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@@ -1,39 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Divine Adventures, by John Niendorff - -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: Divine Adventures - A Book of Verse - -Author: John Niendorff - -Release Date: October 14, 2012 [EBook #41059] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIVINE ADVENTURES *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, David E. Brown and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41059 *** DIVINE ADVENTURES @@ -676,7 +641,7 @@ To M. That bade her speed to regions somnolent, For balmy dreams, to nurse a languishment, That pales the boyish cheek of dimpled Cupid, - She speeds where all of beauty's minions grouped, + She speeds where all of beauty's minions groupéd, Do feast their eyes upon the source of song. And after her still comes a charmed throng, From music's toils the slaves of loveliness. @@ -736,7 +701,7 @@ To M. That Morpheus eld historian of th' ideal Must write another canto. Softly steal, The fine emotions o'er his countenance, - As though a prism's unveiled hues should dance, + As though a prism's unveiléd hues should dance, Upon a shy chamelion. Seeing this, The happy Iris mounts upon his bliss, With soothing words; "Thou seest the butterfly, @@ -1096,7 +1061,7 @@ TO DEATH Of amorous lips atilt. I hear thee in the dreamy serenade, - That wakes the charmed ear of night, + That wakes the charméd ear of night, And loosens in some farthest glade, A mocking bird to lyric flight. I see thee where the silence falls @@ -1434,7 +1399,7 @@ MY LADY OF DREAMS Feel the cool wind fan the forehead, Drink the mellow wine he brings, Till the spirit drunk to fervor - Sweeps its own AEolean strings. + Sweeps its own Æolean strings. Hear the music of the vanished, Join the far and lyric throng @@ -1444,7 +1409,7 @@ MY LADY OF DREAMS Hear with soul all hushed and quickened, Wrapt in fine unconscious ears, Music singing unto music, - In the bright AEolean spheres. + In the bright Æolean spheres. Till the Past is wed to Present In the golden hall of Time, @@ -1588,7 +1553,7 @@ MY LADY OF DREAMS Silver lakes, and cool savannahs, Mirrored in the blue clad hills, - Dream miraged, dim oases + Dream miragéd, dim oases Where the spirit drinks and fills. Wanting not a dear companion, @@ -1706,7 +1671,7 @@ GOOD NIGHT MY LOVE Thy dewy dreams, thine Ariel dreams, Then turn thee to thy dainty dreams, Thine airy shell is now alight, - To bear thee down AEolean streams, + To bear thee down Æolean streams, Good night, my love, good night, good night. By misty strands of phantom lands, @@ -1797,7 +1762,7 @@ KEATS A golden dream of art's divinity And held bright Beauty's jeweled anadem; Of music breathing immortality - Till stoned silence falls a carven gem. + Till stonéd silence falls a carven gem. And but a fragment! Ah! couldst thou have sated A bursting heart, what worlds had been created! @@ -1918,7 +1883,7 @@ TO MY LOVE Float on the stormy soul, like halcyon birds, With speechless calm. A golden zone engirds The thee and me in worlds of nameless ease, - And promise fairer far than AEetes'. + And promise fairer far than Æetes'. No clouds there tempest tost, but phantom herds Of golden fleece feed in the fields of blue, And sunny harbors lull the freighted ships @@ -2460,361 +2425,4 @@ TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Divine Adventures, by John Niendorff -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIVINE ADVENTURES *** - -***** This file should be named 41059.txt or 41059.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/0/5/41059/ - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, David E. 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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: Divine Adventures - A Book of Verse - -Author: John Niendorff - -Release Date: October 14, 2012 [EBook #41059] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIVINE ADVENTURES *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, David E. Brown and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - DIVINE ADVENTURES - - A BOOK OF VERSE - - BY - JOHN NIENDORFF - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON - RICHARD G. BADGER - The Gorham Press - 1907 - - - Copyright 1907 by JOHN NIENDORFF - - All Rights Reserved - - - Printed at - THE GORHAM PRESS - Boston, U. S. A. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - Page - -_Cupid and Psyche_ 7 - -_A Toast_ 25 - -_Whisper to My Love_ 25 - -_Ode to a Rural Scene_ 27 - -_Ode to a Bee_ 29 - -_To Death_ 31 - -_A Dirge_ 33 - -_Time and Rhime_ 34 - -_The Poet and the World_ 35 - -_The Guerdon_ 36 - -_A Song_ 37 - -_To X_ 38 - -_On a Festal Night_ 38 - -_To X_ 39 - -_Wandering Willie_ 39 - -_My Lady of Dreams_ 40 - -_To a Mocking Bird_ 46 - -_The Mystery_ 48 - -_Fame_ 48 - -_Good Night My Love_ 49 - -_My South_ 49 - -_To Lloyd Mifflin_ 50 - -_Keats_ 51 - -_A Poet_ 51 - -_The Critics_ 52 - -_Availability_ 52 - -_A Portrait_ 53 - -_On the Death of a Young Lady_ 53 - -_To My Love_ 54 - -_The Storm King_ 55 - -_The Birth of Fancy_ 56 - -_Despair_ 57 - -_The Magazines_ 58 - -_The Sphinx_ 59 - -_A Shell_ 60 - -_To the Traveller_ 61 - -_Song to Death_ 61 - -_The Magical Ring_ 63 - - - - -DIVINE ADVENTURES - -A BOOK OF VERSE - - - - -CUPID AND PSYCHE - -(_The Spirit of the Tale_) - -To M. - - - For in the morning of our love, there came - The spirit singing such entrancing notes, - As sweeps the whole empyrian with a flame, - Wherein, a dream, pure lofty pleasure floats, - And love and beauty find their mellow throats, - In glorious fervor, drinking from the golden bowl, - The wine of joy that binds them soul to soul, - Thou art my muse and thine the phantasy - With spirit hand to guide unconsciously. - For all I bring thee, minion of thy beauty, - This little garland of a memory fruity-- - A simple tale, as old as love is old, - Of virgin art within a golden mold, - Still burning, molten, shaping unto glory-- - A matchless song and yet a simple story. - How mischief led a cold unwitting boy - Along new paths to taste a sudden joy; - How curious Love asport from flower to flower, - Hath found a sense too sweet to overpower, - And yet such magic sweet, that once is tasted, - A moment otherwheres were eons wasted; - How Cupid, wandering in a lovely valley - With arrowed bow, by many a maid must dally, - Till Psyche, like a prisms ingathered hues, - Into a sudden virgin light he woos. - Sweet Psyche princes in a golden land, - And Princess still from bounding strand to strand, - The fairest maid of any. Cupid heavenly born, - Fair son of Beauty's queen, whom to adorn. - Needs but to name, Great Venus Queen of Beauty-- - Whom to adore was but a solemn duty. - This lad whom she hath dowered with all her charms, - A voice resistless and soft amorous arms, - And named him Love, now raptured, lies, - A simple lover in a woman's eyes. - A tale of heart and soul, and so of sorrow, - In afterwhiles when riches stoop to borrow-- - A tale of being's subtlest jewelry - O'erlaying grief with golden filigree. - And I would soar on golden wings of song, - And in the souls empyrian float along, - From height to height of all the heart's dear chimes, - To bless thee for the love that thou hast brought, - With greater life. Let tender tinkling rhimes, - Like pure white doves, lead on the lovely thought. - - - I - - Deep in a woody vale, where crystal streams - Run vaguely like the threads of vanished dreams; - Where fountains tinkle to the yellow sun - Sweet rainbow-tinted hopes, and lightly run, - In joyful race unto the distant ocean; - Where greeny swards are checked with light and shade, - To make a cool retreat for fine emotion; - And velvet lawns, than never weft was laid, - More intricate designed of pleasing hues, - So richly gem'd in Orient pearls of dews - Along quaint aisles in mosques of Samarkand, - To bear some solemn priest in deep devotion; - Where vague far vistas stretch on every hand. - To luring scenes; where happy shepherds amble, - With happy maids, as light as lambs agambol, - Or lie alone, with flocks abrowse by streams, - And rear quaint misty cities out of dreams, - Along far clouds of pearly shape and lining, - In crystal walls and domes of no defining, - And people them with shepherds, maids and gods - That live for love, until the shepherd nods, - And dreams of his own Phillis fairer far,-- - Upon a hillock in a shady grove, - The heart of this fair scene, its central star, - And viewless as the stars of heaven are, - With too much light, stood once the house of love. - A mansion builded of the rarest stone, - Transparent, gem like, carved, and strangely wrought, - As some fine architecture in a dream is sought, - And gird with fancy's fairest flowers blown. - The house of love, and here of balmy days, - Its gentle spirits thrid in dreamy maze. - And here the days are always balmy, here - 'Tis sweet to laugh, and sweet to drop a tear. - Its crystal halls in magic mirror walls, - Stand empty but for one, while myriad falls - Of lover's feet go tripping after her - Or him and wild faint odors sweetly stir - Through all the room from raptured lovers breathing, - While each a rosy crown for aye is wreathing. - This is the house of love, the golden key - Is faith, sweet faith in joy of living, - That doubts the mirror not, nor cares to see - What hidden scenes the glass is loth in giving. - - - II - - Here long ago, so runs the gentle tale, - Sweet Psyche, wondrous fair and pearly pale, - Her young loves virgin brow all softly tinting, - With far faint hues of waking loves first hinting, - And all enraptured Cupid, arm in arm, - Secluded far from rude eyes loveless harm, - Have wiled through many a long and gracious hour, - Like fair twin bees within a fragrant flower. - Such love as they have sipt! Such silent bliss - Of raptured bosoms welded with a kiss! - Such kisses lavished rich and juicy ripe! - Such glorious songs as only lovers pipe! - From morn to morn, the lover's boundless season, - Unvext with chilly thought, or chilled with reason. - Ah! Love thou art a happy reckless boy, - To measure ages with a moments joy! - Adown the streams of golden waterfalls, - On hidden rocks the white faced Lurley calls. - Rash wilful Cupid recks without the cost-- - If Venus favor not then all is lost. - Afar he flies unto her royal throne, - To claim the boon of joys that he would own, - And bring unto the mount his glorious bride, - Immortal thence forever by his side. - But Venus, queen of Beauty, waxes wrath, - To find new beauty cross her royal path. - And shall this son of all her royal favor, - Bind to a watery chit of mortal flavor? - Not so! A mother's newest plans are older, - Than any fancy scheme of youthful molder-- - His fate is hers to mold! Then hie away - To sport, but think no more to disobey. - Old mother Locksmith! Venus is thy name! - Of myriad escapades, all back to thee the blame! - The angry queen hath ruled, and Love, achaffing - At wasted time, hies back to love alaughing. - And he hath sworn that she is fairer far - Than that proud goddess of the morning star, - Albeit queen of Beauty. Here, in mortal line, - Our tale should end beneath the smile parental, - In Iris tinted shower of peace divine, - And blessings less of use than ornamental. - - - III - - But all the mount hath heard this reckless oath, - And all the mount aghast, if Venus wroth, - Be not the Venus terrible. Alas! - Such lovers make sad flowers in the grass. - And woful trees by many a dusky stream - Embar the fire of many a love's young dream. - And grizzly monsters moan in sunken path, - Some fiery love that stirred the gods to wrath. - But beauty's queen hath brooked no passing jest - To penetrate her deep heart's wild unrest. - But in the stilly quiet of her wrath, - Conceives dark pitfalls for the lover's path. - And she that once hath hied to amorous chase, - And grieved outstript in love's immortal race, - Now calls her white winged swans, on fleecy pinions, - To bear her down to earthly love's dominions, - For naught of love or sorrow. From a cave, - Whence flowed her double fountain bitter wave, - Two serpents, green and gray, and mottled golden, - Within her chariots hold hath she close folden; - Cirque-couchant, glittering, whispering sibilant - Deep curses old, they with their fury pant, - To strains the subtle bonds of jealous art, - And plant deep venomed fangs within her heart. - But now the feathry chariot glides along - The airy sea, among the sable throng - Of darkling hours, whose soundless feet are gliding - Unto the amorous dome of Love's abiding. - And they have halted, serpents, swans and queen - Within a grove that shields them with its screen - Of em'rald interlacing. There a little bloom - Of nameless hue, and forest wild perfume, - She plucks, and crusheth in a bowl of jade. - And with her breath a syrup weird hath made, - Whose faint escaping break along dim aisles, - Of forests, brooding mournful eld, beguiles, - Till such a wild heart rending moan hath risen, - As never rose within a tortured prison - To greet a ray of light. But heark'ning not, - She bends above her serpents, breathing hot - Upon their heads, een as they pause to strike, - This mystic lotion. Lo! what wonders like - Hath ever magic seer in lore beholden?-- - Each serpent skin a woman's form enfolden, - That with that breath of drunken magic lotion - Hath sprung to being with an exquisite motion, - And such sweet words, as through a thousand years, - Have gathered music for a tale of tears. - But Lo! one groweth old, and very old,-- - A toothless haggard hideous to behold. - And one hath grown a marvellous sun-bright creature, - Of luscious form and speechless worship's feature. - One stands like sunlight on a crested wave, - And one like murky darkness in a cave. - But each a low obedient knee hath bended, - To hear the queenly will thus long suspended. - And thus the queen, to her the radiant maiden: - "Thou bitter sweet, thou vessel overladen, - "In yonder dome a fairer maid than thou, - "Sees all her beauty in a lover's vow, - "Nor heeds the ripples on that mirror's sheen, - "From troubled depths of her fair self unseen. - "Go thou, and with thine ointed tongue reverse - "The mirror's face, and there thine own immerse; - "Remembering still, thou hast a serpent's tongue, - "That holds thee slave, till thou hast surely flung - "Its glittering barb into that silly heart." - Then, like an apparition of a dream, - The maid hath vanished, with a hellish gleam. - And thus the queen, unto that gruesome hag: - "In yonder dome a youth hath founden beauty - "Within a maid, and swears all foul and sooty, - "That is not there. Thou hast a serpent's eyes, - "And seeth so what dreary falsehood lies, - "In such a mirror. Go reverse the glass, - "And thine the beauty he has wasted on the lass, - "He hath not seen." The hory dame is gone. - And Venus left within the grove alone, - Recalls her swans and mounts the starry air. - - Then she, the new born maid, as false as fair, - Hath found sweet Psyche in the crystal dome, - And creeping, like a mad thing to her soul, - In friendly guise, exacts a hideous toll - For all her blissful life: "How can she bind - "Her sunny soul to such a treacherous mind? - "And she hath wed a libertine, a rake, - "Whom even now her pleasures must forsake - "To drink new pleasures with another bride. - "And if she creeps in silence to his side - "Forsooth unwelcome sights might come unto her." - With such foul words the fiend began to woo her, - And in her pearly ear hath poured the breath, - Of hideous doubt that stabs her soul to death. - And then hath wandered with exultant heart, - Unto the vales of Crete, her glittering dart, - Of barbed tongue, a woman's sweetness singing, - And ever more hath myriad minions clinging, - Unto her heartless laughter. But no more - To grace our tale. And now the haggard hoar, - On Cupid's angry ears, with whisperings - Of faithless women, and the direful springs - Of wasted lives: "And she hath heard the wind - "Sing always, maids are false and men are blind, - "And in a cavern by the ocean side, - "'Tis daily jest of Wind and Sun and Tide, - "How Psyche tweaks the gentle Cupid's nose - "Between the beds; and Psyche false as fair, - "Needs but a whim to lay her treason bare. - "This very night, if he will but deny her, - "If nothing more, at least 'twere time to try her, - "For sooth unwelcome sights might come unto him." - With such foul words the witch began to woo him, - And in his angry ears hath poured the bane, - That sets his heart at riot in his brain. - - - IV - - What wonder then if in the lonely night, - Sweet Psyche weeps to find her love is slighted; - Feels darkness fall upon her trembling light, - And throws to wind the vows her love has plighted! - And she hath risen from her loveless bed, - With all the stealth her grief supplies instead, - And steals to Cupid's fine unguarded room, - Where she must feast her heart on deeper gloom. - Here Cupid, airy souled, hath fall'n asleep, - Too filled of love such watch for long to keep, - And even now with her in blissful dreams, - He roams again, and all the future seems - As sweets of old. No little pains of doubt, - To mar recalling moments with their rout. - All through the halls, such joy of living blent - Her soul and his in single ravishment. - And Oh! they wander in the flow'ry vale, - All through the dewy morn and evening pale, - And each to drink the other's loveliness, - Despising richest nectar. Even the stress, - Of queenly anger now had bode its time, - And fresh Aurora speeding to this clime, - Hath Venus' royal word to grant his prayer, - That with the dawn to clasp his Psyche there, - In perfect love, with all the world their own. - Ah, promised day! his eager soul hath flown, - To meet the morning. On his lonely bed - Reclines his happy visionary head, - In such sweet dreams. An hour hath lightly flown - When o'er his senses steals a softened moan, - As when a soul all pent and warp'd in gloom, - Hath breathed soul deep, some sudden wild perfume, - That is of freedom. Awaked to such surprise, - He sees with heart aghast the famished eyes, - Of Psyche filling to their very brim - With his forbidden beauty, sees for him, - The golden future vanish, sees aghast - For now he knows his lovely dream hath passed; - That soulless doubt hath razed the golden dome - Of his high hopes to desert sandy loam. - The structured palace falls with all its art, - To grieve a valley with an aching heart. - From out a darkened corner of the ruin rises, - And laughs to view the dismal crisis, - That baneful hag. But Ah! what beauty fairer! - What luscious form arrayed in raiment rarer! - And she hath flown to vales of Thessaly, - Where ever more her mocking eyes shall see, - A myriad eyes upon her beauty glisten, - A myriad ears unto her rumor listen. - And Cupid flees in sudden wild despair. - To drown his soul within the bitter fountain, - Nor Venus now may crown his heart laid bare, - Nor any luscious goddess of the mountain. - - - V - - But Psyche wanders, like a saddened rill, - Thrust from a jewelled grotto in the hill, - To perish in a lonely sandy waste, - And all forlorn, with steps that can not haste, - For such absorbing grief, she chides his heart - That was a glittering palace, now a part - Of ruined things. She writes within the sand - Some resolution high her grievous heart hath planned-- - A sign to mark the spot, some time, some how, - A charm to lead her back again. And now - A little shrine within a lonely place, - Which flow'ry vines with subtle interlace, - Hath reared to Demeter, her wearied feet - Have found. And all her soul hath flown to meet - Her prayer's happiness. It is a bowl, - Of crystal dew, where nature paints her soul. - And Psyche now, a gentle worshipper, - Hath bent sad prayerful knees, and pearly ear, - Low for the golden oracle. Sad eyes, - In tangled braid of smiles and tears surprise - The crystal truth. Lo! she hath seen. And death - Seems struggling for her weary, panting breath! - What horrid charm of Circe's baneful art! - It is a serpent's head, green eyed and swart, - With lightning flashes of a forked tongue, - And glittering treachery on its forehead hung. - Oh! for a generous draft of that sweet moly, - To bring dear Psyche back as pure and holy, - As when a maiden in her jewel palace, - She kissed, for love, her nectar's brimming chalice, - That held serene a limned picture there, - Of wealth of beauty framed in golden hair. - But nature's shrine guides not the errant feet - Of little faith. And sudden prayers all unmeet - For crippled love. Ah! where the happy shrine - Of boundless heart, and still a tongue divine, - In lover's oracles? With holy words - Of sweet ablution when the night engirds - Each little tear? When never a smile but darkens - Its firefly gloom? When never an ear that hearkens. - But dulls a moan? And never a scene outspread - In mirror drops, but darts a serpent's head? - Such bitter moan she made, such bitter moan - No grieving Pan on bursting reeds alone, - In madness ever made to startled streams. - No nightingale her saddest tongueless dreams, - Hath sobbed to beauty on a hidden thorn, - To swoon in over-music at the morn. - But soul is exquisite, the flowers essence, - That through its bruises breathes quintessence. - And all the suffering of the dateless world, - Its rarest, gladdest petals hold enfurled. - This is the soul. Yet all its world a thought - Of smiling strands and sunlit oceans, fraught - With homing argosies. And waneless suns - Shine on its passing gonfalons. - What e'er the mask, its keener eyes see through it. - What e'er the ban its laughter will undo it. - What e'er the time, its fleeting thought will span it. - What e'er the deed its ancient hour began it. - And bruised, unfurl the leaf, the bruise is gone, - Yet heal the wound, the essence breathe right on. - This is the soul. But Psyche grieves an hour - Till every petal in the spirit's flower - Is bruised by so much time, and wand'ring far, - She yet hath wandered farther, like a star - Of aimless race, in melancholy deeps. - Her bittered feet have struggled on the steeps. - Her moaning soul hath crossed the stygian river. - And she hath read the runes of never, never, - In wailing spirits of the sunless moors, - And piteous quagmires seeking piteous shores. - And she, whose mirror was a drop of dew, - When golden fancy played upon her ear, - Now shrieks where horror strikes her spirit through, - Within the gloomy region of a tear. - - - VI - - But one that she hath met within the gloom, - Some shadow wearied from the lake of doom, - Whom she remembers for her ancient self, - Hath led her from the low and crumbling shelf, - That hangs upon oblivion; bound her tresses, - About her brow with old times fond caresses. - And to the weeping shade of beauty's fall, - Presents a little curious lachrimal, - Which she hath wrought with many quaint enlaying - Of happy times and tears. Presents it, saying, - "This is thy beauty bear it to thy love - "And ask no more. Quick to the light above, - "Thy wings must bear this precious charm away, - "Nor pause till thou deliverest it. The day - "Must wane not on thy loveless spirit lorn, - "So long." Then swifter than the dainty morn - She flies unto her love, and all agleam - Her beating fancy lives her future dream. - How fair! How fair! But even as she flies, - The curious urn must tempt her famished eyes, - And she hath paused. Ah! woe betide the lover, - That halts to dream, and tempt the soul to steep - In th' unrevealed. What lethe fumes discover - In such unfathomed deeps, of death or sleep! - - - VII - - As if a pearl had golden wings and far - Had flown to purple lurings of a star, - From out her jewelled grotto still to seem, - The gladdest spirit of a precious dream, - And fluttering over misty mantled hills, - Hath fallen wearied, where her beauty fills, - Some fair recess within a mossy dingle, - For such a rest, and lieth all amingle - With gladdest flowers that ever quivered through - To kiss so sweet and strange a drop of dew-- - A bit of beauty ravishing the brain, - 'Till unremembered dream touch back again - And sketch sweet rainbows on the raptured soul, - Thus gaining e'en her spirits golden goal - Hath Psyche, curious Psyche fallen asleep. - - Her jewelled urn, in bedded mosses deep, - Hath fall'n aside and lieth like a gem, - Of goddess lost from starry anadem. - And here the sun in drinking up the dew, - Hath paused to find an ancient thirst renew, - And, raptured connoisseur of dewy gems, - Would woo the nymph the stony silence hems. - But on her pearly cheek his amorous kisses, - Fall deadly cold. And all is warm caresses, - Unheeded. Lo! His godly art of change, - He fain work. And make some rare and strange - Addition to the old immortal throng: - Behold! Within the raptured skies of song, - Another music like the morning star! - Poor gentle Echo wandering far - Here finds her dear Narcissus kissing lips, - As sweet as hers. But while the honey drips - Of saddest love he poureth in those ears, - Meander's flowery vale a happy whisper hears: - "Narcissus, dear Narcissus now is free, - "Ah! sweet to sing, e'en though his eyes but see, - "This new divine." And pausing on her wings, - Her heart is free with old remembered things. - Poor wronged Arachne spins, a golden thread, - From oak to oak, and hoping wild has fled, - Along such path with such a beating heart, - To catch some dream that hedged her olden art. - It was not meet, in such an artist soul, - Should lurk a spider's venom, nor the whole - Of godly anger lessens this a bit. - And sad Arachne on her beam aflit, - Within a shower of hopes her soul doth steep, - To weave ah! thus to weave a soul asleep! - And Zephyr gathering anemones, - Among the flower beds her dear form sees, - Whom he of late in scented scarf hath borne, - With such fond care, and over seas of corn, - Of emerald depth far stretched in dreamy waves, - To flowery strands, where happy Flora laves - On April morns, he calls his love to view - This pearly fancy sleeping in the dew. - Sweet Flora goddess of the scented hours - Hath woven a dainty wreath of April flowers-- - The tend'rest bloom she gathers for the scent - In maiden April's lap of wonderment-- - A little wreath round head and feet and wing, - For Love-at-ease to call a fairy ring, - Where those enamored blooms must dance - For breezy joy about a soul in trance. - - - VIII - - Now wing'd Apollo, fing'ring golden strings, - Hath wandered far in his dear ponderings, - And fashioned such a music, wild and free, - As wakes to love the cold anemone, - And saddened Hyacinth forgets to moan, - Beside a sweetness sadder than his own--A - sweeter strain than Orpheus honeyed breath, - Had sung to charm the stygian tides of death. - And Iris on a heavenly message sent, - Hath paused to hear this new forlorn lament. - This tender goddess of all daintiness, - Stands tiptoe holding up her showery dress, - 'Tween dainty fingers, till the spangled folds - Of mingled hues, in wondrous bow she holds, - And leans to learn what wondrous thing of beauty, - Must prompt so sweet a lay. Forgotten duty, - That bade her speed to regions somnolent, - For balmy dreams, to nurse a languishment, - That pales the boyish cheek of dimpled Cupid, - She speeds where all of beauty's minions groupéd, - Do feast their eyes upon the source of song. - And after her still comes a charmed throng, - From music's toils the slaves of loveliness. - Ah! when this radiant scene her eye doth bless - What sighs are born of deep enraptured joy! - And Iris now recalls the languid boy; - For this is Psyche! This the dainty nymph, - Whose love hath paled his cheek to dewy lymph! - And all aflame to do a happy thing, - She bounds away upon her swiftest wing, - To Somnus' gloomy cavern. Scarce a thought, - Might mark the time in which her pinions brought, - Her to the drowsy rug of poppies spread, - Where drowsy Somnus nods his hoary head. - His myriad minions, like the forest leaves, - When some wild gust their autumn rest upheaves, - Rush to her overwhelming. Lethe fumes, - Of sweet seduction, oozing from the glooms, - That shield the murky river, drag to aching - Her wearied eyes, and e'en her sense forsaking, - She fain would rest upon the poppied rug, - Like some pale Orient deep within a drug. - But _beauty_ is the dream of godly sleep, - And scare her eyes have fluttered, when a peep - Of golden fragments tantalize their sense - To waking; thus to try, with soul intense, - To reconstruct some evanescent gleam - Of something they remember. Ah! what dream - So fair as Psyche sleeping in a fairy ring? - So fair as languid love's sad wandering - To grief or joy along a feverish beam? - She wakes the drowsy god, demands a dream: - And quits the sunless cave with winged Morpheus. - And now again the amorous sire of Orpheus, - They meet, and now the sad immortal strain, - Shall lure them on to Psyche's dell again. - What though the Thracian queen may bide but ill, - Miscarrying chance with her imperial will?-- - Sweet Iris hath a gentler thought. She brings, - The dream to see those luminous sleeping wings, - All pied and crested like a tiger moth, - When from a soothing beam his heart is loth, - To part, and basks for very idleness; - Those tiny feet where they so lightly press - As not to weight a daisy to the earth; - Turned dimple breasts, such beauty of one birth - As Nature yields no more; one small hand prest - Against them coldly white, and one carest - By raptured blooms, outstretched upon the grasses; - And oh! her head! what glory there surpasses, - Of golden ringlets curling and uncurling - As gentle Zephyr with a silent purling, - Plays free among them,--scarcely parted lips, - So flower like, a wild bee drops and sips, - So sweet he flies away full honey laden, - Unconscious of his lightness. Such a maiden - That Morpheus eld historian of th' ideal - Must write another canto. Softly steal, - The fine emotions o'er his countenance, - As though a prism's unveiléd hues should dance, - Upon a shy chamelion. Seeing this, - The happy Iris mounts upon his bliss, - With soothing words; "Thou seest the butterfly, - "Whose flooding beam hath drown'd dear Cupid's eye. - "The queen demands thou bring him fairest pleasure, - "Of all the joys thou holdest in thy measure. - "Sweet Psyche's story, whispered by the wind, - "In every dewy flower cup thou'lt find, - "As deeply mirrored as the starry skies. - "Fly to the fretting boy with dear surprise - "Of all thy cunning. Kiss his fevered lips, - "As Psyche then, when doubting falls and slips, - "Still left unmarred their blissful stream of life. - "Sweet whisper tales of life and love arife, - "To guide his swooning fancy from its pain, - "To revel in the life of love again." - The Dream hath kindled to a gorgeous hue, - Out speaking words, and in a drop of dew - Hath read sweet Psyche's tearful story. - And Lo! the boy beholds a growing glory - Of something rich and old; and feels the sense - Of olden kisses planted quick, intense, - And warm caresses softly lingering - To lose no dear sensation. Blushes bring, - In quick succession, while his chin atilt, - 'Tween tender fingers, meets a raptured lilt, - Of love for love, as lovers only know. - And he hath seen the bitter path of woe, - Each ragged rock her feet have limp'd upon; - Each hopeless deep, and heard each bitter moan. - And he hath seen her loving spirit burn, - To ope for him the glory of the urn; - Such glory as her joyful eyes have drunken, - Till drugg'd with their own beauty, they have sunken - Unto a dreamless swoon, where ringed thime - Hath framed an art, to rare to draw in rhime. - Then hath he risen from his joyless bed, - Thrown off his garb of woe, and swiftly sped, - Adown the olden path. And like a thought - His heart hath brought him to this valley fraught - With his rich treasure, all his soul asinging - To name the bubbling hope that he is bringing. - And softly as a warming shadow falls - On flowery paths along the sunny halls, - His gentle words caress her sleeping ear, - With all the magic love that she hath long'd to hear. - A blossom opening to the morning sun, - With white cold cheeks the dew hath dreamed upon, - Hath never opened sweeter eyes than hers. - Such sudden pulsing breast! such light that stirs - Such eyes unmeasured deep! as closely folded - In strong white arms her being is remolded, - And Lo! he leads her scarce a thought beyond, - And there where she hath written in the sand, - As though a wizzard waves a magic wand, - The palace rises, new and passing grand. - - - - -A TOAST - -To R. G. B. - - - My Soul! 'Tis a beaker of wine, - And the bubbles that flash to the brim, - Are the nameless, wild songs of mine, - And the ruby is sparkling with them. - - Ah! The beaker is sparkling and brimming!-- - We die, but there's life in the bowl, - While the bubbles are rising and swimming-- - Camerado, I pledge thee my soul! - - - - -WHISPER TO MY LOVE - - - Ah Music! Whisper to my love, - Some golden fancy of thy clime-- - Some glorious sound, - To breath around, - A sweetness, sweeter than my rhime, - Of sweet breath thime - In orange grove, - When she may rove, - As wild and free, - As the Dryads be, - That circle there, around, above her, - To tell her that I love her. - - Ah Beauty! Whisper to my love, - Some glorious fervor of thy being, - On golden sands - Of Orient strands; - By limpid lakes where she is fleeing, - And there is seeing - The classic grace - Of her proud race, - As wild and free, - As the Dryads be, - That circle there, around, above her, - To tell her that I love her. - - Ah Pleasure! Whisper to my love, - Some happiness as sweet as thine, - When wild bee sips - The honey drips, - In early May. And lowing kine, - In dreamy line, - Have led her feet - To the pastures sweet, - As wild and free, - As the Dryads be, - That circle there, around, above her, - To tell her that I love her. - - Sweet trine! Oh! whisper to my love, - Such wildest pleasures thou hast known, - Of lake or strand, - Or flow'ry land, - In happy regions all thine own; - Of dreamy zone, - Where all day long, - Hast sung her song, - As wild and free, - As the Dryads be, - That circle there around, above her, - To tell her that I love her. - - - - -ODE TO A RURAL SCENE - - - Oh! Soul of balsam calm, sweet rural scene! - Thy spirit hand hath led me back again, - By pebbly paths, to mossy couches green, - And where the glowworm and the moth have lain, - To lie and dream! - Or on some warm and soothing rock, - Supine, to watch the white clouds flee and flock, - On everchanging wings, - Of childhood's sweet imaginings. - Or seeking out some shadowy stream, - Where playful fishes flash and gleam, and vanish, - A wild thing too, dull leaden footed care to banish, - How I would seem! - - Along the smoky autumn afternoon, - Where fall the brown leaves, wandring aimlessly, - What song of forest pine, what wild bird's tune, - Hath waked me not to life, but still to be - A spirit wild! - To cut me from the hickory bough, - A whistle piping music sweet enow, - And on the swinging vine, - As free as Bacchus, munch the wine, - From purple festoons undefiled; - Or with the wild winds sport from hill to hill, - As happy as the dewy balm they drink and spill,-- - Their nameless child. - - Or where the rain falls, patt'ring in the dust, - Of winding lanes, to seek no shelt'ring place, - But bare the soul to greet the coolly gust, - And laugh to feel the cold rain in the face. - What joys are mine, - Of haunted nook, and hidden dingle, - Where life and dimpling mirth, may meet and mingle, - And clear melodious plot, - To pipe sweet ditties of their lot, - Till the sad soul that did repine, - Shall wake to consciousness as sweet and wild, - As some lone promise-mother's dreaming of her child, - And as divine! - - Along these paths what amorous gods have pass'd! - What wood nymphs vanished down these shadowy lanes! - What happy olden memories here may last - Of shepherd lassies and great amorous swains, - In jocund dance; - Or fairy Mab, the merry queen, - Hath led her pageantry upon the green, - In delicate rigadoon, - Along the midnight's charmed noon! - But not of these my soul's entrance, - If now the mock bird, warbling wildwood notes, - In rich liquidity of myriad tuneful throats, - Tells his romance. - - Or if the red bird preen his richest plume - Upon the dogwood bough; or crested jay, - Hid in some leafy oak's sequestered gloom, - Shall fret and chatter all the live long day. - Perchance to hear - Some music, fainter than a dream, - Range on its pinions till the soul must deem - That it is there and know - It hath been ever singing so. - And thus to grow as fine and clear-- - Like wild-wood sound to come, to dream, to die,-- - And only pray nought else to charm the spirit's eye, - The spirit's ear. - - - - -ODE TO A BEE - - - Thou busy bee! Thou happy murm'ring bee! - How would I follow on thy viewless course, - To clover dell, or lusher linden tree, - And lose within thy honey's charmed source - All that I am, of hope or fondest dream-- - To be as thou a honeyed spirit wild, - No more, no more from golden worth astray - For what may fairer seem, - But drinking still, with spirit undefiled, - The heavy secrets of the summer day. - - No fruitless season mocks thee with its frown, - No dross within thy waxen treasure dome, - No dark remorse may ever weigh thee down, - But laughing Nature bids thee lightly roam - From scene to scene wherever joy may be. - Not aimless wand'ring on from gloom to gloom, - But with a purpose greater than thy days-- - Yet art thou wholly free - To go, to come, to sleep in folded bloom: - No custom bids thee name thy wondrous ways. - - Within thy far and olden Orient vales, - Sweet houris nursed and watched thee long ago. - And thou hast heard the soft and lowly couched tales, - Of lovers luting all the heart's sweet woe - Without the harem's amorous oriels; - And guarded sighs of maidens veiled and pining; - And demon lovers wailing sad nights long - Within the wildest dells; - Or, Sprite of Roses! couched in velvet lining, - Sad thorn struck nightingales' low dying song. - - Old caravans have plundered all thy treasure, - To feed the dark-eyed beauty of the Nile-- - Thou hast not pined, nor lost thy queenly pleasure, - But out of ruins wrought new domes the while. - But lo! they robbed thy rosy land of thee; - Ah then! how blushed the spirit of the west! - That welcomed thee his wild-wood spirit bride, - To flee, to flee, to flee! - What spread of burning wings! What golden quest - For panting bliss in flow'ry fields untried! - - Sweet critic of the fairest and the sweetest, - Thou hast not paused to mar the honey less-- - And who knows where thy winged soul is fleetest? - What holidays thou hast of happiness - To drink the viewless honey of the air? - I saw thee on the golden rod at noon, - At evening by the frail anemone-- - Which beauty charmed thee there? - Didst ease thy heart, or golden weighted shoon, - Within thy far and murm'rous hearted tree? - - Away! away! farewell thou winged sprite! - From dale to dale, from hill to farthest hill. - The radiant blue hath melted round thy flight, - But, like an Ariel dream, I see thee still, - Where thou hast vanished, yet not wholly gone. - And I must sing thee of a treasure dome - Of drossless gold, which thou hast filled unwitting. - Then too to wander on, - Like thee as fain to pause, as fain to roam, - Forever pausing and forever flitting. - - - - -TO DEATH - - - Ah Death! Thou art a strange and delicate thing, - Pale hooded sister of sweet sleep! - That like a patient holy nun, - Upon a battle steep, - Hath watched from sun to sun - Each laboring breath, - That welcomes thee, sweet Death. - Whilst thou with cooling balm - Do quiet lips, where lonely anguish cries, - And draw cool shades for wearied eyes, - And layeth speechless calm - Upon each fevered brow, - With strokings of thy coolly palm. - And thou, and only thou - Hath Alms - More sweet than psalms, - To famished souls - On barren goals. - What draughts of long forgetfulness - Hath held to moaning thirst! - To drink, to drink, and drinking, wildly bless, - That thou, the last, shall be the first. - What depths of great eternal night, - Hast held to failing eyes! - Till, pregnant with the awful sight, - A spirit in them lies - That is not life. - I see thee calming strife, - And age old bitterness. - The young man's mockery of the old - Hath seen thy face and trembles all acold. - I see thee in the bride's deep fathomless eyes, - That flash with sudden consciousness, - While all her pulses rise - To greet sweet motherhood. - I see thee in the lonely wood, - With hardy woodsmen clearing future cities, - And hardy daughters chanting ditties - That are the songs of queens to be. - I see thee in the golden halls of gaity - Where trips the lure of beauty ankle deep, - And where the faded kings and queens in kindly shadows creep. - I see thee in the busy marts of blood and brain, - And in the crowded thoroughfares, - Of ceaseless noise, and sightless glares, - That lead to woods again. - I see thee by the nervous ocean, - That trembles still, with wild emotion, - And brings sad pennance for its night of wrath. - I see thee on the lonely mountain path, - That leadeth ever up and down. - I see thee in the golden brown - That burns gay summer's bonny cheeks. - I see thee in the light that seeks - A soberer gown along the afternoon. - I see thee by the harvest's moon, - And hear thee in the reaper's distant song. - And whither this may rise and that be planting soon, - I see thine hooded shadow glide along. - I see thee with the poet on the hills - Of soul's expression. - I see thee with the raptured alchemist's in session, - While each his magic mirror fills - With drossless gold of music, art, and poesy, - Whence o'er the world such beauty spills, - That sorrow cannot be. - I hear thee in the lovers' lilt, - Of careless brightness. - I see thee in the lightness, - Of amorous lips atilt. - - I hear thee in the dreamy serenade, - That wakes the charméd ear of night, - And loosens in some farthest glade, - A mocking bird to lyric flight. - I see thee where the silence falls - On haunted sleep men lie within,-- - And ah! thy dreamless solace calls, - Far, faint and thin. - And ever calls, - Till perfect silence falls. - I see, thee, hear thee, feel thee every where, - O! passing breath! - And life is glorified for thou art there, - O! Death! - - - - -A DIRGE - - - I saw a lassie on the green, - Ah me! Ah me! - No sweeter sight since have I seen, - Nor ever more may see. - - At morning fair, at evening pale, - And overcast. - Oh, stay thou lassie, sad and frail, - Why seek the night so fast? - - I took her hand, 'twas limp and cold, - She had no smile, - And in her eyes gleamed something old - That flickered out the while. - - And then she told such piteous tale, - And heaved a sigh:-- - "I dreamed that beauty could not fail, - "Nor simple pleasure die. - - "I held him long, I held him fast-- - "But he has gone. - "Oh stay me not--this way he past, - "And I must hasten on." - - I saw a wannish haggard in the night,-- - Alone was she. - I heard her laugh, her eyes were bright, - Ah me! ah woe is me! - - - - -TIME AND RHIME - - - Ah Ha! A lack-wit is the Time-- - A foolish piece and niddy-noddy, - To teach her gentle daughter, Rhime, - To flirt and dance with everybody. - - Her cheek was fresh, and passing fair - When very few did come to court her, - And king or swain must worship there, - That dared, or fancied to transport her. - - And often there a sceptered king, - And often there a wit or jester, - Have fondly kneel'd her praise to sing, - And learned how sore it is to pester. - - But now alas! 'Tis come to pass, - She loves the addlest headed dandy. - A bon-bon lyric suits the lass, - Her Epic is a piece of candy. - - - - -THE POET AND THE WORLD - - - A poet came in a golden noon, - His eyes were bright and his soul in tune, - And he sang a song of a nameless bird. - And never a song of songs was sung, - As sweet and as rich as the lay that sprung, - From the forest-wild muse in the lyrical verd. - - An old man dozing and dying alone, - Hath startled enrapt at the wondrous tone, - And thinks on his own youth's minstrelsy. - And his fingers tremble and itch again - And his tongue is lashed in its bed of pain, - To know at last such music may be. - - A youth starts up, with his soul on fire, - And shatters his harp for something higher, - And sings of a glory he has not known, - Till his mad soul sinks on the raging sea, - As sad and as weary as spent wings be, - In the guideless paths where his hopes have flown. - - And a maiden adream in her virgin bower, - Of her love's bright star and its rising hour, - Hath heard the song, and her being is folden - To the starry breast of a winged god, - In the golden paths of a garden untrod, - Which her soul in the lyric depths beholden. - - But the world hath roused on its listless bed - And calls to the ass for his bray instead, - And lo! he hath named the song and the bird! - And the young man lives, and the old man dies, - And the god hath flown from the maiden's eyes, - And the singer is gone, and the song is a word. - - - - -THE GUERDON - - - Sculptors have carved for us stories in stone,-- - Spirits of gods from the chrysalis freeing; - Toiled for us, starved for us, dying unknown, - Still have they sought for the infinite being, - Calling it Beauty,--upbuilding its throne. - And this is the guerdon each bears to his tomb: - "Fortune is fickle, the saddest and gladdest - "Slumber as long as the meanest and maddest-- - "Naught hast thou wraught so enduring as doom." - - Painters have drawn for us marvellous lines, - Hues of the rainbow, and sunset, and morning-- - Pigments an innermost glory divines, - Laurelled, or stultified canvas adorning; - Toiled for us, drunk for us bitterest wines, - And this is the guerdon each bears to his tomb: - "Fortune is fickle--the saddest and gladdest - "Slumber as long as the meanest and maddest - "Naught hast thou drawn so enduring as doom." - - Poets have sung for us sweetest of song, - Aye, they have sung for us, limn'd for us, carved for us. - Laurell'd our fortune, and lightened our wrong-- - Still have they dreamed for us, toiled for us, starved for us-- - We are their passion's most fanciful throng-- - And this is the guerdon each bears to his tomb: - "Fortune is fickle--the saddest, and gladdest, - "Slumber as long as the meanest and maddest, - "Naught hast thou sung so enduring as doom." - - - - -A SONG - - - What is so rare as a pearly cloud, - With a burning sun behind it? - And this is the jewel I wear on my heart, - With a dream to bind it-- - This is the treasure you sought from the start, - Forgetting to find it. - - What is so sweet as the song of a bird, - That wakens the fancy that hears it? - And this is the music I hear in my heart - Whose heaven enspheres it-- - This is the heaven you sought from the start - Forgetting to pierce it. - - What is so glad as the heart of a child, - That gambols as careless as Maytime? - And this is the pleasure I hold to my heart, - Acalling it daytime-- - This is the pleasure you sought from the start, - Forgetting the playtime. - - - - -TO X - - - Boast not, poor man, that thou hast measured time, - And named it feeble seven thousand years, - Lest all the lore and wit of all thy seers - Must brand thee fool, and name thy folly _crime_. - I say that I have seen an eon's rime - Upon thy father's head, and bitter tears, - Quintillions old. And countless fears, - Remembered from an old world's mapless clime. - Nor call thy folly old,--'twas surely born - When thou didst cease to think. Thou hast a child, - Whose beauty brands thee for a thing forsworn. - Leave thou its tender reason undefiled! - For shame to chain the base of all thy glory, - Upon an olden tale, a useless allegory! - - - - -ON A FESTAL NIGHT - - - Above the city hangs a limpid glare, - From hollow laughter's laden festal board: - Thou seest the lover fondling his adored-- - Thou hearest music singing of her hair. - Thou seest the tryst that's neither here nor there. - Thou seest the gallant with his mocking sword, - And honor at his feet;--the miser's hoard, - And Lo! the music, sword, and tryst are there. - Say when has music breathed a song, - Encored so long as yonder jingling gold? - Say when do lover's wand'ring from the throng, - Turn wholly from the mart where love is sold? - Ah man! were gold where erst it did belong - Then love were winged music as of old. - - - - -TO X - - - And thou hast seen yon priest in holy stole, - But thinkest, never yet a jackal's skin, - Embodied more hereditary sin-- - And he with healing ointment for the soul, - May not remember when his own was whole. - Behold a myriad monks he ushereth in - Whom dol'rous chant pronounceth holy kin, - And yet each readeth from a foreign scroll. - When all these jarring sects pronounce decree, - Then must thou wait another _Fiat lux_. - Old Chaos slumbering in eternity, - Hath writ his secret hope in monkish books, - That some shall beckon when his reign shall be-- - And even now the priestly finger crooks. - - - - -WANDERING WILLIE - - - Willie, Willie, merry piper, - Wand'rer too from clime to clime, - Tell me if thy fruit is riper, - Sweeter than my rhime. - - Hast thou pluckt a golden apple, - I have never tasted yet? - Hast thou seen a pearly dapple, - Finer skies than mine have set? - - Hast thou heard a music sweeter, - Than my wildest dreams intone? - Hast thou found a joy completer, - Than a pleasure I have known? - - Willie, Willie, wand'ring ever, - Whither wend thy wayward feet? - Farther still must we dissever, - Only thus again to meet? - - Wander on I would not stay thee-- - Fain were I a wand'rer too. - Drinking where the founts delay thee, - Thirsting all thy deserts through. - - What! though little thou hast gathered, - Golden wealth is that I ween. - What! though nothing thou hast fathered, - Careless fancies are thy yean. - - All thy trees mayhap are fruitless; - All thy hopes be ships afar, - All thy plans mayhap are bootless,-- - Still thou hast the eastern star. - - I, in peace and plenty, yearning, - Yearning for thy wand'rer's crust - Weary, aching, burning, burning, - Fevered failure of the wander-lust. - - Wander on, mayhap I'll meet thee, - Wand'ring in the waning glow - Rhiming still for joy to greet thee, - Piping on thy piccolo. - - - - -MY LADY OF DREAMS - - - 'Tis the maiden April calling,-- - Calling to the languid South,-- - Where she lounges in the sunshine - With a secret at her mouth. - - Where she lounges with the sunshine - Closely fondled to her breast. - Calling for that fickle lover, - Wanders with his old unrest. - - And her lips are full and luscious, - Where a thousand joys have kissed-- - Ah! I must unto her garden, - Lo! I tremble for the tryst. - - For her couch it is a languor - Cushioned for a passion rest, - Woven out of dreams and sunshine, - Pillowed with her pulsing breast. - - And I clasp her warm embraces, - Kissing deep her dewy lips, - Like a bee upon a blossom, - Where the honey breathes and drips; - - Lie within her warm embraces - Till the wildest passions wane-- - Fall to dreaming of Nirvana - Pictured through a golden rain. - - There adream with dreaming April - In the gentle southern land, - Hearing footsteps onward pressing, - Only she might understand. - - Feel the cool wind fan the forehead, - Drink the mellow wine he brings, - Till the spirit drunk to fervor - Sweeps its own Æolean strings. - - Hear the music of the vanished, - Join the far and lyric throng - Of the rare and radiant singers - In the starry skies of song. - - Hear with soul all hushed and quickened, - Wrapt in fine unconscious ears, - Music singing unto music, - In the bright Æolean spheres. - - Till the Past is wed to Present - In the golden hall of Time, - And the Future brings a garland - From his pure and crystal clime. - - Seeing then that life is rainfall, - Falling on a dreaming sea, - With a touch of speeding rainbows, - Hinting all eternity. - - Seeing then, that dreaming ocean, - Drinking all the golden rain-- - Call it death or dark oblivion, - Drinks and yields it back again. - - Seeing past is not the total, - Seeing present not the last-- - Is the future uncreated? - Nay 'tis older than the past. - - Is today a mighty time-wall - Beaten outward by the waves? - Nay, it is the crystal mirror - Where an image still enslaves. - - Seeing space is only measured - With an atom of the soul; - Seeing Space and Time are brothers - Racing from what goal to goal? - - Seeing systems all unnumbered, - Numbered by their vanished race; - Seeing Time among his diamonds, - Launching systems unto Space. - - Till the Soul turns back to April - Faint with seeing, and the seen - There in dreams to wait and linger - For the rainfalls iris sheen. - - Ah! 'tis only dreams that linger, - For a vision or a sound-- - Ling'ring only, asking never - How and whence, or whither bound. - - Only dreams that linger, hearing - Songs across the blue clad hills - From the lakes of cool savannahs, - Where the mirror fills and fills. - - Hearing from the cool savannahs - Magic strains and elfin horns, - Heralding across the plainlands - Greater than the olden morns. - - Dawnings to the world from dreamland - Where the souls of song are tryst - Covering over facts and angles - With the artful truth of mist. - - Then the world is recreated - With the Supermen of dreams, - With the men from out the future - Coming down the crystal streams; - - Comes the painter mixing soul-tints - In his fine unconscious eye-- - Comes the sculptor opening marbles - Where his dreaming godheads lie; - - Comes embodied music seeing - All of Heaven in a sound-- - Call him man or rapt musician, - Neither yet is wholly bound. - - Comes the poet sweeping soul-strings - Lo! the painter dreams again, - Finds another golden pigment - In the minelands of his brain. - - Comes the poet sweeping soul-strings, - Lo! the sculptor dreams again, - Frees a rarer winged spirit - In his blue marmorean brain. - - Comes the poet sweeping soul-strings, - Lo! the music dreams again, - Finds another golden concord - In the silence of his brain. - - There again the Bard of Avon, - Music names him not in words, - Singing to a raptured eon - All that life and death engirds. - - There is Shelly, diamond hearted, - Singing lightning scintilant, - Wanting still a rarer lustre, - Sweeter ever than his want. - - There is framed and fashioned music, - Keats the golden tongue of song. - Browning crowned with highest heaven - Ruling all of right and wrong. - - There is Mifflin toying jewels, - His own magic art hath wrought, - Tracing dreams and fancies - In the crystal depths of thought. - - There is Carman of the Northland - Singing all the music of the north. - Beauty urging on his music, - Wagering all her soul is worth. - - Goethe arm in arm with Hauptman - In the vine-clad hills of Rhine, - Hushed to catch the simplest whisper - From the great Norwegian Pine. - - All the Kings of dainty fancy, - All the Kings of mighty song, - All the Kings of love and laughter, - All the Kings of right and wrong, - - All the Kings of all the kingdoms, - To the farthest bounds of art, - Meeting on the swards of dreamland, - Ages can not bind apart. - - Thus the world is recreated - With the Supermen of time, - Bearing on in royal pageant, - All of fullness and of prime. - - Thus the world is recreated - With the Supermen of dreams, - Footsteps onward pressing, - Plashing oars on crystal streams. - - Silver lakes, and cool savannahs, - Mirrored in the blue clad hills, - Dream miragéd, dim oases - Where the spirit drinks and fills. - - Wanting not a dear companion, - Wanting not the yester years, - Thus the world is recreated, - And the ring'd horizon clears. - - And I turn again to April, - Maiden princess of the south; - Lo! the secret now has blossomed - To a white rose at her mouth. - - - - -TO A MOCKING BIRD - -A Rhapsody - - - Hail! Sweetest rhapsodist - Of virgin song unfettered yet! - Sweet honey-bee of sound, - What flow'ry meads hast found, - Of wilding pain and rapture, - In spirit births, a moment's capture? - A part of all that thou hast met, - Sweet mocking bird! - - How far above, how far beyond, - All dream or spirit fancy, - Each fountain burst of purest song! - To what fair region dost belong? - What roseate glory followeth after - Thy natures gladdest laughter,-- - Thine infinite necromancy, - Sweet mocking bird? - - Within thy song, as in thy night, - What matchless dearth of fact! - Old Art bent low in arabesque, - Transmuting life to things grotesque. - And his golden mist, a still low call, - From model-nature's all-in-all, - Bids thee all rapture reinact, - Sweet mocking bird. - - And when is nature more complete, - Than in thy midnight hour? - When every angle meet and mingle, - Within thy misty laden dingle, - And spirit pauseth in the heart, - To rectify its ancient art, - By the shadow on the flower, - Sweet mocking bird. - - And when has music kissed a string - Till such a lyric breath intone? - Of all the joy, of all the pain, - Sweet summer holds to earth again. - The far sweet pain of bursting Hours, - Whose sparkling eyes, in tears of flowers, - Yield thee a drink that's all thine own, - Sweet mocking bird. - - Ah! Light of dreams! when spirit hears - Such music calls, can life forget? - Each night thou lightest up the gloom - Within my spirits stifled room, - And beckoneth on to hopes afar, - My singer and my star, my star! - The all of all that thou hast met, - Sweet mocking bird! - - - - -THE MYSTERY - - - The gos'mer web that mistifies, - Lies not on any whole or part, - Or stop or start, but in the art, - Men hang upon their eyes. - - And haply in an age afar, - Two men may see the self-same mote-- - The selfsame beam, with motes afloat, - And learn what souls and systems are. - - - - -FAME - - - Triumphant Day's grand pageantry - At song, and all the garlands won, - Far in the west the queenly Eve, - Blue misty mantled, takes her leave, - Tiaraed with a Sun. - - And Lo! Sweet night, a nut-brown maid, - With silent wonder pursing lips, - Or humming soft a bird's low song, - Trips down the hall. Behold the throng - Bow to her finger tips. - - - - -GOOD NIGHT MY LOVE - - - Thy dewy dreams, thine Ariel dreams, - Then turn thee to thy dainty dreams, - Thine airy shell is now alight, - To bear thee down Æolean streams, - Good night, my love, good night, good night. - - By misty strands of phantom lands, - By golden shores and phantom lands, - Across the sea of starry light - To drop thee on enchanted strands-- - Good night, my love, good night, good night. - - Afar from me and there with thee, - Ah! could I journey there with thee, - Across the sea of starry light; - But nay, 'tis thine own journey's sea-- - Good night, my love, good night, good night. - - But golden Morn must sound her horn, - And when the morning's triton horn - Is heralding thy homing flight, - I'll meet thee on the shores of morn,-- - Good night, my love, good night, good night. - - - - -MY SOUTH - - - Of the languorous South with her wine-stained mouth, - And her easy ways, I sing. - Ah! see where she stands, my lady of lands, - With a rose in her hair and a gracious air, - Where her lovers cling. - - Will she play me false for the promised waltz, - In that easiest way of hers? - Ah see! she is fair as the rose in her hair, - And the sweet love drips from her honied lips, - When her fancy stirs. - - Will she lightly resist for the promised tryst - With a smile of her easy ways? - Ah see! she is smiling with a sweetness beguiling - All sorrow to laughter till it dances thereafter - In a golden maze. - - Alas! alack-a-day! she dances away! - Haphazard her favor confers. - Ah! see where she dances, and her sunlit glances - All scattered apart! But I store in my heart - A smile of hers. - - - - -TO LLOYD MIFFLIN - -A Poet - - - And thou hast oped the matrix of sweet thought, - And graven on the gem rare imagery. - Or piercing free thine arts reality, - Hast found uncarven gods, as richly wraught; - Such tints of soul, such matchless colors fraught - With all thy beings dearest phantasy; - Such fair illusive forms that luring flee, - Within the crystal web of fancy caught. - Till to thine eyes, a radiant cosmos spreads - In crystaline delight from pole to pole, - Of godly folk at play on flowry meads, - And one fair form of beauties finished whole! - Then through the golden mist one fancy threads: - It is the god of gods, thy pristine soul. - - - - -KEATS - - - Thou golden fragment of the sweetest dream, - That ever smiled beside the gates of morn, - And left enraptured Beauty half forlorn - And half entranced. Still for thy vanished gleam - That spirit-maiden weeps. On her refulgent stream - No more the tinted bark is lightly borne, - But frail as thought by streaming phantoms torn, - She waits forever thy returning beam. - A golden dream of art's divinity - And held bright Beauty's jeweled anadem; - Of music breathing immortality - Till stonéd silence falls a carven gem. - And but a fragment! Ah! couldst thou have sated - A bursting heart, what worlds had been created! - - - - -A POET - - - As one, who gath'ring flowers in a dream, - Hath found a vanished passion all in bloom, - And wild sweet odors lifting in the gloom - Of olden time, but casts it on a stream, - To mar the silver moon's reflectant beam, - And laugh at circles sweeping on to doom, - In dusky marges, shining in her brume, - Hath England found thee. Thus her silly deem! - Ah! Shame that she, whose head is vaunted so, - Hath vision narrowed to a needle's eye. - And only far from home, doth England know - That she has doomed another son to die. - But fair Columbia brings her wreath of woe, - Sweet Rhine, a tear, and lyric France a sigh. - - - - -THE CRITICS - - - And when thy soul had made a simple song - And laughed for very glee to sing and sound it, - Outside the walls, the dim mysterious throng - Wrought keen and barbed darts wherewith to wound it: - There was a fault, a fearful deadly fault, - And loud they screamed a very bull's-eye named it; - As one they saw, as one they would assault-- - Each kneeling archer drew his dart and aimed it. - And lo! How fared a myriad archetypes! - A myriad fancies, sounds, and colors riddled! - And harps! and horns! and flutes! and lutes! and pipes! - And O! the laugh as each some vict'ry twiddled! - But still the dainty spirit sang its song - And laughed its laugh unconscious of a wrong. - - - - -AVAILABILITY - - - And shall I join this scramble after fame, - Astonish so the free delightful spirit, - To bind his song, that fettered ears may hear it, - And win an encore, or a sounding name? - Or shall his broad imperial wings go lame, - To make a semblance of existing merit? - Or fly no more less favor disinherit, - And yield his lightness to an ordered game? - Not so! and never for the fickle throng, - One soaring rapture less in fancy free! - But sing thou bonden music's saddest wrong - My spirit-bird, 'til shackles melt for thee-- - Still sing, for never yet thy spirit's song, - May bend to crass availability. - - - - -A PORTRAIT - - - She was a breath of forest-wild perfume - So sweet, one could but stand and drink it in, - Until the soul should burst; a dream so thin - And airy fine, it seemed a spirit's bloom, - And left a haunting fragrance in the room - When it had vanished. Garb'd in snowy lynn - So rare one knew not where it did begin-- - A scented sunbeam in a human gloom. - And thou hast called her woman, woman only, - When thou hadst music yearning at thy tongue - To call her Heaven. Aching fancy lonely - Still breathes that fragrance in a song unsung, - Or wandering, lost deep in a golden dream, - Hears sweet white Lurley from a vanished stream. - - - - -ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY - - - Ah! Thou wert fairer than the early morn, - Thy dress all spangled with the dewy flowers-- - A lynn soft woven in the wondrous hours - That hedged about thy dreams. But Lo! the horn - Of some far Triton from the sea up-borne - Across the bluey hills, and tinted showers - Faint limning scenes of Elfin grots and bowers, - Bound thee in thrall by misty strands forlorn. - Thou couldst not longer bide the sweet low calling - Of some sad sea-soul for his wand'ring nymph. - Thou couldst not yield to mortal love's enthralling - And Nerius calling in thy spirits coralled lymph. - O! if our hearts have sweeter balm than tears, - It is the call that kissed thy dreaming ears. - - - - -TO MY LOVE - - - I can not say how much I love thee, words, - Like wearied petrels, fall on shoreless seas. - But O! I love thee! Simple words of these - Float on the stormy soul, like halcyon birds, - With speechless calm. A golden zone engirds - The thee and me in worlds of nameless ease, - And promise fairer far than Æetes'. - No clouds there tempest tost, but phantom herds - Of golden fleece feed in the fields of blue, - And sunny harbors lull the freighted ships - Of tender song, the while thine hero woo, - For aye sweet message from thine honeyed lips; - Or catch some music from thy spheres above thee,-- - A song of songs to tell how dear I love thee. - - - - -THE STORM KING - - - The storm-king playeth his organ tonight-- - O! weep for the mortals that heareth at sea! - The King of the storm! What god in his might, - May still the dread music, or silence the key? - - The lightning, the thunder, the rain, and the blast-- - How he driveth each note to its ultimate goal! - And the roll of dead worlds in the infinite vast, - How they roll in his soul, in his madness of soul! - - The lightning, the thunder, the blast, and the rain-- - How he playeth each note for its ultimate soul! - 'Til his caverns great center grows blacker again, - With the deep where his musics great nebulas roll! - - And grandeur, mad grandeur, the sweep of his song, - The raging and lurid storm grandeur of night, - Till the Souls of the Ages, to him but a throng, - Of beetling black nebula, crash in their flight. - - How he laugheth, and laugheth, this maddest of Kings! - How he rageth, and rendeth his organ assunder! - Now soaring, now crashing to nethermost springs-- - The maddest of music but never a blunder. - - For he smiteth the sea, and he teareth the land, - And never a prayer but he laugheth to scorn! - A King and a God--should he render less grand - For sake of the ghoul haunted beeches of morn? - - - - -THE BIRTH OF FANCY - - - I dreamed, and ah! the dream was sweeter far, - Than any dream of cloud-born poet ever; - Or love-lorn maiden praying to a star - On Agne's Eve. I thought a glorious quiver, - Of ecstasy was trembling, full with tears, - Deep in the eyes of a maternal thought, - And Time, beyond the outposts of the years, - Was hushed expectant, all of wonder fraught. - For Fancy cradled in a golden cloud - Had risen in a dream of boundless glory,-- - While on his brow his soul had overflowed, - And swiftly scaled a purple promontory. - Then back again, in speed as dreamy fleet, - And laid a snow-white feather at my feet. - - - - -DESPAIR - - - Alas! so sick at heart! My lips are dumb. - Dull inquisition racks the aching brain. - I work no more, but fight the growing pain - Of losing hours. Night of heart! No moonbeams come - To bring thee twilight. Still, ah! still the hum - Of artless industry--the spirit's chain - That binds for life sake. Still the fight for gain - That binds it to th' arena, pale and numb. - And I that hoped to do so much indeed, - To clear a path in spite of time and room, - To sing a song, ah! now I faint, I bleed, - A conquered victim. See the conqueror loom, - A careless frown and sword his only creed,-- - And watching close the turning thumb of doom. - - - - -THE MAGAZINES - - - If Orpheus came to Maga with a song - As sad as tongueless sorrow dying, - So sweet the weeping world should throng - To hear the strain, but come not flying - The Maga pennant, unassailable, - Then faith! the song were not available. - - If Orpheus, singing in the lonely hills, - Should charm the world to raptured wonder, - And Maga came in wraps and frills, - And dainty tears, to cry his blunder. - Then faith! the world might wait laconical, - If Maga readjust his monicle. - - But if perchance the godly singer, - Should pass, like bitter grief with time. - What Ho! The dandy crooks his finger, - And menials bring each Orphean rhime. - And Maga's bards, and Maga's sages, - Write epitaphs on tombs of pages. - - - - -THE SPHINX - - - Beside the falls of ancient walls, - And golden Halls, - Entomb'd forever, - On lonely sands, with phantom bands, - A figure stands, - Called never, never. - - Her eyes are green, as em'rald sheen, - With glories seen, - In distant ages; - As dongon keep, her eyes are deep, - And there asleep, - Enchanted Mages. - - A thousand years of hopes and fears, - With dying cheers, - Her cohort only. - A thousand miles of vanished piles, - Of olden whiles - Her Empire lonely. - - From night to morn of glory shorn, - She stands forlorn, - Her only glory. - From sun to frost, a night uncrossed, - Forever lost, - An endless story. - - - - -A SHELL - - - Full wondrous wrought, and passing strange, - Of many a sea-born tint-- - Some old and deathless work of change, - For fairy wonderment. - - But what of that strange elfin sprite, - That in this rainbow hall - Once moved? What woe, or what delight, - Did make its all in all? - - How roamed it through the scenery? - Of ocean's old expanse? - Or dreamed, in fragrant greenery, - O'er some sweet sea romance? - - Was't haughty King, or was it slave, - In its unknown kingdom there? - Or loved, in elfin grot or cave, - Some sweet shell-maiden fair? - - Alas! like some old haunted palace, - The silence, how profound! - Where mem'ry's drunk from death's deep chalice, - And turned the chalice down. - - - - -TO THE TRAVELLER - - - Because thy winged spirit ever craves - Then must thou range wide seas and distant lands-- - To see, to know, thy burning thirst demands - No sweeter drink. To kneel in sainted naves - For art sake; marvel by Egyptian graves; - Seek paynim shrines with strange fantastic bands - Or pause to weep where sad Pompeii stands, - So richly jewelled in her granite waves. - Ah! 'Tis to know, till every cup is drained, - And passion wane in pale satiety. - Then but to dare the boundless unattained,-- - Thy self a world, thy thirst its history. - Ah! such a world! such wash of human waves - On human shores, where still the thirst enslaves. - - - - -SONG TO DEATH - - - Ah Death! what a weakling art makes thee-- - The art of the frighten'd to death; - Gay curtains where glory forsakes thee-- - A straw for the clutching last breath. - - Where finds in religion a balm - So soothing, so cool and so far? - What solemn great hush and what calm? - Degraded to Portals ajar! - - O where is the lyric of rest--? - O where is the song of the soul--? - Unfettered, unmastered, undrest - A nude and a beautiful whole. - - O where is thy lyric of room,-- - Unclouded immeasurable night? - O where is the song of the doom - Still flawless of hope or afright--? - - Ah! cool as the night is the song - The dewy fresh song of my soul, - Sung always far over the throng - To a dewy unblemishing goal; - - Some music still wand'ring, unstrung - Ungarnished, unmastered with art, - That haply some feverish young - May garner for treasure of heart. - - But never the song that is sung-- - The sweet measured tongue laps of art, - That silvers old age for the young, - Or maketh a ball room of heart. - - Too great is the prestige O! Death, - Where Day ever bendeth at noon - For false chanting, or clutching for breath - At sight of the guerdon so soon. - - Too great is thy prestige O! Death! - To flatter with scorn or with fright. - No promise so vain as that breath, - So great so great is thy night! - - - - -THE MAGICAL RING - - - 'Tis an ash circled bower, - Of berries and musk, - And the fairies' first hour, - Neither daylight nor dusk; - - And fancy is thridding - In vistas of green, - Where the moth is out bidding - The cock for his sheen; - - And the bee with his treasure, - Is at rest on a stone-- - The measure of pleasure, - The depth of his own; - - The blue-bells are tinkling, - The mocking birds woo,-- - In a beautiful sprinkling - Of scintilant dew, - - Far down in the grasses, - In a magical ring, - A clinking their glasses, - Sits Puck and the King. - - * * * * - - "Methinks, saith the King, - If the dome of our palace, - Were as happy a thing, - As the dome in this chalice, - - "Of glittering dew, - And half so resplendent, - As fancy is too, - In this liquor impendent; - - "Methinks, saith the King, - Then life were as jolly, - In this magical ring, - As its spirit of folly; - - "Methinks, saith the King, - Titania were sweeter, - And this magical ring - Were magic completer. - - "For the vixen is wild, - With this Squire from the highlands-- - Like a sailor beguiled, - To magical islands, - - "At sound of a voice, - To plunge in the sea foam, - And, dying, rejoice, - That the island should be foam. - - "Methinks, saith the King - This rascal were better, - Far out of the ring, - In handcuff and fetter. - - "For he talketh of love, - And faith, hope, and charity, - And a spirit above, - As the spirit of parity. - - "And thou, saith the King, - Hath certain the gumption, - To see thus the spring - Of pleasure's consumption. - - "Of late thou hast wandered, - To see and be seen, - And much thou hast squandered - My riches, I ween. - - "Relate thine indentures, - Important of state, - And all thine adventures, - Of worth to relate." - - _Saith Puck_ - - "A trace of wine's on the breath of summer, - And the spirit of June is a pure delight, - And the brimmer of light is sparkling and bright - With a cheer for the gladdest comer. - - "Aloft in the oak a dove was cooing, - And a little gray bird on sycamore twig, - Was a pause abreath with a feathery sprig, - And flittered away to his wooing. - - "I peep'd in a bloom and a bee was in it, - I peered on a leaf and a moth slept there. - Ah! was ever a dream so deliciously rare, - And all for a tip-toed minute!" - - Then Oberon winketh, - Reward to his Puck, - And solemnly drinketh, - The nation much luck. - - "Good! Then let us be merry, - And call up the court-- - Each knight and his deary, - For song and for sport. - - "But none that are gloomy, - What ever the cost-- - Though the palace be roomy, - Their space is all lost." - - Puck boweth full low, - And a blue-bell he tinkleth, - And the courtiers inflow, - As thick as stars twinkleth. - - And the King, from his wand, - Hath showered his graces, - On the rich and the grand, - And the favored of places. - - Saluteth this grandee, - And passeth that by; - This sport, or that dandy, - To the tail of each eye. - - "God een! my brave hearties, - Thou Fat and thou Thin, - How barren our parties - If thou art not in! - - "Thou Nut and thou Cherry, - Thou Leaf and Thou Bloom, - Thou Bud and thou Berry, - All welcome to room. - - "Thou Red, and thou Yellow, - Thou Purple, thou Green, - And--who is that fellow, - With blood in his een? - - "Thou Lobster, come kneel here, - Behold thou the King! - What folly to steal here - To this magical ring!" - - Saith Puck, "'tis a ranger - In the light of the queen." - Saith the ranger "And stranger - To thy pleasure, I ween. - - "I come from the people, - With the people I dwell. - I favor the steeple, - I favor the bell. - - "Ten thousand are weary, - That furnish thee sport, - Their homes are adreary, - To furnish thy court." - - (_A faint low rumble of thunder cometh from over the hills_,) - _and Oberon saith_, - - "'Tis an orator, Hollo! - We've something here new! - Whatever may follow, - We'll hear the thing through. - - "Continue, thou swine herd, - Right gladly we'll hear, - Of the grunts of thy fine herd, - And the stys that are drear." - - The orator boweth, - And unrolleth a scroll. - And such sentences floweth, - To the cheek by jowl: - - _To the greatest of Kings, - Whom Time in his fleetings - Hath gifted with wings, - From his people, with greetings:_ - - "We are weary of wine and of laughter, - We are weary of women and song! - Come back dear Brother October, - And bear us sober along!" - - Then the palace, to dome, - With merriment ringeth, - And, dashing the foam, - The revellers singeth: - - (_A Song_) - - Ah! the clink of our glasses - How they clink as we drink! - And memory passes, - Too pleasant to think. - - (_The Orator_) - - "Too much there is singing and dancing, - Sweet sorrow is scorned for her weeds. - Come back dear Brother October - And chant us thine anthem of deeds!" - - (_The Revellers_) - - Here's one to each other, - Another as deep, - And life is a brother, - Too pleasant to weep. - - (_The Orator_) - - (_While a dark cloud appeareth on the horizon_.) - - "Sweet thought is outclassed and outbidden, - Gay summer too high on her wings! - Come back dear Brother October - And chant us thy requiem of Kings!" - - (_Consternation among revellers. The King starteth - up, but Puck singeth_:) - - (_While the lightning flasheth_.) - - Here's one to our lasses, - How nimbly they dance! - And the bright of our glasses - Is the light of their glance. - - (_And the revellers_.) - - Here's one to the vintry, - How brightly he shines! - May never the wintry, - Drink deep of his wines. - - (_The Orator_) - - (_He rolleth his parchment and speaketh._) - - "'Tis young blood counts and moneyless brains! - And the heart and soul of devil-may-care - Is abroad in the land, with a fig for the pains, - To do and to dare! to do and to dare!" - - (_The Revellers._) - - (_While the storm rageth._) - - Ah! the clink of our glasses, - How they clink as we drink! - And memory passes. - Too pleasant to think. - - (_And the court adjourneth._) - - - - -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: - - - Text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _italics_. - - A page number error in the Table of Contents has been corrected. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected without note. - - Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from - the original. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Divine Adventures, by John Niendorff - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIVINE ADVENTURES *** - -***** This file should be named 41059-8.txt or 41059-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/0/5/41059/ - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, David E. 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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: Divine Adventures - A Book of Verse - -Author: John Niendorff - -Release Date: October 14, 2012 [EBook #41059] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIVINE ADVENTURES *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, David E. Brown and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41059 ***</div> <div class="figcenter"><img src="images/frontcover.jpg" alt="" /></div> @@ -760,7 +720,7 @@ Must prompt so sweet a lay. Forgotten duty,<br /> That bade her speed to regions somnolent,<br /> For balmy dreams, to nurse a languishment,<br /> That pales the boyish cheek of dimpled Cupid,<br /> -She speeds where all of beauty's minions groupéd,<br /> +She speeds where all of beauty's minions groupéd,<br /> Do feast their eyes upon the source of song.<br /> And after her still comes a charmed throng,<br /> From music's toils the slaves of loveliness.<br /> @@ -820,7 +780,7 @@ Unconscious of his lightness. Such a maiden<br /> That Morpheus eld historian of th' ideal<br /> Must write another canto. Softly steal,<br /> The fine emotions o'er his countenance,<br /> -As though a prism's unveiléd hues should dance,<br /> +As though a prism's unveiléd hues should dance,<br /> Upon a shy chamelion. Seeing this,<br /> The happy Iris mounts upon his bliss,<br /> With soothing words; "Thou seest the butterfly,<br /> @@ -1192,7 +1152,7 @@ I hear thee in the lovers' lilt,<br /> <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of amorous lips atilt.</span><br /> <br /> I hear thee in the dreamy serenade,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wakes the charméd ear of night,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wakes the charméd ear of night,</span><br /> And loosens in some farthest glade,<br /> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">A mocking bird to lyric flight.</span><br /> I see thee where the silence falls<br /> @@ -1700,7 +1660,7 @@ Footsteps onward pressing,<br /> <br /> Silver lakes, and cool savannahs,<br /> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mirrored in the blue clad hills,</span><br /> -Dream miragéd, dim oases<br /> +Dream miragéd, dim oases<br /> <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the spirit drinks and fills.</span><br /> <br /> Wanting not a dear companion,<br /> @@ -1922,7 +1882,7 @@ She waits forever thy returning beam.<br /> A golden dream of art's divinity<br /> And held bright Beauty's jeweled anadem;<br /> Of music breathing immortality<br /> -Till stonéd silence falls a carven gem.<br /> +Till stonéd silence falls a carven gem.<br /> And but a fragment! Ah! couldst thou have sated<br /> A bursting heart, what worlds had been created!</td></tr></table> @@ -2643,382 +2603,6 @@ And memory passes.<br /> <p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original.</span></p> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Divine Adventures, by John Niendorff - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIVINE ADVENTURES *** - -***** This file should be named 41059-h.htm or 41059-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/0/5/41059/ - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, David E. 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