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diff --git a/27333-8.txt b/27333-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1afd17 --- /dev/null +++ b/27333-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2731 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Pan and Aeolus: Poems, by Charles Hamilton Musgrove + +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: Pan and Aeolus: Poems + +Author: Charles Hamilton Musgrove + +Release Date: November 26, 2008 [EBook #27333] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAN AND AEOLUS: POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) + + + + + + + + + + POEMS + + + BY + + CHARLES HAMILTON MUSGROVE + + + [Illustration] + + + JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY + INCORPORATED + + LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1913, + BY CHARLES HAMILTON MUSGROVE. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + Page + A Fugue of Hell 1 + Hymn of the Tomb Builders 7 + The Tornado 10 + Voices 12 + A Song for the Hills 14 + Romany 15 + Idols 16 + Ode to the New Century 18 + A Clown's Prelude 21 + A Legend of Gold 22 + The Eagle and the Flower 23 + Sunset in the City 24 + The Admiral's Return 25 + The Dungeoned Anarchist 26 + At the Play 27 + The Derelict 28 + Zoroaster 29 + The North Wind 31 + Where is God? 32 + The Story of Moses 34 + Parthenope to Ulysses 36 + Death 37 + The Light Celestial 38 + Cupid to a Skull 39 + The Passing Race 40 + Kenotaphion 42 + The Red Cross 43 + Midsummer Noon 44 + The Snow Man 45 + Our Sister of the Streets 46 + The Earthworm and the Star 48 + The Riddle of the Sphinx 49 + The Mothers 50 + In the Night 51 + Forgiven 52 + A Woman, and some Men 53 + The Newly Dead 55 + The First Born 56 + The Voice of the North 57 + To C. 33 59 + Silence 60 + Columbus' Last Voyage 61 + Atonement 62 + The Poet Shepherd 63 + Our Daily Bread 64 + A Mother to the Sea 65 + The Feast of the Passions 66 + The Human World 68 + The Vow Forsworn 69 + Confession 70 + Love and Art 71 + The Song of the Dynamo 73 + The Gold Fields 76 + The Woman Answers 77 + The Monastery 78 + The Passion Play 79 + Instruments 83 + Quatrains 84 + Immutability 86 + The Fettered Vultures 87 + The Dead Child 89 + Night in May 90 + De Profundis 91 + + + + +PAN AND ÆOLUS + + + + +A FUGUE OF HELL. + + +I. + + I dreamed a mighty dream. It seemed mine eyes + Sealed for the moment were to things terrene, + And then there came a strange, great wind that blew + From undiscovered lands, and took my soul + And set it on an uttermost peak of Hell + Amid the gloom and fearful silences. + Slowly the darkness paled, and a weird dawn + Broke on my wondering vision, and there grew + Uncanny phosphorescence in the air + Which seemed to throb with some great vital spell + Of mystery and doom. With aching eyes + I gazed, and lo! the dreadful scene evolved, + Black and chaotic, like an awful birth + To Desolation, of a lifeless world! + My soul in agony cried out to God, + When of a sudden all the place grew calm, + Save for the trembling of the mountain peaks + And the low moaning of the billowy winds + Among the abysses. Dull lights here and there + Kindled, like wreckage of a city razed + By vandals, and the inky sky cupped up + Into a black, impenetrable roof.... + But now from out the chaos there arose + Another sound more fearful than the wail + Of tempest, or the quake of mighty hills-- + A mortal cry, a human voice in Hell! + + +II. + + The infernal glare grew brighter, and there came + Unto mine ears the sound of many tongues, + Mingling discordant curse with bitter cry + Of lamentation. On the outer marge + Of Hell's domains, set one at each of four + Far sundered corners, four volcanoes grim + Spewed up their flaming bowels into a sea + Of blackness whence no light could issue forth. + Beyond this fierce horizon, farther yet + Than vision's wing could bear my gaze, I knew + Hell's desolate kingdoms stretched their iron wastes, + Hell's burning mountains waved their brands of flame, + Hell's lava rivers plunged in fury down + Their adamantine beds. + + The human cry + Deepened,--the stunning babel shrieked and roared + As though some mighty revolution swept + The flying hosts along--some pang too keen + For the immortal and transcendent pains + Of Hell to quench, was burning in their souls. + + +III. + + Slowly mine eyes pierced through the pallid light + That crowned the awful place, and then I saw + That which shall not be seen of mortal eye + Until the final day. I saw the vast + Black concourse of Inferno pouring in + From Hell's four sides, and gathering at the base + Of a stupendous mountain whose great crest + Towered high above the glare, and lost itself + In blackness. Never met such throng before + In Hell or Heaven. Flowing round the mount + Like a huge deluge, from afar they came, + And near. A dreadful sound was on mine ears, + As when the first great call of deep to deep + Broke on the natal silence, or as when + The wailing cry of universal death + Shall shake the pillars of eternity! + + Still came the multitudes, and still the sea + Of human souls surged round the iron base + Of that mysterious mountain, while afar + The dim circumference was added to + With newer legions. Conquerors of old, + Armored and visored in resplendent steel, + Galloped on Hell-steeds, that with one great bound + Cleared bottomless cañons; then the kings and queens + Of Babylon, shorn of their lofty state, + Came abject, and with terror in those eyes + That once outshone the world; and after them, + Myriads who reveled at the feast of life, + And when the reeling stupor of their wine + Had loosened, woke and found their souls in Hell. + + +IV. + + What horrid crisis, then, I thought, can bring + The infernal minions to assemble here + Within the shadow of this gloomy peak + That seems to thrust aloft its fearful head + Even to God's footstool? Then as if there came + Answer direct to my soul's questioning, + A great voice lifted from the throng, which seemed + To bear up heaven-high its might of words, + Crying: "Thou wan inheritors of pain, + Angels and princes, ministers of Hell, + Hearken! The day of all great days is come, + Commemorative of that legend old + Whose prophecy is that when the time has run + A million æons out, if God relent, + A symbol shall be set upon the top + Of yonder mount--a blazing star--to tell + That hope is not yet dead. O powers of night, + Children of woe and darkness! not again + Shall Hell know such a gathering as this + Until, if hope be not forever fled, + The day of our redemption shall arrive!" + The voice ceased and a murmur ran through Hell, + A fearful whisper, scarcely breathing, "Hope!" + Then louder, as when storms begin to blow, + Gusty and fitful, and the word was "Hope!" + Then, rising like a tempest, swelling high + In vast crescendo, swept the human cry, + And all Hell's thunderous gamut answered "_Hope!_" + + +V. + + The shouts ceased, and the exultation died + Slowly into a sort of empty wail, + Half hope and half despair, for still the sign + Had not yet blazed upon their eager eyes. + Then as I sat in wondering agony, + Praying, yet fearing, for the greatest cause + That ever souls of men in balance set + 'Gainst everlasting doom, there rose again + The voice of their great leader, Lucifer, + The rebel angel, and outcast of God: + "Lo, hosts of Hell," he cried, "inheritors + Of death diurnal, strangely mingled with + Relentless life, what shall we say to God + Who waits and watches? Shall we pray or curse, + Implore or threaten? Can we move Him thus? + Burn not the lightnings yet in His right hand + With which He struck us to confusion once? + And laughs He not in thunderbolts the same + As once pursued our howling flight to Hell? + Befits it rather, think ye not, my hosts, + That we should send on high in one accord + A mighty threnody--a hymn of Hell, + Inspired by pain and sung in bitterest woe, + As our best offering,--and await His word?" + + He ceased, and for the moment all was still; + Then plaintive as the rhythmic dawn of stars + Upon a night of sorrow, rose a strain + Of lamentation, such as when the sea + Makes moan unto an earthquake's inward throes. + Then circling outward passed the rising tones + Of that sad minstrelsy, and then again + Backward it swept like a great tidal wave + Of anguish, all Hell's anarchy of grief + Set to a sounding fugue. Grim-throated rose + The awful hymn, and mingling with the wail + Of voices, pealed the cymbals' brassy clang; + The thunderous organs bellowed through the gloom, + And, rocking Hell's foundations, burst a blare + Of stormy trumpets crying: "Woe, woe, woe!" + Methought the angels must have wept to hear, + Methought their tears had dropt like healing rain + Upon the fires of torment, and assuaged + Their blazing wrath, so piteous was the strain. + + The music ceased, the echoes sobbed away + Like a tumultuous sorrow, when, behold! + The black veil lifted from the mountain's crest, + And on its glorious summit flamed _the Star_! + + + + +HYMN OF THE TOMB BUILDERS. + + + _They were three old men with hoary hair + And beards of wintry gray, + And they digged a grave in the yellow soil, + And they crooned this song as they plied their toil, + In the fading light of day:_ + + Hither ye bring your workmen, + Like tools that are broken and bent, + To pay your due to their cunning + After their skill is spent; + Hither ye bring them and lay them, + And go when your prayers are said, + Back where the stress of your living + Makes mock of the peace of your dead. + + From the iron-paved roads of traffic, + From the shell-scarred fields of war, + From the lands of earth's burning girdle + To the snows of her uttermost star, + Ye bring in your sons and daughters + From the glare and the din of today, + Giving them back unto silence, + And sealing their lips with clay. + + Some drunk with the wine of carnage, + Some clothed with the shreds of power, + Some stark from the fields of famine, + Some decked for the pleasaunce bower, + And all with their still clay fingers + To their cold clay bosoms laid + To sleep from æon to æon + At the lowly Sign of the Spade. + + Afar through the quickening ages + Fell the first keen notes of strife, + And they held out their hands in the darkness + Toward that blatant boon called life; + And they heard the building of empires, + And the restless trampling of men, + And the dust that was made for heartbreak + Grew poignant even then. + + Your bones they are moist with marrow, + And with milk your breasts are full; + Your hands they are strong and subtle, + And your life-blood never dull; + But fail at the sword or the plowshare, + Or fall at the forge or the wheel, + And ye only mar earth's bosom + With a wound that her dust will heal. + + Hither ye bring your workmen, + And it's ever the tale retold + Of the useless tools of the builders, + Battered and broken and old; + Hither ye bring them and lay them, + And go when your prayers are said, + For the blood of your living is dearer + Than the idle dust of your dead. + + _They were three old men with hoary hair + And beards of wintry gray, + And they shouldered their spades, for their work was done, + And they left behind at the set of sun + A grave in the yellow clay._ + + + + +THE TORNADO. + + + God let me fall from His hand + One day at His forge when the elemental world + Was shaping. I am but a breath from His great bellows, + But here among the workshops of mankind + I am a fateful scourge. + + I tear red strips from the proud cities of men; + I name my passage the Highway of Instant Death; + I splinter world-old forests with my laugh, + And whirl the ancient snows of Hecla sheer into Orion's eyes. + I dance on the deep under the big Indian stars, + And wrap the water spout about my sinuous hips + As a dancer winds her girdle. The ocean's horrid crew, + The octopus, the serpent, and the shark, with the heart of a coward, + Plunge downward when they hear my feet above on the sea-floor, + And hide in their slimy coverts. Brave men pray upon the straining + decks + Till comes my mood to end them, and I strew the racing foam with + wreckage. + + I am a breath from God's forge. I remember His awful workshop, + How the hot globes spun off into infinite darkness, as system by + system, + The universe was wrought; and then I remember the birth of the sun, + How God cried: "Let there be light!" and, blinding, bewildering, + exulting, + The great orb flamed from His furnace, and only the Creator stood + upright. + In that hour I fell from His hand. + + I am a breath from God's forge, + And, being a part of creation, I shall also be a part of the end. + He has told me that there shall come a day + When the Seventh Angel shall open his last vial of wrath in the + mid-air, + And in that day I shall dance with the thunder, the lightning, and + the earthquake, + And, dancing, hear His voice cry out from Heaven's temple: "It is + done!" + + + + +VOICES. + + +_Earthquake._ + + I am a memory of cosmogony, + That first great hour of travail when the voice + Of God called suns and systems from the void; + I am the dream He dreams of that last day + When mountains by the roots shall be plucked up + And headlong flung into the raging sea! + + +_Hurricane._ + + I am the breath that fills the organ pipes + When through the vast cathedral of the world + Death's stormy threnody sweeps, wave on wave, + The symboled note that one day will be blown + By a great angel standing in the sun, + At which the heaven and earth shall pass away! + + +_Fire._ + + I am the letters of that fateful word + Writ with a flaming sword above the gates + Of Eden when God spelled the doom of man; + I am the wrath that on the judgment day + Shall waste the seas, and wither up the stars, + And roll the heavens together like a scroll! + + +_God._ + + I am the earthquake, hurricane and fire! + Through them I speak with man as through the stars, + The dews, the flowers, and every gentler thing; + Some learn my lesson in the paths of peace; + Some con it low at desolation's knee; + Only the fool hath said: "There is no God!" + + + + +A SONG FOR THE HILLS. + + + Here is the freedom men die for,--die for but never know; + Here is the peace they pray for shrined in eternal snow; + Down on the plain the city moans with a human cry, + But here there is naught but silence,--peace, and the wide, wide sky. + + Here are the dawn's first footfalls, and the twilight's last farewell, + The benediction of starlight, and the moon's sweet canticle; + Here is one spot as God made it, far from the plainsman's range, + Or the march of the cycling seasons with their everlasting change. + + Down on the plain the city moans with a human cry, + And the man-gnomes delve and burrow for gold till they drop and die; + But here there is naught for conquest and the spoiler stands at bay, + For God still keeps one playground where He and His whirlwinds play. + + + + +ROMANY. + + + The city frets in the distance, lass, + The city so grim and gray, + A glare in the sky by night, my lass, + And a blot on the sky by day; + But we are out on the long white road, + And under the wide free sky, + And the song that was born in my heart today + Will sing there till I die. + + The long white road and the wide free sky, + And the city far away; + A good-night kiss in the twilight, lass, + And a kiss at the break of day; + For light are the loads we bear, my lass, + By highway and hill and grove, + And the sunlight is all for life, my lass, + And the starlight all for love. + + + + +IDOLS. + + +I. + + Mouths have they, but they speak not: + Yet something in the certainty of faith + To their disciples saith: + "Believe on me and vengeance I will wreak not." + The word that conquers death-- + The immutable and boundless gift of grace-- + Dwells in that stony face, + And every supplication answereth. + Mouths have they, but they speak not; + Yet one supernal will that shapes to suit + A great decree that can not be belied + Utters from voiceless lips those creeds that guide + The tribes that never heard + The living, saving Word,-- + That have their dead gods and are satisfied. + + +II. + + Eyes have they, but they see not: + Yet the pagan builds his shrine, + And keeps his fires divine + Forever bright, nor darkly doubts there be not + Enough of grace and power + Within those eyes that glower + To read his soul. To him they are not blind, + For some dim, undefined + Reward of faith that thrills his untaught breast + Links up his baser mind + To the clear eyes of God that burn behind + The stony brow. It is a creed professed + Before a deity not quenched in space, + But one to whom his bands + Can lift adoring hands, + And see and touch and worship face to face. + + +III. + + Ears have they, but they hear not: + Yet the heathen kneel and pray, + Nor in their madness say: + "Thou art no god, and therefore I will fear not; + What if I disobey? + Thou art but stone or clay." + They hear not, but their worshippers impute + Them faculties to suit + The divination of the prayers they say; + And Christ, who understands + His children in all lands + When from the dark their dying souls have cried, + Shrines His great heart of love within the clod + The savage calls his god + And all idolatry is deified. + + + + +ODE TO THE NEW CENTURY. + + + The dial has pointed the hour and the hour has rounded the day, + The day has finished the year that dies with a century's birth; + Eastward the morning stars sing as they go their way: + "Lo! the Great Mother travaileth, a king is born to the earth! + King of a hundred years, and king of a million tombs, + Sovereign of infinite joys, keeper of countless tears; + Peace to the throneless dead, hail to the ruler who comes, + King of a million tombs, and king of a hundred years!" + + Time and his tenant Death, for the space of a moment's flight + Stand on the bare, black ridge dividing eternities twain; + One looks back to his realm all waste in the hopeless night, + One with the eyes of hope sees it rebuilded again. + Behind are the gray, gleaned fields with their worthless stubble of + graves, + Strewn with the thistles of sin, and the trampled chaff of desire; + Before are the acres of love, not furrowed by hands of slaves, + Not sown with sorrow and strife, not wasted with flood or with fire. + + Great is the hour, my Soul, and great is the wonder to see; + Prophet-like dost thou look to yonder portentous sky + Where lo! the scroll is unfolding--the scroll of the great To Be:-- + Look to the east, O Soul, and clear and strong be thine eye! + Look to the west where once waved the cherubic sword + Over man's Eden lost, and see in the heavens above + Not the angels of wrath bearing God's angry word, + But the angels of Mercy and Peace, the angels of Hope and of Love. + + Great is the hour, O Soul, and great are the voices to hear-- + Voices of choral stars, and the calling of deep unto deep + Like to the natal hour when rolling sphere upon sphere + Sprang from the bosom of God and sang of their limitless sweep! + Great is the hour, O Soul, and thou art a seer who looks + Far through the mystic night and seeth the great unseen, + Truth that to us is blind, and the lies of our prophets' books, + Heaven and Hell and the land called Life that lies between. + + The region of shapes called Life, with shadows behind and before-- + Shadows voiceless as Death, and dark as the sunless tomb,-- + Shapes whose anguish and strife seem a glimpse of Hell's grim shore-- + Shadows that gave them life and shadows that hail them home. + Great is the hour, O Soul, and great is the wonder to see! + Thou art alone with God as he writes on the future's page + Two words in letters of fire--(one Doom,--one Mystery,-- + Alpha the last, and the first Omega) and names it an Age. + +[December 31, 1900.] + + + + +A CLOWN'S PRELUDE. + + + Behold! I cover up this trail of tears + A moment's weakness left upon my cheek, + And hush my heart a little ere I speak + Lest the false note ring true on other ears; + The music rises and the empty cheers + Proclaim the harlequin, and lo! I stand + The painted fool again and kiss my hand + With jocund air to Folly's worshippers. + So day by day life's bitter bread is earned + With lips that smile and frame the mirthless joke, + And frailer grows the soul that once was strong,-- + The joyless soul of one whose trade has turned + Life's tragic mantle to a jester's cloak, + Life's diapason to a jester's song. + + + + +A LEGEND OF GOLD. + + + Lucifer craved one boon of God + After his fall, as his own to hold; + So He gave him a mite in heaven's sight, + But lo! the gift that He gave was--Gold. + + And Lucifer wrought with the rugged ore + Till he fashioned it wondrous fair, and then + He set a price on the precious store, + And the price was the blood and tears of men. + + Blood and tears! and the price was paid; + Blood was nothing, and tears were free; + And Lucifer smiled at the fools and said: + "Surely your souls should belong to me!" + + So he offered the earth with its golden heart, + And the seas with their fleets from pole to pole; + And they looked with lust on the world-wide mart, + And said in their hearts,--"It is worth the soul!" + + And kings were they, and they ruled right well; + Gorgeously sped their sovereign day ... + But Lucifer hath their souls in Hell, + And their gold and their empires--where are they? + + + + +THE EAGLE AND THE FLOWER. + + + The eyrie clung to the shattered cliff + That the glacier's torrent thundered under; + And the unfledged eaglet's lifted eye + Looked out on the world of peak and sky + In silent wonder. + + The mountain daisy, dainty white, + That grew by the side of the lofty eyrie, + Saw the young wings beat on the eagle's breast, + And the restless eyes in the fagot-nest + Grow grim and fiery. + + The days went by and the wings grew strong, + And the crag-built home was at last deserted; + But, close to the nest that her love had left, + The daisy clung to the rocky cleft, + Half broken-hearted. + + The days went by and the wan, white flower + Waited and watched in the autumn weather; + Far down the valley, far up the height, + The forest blazed, and a wizard light + Crowned hill and heather. + + And he came at last one eventide, + His breast was pierced and his plumes were gory; + For home is best when we come to die, + And we love the love that our youth puts by,-- + And there's my story. + + + + +SUNSET IN THE CITY. + + + Down at the end of the iron lane + I see the sunset's glare, + And the red bars lie across the sky + Like steps of a wondrous stair. + + Below, the throng, with unlifted eye, + Sweeps on in its heedless flight + Where the street's black funnel pours its tide + Out into the deepening night. + + And no one has stopped to read God's word + On the fiery heavens scrolled + Save an old man dreaming of boyhood's days, + And a boy who would fain be old. + + + + +THE ADMIRAL'S RETURN. + +(Written on the occasion of the bringing of the body of Admiral John +Paul Jones to the United States for reburial.) + + + Brave ships are these that bear thee home again + From under far-off skies--brave flags that fly + Above the deck whereon thine ashes lie, + Waiting their urn beyond the alien main; + The nations pause to view thy funeral train + As slowly moving up 'twixt sea and sky + It comes with stately pomp, and Liberty + Holds out her hands and calls thy name in vain. + And yet, mayhap, in vision vague and sweet, + Another sight thou seest beyond the boast + Of patriot pride--beside the new-born fleet, + Spectral and strange, no guest for such a host, + Yet making thy home-coming all complete, + The old "Bon Homme Richard's" unlaid ghost. + + + + +THE DUNGEONED ANARCHIST. + + + He crouches, voiceless, in his tomb-like cell, + Forgot of all things save his jailer's hate + That turns the daylight from his iron grate + To make his prison more and more a hell; + For him no coming day or hour shall spell + Deliverance, or bid his soul await + The hand of Mercy at his dungeon gate: + He would not know even though a kingdom fell! + The black night hides his hand before his eyes,-- + That grim, clenched hand still burning with the sting + Of royal blood; he holds it like a prize, + Waiting the hour when he at last shall fling + The stain in God's face, shrieking as he dies: + "Behold the unconquered arm that slew a king!" + + + + +AT THE PLAY. + + + The poet painted a woman's soul, + Human, trusting and kind, + And then he drew the soul of a man, + Brutal and base and blind; + + And the woman loved in the old, old way, + And the man in the way of men, + And the poet christened their lives "A Play," + And he sat down to watch it, and then ... + + A woman rose with a bitter laugh, + And her eyes were as dry as stone + As she bowed her head at the poet's stall + And said in a strange, cold tone: + + "He paints the best who has dipped his brush + In the heart's own blood, they say; + You took my love and you took my life, + But you gave the world--a play!" + + + + +THE DERELICT. + + + North and south with the fickle tides, + With the wind from east to west, + The death-ship follows her track of doom, + But finds no port or rest. + + Day after day the far white sails + Come up and glimmer and die, + And night by night the twinkling lights + Crawl down the distant sky. + + Day after day her black hull lifts + And sinks with the swell's long roll, + And the white birds cling to her rotting shrouds + Like prayers of a stricken soul, + + But ever the death-ship keeps her track + While the ships of men sail on, + For God is her skipper and helmsman, too, + And knoweth her port alone. + + + + +ZOROASTER. + + +I. + + The light of a new day was on his brow, + The faith of a great dawn was on his tongue; + Out of the dark he raised his voice and sung + The high Messiah who should overthrow + The gods that Superstition crowned with might + And set above the world,--the coming Christ + Whose unshed blood should be the holy tryst + 'Twixt man and his lost Eden, washing white + From his rebellious soul the serpent's blight. + + +II. + + The fire that on the Magi's altars glowed + Spake to his soul in symbols and expressed + The immortal purity that without rest + Strives with the mortal grossness whose abode + Is in the heart. Their symboled fire showed One + Whose spirit on the altar of the world + Burns ceaselessly,--where, if all vice be hurled, + It shall be purged with fire that shall atone,-- + Christ's love the flame, man's sin th' alchemic stone. + + +III. + + + The light of a new day was on his brow, + The faith of a great dawn was on his tongue; + Above the old Chaldean myths he sung + The message of the peace that men should know + Through God's own Son. Out of the hopeless night + He saw the star of Bethlehem arise, + And o'er the wasted gates of Paradise + Beheld it mount, and heard, to hail its light, + The everlasting groan of hell's despite. + + + + +THE NORTH WIND. + +I. + + Wind of the North, I know your song + Out on the frozen plain, + But here in the city's streets you seem + Only a cry of pain. + + +II. + + I know the note of your lusty throat + Where the black boughs toss and roar, + But here it is part of the old, old cry + Of the hungry, homeless poor. + + +III. + + I know the song that you sing to God, + Joyous and high and wild, + But here where His creatures herd and die, + 'Tis the sob of a little child. + + + + +WHERE IS GOD? + +(Written during the hostilities in the Far East in 1900.) + + + Hard by the gates of Eden, + Where God first walked with man, + In the light of the new creation, + Ere the race of Cain began, + The world-wide hosts have gathered, + And their swords are drawn to slay: + God was with man in Eden, + But where is God today? + + From the ice-bound steppes of the Cossack; + From the home of the fleur-de-lis, + From the vineyards that crown the Rhineland + To the shores of the phosphor sea, + The clans have gathered for battle, + And each for the signal waits, + While a million swords are flaming + At Eden's Eastern gates. + + By the sign of the yellow dragon, + By the tri-color's bars of light; + By the double-throated eagle + That screams with the lust of fight, + By the Union Jack of Britannia, + By Columbia's stars and bars, + They pray to the god of battle + For the meed of a hundred wars. + + Hard by the gates of Eden, + Where the passion flower of strife + First bloomed at its blood-red altar + At the price of a brother's life, + The children of Cain are gathered + To plunder and burn and slay: + God was with man in Eden, + But where is God today? + + + + +THE STORY OF MOSES. + + + This is the story of Moses, + The earliest scribe that we keep: + Void was the earth and formless, + And dark was the face of the deep, + Till God's word flashed in lightning, + Beautiful, bountiful, bright, + And night was the name of the darkness, + And day was the name of the light. + + This is the story of Moses-- + (Doubt it, if ever you can)-- + The world was too good to begin with, + So God made Adam, the man; + And for Adam He made the woman, + And He gave them laws to obey; + And, lastly, He sent the serpent + To follow and tempt and betray. + + This is the story of Moses-- + Eve got a man from the Lord, + And his name was Cain, and another + Called Abel, the evil-starred; + And the brothers quarreled at their worship, + And Abel, the meek, was slain, + And Death shook hands with the slayer, + His first and best friend, Cain. + + This is the story of Moses + Of how our people began, + Of the broken law and the bloodshed-- + First fruits of the God-sent man; + This is the story of Moses, + The earliest scribe who writ, + And all the scribes who are writing + Don't vary the tale a whit. + + + + +PARTHENOPE TO ULYSSES. + + + O king! what is the quest that evermore + Foredooms thy feet to roam, yet blinds thine eyes? + Why seek ye still for life's imperfect prize, + Or turn thy weary sail from shore to shore, + When here thou layest aside the ills of yore + To calm thy soul with dreams? Let it suffice-- + This heart-sick burden of the worldly-wise-- + That ye have borne it and the task is o'er, + Here see the world fade like a spark of fire, + While all thy restless ways grow full of peace, + And wear the fittest crown for them that tire + Their souls with life's unraveled mysteries,-- + Above the old red roses of desire + The languid lotus of desire's surcease! + + + + +DEATH. + + + I am the outer gate of life where sit + Faith and Unfaith, those two interpreters + That spell in diverse ways what God has writ + In symbols on the archway of the years. + + Backward I swing for many feet to pass; + Some come in stormy haste, some grave and slow, + And all like windy shadows on the grass: + Beyond my pale I know not where they go. + + + + +THE LIGHT CELESTIAL. + +(Written on the ter-centenary of John Milton, December 9, 1908.) + + + Immortal singer, in whose glorious brain + Unearthly melodies were born to make + A nocturn for the blessed Master's sake, + I see thee pass through heaven's gates again; + I hear thee singing that majestic strain, + Which soothed the heart affliction could not break, + And proved the faith no worldly ills could shake; + And then I see thee join God's holy train, + But, wonder of all wonders! where the light + Breaks from a thousand suns, the seraphs, shod + With flaming sandals, lead thee; and my sight + Dims with the vision, till fresh from His rod, + I see thee lift those orbs, once quenched in night, + And gaze into the steadfast eyes of God! + + + + +CUPID TO A SKULL. + + + I came your way in the years gone by, + In the summers that now are old, + And then there was light in your beaming eye, + And love was living and hopes were high + At the Sign of the Heart of Gold. + + I come today and the lights are fled, + And the trail of the mold and rust + Has saddened the hall where the feast was spread, + And love has vanished and youth is dead + At the Sign of the Heart of Dust. + + + + +THE PASSING RACE. + + +I. + + Silent as ever, stoic as of old, + The scattered nomads of that dusky race + Whose story shall forever be untold, + Sit mid the ruins of their dwelling place + And watch the white man's empire grow apace. + Passive as one who knows his earthly doom, + And only waits with calm but hopeless face + The while the seasons go with blight and bloom, + So live they day by day beside their nation's tomb. + + +II. + + In the deep woods and by the rolling streams + They made their home, and knew no other clime; + They lived their lives and dreamed barbaric dreams, + Nor heard the menace of relentless Time + As on his thunderous legions swept sublime + Bearing the torch of progress through the night, + Till lo! the primal wastes were all a-chime + With traffic's strange new music, and the might + Of busy hordes that wrought to spread the new-born light. + + +III. + + They were strange wanderers on life's sad deep, + And paused a moment in God's mystic plan + A little vigil on time's shores to keep, + Then passed forever from the tribes of man. + They heard a voice and a strange face did scan, + And what of conquest or of kingly sway + Had filled their dreams, they gave the white man's clan, + And with the dawning of a wondrous day, + They spread their sails again and, voiceless, passed away. + + +IV. + + Silent as ever, stoic as of old, + Their children sit with empty hands to wait + The sequel that the future shall unfold,-- + The unwritten "Finis" of remorseless fate. + Vanquished they stand before oblivion's gate, + Knowing that soon the everlasting seal + Of destiny shall all obliterate + Their finished story, which, for woe or weal, + Shall be with Him who writ to hide or to reveal. + + + + +KENOTAPHION. + + + O wanderer! whoever thou mayest be, + I beg of thee to pass in silence here + And leave me with my empty sepulchre + Beside the ceaseless turmoil of the sea; + Pass me as one whom life's old tragedy + Hath made distraught--who now in dreams doth keep + His cherished dead, unmindful of her sleep + In ocean's bosom locked eternally! + Scorn not the foolish grave that I have made + Beside the deep sea of my soul's unrest, + But let me hope that when the storms are stayed + My phantom ship shall sail from out the west + Bringing the boon for which I long have prayed-- + The broken vigil and the ended quest. + + + + +THE RED CROSS. + + + St. George, I learned to love thee in my youth + When of thy deeds I read in deathless song; + And now, when I behold the dragon Wrong + Hard by the castle-gates of Love and Truth, + I feel the world's great need of thee, forsooth, + To strike the heavy blow delayed too long. + Then turning from the mediæval throng, + Where thou wert bravest, yet the first in ruth, + I watch thy votaries by land and sea + Armed with thy sacred sign go forth to fight + Anew the battle of humanity + Beneath the flag of mercy and of right; + No holier band a holier realm e'er trod + Than this--the world's knight-errantry of God! + + + + +MIDSUMMER NOON. + + + Through shimmering skies the big clouds slowly sail; + A faint breeze lingers in the rustling beech; + Atop the withered oak with vagrant speech + The brawling crows call down the sleepy vale; + Unseen the glad cicadas trill their tale + Of deep content in changeless vibrant screech, + And where the old fence rambles out of reach, + The drowsy lizard hugs the shaded rail. + Warm odors from the hayfield wander by, + Afar the homing reaper's noontide tune + Floats on the mellow stillness like a sigh; + One butterfly, ghost of a vanished June, + Soars dimly where in realms of purple sky + Dips the wan crescent of the vapory moon. + + + + +THE SNOW MAN. + + + Poor shape grotesque that careless hands have wrought! + Frail wistful thing, left gaping at the sun + With empty grin, 'tis well no blood shall run + Within thy frozen veins, no kindling thought + Light up those eyeless sockets wherein naught + But hate could dwell if once they flashed the fire + Of being, or the doom-gift of Desire + Should curse thy life, unbidden and unsought. + Poor snow man with thy tattered hat awry, + And broomstick musket toppling from thy hands, + 'Tis well thou hast no language to decry + Thy poor creator or his vain commands; + No tear to shed that thou so soon must die, + No voice to lift in prayer where no god understands! + + + + +OUR SISTER OF THE STREETS. + + + She comes not with the conscious grace + Of gentle, winsome womanhood, + Nor yet, withal, the flaunting face + Of men and women understood, + But rather as a thing apart, + A wind-blown petal of a rose, + A specter with a specter's heart + That cometh once--and goes. + + Her eyes some trace of cold, white light + Within their haunted depths still hold, + Though hunger's fever made them bright, + And lack of pity made them cold. + We know her when she passes by, + Whom no one loves or chides or greets-- + The woman with the cold, bright eye-- + Our sister of the streets. + + We know the tawdry arts she tries, + The tint of cheek, the gold of hair, + To mimic nature for the eyes + Of those who scorn her paltry care, + And spurn those charms--if aught abide + Within her beauty's narrowed scope-- + Now touched with less a wanton's pride + Than with an outcast's hope. + + We know her in the blatant crowd, + And feel her, as we feel, in fine, + The eyes' remembrance of a cloud, + The lips' faint bitterness of brine; + We know her when she passes by, + Whom no one loves or chides or greets-- + The woman with the cold, bright eye-- + Our sister of the streets. + + + + +THE EARTHWORM AND THE STAR. + + + An Earthworm once loved a Star. In the hush of the summer night, + He lay quite close to the ground and gazed on its golden light; + He looked from his house of clay, and dreamed of wonderful things, + Till, lo! (as he thought) his longing brought forth miraculous wings. + + The Butterfly soared in the air, straight toward the beckoning spark; + His wings grew weary and chill, but the Star smiled through the dark; + His wings grew heavy and cold, the wings that he dreamed love gave, + And he folded them there in the starlight, and the dust became his + grave. + + + + +THE RIDDLE OF THE SPHINX. + + + From age to age the haggard human train + Creeps wearily across Time's burning sands + To look into her face, and lift weak hands + In supplication to the calm disdain + That crowns her stony brow.... But all in vain + The riddle of mortality they try: + Doom speaks still from her unrelenting eye-- + Doom deep as passion, infinite as pain. + From age to age the voice of Love is heard + Pleading above the tumult of the throng, + But evermore the inexorable word + Comes like the tragic burden of a song. + "The answer is the same," the stern voice saith: + "Death yesterday, today and still tomorrow--Death!" + + + + +THE MOTHERS. + + + Beyond the tumult and the proud acclaim, + Beyond the circle where the glory beats + With withering light upon the mighty seats, + They hear the far-resounding trump of fame; + On other lips they hear the one-loved name + In vaunting or derision, and they weep + To know that they shall never lull to sleep + Those tired heads, crowned with desolating flame. + Beyond the hot arena's baleful glow, + Beyond the towering pomp they dimly see, + They sit and watch the fateful pageants go + Through war's red arch, or up to Calvary, + The First Love still within their hearts impearled-- + Mothers of all the masters of the world! + + + + +IN THE NIGHT. + + +_The Child._ + + I hear you weeping, mother, dear,-- + I hear you wake and weep; + What brings the tears into your eyes + When you should be asleep? + I hear my name upon your lips; + What is it that you say + Of one who broke a trusting heart, + But now is far away? + + +_The Mother._ + + I weep for you, my pretty lass, + Frail flower of love unblessed, + Because I can not always hold + You close unto my breast; + I weep that you some day must go + Alone your way to find, + For, oh, you have your mother's eyes, + And men are seldom kind! + + + + +FORGIVEN. + + + I might have met his anger with a smile + For so it was that I had set my heart + To mask deception with a wanton's guile, + And save the tears that now begin to start. + + I might have worn my guilty crown of thorn,-- + Yea, even worn it gladly like a prize; + But, oh! more bitter than his rage or scorn, + He left me with forgiveness in his eyes. + + + + +A WOMAN, AND SOME MEN. + + + Once in a dream of Babylon + I sat with Lilith and Cain + At the world-old drama, "From God to God," + In the House of Things Profane; + Trumpets and lights, and the players + Swung to the stage, and then + I saw as I looked in their faces + A woman, and some men. + + Men with the eyes of the psalmist, + Men with the hearts of Saul, + Strong with the wine of valor, + But faint with the woman's thrall; + Calm were her eyes as she held them + Charmed to her soulless sway, + For she had the face of the Magdalene, + And the heart of Aholiba. + + Wine and kisses and gusty words, + Kisses and wine again, + And her lips and brow were red with stains + From the hairy mouths of men, + Red as the stain on the brow of Cain + That burned with his Maker's hate, + Or the lips of the witch that Adam loved + Ere God revealed his mate. + + Trumpets and lights and the players + Swung from the stage, and then + The curtain fell on the drama + Of a woman and some men; + While cleaving the dome of the temple + Fell the Avenger's rod, + And lo! when I looked again I saw + We were face to face with God. + + And Lilith, the witch, dropped down and prayed + That her child a soul might have, + And the blood red stain on the brow of Cain + Be wiped out in the grave; + And this was my dream of Babylon + When I sat with Lilith and Cain + At the world-old drama, "From God to God," + In the House of Things Profane. + + + + +THE NEWLY DEAD. + + +I. + + With the light just quenched in their eyes + They lie in their graves 'neath the skies, + And the fresh clod rests + Heavy upon their breasts. + The white rose dies + Upon the new-made mound, and underneath + The lily shrivels in the shriveling hand. + Pale guests of sovereign Death, + They sought their silent beds at his command, + And it seems + Strange that their life-long dreams + Shall find them no more,--never bid them arise + And go forth with a glory in their eyes. + + +II. + + Still, voiceless, cold, + They lie in their shrouds and hold + The crumbling links that make + A chain for Memory's sake, + Broken, alas! too soon. + Blithe morn and brazen noon + And eve with garb of gray and gold, + Know them no more in the dark ways they take. + They have forgot the sun, + And the fiery worlds that run + About it. Something--(what, let no man say,)-- + Begot of mystery is in mystery done: + The rest shall be with them and God alway. + + + + +THE FIRST BORN. + + +I. + + "He has eyes like the Christ," + The mother said, and smiled; + "He will be wise and good, + My wondering little child. + God grant him strength to do + Whate'er his tasks may be, + But spare him, if Thou wilt, + O, spare him Calvary!" + + +II. + + Grim where the black bars cast + Their shadows o'er his bed, + He waits to pay the cost + Of blood his hands have shed. + The mother kneels and sobs: + "God, he shall always be, + In spite of Cain's red brand, + A stainless child to me." + + + + +THE VOICE OF THE NORTH. + + + You have builded your ships in the sun-lands, + And launched them with song and wine; + They are boweled with your stanchest engines, + And masted with bravest pine; + You have met in your closet councils, + With your plans and your prayers to God + For a fortunate wind to waft you + Where never a foot has trod. + + And now you follow the polar star + To the seat of the old Norse Kings, + Past the death-white halls of Valhalla, + Where the Norn to the tempest sings-- + Follow the steady needle + That cleaves to its steady star + To the uttermost realms of Odin + And the warlike thunderer, Thor. + + Far through the icy silence, + Where the glacier's teeth hang white, + And even the sun-god Baldur, + Looks down in vague affright, + You flutter like startled spectres, + With a prayer on your lips for the goal-- + To stand for one thrilling moment + At the awful, nameless Pole. + + But lo! in that hour shall greet you, + At the end of your perilous path, + A mockery far more bitter + Than the sting of the frost king's wrath, + For this is the meed you shall gather + In the lands no man has trod: + The finger that beckoned you onward + Shall lift and point to God! + +1903 + + + + +TO C. 33. + +(Oscar Wilde.) + + + I gazed upon thee desolate and heard + Thine anguished cry when fell the iron gin + That all but broke thy soul, yet gave thy word + The strength to ask forgiveness of thy sin. + + I saw thee fleeing from the cruel light + Of thine own fame; I saw thee hide thy face + In alien dust to cover up the blight + Upon thy brow that time may yet erase. + + I knew thy creed, although thy lips were mute; + I knew the gods thou didst not dare to own; + I knew the Upas poison at the root + Of thy last flower of song, in prison blown. + + And out of all thy woe there came to me + This miracle of dogma, like a cry: + "No law but freedom for the vagrant bee-- + No love but summer for the butterfly." + + + + +SILENCE. + + + I am the word that lovers leave unsaid, + The eloquence of ardent lips grown mute, + The mourning mother's heart-cry for her dead, + The flower of faith that grows to unseen fruit. + + I am the speech of prophets when their eyes + Behold some splendid vision of the soul; + The song of morning stars, the hills' replies, + The far call of the immaterial pole. + + And, since I must be mateless, I shall win + One boon beyond the meed of common clay: + My life shall end where other lives begin, + And live when other lives have passed away. + + + + +COLUMBUS' LAST VOYAGE. + +(Written on the exhumation and reburial in Spain of the bones of +Christopher Columbus.) + + + Once more upon the ocean's heaving breast + He lays his head, not like the lover bold + Who in the brave, chivalric days of old + Wooed from her lips the secret of the West, + But like a tired man going to his rest, + No hopes to thrill, no yearnings to inspire, + No tasks to burden, and no toil to tire, + No morn to waken to a day of quest. + Again upon the trackless deep,--again + About him as of yore the wild winds play; + Behind him lies the world he gave to men, + Before a grave in old Castile for aye: + Peace, winds and tides! Be calm, thou guardian sky,-- + The lordliest dust of earth is passing by! + + + + +ATONEMENT. + + + You were a red rose then, I know, + Red as her wine--yea, redder still,-- + Say rather her blood; and ages ago + (You know how destiny hath its will) + I placed you deep in her gorgeous hair, + And left you to wither there. + + Wine and blood and a red, red rose,-- + Feast and song and a long, long sleep;-- + And which of us dreamed at the drama's close + That the unforgetful years would keep + Our sin and their vengeance laid away + As a gift to this bitter day? + + Now you are white as the mountain snow, + White as the hand that I fold you in, + And none but the angels of God may know + That either has once been stained with sin; + It was blood and wine in the old, old years, + But now it is only tears. + + And so at the end of our several ways + We have met once more, and the truth is clear + That our heart's own blood no surer pays + For our sin in the past than atonement here; + But the end has come as God knows best: + Now we shall be at rest. + + + + +THE POET SHEPHERD. + + + Down in the vale the lazy sheep + Are roaming at their will, + But I would be away to weep + Upon the windy hill, + + For Summer's song is in my heart, + Her kiss is on my brow, + As here I kneel alone, apart, + To consecrate our vow. + + Ah, doubly poor the gift shall be + That links my soul with hers, + For she has given her all to me + While I can give but tears! + + + + +OUR DAILY BREAD. + + + "Give us this day our daily bread!" O prayer + By Jesus taught, thou hast become a cry + For starveling mouths in Famine's ghastly lair-- + A beggar's plaint when Dives passes by. + + We have forsook the Temple of the Soul + To carp with sordid tradesmen face to face; + No more we hear the Sinaian thunders roll, + Or Jesus preaching in the market-place. + + The money-changers flaunt their silks and gold; + Within the Temple gates they ply their trade, + Forgetful of the Voice that cried of old: + "A den of thieves my Father's house is made!" + + + + +A MOTHER TO THE SEA. + + + You are blue, you are blue like the sky, + Cruel and cold and blue, + And I turn from you, voiceless sea, + To a sky that is voiceless, too. + + Upward the vast blue arch, + Downward the blue abyss, + With a line of foam where your lips + Meet in a passionless kiss. + + But the silence is breaking my heart, + And tears cannot comfort me + With God in His cold blue sky, + And my boy in the cold blue sea. + + + + +THE FEAST OF THE PASSIONS. + + + It wouldn't be fair to Belshazzar + When speaking of madness and mirth, + To draw from his revel a moral + For conscienceless sin in the earth, + For 'tis certain the King of Chaldea + Took note of the hand on the wall, + But here at the Feast of the Passions + We never take heed at all. + + The same gods grin at the banquet-- + The idols of silver and gold-- + While we drink from the cups of the Temple + As they did in the days of old, + But the finger of God is unheeded, + His warning misunderstood, + As "Mene" is written in lightning, + And "Tekel" inscribed in blood. + + No lesson of Nebuchadnezzar + Turned out with his swinish kin + Creeps in like a baneful vision + At the Babylonian din; + We have stilled the tongue of our Daniel + Lest sudden he rise and cry: + "Behold! thy kingdom is numbered; + This night shall Belshazzar die!" + + So it wouldn't be just to Belshazzar, + When speaking of madness and mirth, + To hold up his feast as a warning + To conscienceless sin in the earth, + For 'tis certain the King of Chaldea + Took note of the hand on the wall, + But here at the Feast of the Passions + We never take heed at all. + + + + +THE HUMAN WORLD. + + + Here is one picture of the human world: + An unreaped field and Death, the harvester, + Taking his rest beside a gathered sheaf + Of poppy and white lilies. At his side + Passion, with pilfered hour-glass in her hand + Jarring the sluggish sands to haste their flow. + + + + +THE VOW FORSWORN. + + + Unweariedly he watches for the sign, + The sign I promised from the farthest goal, + My lover of a world no longer mine, + My human lover with his human soul. + + Unweariedly he waits from day to day, + Nor knows, as I know now, that when we meet, + 'Twill be as dewdrop on the hawthorn spray,-- + The ultimate of God at last complete. + + He still remembers that my eyes were blue, + Still dreams the autumn russet of my hair; + "In God's own time," he said, "I'll come to you; + You will be waiting; I will find you there!" + + But now I know that he must never hear + The message that I promised to impart, + For should I breathe the secret in his ear + His soul would hearken--but 'twould break his heart! + + + + +CONFESSION. + + + As one, a poet of a fairy's train, + Might sit beside a violet's stem and view + Its opening petals, watch the wondrous blue + Thrill through their fibers, and their secret gain + Of how the earth and sky and wind and rain + Had given them life and form and scent and hue,-- + So I have gazed into the eyes of you, + Those rare blue eyes, and have not looked in vain; + For they have told me all that I would know, + Even as the violets their secret tell + Unto the wistful spirits of the grove-- + Ay, more than this, for, in their tender glow, + I've learned their secret, found their winsome spell, + The sweet and simple message of their love. + + + + +LOVE AND ART. + + +I. + + Eagle-heart, child-heart, bonnie lad o' dreams, + Far away thy soul hears passion-throated Art + Singing where the future lies + Wrapped in hues of Paradise, + Pleading with her poignant note + That forever seems to float + Farther down the vista that is calling to thy heart. + Hearken! From the heights + Where thy soul alights + Bend thine ear to listen for the lute of Love is sighing: + "Eagle-heart, child-heart, + Love is love, and art is art; + Answer while thy lips are red; + Wilt thou have a barren bed? + Choose between us which to wed: + Answer, for thy bride awaits, and fragile hours are flying!" + + +II. + + Eagle-heart, child-heart, bonnie lad o' dreams, + Far away thy soul hears Love's enraptured strain, + Calling with her plaintive note, + Pleading lute and pensive oat, + Burning, yearning, ever turning back to one refrain: + "Choose between us which to wed; + Love is love, and art is art; + Wilt thou have a barren bed? + Joyless mate and bloodless heart? + She will bring thee for her dower + Shrunken limb and shriveled breast, + Bitter thralldom, bootless power, + Days and nights of endless quest, + She will take thee heart and brain, + Hold thee with a vampire charm, + Kiss thee cold in every vein, + Drink thy blood to make her warm!" + + +III. + + Eagle-heart, child-heart, bonnie lad o' dreams, + Far away thy soul hears passion-throated Art + Singing from her peaks of snow, + Wrapped in pale, unearthly glow, + Pleading with her poignant note + That forever seems to float + Farther down the vista that is calling to thy heart. + Hearken! From the heights + Where thy soul alights + Lift thy head to listen for the voice of Art is calling: + "Eagle-heart, child-heart, + Love is love, and art is art, + Answer while thy soul is strong; + Love is brief, but art is long; + Love is sighs, but art is song; + Answer, for thy bride awaits, and moonless night is falling!" + + + + +THE SONG OF THE DYNAMO. + + + _I have been kissed by the Priestess of the Thin and Deadly Blood-- + With the kiss that men call Lightning, and yet I did not die, + For the kiss was a message from God; I felt it and understood, + And I knew how He looked on the cosmic light and called it "Good"; + I thrilled with a vibrant joy; I hummed with ecstasy._ + + Men hear me sing but they know not the source of my song; + I hold them enthralled with my mysterious eyes; + They quiver when I purr with the voice of a wanton woman; + They touch me and fall dead. + I am a dream of the Creator made visible; + My voice is an echo of the Voice that taught + The morning stars their choral hymn; + The force that binds me to the marts of men + Is the force that holds the planets in a leash while God + Drives them in glittering galaxy around the sun. + + Here I am a weakling's symbol of a power + That spins the luminous girdle of Saturn in sure hands, + And frames the awful face of God in the shifting boreal light. + My soul is destiny and immortality; + It flashes in the eyes of the tempest, glows along + The phosphorescent billows where the hand of the Almighty + Is laid for a moment on the breast of the sea, + And the sea smiles; + My soul is the wingless word + That flies from zone to zone and speaks suddenly out of the void. + + In the years that are to be + I shall soar like an evil bird over the warring camps of men, + And spew destroying poison. + I shall be the sinew of a strange wing,-- + A wing that shall bear men into the forge of the thunder and the + lightning. + But when I fail the groundlings shall look up + And see their brothers through the ether plunge, + Stricken, a haggard rout of flame-flotillas of the sun! + + In the years that are to come + I shall be a servant in the house of men; + I shall breathe unutterable music on the spindle and the loom; + I shall sing, exultant, with the choristers of dreams fulfilled, + And light shall be bound like sandals on my feet. + + _I have been kissed by the Priestess of the Thin and Deadly Blood-- + With the kiss that men call Lightning, and yet I did not die, + For the kiss was a message from God; I felt it and understood, + And I knew how He looked on the cosmic light and called it "Good"; + I thrilled with a vibrant joy; I hummed with ecstasy._ + + + + +THE GOLD FIELDS. + + + Here is a tale the North Wind sang to me: + Hell hath set Mammon o'er a frozen land, + Crowned him with gold, put gold into his hand, + And men forsake their God to bow the knee + Again unto this world-old deity + Whose rule is wheresoe'er man's feet go forth, + Whether they track the grim and icy North, + Or Afric's scorching sweeps of sandy sea. + About his throne they crawl and curse and weep; + The tenfold pangs of darkness and of cold + Bite at their hearts, and hound them as they creep, + Thief-like, to catch his scattered crumbs of gold;-- + And over all still burns God's warning scroll: + "What profit it if ye shall lose your soul?" + + + + +THE WOMAN ANSWERS. + + + What will I say when face to face with God + My naked soul shall come, seared with the stain + That men call sin? Why, God will understand; + He knew my pitiful story long before + My frail dust quickened with the breath of life; + He knew the mystery of that day of days + When, thrilled with virgin wonder, I should come + Bearing the lily of my stainless love + To plant upon the desert of desire. + I do not fear His judgment; He knows all. + + I do not fear His judgment lest it be + That I shall look no more upon his face + Who taught my heart to love; and, surely, One + Who wrought a perfect note from these poor strings + Will not condemn to discord when the strain + Has reached the fullness of its harmony. + + I do not fear His judgment, but I weep + For him who slew the lily with a kiss + Too full of passion's rapture; if I speak + In that transcendent moment when I stand + A sinful woman at the bar of God + To hear my sentence, I shall answer still: + "I loved him; that was all that I could do; + I love him; that is all that I can say!" + + + + +THE MONASTERY. + + + Beyond the wall the passion flower is blooming, + Strange hints of life along the winds are blown; + Within, the cowled and silent men are kneeling + Before an image on a cross of stone, + And on their lifted faces, wan as death, + I read this simple message of their faith: + "The trail of flame is ashen, + And pleasure's lees are gray, + And gray the fruit of passion + Whose ripeness is decay; + The stress of life is rancor, + A madness born to slay; + They only miss its canker + Who live with God and pray." + + Beyond the wall lies Babylon, the mighty; + Faint echoes of her songs come drifting by; + Within there is a hymn of consecration, + A psalm that lifts the fervent soul on high; + And yet, sometimes, where bows the hooded choir, + There comes the old call of the World's Desire: + "The rose's dust is ashen + Be petals white or red, + And vain the sighs of passion + When summer's light is fled; + The garden's fruitful measure + Is crowned with bloom today; + They only miss its treasure + Who turn their hearts away." + + + + +THE PASSION PLAY. + + +I. + + Where falls the shadow of the Kofel cross + Athwart the Alpine snows, the rose of faith + Is blooming still in consecrated hearts, + And holy men another cross have hewn + Whereon the symboled Christ again shall die + To cleanse the world of sin. Within the vale + Where flows the Ammer like a trail of tears + Upon the Holy Mother's face, I see + The men and women, faithful to their vows, + Breathing the passion of Gethsemane. + I see the Saviour in Jerusalem; + I see the godless traders scourged; I see + Their wares strewn on the temple floor, their doves + Set free to wander on the roving winds; + I see Iscariot kiss the Nazarene; + I see the hate of Herod, and I hear + The multitude half-sob, half-wail, "The Cross!" + Then up the Way of Tears to Golgotha, + Crowned with the thorn, and then, last bitter scene, + The mortal death of God's immortal Son. + + +II. + + The eagle wheels around the Kofel crags; + The chamois leaps the tumbling glacier stream; + The sunbeams dance upon the glistening snows + Like pixies, and the wooded mountain slopes + Thrill with the notes of songbirds; hymns of joy + Break from the forests and the smiling plains, + And where the Ammer winds its silvery way, + The wild swan ever follows like a prayer. + Who of God's creatures, then, has lost his way? + 'Tis not the chamois, eagle or the swan; + 'Tis not the mountain torrent, or the birds + That twitter all day long within the wood; + 'Tis not the Ammer flowing to the sea. + Who of God's creatures, then, has lost his way? + Let us go in the Coliseum where + The fresh-hewn cross is lifted to the sky; + Let us gaze on the reverential throng + That marks Christ's passion in a silent awe, + And think a moment on the world of Man-- + Man, made in God's own image, yet the one + Of all God's creatures who has lost his way. + + +III. + + When, on the brooding darkness of the void + Wherein the world swung like a tiny star, + Death hovered with his sable wings outspread, + And Hell yawned far below, God gave to man + His promise of redemption through the blood + That dripped from pierced hands high on Calvary-- + The mortal death of God's immortal Son. + The centuries have crumbled into dust; + Cities have risen on the shores of Time, + Then passed away like footprints in the sand; + Empires have vanished, kings have laid them down + In silence, but the word of Him remains + Who cried in agony upon the tree: + "Forgive them, for they know not what they do." + Once more the fresh-hewn cross lifts to the sky + In consecrated Oberammergau; + Once more I see the Christ in humble guise + Teaching the multitudes, and hear his voice + In supplication and in parable + Proclaim his mission to a sinful world. + Ah, could the world but gaze upon that Christ + With heart attuned unto the symboled love + That makes his face a radiant miracle! + The world hath need of thy great lesson now; + The money-changers throng the Temple gates; + The kiss of Judas burns from lips to brow; + The hate of Herod rankles in the hearts + Of scorners, and the poisoned crown of thorns + Which Greed has woven for humanity, + Bites like the chaplet that the Saviour wore + The day that He was crowned and crucified. + Methinks I see around the shining cross + Phantoms that shudder when the name of Christ + Is whispered by the multitude; I see + Grim Avarice with shriveled fingers clutch + A golden bauble; shrinking by his side, + Oppression stands and hugs a clanking chain, + While deeper in the gloom, with eyes aglow + And matted hair still dripping red with gore, + Sits War, her trembling hand enclasped within + The spectral hand of Death. O Christus, thou + To whom it has been given once again + To symbolize the passion of the cross, + Approach thy task with heart inspired by love, + And when the Saviour's words fall from thy lips, + Be thine the Saviour's exaltation when + He told the dying thief upon the cross + That he should be with Him in Paradise. + + + + +INSTRUMENTS. + + + Today we are the fruits of yesterday + And what tomorrow shall of us demand,-- + The helpless tools within the Master's hand + To do His will and never say Him nay. + He blends our souls with iron, fire or clay, + He shapes our doom according as He planned + The scheme of life, and who shall understand + The why He gives, or why He takes away? + Somewhere the universal loom shall catch + These broken, flying threads like thee and me, + And twined with other broken threads to match + As fly the years' swift shuttles ceaselessly, + So weave them all together one by one, + Till lo! the finished woof is brighter than the sun. + + + + +QUATRAINS. + + +_The Sky Line._ + + Like black fangs in a cruel ogre's jaw + The grim piles lift against the sunset sky; + Down drops the night, and shuts the horrid maw-- + I listen, breathless, but there comes no cry. + + +_Defeat._ + + He sits and looks into the west + Where twilight gathers, wan and gray, + A knight who quit the Golden Quest, + And flung Excalibur away. + + +_To an Amazon._ + + O! twain in spirit, we shall know + Thy like no more, so fierce, so mild, + One breast shorn clean to rest the bow, + One milk-full for thy warrior child. + + +_The Old Mother._ + + Life is like an old mother whom trouble and toil + Have sufficed the best part of her nature to spoil, + Whom her children, the Passions, so worry and vex + That the good are forgot while the evil perplex. + + +_The Call._ + + When the north wind, riding o'er the uplands, + Shouted to the red leaves: "I am Death!" + Was it fear that sent them all a-flying, + Sighing, flying o'er the withered heath? + + +_Life._ + + Life is just a web of doubt + Where, with iridescent gleams, + Flickers in or struggles out + Love, the golden moth of dreams. + + +_Revelation._ + + I called your name, Man-in-the-Grave, + And straight her lips grew cold on mine, + And then I knew although I have + Her hand, her heart and soul are thine. + + +_Tears of Men._ + + Men shed their blood for honor or renown, + For freedom's sake to nameless graves go down, + But there's one cause alone 'neath heaven above + For which they shed their tears, and that is--Love. + + + + +IMMUTABILITY. + + + The sun must rise, the sun must set, + Nor ever change in plan may be, + Though dawn to stricken wretch may bring + The hempen rope and gallows tree, + And eventide to happy bride + Love's crown of love in Arcady. + + + + +THE FETTERED VULTURES. + +(Battleships of the Coronation Naval Review, Spithead, England, June 24, +1911.) + + + Hail, sceptered Mars, great god of wars! + Hail, Carnage, queen of blood! + And hail those muffled armaments-- + Thy fettered vulture brood! + Their sable wings are laureled and + Their necks are ribboned gay, + And silken folds their talons hide + This kingly holiday. + + Grotesque and grim, in chains of gold, + They go with solemn mien, + Their horrid plumes bedizened for + The eyes of king and queen; + But padded claw and mummer's crest + Have served not to disguise + Those iron beaks that thirst for blood, + Those wakeful, wolfish eyes. + + Ten condors with unsated maws, + Four lesser birds of prey, + An eagle with undaunted eye + From Shasta, far away; + A score of birds from many seas, + All purged of grime and blood, + Keep truckling pace the fete to grace,-- + Mars' fettered vulture brood. + + But see ye not, great god of wars, + And ye, Britannia's king, + The day when these black birds shall fly + On fierce unshackled wing? + When they shall meet 'twixt sea and sky, + Rend flesh and break the bone, + And blood shall trickle through the waves + To gray old Triton's throne? + + Hail, sceptered Mars, great god of wars! + Hail, Carnage, queen of blood! + And hail those muffled armaments,-- + Thy fettered vulture brood! + And yet Christ's gentle teaching scrolls + Prophetic on the sky: + "Behold! some day thy vulture brood + Shall go unfed and die!" + + + + +THE DEAD CHILD. + + + Life to her was a perfect flower, + And every petal a jeweled hour, + Till all at once--we know not why-- + God sent a frost from His clear blue sky. + + Life to her was a fairy rune; + Her light feet tripped to the lilting tune, + Till all at once--we know not why-- + God stopped th' enchanting melody. + + Life to her was a picture book + That her glad eyes searched with eager look + Till all at once--we know not why-- + God put the wondrous volume by. + + + + +NIGHT IN MAY. + + + The snowy clouds, soft sleeping lambkins, lie + Along the dark blue meadows of the sky, + And the bright stars, like golden daffodils, + Are blooming thickly by. + + And Luna, gentle shepherdess, the while + Keeps near her flock and guards it with her smile; + I almost fancy I can hear her song + Down to this shadowed stile. + + Lo! Zephyrus, fond lover, comes to woo; + With airy step he hastes the pastures through, + And steals a kiss from Luna as she nods + Drowsy with fragrant dew. + + She starts; the little lambs aroused from sleep, + Fly hence; but Luna near her swain doth keep. + Oh, it was ever thus since lover came + 'Twixt shepherdess and sheep! + + + + +DE PROFUNDIS. + + + I thought today within the crowded mart + I saw thee for a moment, friend of mine, + And all at once my blood leapt fast and fine + And a new light broke on my shadowed heart. + 'T was but a moment that my fancy's art + Moulded another's features into thine, + For when he passed me by and gave no sign, + The bitter truth came back with sudden start. + Then I remembered how the Merlin spell + Of waving arms and woven paces bands + Thy dust forever in its four-walled cell, + Heedless of all except thy Seer's commands-- + Holds thee enraptured with the charms that dwell + In broken paces and in folded hands. + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + Variant spellings and proper nouns remain as printed. Minor + typographical errors have been corrected without note, whilst + significant amendments have been listed below: + + p. 8, 'pleasuance' amended to _pleasaunce_; + 'Some decked for the pleasaunce bower' + + p. 25, 'Hommé' amended to _Homme_; + 'The old "Bon Homme Richard's" unlaid ghost' + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Pan and Aeolus: Poems, by Charles Hamilton Musgrove + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAN AND AEOLUS: POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 27333-8.txt or 27333-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/3/3/27333/ + +Produced by David Garcia, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) + + +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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