initial commit of ebook 37859HEADmain

1 files changed, 1769 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/37859.txt b/37859.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ca35b19
--- /dev/null
+++ b/37859.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,1769 @@
+Project Gutenberg's The Call of the Mountains, by James E. Pickering
+
+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 Call of the Mountains
+       and other Poems
+
+Author: James E. Pickering
+
+Release Date: October 26, 2011 [EBook #37859]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CALL OF THE MOUNTAINS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+The Call of the Mountains
+
+and other Poems
+
+
+By
+
+James E. Pickering
+
+  Author of
+  "The King's Temptation," "The Cap of Care," etc.
+
+
+
+London
+
+A. C. Fifield, Clifford's Inn, E.C.
+
+1913
+
+
+
+
+PRINTED BY
+
+WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
+
+PLYMOUTH
+
+
+
+
+The Cap of Care
+
+By
+
+James E. Pickering
+
+_Grey Board Series, No._ 18.  1_s. net_
+
+"Mr. Pickering's metrical faculties are as deft and cunning as those of
+anyone now writing verse."--_Athenaeum_.
+
+A. C. Fifield, 13 Clifford's Inn, E.C.
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+  The Call of the Mountains
+  The Old Manor House
+  The Science Master
+  Through the Centuries
+  Winter
+  Pain and Death
+  Switzerland
+  Burial at Sea
+  The Master of the Marionettes
+  Love's Counterfeit
+  The Most Precious Thing
+  Autumn
+  To L
+  Duty
+
+
+  Sonnets
+
+  Glastonbury
+  Galileo
+  Stratford-on-Avon
+  To a Daffodil
+  The Appian Way
+  From the Fields
+  Venus de Milo
+  Fire
+
+
+
+
+  The Call of the Mountains
+
+  Under the shade of the Kursaal veranda
+  Idly I follow the flight of the seagulls,
+  Gleaming like snow when their wings catch the sunshine,
+  While from the palm-house adjacent is wafted
+  Music half drowned in a babel of voices,
+  Fitting the mode of this temple of follies.
+
+  Far though the mountains, their influence, ever
+  Changeful in temper, from sombre to smiling,
+  Constant in wileful and mystic allurement,
+  Rouses unrest and a strange fascination.
+
+  Limpid and blue are the waters of Leman
+  Clear in the deepness, translucent and shining,
+  Blue as the ether's ineffable azure,
+  Bright in the glow of the midsummer sunshine.
+  Cleaving the air with their palpitant pinions,
+  Wheeling and drifting, the beautiful seagulls
+  Fly with the grace of unconscious perfection,
+  Crying exultant and wild in a chorus.
+
+  Are you not fit for the realm of immortals,
+  To float on the winds of the gardens Elysian?
+  Or must you hover a little while longer--
+  Wandering souls in a state of probation--
+  Half-way uplifted beyond our defilement,
+  Half-way removed from the land of the blessed?
+
+  Far in the distance beyond the blue water,
+  Rises the hoary old father of mountains,
+  Rugged and scarred with antiquity's furrows,
+  Crowned with the snows of a million winters.
+  Low in the shade of his ponderous presence,
+  Dappling the slopes, are the homesteads of peasants,
+  Each with its cloud of blue vapour ascending:
+  And sweetly the bells across the green pastures
+  Answer each other with voices persistent,
+  Telling the herdsman the tale of his charges.
+  Grim is the smile of the white-headed mountain
+  For toilers below in the slumbering valley,
+  Grim is the glance with a touch of derision,
+  Seeming to say to his towering brothers--
+  Catogne and the broad-shouldered heights of the Midi,
+  "Iguanodon,--Mastodon,--Man,--in their passing
+  Serve but as signs on the path of the ages."
+  Softly the plash of the waters of Leman
+  Sounds from the rough-tumbled stones at its margin:
+  Gently the zephyrs play over its surface,
+  Making it glitter with myriads of sparklets.
+  Swiftly the barques trim their sails in the sunshine--
+  Sails high and slender that swell to the breezes,
+  White as the snow on the breast of the Jungfrau--
+  Mirrored in whiteness upon the blue water.
+
+  As I sat watching the lake and the mountains,
+  Slowly a haze like a curtain of muslin,
+  Flimsy and fine like a texture of cobweb,
+  Drifted and rose till it shut out the bases
+  And bulk of the mountains across the still water,
+  Whilst high above it the crests and sierras
+  Stood out as castles and walls of enchantment,
+  Raised in the air like king Solomon's city,
+  Held up aloft by invisible genii.
+  Then in the faintly drawn lines of escarpment,
+  Battlements, pinnacles, turrets and bastions
+  Sprang into being, and fancy, untrammelled,
+  Pictured a palace with walls, and a fortress
+  Beleaguered and stormed by a shadowy army,
+  Massed under pennons seen dim through the vapour.
+
+  Over the drawbridge a desperate sortie
+  Made by the knights of the castle invested
+  Brings the foes quickly in conflict together.
+  Plumes white and restless like foam on the breakers
+  Drift to and fro with the tide of the battle;
+  Falchions and maces and curtaxes gleaming
+  A moment aloft, strike sparks in descending
+  On corslet and casque and dinted escutcheon,
+  Whilst out of the contest, with stumbling footsteps
+  The wounded are led sore stricken and helpless.
+  Ladies in sarcenet, arabesque broidered
+  With blossoms that climb fantastic in colour,--
+  Stiff flowers of blazonry's formal convention
+  That rise from the hem to the throat in profusion,
+  Where carcanets flash on bosoms unquiet,--
+  Look from their casements with eyes full of wonder,
+  Down on the conflict that rages below them,
+  Fierce in the shock and the heat of encounter,
+  Hearing the war-cries and clashing of weapons,
+  Winding of horns, and the groans of the dying.
+  Till all was lost in the thickening curtain,
+  Veiled by the mist were my golden romances.
+
+  Once when a snowstorm swept over lake Leman
+  Filling the distance with wildly tossed snowflakes,
+  I pictured a scene in the heart of the mountains,
+  Hidden in shadows, unknown to the climber,
+  Out of the range of Humanity's footsteps.
+  There is the cave where the slumbering ice god
+  Hides from the gaze of the wandering stranger,
+  Shut in the depths of the mountain's recesses,
+  Rent long ago by the force of upheavals
+  In the wild turmoil and labour of earthquake.
+  There sits the god of the cold everlasting,
+  Guarding the spirits of men who have perished
+  In their endeavours to master the secrets
+  Of paths that have never by footsteps been trodden.
+  In the ice temple his figure majestic
+  Looms from a throne that through aeons uncounted
+  Has stood in the gloom and the silence eternal.
+  Weird is the throng of the spirits in thraldom:
+  Silent they steal from their icy sepulture,
+  Slow-pacing figures unchanged and unchanging:
+  By violent death, swift, ruthless and lonely,
+  Sentenced to wander for ever in darkness,
+  Pent in the masterful ice god's dominion.
+  Primitive hunters with flint-headed arrows,
+  Whose limited minds ignored the distinction
+  Engendered by knowledge, of good and of evil:
+  Acting by impulse and guided by instinct:
+  Living in caves like the bears and the foxes,
+  Facing with cunning and courage their quarry,
+  Guarding their women and feeding their children,
+  Almost as fierce as the creatures they hunted.
+  Men who came later throughout the long ages,
+  Wandering fugitives driven by fortune
+  Far from their homes to the wild desolation,
+  Slaves of illusion that lures to destruction:
+  Some with a love for adventure and daring,
+  Some to escape from the ills that pursued them,
+  Some in response to the strong fascination
+  That calls from the heights of the untrodden mountains,
+  All destined by fate, that watches unceasing,
+  To die in the darkness forgotten for ever,
+  Pent in the ice god's immutable kingdom.
+
+  Wafted by breezes, my white-sailed felucca
+  Slipped through the blueness to where the grim stronghold
+  Of Chillon keeps ever in grateful remembrance
+  The patriot Bonivard, champion of freedom.
+  The pillar of pain where, writhing in torment,
+  The captives were scourged at cruelty's bidding,
+  Is still to be seen, an eloquent witness.
+  Tenantless now is the cavernous dungeon
+  Where wretches awaited through darkness unending
+  The dawn of their last and dreaded to-morrow.
+  Stripped of its horrors, the chamber of torture
+  Echoes no more to the shrieks of its victims,
+  And death's grim abode where agony ended
+  Is free from the crimes that redden its records.
+  There by the column of stone in the dungeon
+  Where Bonivard lay to pine through the seasons
+  Of six weary years, I mused on his story.
+  Undaunted by death's ever-threatening shadow,
+  Unconquered though insolent tyranny triumphed,
+  Chilled in the summer and frozen in winter,
+  Famished, neglected and loaded with fetters,
+  Yet borne up within by courage unflinching,
+  Supported by Faith when Hope had departed,
+  Scorning to murmur, he waited with patience.
+  Morning's faint light through the narrow embrasure,
+  The wandering cry of a sea-mew in freedom
+  Heightened the gloom of his roughly hewn prison,
+  Making a summons to death a deliverance.
+  Night fell about him in Stygian darkness,
+  While the faint lap of the waters of Leman,
+  Beating the ramparts with madding persistence,
+  Whispered despair in the still isolation.
+  What were his thoughts when the vault of his prison
+  Rang with glad cries in the glare of the torches?
+  Breaking the silence, dispelling the shadows
+  That darkened his life and threatened his reason,
+  What were his thoughts at the moment of freedom?
+  When round him a tempest of passion was raging,
+  An unloosened storm of passionate feeling,
+  When men incoherent and hoarse from the conflict
+  Fought for the honour of breaking his fetters,
+  Leaving him breathless with hearty embraces,
+  Weak and unmanned in the sudden revulsion,
+  Carried away by the flood of emotion,
+  With something unknown that stifled expression,
+  That silenced his voice and heaved in his bosom.
+
+  Strong is the spell of the dream-haunted mountains,
+  Ruddy with gold in the glory of sunrise,
+  Purple and silver and blue in the daytime,
+  Tinged by the amethyst splendours of sunset,
+  Gloomy, majestic and dark in the twilight,
+  Mystic by moonlight, ethereal, airy,
+  Changeful and fickle in hues as the opal,
+  Under the mutable lights and the shadows,
+  Ever alluring with subtle attraction.
+
+  Far, far away are the waters of Leman
+  Whence I have fled at the call of the mountains.
+  Here in the valley where rushes a torrent,
+  Constant and cold, be it summer or winter,
+  A village lies hid and hither the climbers,
+  Strangely alike in their eager impatience,
+  Wearing the look of enwrapped expectation,
+  Pause ere they start on their perilous journey.
+  Hemming me round, the implacable mountains
+  Shut out the world and confine me in durance,
+  Bending my soul to the yoke of their bondage,
+  Dwarfing my self and my little emotions,
+  Waking desire to escape limitations
+  And barriers imposed by narrow horizons.
+  Rugged, majestic, they tower above me,
+  As lonely and pensive I gaze in the torrent,
+  Wondering now at the summons insistent,
+  No longer in dreams and rovings of fancy,
+  But weighted with impulse, defying resistance,
+  Rousing unrest like a spirit of evil.
+  So, as I linger awhile in the village,
+  Completely I know each day brings me nearer
+  To what lies beyond, in the regions of silence.
+
+  Now it is over.  The lights of the village,
+  The children at play, the clink from the smithy,
+  The gurgle and rush of the hurrying torrent,
+  The rattle of wheels, the tinkle of cowbells,
+  The inn's open window whence converse in fragments
+  Floats out with the odours of beer and tobacco,
+  All welcome me back with familiar voices.
+  Here time moves onward with rhythmic precision:
+  Breakfast and dinner, and bed for the darkness,
+  With Sunday to part one week from another:
+  Spring time and winter, the snow and the sunshine,
+  And sooner or later a cross in the churchyard.
+  Time lacks proportion away in the mountains.
+  What is a day or an hour or a lifetime
+  Gauged by the ebb and the flow of the ages
+  Shown in the tidemarks on crags prehistoric?
+  If, as men say, time is measured by heartbeats,
+  I wandered through years of vivid emotions.
+  Pelion and Ossa, by arrogant Titans
+  Profanely uplifted to challenge Olympus,
+  Repeated themselves in the blueness above me.
+  Sunsets and dawns such as glowed on the marshes,
+  Silurian haunts of the early creation,
+  Long ere the age of humanity's advent,
+  Gleamed through the vapours and red exhalations
+  Rising from bottomless pits to encolour
+  Weirdly the matrix, volcanic, primeval,
+  Riven and torn in the birth-throes of Cosmos.
+  Slippery ledges uneven and narrow,
+  Through rarefied air that maddens the pulses,
+  Treacherous footpaths inviting destruction,
+  Where fear in the heart disorders the senses.
+  Vertiginate chasms, abysmal, terrific,
+  Unfathomed and sheer with never a foothold,
+  Compelling the gaze with cold fascination.
+  Stretches of billowy acres of whiteness
+  Dimming the eyes with their endless expanses;
+  Ridges upstanding in ice walls cemented
+  By glacial pressure of slow-moving masses.
+  Caverns with ice shapes, blue-tinted, translucent:
+  Columns and altars and figures fantastic,
+  Imagined in dreams or pictured in fever,
+  Softly illumed by the moonlight's reflection.
+  There is the haunt of the evil ice maidens,
+  The servants of Death, who lure with their beauty,
+  Who bathe in the stream of the glacier water,
+  The glacial water that flows through the caverns,
+  Silent and deep as the river of Lethe.
+  These memories hold me.  I live in a fever.
+  The air that I breathe, the influence round me
+  Are charged with a strange and volatile essence
+  That throbs in my veins and quickens my breathing.
+  Held by the mountains, I languish in bondage
+  Under the masterful sway of their presence.
+  Restless though weary I dream of their perils,
+  Slipping down chasms with death at the bottom,
+  Or over the desolate ice fields I wander,
+  Hopeless, forgotten and lost in the snowdrifts,
+  Wandering ever past hope of redemption.
+  Sometimes I swing with a pendulum's measure,
+  Fitfully swayed by the wind o'er a chasm
+  That gapes far below, relentless and cruel,
+  Conscious of all in the terrible moments
+  That pass till I drop to the doom that is waiting
+  Far in the depths of the yawning crevasses,
+  And wake at the instant supreme of destruction.
+
+  To-morrow at dawn I fly from the village
+  Back to the peace of the waters of Leman.
+
+  Gone, gone at last, is the morbid obsession!
+  Gone to the shade in the regions of Limbo.
+  Far, far away, o'er the waters of Leman,
+  Mistily outlined and faint in the distance,
+  Threatening no longer, the dream-haunted mountains
+  Lazily whisper of rest and contentment.
+
+  Softly the plash of the glittering fountain
+  Falls on the night with the scent of mimosa,
+  Mingled with polyglot phrases and laughter,
+  Marking the pause 'twixt a waltz and mazurka.
+  Soft are the lamps in the Kursaal rotunda
+  Lighting discreetly the hall of lost footsteps
+  Whose gleaming mosaics are painted with garlands,
+  Blossoms exotic, luxuriant, languid,
+  Red as the souls of the people about them,
+  Hinting at passions through crimson and purple,
+  Fitting the vogue of this temple of pleasure.
+  On a divan in the hall where the idlers
+  Promenade slowly, in converse together,
+  I sit all alone in calm contemplation,
+  Hearing the orchestra faint in the distance
+  And the croupier's voice from his chamber seductive,
+  Parrot-like crying in stale iteration,
+  Summons and challenge across the green table.
+  Keen-eyed old gamesters who prowl round the players,
+  Seeking a pigeon to pluck at their leisure:
+  Black-whiskered barons with blurred reputations
+  Smirking at B. and his girls from Chicago:
+  Swaggering captains at best detrimental:
+  A country-bred youth just come to a fortune,
+  Trying in vain to conceal his amazement:
+  Couples awaiting the Absolute's fiat,
+  Now in pursuit of a flying illusion:
+  Hebrews from Frankfort and bankers from Paris
+  Chatting to ladies resplendent in diamonds;
+  A burgess of London whose wife says: "Disgraceful,"
+  But lingers to study Parisian fashions:
+  Gamblers inveterate bent to a system,
+  Silent, unheeding, absorbed in their figures:
+  Well-groomed young fellows, light-hearted and careless,
+  Come for the dance and the fun of flirtation,
+  Bright-eyed and merry, unconsciously breathing
+  The poisonous air of sepulchres whited.
+  Perdita, watchful and guardedly smiling,
+  Trying to lessen the distance between us,
+  Wafts me a sign with a spray of verbena.
+  Is she an angel, a beast or a demon,
+  Or spirit incarnate that onward is passing
+  To higher avatars by long transmigration?
+  Ah! how it warms one, this human deflection,
+  This touch with familiar follies and foibles,
+  After the limitless space of the aeons,
+  Out of the measure of time as we know it,
+  Far in the distant and echoless ages,
+  Austere, and untouched by our passing emotions,
+  Where I have wandered in lonely remoteness
+  Under the passionless spell of the mountains.
+
+  Cold and relentless, eternally lasting!
+  Silent inscriptions in cryptical cipher!
+  Unbroken record of time since creation,
+  Whose secret is hid from human conception.
+  How small are the things humanity prizes,
+  The feverish joys of passion and pleasure,
+  That pass like a dream to dusky oblivion!
+  How short is man's life compared with the ages
+  That frown from the face of the mystical mountains,
+  Far in the blue o'er the waters of Leman.
+
+
+
+
+  The Old Manor House
+
+  The rusted gates whose forgings fine
+  Enlace a gilded coronet,
+  Now dim in lustreless decline,
+  Groaned as I passed the lichened shapes
+  Of rampant griffin on each side,
+  Stiff with heraldic, stony pride.
+  Then through the grass-grown drive I passed
+  With ancient oaks on either hand,
+  Throwing their shadows dark and vast
+  Upon the bracken at their feet
+  Where rabbits peeped in fear and ran
+  From the rare sound of living man.
+  For here no more the sumptuous train
+  Displays the pomp of falconry;
+  No more, besprent with mire and rain,
+  The messenger-at-arms rides in:
+  Nor, with his retinue of knights
+  Some great man at the house alights.
+
+  Above the portico
+  Of the great silent house,
+  The quarterings' tinctures glow,
+  Blazoning its history,
+  From the old Sieur de Caulx,
+  Whose heavy Norman sword
+  Helped Harold's overthrow,
+  And whose long line of sons
+  Stretches, like a shadow,
+  Thrown in the eventide,
+  Through the old folio
+  Where illumined pages
+  Bravely the records show,
+  Till the last, lonely heir
+  Was carried down below,
+  To the cold marble vaults
+  A century ago.
+
+  A gallery o'erlooks the hall,
+  A gallery where minstrels played
+  And with their lutes sweet music made,
+  While from the weapons on the wall,
+  Reflected shone the lights that glowed
+  Above the hospitable board
+  When each successive, generous lord
+  His loyalty or grandeur showed.
+  Kings feasted there with stately dames,
+  Ambassadors and Cardinals
+  Who, cheered with wine and madrigals,
+  Fed with their fancies amorous flames.
+  And at some great eventful scene
+  Full many a dance the chamber graced,
+  Pavanes and sarabands were paced,
+  And minuets when Anne was queen.
+
+  My footsteps echoing from the panelled walls,
+  Stayed the long sleep of years,
+  Stirring the thick, accumulated dust
+  To movement in the ray of light that falls,
+  From a half-shuttered oriel which appears
+  Between the rafters, just
+  Where a stone mullion its carved apex rears.
+  Faint voices whispered round me as I stood
+  Spellbound and listening there:
+  The ghostly strains of melodies forgot,
+  The happy laughter of fair womanhood:
+  Children in noisy play, without a care:
+  Fierce cries with passion hot,
+  Triumphant some, and some wild with despair.
+
+  Leaving the chamber so haunted by voices,
+  Fearful, I hastened to where the great staircase
+  Rears its proud height in a double ascension
+  Till it is hid in the deepening shadows.
+  Stiffly upstanding on each chief baluster,
+  Absently gaze the historical griffins,
+  Plunged in their silent and deep meditation.
+  Many a Caulx have they seen pass before them,
+  Long generations in motley procession,
+  Halting and feeble, the sick and the aged:
+  Sanguine and joyous, the young and the hopeful:
+  Manhood triumphant, crestfallen or thoughtless:
+  Urbane and discreet, my lady's confessor:
+  Stealthily creeping, the villainous traitor:
+  Quick and impatient, the fortunate lover:
+  Children unconscious of aught but their playthings:
+  Nobles in ermine, and simpering ladies:
+  Then, the one end of all human emotions,
+  Slow-pacing figures who bear on their shoulders,
+  Silenced for ever, some lord of the staircase.
+
+  The steward, from the all-pervading gloom,
+  Flung wide the shutters of the drawing-room,
+  Showing a terrace graced with urn and faun
+  And steps that led to a neglected lawn,
+  Whilst rounded hill and valley far were seen
+  Lit by the summer's radiating sheen.
+  The room's magnificence, its noble size
+  And faded splendour filled me with surprise.
+  A costly pierglass in its tarnished frame,
+  Which once reflected gallant squire and dame,
+  Now with fidelity displayed the clear
+  And gleaming lustres of the chandelier,
+  Pendent, with ten score sconces silver chased,
+  From the high ceiling which a master graced
+  With courtly scenes wherein could be descried
+  Ancestral figures in their pomp and pride.
+  The sunlight played on gilded girandole,
+  On silver candlestick and stiff console,
+  All of that period when here befell
+  The scene on which the steward loves to dwell,
+  Showing the floor's dark stain of sombre red
+  And how it came about that blood was shed.
+  I marked the punchbowls, full of leaves and dust,
+  A slim sword, silver-hiked, flecked with rust:
+  A daintily escutcheoned chiffonier,
+  Inlaid with shell and finished with veneer:
+  Timepieces silent, set in ormolu:
+  The damask screens of faded red and blue.
+  And, to enhance the chamber's stately air,
+  Great Chippendale had made each slender chair.
+  The stream of life, arrested, seemed to wait
+  A magic word to set it flowing straight.
+
+  Heated by wine and ombre-play,
+  Two hundred years ago or more,
+  Three gamblers, on a morning gray,
+  Quarrelled about a questioned score.
+
+  Two blades were soon engaged.  A tierce,
+  Ill parried, stretched a swordsman low,
+  Who lunged with failing point but fierce,
+  And dying, dropped before his foe.
+
+  And when the growing light of morn
+  Lit the Venetian mirror's face,
+  He died, 'twixt pain and passion torn,
+  And left a curse upon the place.
+
+  And from that day the records show
+  A slowly creeping, sure decline
+  That, just a hundred years ago,
+  Ended the once illustrious line.
+
+  Sometimes upon the dusky hour
+  That comes before the sun's first rays,
+  When things occult display their power,
+  A strange light on the chamber plays
+
+  That is not of the earth or sky,
+  While hurrying footsteps come and go
+  And then into the silence die
+  With whispered mutterings hoarse and low.
+
+  A sliding panel, by the wainscot hid,
+  Showed, in the unmarked thickness of the walls,
+  A narrow passage and a secret stair
+  That brought us to the level of the moat.
+  Long dry and choked with bracken and with brier,
+  It made a rugged pathway to a court
+  Where stands the ruin of an ancient tower,
+  Fenced in with walls pierced by an entrance low.
+  "Here," said my guide, "when James the first was king,
+  "A daughter of the house, through three long years,
+  "Was by her father close a prisoner kept
+  "Because she would not wed the man he chose.
+  "Stern and unyielding, as became her race,
+  "She set her will against her father's strength.
+  "Through all the time she saw no living face:
+  "No sound of human voice, except her own,
+  "Fell on her ear.  She nothing saw but clouds
+  "That swept athwart the cold and pitiless sky,
+  "And blinking stars at night that rose and set
+  "Across the little window in the roof:
+  "Then she went mad and on the stony walls
+  "One day beat out her life in frenzied rage,
+  "And refuge found beyond her father's power."
+
+  Time passed, and it was late
+  When once again I stood
+  Outside the ancient gate,
+  Where the stone griffins ramped,
+  Cold as relentless fate
+  Changeless as destiny.
+
+  And I said: "'Tis in vain,
+  Guardians impassible,
+  That ye your watch maintain
+  Over the ghosts of Caulx,
+  While the years wax and wane
+  Century by century.
+
+  "For behold!  I have been
+  Among them and have heard
+  Their voices, I have seen
+  With swift-discerning eyes
+  Over their wide demesne
+  Of human history."
+
+
+
+
+  The Science Master
+
+  "We build," he said, "on elemental things!"
+  And paused to glance around the silent class.
+  "On facts well ascertained which insight brings,
+  "And which in due development must pass
+  "From the first phase, remote, removed,
+  "To the Effect.  Thus, link by link, we trace
+  "The lengthening chain of Verity, full proved
+  "By Knowledge, Reason, Logic, each in place."
+  It seemed conclusive to us students then.
+  The man's prestige had weight.  Authority
+  Made him for us above all other men;
+  He was the head of our academy.
+  His calm assumption and incisive way,
+  Admitting no alternative nor doubt,
+  As he intoned his long familiar lay,
+  Made his pronouncements clear as if cut out
+  Of crystal, cold with mathematic test,
+  Through which he viewed complacently the span
+  And limit of all scientific quest,
+  Quite heedless of the growing range of man.
+  His narrow field so finished and complete,
+  His standards and his logic's hampering line
+  Look small where now the long perspectives meet,
+  Converging in a new horizon's shine.
+  All this was years ago.  What would he say,
+  I wonder, if he could revisit us
+  And, with the knowledge of the present day,
+  See space and pain reduced to minimus,
+  Electric currents hand in hand with steam,
+  Men borne in ships across the trackless air,
+  The widening story of the earth's old scheme
+  Told in its strata, and, with arduous care,
+  The age of man thrust back unfathomed years,
+  New elements, a new chronology
+  And growing lore that year by year appears
+  To show how distant is finality?
+  It sets my fancy roving and I try
+  In idle hours to think what may befall.
+  Naught seems impossible, no thought too high,
+  No dream too mad, to realise it all.
+  What, for example, is the human mind?
+  Whence comes it, great or small, at some man's birth?
+  A fool's or sage's, base or all refined!
+  What holds it till his body turns to earth?
+  And whither goes it with the failing breath?
+  And is the Aura's essence to remain
+  Ever elusive at the hour of death,
+  To perish or another home attain?
+  Or, with close knowledge of man's growing germ,
+  Shall we not train it and direct its course,
+  As now we cultivate the floral sperm,
+  And simple weeds to complex beauty force?
+  Life is a thing of phases manifold,
+  By shades diminishing from high to low,
+  Man, protoplasm, beast, all we are told,
+  To perish in an equal overthrow.
+  Our view of life at best is incomplete.
+  We judge by its effect and action, blind
+  To its real essence, as to that we meet,
+  Acting unseen, when wire to wire we bind.
+  Think of what might be, once this secret known,
+  Full knowledge of Life's spark, and with the power
+  To rescue from Death's dark and silent zone
+  The souls of some great men whose natures tower
+  Above their fellows and can ill be spared
+  From some great task far-reaching and benign.
+  I hear a reader say: "This man has dared
+  "To claim for us an attribute divine!
+  "Our times are in God's hands."  And I reply:
+  We do not hesitate to take a life,
+  The claims of social law to satisfy,
+  And punish men whose minds with crime are rife.
+  What then more fitting, given the knowledge there,
+  To lengthen lives that worthy ends fulfil,
+  And measure by new standards just and fair
+  The worth of life as it is good or ill?
+  Have we exhausted chemistry's domain?
+  Squeezed dry the elements we say we know?
+  And does the spinning universe contain
+  No more our theories to overthrow?
+  How far does gravitation serve our needs--
+  The force that keeps each planet in its place,
+  Resistless, constant, yet with varying speeds,
+  For ever acting in unbounded space?
+  Some day perhaps pent man will learn to brave
+  An alien atmosphere, and, from afar,
+  Of weight and distance master, not the slave,
+  Bring us new wisdom from some distant star.
+
+
+
+
+  Through the Centuries
+
+  While yet the Saxons ruled, a puissant Thane
+  Made with his unkempt band of mounted spears
+  A seizin of a hide of forest land
+  Whereon he built a house of ample size,
+  With dining-hall and bowers and sleeping-lofts,
+  And stables shutting in a stone-paved yard:
+  And round the whole he set a ponderous fence
+  Of sharpened stakes fast bound with metal bands.
+  And "Yan, the Wulf," for thus the Thane was known,
+  Called the place "Wulfden" in his savage tongue.
+  And here, year after year, he lived at ease,
+  Oft making sallies for a cattle raid,
+  Or fighting with some other such as he,
+  To come back weary at the fall of night,
+  Driving a herd before him, and his men
+  Sweating beneath the spoil of plundered foes.
+  Once as he sat at supper in his hall,
+  Bemused with mead and satisfied with food,
+  There came a wandering bedesman to his gate
+  Craving permission "in Fayre Jesu's name"
+  To build a church of stone within the shade
+  Of his protection.  And, in generous mood,
+  The Thane gave gruff assent; and time slipped by.
+
+  Then William swept the land, and, to reward
+  One of his knights, gave him the Wulf's demesne
+  To hold in fee, and on the Saxon's land
+  Arose a fortress with embattled walls,
+  With donjon, keep and moat and tilting-yard,
+  To hold in thraldom all the country-side.
+  But still was left the little Saxon church,
+  Unchanged save that the Norman owner gave
+  New consecration in his patron's name,
+  St. Martinus of Tours, a warrior saint
+  Who guarded through the centuries his race.
+
+  Then in the War of Roses came the crash
+  That brought extinction to the feudal name
+  And desolation to its crumbling home.
+  And yet, though scarred by time and gray with age,
+  The little church of Saxon days remained
+  The emblem of a never-dying faith.
+
+  The years rolled by and then there came a day
+  Which gave a new possessor to the place,
+  A nobleman in favour with that queen
+  Who loved a witty tongue and ready sword
+  When coupled with good looks and brave attire.
+  He built a great Elizabethan pile,
+  The ground-plan shaped to form the royal E,
+  Conforming to the fashion of the times
+  When loyalty spoke even from silent stone.
+  And he, to please his lady's pious whim,
+  (Though ten years wed, he called her Sweetheart still)
+  Forbore to raze the chapel to the ground,
+  But stayed with flying buttress either side,
+  Repaired the roof and made it to her mind.
+  And there they lie, both in one marble tomb
+  On which their effigies with clasping hands
+  Bear witness to an everlasting love.
+
+  And when vacation brings its hours of rest
+  I sometimes sit within the Saxon church
+  And muse upon the changes time has brought
+  Save to the faith that reared the little shrine,
+  And still builds churches "in Fayre Jesu's name."
+
+
+
+
+  Winter
+
+  'Tis winter and the darkening skies
+  Awake regretful memories
+  Of wooded hill and sunlit plain,
+  Ringing with anthems to the sun
+  Until his arching course was run
+  And nightingales took up the strain.
+
+  The trees, then dense with leaves and flowers,
+  Stood through the long and smiling hours,
+  Housing an honest little folk,
+  Throbbing with life by day and night,
+  Whose voices, vibrant with delight,
+  Of happy labour ever spoke.
+
+  The trees now spread their haggard arms,
+  Bared of their pristine, leafy charms,
+  To cold and unresponsive skies
+  That neither smile nor weep, but chill
+  With cold indifference, and kill
+  Hope that all nature underlies.
+
+  A dreary moan floats on the wind
+  From the gaunt oaks, that, ill defined,
+  Show spectral shapes against the sky
+  From which the fleeting day has flown
+  While dead leaves on the earth are strown
+  To mark the summer's mortuary.
+
+  Where are the thousand things of life
+  That erstwhile made the place all rife
+  With busy hum and restless wing
+  And turmoil of a world of love?
+  The blackbird on her nest above,
+  Below, the beetle tunnelling.
+
+  Gone with the happiness I knew
+  Because the heavens were always blue,
+  While the sun shone from day to day
+  And winter was not.  'Twas as far
+  And nebulous as yonder star
+  That throws its cold and sickly ray
+
+  Where once a glorious flood of light
+  Ceased only with the falling night.
+  Gloom hovers where triumphant joy
+  Beatified each passing hour,
+  For Winter now with ruthless power
+  Fulfils its mission to destroy.
+
+  _The Voice of Winter._
+
+  "I bring not death but rest to flower and tree,
+  "And nurse the flame divine, Vitality,
+  "That burns immortal since primeval night
+  "When the Creator said: 'Let there be light!'
+  "And loosed the sun upon his blazing way
+  "To roll for ever through an endless day."
+
+
+
+
+  Pain and Death
+
+  Amid the fields of Asphodel
+  Musing one day by chance,
+  Imperious Jove
+  Let memory rove
+  And turned his gaze austere
+  To where Arcadian shepherds dwell,
+  The land of song and dance,
+  Where Death was not
+  And Time forgot
+  To send the rolling year:
+  Where man, untried by trouble's test,
+  Found the supreme of life in rest.
+
+  Immortal man without a care
+  Rivalled the gods above:
+  Free, effortless,
+  In sheer idlesse
+  Aping divinity.
+  So he was made by Jove to share
+  A mortal life and love
+  By anguish tried
+  And purified
+  For Death's cold sanctity.
+  Thus 'twas ordained that Death and Pain
+  Should raise man to a nobler plane.
+
+
+
+
+  Switzerland
+
+  Land of mountain, lake and river,
+  Waterfalls, and rushing streams
+  By the wayside where the cattle
+  Gather with their bells a-ringing,
+  In the day's departing beams.
+
+  Land of glorious dawns and sunsets,
+  Glowing shades of every hue,
+  Mists enchanted, floating, rising,
+  Fine-spun softness, tints Olympian,
+  Regal purple, virgin blue.
+
+  Tinkling zither, echoing jodel,
+  Horns that loudly hail the morn
+  From the upland's stony pathways
+  Where the snowline meets the outposts
+  Of the forest, sparse and lorn.
+
+  Nether tracts by sunlight heated,
+  Show the vines in serried rows,
+  Basking through the drowsy summer
+  Till their rich and generous vintage
+  From the wine-press redly flows.
+
+  Land of mountain peaks stupendous,
+  Lakes that fade to meet the sky!
+  Land for gods, for dreaming poets,
+  Fit for men of soaring greatness,
+  Sons of gifted ancestry.
+
+  Gods I found not, neither poets,
+  Only little men who toil
+  To supply the passing stranger,
+  Bound upon the wheel of pleasure,
+  With the produce of the soil.
+
+  What would Bonivard or Calvin
+  Think of you, my little men,
+  With your minds on money turning,
+  While you strain with itching fingers
+  Fast the golden calf to pen?
+
+  Yet I love your honest peasants
+  Dwelling on the mountain slope,
+  Slow and stolid, yet the children
+  Of the spirit born of freedom,
+  Of the patience born of hope.
+
+  For among these humble toilers,
+  From the grasping instinct free,
+  Still we find the cheerful-hearted,
+  Earnest, honest Switzer people
+  With the old simplicity.
+
+
+
+
+  Burial at Sea
+
+  'Twas midnight in the southern seas
+  And windless.  On the placid deep
+  Flashed sparkling phosphorescences,
+  While moonbeams, bright in silver bars,
+  Lay like a pathway to the stars.
+
+  Tireless, our engines, day and night,
+  A month had throbbed their endless round
+  Without a pause to mark time's flight.
+  We heard it all unconsciously
+  Till suddenly it ceased to be.
+
+  For now the slowing pulse that beat,
+  Stopped in the vessel's iron breast
+  And quickly changed my slumber sweet
+  To wandering and uneasy thought
+  Of what the midnight might have brought.
+
+  Gaining the deck, I looked around
+  With drowsy eyes and half asleep,
+  And saw a something wrapped and bound
+  And weighted.  I was standing near
+  Some hapless seaman's simple bier.
+
+  A shapeless form in canvas lay,
+  Stretched on a wooden grating low,
+  Waiting the word to pass away
+  Into the silent depths of sea
+  And boundless realm of fantasy.
+
+  Before the bulwark's opening stood
+  A group about a lantern's light
+  Moveless like figures carved in wood,
+  Whilst one with gruff solemnity,
+  Read prayers for those who die at sea.
+
+  Then at the end, with sudden leap,
+  That sent the sparkling water high,
+  The body plunged into the deep
+  Amid a million points of light
+  That glittered as it sank from sight.
+
+  Scarce had a moment passed, before
+  The men with silent haste had gone:
+  The engines plied their task, once more,
+  The ship her steady course pursued
+  Across the moonlit solitude.
+
+  The morning dawned, the hours passed by
+  And life on board from day to day
+  Was changeless as the sea and sky.
+  And so unreal the memory seemed
+  I wondered if I had not dreamed.
+
+
+
+
+  The Master of the Marionettes
+
+  'Twas at the fair of Epinetz,
+  And all the country-side was there.
+  Each booth gave out its blatant strains,
+  And grinning came the sheepish swains,
+  Who greeted with approving stare
+  The movements of the marionettes,
+  While from his place well hid from sight
+  The master laboured, faint and white.
+
+  A villain dark, with cloak and plume,
+  Through two acts of imbroglio,
+  Pursued a maid of laughing mien
+  Who played a ribboned tambourine
+  And loved a gay incognito,
+  By whom the villain met his doom,
+  While Pierrot, in a comic part,
+  Danced to conceal a breaking heart.
+
+  'Twas late.  The snow fell thick and still
+  The market place in silence lay.
+  The master, tired and overwrought,
+  For troupe and self a lodging sought.
+  The inn was full.  He went his way
+  Across the heath; beyond the hill
+  Dawn found him wrapped from head to feet
+  In winter's snowy winding-sheet.
+
+  And as he sank in deadly sleep,
+  His spirit, like a floating haze,
+  Wavered a moment o'er the snow,
+  A valediction to bestow.
+  And solemnly, with wistful gaze,
+  The puppets bowed in reverence deep,
+  Speeding with farewells and regrets
+  The master of the Marionettes.
+
+
+
+
+  Love's Counterfeit
+
+  Old as mankind, yet with immortal youth:
+  Unyielding, ardent, sinuous and bold,
+  Alluring ever in the guise of truth.
+
+  Where is the fire that warmed me yesterday?
+  And where the flame that will to-morrow blaze
+  To leave me shivering by its ashes gray?
+
+  The wind that sweetly sings in ocean caves,
+  Then dallies with the wallflowers on the tower
+  May fan assassins and sweep over graves.
+
+  What pleasure has a kiss that fever brings?
+  Or one grown cold with satisfied desire?
+  The love that on the senses fiercely plays,
+  Comes like a wind and passes like a fire.
+
+
+
+
+  The Most Precious Thing
+
+  What do men rate at the highest in life?
+  Diamonds that glow,
+  The finest in water,
+  In colour and form:
+  Such as an eastern king's favourite wife
+  Wears strung in a row,
+  Or, as those that in slaughter,
+  In sack or in storm
+  Of a citadel's heights,
+  Are torn from a Khalifah slain in the strife?
+  No.  Diamonds decline when Love claims his own,
+  And freely are bartered for kisses alone.
+
+  Some say that virtue is prized more than all,
+  Virtue that scorns
+  The baseness and ill
+  The decalogue cites
+  And sternly forbids to great and to small.
+  But when on the horns
+  Of dilemma, men kill
+  Compunction, whose lights
+  Die in darkness profound,
+  Where mortals are fated to stumble and fall,
+  Renouncing for kisses the wisdom of time
+  To find in the sacrifice something sublime.
+
+  Rank, Riches and Fame have, each in their way,
+  A hold on the mind
+  That we think is supreme,
+  And sweep man along
+  To sated ambition's omnipotent sway:
+  Till one day we find
+  They are vain as a dream,
+  Or a beautiful song
+  Evanescently grand:
+  And the value we see of the brave display
+  Of Riches and Fame and Rank at their best,
+  Is far below kisses when put to the test.
+
+
+
+
+  Autumn
+
+  A light mist creeps across the downs:
+  A gleam through clouds is faintly seen:
+  The grass is wet with heavy dew:
+  Sear are the leaves that once were green.
+  I walk at midday when the sun
+  Throws still some welcome warmth and light:
+  A chill comes with the afternoon,
+  And icy is the air at night.
+  Summer is dead.  Its shrouded form
+  Lies on the logs that make its pyre,
+  And fancy sees its ghost ascend,
+  A shadowy wraith above the fire.
+
+
+
+
+  To L
+
+  Just at this time of great content
+  Old memories come between the lights
+  To chasten with their whispers faint
+  The passing Christmas merriment.
+  Yet through it all, one constant note
+  Chimes with the season's higher sense,
+  Love's influence unchanged remains,
+  Fragrant and sweet as frankincense.
+
+
+
+
+  Duty
+
+  What is a year that comes and goes
+  Unless it mark a noble deed?
+  We sow the seed
+  Of flower or weed:
+  Thrice happy he who leaves a rose.
+
+  What is a life in vainness spent,
+  That will not bear the common test,
+  When, laid to rest
+  In earth's cold breast,
+  We sleep at last, insentient?
+
+  What is a gift bestowed on man,
+  Unless he spreads abroad its light
+  And turns its might
+  To aid the right
+  And strives to do the best he can?
+
+  What matters it if all your toil
+  Thankless for ever must remain?
+  When by your pain
+  One soul will gain
+  Somewhat to calm its mortal coil.
+
+
+
+
+  Sonnets
+
+
+
+
+  Glastonbury
+
+  Beacon of Christian truth! across the years
+  Thy flame undying glows in Faith's clear sight,
+  As once the Holy Grail's effulgence bright
+  Shone on the pure in heart, the Saints' compeers,
+  Who knew no more life's bitterness and fears
+  But dwelt thenceforth upon a nobler height,
+  Rapt in the radiance of Redemption's light
+  That still to the elect of God appears.
+  Each Christmas sees, before thy ancient shrine,
+  Its sacred thorn burst into glorious flower,
+  Of Heaven's immortal life a constant sign,
+  Shown to mankind in graciousness benign,
+  To make eternal with enlightening power
+  The revelation of a truth divine.
+
+
+
+
+  Galileo
+
+  The medieval pomp and civic pride
+  Which once made Pisa famous, long have lain
+  Forgotten with her pageants brief and vain
+  That flashed inconstant on the Arno's tide.
+  But, toned to softened hues, her walls abide,
+  Enclosing baptistery, tower, and fane
+  Wherein yet swings the lamp with brazen chain
+  That marked the pendulum's time-measured stride
+  And though the centuries, in lengthening roll,
+  Show ever fainter through perspective time
+  The fame depicted in the mouldering scroll,
+  They cannot dim the shining aureole
+  Around Galileo's name.  Each hourly chime
+  Proclaims the law that swung the girandole.
+
+
+
+
+  Stratford-on-Avon
+
+  The hushed repose of some fair temple's shade
+  Falls on the pilgrim when he treads the ways
+  Where first the world to Shakespeare's childish gaze
+  Disclosed its wonders when his footsteps strayed;
+  Where, fired with love, he roamed the forest glade,
+  Storing clear memories for other days;
+  And where, at last, acclaimed and crowned with bays,
+  He dropped the lyre no other hand has played.
+  Fame watches o'er the deathless poet's sleep,
+  Her fanfares echoing still their wild applause,
+  While sweet Melpomene and Thalia weep,
+  For theirs no more the grandest flight that soars,
+  But lower planes where smaller spirits sweep,
+  Whose whispers sound like waves on distant shores.
+
+
+
+
+  To a Daffodil
+
+  Bright messenger of life renewed and love,
+  Joy fills thy golden chalice to the brim,
+  Fit symbol of the sacred seraphim
+  Who with their blazing phalanx headlong drove
+  The Star of Morning from his seat above,
+  Scattering celestial sparks through voidness dim,
+  To fall upon our planet's curving rim
+  And bloom as thy fair flowers in mead and grove.
+  As victory's anthem stirred the heavenly choir,
+  Awaking rapture in triumphant praise,
+  So thou in spring dost mortal souls inspire
+  With new-born hope and consecrated fire,
+  Reflected glory from ethereal rays,
+  To make divine the human heart's desire.
+
+
+
+
+  The Appian Way
+
+  Road of the dead! whose stately avenue
+  Of ruined tombs reveals the glorious past,
+  When proud patrician chariots rolling fast
+  And litters borne by slaves of ebon hue
+  Breasted the throng that ever thicker grew
+  And onward hurried where the portal vast
+  Showed praetor, tribune and plebeian massed
+  With traders from afar beyond the blue.
+  Road of the dead! thy voices haunted me,
+  Once as I lingered on a starlit night,
+  Seeing thy restless ghosts in fantasy:
+  And Peter paused again in act to flee:
+  With downcast eyes and pale with sudden fright,
+  Then whispered low: "Quo vadis Domine?"
+
+
+_Note_.--Tradition has it that Peter in a moment of weakness fled to
+escape martyrdom, but was turned back by a vision of his Master.  The
+little church of Quo vadis Domine on the Appian Way commemorates this.
+
+
+
+
+  From the Fields
+
+  The village chime drifts on the summer breeze,
+  In softened cadence o'er expanses green,
+  Across the river, winding slow between
+  Broad fields of clover where marauding bees
+  Lighten their toil with murmured harmonies,
+  Whilst corn in rolling waves of verdant sheen
+  Lends rhythmic movement to the rural scene
+  And sighs responsive to the wind-stirred trees.
+  The mingled voices, like a poet's rhyme,
+  Link with their music pensiveness and joy:
+  Yet each has meaning in its wayward time:
+  The wind of freedom sings in every clime,
+  The bee, that labour's sweetness cannot cloy,
+  And life is measured by the warning chime.
+
+
+
+
+  Venus de Milo
+
+  Immortal beauty, touched by fire divine
+  That glows as in thy pristine days, I see
+  The white-robed priests and virgins joyfully
+  Bearing their gifts of honey, flowers and wine,
+  With sounding reed and timbrel, to thy shrine,
+  Whilst thou, impassive, waitest the decree
+  Of heaven, to speak with cold solemnity
+  That which unfolds a deity's design.
+  Gone are the gods and heroes of the past
+  To shine in distant stars with pallid gleam,
+  Subdued and faint beyond the darkness vast,
+  Their power forgot, their glory overcast;
+  Yet thou remainest in thy grace supreme
+  And fadeless splendour that was ne'er surpassed.
+
+
+
+
+  Fire
+
+  To man primeval, the bright god of day
+  Seemed lord of all things, and he bent the knee,
+  To adoration moved unconsciously;
+  And lo! the instinct which had made him pray,
+  Showed him the mystic fire that latent lay
+  Within the drying branches of the tree
+  And brought the earth, in all its purity,
+  The essence of the sun's benignant ray.
+  Of Nature's elements the most refined,
+  Free from pollution and corruption dire,
+  Art thou, O strong and changeless spirit kind.
+  Unfailing source of good, thou wast designed
+  To be the first, man's reverence to inspire,
+  And light the pathway of his groping mind.
+
+
+
+
+  FINIS
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Call of the Mountains, by James E. Pickering
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CALL OF THE MOUNTAINS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 37859.txt or 37859.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/8/5/37859/
+
+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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.