" + I would not taste its sweetness for a crown; +Too many lips have drank its nectared bliss. + +(I know a mouth whose virgin dew, undried, + Lies like a young grape's bloom, untouched and sweet, + And though I plead in passion at her feet, +She would not let me brush it if I died.) + +In vain, Helena! though wise men may vie + For thy rare smile or die from loss of it, + Armored by my sweet lady's trust, I sit, +And know thou art not worth her faintest sigh. + + + +NOTHING REMAINS. + + +Nothing remains of unrecorded ages + That lie in the silent cemetery of time; +Their wisdom may have shamed our wisest sages, + Their glory may have been indeed sublime. +How weak do seem our strivings after power, + How poor the grandest efforts of our brains, +If out of all we are, in one short hour + Nothing remains. + +Nothing remains but the Eternal Spaces, + Time and decay uproot the forest trees. +Even the mighty mountains leave their places, + And sink their haughty heads beneath strange seas; +The great earth writhes in some convulsive spasm + And turns the proudest cities into plains. +The level sea becomes a yawning chasm-- + Nothing remains. + +Nothing remains but the Eternal Forces, + The sad seas cease complaining and grow dry; +Rivers are drained and altered in their courses, + Great stars pass out and vanish from the sky. +Ideas die and old religions perish, + Our rarest pleasures and our keenest pains +Are swept away with all we hate or cherish-- + Nothing remains. + +Nothing remains but the Eternal Nameless + And all-creative spirit of the Law, +Uncomprehended, comprehensive, blameless, + Invincible, resistless, with no flaw; +So full of love it must create forever, + Destroying that it may create again +Persistent and perfecting in endeavor, + It yet must bring forth angels, after men-- + This, this remains. + + + +LEAN DOWN. + + +Lean down and lift me higher, Josephine! +From the Eternal Hills hast thou not seen +How I do strive for heights? but lacking wings, +I cannot grasp at once those better things +To which I in my inmost soul aspire. +Lean down and lift me higher. + +I grope along--not desolate or sad, +For youth and hope and health all keep me glad; +But too bright sunlight, sometimes, makes us blind, +And I do grope for heights I cannot find. +Oh, thou must know my one supreme desire-- +Lean down and lift me higher. + +Not long ago we trod the self-same way. +Thou knowest how, from day to fleeting day +Our souls were vexed with trifles, and our feet, +Were lured aside to by-paths which seemed sweet, +But only served to hinder and to tire; +Lean down and lift me higher. + +Thou hast gone onward to the heights serene, +And left me here, my loved one, Josephine; +I am content to stay until the end, +For life is full of promise; but, my friend, +Canst thou not help me in my best desire +And lean, and lift me higher? + +Frail as thou wert, thou hast grown strong and wise, +And quick to understand and sympathize +With all a full soul's needs. It must be so, +Thy year with God hath made thee great I know. +Thou must see how I struggle and aspire-- +Oh, warm me with a breath of heavenly fire, +And lean, and lift me higher. + + + +COMRADES. + + +I and my Soul are alone to-day, + All in the shining weather; +We were sick of the world, and we put it away, + So we could rejoice together. + +Our host, the Sun, in the blue, blue sky + Is mixing a rare, sweet wine, +In the burnished gold of his cup on high, + For me, and this Soul of mine. + +We find it a safe and royal drink, + And a cure for every pain; +It helps us to love, and helps us to think, + And strengthens body and brain. + +And sitting here, with my Soul alone, + Where the yellow sun-rays fall, +Of all the friends I have ever known + I find it the _best_ of all. + +We rarely meet when the World is near, + For the World hath a pleasing art +And brings me so much that is bright and dear + That my Soul it keepeth apart. + +But when I grow weary of mirth and glee, + Of glitter, and glow, and splendor, +Like a tried old friend it comes to me, + With a smile that is sad and tender. + +And we walk together as two friends may, + And laugh, and drink God's wine. +Oh, a royal comrade any day + I find this Soul of mine. + + + +WHAT GAIN? + + +Now, while thy rounded cheek is fresh and fair, + While beauty lingers, laughing, in thine eyes, +Ere thy young heart shall meet the stranger, "Care," + Or thy blithe soul become the home of sighs, +Were it not kindness should I give thee rest +By plunging this sharp dagger in thy breast? +Dying so young, with all thy wealth of youth, +What part of life wouldst thou not claim, in sooth? + Only the woe, + Sweetheart, that sad souls know. + +Now, in this sacred hour of supreme trust, + Of pure delight and palpitating joy, +Ere change can come, as come it surely must, + With jarring doubts and discords, to destroy +Our far too perfect peace, I pray thee, Sweet, +Were it not best for both of us, and meet, +If I should bring swift death to seal our bliss? +Dying so full of joy, what could we miss? + Nothing but tears, + Sweetheart, and weary years. + +How slight the action! Just one well-aimed blow + Here where I feel thy warm heart's pulsing beat, +And then another through my own, and so + Our perfect union would be made complete: +So past all parting, I should claim thee mine. +Dead with our youth, and faith, and love divine, +Should we not keep the best of life that way? +What shall we gain by living day on day? + What shall we gain, + Sweetheart, but bitter pain? + + + +LIFE. + + +I feel the great immensity of life. +All little aims slip from me, and I reach +My yearning soul toward the Infinite. + +As when a mighty forest, whose green leaves +Have shut it in, and made it seem a bower +For lovers' secrets, or for children's sports, +Casts all its clustering foliage to the winds, +And lets the eye behold it, limitless, +And full of winding mysteries of ways: +So now with life that reaches out before, +And borders on the unexplained Beyond. + +I see the stars above me, world on world: +I hear the awful language of all Space; +I feel the distant surging of great seas, +That hide the secrets of the Universe +In their eternal bosoms; and I know +That I am but an atom of the Whole. + + + +TO THE WEST. + +[In an interview with Lawrence Barrett, he said: "The literature of the New +World must look to the West for its poetry."] + + +Not to the crowded East, + Where, in a well-worn groove, +Like the harnessed wheel of a great machine, + The trammeled mind must move-- +Where Thought must follow the fashion of Thought, +Or be counted vulgar and set at naught. + +Not to the languid South, + Where the mariners of the brain +Are lured by the Sirens of the Sense, + And wrecked upon its main-- +Where Thought is rocked, on the sweet wind's breath, +To a torpid sleep that ends in death. + +But to the mighty West, + That chosen realm of God, +Where Nature reaches her hands to men, + And Freedom walks abroad-- +Where mind is King, and fashion is naught: +There shall the New World look for thought. + +To the West, the beautiful West, + She shall look, and not in vain-- +For out of its broad and boundless store + Come muscle, and nerve, and brain. +Let the bards of the East and the South be dumb-- +For out of the West shall the Poets come. + +They shall come with souls as great + As the cradle where they were rocked; +They shall come with brows that are touched with fire, + Like the Gods with whom they have walked; +They shall come from the West in royal state, +The Singers and Thinkers for whom we wait. + + + +THE LAND OF CONTENT. + + +I set out for the Land of Content, + By the gay crowded pleasure-highway, +With laughter, and jesting, I went + With the mirth-loving throng for a day; + Then I knew I had wandered astray, +For I met returned pilgrims, belated, +Who said, "We are weary and sated, +But we found not the Land of Content." + +I turned to the steep path of fame, + I said, "It is over yon height-- +This land with the beautiful name-- + Ambition will lend me its light." + But I paused in my journey ere night, +For the way grew so lonely and troubled; +I said--my anxiety doubled-- +"This is not the road to Content." + +Then I joined the great rabble and throng + That frequents the moneyed world's mart; +But the greed, and the grasping and wrong, + Left me only one wish--to depart. + And sickened, and saddened at heart, +I hurried away from the gateway, +For my soul and my spirit said straightway, +"This is not the road to Content." + +Then weary in body and brain, + An overgrown path I detected, +And I said "I will hide with my pain + In this by-way, unused and neglected." + Lo! it led to the realm God selected +To crown with his best gifts of beauty, +And through the dark pathway of duty +I came to the land of Content. + + + +A SONG OF LIFE. + + +In the rapture of life and of living, + I lift up my heart and rejoice, +And I thank the great Giver for giving + The soul of my gladness a voice. +In the glow of the glorious weather, + In the sweet-scented sensuous air, +My burdens seem light as a feather-- + They are nothing to bear. + +In the strength and the glory of power, + In the pride and the pleasure of wealth, +(For who dares dispute me my dower + Of talents and youth-time and health?) +I can laugh at the world and its sages-- + I am greater than seers who are sad, +For he is most wise in all ages + Who knows how to be glad. + +I lift up my eyes to Apollo, + The god of the beautiful days, +And my spirit soars off like a swallow + And is lost in the light of its rays. +Are you troubled and sad? I beseech you + Come out of the shadows of strife-- +Come out in the sun while I teach you + The secret of life. + +Come out of the world--come above it-- + Up over its crosses and graves, +Though the green earth is fair and I love it, + We must love it as masters, not slaves. +Come up where the dust never rises-- + But only the perfume of flowers-- +And your life shall be glad with surprises + Of beautiful hours. +Come up where the rare golden wine is + Apollo distills in my sight, +And your life shall be happy as mine is, + And as full of delight. + + + +WARNING. + + +High in the heavens I saw the moon this morning, + Albeit the sun shone bright; +Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning, + "Remember Night!" + + + +THE CHRISTIAN'S NEW YEAR PRAYER. + + +Thou Christ of mine, thy gracious ear low bending + Through these glad New Year days, +To catch the countless prayers to Heaven ascending-- + For e'en hard hearts do raise +Some secret wish for fame, or gold, or power, + Or freedom from all care-- +Dear, patient Christ, who listeneth hour on hour, + Hear now a Christian's prayer. + +Let this young year that, silent, walks beside me, + Be as a means of grace +To lead me up, no matter what betide me, + Nearer the Master's face. +If it need be that ere I reach the fountain + Where Living waters play, +My feet should bleed from sharp stones on the mountain, + Then cast them in my way. + +If my vain soul needs blows and bitter losses + To shape it for thy crown, +Then bruise it, burn it, burden it with crosses, + With sorrows bear it down. +Do what thou wilt to mold me to thy pleasure, + And if I should complain, +Heap full of anguish yet another measure + Until I smile at pain. +Send dangers--deaths! but tell me how to dare them; + Enfold me in thy care. +Send trials, tears! but give me strength to bear them-- + This is a Christian's prayer. + + + +IN THE NIGHT. + + +Sometimes at night, when I sit and write, + I hear the strangest things,-- +As my brain grows hot with burning thought, + That struggles for form and wings, +I can hear the beat of my swift blood's feet, + As it speeds with a rush and a whir +From heart to brain and back again, + Like a race-horse under the spur. + +With my soul's fine ear I listen and hear + The tender Silence speak, +As it leans on the breast of Night to rest, + And presses his dusky cheek. +And the darkness turns in its sleep, and yearns + For something that is kin; +And I hear the hiss of a scorching kiss, + As it folds and fondles Sin. + +In its hurrying race through leagues of space, + I can hear the Earth catch breath, +As it heaves and moans, and shudders and groans, + And longs for the rest of Death. +And high and far, from a distant star, + Whose name is unknown to me, +I hear a voice that says, "Rejoice, + For I keep ward o'er thee!" + +Oh, sweet and strange are the sounds that range + Through the chambers of the night; +And the watcher who waits by the dim, dark gates, + May hear, if he lists aright. + + + +GOD'S MEASURE. + + +God measures souls by their capacity +For entertaining his best Angel, Love. +Who loveth most is nearest kin to God, +Who is all Love, or Nothing. + He who sits +And looks out on the palpitating world, +And feels his heart swell in him large enough +To hold all men within it, he is near +His great Creator's standard, though he dwells +Outside the pale of churches, and knows not +A feast-day from a fast-day, or a line +Of Scripture even. What God wants of us +Is that outreaching bigness that ignores +All littleness of aims, or loves, or creeds, +And clasps all Earth and Heaven in its embrace. + + + +A MARCH SNOW. + + +Let the old snow be covered with the new: + The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden. +Let it be hidden wholly from our view + By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden. +When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet, +Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet. + +Let the old life be covered by the new: + The old past life so full of sad mistakes, +Let it be wholly hidden from the view + By deeds as white and silent as snow-flakes. +Ere this earth life melts in the eternal Spring +Let the white mantle of repentance, fling +Soft drapery about it, fold on fold, +Even as the new snow covers up the old. + + + +AFTER THE BATTLES ARE OVER. + +[Read at Re-union of the G. A. T., Madison, Wis., July 4, 1872.] + + +After the battles are over, + And the war drums cease to beat, +And no more is heard on the hillside + The sound of hurrying feet, +Full many a noble action, + That was done in the days of strife, +By the soldier is half forgotten, + In the peaceful walks of life. + +Just as the tangled grasses, + In Summer's warmth and light, +Grow over the graves of the fallen + And hide them away from sight, +So many an act of valor, + And many a deed sublime, +Fade from the mind of the soldier, + O'ergrown by the grass of time. + +Not so should they be rewarded, + Those noble deeds of old; +They should live forever and ever, + When the heroes' hearts are cold. +Then rally, ye brave old comrades, + Old veterans, re-unite! +Uproot Time's tangled grasses-- + Live over the march, and the fight. + +Let Grant come up from the White House, + And clasp each brother's hand, +First chieftain of the army, + Last chieftain of the land. +Let him rest from a nation's burdens, + And go, in thought, with his men, +Through the fire and smoke of Shiloh, + And save the day again. + +This silent hero of battles + Knew no such word as defeat. +It was left for the rebels' learning, + Along with the word--retreat. +He was not given to talking, + But he found that guns would preach +In a way that was more convincing + Than fine and flowery speech. + +Three cheers for the grave commander + Of the grand old Tennessee! +Who won the first great battle-- + Gained the first great victory. +His motto was always "Conquer," + "Success" was his countersign, +And "though it took all Summer," + He kept fighting upon "that line." + +Let Sherman, the stern old General, + Come rallying with his men; +Let them march once more through Georgia + And down to the sea again. +Oh! that grand old tramp to Savannah, + Three hundred miles to the coast, +It will live in the heart of the nation, + Forever its pride and boast. + +As Sheridan went to the battle, + When a score of miles away, +He has come to the feast and banquet, + By the iron horse, to-day. +Its pace is not much swifter + Than the pace of that famous steed +Which bore him down to the contest + And saved the day by his speed. + +Then go over the ground to-day, boys, + Tread each remembered spot. +It will be a gleesome journey, + On the swift-shod feet of thought; +You can fight a bloodless battle, + You can skirmish along the route, +But it's not worth while to forage, + There are rations enough without. + +Don't start if you hear the cannon, + It is not the sound of doom, +It does not call to the contest-- + To the battle's smoke and gloom. +"Let us have peace," was spoken, + And lo! peace ruled again; +And now the nation is shouting, + Through the cannon's voice, "Amen." + +O boys who besieged old Vicksburg, + Can time e'er wash away +The triumph of her surrender, + Nine years ago to-day? +Can you ever forget the moment, + When you saw the flag of white, +That told how the grim old city + Had fallen in her might? + +Ah, 'twas a bold brave army, + When the boys, with a right good will, +Went gayly marching and singing + To the fight at Champion Hill. +They met with a warm reception, + But the soul of "Old John Brown" +Was abroad on that field of battle, + And our flag did NOT go down. + +Come, heroes of Look Out Mountain, + Of Corinth and Donelson, +Of Kenesaw and Atlanta, + And tell how the day was won! +Hush! bow the head for a moment-- + There are those who cannot come. +No bugle-call can arouse them-- + No sound of fife or drum. + +Oh, boys who died for the country, + Oh, dear and sainted dead! +What can we say about you + That has not once been said? +Whether you fell in the contest, + Struck down by shot and shell, +Or pined 'neath the hand of sickness + Or starved in the prison cell, + +We know that you died for Freedom, + To save our land from shame, +To rescue a periled Nation, + And we give you deathless fame. +'T was the cause of Truth and Justice + That you fought and perished for, +And we say it, oh, so gently, + "Our boys who died in the war." + +Saviors of our Republic, + Heroes who wore the blue, +We owe the peace that surrounds us-- + And our Nation's strength to you. +We owe it to you that our banner, + The fairest flag in the world, +Is to-day unstained, unsullied, + On the Summer air unfurled. + +We look on its stripes and spangles, + And our hearts are filled the while +With love for the brave commanders, + And the boys of the rank and file. +The grandest deeds of valor + Were never written out, +The noblest acts of virtue + The world knows nothing about. + +And many a private soldier, + Who walks his humble way, +With no sounding name or title, + Unknown to the world to-day, +In the eyes of God is a hero + As worthy of the bays, +As any mighty General + To whom the world gives praise. + +Brave men of a mighty army, + We extend you friendship's hand! +I speak for the "Loyal Women," + Those pillars of our land. +We wish you a hearty welcome, + We are proud that you gather here +To talk of old times together + On this brightest day in the year. + +And if Peace, whose snow-white pinions, + Brood over our land to-day, +Should ever again go from us, + (God grant she may ever stay!) +Should our Nation call in her peril + For "Six hundred thousand more," +The loyal women would hear her, + And send you out as before. + +We would bring out the treasured knapsack, + We would take the sword from the wall, +And hushing our own hearts' pleadings, + Hear only the country's call. +For next to our God, is our Nation; + And we cherish the honored name, +Of the bravest of all brave armies + Who fought for that Nation's fame. + + + +NOBLESSE OBLIGE. + + +I hold it the duty of one who is gifted, + And specially dowered in all men's sight, +To know no rest till his life is lifted + Fully up to his great gifts' height. + +He must mold the man into rare completeness, + For gems are set only in gold refined. +He must fashion his thoughts into perfect sweetness, + And cast out folly and pride from his mind. + +For he who drinks from a god's gold fountain + Of art or music or rhythmic song +Must sift from his soul the chaff of malice, + And weed from his heart the roots of wrong. + +Great gifts should be worn, like a crown befitting! + And not like gems in a beggar's hands. +And the toil must be constant and unremitting + Which lifts up the king to the crown's demands. + + + +AND THEY ARE DUMB. + + +I have been across the bridges of the years. + Wet with tears +Were the ties on which I trod, going back + Down the track +To the valley where I left, 'neath skies of Truth, + My lost youth. + +As I went, I dropped my burdens, one and all-- + Let them fall; +All my sorrows, all my wrinkles, all my care, + My white hair, +I laid down, like some lone pilgrim's heavy pack, + By the track. + +As I neared the happy valley with light feet, + My heart beat +To the rhythm of a song I used to know + Long ago, +And my spirits gushed and bubbled like a fountain + Down a mountain. + +On the border of that valley I found you, + Tried and true; +And we wandered through the golden Summer-Land + Hand in hand. +And my pulses beat with rapture in the blisses + Of your kisses. + +And we met there, in those green and verdant places, + Smiling faces, +And sweet laughter echoed upward from the dells + Like gold bells. +And the world was spilling over with the glory + Of Youth's story. + +It was but a dreamer's journey of the brain; + And again +I have left the happy valley far behind; + And I find +Time stands waiting with his burdens in a pack + For my back. + +As he speeds me, like a rough, well-meaning friend, + To the end, +Will I find again the lost ones loved so well? + Who can tell! +But the dead know what the life will be to come-- + And they are dumb! + + + +NIGHT. + + +As some dusk mother shields from all alarms + The tired child she gathers to her breast, +The brunette Night doth fold me in her arms, + And hushes me to perfect peace and rest. +Her eyes of stars shine on me, and I hear +Her voice of winds low crooning on my ear. +O Night, O Night, how beautiful thou art! +Come, fold me closer to thy pulsing heart. + +The day is full of gladness, and the light + So beautifies the common outer things, +I only see with my external sight, + And only hear the great world's voice which rings +But silently from daylight and from din +The sweet Night draws me--whispers, "Look within!" +And looking, as one wakened from a dream, +I see what _is_--no longer what doth seem. + +The Night says, "Listen!" and upon my ear + Revealed, as are the visions to my sight, +The voices known as "Beautiful" come near + And whisper of the vastly Infinite. +Great, blue-eyed Truth, her sister Purity, +Their brother Honor, all converse with me, +And kiss my brow, and say, "Be brave of heart!" +O holy three! how beautiful thou art! + +The Night says, "Child, sleep that thou may'st arise + Strong for to-morrow's struggle." And I feel +Her shadowy fingers pressing on my eyes: + Like thistledown I float to the Ideal-- +The Slumberland, made beautiful and bright +As death, by dreams of loved ones gone from sight, +O food for soul's, sweet dreams of pure delight, +How beautiful the holy hours of Night! + + + +ALL FOR ME. + + +The world grows green on a thousand hills-- + By a thousand willows the bees are humming, +And a million birds by a million rills, + Sing of the golden season coming. +But, gazing out on the sun-kist lea, + And hearing a thrush and a blue-bird singing, +I feel that the Summer is all for me, + And all for me are the joys it is bringing. + +All for me the bumble-bee + Drones his song in the perfect weather; +And, just on purpose to sing to me, + Thrush and blue-bird came North together. +Just for me, in red and white, + Bloom and blossom the fields of clover; +And all for me and my delight + The wild Wind follows and plays the lover. + +The mighty sun, with a scorching kiss + (I have read, and heard, and do not doubt it) +Has burned up a thousand worlds like this, + And never stopped to think about it. +And yet I believe he hurries up + Just on purpose to kiss my flowers-- +To drink the dew from the lily-cup, + And help it to grow through golden hours. + +I know I am only a speck of dust, + An individual mite of masses, +Clinging upon the outer crust + Of a little ball of cooling gases. +And yet, and yet, say what you will, + And laugh, if you please, at my lack of reason, +For me wholly, and for me still, + Blooms and blossoms the Summer season. + +Nobody else has ever heard + The story the Wind to me discloses; +And none but I and the humming-bird + Can read the hearts of the crimson roses. +Ah, my Summer--my love--my own! + The world grows glad in your smiling weather; +Yet all for me, and me alone, + You and your Court came north together. + + + +PHILOSOPHY. + + +At morn the wise man walked abroad, + Proud with the learning of great fools. +He laughed and said, "There is no God-- + 'Tis force creates, 'tis reason rules." + +Meek with the wisdom of great faith, + At night he knelt while angels smiled, +And wept and cried with anguished breath, + "Jehovah, _God_, save thou my child." + + + +"CARLOS." + + +Last night I knelt low at my lady's feet. +One soft, caressing hand played with my hair, +And one I kissed and fondled. Kneeling there, +I deemed my meed of happiness complete. + +She was so fair, so full of witching wiles-- +Of fascinating tricks of mouth and eye; +So womanly withal, but not too shy-- +And all my heaven was compassed by her smiles. + +Her soft touch on my cheek and forehead sent, +Like little arrows, thrills of tenderness +Through all my frame. I trembled with excess +Of love, and sighed the sigh of great content. + +When any mortal dares to so rejoice, +I think a jealous Heaven, bending low, +Reaches a stern hand forth and deals a blow. +Sweet through the dusk I heard my lady's voice. + +"My love!" she sighed, "My Carlos!" even now +I feel the perfumed zephyr of her breath +Bearing to me those words of living death, +And starting out the cold drops on my brow. + +For I am _Paul_--not Carlos! Who is he +That, in the supreme hour of love's delight, +Veiled by the shadows of the falling night, +She should breathe low his name, forgetting me? + +I will not ask her! 'twere a fruitless task, +For, woman-like, she would make me believe +Some well-told tale; and sigh, and seem to grieve, +And call me cruel. Nay, I will not ask. + +But this man Carlos, whosoe'er he be, +Has turned my cup of nectar into gall, +Since I know he has claimed some one or all +Of these delights my lady grants to me. + +He must have knelt and kissed her, in some sad +And tender twilight, when the day grew dim. +How else could I remind her so of him? +Why, reveries like these have made men mad! + +He must have felt her soft hand on his brow. +If Heaven was shocked at such presumptuous wrongs, +And plunged him in the grave, where he belongs, +_Still she remembers_, though she loves me now. + +And if he lives, and meets me to his cost, +Why, what avails it? I must hear and see +That curst name "Carlos" always haunting me-- +So has another Paradise been lost. + + + +THE TWO GLASSES. + + +There sat two glasses filled to the brim, +On a rich man's table, rim to rim. +One was ruddy and red as blood, +And one was clear as the crystal flood. + +Said the glass of wine to his paler brother, +"Let us tell tales of the past to each other; +I can tell of a banquet, and revel, and mirth, +Where I was king, for I ruled in might; +For the proudest and grandest souls on earth +Fell under my touch, as though struck with blight. +From the heads of kings I have torn the crown; +From the heights of fame I have hurled men down. +I have blasted many an honored name; +I have taken virtue and given shame; +I have tempted the youth with a sip, a taste, +That has made his future a barren waste. +Far greater than any king am I, +Or than any army beneath the sky. +I have made the arm of the driver fail, +And sent the train from the iron rail. +I have made good ships go down at sea, +And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me. +Fame, strength, wealth, genius before me fall; +And my might and power are over all! +Ho, ho! pale brother," said the wine, +"Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?" + +Said the water-glass: "I cannot boast +Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host, +But I can tell of hearts that were sad +By my crystal drops made bright and glad; +Of thirsts I have quenched, and brows I have laved; +Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved. +I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the mountain, +Slept in the sunshine, and dripped from the fountain. +I have burst my cloud-fetters, and dropped from the sky. +And everywhere gladdened the prospect and eye; +I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain; +I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain. +I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill, +That ground out the flour, and turned at my will. +I can tell of manhood debased by you, +That I have uplifted and crowned anew +I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid; +I gladden the heart of man and maid; +I set the wine-chained captive free, +And all are better for knowing me." + +These are the tales they told each other, +The glass of wine and its paler brother, +As they sat together, filled to the brim, +On a rich man's table, rim to rim. + + + +THROUGH TEARS. + + +An artist toiled over his pictures; + He labored by night and by day. +He struggled for glory and honor, + But the world, it had nothing to say. +His walls were ablaze with the splendors + We see in the beautiful skies; +But the world beheld only the colors + That were made out of chemical dyes. + +Time sped. And he lived, loved, and suffered; + He passed through the valley of grief. +Again he toiled over his canvas, + Since in labor alone was relief. +It showed not the splendor of colors + Of those of his earlier years, +But the world? the world bowed down before it, + Because it was painted with tears. + +A poet was gifted with genius, + And he sang, and he sang all the days. +He wrote for the praise of the people, + But the people accorded no praise. +Oh, his songs were as blithe as the morning, + As sweet as the music of birds; +But the world had no homage to offer, + Because they were nothing but words. + +Time sped. And the poet through sorrow + Became like his suffering kind. +Again he toiled over his poems + To lighten the grief of his mind. +They were not so flowing and rhythmic + As those of his earlier years, +But the world? lo! it offered its homage + Because they were written in tears. + +So ever the price must be given + By those seeking glory in art; +So ever the world is repaying + The grief-stricken, suffering heart. +The happy must ever be humble; + Ambition must wait for the years, +Ere hoping to win the approval + Of a world that looks on through its tears. + + + +INTO SPACE. + + +If the sad old world should jump a cog + Sometime, in its dizzy spinning, +And go off the track with a sudden jog, + What an end would come to the sinning. +What a rest from strife and the burdens of life + For the millions of people in it, +What a way out of care, and worry and wear, + All in a beautiful minute. + +As 'round the sun with a curving sweep + It hurries and runs and races, +Should it lose its balance, and go with a leap + Into the vast sea-spaces, +What a blest relief it would bring to the grief, + And the trouble and toil about us, +To be suddenly hurled from the solar world + And let it go on without us. + +With not a sigh or a sad good-by + For loved ones left behind us, +We would go with a lunge and a mighty plunge + Where never a grave should find us. +What a wild mad thrill our veins would fill + As the great earth, life a feather, +Should float through the air to God knows where, + And carry us all together. + +No dark, damp tomb and no mourner's gloom, + No tolling bell in the steeple, +But in one swift breath a painless death + For a million billion people. +What greater bliss could we ask than this, + To sweep with a bird's free motion +Through leagues of space to a resting place, + In a vast and vapory ocean-- +To pass away from this life for aye + With never a dear tie sundered, +And a world on fire for a funeral pyre, + While the stars looked on and wondered? + + + +THROUGH DIM EYES. + + +Is it the world, or my eyes, that are sadder? +I see not the grace that I used to see +In the meadow-brook whose song was so glad, or +In the boughs of the willow tree. +The brook runs slower--its song seems lower, +And not the song that it sang of old; +And the tree I admired looks weary and tired +Of the changeless story of heat and cold. + +When the sun goes up, and the stars go under, +In that supreme hour of the breaking day, +Is it my eyes, or the dawn I wonder, +That finds less of the gold, and more of the gray? +I see not the splendor, the tints so tender, +The rose-hued glory I used to see; +And I often borrow a vague half-sorrow +That another morning has dawned for me. + +When the royal smile of that welcome comer +Beams on the meadow and burns in the sky, +Is it my eyes, or does the Summer +Bring less of bloom than in days gone by? +The beauty that thrilled me, the rapture that filled me, +To an overflowing of happy tears, +I pass unseeing, my sad eyes being +Dimmed by the shadow of vanished years. + +When the heart grows weary, all things seem dreary; +When the burden grows heavy, the way seems long. +Thank God for sending kind death as an ending, +Like a grand Amen to a minor song. + + + +LA MORT D'AMOUR. + + +When was it that love died? We were so fond, + So very fond, a little while ago. + With leaping pulses, and blood all aglow, +We dreamed about a sweeter life beyond, + +When we should dwell together as one heart, + And scarce could wait that happy time to come. + Now side by side we sit with lips quite dumb, +And feel ourselves a thousand miles apart. + +How was it that love died! I do not know. + I only know that all its grace untold + Has faded into gray! I miss the gold +From our dull skies; but did not see it go. + +Why should love die? We prized it, I am sure; + We thought of nothing else when it was ours; + We cherished it in smiling, sunlit bowers; +It was our all; why could it not endure? + +Alas, we know not how, or when or why + This dear thing died. We only know it went, + And left us dull, cold, and indifferent; +We who found heaven once in each other's sigh. + +How pitiful it is, and yet how true + That half the lovers in the world, one day, + Look questioning in each other's eyes this way +And know love's gone forever, as we do. + +Sometimes I cannot help but think, dear heart, + As I look out o'er all the wide, sad earth + And see love's flame gone out on many a hearth, +That those who would keep love must dwell apart. + + + +THE PUNISHED. + + +Not they who know the awful gibbet's anguish, + Not they who, while sad years go by them, in +The sunless cells of lonely prisons languish, + Do suffer fullest penalty for sin. + +'Tis they who walk the highways unsuspected + Yet with grim fear forever at their side, +Who hug the corpse of some sin undetected, + A corpse no grave or coffin-lid can hide-- + +'Tis they who are in their own chambers haunted + By thoughts that like unbidden guests intrude, +And sit down, uninvited and unwanted, + And make a nightmare of the solitude. + + + +HALF FLEDGED. + + +I feel the stirrings in me of great things. +New half-fledged thoughts rise up and beat their wings, +And tremble on the margin of their nest, +Then flutter back, and hide within my breast. + +Beholding space, they doubt their untried strength. +Beholding men, they fear them. But at length +Grown all too great and active for the heart +That broods them with such tender mother art, +Forgetting fear, and men, and all, that hour, +Save the impelling consciousness of power +That stirs within them--they shall soar away +Up to the very portals of the Day. + +Oh, what exultant rapture thrills me through +When I contemplate all those thoughts may do; +Like snow-white eagles penetrating space, +They may explore full many an unknown place, +And build their nests on mountain heights unseen, +Whereon doth lie that dreamed-of rest serene. + +Stay thou a little longer in my breast, +Till my fond heart shall push thee from the nest, +Anxious to see thee soar to heights divine-- +Oh, beautiful but half-fledged thoughts of mine. + + + +LOVE'S SLEEP. + +(Vers de Societe.) + + +We'll cover Love with roses, + And sweet sleep he shall take. +None but a fool supposes + Love always keeps awake. +I've known loves without number. + True loves were they, and tried; +And just for want of slumber + They pined away and died. + +Our love was bright and cheerful + A little while agone; +Now he is pale and tearful, + And--yes, I've seen him yawn. +So tired is he of kisses + That he can only weep; +The one dear thing he misses + And longs for now is sleep. + +We could not let him leave us + One time, he was so dear, +But now it would not grieve us + If he slept half a year. +For he has had his season, + Like the lily and the rose, +And it but stands to reason + That he should want repose. + +We prized the smiling Cupid + Who made our days so bright; +But he has grown so stupid + We gladly say good-night. +And if he wakens tender + And fond, and fair as when +He filled our lives with splendor, + We'll take him back again. + +And should he never waken, + As that perchance may be, +We will not weep forsaken, + But sing, "Love, tra-la-lee!" + + + +TRUE CULTURE. + + +The highest culture is to speak no ill; +The best reformer is the man whose eyes +Are quick to see all beauty and all worth; +And by his own discreet, well-ordered life, +Alone reproves the erring. + When they gaze +Turns it on thine own soul, be most severe. +But when it falls upon a fellow-man +Let kindliness control it; and refrain +From that belittling censure that springs forth +From common lips like weeds from marshy soil. + + + +THE VOLUPTUARY. + + +Oh, I am sick of love reciprocated, + Of hopes fulfilled, ambitions gratified. +Life holds no thing to be anticipated, + And I am sad from being satisfied. + +The eager joy felt climbing up the mountain + Has left me now the highest point is gained. +The crystal spray that fell from Fame's fair fountain + Was sweeter than the waters were when drained. + +The gilded apple which the world calls pleasure, + And which I purchased with my youth and strength, +Pleased me a moment. But the empty treasure + Lost all its lustre, and grew dim at length. + +And love, all glowing with a golden glory, + Delighted me a season with its tale. +It pleased the longest, but at last the story + So oft repeated, to my heart grew stale. + +I lived for self, and all I asked was given, + I have had all, and now am sick of bliss, +No other punishment designed by Heaven + Could strike me half so forcibly as this. + +I feel no sense of aught but enervation + In all the joys my selfish aims have brought, +And know no wish but for annihilation, + Since that would give me freedom from the thought. + +Oh, blest is he who has some aim defeated; + Some mighty loss to balance all his gain. +For him there is a hope not yet completed; + For him hath life yet draughts of joy and pain. + +But cursed is he who has no balked ambition, + No hopeless hope, no loss beyond repair, +But sick and sated with complete fruition, + Keeps not the pleasure even of despair. + + + +THE YEAR. + + +What can be said in New Year rhymes, +That's not been said a thousand times? + +The new years come, the old years go, +We know we dream, we dream we know. + +We rise up laughing with the light, +We lie down weeping with the night. + +We hug the world until it stings, +We curse it then and sigh for wings. + +We live, we love, we woo, we wed, +We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead. + +We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear, +And that's the burden of the year. + + + +THE UNATTAINED. + + +A vision beauteous as the morn, + With heavenly eyes and tresses streaming, +Slow glided o'er a field late shorn + Where walked a poet idly dreaming. +He saw her, and joy lit his face, + "Oh, vanish not at human speaking," +He cried, "thou form of magic grace, + Thou art the poem I am seeking. + +"I've sought thee long! I claim thee now-- + My thought embodied, living, real." +She shook the tresses from her brow. + "Nay, nay!" she said, "I am ideal. +I am the phantom of desire-- + The spirit of all great endeavor, +I am the voice that says, 'Come higher,' + That calls men up and up forever. + +"'Tis not alone thy thought supreme + That here upon thy path has risen; +I am the artist's highest dream, + The ray of light he cannot prison. +I am the sweet ecstatic note + Than all glad music gladder, clearer, +That trembles in the singer's throat, + And dies without a human hearer. + +"I am the greater, better yield, + That leads and cheers thy farmer neighbor, +For me he bravely tills the field + And whistles gayly at his labor. +Not thou alone, O poet soul, + Dost seek me through an endless morrow, +But to the toiling, hoping whole + I am at once the hope and sorrow. + +The spirit of the unattained, + I am to those who seek to name me, +A good desired but never gained. + All shall pursue, but none shall claim me." + + + +IN THE CROWD. + + +How happy they are, in all seeming, + How gay, or how smilingly proud, +How brightly their faces are beaming, + These people who make up the crowd. +How they bow, how they bend, how they flutter, + How they look at each other and smile, +How they glow, and what _bon mots_ they utter! + But a strange thought has found me the while! + +It is odd, but I stand here and fancy + These people who now play a part, +All forced by some strange necromancy + To speak, and to act, from the heart. +What a hush would come over the laughter! + What a silence would fall on the mirth! +And then what a wail would sweep after, + As the night-wind sweeps over the earth. + +If the secrets held under and hidden + In the intricate hearts of the crowd, +Were suddenly called to, and bidden + To rise up and cry out aloud, +How strange one would look to another! + Old friends of long standing and years-- +Own brothers would not know each other, + Robed new in their sorrows and fears. + +From broadcloth, and velvet, and laces, + Would echo the groans of despair, +And there would be blanching of faces + And wringing of hands and of hair. +That man with his record of honor, + That lady down there with the rose, +That girl with Spring's freshness upon her, + Who knoweth the secrets of those? + +Smile on, O ye maskers, smile sweetly! + Step lightly, bow low and laugh loud! +Though the world is deceived and completely, + I know ye, O sad-hearted crowd! +I watch you with infinite pity: + But play on, play ever your part, +Be gleeful, be joyful, be witty! + 'Tis better than showing the heart. + + + +LIFE AND I. + + +Life and I are lovers, straying + Arm in arm along: +Often like two children Maying, + Full of mirth and song. + +Life plucks all the blooming hours + Growing by the way; +Binds them on my brow like flowers; + Calls me Queen of May. + +Then again, in rainy weather, + We sit vis-a-vis, +Planning work we'll do together + In the years to be. + +Sometimes Life denies me blisses, + And I frown or pout; +But we make it up with kisses + Ere the day is out. + +Woman-like, I sometimes grieve him, + Try his trust and faith, +Saying I shall one day leave him + For his rival Death. + +Then he always grows more zealous, + Tender, and more true; +Loves the more for being jealous, + As all lovers do. + +Though I swear by stars above him, + And by worlds beyond, +That I love him--love him--love him; + Though my heart is fond; + +Though he gives me, doth my lover, + Kisses with each breath-- +I shall one day throw him over, + And plight troth with Death. + + + +GUERDON. + + +Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year + I saw a tear. +Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow + So soon a sorrow. +Just then the sunlight fell with sudden flame: + The tear became +A wond'rous diamond sparkling in the light-- + A beauteous sight. + +Upon my soul there fell such woeful loss, + I said, "The Cross +Is grievous for a life as young as mine." + Just then, like wine, +God's sunlight shone from His high Heavens down; + And lo! a crown +Gleamed in the place of what I thought a burden-- + My sorrow's guerdon. + + + +SNOWED UNDER. + + +Of a thousand things that the Year snowed under-- + The busy Old Year who has gone away-- +How many will rise in the Spring, I wonder, + Brought to life by the sun of May? +Will the rose-tree branches, so wholly hidden + That never a rose-tree seems to be, +At the sweet Spring's call come forth unbidden, + And bud in beauty, and bloom for me? + +Will the fair, green Earth, whose throbbing bosom + Is hid like a maid's in her gown at night, +Wake out of her sleep, and with blade and blossom + Gem her garments to please my sight? +Over the knoll in the valley yonder + The loveliest buttercups bloomed and grew; +When the snow has gone that drifted them under, + Will they shoot up sunward, and bloom anew? + +When wild winds blew, and a sleet-storm pelted, + I lost a jewel of priceless worth; +If I walk that way when snows have melted, + Will the gem gleam up from the bare, brown Earth? +I laid a love that was dead or dying, + For the year to bury and hide from sight; +But out of a trance will it waken, crying, + And push to my heart, like a leaf to the light? + +Under the snow lie things so cherished-- + Hopes, ambitions, and dreams of men-- +Faces that vanished, and trusts that perished, + Never to sparkle and glow again. +The Old Year greedily grasped his plunder, + And covered it over and hurried away: +Of the thousand things that he did, I wonder + How many will rise at the call of May? +O wise Young Year, with your hands held under + Your mantle of ermine, tell me, pray! + + + +PLATONIC. + + +I knew it the first of the Summer-- + I knew it the same at the end-- +That you and your love were plighted, + But couldn't you be my friend? +Couldn't we sit in the twilight, + Couldn't we walk on the shore, +With only a pleasant friendship + To bind us, and nothing more? + +There was never a word of nonsense + Spoken between us two, +Though we lingered oft in the garden + Till the roses were wet with dew. +We touched on a thousand subjects-- + The moon and the stars above; +But our talk was tinctured with science, + With never a hint of love. + +"A wholly platonic friendship," + You said I had proved to you, +"Could bind a man and a woman + The whole long season through, +With never a thought of folly, + Though both are in their youth." +What would you have said, my lady, + If you had known the truth? + +Had I done what my mad heart prompted-- + Gone down on my knees to you, +And told you my passionate story + There in the dusk and dew; +My burning, burdensome story, + Hidden and hushed so long, +My story of hopeless loving-- + Say, would you have thought it wrong? + +But I fought with my heart and conquered: + I hid my wound from sight; +You were going away in the morning + And I said a calm good-night. +But now, when I sit in the twilight + Or when I walk by the sea, +That friendship quite "platonic" + Comes surging over me. +And a passionate longing fills me + For the roses, the dusk and the dew,-- +For the beautiful Summer vanished-- + For the moonlit talks--and you. + + + +WHAT WE NEEDED. + + +What does our country need? Not armies standing + With sabres gleaming ready for the fight. +Not increased navies, skillful and commanding, + To bound the waters with an iron might. +Not haughty men with glutted purses trying + To purchase souls, and keep the power of place. +Not jeweled dolls with one another vieing + For palms of beauty, elegance and grace. + +But we want women, strong of soul, yet lowly, + With that rare meekness, born of gentleness, +Women whose lives are pure and clean and holy, + The women whom all little children bless. +Brave, earnest women, helpful to each other, + With finest scorn for all things low and mean. +Women who hold the names of wife and mother, + Far nobler than the title of a Queen. + +O these are they who mold the men of story, + These mothers, ofttimes shorn of grace and youth, +Who, worn and weary, ask no greater glory + Than making some young soul the home of truth, +Who sow in hearts all fallow for the sowing + The seeds of virtue and of scorn for sin, +And, patient, watch the beauteous harvest growing + And weed out tares which crafty hands cast in. + +Women who do not hold the gift of beauty + As some rare treasure to be bought and sold, +But guard it as a precious aid to duty-- + The outer framing of the inner gold; +Women who, low above their cradles bending, + Let flattery's voice go by, and give no heed, +While their pure prayers like incense are ascending: + _These_ are our country's pride, our country's need. + + + +"LEUDEMANN'S-ON-THE-RIVER." + + +Toward even when the day leans down + To kiss the upturned face of night, +Out just beyond the loud-voiced town + I know a spot of calm delight. +Like crimson arrows from a quiver + The red rays pierce the waters flowing +While we go dreaming, singing, rowing + To Leudemann's-on-the-River. + +The hills, like some glad mocking-bird, + Send back our laughter and our singing, +While faint--and yet more faint is heard + The steeple bells all sweetly ringing. +Some message did the winds deliver + To each glad heart that August night, +All heard, but all heard not aright; + By Leudemann's-on-the-River. + +Night falls as in some foreign clime, + Between the hills that slope and rise. +So dusk the shades at landing time, + We could not see each other's eyes. +We only saw the moonbeams quiver + Far down upon the stream! that night +The new moon gave but little light + By Leudemann's-on-the-River. + +How dusky were those paths that led + Up from the river to the hall. +The tall trees branching overhead + Invite the early shades that fall. +In all the glad blithe world, oh, never + Were hearts more free from care than when +We wandered through those walks, we ten, + By Leudemann's-on-the-River. + +So soon, so soon, the changes came. + This August day we two alone, +On that same river, not the same, + Dream of a night forever flown. +Strange distances have come to sever + The hearts that gayly beat in pleasure, +Long miles we cannot cross or measure-- + From Leudemann's-on-the-River. + +We'll pluck two leaves, dear friend, to-day. + The green, the russet! seems it strange +So soon, so soon, the leaves can change! + Ah, me! so runs all life away. +This night wind chills me, and I shiver; + The Summer time is almost past. +One more good-bye--perhaps the last + To Leudemann's-on-the-River. + + + +IN THE LONG RUN. + + +In the long run fame finds the deserving man. + The lucky wight may prosper for a day, +But in good time true merit leads the van, + And vain pretense, unnoticed, goes its way. +There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate, +But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait, + In the long run. + +In the long run all goodly sorrow pays, + There is no better thing than righteous pain, +The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days, + Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain. +Unmeaning joys enervate in the end. +But sorrow yields a glorious dividend + In the long run. + +In the long run all hidden things are known, + The eye of truth will penetrate the night, +And good or ill, thy secret shall be known, + However well 'tis guarded from the light. +All the unspoken motives of the breast +Are fathomed by the years and stand confest + In the long run. + +In the long run all love is paid by love, + Though undervalued by the hosts of earth; +The great eternal Government above + Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth. +Give thy love freely; do not count the cost; +So beautiful a thing was never lost + In the long run. + + + +PLEA TO SCIENCE. + + +O Science reaching backward through the distance, + Most earnest child of God, +Exposing all the secrets of existence, + With thy divining rod, +I bid thee speed up to the heights supernal, + Clear thinker, ne'er sufficed; +Go seek and bind the laws and truths eternal, + But leave me Christ. + +Upon the vanity of pious sages + Let in the light of day. +Break down the superstitions of all ages-- + Thrust bigotry away; +Stride on, and bid all stubborn foes defiance + Let Truth and Reason reign. +But I beseech thee, O Immortal Science, + Let Christ remain. + +What canst thou give to help me bear my crosses, + In place of Him, my Lord? +And what to recompense for all my losses, + And bring me sweet reward? +_Thou_ couldst not with thy clear, cold eyes of reason, + Thou couldst not comfort me +Like one who passed through that tear-blotted season, + In sad Gethsemane! + +Through all the weary, wearing hour of sorrow, + What word that thou hast said, +Would make me strong to wait for some to-morrow + When I should find my dead? +When I am weak, and desolate, and lonely-- + And prone to follow wrong? +Not thou, O Science--Christ, my Savior, only + Can make me strong. + +Thou are so cold, so lofty and so distant, + Though great my need might be, +No prayer, however constant and persistent, + Could bring thee down to me. +Christ stands so near, to help me through each hour, + To guide me day by day. +O Science, sweeping all before thy power + Leave Christ, I pray! + + + +LOVE'S BURIAL. + + +Let us clear a little space, +And make Love a burial place. + +He is dead, dear, as you see, +And he wearies you and me, + +Growing heavier, day by day, +Let us bury him, I say. + +Wings of dead white butterflies, +These shall shroud him, as he lies + +In his casket rich and rare, +Made of finest maiden-hair. + +With the pollen of the rose +Let us his white eye-lids close. + +Put the rose thorn in his hand, +Shorn of leaves--you understand. + +Let some holy water fall +On his dead face, tears of gall-- + +As we kneel by him and say, +"Dreams to dreams," and turn away. + +Those grave diggers, Doubt, Distrust, +They will lower him to the dust. + +Let us part here with a kiss, +You go that way, I go this. + +Since we buried Love to-day +We will walk a separate way. + + + +LITTLE BLUE HOOD. + + +Every morning and every night + There passes our window near the street, +A little girl with an eye so bright, + And a cheek so round and a lip so sweet; +The daintiest, jauntiest little miss +That ever any one longed to kiss. + +She is neat as wax, and fresh to view, + And her look is wholesome and clean, and good. +Whatever her gown, her hood is blue, + And so we call her our "Little Blue Hood," +For we know not the name of the dear little lass, +But we call to each other to see her pass. + +"Little Blue Hood is coming now!" + And we watch from the window while she goes by, +She has such a bonny, smooth, white brow, + And a fearless look in her long-lashed eye; +And a certain dignity wedded to grace, +Seems to envelop her form and face. + +Every morning, in sun or rain, + She walks by the window with sweet, grave air, +And never guesses behind the pane + We two are watching and thinking her fair; +Lovingly watching her down the street, +Dear little Blue Hood, bright and sweet. + +Somebody ties that hood of blue + Under the face so fair to see, +Somebody loves her, beside we two, + Somebody kisses her--why can't we? +Dear Little Blue Hood fresh and fair, +Are you glad we love you, or don't you care? + + + +NO SPRING. + + +Up from the South come the birds that were banished, + Frightened away by the presence of frost. +Back to the vale comes the verdure that vanished, + Back to the forest the leaves that were lost. +Over the hillside the carpet of splendor, + Folded through Winter, Spring spreads down again; +Along the horizon, the tints that were tender, + Lost hues of Summer time, burn bright as then. + +Only the mountains' high summits are hoary, + To the ice-fettered river the sun gives a key. +Once more the gleaming shore lists to the story + Told by an amorous Summer-kissed sea. +All things revive that in Winter time perished, + The rose buds again in the light o' the sun, +All that was beautiful, all that was cherished, + Sweet things and dear things and all things--save one. + +Late, when the year and the roses were lying + Low with the ruins of Summer and bloom, +Down in the dust fell a love that was dying, + And the snow piled above it, and made it a tomb. +Lo! now! the roses are budded for blossom-- + Lo! now! the Summer is risen again. +Why dost thou bud not, O Love of my bosom? + Why dost thou rise not, and thrill me as then? + +Life without love, is a year without Summer, + Heart without love, is a wood without song. +Rise then, revive then, thou indolent comer, + Why dost thou lie in the dark earth so long? +Rise! ah, thou canst not! the rose-tree that sheddest + Its beautiful leaves, in the Spring time may bloom, +But of cold things the coldest, of dead things the deadest, + Love buried once, rises not from the tomb. +Green things may grow on the hillside and heather, + Birds seek the forest and build there and sing. +All things revive in the beautiful weather, + But unto a dead love there cometh no Spring. + + + +LIPPO. + + +Now we must part, my Lippo. Even so, +I grieve to see thy sudden pained surprise; +Gaze not on me with such accusing eyes-- +'T was thine own hand which dealt dear Love's death-blow. + +I loved thee fondly yesterday. Till then +Thy heart was like a covered golden cup +Always above my eager lip held up. +I fancied thou wert not as other men. + +I knew that heart was filled with Love's sweet wine, +Pressed wholly for my drinking. And my lip +Grew parched with thirsting for one nectared sip +Of what, denied me, seemed a draught divine. + +Last evening, in the gloaming, that cup spilled +Its precious contents. Even to the lees +Were offered to me, saying, "Drink of these!" +And when I saw it empty, Love was killed. + +No word was left unsaid, no act undone, +To prove to me thou wert my abject slave. +Ah, Love! hadst thou been wise enough to save +One little drop of that sweet wine--but one-- + +I still had loved thee, longing for it then. +But even the cup is mine. I look within, +And find it holds not one last drop to win, +And cast it down.--Thou art as other men. + + + +MIDSUMMER. + + +After the May time, and after the June time + Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet, +Cometh the round world's royal noon time, + The red midsummer of blazing heat. +When the sun, like an eye that never closes, + Bends on the earth its fervid gaze, +And the winds are still, and the crimson roses + Droop and wither and die in its rays. + +Unto my heart has come that season, + O my lady, my worshiped one, +When over the stars of Pride and Reason + Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun. +Like a great red ball in my bosom burning + With fires that nothing can quench or tame. +It glows till my heart itself seems turning + Into a liquid lake of flame. + +The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender, + The dreams and fears of an earlier day, +Under the noontide's royal splendor, + Droop like roses and wither away. +From the hills of doubt no winds are blowing, + From the isle of pain no breeze is sent. +Only the sun in a white heat glowing + Over an ocean of great content. + +Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory, + Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon, +For the Autumn must come with its mournful story, + And Love's midsummer will fade too soon. + + + +A REMINISCENCE. + + +I saw the wild honey-bee kissing a rose + A wee one, that grows +Down low on the bush, where her sisters above + Cannot see all that's done + As the moments roll on. +Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love. + +They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the sun, + And they flirt, every one, +With the wild bees who pass, and the gay butterflies. + And that wee thing in pink-- + Why, they never once think +That she's won a lover right under their eyes. + +It reminded me, Kate, of a time--you know when! + You were so petite then, +Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small. + Your sisters, Maud-Belle + And Madeline--well, +They _both_ set their caps for me, after that ball. + +How the blue eyes and black eyes smiled up in my face! + 'T was a neck-and-neck race, +Till that day when you opened the door in the hall, + And looked up and looked down, + With your sweet eyes of brown, +And _you_ seemed so tiny, and _I_ felt so tall. + +Your sisters had sent you to keep me, my dear, + Till they should appear. +Then you were dismissed like a child in disgrace. + How meekly you went! + But your brown eyes, they sent +A thrill to my heart, and a flush to my face. + +We always were meeting some way after that. + You hung up my hat, +And got it again, when I finished my call. + Sixteen, and _so_ sweet! + Oh, those cute little feet! +Shall I ever forget how they tripped down the hall? + +Shall I ever forget the first kiss by the door, + Or the vows murmured o'er, +Or the rage and surprise of Maud-Belle? Well-a-day, + How swiftly time flows, + And who would suppose +That a _bee_ could have carried me so far away. + + + +RESPITE. + + +The mighty conflict, which we call existence, + Doth wear upon the body and the soul. +Our vital forces wasted in resistance, + So much there is to conquer and control. + +The rock which meets the billows with defiance. + Undaunted and unshaken day by day, +In spite of its unyielding self-reliance, + Is by the warfare surely worn away. + +And there are depths and heights of strong emotions + That surge at times within the human breast, +More fierce than all the tides of all the oceans + Which sweep on ever in divine unrest. + +I sometimes think the rock worn with adventures, + And sad with thoughts of conflicts yet to be, +Must envy the frail reed which no one censures, + When overcome 'tis swallowed by the sea. + +This life is all resistance and repression, + Dear God, if in that other world unseen, +Not rest, we find, but new life and progression, + Grant us a respite in the grave between. + + + +A GIRL'S FAITH. + + +Across the miles that stretch between, + Through days of gloom or glad sunlight, +There shines a face I have not seen + Which yet doth make my world more bright. + +He may be near, he may be far, + Or near or far I cannot see, +But faithful as the morning star + He yet shall rise and come to me. + +What though fate leads us separate ways, + The world is round, and time is fleet. +A journey of a few brief days, + And face to face we two shall meet. + +Shall meet beneath God's arching skies, + While suns shall blaze, or stars shall gleam, +And looking in each other's eyes + Shall hold the past but as a dream. + +But round and perfect and complete, + Life like a star shall climb the height, +As we two press with willing feet + Together toward the Infinite. + +And still behind the space between, + As back of dawns the sunbeams play, +There shines the face I have not seen, + Whose smile shall wake my world to Day. + + + +TWO. + + +One leaned on velvet cushions like a queen-- + To see him pass, the hero of an hour, +Whom men called great. She bowed with languid mien, + And smiled, and blushed, and knew her beauty's power. + +One trailed her tinseled garments through the street, + And thrust aside the crowd, and found a place +So near, the blooded courser's praning feet + Cast sparks of fire upon her painted face. + +One took the hot-house blossoms from her breast, + And tossed them down, as he went riding by. +And blushed rose-red to see them fondly pressed + To bearded lips, while eye spoke unto eye. + +One, bold and hardened with her sinful life, + Yet shrank and shivered painfully, because +His cruel glance cut keener than a knife, + The glance of him who made her what she was. + +One was observed, and lifted up to fame, + Because the hero smiled upon her! while +One who was shunned and hated, found her shame + In basking in the death-light of his smile. + + + +SLIPPING AWAY. + + +Slipping away--slipping away! +Out of our brief year slips the May; +And Winter lingers, and Summer flies; +And Sorrow abideth, and Pleasure dies; +And the days are short, and the nights are long; +And little is right, and much is wrong. + +Slipping away is the Summer time; +It has lost its rhythm and lilting rhyme-- +For the grace goes out of the day so soon, +And the tired head aches in the glare of noon, +And the way seems long to the hills that lie +Under the calm of the western sky. + +Slipping away are the friends whose worth +Lent a glow to the sad old earth: +One by one they slip from our sight; +One by one their graves gleam white; +Or we count them lost by the crueler death +Of a trust betrayed, or a murdered faith. + +Slipping away are the hopes that made +Bliss out of sorrow, and sun out of shade. +Slipping away is our hold on life. +And out of the struggle and wearing strife, +From joys that diminish, and woes that increase, +We are slipping away to the shores of Peace. + + + +IS IT DONE? + + +It is done! in the fire's fitful flashes, + The last line has withered and curled. +In a tiny white heap of dead ashes + Lie buried the hopes of your world. +There were mad foolish vows in each letter, + It is well they have shriveled and burned, +And the ring! oh, the ring was a fetter, + It was better removed and returned. + +But ah, is it done? in the embers + Where letters and tokens were cast, +Have you burned up the heart that remembers, + And treasures its beautiful past? +Do you think in this swift reckless fashion + To ruthlessly burn and destroy +The months that were freighted with passion, + The dreams that were drunken with joy? + +Can you burn up the rapture of kisses + That flashed from the lips to the soul? +Or the heart that grows sick for lost blisses + In spite of its strength of control? +Have you burned up the touch of warm fingers + That thrilled through each pulse and each vein, +Or the sound of a voice that still lingers + And hurts with a haunting refrain? + +Is it done? is the life drama ended? + You have put all the lights out, and yet, +Though the curtain, rung down, has descended, + Can the actors go home and forget? +Ah, no! they will turn in their sleeping + With a strange restless pain in their hearts, +And in darkness, and anguish and weeping, + Will dream they are playing their parts. + + + +A LEAF. + + +Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve, + That you were married, or soon to be. +I have not thought of you, I believe, + Since last we parted. Let me see: +Five long Summers have passed since then-- + Each has been pleasant in its own way-- +And you are but one of a dozen men + Who have played the suitor a Summer day. + +But, nevertheless, when I heard your name, + Coupled with some one's, not my own, +There burned in my bosom a sudden flame, + That carried me back to the day that is flown. +I was sitting again by the laughing brook, + With you at my feet, and the sky above, +And my heart was fluttering under your look-- + The unmistakable look of Love. + +Again your breath, like a South wind, fanned + My cheek, where the blushes came and went; +And the tender clasp of your strong, warm hand + Sudden thrills through my pulses sent. +Again you were mine by Love's own right-- + Mine forever by Love's decree: +So for a moment it seemed last night, + When somebody mentioned your name to me. + +Just for the moment I thought you mine-- + Loving me, wooing me, as of old. +The tale remembered seemed half divine-- + Though I held it lightly enough when told. +The past seemed fairer than when it was near, + As "Blessings brighten when taking flight;" +And just for the moment I held you dear-- + When somebody mentioned your name last night. + + + +AESTHETIC. + + +In a garb that was guiltless of colors + She stood, with a dull, listless air-- +A creature of dumps and of dolors, + But most undeniably fair. + +The folds of her garment fell round her, + Revealing the curve of each limb; +Well proportioned and graceful I found her, + Although quite alarmingly slim. + +From the hem of her robe peeped one sandal-- + "High art" was she down to her feet; +And though I could not understand all + She said, I could see she was sweet. + +Impressed by her limpness and languor, + I proffered a chair near at hand; +She looked back a mild sort of anger-- + Posed anew, and continued to stand. + +Some praises I next tried to mutter + Of the fan that she held to her face; +She said it was "utterly utter," + And waved it with languishing grace. + +I then, in a strain quite poetic, + Begged her gaze on the bow in the sky, +She looked--said its curve was "aesthetic." + But the "tone was too dreadfully high." + +Her lovely face, lit by the splendor + That glorified landscape and sea, +Woke thoughts that were daring and tender: + Did _her_ thoughts, too, rest upon me? + +"Oh, tell me," I cried, growing bolder, + "Have I in your musings a place?" +"Well, yes," she said over her shoulder: + "I was thinking of nothing in space." + + + +POEMS OF THE WEEK. + + +SUNDAY. + +Lie still and rest, in that serene repose +That on this holy morning comes to those +Who have been burdened with the cares which make +The sad heart weary and the tired head ache. + Lie still and rest-- + God's day of all is best. + + +MONDAY. + +Awake! arise! Cast off thy drowsy dreams! +Red in the East, behold the Morning gleams. +"As Monday goes, so goes the week," dames say. +Refreshed, renewed, use well the initial day. + And see! thy neighbor + Already seeks his labor. + + +TUESDAY. + +Another morning's banners are unfurled-- +Another day looks smiling on the world. +It holds new laurels for thy soul to win: +Mar not its grace by slothfulness or sin, + Nor sad, away, + Send it to yesterday. + + +WEDNESDAY. + +Half-way unto the end--the week's high noon. +The morning hours do speed away so soon! +And, when the noon is reached, however bright, +Instinctively we look toward the night. + The glow is lost + Once the meridian crost. + + +THURSDAY. + +So well the week has sped, hast thou a friend +Go spend an hour in converse. It will lend +New beauty to thy labors and thy life +To pause a little sometimes in the strife. + Toil soon seems rude + That has no interlude. + + +FRIDAY. + +From feasts abstain; be temperate, and pray; +Fast if thou wilt; and yet, throughout the day, +Neglect no labor and no duty shirk: +Not many hours are left thee for thy work-- + And it were meet + That all should be complete. + + +SATURDAY. + +Now with the almost finished task make haste; +So near the night thou hast no time to waste. +Post up accounts, and let thy Soul's eyes look +For flaws and errors in Life's ledger-book. + When labors cease, + How sweet the sense of peace! + + + +GHOSTS. + + + There are ghosts in the room. +As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there + They come out of the gloom, +And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair. + + There's the ghost of a Hope +That lighted my days with a fanciful glow, + In her hand is the rope +That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago. + + But her ghost comes to-night, +With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes, + And it stands in the light, +And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs. + + There's the ghost of a Joy, +A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much, + And the hands that destroy +Clasped it close, and it died at the withering touch. + + There's the ghost of a Love, +Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest, + But he towers above +All the others--this ghost: yet a ghost at the best. + + I am weary, and fain +Would forget all these dead: but the gibbering host + Make my struggle in vain, +In each shadowy corner there lurketh a ghost. + + + +FLEEING AWAY. + + +My thoughts soar not as they ought to soar, + Higher and higher on soul-lent wings; +But ever and often, and more and more + They are dragged down earthward by little things, +By little troubles and little needs, +As a lark might be tangled among the weeds. + +My purpose is not what it ought to be, + Steady and fixed, like a star on high, +But more like a fisherman's light at sea; + Hither and thither it seems to fly-- +Sometimes feeble, and sometimes bright, +Then suddenly lost in the gloom of night. + +My life is far from my dream of life-- + Calmly contented, serenely glad; +But, vexed and worried by daily strife, + It is always troubled, and ofttimes sad-- +And the heights I had thought I should reach one day +Grow dimmer and dimmer, and farther away. + +My heart finds never the longed-for rest; + Its worldly striving, its greed for gold, +Chilled and frightened the calm-eyed guest, + Who sometimes sought me in days of old; +And ever fleeing away from me +Is the higher self that I long to be. + + + +ALL MAD. + + +"He is mad as a hare, poor fellow, + And should be in chains," you say. +I haven't a doubt of your statement, + But who isn't mad, I pray? +Why, the world is a great asylum, + And people are all insane, +Gone daft with pleasure or folly, + Or crazed with passion and pain. + +The infant who shrieks at a shadow, + The child with his Santa Claus faith, +The woman who worships Dame Fashion, + Each man with his notions of death, +The miser who hoards up his earnings, + The spendthrift who wastes them too soon, +The scholar grown blind in his delving, + The lover who stares at the moon. + +The poet who thinks life a paean, + The cynic who thinks it a fraud, +The youth who goes seeking for pleasure, + The preacher who dares talk of God, +All priests with their creeds and their croaking, + All doubters who dare to deny, +The gay who find aught to wake laughter, + The sad who find aught worth a sigh, +Whoever is downcast or solemn, + Whoever is gleeful and glad, +Are only the dupes of delusions-- + We are all of us--all of us mad. + + + +HIDDEN GEMS. + + +We know not what lies in us, till we seek; + Men dive for pearls--they are not found on shore, +The hillsides most unpromising and bleak + Do sometimes hide the ore. + +Go, dive in the vast ocean of thy mind, + O man! far down below the noisy waves, +Down in the depths and silence thou mayst find + Rare pearls and coral caves. + +Sink thou a shaft into the mine of thought; + Be patient, like the seekers after gold; +Under the rocks and rubbish lieth what + May bring thee wealth untold. + +Reflected from the vasty Infinite, + However dulled by earth, each human mind +Holds somewhere gems of beauty and of light + Which, seeking, thou shalt find. + + + +BY-AND-BY. + + +"By-and-by," the maiden sighed--"by-and-by +He will claim me for his bride, +Hope is strong and time is fleet; +Youth is fair, and love is sweet, +Clouds will pass that fleck my sky. +He will come back by-and-by--by-and-by." + +"By-and-by," the soldier said--"by-and-by, +After I have fought and bled, +I shall go home from the wars, +Crowned with glory, seamed with scars. +Joy will flash from some one's eye +When she greets me by-and-by--by-and-by." + +"By-and-by," the mother cried--"by-and-by, +Strong and sturdy at my side, +Like a staff supporting me, +Will my bonnie baby be. +Break my rest, then, wail and cry-- +Thou'lt repay me by-and-by--by-and-by." + +Fleeting years of time have sped--hurried by-- +Still the maiden is unwed; +All unknown the soldier lies, +Buried under alien skies; +And the son, with blood-shot eye +Saw his mother starve and die. +God in Heaven! dost Thou on high, +Keep the promised by-and-by--by-and-by? + + + +OVER THE MAY HILL. + + +All through the night time, and all through the day time, + Dreading the morning and dreading the night, +Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time + Season of beauty and season of blight, +Leaves on the linden, and sun on the meadow, + Green in the garden, and bloom everywhere, +Gloom in my heart, and a terrible shadow, + Walks by me, sits by me, stands by my chair. + +Oh, but the birds by the brooklet are cheery, + Oh, but the woods show such delicate greens, +Strange how you droop and how soon you are weary-- + Too well I know what that weariness means. +But how could I know in the crisp winter weather + (Though sometimes I noticed a catch in your breath), +Riding and singing and dancing together, + How could I know you were racing with death? + +How could I know when we danced until morning, + And you were the gayest of all the gay crowd-- +With only that shortness of breath for a warning, + How could I know that you danced for a shroud? +Whirling and whirling through moonlight and starlight, + Rocking as lightly as boats on the wave, +Down in your eyes shone a deep light--a far light, + How could I know 'twas the light to your grave? + +Day by day, day by day, nearing and nearing, + Hid under greenness, and beauty and bloom, +Cometh the shape and the shadow I'm fearing, + "Over the May hill" is waiting your tomb. +The season of mirth and of music is over-- + I have danced my last dance, I have sung my last song, +Under the violets, under the clover, + My heart and my love will be lying ere long. + + + +A SONG. + + +Is any one sad in the world, I wonder? + Does any one weep on a day like this, +With the sun above, and the green earth under? + Why, what is life but a dream of bliss? + +With the sun, and the skies, and the birds above me, + Birds that sing as they wheel and fly-- +With the winds to follow and say they love me-- + Who could be lonely? O ho, not I! + +Somebody said, in the street this morning, + As I opened my window to let in the light, +That the darkest day of the world was dawning; + But I looked, and the East was a gorgeous sight. + +One who claims that he knows about it + Tells me the Earth is a vale of sin; +But I and the bees and the birds--we doubt it, + And think it a world worth living in. + +Some one says that hearts are fickle, + That love is sorrow, that life is care, +And the reaper Death, with his shining sickle, + Gathers whatever is bright and fair. + +I told the thrush, and we laughed together, + Laughed till the woods were all a-ring: +And he said to me, as he plumed each feather, + "Well, people must croak, if they cannot sing." + +Up he flew, but his song, remaining, + Rang like a bell in my heart all day, +And silenced the voices of weak complaining, + That pipe like insects along the way. + +O world of light, and O world of beauty! + Where are there pleasures so sweet as thine? +Yes, life is love, and love is duty; + And what heart sorrows? O no, not mine! + + + +FOES. + + +Thank Fate for foes! I hold mine dear + As valued friends. He cannot know +The zest of life who runneth here + His earthly race without a foe. + +I saw a prize. "Run," cried my friend; + "'Tis thine to claim without a doubt." +But ere I half-way reached the end, + I felt my strength was giving out. + +My foe looked on the while I ran; + A scornful triumph lit his eyes. +With that perverseness born in man, + I nerved myself, and won the prize. + +All blinded by the crimson glow + Of sin's disguise, I tempted Fate. +"I knew thy weakness!" sneered my foe, + I saved myself, and balked his hate. + +For half my blessings, half my gain, + I needs must thank my trusty foe; +Despite his envy and disdain, + He serves me well where'er I go. + +So may I keep him to the end, + Nor may his enmity abate: +More faithful than the fondest friend, + He guards me ever with his hate. + + + +FRIENDSHIP. + + +Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving + Thy strong regard for me, +Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving; + Let thy faith speak for thee. + +Swear not to me that nothing can divide us-- + So little such oaths mean. +But when distrust and envy creep beside us + Let them not come between. + +Say not to me the depths of thy devotion + Are deeper than the sea; +But watch, lest doubt or some unkind emotion + Embitter them for me. + +Vow not to love me ever and forever, + Words are such idle things; +But when we differ in opinions, never + Hurt me by little stings. + +I'm sick of words: they are so lightly spoken, + And spoken, are but air. +I'd rather feel thy trust in me unbroken + Than list thy words so fair. + +If all the little proofs of trust are heeded, + If thou art always kind, +No sacrifice, no promise will be needed + To satisfy my mind. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS*** + + +******* This file should be named 26333.txt or 26333.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/6/3/3/26333 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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