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diff --git a/36617.txt b/36617.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0dc66f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/36617.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1901 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ballad of the Quest, by Virna Sheard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Ballad of the Quest + +Author: Virna Sheard + +Release Date: July 4, 2011 [EBook #36617] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BALLAD OF THE QUEST *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: title page] + + + + + +The + +Ballad + +of + +The Quest + + +by + +Virna Sheard + + + + +McClelland & Stewart, Ltd., + +Publishers + +Toronto + + + + +Copyright 1922 by + +THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY + + +All Rights Reserved + + + +PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. + + + + +_To the sweet memory_ + +_of my Mother_ + + + + +ACKNOWLEDGMENT + +_We acknowledge with thanks the kindness of Messrs. J. M. Dent & Sons, +London, England, for permitting us to use the poems published by them +in "The Miracle"; also we thank the Imperial Order of the Daughters of +the Empire for permission to use those poems brought out by them in +"Carry On."_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + The Ballad of the Quest + A Song of Poppies + The Shepherd Wind + In Solitude + The Slumber Angel + At Midnight + Dreams + A Southern Lullaby + When Jonquils Blow + Lament + The Sea + The Cry + The Bridge of Dreams + The Shells + Requiem + The Crosses + The Lonely Road + To One Who Sleeps + April Again! + Histories + Fireflies + The Vanished + Pathfinders + The Call + Before the Dawn + The Fairy Clock + The Temple + The Whistler + March + On Silver Nights + The Birth-Right + A Love Song + A Song + The Night of all Saints + In the Last Year + Ships + June + October Goes + The Lily-Pond + + + + + THE BALLAD OF THE QUEST + + "Some day," I said, "before Life is over, + I will shut my house door, and will be a rover." + + Under the sky where the great stars roll, + I will search for my faith, and search for my soul. + + I have fared without them this many a day + Through the market-place of the world's high-way. + + The truth I gave in exchange for a lie, + And I bartered my dreams to a passer-by. + + I have met Delilah,--her enchantments I know + As the man of strength knew them ages ago. + + Fool's gold and fool's joy have been my reaping, + And my heart has nothing that's worth the keeping. + + But the world is wide and the world is free, + And the things I have lost may come back to me. + + I will follow the path of the bird that flies, + And look for a woman with honest eyes. + + If I travel hard, and travel alone, + I may overtake Peace, and make it my own. + + Only the Sun and the Moon's sweet light + Shall mark my day, or measure my night. + + Silks and satins and embroidered things, + I'll exchange for blossoms and butter-flies' wings. + + And under a thorn-hedge I will dine + On a handful of berries, as red as wine. + + Or I'll earn my bread on the out-bound ships, + With the sun in my eyes, and salt on my lips. + + And for the softness of beds and pillows, + I'll take a hammock that swings with the billows. + + It may be the trail will lead me afar + To mountain paths, where the wild sheep are. + + Or with simple people, and free from guile, + I will pitch my tent and will rest awhile. + + I am weary of softness and things of ease, + And weary of Scribes, and of Pharisees. + + On a morning road where the wind is strong, + I may learn again to whistle a song. + + Down forest paths, or the ways of the sea, + My soul and my faith may come back to me. + + And always and ever beneath the skies, + I will look for a woman with honest eyes. + + I will follow no will at all but my own, + And the road I take I will take alone. + + "Some day," I said, "before Life is over, + I will shut my house door, and will be a rover." + + * * * * * + + II + + But the day when it came was a troubled day, + And the road I took was a troubled way. + + Then never a will I had of my own, + And never a step did I travel alone. + + We marched by day, and we marched by night, + Through the Sun's hot gold, or the Moon's cool light. + + We marched with laughter, we marched with song, + Or in dreadful silence we marched along. + + The man at my right cursed low at his fate, + The man at my left smiled early and late. + + And the faces I saw at the edge of day, + Were young, young faces, turned old and grey. + + The field where poppies flashed red in the wheat, + Was a hell we tramped through on stumbling feet. + + I forgot I had said "before Life is over, + I will shut my house door, and will be a rover." + + Out on the roads where the guns took toll + I gave little heed to my faith, or my soul. + + In the trenches where only the dead could rest, + Life was a candle-flame--Death was a jest. + + The stars swung round in a blood-red sky, + And the earth was red where the men reeled by. + + I laughed--for I was living and strong,-- + And I tossed them the line of a battle song. + + May-day came in,--but the sweet o' the Spring,-- + Who should know there was any such thing? + + For the lovers were gone, who used to know + The English lanes where the hawthorns blow-- + + And the lovers from lands far over the sea,-- + Ah! The watching moon only, knew where they might be. + + I shook my impotent hand at the sky, + And travelled on with a battle cry. + + * * * * * + + III + + On a desperate night--bitter black with pain,-- + My soul returned to haunt me again. + + We two kept vigil till break of day, + But the moon bore witness, I did not pray. + + I dreamt I drifted with a name on my lips, + Where the clouds were sea waves, and the stars little ships. + + I dreamt,--and lay on the shell-bitten sod, + Like a thing that had been forgotten of God. + + I saw the smoke of the battle roll + Over many a swift departing soul,-- + + But when the dawn was a violet tide, + A shadow came and knelt at my side. + + No--not a shadow--or mystery-- + But a rose of the darkness, she came to me. + + Mist-grey was her gown, and about her head + Was a shining band with a cross of red. + + Her eyes were closed, for she dared not see + What the guns and the dark had made of me. + + So I caught her gown in fear she would pass, + Like a lovely shadow, across the grass. + + "Who are you?" I cried, "who have found me here + Where I have lain, this year upon year?" + + "No! No! but one night, beloved,"--she said, + "While I searched for you all among the dead. + + "But you were so strong you could not die, + Though Azrael touched you as he passed by." + + And then by a flame that lit up the skies, + I looked once again in Delilah's eyes. + + They had out-lived fear, and were sweet, and deep + As the eyes of an Angel, who bringeth sleep. + + "O brave one!" she said, "You soon shall see + From your thirst and your pain I can set you free! + + "Here! The water flask!--I will lift your head,-- + Drink if you will, and spare not," she said. + + "Be patient, and wait! See here in your arm, + The poppies of God shall work their charm." + + So she spoke, while her voice seemed faint and far + As though it drifted down from a star. + + "I have come," she faltered, "beloved at last"-- + "Even so"--I said, "from the long-gone past. + + "I would know," I cried, "how you came to me + Through this hell where no woman should ever be?" + + "I heard you call," she answered, "and then + I followed the road of the out-bound men. + + "I followed the bearers, for far--and far,-- + They travel wherever the wounded are. + + "Picket and sentry, and the men who fly, + Made the holy sign as I hurried by." + + "Here and there where the grass was red, + I stopped for a moment beside the dead. + + "I pressed my lips to their tunic's hem,-- + And often I folded the hands of them. + + "But I could not stay,--and when dawn was near, + You called again--and I found you here." + + "O Sweet--no more!" I said. "Tell me no more! + For Peace has come in through the morning's door. + + "There is only this at the end of my quest-- + Only you--and Love--and a spirit at rest." + + * * * * * + + Then came the bearers to lift me away-- + But beside me her shadow moved--tender and grey. + + + + + A SONG OF POPPIES + + I love red poppies! Imperial red poppies! + Sun-worshippers are they; + Gladly as trees live through a hundred summers + They live one little day. + + I love red poppies! Impassioned scarlet poppies! + Even their strange perfume + Seems like an essence brewed by fairy people, + From an immortal bloom. + + I love red poppies! Red, silken, swaying poppies! + Deep in their hearts they keep + A magic cure for woe,--a draught of Lethe,-- + A lotus-gift of sleep. + + I love red poppies! Soft silver-stemmed, red poppies, + That from the rain and sun, + Gather a balm to heal some earth-born sorrow, + When their glad day is done. + + + + + THE SHEPHERD WIND + + When hills and plains are powdered white, + And bitter cold the north wind blows, + Upon my window in the night + A fairy-garden grows. + + Here lilies that no hand hath sown + Bloom white as foam upon the sea, + And elfin bells to earth unknown, + Hold frost-bound melody. + + And here are blossoms like to stars + Tangled in nets of silver lace,-- + My very breath their beauty mars, + Or stirs them from their place. + + Perchance the echoes of old songs, + Found here a resting place at last, + With drifting perfume, that belongs + To roses of the past,-- + + Or all the moonbeams that were lost + On summer nights the world forgets, + May here be prisoned by the frost, + With souls of violets. + + * * * * * + + The wind doth shepherd many things,-- + And when the nights are long and cold, + Who knows how strange a flock he brings + All safely to the fold. + + + + + IN SOLITUDE + + He is not all alone whose ship is sailing + Over the mystery of an unknown sea, + For some great Love with faithfulness unfailing + Will light the stars to bear him company. + + Out in the silence of the mountain passes, + The heart makes peace and liberty its own,-- + The wind that blows across the scented grasses + Bringing the balm of sleep,--comes not alone. + + Beneath the vast illimitable spaces, + Where God has set His jewels in array, + A man may pitch his tent in desert places, + Yet know that heaven is not so far away. + + But in the city--in the lighted city-- + Where gilded spires point toward the sky, + And fluttering rags and hunger ask for pity, + Grey Loneliness in cloth-of-gold, goes by. + + + + + THE SLUMBER ANGEL + + When day is ended, and grey twilight flies + On silent wings across the tired land, + The Slumber-Angel cometh from the skies,-- + The Slumber-Angel of the peaceful eyes, + And with the scarlet poppies in his hand. + + His robes are dappled like the moonlit seas, + His hair in waves of silver floats afar; + He weareth lotus-bloom, and sweet heartsease, + With tassels of the rustling, green fir trees, + As down the dusk he steps from star to star. + + Above the world he swings his curfew bell, + And sleep falls soft on golden heads and white; + The daisies curl their leaves beneath his spell,-- + The prisoner who wearies in his cell + Forgets awhile, and dreams throughout the night. + + * * * * * + + Even so, in peace, comes that great Lord of rest + Who crowneth men with amaranthine flowers; + Who telleth them the truths they have but guessed, + Who giveth them the things they love the best, + Beyond this restless, rocking world of ours. + + + + + AT MIDNIGHT + + Turn Thou the key upon our thoughts, dear Lord, + And let us sleep; + Give us our portion of forgetfulness, + Silent and deep. + + Lay Thou Thy quiet hand upon our eyes, + To close their sight; + Shut out the shining of the moon, and stars, + And candle-light. + + Keep back the phantoms and the visions sad,-- + The shades of grey,-- + The fancies that so haunt the little hours + Before the day. + + Quiet the time-worn questions that are all + Unanswered yet; + Take from the spent and troubled souls of us + Their vain regret; + + And lead us far into Thy silent land, + That we may go, + Like children out across the field o' dreams, + Where poppies blow. + + So all Thy saints--and all Thy sinners, too-- + Wilt Thou not keep, + Since not alone unto Thy well-beloved + Thou givest sleep? + + + + + DREAMS + + Keep thou thy dreams--though joy should pass thee by; + Hold to the rainbow beauty of thy thought; + It is for dreams that men will oft-times die,-- + And count the passing pain of death as nought. + + Keep thou thy dreams, though faith should faint and fail, + And time should loose thy fingers from the creeds; + The vision of the Christ will still avail, + To lead thee on to truth and tender deeds. + + Keep thou thy dreams, through all the winter's cold; + When weeds are withered, and the garden grey, + Dream thou of roses with their hearts of gold;-- + Beckon to summers that are on their way! + + Keep thou thy dreams;--the tissue of all wings + Is woven first of them; from dreams are made + The precious and imperishable things, + Whose loveliness lives on, and does not fade. + + + + + A SOUTHERN LULLABY + + Little honey baby, shet yo' eyes up tight;-- + (Shadow-man is comin' from de moon!)-- + You's as sweet as roses if dey _is_ so pink an white; + (Shadow-man'll get here mighty soon.) + + Little honey baby, keep yo' 'footses still!-- + (Rocky-bye, oh, rocky, rocky-bye!) + Hush yo' now, an listen to dat lonesome whip-po'-will; + Don't yo fix yo' lip an start to cry! + + Little honey baby, stop dat winkin' quick! + (Hear de hoot-owl in de cotton-wood!) + Yess--I sees yo' eyes adoin' dat dere triflin' trick,-- + (He gets chillun if dey isn't good.) + + Little honey baby, what yo' think yo' see?-- + (Sister keep on climbin' to de sky--) + Dat's a June bug--it ain't got no stinger, lak a bee,-- + (Reach de glory city by-an-by.) + + Little honey baby, what yo' skeery at?-- + (Go down, Moses--down to Phar-e-oh!)-- + No--dat isn't nuffin but a furry fly-round bat;-- + (Say, he'd betta let dose people go.) + + Little honey baby, yo' is all ma own,-- + Deed yo' is.--Yes,--dat's a fia-fly;-- + If I didn't hab yo',--reckon I'd be all alone; + (Rocky-bye--oh, rocky, rocky-bye.) + + Little honey baby, shet yo' eyes up tight;-- + (Shadow man is comin' from de moon,) + You's as sweet as roses, if dey is so pink and white; + (Shadow-man'll get here mighty soon.) + +---------- + +The lines in brackets are supposed to be sung or chanted. The Southern +"Mammy" seldom sang a song through, but interlaced it with +comments.--V.S. + + + + + WHEN JONQUILS BLOW + + When jonquils blow I think of one + Who sleeps beneath the green; + And all the light and song of life + And all the golden sheen, + Turn cold and still before my eyes, + While pearl-edged boughs of May + Seen through a sudden mist of tears + Are rimmed with ashen-gray. + + + + + LAMENT + + Here in my garden where the tulips grow + I walk alone; + Dim are my eyes with tears, my feet are slow, + My heart is stone; + Though all the lovely earth again for me + New sweetness yields + It matters not,--only the dead I see + On battlefields. + + Only the dead I see,--and strangely bright + Their faces shine + As though the God of Glory in the night + Had made them fine. + Place for the victors! Stoop my soul to touch + Their tunics' hem,-- + 'Tis those they loved who need tears overmuch + O weep for them! + + + + + THE SEA + + The sea is but a cradle wide and deep,-- + A cradle that the moon rocks to and fro; + What peace they find who there fall fast asleep, + What lovely dreams,--'Tis not for us to know. + + But God hath sent the angel of the sea + To sing to them an endless lullaby; + And that they may not dread night's mystery, + He lights for them the candles of the sky. + + They are infolded by the silken waves, + And wrapped in shining blue, and emerald green; + They drift through opalescent ocean caves, + That only God Himself hath ever seen. + + The great salt wind that no man holds in thrall, + Touches them softly, as it passes by;-- + I think the silver sea gulls know them all, + And greet them with their lonely tender cry. + + For but a little, little round of years, + The sweet sun-sprinkled foam will be their bed, + And they will slumber--hushed from any fears-- + To waken, when the sea gives up her dead. + + + + + THE CRY + + They have laid him away; + Even he who was always so strong and gay + Will be locked in the earth till the judgment day; + "Dust unto dust" I have heard the priest say. + + He will never return; + Though I weep my eyes blind, though I pray and yearn,-- + Though the star-light goes out and the great suns burn + Into whitest ash,--he will never return. + + So of weeping--no more; + It is tears fill the oceans from shore to shore; + They have made the wind salt--the wind at my door; + They harm the good ground--so of weeping--no more. + + "Not again!" "Not again!" + Do you hear the sea singing that one refrain? + The pine trees, the wind and the wearysome rain + All whisper it; "Never again!"--"Not again!" + + Who can tell me--who knows, + Where his lonely soul travels? + Whither it goes?-- + Has he gone like the leaves?--Like yesterday's snows?-- + Speak, dear Lord of Death! You who died--and arose! + + + + + THE BRIDGE OF DREAMS + + The thought of thee is like a swinging tune, + A little swinging tune I seem to hear; + The thought of thee is like the breeze of June + Blowing across the winter of the year! + + The thought of thee is like a golden star + Set all alone within the midnight blue;-- + A heaven-lit candle shining from afar + Upon the road that we are passing through. + + The thought of thee is like the woods in spring, + With silver-grey and silver-green o'erset; + The thought of thee is what the four winds bring + Over the banks of wild-blown mignonette. + + And all the music of the twilight sea, + Echoes thy voice in tender undertone; + The sea-gulls seem but grey-winged thoughts of thee, + Caught on the salted wing and homeward blown! + + God keeps the secret of His heaven well,-- + But Azrael finds its gates, where'er they be; + And from the earth, to fields of Asphodel, + I build a bridge of dreams, and cross to thee. + + + + + THE SHELLS + + O my brave heart! O my strong heart! My sweet heart and gay, + The soul of me went with you the hour you marched away, + For surely she is soulless, this woman white, and still, + Who works with shining metal to make the things that kill. + + I tremble as I touch them,--so strange they are, and bright; + Each one will be a comet to break the purple night;-- + Grey Fear will ride before it, and Death will ride behind: + The sound of it will deafen,--the light of it will blind! + + And whom it meets in passing, but God alone will know. + Each one will blaze a trail in blood--will hew a road of woe; + O when the fear is on me, my heart grows faint and cold;-- + I dare not think of what I do,--of what my fingers, hold! + + Then sounds a Voice, "Arise, and make the weapons of the Lord!" + "He rides upon the whirlwind! He hath need of shell, and sword! + His army is a mighty host--the lovely and the strong,-- + They follow Him to battle, with trumpet and with song!" + + O my brave heart! My strong heart! My sweet heart and dear,-- + 'Tis not for me to falter,--'Tis not for me to fear;-- + Across the utmost barrier--wherever you may be,-- + With joy unspent, and deathless, my soul will follow thee! + + + + + REQUIEM + + Weep for the dead; weep for the swift slain dead, + November skies; + Too few the tears that day and night are shed + From women's eyes. + + Blow o'er them lightly with a soft caress, + Wind of the sea; + If you are tender they may miss love less-- + Where'er they be. + + Come, gentle moon, swing low your lantern light + On reddened fields, + And find the lonely harvest of the night + That battle yields. + + Banish the darkness filled with quivering dread, + Lest they should know + Some last strange horror,--even they--the dead;-- + Sweet moon, swing low! + + Fold them at dawn, dear Earth, within your arms + So safe and strong; + Hold them asleep till they forget alarms, + And woe and wrong. + + Master of Kings! If peace be bought with pain, + These paid the price; + O show Thy tortured world that not in vain, + Is sacrifice! + + + + + THE CROSSES + + The little lonely crosses, the crosses low and white, + They haunt me most in the silver hour + That lies against the night; + Or when the rose-dusk dawn comes in, + With a star for candlelight. + + The little lonely crosses in fields so far away, + They cast a shadow on my path-- + And, take which road I may, + It follows, follows, follows-- + Throughout the livelong day. + + O little lonely crosses that gentle hands have made, + You mean to us forevermore + The price that has been paid + For a heritage of Freedom, + And a People unafraid. + + So, as a Pilgrim to his shrine, in dreams I rise and go, + To find the poppied place of sleep, + And the crosses row on row; + The crosses carved with names beloved, + The crosses white and low. + + + + + THE LONELY ROAD + + We used to fear the lonely road + That twisted round the hill; + It dipped down to the river-way, + And passed the haunted mill, + And then crept on, until it reached + The churchyard, green and still. + + No pipers ever took that road,-- + No gipsies, brown and gay;-- + No shepherds with their gentle flocks,-- + No loads of scented hay;-- + No market-wagons jingled by + On any Saturday. + + The dog-wood there flung wide its stars + In April, silvery sweet; + The squirrels crossed that path all day + On tiny flying feet; + The wild, brown rabbits knew each turn, + Each shadowy safe retreat. + + And there the golden-belted bee + Sang his sweet summer song; + The crickets chirped there to the moon + With steady note and strong; + Till cold and silence wrapped them round + When autumn nights grew long. + + But, oh! they brought the lonely dead + Along that quiet way, + With strange procession, dark and slow, + On sunny days and grey; + We used to watch them, wonder-eyed, + Nor care again to play,-- + + And we forgot each merry jest; + The birds on bush and tree + Silenced the song within their throats, + And with us watched to see, + The soft, slow passing out of sight + Of that dark mystery. + + * * * * * + + We fear no more the lonely road + That winds around the hill; + Far from the busy world's highway + And the gods' slow-grinding mill; + It only seems a peaceful path, + Pleasant, and green, and still. + + + + + TO ONE WHO SLEEPS + + Fare not too far, my own, + Down ways all strange and new, + For I must find alone, + The road that leads to you. + + Enchantments may arise + To lure thy little feet, + And charm thy wondering eyes;-- + Yet,--wait for me, my sweet! + + Already Earth doth seem + A phantom place to me, + And thy far home of dream, + Is my reality. + + So this is just "good-night";-- + Some stars will rise and wane,-- + But sure as comes the light, + I'll be with thee again! + + + + + APRIL AGAIN! + + April again! the willow wands are yellow + Rose-red the brambles that the passing wind knows, + Comes a robin's note like the note of a 'cello, + And across the valley, the calling of the crows,-- + "April again!" + + April again! and the marsh birds swinging + Over the rushes that belong to yester-year; + Silver shines the river, and young lips are singing + Songs as old as Eden--as old and as dear; + "April again!" + + April again! with a wet wind blowing, + And along the western sky a pathway of gold; + Sounds a call to follow the road we're not knowing, + A new road--a wild road--o'er fairy lands unrolled,-- + "April again!" + + April again! with its wonder of gladness, + April with its haunting joy, and swift-stinging tears,-- + Month of mist and music, and the old moon-madness, + Month of magic fluting, the spirit only hears,-- + "April again!" + + + + + HISTORIES + + I weary of the histories of men-- + The garnered store of books in grim array; + Life's bitter salvage, leather-bound, and then + Left to the silence and a bloom of gray. + + I weary of the stories that they hold; + The clash of arms sounds through them like a knell; + I weary of the Kings in crowns of gold, + The Kings victorious, and the Kings who fell. + + There are too many tears on every page; + Too red a tide sweeps every chapter in; + There is no word of peace in any age, + Except the peace that death rode forth to win. + + And old unhappiness, long wrapped in sleep, + And thrice-armed feud that passed in wrath and woe, + And white despair from many a dungeon keep, + Arise to haunt us still, where'er we go. + + Yet through the years the sun was warm and sweet, + And pipers piped at morn, and night and noon,-- + And there was carnival with dancing feet, + And love and joyance always came in June,-- + + O, to remember when the pages close-- + Linked with the vision of the deathless brave,-- + The nightingale, the moonlight, and the rose, + And all the beauty that the lost years gave! + + + + + FIREFLIES + + (From an old Italian Legend) + + True lovers' words are deathless things; + Eros, the little god, and wise, + Catches them all,--gives to them wings, + And turns them into fireflies! + + Words that are sweet as a caress, + And wild, bright words no will can tame; + Soft words of haunting tenderness,-- + Words that are like a blue-white flame. + + The magic word, the jewelled word, + The word that hides a thousand fears,-- + These all the perfumed winds have heard, + Through all the immemorial years! + + Not one is lost;--by old sea walls, + And over beds of mignonette, + And through lost lanes,--when darkness falls, + In loveliness they sparkle yet. + + * * * * * + + Then down the velvet sea of night, + Like little lighted ships asail, + They pass away, and out of sight,-- + Companioned by the nightingale. + + + + + THE VANISHED + + I grieve to think the little gods have vanished,-- + The half-gods with the vine-leaves in their hair; + I sorrow much the goat-foot Pan is banished, + And that the Dryads are not anywhere. + + The shrine of Flora has no need of flowers,-- + Diana seeks her arrows in the sky; + Apollo's beauty was a thing of hours-- + And Artemis, herself, learned how to die. + + I think Endymion released from sleeping, + Walks through the star-dust at the heaven's rim, + For he is gone--though still the Moon is keeping + Her tireless and beloved watch for him. + + On river banks the purple grapes are growing, + But Bacchus and his merry train have passed. + Where are the little Fauns--I would be knowing? + In all the world who heard and saw them last? + + If but the small grey elfs were still astraying, + Where shadows lace the golden forest ways, + What joy to meet them, and be long delaying + The sombre tasks that fill the working days! + + * * * * * + + I grieve to think the little gods have vanished,-- + The half-gods with the vine-leaves in their hair;-- + I sorrow much the goat-foot Pan is banished, + And that the Dryads are not anywhere. + + + + + PATHFINDERS + + These were the men of the restless heart;-- + The brothers to wind and tide;-- + They followed the lure of the far away, + And they saw a vision by night and day, + Of lands that were free and wide. + + They blazed the long and desolate trail, + And set their mark on the trees; + And sometimes only the star of the North, + Guided their little, lone ships that set forth + Upon the uncharted seas. + + They marked a road through the shifting sand + Where never a road had led,-- + And beneath the pavilions of the sky, + In a deep and abiding peace they lie + With the world forgotten dead. + + The ice of the Arctic shut them in + And locked its crystalline doors;-- + Or it may be a tide that was hot, and slow, + Drifted them in where sea-grasses grow, + On sun-bleached tropical shores. + + They journeyed beyond the shadow of fear, + And past the ghost of despair;-- + On the coasts of coral they made their bed, + Or they fell asleep where the ground was red, + And grey wings shadowed the air. + + High adventurers! Gentlemen all! + Knights of the golden code;-- + That we might ride softly, you rode hard,-- + That we might go safely,--you without guard + Followed the perilous road! + + + + + THE CALL + + Come to me out of the night, + In any way that you will, + As a radiance, unspeakably bright-- + Or a shadow, close-hooded and still; + Nothing will touch me of fear-- + Harken! I make thee my vow!-- + Out of the darkness, my dear, + Come to me now! + + This is the old haunted place,-- + Haunted by ghosts of spent hours: + Decked by the ivy's green lace, + Sweet with the dusk-opened flowers; + This is the garden you know, + Moon-touched, and tranquil and dear,-- + I, alone, walk to and fro,-- + Come to me here! + + + + + BEFORE THE DAWN + + In that one darkest hour, before the dawn is here, + Each soul of us goes sailing, close to the coast of Fear. + + There in the windless quiet, from out the folded black, + The things we have forgotten--or would forget--come back. + + Old sorrows, long abandoned, or kept with lock and key, + Steal from their prison places to bear us company. + + All softly come our little sins--our scarlet sins--and gray. + To keep with us a vigil till breaking of the day. + + And there are velvet footsteps; or oft we seem to hear + Light garments brush against the dark; so near--so very near! + + From out the red confusion where men long watches keep, + New shadows come--we know they come--and in the dark we weep. + + Then heavily, as weighed by tears, each haunted moment goes, + For dawn steps down the morning sky, in robes of gray and rose. + + O fairies of the forest-ring, and little men in green, + And pixies of the moonlight, and elves no eye hath seen, + Brew us a magic potion, of deep and fairy power, + A draught of Lethe--for one night--to tide us past that hour. + + + + + THE FAIRY CLOCK + + Silver clock! O silver clock! tell to me the time o' day! + Is there yet a little hour left for us to work and play? + Tell me when the sun will set--tiny globe of silver-grey? + + It has been so glad a world since the coming of the morn;-- + Oft I wondered, when I met any souls who seemed forlorn; + And I scarce gave heed to those who were old or travel worn. + + Mayhap I have loved too well all the merry fleeting things; + Run too lightly with the wind,--chased too many shining wings; + Thought too seldom of the night, and the silence that it brings. + + Well I fear me I have been but an idler in the sun; + All unfinished are the tasks long and long ago begun;-- + In the dark perchance they weep, who have left their work undone. + + And I know each black-frocked friar preacheth sermons that, alas! + Fain would halt the dancing feet of those careless ones who pass, + Down a sweet and primrose path, through the ribbons of the grass. + + Silver-clock! O Silver-clock! It was only yesterday + Dandelions flecked the field, starry-bright and gold and gay; + You are but the ghost of one--little globe of silver-grey! + + Tell me--tell me of the hour,--for there is so much to do! + Is it early? Is it late? Fairy-clock! O tell me true, + As I blow you down the wind, out upon a road of blue! + + + + + THE TEMPLE + + Enter the temple beautiful! The house not made with hands! + Rain-washed and green, wind-swept and clean, + Beneath the blue it stands, + And no cathedral anywhere + Seemeth so holy or so fair. + + It hath no heavy gabled roof, no door with lock and key; + No window-bars shut out the stars, + The aisles are wide and free;-- + Here through the night each altar-light + Is but a moon-beam, silver-white. + + Silently as the temple grew at Solomon's command,-- + Still as things seem within a dream, + This rose from out the land;-- + And all the pillars, grey and high, + Lifted their arches to the sky. + + Here is the perfume of the leaves, the incense of the pines,-- + The magic scent, that hath been pent, + Within the tangled vines: + No censor filled with spices rare + E'er swung such sweetness on the air! + + And all the golden gloom of it holdeth no haunting fear, + For it is blessed, and giveth rest + To those who enter here;-- + Here in the evening--who can know + But God Himself walks to and fro! + + And music past all mastering within the chancel rings; + None could desire a sweeter choir, + Than this--that soars and sings,-- + Till far the scented shadows creep,-- + And quiet darkness bringeth sleep. + + + + + THE WHISTLER + + Throughout the sunny day he whistled on his way;-- + Oh, high and low, and gay and sweet, + The melody rang down the street, + Till all the weary, old and grey, + Smiled at their work, or stopped to say, + "Now God be thanked that youth is fair,-- + And light of heart, and free from care." + + What time the wind blew high, he whistled and went by;-- + Then clarion clear on every side + The song was scattered far and wide! + Like birds above a storm that fly, + The silver notes soared to the sky; + "O soul, whose courage does not fail + But with a song can meet the gale." + + And when the rain fell fast, he whistled as he passed;-- + A little tune the whole world knew,-- + A song of love, of love most true; + On through the mist it came at last + To one by sorrow overcast; + "Dear Christ," she said, "by night and day + They serve who praise, as well as pray." + + Though the great world was white, he whistled in the night;-- + The sky was spangled all with gold, + The bitter wind was keen and cold, + Yet, dear musician, out of sight, + You still put wintry thoughts to flight, + For summer follows where you fare, + O Whistler, so debonair! + + And when the fog hung grey, he whistled on his way;-- + The little children in his train + With rosy lips caught up the strain. + Then I, to hear what he might say, + Followed with them, that sombre day. + "Is it for joy of life," quoth I, + "Good sir, you go awhistling by?" + He smiled, and sighed, and shook his head, + "I cheer my own sad heart," he said. + + + + + MARCH + + Windy March weather, with a lone crow flying, + A little ebony airship careening down the blue, + And high, high above him a wild goose crying, + The leading cry, the clarion cry, that guides his grey lines through! + + Windy March weather, with the pine trees singing, + Silver-red the brambles show and silver-green the birch, + And silver-grey a squirrel on a top branch swinging,-- + A friendly elf who nods to me from his far perilous perch. + + Windy March weather, with the tawny brook that hurries + Eager for the outward rush of rivers to the sea; + A tiny brook sun-dappled, that frets and sings and worries, + A rough adventurous little brook that calls and calls to me! + + Windy March weather, and the old spring madness + Tempting us to take the trail that wanders free and far,-- + Whispering of magic roads that wind to lands of gladness, + Where vanished joys and lost delights and garnered treasures are! + + + + + ON SILVER NIGHTS + + On silver nights I cannot sleep;-- + The ancient moon from far above, + Bids me arise, and run and keep + A rendezvous with one I love. + + And in my heart a little song + Swings to and fro its clear refrain, + While down the stairs I haste along + As though the past were mine again. + + Then is my spirit so beguiled + By all the night's white witchery, + That I am kin to all things wild, + And part of all things that are free!-- + + Then he comes back,--who long ago + Left these green paths his steps had trod; + Yes--he comes back,--I know!--I know!-- + Light-footed from the fields of God. + + So through the garden and the lane, + And where the lovely grass is deep, + We two go walking once again,-- + On silver nights, that banish sleep. + + + + + THE BIRTH-RIGHT + + Whate'er betides, all beauty still is mine, + I drink--as did the old gods--of its wine! + Though Times should dim my eyes, yet I have seen + The hills and hollows gay with gold and green: + Roses have charmed me with a dear delight, + And Iris brought me joy in cups of white:-- + For me the fairies hung on bush and tree + The marvel of the frost's bright filagree + And well I know where at the grey of morn + They threaded dew on cob-web, weed and thorn! + Lights of the Northern skies--and dancing flames, + And flowing seas--your colors have no names! + Day-shine across the uplands how you pass + Chased by the filmy shadows on the grass! + Oh, I have watched the little swallows fly + Down silver reaches of the twilight sky-- + While through the Western gates another day + In sweeping golden garments passed away,-- + I know how morning hastening from afar + Catches upon her rose-edged robes a star; + And often I have seen at Midnight's hour + The blooming of the Moon's gold wonder-flower. + O look, look, out upon the lovely earth + And take the gift she gave thee at thy birth! + Whate'er betides--all beauty still is thine,-- + Drink deep--as did the old gods--of its wine! + + + + + A LOVE SONG + + Oh haste thee, Sweet! Impatient now I wait, + The crescent moon swings low,--it groweth late,-- + A night-bird sings of Life, and Love, and Fate!-- + + Oh haste, my Sweet! Youth and its gladness goes; + Joy hath one summer time--like to the rose + Love only, lives through all the winter's snows. + + So haste, my Sweet! These hours are all our own: + But see!--A rose-leaf on the night-wind blown,-- + For thee I wait--for thee I wait alone!-- + So haste, my Sweet! + + + + + A SONG + + O heart of mine--if I were but a swallow-- + A thing so fearless, swift of flight, and free-- + On wings unwearied I would find and follow + Some path that led to thee! + + Were I a rose out in the garden growing + My sweetness I would give the vagrant breeze-- + For he, perchance, might meet thee all unknowing-- + Yet bring thee memories. + + + + + THE NIGHT OF ALL SAINTS + +It is an old belief that on the night of All Saints, "Hallowe'en," the +spirits of the dead return, so each year there is made a beloved feast. + + He will come back across the roads unmeasured-- + Lit by old moons and flaming sun and star; + There are so many things he loved and treasured + To call him from afar. + + Joy of the distant heaven, howe'er entrancing, + Never could charm him from the earth he knew, + Scent of the rose-leaves--music, mirth and dancing-- + He will come back to you. + + He will come back--no golden bars can hold him-- + He will come back to fire and candle shine; + He will be near, though you may not behold him, + And though he gives no sign. + + + + + IN THE LAST YEAR + + 1918 + + We are forgetting all the old grey saints,-- + A bloom of dust lies on the martyrs' shrines; + From storied windows that the sunlight paints, + We rarely read the dear familiar lines; + They seem a part of things so far away, + These haloed ones--the saints of yesterday. + + We are forgetting all the ancient lore + Of time-dimmed battles, with their unnamed dead; + All, all have vanished,--we will nevermore + In dreams unfurl their banners stained with red; + A tidal-wave has drifted them away + Into the limbo of Life's yesterday. + + We are forgetting all the mighty men,-- + The knights in clanking armor of the past; + We care not that by forest and by fen, + Their fighting done, they soundly slept at last; + They all belong to grief so far away; + The long and bitter tears of yesterday. + + We are forgetting all the hours of peace, + The sweet sun-sprinkled hours of gold on green,-- + The careless hours we thought could never cease,-- + The merriest hours the world has ever seen. + They are so very, very far away,-- + Those white untroubled hours of yesterday. + + For Death goes to and fro upon the earth;-- + It follows in the wake of marching men; + And we who knew the olden peace and mirth, + Will never, never know the same again. + The scented wind across the boughs of May, + Brings but the memory of some yesterday. + + + + + SHIPS + + The great grey ships! We saw them in our dreaming, + The strong grey ships--the ships of our desire, + Watched by the stars, and by the dawn's white gleaming, + And followed by the winds that never tire. + + O, but we trusted them through days of weeping, + Blessed them each one, and bid each one depart + With all the brave we gave into its keeping, + The priceless, garnered treasure of the heart! + + Long, long they haunted us when gales were blowing,-- + Dim wraiths of ships, like shadows in the rain;-- + Little we slept on winter nights of snowing, + Thinking of those who might not sail again. + + Yet--dear grey ships--the spirits of the fearless, + Lost many a day beneath the deepest blue,-- + The souls of mighty sailors, bright and tearless, + Arose from out the sea to sail with you. + + And not alone you kept your banners flying,-- + And not alone you met each bitter day,-- + For dauntless ones,--unseen, and death-defying, + Swept outward with you on your darkened way! + + + + + JUNE + + Now by every meadow-side the buttercups blow-- + (O June, you are spendthrift of your gold!) + Green are the uplands where the little lambs go, + Green and glad the forests that are old. + + Once again the summer weaves on her magic loom, + Cloth of clover,--fairy web of wheat;-- + Only Mary's alabaster box of perfume + Ever made the passing wind more sweet. + + Even through the city where the dusty roads run, + Blue runs now the river to the sea. + Tender is the twilight when the long day is done,-- + Infinite the stars' tranquillity. + + Not forever are the rains or the winter snows, + All these past--nor shall be overlong,-- + And with every lovely June cometh the rose, + The sweet blue dusk,--a night-bird's wonder-song! + + + + + OCTOBER GOES + + October goes, and its colors pass: + At dawn there's a silver film on the grass, + And the reeds are shining as pipes of glass, + + But yesterweek where the cloud waves rolled + Down a wind-swept sky that was grey, and cold, + Sailed the hunter's moon,--a galleon of gold! + + And now in the very depth of the night + It is just a little flame, blown and white, + Or a broken-winged moth on a weary flight. + + But the steadfast trees at the forest rim, + And the pines in places scented and dim, + Still wait for one hunter, and watch for him. + + And the wind in the branches whispers, "Why?" + And the yellow leaves that go rustling by, + Say only, "Remember," and sigh,--and sigh. + + + + + THE LILY-POND + + On this little pool where the sun-beams lie, + This tawny gold ring where the shadows die + God doth enamel the blue of His sky. + + Through the scented dark when the night wind sighs + He mirrors His stars where the ripples rise + Till they glitter like prisoned fireflies. + + 'Tis here that the beryl-green leaves uncurl, + And here the lilies uplift and unfurl + Their golden-lined goblets of carven pearl. + + When the grey of the eastern sky turns pink, + Through the silver sedge at the pool's low brink + The little lone field-mouse creeps down to drink. + + And creatures to whom only God is kind, + The loveless small things, the slow, and the blind, + Soft steal through the rushes, and comfort find. + + Oh, restless the river, restless the sea, + Where the great ships go and the dead men be; + The Lily-pond giveth but peace to me. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ballad of the Quest, by Virna Sheard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BALLAD OF THE QUEST *** + +***** This file should be named 36617.txt or 36617.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/6/1/36617/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +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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