diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/53053-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53053-0.txt | 2331 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 2331 deletions
diff --git a/old/53053-0.txt b/old/53053-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f9f3bf8..0000000 --- a/old/53053-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2331 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's By the Aurelian Wall and Other Elegies, by Bliss Carman - -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/license - - -Title: By the Aurelian Wall and Other Elegies - -Author: Bliss Carman - -Release Date: September 15, 2016 [EBook #53053] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY THE AURELIAN WALL *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from scanned images of public domain -material from the Google Books project.) - - - - - - - - - - - By the Aurelian Wall - - - - - By the Aurelian Wall - _And Other Elegies_ - - By BLISS CARMAN - - _Author of_ - Low Tide on Grand Pré, Behind the Arras, - Ballads of Lost Haven, &c. - - [Illustration: colophon] - - Lamson, Wolffe and Company - Boston, New York and London - MDCCCXCVIII - - Copyright, 1898, - By Lamson, Wolffe and Company. - - _All rights reserved._ - - _Norwood Press_ - _J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith_ - _Norwood Mass. U.S.A._ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - BY THE AURELIAN WALL, 9 - - THE WHITE GULL, 15 - - THE COUNTRY OF HAR, 32 - - TO RICHARD LOVELACE, 42 - - A SEAMARK, 44 - - THE WORD OF THE WATER, 57 - - PHILLIPS BROOKS, 59 - - JOHN ELIOT BOWEN, 64 - - HENRY GEORGE, 67 - - ILICET, 70 - - TO RAPHAEL, 76 - - TO P. V., 82 - - A NORSE CHILD’S REQUIEM, 87 - - IN THE HEART OF THE HILLS, 91 - - AN AFTERWORD, 96 - - SEVEN WIND SONGS, 102 - - ANDREW STRATON, 112 - - THE GRAVE-TREE, 127 - - - - - BY THE AURELIAN WALL - - _In Memory of John Keats_ - - - By the Aurelian Wall, - Where the long shadows of the centuries fall - From Caius Cestius’ tomb, - A weary mortal seeking rest found room - For quiet burial, - - Leaving among his friends - A book of lyrics. - Such untold amends - A traveller might make - In a strange country, bidden to partake - Before he farther wends; - - Who shyly should bestow - The foreign reed-flute they had seen him blow - And finger cunningly, - On one of the dark children standing by, - Then lift his cloak and go. - - The years pass. And the child - Thoughtful beyond his fellows, grave and mild, - Treasures the rough-made toy, - Until one day he blows it for clear joy, - And wakes the music wild. - - His fondness makes it seem - A thing first fashioned in delirious dream, - Some god had cut and tried, - And filled with yearning passion, and cast aside - On some far woodland stream,-- - - After long years to be - Found by the stranger and brought over sea, - A marvel and delight - To ease the noon and pierce the dark blue night, - For children such as he. - - He learns the silver strain - Wherewith the ghostly houses of gray rain - And lonely valleys ring, - When the untroubled whitethroats make the spring - A world without a stain; - - Then on his river reed, - With strange and unsuspected notes that plead - Of their own wild accord - For utterances no bird’s throat could afford, - Lifts it to human need. - - His comrades leave their play, - When calling and compelling far away - By river-slope and hill, - He pipes their wayward footsteps where he will, - All the long lovely day. - - Even his elders come. - “Surely the child is elvish,” murmur some, - And shake the knowing head; - “Give us the good old simple things instead, - Our fathers used to hum.” - - Others at the open door - Smile when they hear what they have hearkened for - These many summers now, - Believing they should live to learn somehow - Things never known before. - - But he can only tell - How the flute’s whisper lures him with a spell, - Yet always just eludes - The lost perfection over which he broods; - And how he loves it well. - - Till all the country-side, - Familiar with his piping far and wide, - Has taken for its own - That weird enchantment down the evening blown,-- - Its glory and its pride. - - And so his splendid name, - Who left the book of lyrics and small fame - Among his fellows then, - Spreads through the world like autumn--who knows when?-- - Till all the hillsides flame. - - Grand Pré and Margaree - Hear it upbruited from the unresting sea; - And the small Gaspareau, - Whose yellow leaves repeat it, seems to know - A new felicity. - - Even the shadows tall, - Walking at sundown through the plain, recall - A mound the grasses keep, - Where once a mortal came and found long sleep - By the Aurelian Wall. - - - - - THE WHITE GULL - - _For the Centenary of the Birth of Shelley_ - - - I - - Up by the idling reef-set bell - The tide comes in; - And to the idle heart to-day - The wind has many things to say; - The sea has many a tale to tell - His younger kin. - - For we are his, bone of his bone, - Breath of his breath; - The doom tides sway us at their will; - The sky of being rounds us still; - And over us at last is blown - The wind of death. - - - II - - A hundred years ago to-day - There came a soul, - A pilgrim of the perilous light, - Treading the spheral paths of night, - On whom the word and vision lay - With dread control. - - Now the pale Summer lingers near, - And talks to me - Of all her wayward journeyings, - And the old, sweet, forgotten things - She loved and lost and dreamed of here - By the blue sea. - - The great cloud-navies, one by one, - Bend sails and fill - From ports below the round sea-verge; - I watch them gather and emerge, - And steer for havens of the sun - Beyond the hill. - - The gray sea-horses troop and roam; - The shadows fly - Along the wind-floor at their heels; - And where the golden daylight wheels, - A white gull searches the blue dome - With keening cry. - - And something, Shelley, like thy fame - Dares the wide morn - In that sea-rover’s glimmering flight, - As if the Northland and the night - Should hear thy splendid valiant name - Put scorn to scorn. - - - III - - Thou heart of all the hearts of men, - Tameless and free, - And vague as that marsh-wandering fire, - Leading the world’s outworn desire - A night march down this ghostly fen - From sea to sea! - - Through this divided camp of dream - Thy feet have passed, - As one who should set hand to rouse - His comrades from their heavy drowse; - For only their own deeds redeem - God’s sons at last. - - But the dim world will dream and sleep - Beneath thy hand, - As poppies in the windy morn, - Or valleys where the standing corn - Whispers when One goes forth to reap - The weary land. - - O captain of the rebel host, - Lead forth and far! - Thy toiling troopers of the night - Press on the unavailing fight; - The sombre field is not yet lost, - With thee for star. - - Thy lips have set the hail and haste - Of clarions free - To bugle down the wintry verge - Of time forever, where the surge - Thunders and crumbles on a waste - And open sea. - - - IV - - Did the cold Norns who pattern life - With haste and rest - Take thought to cheer their pilgrims on - Through trackless twilights vast and wan, - Across the failure and the strife, - From quest to quest,-- - - Set their last kiss upon thy face, - And let thee go - To tell the haunted whisperings - Of unimaginable things, - Which plague thy fellows with a trace - They cannot know? - - So they might fashion and send forth - Their house of doom, - Through the pale splendor of the night, - In vibrant, hurled, impetuous flight, - A resonant meteor of the North - From gloom to gloom. - - - V - - I think thou must have wandered far - With Spring for guide, - And heard the shy-born forest flowers - Talk to the wind among the showers, - Through sudden doorways left ajar - When the wind sighed; - - Thou must have heard the marching sweep - Of blown white rain - Go volleying up the icy kills,-- - And watched with Summer when the hills - Muttered of freedom in their sleep - And slept again. - - Surely thou wert a lonely one, - Gentle and wild; - And the round sun delayed for thee - In the red moorlands by the sea, - When Tyrian Autumn lured thee on, - A wistful child, - - To rove the tranquil, vacant year, - From dale to dale; - And the great Mother took thy face - Between her hands for one long gaze, - And bade thee follow without fear - The endless trail. - - And thy clear spirit, half forlorn, - Seeking its own, - Dwelt with the nomad tents of rain, - Marched with the gold-red ranks of grain, - Or ranged the frontiers of the morn, - And was alone. - - - VI - - One brief perturbed and glorious day! - How couldst thou learn - The quiet of the forest sun, - Where the dark, whispering rivers run - The journey that hath no delay - And no return? - - And yet within thee flamed and sang - The dauntless heart, - Knowing all passion and the pain - On man’s imperious disdain, - Since God’s great part in thee gave pang - To earth’s frail part. - - It held the voices of the hills - Deep in its core; - The wandering shadows of the sea - Called to it,--would not let it be; - The harvest of those barren rills - Was in its store. - - Thine was a love that strives and calls - Outcast from home, - Burning to free the soul of man - With some new life. How strange, a ban - Should set thy sleep beneath the walls - Of changeless Rome! - - - VII - - More soft, I deem, from spring to spring, - Thy sleep would be - Where this far western headland lies - With its imperial azure skies, - Under thee hearing beat and swing - The eternal sea. - - Where all the livelong brooding day - And all night long, - The far sea-journeying wind should come - Down to the doorway of thy home, - To lure thee ever the old way - With the old song. - - But the dim forest would so house - Thy heart so dear, - Even the low surf of the rain, - Where ghostly centuries complain, - Might beat against thy door and rouse - No heartache here. - - For here the thrushes, calm, supreme, - Forever reign, - Whose gloriously kingly golden throats - Regather their forgotten notes - In keys where lurk no ruin of dream, - No tinge of pain. - - And here the ruthless noisy sea, - With the tide’s will, - The strong gray wrestler, should in vain - Put forth his hand on thee again-- - Lift up his voice and call to thee, - And thou be still. - - For thou hast overcome at last; - And fate and fear - And strife and rumor now no more - Vex thee by any wind-vexed shore, - Down the strewn ways thy feet have passed - Far, far from here. - - - VIII - - Up by the idling, idling bell - The tide comes in; - And to the restless heart to-day - The wind has many things to say; - The sea has many a tale to tell - His younger kin. - - The gray sea-horses troop and roam; - The shadows fly - Along the wind-floor at their heels; - And where the golden daylight wheels, - A white gull searches the blue dome - With keening cry. - - - - - THE COUNTRY OF HAR - - _For the Centenary of Blake’s “Songs of Innocence”_ - - - Once a hundred years ago - There was a light in London town, - For an angel of the snow - Walked her street sides up and down. - - As a visionary boy - He put forth his hand to smite - Songs of innocence and joy - From the crying chords of night, - Like a muttering of thunder - Heard beneath the polar star; - For his soul was all a-wonder - At the calling vales of Har. - - He, a traveller by day - And a pilgrim of the sun, - Took his uncompanioned way - Where the journey is not done. - - Where no mortal might aspire - His clear heart was set to climb, - To the uplands of desire - And the river wells of time. - - Home he wandered to the valley - Where the springs of morning are, - And the sea-bright cohorts rally - On the twilit plains of Har. - - There he found the Book of Thel - In the lily-garth of bliss, - Fashioned, how no man can tell, - As a white windflower is: - - Like the lulling of a sigh - Uttered in the trembling grass, - When a shower is gone by, - And the sweeping shadows pass,-- - - Through the hyacinthine weather, - Wheel them down without a jar,-- - Heaving all the dappled heather - In the streaming vales of Har. - - There was manna in the rain; - And above the rills, a voice: - “Son of mine, dost thou complain? - I will make thee to rejoice. - - “Thou shalt be a child to men, - With confusion on thy speech; - And the worlds within thy ken - Shall not lie within thy reach. - - “But the rainbirds shall discover, - And the daffodils unbar, - Quiet waters for their lover - On the shining plains of Har. - - “April rain and iron frost - Shall make flowers to thy hand; - Every field thy feet have crossed - Shall revive from death’s command. - - “Hunting with a leash of wind - Through the corners of the earth, - Take the hounds of Spring to find - The forgotten trails of mirth; - - “For the lone child-heart is dying - Of a love no time can mar, - Hearing not a voice replying - From the gladder vales of Har. - - “Flame thy heart forth! Yet, no haste: - Have not I prepared for thee - The king’s chambers of the East - And the wind halls of the sea? - - “Be a gospeller of things - Nowhere written through the wild, - With that gloaming call of Spring’s, - When old secrets haunt the child. - - “Let the bugler of my going - Wake no clarion of war; - For the paper reeds are blowing - On the river plains of Har.” - - Centuries of soiled renown - To the roaring dark have gone: - There is woe in London town, - And a crying for the dawn. - - April frost and iron rain - Ripen the dead fruit of lust, - And the sons of God remain - The dream children of the dust, - - For their heart hath in derision, - And their jeers have mocked afar, - The delirium of vision - From the holy vales of Har. - - Once in Autumn came a dream; - The white Herald of the North, - Faring West to ford my stream, - Passed my lodge and bade me forth; - - Glad I rose and went with him, - With my shoulder in his hand; - The auroral world grew dim, - And the idle harvest land. - - Then I saw the warder lifting - From its berg the Northern bar, - And eternal snows were drifting - On the wind-bleak plains of Har. - - “Listen humbly,” said my guide. - “I am drear, for I am death,” - Whispered Snow; but Wind replied, - “I outlive thee by a breath, - - I am Time.” And then I heard, - Dearer than all wells of dew, - One gray golden-shafted bird - Hail the uplands; so I knew - - Spring, the angel of our sorrow, - Tarrying so seeming far, - Should return with some long morrow - In the calling vales of Har. - - - - - TO RICHARD LOVELACE - - - Ah, Lovelace, what desires have sway - In the white shadow of your heart, - Which no more measures day by day, - Nor sets the years apart? - - How many seasons for your sake - Have taught men over, age by age, - “Stone walls do not a prison make, - Nor iron bars a cage!”-- - - Since that first April when you fared - Into the Gatehouse, well content, - Caring for nothing so you cared - For honor and for Kent. - - How many, since the April rain - Beat drear and blossomless and hoar - Through London, when you left Shoe Lane, - A-marching to no war! - - Till now, with April on the sea, - And sunshine in the woven year, - The rain-winds loose from reverie - A lyric and a cheer. - - - - - A SEAMARK - - _A Threnody for Robert Louis Stevenson_ - - - Cold, the dull cold! What ails the sun, - And takes the heart out of the day? - What makes the morning look so mean, - The Common so forlorn and gray? - - The wintry city’s granite heart - Beats on in iron mockery, - And like the roaming mountain rains, - I hear the thresh of feet go by. - - It is the lonely human surf - Surging through alleys chill with grime, - The muttering churning ceaseless floe - Adrift out of the North of time. - - Fades, it all fades! I only see - The poster with its reds and blues - Bidding the heart stand still to take - Its desolating stab of news. - - That intimate and magic name: - “Dead in Samoa.” ... Cry your cries, - O city of the golden dome, - Under the gray Atlantic skies! - - But I have wander-biddings now. - Far down the latitudes of sun, - An island mountain of the sea, - Piercing the green and rosy zone, - - Goes up into the wondrous day. - And there the brown-limbed island men - Are bearing up for burial, - Within the sun’s departing ken, - - The master of the roving kind. - And there where time will set no mark - For his irrevocable rest, - Under the spacious melting dark, - - With all the nomad tented stars - About him, they have laid him down - Above the crumbling of the sea, - Beyond the turmoil of renown. - - O all you hearts about the world - In whom the truant gipsy blood, - Under the frost of this pale time, - Sleeps like the daring sap and flood - - That dream of April and reprieve! - You whom the haunted vision drives, - Incredulous of home and ease, - Perfection’s lovers all your lives! - - You whom the wander-spirit loves - To lead by some forgotten clue - Forever vanishing beyond - Horizon brinks forever new; - - The road, unmarked, ordained, whereby - Your brothers of the field and air - Before you, faithful, blind and glad, - Emerged from chaos pair by pair; - - The road whereby you too must come, - In the unvexed and fabled years - Into the country of your dream, - With all your knowledge in arrears! - - You, who can never quite forget - Your glimpse of Beauty as she passed, - The well-head where her knee was pressed, - The dew wherein her foot was cast; - - O you who bid the paint and clay - Be glorious when you are dead, - And fit the plangent words in rhyme - Where the dark secret lurks unsaid; - - You brethren of the light-heart guild, - The mystic fellowcraft of joy, - Who tarry for the news of truth, - And listen for some vast ahoy - - Blown in from sea, who crowd the wharves - With eager eyes that wait the ship - Whose foreign tongue may fill the world - With wondrous tales from lip to lip; - - Our restless loved adventurer, - On secret orders come to him, - Has slipped his cable, cleared the reef, - And melted on the white sea-rim. - - O granite hills, go down in blue! - And like green clouds in opal calms, - You anchored islands of the main, - Float up your loom of feathery palms! - - For deep within your dales, where lies - A valiant earthling stark and dumb, - This savage undiscerning heart - Is with the silent chiefs who come - - To mourn their kin and bear him gifts,-- - Who kiss his hand, and take their place, - This last night he receives his friends, - The journey-wonder on his face. - - He “was not born for age.” Ah no, - For everlasting youth is his! - Part of the lyric of the earth - With spring and leaf and blade he is. - - ’Twill nevermore be April now - But there will lurk a thought of him - At the street corners, gay with flowers - From rainy valleys purple-dim. - - O chiefs, you do not mourn alone! - In that stern North where mystery broods, - Our mother grief has many sons - Bred in those iron solitudes. - - It does not help them, to have laid - Their coil of lightning under seas; - They are as impotent as you - To mend the loosened wrists and knees. - - And yet how many a harvest night, - When the great luminous meteors flare - Along the trenches of the dusk, - The men who dwell beneath the Bear, - - Seeing those vagrants of the sky - Float through the deep beyond their hark, - Like Arabs through the wastes of air,-- - A flash, a dream, from dark to dark,-- - - Must feel the solemn large surmise: - By a dim vast and perilous way - We sweep through undetermined time, - Illumining this quench of clay, - - A moment staunched, then forth again. - Ah, not alone you climb the steep - To set your loving burden down - Against the mighty knees of sleep. - - With you we hold the sombre faith - Where creeds are sown like rain at sea; - And leave the loveliest child of earth - To slumber where he longed to be. - - His fathers lit the dangerous coast - To steer the daring merchant home; - His courage lights the dark’ning port - Where every sea-worn sail must come. - - And since he was the type of all - That strain in us which still must fare, - The fleeting migrant of a day, - Heart-high, outbound for otherwhere, - - Now therefore, where the passing ships - Hang on the edges of the noon, - And Northern liners trail their smoke - Across the rising yellow moon, - - Bound for his home, with shuddering screw - That beats its strength out into speed, - Until the pacing watch descries - On the sea-line a scarlet seed - - Smolder and kindle and set fire - To the dark selvedge of the night, - The deep blue tapestry of stars, - Then sheet the dome in pearly light, - - There in perpetual tides of day, - Where men may praise him and deplore, - The place of his lone grave shall be - A seamark set forevermore, - - High on a peak adrift with mist, - And round whose bases, far beneath - The snow-white wheeling tropic birds, - The emerald dragon breaks his teeth. - - - - - THE WORD OF THE WATER - - _For the Unveiling of the Stevenson Fountain in San Francisco_ - - - God made me simple from the first, - And good to quench your body’s thirst. - Think you he has no ministers - To glad that wayworn soul of yours? - - Here by the thronging Golden Gate - For thousands and for you I wait, - Seeing adventurous sails unfurled - For the four corners of the world. - - Here passed one day, nor came again, - A prince among the tribes of men. - (For man, like me, is from his birth - A vagabond upon this earth.) - - Be thankful, friend, as you pass on, - And pray for Louis Stevenson, - That by whatever trail he fare - He be refreshed in God’s great care! - - - - - PHILLIPS BROOKS - - - This is the white winter day of his burial. - Time has set here of his toiling the span - Earthward, naught else. Cheer him out through the portal, - Heart-beat of Boston, our utmost in man! - - Out in the broad open sun be his funeral, - Under the blue for the city to see. - Over the grieving crowd mourn for him, bugle! - Churches are narrow to hold such as he. - - Here on the steps of the temple he builded, - Rest him a space, while the great city square - Throngs with his people, his thousands, his mourners; - Tears for his peace and a multitude’s prayer. - - How comes it, think you, the town’s traffic pauses - Thus at high noon? Can we wealthmongers grieve? - Here in the sad surprise greatest America - Shows for a moment her heart on her sleeve. - - She who is said to give life-blood for silver, - Proves, without show, she sets higher than gold - Just the straight manhood, clean, gentle, and fearless, - Made in God’s likeness once more as of old. - - Once more the crude makeshift law overproven,-- - Soul pent from sin will seek God in despite; - Once more the gladder way wins revelation,-- - Soul bent on God forgets evil outright. - - Once more the seraph voice sounding to beauty, - Once more the trumpet tongue bidding, no fear! - Once more the new, purer plan’s vindication,-- - Man be God’s forecast, and Heaven is here. - - Bear him to burial, Harvard, thy hero! - Not on thy shoulders alone is he borne; - They of the burden go forth on the morrow, - Heavy and slow, through a world left forlorn. - - No grief for him, for ourselves the lamenting; - What giant arm to stay courage up now? - March we a thousand file up to the City, - Fellow with fellow linked, he taught us how! - - Never dismayed at the dark nor the distance! - Never deployed for the steep nor the storm! - Hear him say, “Hold fast, the night wears to morning! - This God of promise is God to perform.” - - Up with thee, heart of fear, high as the heaven! - Thou hast known one wore this life without stain. - What if for thee and me,--street, Yard, or Common,-- - Such a white captain appear not again! - - Fight on alone! Let the faltering spirit - Within thee recall how he carried a host, - Rearward and van, as Wind shoulders a dust-heap; - One Way till strife be done, strive each his most. - - Take the last vesture of beauty upon thee, - Thou doubting world; and with not an eye dim - Say, when they ask if thou knowest a Saviour, - “Brooks was His brother, and we have known him.” - - - - - JOHN ELIOT BOWEN - - - Here at the desk where once you sat, - Who wander now with poets dead - And summers gone, afield so far, - There sits a stranger in your stead. - - Here day by day men come who knew - Your steadfast ways and loved you well; - And every comer with regret - Has some new thing of praise to tell. - - The poet old, whose lyric heart - Is fresh as dew and bright as flame, - Longs for “his boy,” and finds you not, - And goes the wistful way he came. - - Here where you toiled without reproach, - Builded and loved and dreamed and planned, - At every door, on every page, - Lurks the tradition of your hand. - - And if to you, like reverie, - There comes a thought of how they fare - Whose footsteps go the round you went - Of noisy street and narrow stair, - - Know they have learned a new desire, - Which puts unfaith and faltering by; - And triumph fills their dream because - One life was leal, one hope was high. - - - - - HENRY GEORGE - - - We are only common people, - And he was a man like us. - But he loved his fellows before himself; - And he died for me and you, - To redeem the world anew - From cruelty and greed-- - For love the only creed, - For honor the only law. - - There once was a man of the people, - A man like you and me, - Who worked for his daily bread, - And he loved his fellows before himself. - But he died at the hands of the throng - To redeem the world from wrong, - And we call him the Son of God, - Because of the love he had. - - And there was a man of the people, - Who sat in the people’s chair, - And bade the slaves go free; - For he loved his fellows before himself. - They took his life; but his word - They could not take. It was heard - Over the beautiful earth, - A thunder and whisper of love. - - And there is no other way, - Since man of woman was born, - Than the way of the rebels and saints, - With loving and labor vast, - To redeem the world at last - From cruelty and greed; - For love is the only creed, - And honor the only law. - - - - - ILICET - - - Friends, let him rest - In midnight now. - Desire has gone - On the weary quest - With aching brow; - Until the dawn, - Friends, let him rest. - - With a boy’s desire - He set the cup - To his lips to drink; - The ruddy fire - Was lifted up - At day’s cool brink, - With a boy’s desire. - - The heart of a boy! - He tasted life, - And the bitter sting - Of sorrow in joy, - Failure in strife, - Was pain to wring - The heart of a boy. - - In a childish whim, - He spilled the wine - Upon the floor,-- - In beads on the brim - Was a glitter of brine,-- - Then, out at the door - In a childish whim! - - Out of the storm, - In the flickering light, - A broken glass - Lies on our warm - Hearthstone to-night, - While shadows pass - Out of the storm. - - Friends, let him rest - In midnight now. - Desire has gone - On the weary quest - With aching brow: - Until the dawn, - Friends, let him rest. - - In sorrow and shame - For the craven heart, - In manhood’s breast - With valor’s name, - Let him depart - Unto his rest - In sorrow and shame. - - In after years - God, who bestows - Or withholds the valor, - Shall wipe all tears-- - Haply, who knows?-- - From his face’s pallor - In after years. - - He could not learn - To fight with his peers - In sturdier fashion; - Let him return - Through the night with tears, - Stung with the passion - He could not learn. - - All-bountiful, calm, - Where the great stars burn, - And the spring bloom smothers - The night with balm, - Let him return - To the silent Mother’s - All-bountiful calm. - - Friends, let him rest - In midnight now. - Desire has gone - On the weary quest - With aching brow: - Until the dawn, - Friends, let him rest. - - - - - TO RAPHAEL - - - Master of adored Madonnas, - What is this men say of thee? - Thou wert something less than honor’s - Most exact epitome? - - Yes, they say you loved too many, - Loved too often, loved too well. - Just as if there could be any - Over-loving, Raphael! - - Was it, “Sir, and how came this tress, - Long and raven? Mine are gold!” - You should have made Art your mistress, - Lived an anchorite and old! - - Ah, no doubt these dear good people - On familiar terms with God, - Could devise a parish steeple - Built to heaven without a hod. - - You and Solomon and Cæsar - Were three fellows of a kind; - Not a woman but to please her - You would leave your soul behind. - - Those dead women with their beauty, - How they must have loved you well,-- - Dared to make desire a duty, - With the heretics in hell! - - And your brother, that Catullus, - What a plight he must be in, - If those silver songs that lull us - Were result of mortal sin! - - If the artist were ungodly, - Prurient of mind and heart, - I must think they argue oddly - Who make shrines before his art. - - Not the meanest aspiration - Ever sprung from soul depraved - Into art, but art’s elation - Was the sanctity it craved. - - Oh, no doubt you had your troubles, - Devils blue that blanched your hope. - I dare say your fancy’s bubbles, - Breaking, had a taste of soap. - - Did your lady-loves undo you - In some mediæval way? - Ah, my Raphael, here’s to you! - It is much the same to-day. - - Did their tantalizing laughter - Make your wisdom overbold? - Were you fire at first; and after, - Did their kisses leave you cold? - - Did some fine perfidious Nancy, - With the roses in her hair, - Play the marsh-fire to your fancy - Over quagmires of despair? - - My poor boy, were there more flowers - In your Florence and your Rome, - Wasting through the gorgeous hours, - Than your two hands could bring home? - - Be content; you have your glory; - Life was full and sleep is well. - What the end is of the story, - There’s no paragraph to tell. - - - - - TO P. V. - - - So they would raise your monument, - Old vagabond of lovely earth? - Another answer without words - To Humdrum’s, “What are poets worth?” - - Not much we gave you when alive, - Whom now we lavishly deplore,-- - A little bread, a little wine, - A little caporal--no more. - - Here in our lodging of a day - You roistered till we were appalled; - Departing, in your room we found - A string of golden verses scrawled. - - The princely manor-house of art, - A vagrant artist entertains; - And when he gets him to the road, - Behold, a princely gift remains. - - Abashed, we set your name above - The purse-full patrons of our board; - Remind newcomers with a nudge, - “Verlaine took once what we afford!” - - The gardens of the Luxembourg, - Spreading beneath the brilliant sun, - Shall be your haunt of leisure now - When all your wander years are done. - - There you shall stand, the very mien - You wore in Paris streets of old, - And ponder what a thing is life, - Or watch the chestnut blooms unfold. - - There you will find, I dare surmise, - Another tolerance than ours, - The loving-kindness of the grass, - The tender patience of the flowers. - - And every year, when May returns - To bring the golden age again, - And hope comes back with poetry - In your loved land across the Seine, - - Some youth will come with foreign speech, - Bearing his dream from over sea, - A lover of your flawless craft, - Apprenticed to your poverty. - - He will be mute before you there, - And mark those lineaments which tell - What stormy unrelenting fate - Had one who served his art so well. - - And there be yours, the livelong day, - Beyond the mordant reach of pain, - The little gospel of the leaves, - The _Nunc dimittis_ of the rain! - - - - - A NORSE CHILD’S REQUIEM - - - Sleep soundly, little Thorlak, - Where all thy peers have lain, - A hero of no battle, - A saint without a stain! - - Thy courage be upon thee, - Unblemished by regret, - For that adventure whither - Thy tiny march was set. - - The sunshine be above thee, - With birds and winds and trees. - Thy way-fellows inherit - No better things than these. - - And silence be about thee, - Turned back from this our war - To front alone the valley - Of night without a star. - - The soul of love and valor, - Indifferent to fame, - Be with thee, heart of vikings, - Beyond the breath of blame. - - Thy moiety of manhood - Unspent and fair, go down, - And, unabashed, encounter - Thy brothers of renown. - - So modest in thy freehold - And tenure of the earth, - Thy needs, for all our meddling, - Are few and little worth. - - Content thee, not with pity; - Be solaced, not with tears; - But when the whitethroats waken - Through the revolving years, - - Hereafter be that peerless - And dirging cadence, child, - Thy threnody unsullied, - Melodious, and wild. - - Then winter be thy housing, - Thy lullaby the rain, - Thou hero of no battle, - Thou saint without a stain. - - - - - IN THE HEART OF THE HILLS - - - In the warm blue heart of the hills - My beautiful, beautiful one - Sleeps where he laid him down - Before the journey was done. - - All the long summer day - The ghosts of noon draw nigh, - And the tremulous aspens hear - The footing of winds go by. - - Down to the gates of the sea, - Out of the gates of the west, - Journeys the whispering river - Before the place of his rest. - - The road he loved to follow - When June came by his door, - Out through the dim blue haze - Leads, but allures no more. - - The trailing shadows of clouds - Steal from the slopes and are gone; - The myriad life in the grass - Stirs, but he slumbers on; - - The inland wandering tern - Skreel as they forage and fly; - His loons on the lonely reach - Utter their querulous cry; - - Over the floating lilies - A dragon-fly tacks and steers; - Far in the depth of the blue - A martin settles and veers; - - To every roadside thistle - A gold-brown butterfly clings; - But he no more companions - All the dear vagrant things. - - The strong red journeying sun, - The pale and wandering rain, - Will roam on the hills forever - And find him never again. - - Then twilight falls with the touch - Of a hand that soothes and stills, - And a swamp-robin sings into light - The lone white star of the hills. - - Alone in the dusk he sings, - And a burden of sorrow and wrong - Is lifted up from the earth - And carried away in his song. - - Alone in the dusk he sings, - And the joy of another day - Is folded in peace and borne - On the drift of years away. - - But there in the heart of the hills - My beautiful weary one - Sleeps where he laid him down; - And the large sweet night is begun. - - - - - AN AFTERWORD - - _To G. B. R._ - - - Brother, the world above you - Is very fair to-day, - And all things seem to love you - The old accustomed way. - - Here in the heavenly weather - In June’s white arms you sleep, - Where once on the hills together - Your haunts you used to keep. - - The idling sun that lazes - Along the open field - And gossips to the daisies - Of secrets unrevealed; - - The wind that stirs the grasses - A moment, and then stills - Their trouble as he passes - Up to the darkling hills,-- - - And to the breezy clover - Has many things to say - Of that unwearied rover - Who once went by this way; - - The miles of elm-treed meadows; - The clouds that voyage on, - Streeling their noiseless shadows - From countries of the sun; - - The tranquil river reaches - And the pale stars of dawn; - The thrushes in their beeches - For reverie withdrawn; - - With all your forest fellows - In whom the blind heart calls, - For whom the green leaf yellows, - On whom the red leaf falls; - - The dumb and tiny creatures - Of flower and blade and sod, - That dimly wear the features - And attributes of God; - - The airy migrant comers - On gauzy wings of fire, - Those wanderers and roamers - Of indefinite desire; - - The rainbirds and all dwellers - In solitude and peace, - Those lingerers and foretellers - Of infinite release; - - Yea, all the dear things living - That rove or bask or swim, - Remembering and misgiving, - Have felt the day grow dim. - - Even the glad things growing, - Blossom and fruit and stem, - Are poorer for your going - Because you were of them. - - Yet since you loved to cherish - Their pleading beauty here, - Your heart shall not quite perish - In all the golden year; - - But God’s great dream above them - Must be a tinge less pale, - Because you lived to love them - And make their joy prevail. - - - - - SEVEN WIND SONGS - - - _Now these are the seven wind songs - For Andrew Straton’s death, - Blown through the reeds of the river, - A sigh of the world’s last breath,_ - - _Where the flickering red auroras - Out on the dark sweet hills - Follow all night through the forest - The cry of the whip-poor-wills._ - - _For the meanings of life are many, - But the purpose of love is one, - Journeying, tarrying, lonely - As the sea wind or the sun._ - - - I - - Wind of the Northern land, - Wind of the sea, - No more his dearest hand - Comes back to me. - - Wind of the Northern gloom, - Wind of the sea, - Wandering waifs of doom - Feckless are we. - - Wind of the Northern land, - Wind of the sea, - I cannot understand - How these things be. - - - II - - Wind of the low red morn - At the world’s end, - Over the standing corn - Whisper and bend. - - Then through the low red morn - At the world’s end, - Far out from sorrow’s bourne, - Down glory’s trend, - - Tell the last years forlorn - At the world’s end, - Of my one peerless born - Comrade and friend. - - - III - - Wind of the April stars, - Wind of the dawn, - Whether God nears or fars, - He lived and shone. - - Wind of the April night, - Wind of the dawn, - No more my heart’s delight - Bugles me on. - - Wind of the April rain, - Wind of the dawn, - Lull the old world from pain - Till pain be gone. - - - IV - - Wind of the summer noon, - Wind of the hills, - Gently the hand of June - Stays thee and stills. - - Far off, untouched by tears, - Raptures or ills, - Sleeps he a thousand years - Out on the hills. - - Wind of the summer noon, - Wind of the hills, - Is the land fair and boon - Whither he wills? - - - V - - Wind of the gulfs of night, - Wind of the sea, - Where the pale streamers light - My world for me,-- - - Breath of the wintry Norns, - Frost-touch or sleep,-- - He whom my spirit mourns - Deep beyond deep - - To the last void and dim - Where ages stream-- - Is there no room for him - In all this dream? - - - VI - - Wind of the outer waste, - Threne of the outer world, - Leash of the stars unlaced, - Morning unfurled, - - Somewhere at God’s great need, - I know not how, - With the old strength and speed - He is come now; - - Therefore my soul is glad - With the old pride, - Tho’ this small life is sad - Here in my side. - - - VII - - Wind of the driven snow, - Wind of the sea, - On a long trail and slow - Farers are we. - - Wind of the Northern gloom, - Wind of the sea, - Shall I one day resume - His love for me? - - Wind of the driven snow, - Wind of the sea, - Then shall thy vagrant know - How these things be. - - _These are the seven wind songs - For Andrew Straton’s rest, - From the hills of the Scarlet Hunter - And the trail of the endless quest._ - - _The wells of the sunrise harken, - They wait for a year and a day: - Only the calm sure thrushes - Fluting the world away!_ - - _For the husk of life is sorrow; - But the kernels of joy remain, - Teeming and blind and eternal - As the hill wind or the rain._ - - - - - ANDREW STRATON - - - Andrew Straton was my friend, - With his Saxon eyes and hair, - And his loyal viking spirit, - Like an islesman of the North - With his earldom on the sea. - - At his birth the mighty Mother - Made of him a fondling one, - Hushed from pain within her arms, - With her seal upon his lips; - - And from that day he was numbered - With the sons of consolation, - Peace and cheer were in his hands, - And her secret in his will. - - Now the night has Andrew Straton - Housed from wind and storm forever - In a chamber of the gloom - Where no window fronts the morning, - Lulled to rest at last from roving - To the music of the rain. - - And his sleep is in the far-off - Alien villages of the dusk, - Where there is no voice of welcome - To the country of the strangers, - Save the murmur of the pines. - - And the fitful winds all day - Through the grass with restless footfalls - Haunt about his narrow door, - Muttering their vast unknown - Border balladry of time, - To the hoarse rote of the sea. - - There he reassumes repose, - He who never learned unrest - Here amid our fury of toil, - Undisturbed though all about him - To the cohorts of the night - Sound the bugles of the spring; - And his slumber is not broken - When along the granite hills - Flare the torches of the dawn. - - More to me than kith or kin - Was the silence of his speech; - And the quiet of his eyes, - Gathered from the lonely sweep - Of the hyacinthine hills, - Better to the failing spirit - Than a river land in June: - And to look for him at evening - Was more joy than many friends. - - As the woodland brooks at noon - Were his brown and gentle hands, - And his face as the hill country - Touched with the red autumn sun - - Frank and patient and untroubled - Save by the old trace of doom - In the story of the world. - So the years went brightening by. - - Now a lyric wind and weather - Breaks the leaguer of the frost, - And the shining rough month March - Crumbles into sun and rain; - But the glad and murmurous year - Wheels above his rest and wakens - Not a dream for Andrew Straton. - - Now the uplands hold an echo - From the meadow lands at morn; - And the marshes hear the rivers - Rouse their giant heart once more,-- - - Hear the crunching floe start seaward - From a thousand valley floors; - While far on amid the hills - Under stars in the clear night, - The replying, the replying, - Of the ice-cold rivulets - Plashing down the solemn gorges - In their arrowy blue speed, - Fills and frets the crisp blue twilight - With innumerable sound,-- - With the whisper of the spring. - - But the melting fields are empty, - Something ails the bursting year. - - Ah, now helpless, O my rivers, - Are your lifted voices now! - Where is all the sweet compassion - Once your murmur held for me? - Cradled in your dells, I listened - To your crooning, learned your language, - Born your brother and your kin. - - When I had the morn for revel, - You made music at my door; - Now the days go darkling on, - And I cannot guess your words. - Shall young joy have troops of neighbors, - While this grief must house alone? - - O my brothers of the hills, - Who abide through stress and change, - On the borders of our sorrow, - With no part in human tears, - Lift me up your voice again - And put by this grievous thing! - - Ah, my rivers, Andrew Straton - Leaves me here a vacant world! - - I must hear the roar of cities - And the jargon of the schools, - With no word of that one spirit - Who was steadfast as the sun - And kept silence with the stars. - I must sit and hear the babble - Of the worldling and the fool, - Prating know-alls and reformers - Busy to improve on man, - With their chatter about God; - Nowhere, nowhere the blue eyes, - With their swift and grave regard, - Falling on me with God’s look. - - I have seen and known and loved - One who was too sure for sorrow, - Too serenely wise for haste, - Too compassionate for scorn, - Fearless man and faultless comrade, - One great heart whose beat was love. - - In a thousand thousand hollows - Of the hills to-day there twinkle - Icy-blue handbreadths of April, - Where the sinking snows decay - In the everlasting sun; - And a thousand tiny creatures - Stretch their heart to fill the world. - - Now along the wondrous trail - Andrew Straton loved to follow - Day by day and year on year, - The awaited sure return - Of all sleeping forest things - Is reheralded abroad, - Till the places of their journey,-- - Wells the frost no longer hushes, - Ways no drift can bury now, - Wood and stream and road and hillside,-- - Hail their coming as of old. - - But my beautiful lost comrade - Of the golden heart, whose life - Rang through April like a voice - Through some Norland saga, crying - _Skoal_ to death, comes not again; - Time shall not revive that presence - More desired than all the flowers, - Longer wished for than the birds. - - April comes, but April’s lover - Is departed and not here. - - Sojourning beyond the frost, - He delays; and now no more,-- - Though the goldenwings are come - With their resonant tattoo, - And along the barrier pines - Morning reddens on the hills - Where the thrushes wake before it,-- - No more to the summoning flutes - Of the forest Andrew Straton - Gets him forth afoot, light-hearted, - On the unfrequented ways - With companionable Spring. - - Only the old dreams return. - So I shape me here this fancy, - Foolish me! of Andrew Straton; - How the lands of that new kindred - Have detained him with allegiance, - And some far day I shall find him, - There as here my only captain, - Master of the utmost isles - In the ampler straits of sea. - - Out of the blue melting distance - Of the dreamy southward range - Journey back the vagrant winds, - Sure and indolent as time; - And the trembling wakened wood-flowers - Lift their gentle tiny faces - To the sunlight; and the rainbirds - From the lonely cedar barrens - Utter their far pleading cry. - - Up across the swales and burnt lands - Where the soft gray tinges purple, - Mouldering into scarlet mist, - Comes the sound as of a marching, - The low murmur of the April - In the many-rivered hills. - - Then there stirs the old vague rapture, - Like a wanderer come back, - Still desiring, scathed but deathless, - From beyond the bourne of tears, - Wayworn to his vacant cabin, - To this foolish fearless heart. - - Soon the large mild stars of springtime - Will resume the ancient twilight - And restore the heart of earth - To unvexed eternal poise; - For the great Will, calm and lonely, - Can no mortal grief derange, - No lost memories perturb; - And the sluices of the morning - Will be opened, and the daybreak - Well with bird-calls and with brook-notes, - Till there be no more despair - In the gold dream of the world. - - - - - THE GRAVE-TREE - - - Let me have a scarlet maple - For the grave-tree at my head, - With the quiet sun behind it, - In the years when I am dead. - - Let me have it for a signal, - Where the long winds stream and stream, - Clear across the dim blue distance, - Like a horn blown in a dream; - - Scarlet when the April vanguard - Bugles up the laggard Spring, - Scarlet when the bannered Autumn, - Marches by unwavering. - - It will comfort me with honey - When the shining rifts and showers - Sweep across the purple valley - And bring back the forest flowers. - - It will be my leafy cabin, - Large enough when June returns - And I hear the golden thrushes - Flute and hesitate by turns. - - And in fall, some yellow morning, - When the stealthy frost has come, - Leaf by leaf it will befriend me - As with comrades going home. - - Let me have the Silent Valley - And the hill that fronts the east, - So that I can watch the morning - Redden and the stars released. - - Leave me in the Great Lone Country, - For I shall not be afraid - With the shy moose and the beaver - There within my scarlet shade. - - I would sleep, but not too soundly, - Where the sunning partridge drums, - Till the crickets hush before him - When the Scarlet Hunter comes. - - That will be in warm September, - In the stillness of the year, - When the river-blue is deepest - And the other world is near. - - When the apples burn their reddest - And the corn is in the sheaves, - I shall stir and waken lightly - At a footfall in the leaves. - - It will be the Scarlet Hunter - Come to tell me time is done; - On the idle hills forever - There will stand the idle sun. - - There the wind will stay to whisper - Many wonders to the reeds; - But I shall not fear to follow - Where my Scarlet Hunter leads. - - I shall know him in the darkling - Murmur of the river bars, - While his feet are on the mountains - Treading out the smoldering stars. - - I shall know him, in the sunshine - Sleeping in my scarlet tree, - Long before he halts beside it - Stooping down to summon me. - - Then fear not, my friends, to leave me - In the boding autumn vast; - There are many things to think of - When the roving days are past. - - Leave me by the scarlet maple, - When the journeying shadows fail, - Waiting till the Scarlet Hunter - Pass upon the endless trail. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of By the Aurelian Wall and Other Elegies, by -Bliss Carman - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY THE AURELIAN WALL *** - -***** This file should be named 53053-0.txt or 53053-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/5/53053/ - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from scanned images of public domain -material from the Google Books project.) - - -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 -http://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/license - -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 MERCHANTABILITY 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 http://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 -http://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 http://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 http://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 checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is 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: - - http://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. |