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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6062-h.zip b/6062-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f97af63 --- /dev/null +++ b/6062-h.zip diff --git a/6062-h/6062-h.htm b/6062-h/6062-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b049e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/6062-h/6062-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5416 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Pike County Ballads and Other Poems, by John Hay + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Pike County Ballads and Other Poems, by John Hay + +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: Pike County Ballads and Other Poems + +Author: John Hay + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6062] +Last Updated: February 4, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIKE COUNTRY BALLADS *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + PIKE COUNTY BALLADS<br />AND OTHER POEMS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Hay + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <big><b>THE PIKE COUNTY BALLADS.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> JIM BLUDSO, OF THE "PRAIRIE BELLE." </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> LITTLE BREECHES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> BANTY TIM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE MYSTERY OF GILGAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> GOLYER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> <big><b>WANDERLIEDER.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE SPHINX OF THE TUILERIES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE SURRENDER OF SPAIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE CURSE OF HUNGARY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> THE MONKS OF BASLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> THE ENCHANTED SHIRT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> A WOMAN'S LOVE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> ON PITZ LANGUARD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> BOUDOIR PROPHECIES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> A TRIUMPH OF ORDER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> ERNST OF EDELSHEIM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> MY CASTLE IN SPAIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> SISTER SAINT LUKE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> <big><b>NEW AND OLD.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> MILES KEOGH'S HORSE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> THE ADVANCE-GUARD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> LOVE'S PRAYER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> CHRISTINE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> EXPECTATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> TO FLORA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> A HAUNTED ROOM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> DREAMS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> THE LIGHT OF LOVE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> QUAND MEME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> WORDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> THE STIRRUP-CUP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> A DREAM OF BRIC-A-BRAC. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> LIBERTY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> THE WHITE FLAG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> THE LAW OF DEATH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> MOUNT TABOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> RELIGION AND DOCTRINE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> SINAI AND CALVARY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> THE VISION OF ST. PETER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> ISRAEL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> THE CROWS AT WASHINGTON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> REMORSE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> ESSE QUAM VIDERI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> LESE-AMOUR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> NORTHWARD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> IN THE FIRELIGHT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> IN A GRAVEYARD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> THE PRAIRIE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> CENTENNIAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> A WINTER NIGHT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> STUDENT-SONG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> HOW IT HAPPENED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> GOD'S VENGEANCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> TOO LATE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> LOVE'S DOUBT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> LACRIMAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> ON THE BLUFF. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> UNA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> THROUGH THE LONG DAYS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> A PHYLACTERY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> BLONDINE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> DISTICHES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> REGARDANT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> GUY OF THE TEMPLE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> <big><b>TRANSLATIONS.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> THE WAY TO HEAVEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> COUNTESS JUTTA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> A BLESSING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> TO THE YOUNG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> THE GOLDEN CALF. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> THE AZRA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> GOOD AND BAD LUCK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> L'AMOUR DU MENSONGE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0080"> AMOR MYSTICUS. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <big><b>INTRODUCTION.</b></big> + </p> + <p> + Pike County Ballads and other poems in this volume by Colonel John Hay + represent in the best manner the spirit of our strong and independent + sister-land across the Atlantic. Pike County Ballads do full justice to + the raw material in the United States, and show a loyal temper in the + rough. The other pieces show how the love of freedom speaks through finer + spirits of the land, and, dealing with realities, can turn a life of + action into music. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Hay has lived always in vigorous relation with the full life of + the people whose best mind his poems represent. He is descended from a + Scottish soldier, a John Hay, who, at the beginning of the last century, + left his country to take service under the Elector-Palatine, and whose son + went afterwards with his family to settle among the Kentucky pioneers. Dr. + Charles Hay was the father of John Hay the poet, who was born on the 8th + of October 1838, in the heart of the United States, at Salem in Indiana. + When twenty years old he graduated at the neighbouring Brown University, + where his fellow-students valued his skill as a writer. Then he studied + for the Bar, and he was called to the Bar three years later, at + Springfield, Illinois. + </p> + <p> + At Springfield, Abraham Lincoln practised as a barrister. Shrewd, lively, + earnest, honest, he grudged help to a rogue. In a criminal case, when + evidence threw unexpected light upon a client's character, Abraham Lincoln + said suddenly to his junior, "Swett, the man is guilty; you defend him, I + can't." In another case, when a piece of rascality in his client came out, + Abraham Lincoln left his junior in possession of the case and went to his + hotel. To the judge, who sent for him, he replied that he had found his + hands were very dirty, and had gone away to get them clean. Almost + immediately after John Hay's call to the Bar at Springfield he was chosen + by Abraham Lincoln, newly made President, to go with him to Washington. At + Washington, Hay acted as Assistant-Secretary, and was also, in the Civil + War, aide-de-camp to President Lincoln. Throughout that momentous struggle + he was actively employed on the side of the North at the headquarters and + on the field of battle. He served for a time under Generals Hunter and + Gillmore, became a Colonel in the army of the North, and served also as + Assistant Adjutant-General. John Hay had in that struggle three brothers + and two brothers-in-law serving also in the field. + </p> + <p> + In 1890 there was published, in ten volumes, at New York, by the New York + Century Company, "Abraham Lincoln, a History: by John G. Nicolay and John + Hay." This was, with fresh material inserted, a collection of chapters + that had been published in The Century Magazine from November 1886 to the + beginning of 1890. The friends, who worked equally together upon this + large record, said, "We knew Mr. Lincoln intimately before his election to + the Presidency. We came from Illinois to Washington with him, and remained + at his side and in his service—separately or together—until + the day of his death." + </p> + <p> + Abroad, as at home, Colonel Hay has been active in the service of his + country. In 1865 he went to Paris as Secretary of Legation, and after + remaining two years in that office he went as Charge-d'Affaires for the + United States to Vienna. After a year at Vienna, Colonel Hay went to + Madrid as Secretary of Legation under General Daniel Sickles. In 1870 he + returned to the United States, and was for the next five years an + editorial writer for the New York Tribune. During seven months, when + Whitelaw Reid was in Europe, Colonel Hay was editor in chief. + </p> + <p> + It was for The Tribune that Hay wrote "The Pike County Ballads," which + were first reprinted separately in 1871, and are placed first in the + collection of his poems. In the same year he published his "Castilian + Days," inspired by residence in Spain. + </p> + <p> + In 1876 Colonel Hay removed from New York to Cleveland, Ohio. He then + ceased to take part in the editing of The Tribune, but continued friendly + service as a writer. From 1879 to 1881 Colonel Hay served under President + Hayes as Assistant-Secretary of State in the Government of the United + States. In 1881 he was President of the International Sanitary Congress at + Washington. Since that time he has been active, with John G. Nicolay, in + the preparation and production of the full Memoir of Abraham Lincoln, now + completed, that will take high rank among the records of a war which, in + its issues, touched the future of the world, perhaps, more nearly than any + war since Waterloo, not even excepting the great struggle which ended at + Sedan. + </p> + <p> + That is the life of a man, here is its music. + </p> + <p> + H. M. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PIKE COUNTY BALLADS. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JIM BLUDSO, OF THE "PRAIRIE BELLE." + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives, + Becase he don't live, you see; + Leastways, he's got out of the habit + Of livin' like you and me. + Whar have you been for the last three year + That you haven't heard folks tell + How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks + The night of the Prairie Belle? + + He weren't no saint,—them engineers + Is all pretty much alike,— + One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill, + And another one here, in Pike; + A keerless man in his talk was Jim, + And an awkward hand in a row, + But he never flunked, and he never lied,— + I reckon he never knowed how. + + And this was all the religion he had,— + To treat his engine well; + Never be passed on the river; + To mind the pilot's bell; + And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire,— + A thousand times he swore, + He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last soul got ashore. + + All boats has their day on the Mississip, + And her day come at last,— + The Movastar was a better boat, + But the Belle she WOULDN'T be passed. + And so she come tearin' along that night— + The oldest craft on the line— + With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, + And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine. + + The fire bust out as she clared the bar, + And burnt a hole in the night, + And quick as a flash she turned, and made + For that willer-bank on the right. + There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out, + Over all the infernal roar, + "I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last galoot's ashore." + + Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat + Jim Bludso's voice was heard, + And they all had trust in his cussedness, + And knowed he would keep his word. + And, sure's you're born, they all got off + Afore the smokestacks fell,— + And Bludso's ghost went up alone + In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. + + He weren't no saint,—but at jedgment + I'd run my chance with Jim, + 'Longside of some pious gentlemen + That wouldn't shook hands with him. + He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing,— + And went for it thar and then; + And Christ ain't a-going to be too hard + On a man that died for men. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LITTLE BREECHES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I don't go much on religion, + I never ain't had no show; + But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir, + On the handful o' things I know. + I don't pan out on the prophets + And free-will, and that sort of thing,— + But I b'lieve in God and the angels, + Ever sence one night last spring. + + I come into town with some turnips, + And my little Gabe come along,— + No four-year-old in the county + Could beat him for pretty and strong, + Peart and chipper and sassy, + Always ready to swear and fight,— + And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker + Jest to keep his milk-teeth white. + + The snow come down like a blanket + As I passed by Taggart's store; + I went in for a jug of molasses + And left the team at the door. + They scared at something and started,— + I heard one little squall, + And hell-to-split over the prairie + Went team, Little Breeches and all. + + Hell-to-split over the prairie! + I was almost froze with skeer; + But we rousted up some torches, + And searched for 'em far and near. + At last we struck hosses and wagon, + Snowed under a soft white mound, + Upsot, dead beat,—but of little Gabe + No hide nor hair was found. + + And here all hope soured on me, + Of my fellow-critters' aid,— + I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones, + Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed. + + . . . . + + By this, the torches was played out, + And me and Isrul Parr + Went off for some wood to a sheepfold + That he said was somewhar thar. + + We found it at last, and a little shed + Where they shut up the lambs at night. + We looked in and seen them huddled thar, + So warm and sleepy and white; + And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped, + As peart as ever you see, + "I want a chaw of terbacker, + And that's what's the matter of me." + + How did he git thar? Angels. + He could never have walked in that storm; + They jest scooped down and toted him + To whar it was safe and warm. + And I think that saving a little child, + And fotching him to his own, + Is a derned sight better business + Than loafing around The Throne. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BANTY TIM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + REMARKS OF SERGEANT TILMON JOY TO THE WHITE MAN'S + COMMITTEE OF SPUNKY POINT, ILLINOIS. + + I reckon I git your drift, gents,— + You 'low the boy sha'n't stay; + This is a white man's country; + You're Dimocrats, you say; + And whereas, and seein', and wherefore, + The times bein' all out o' j'int, + The nigger has got to mosey + From the limits o' Spunky P'int! + + Le's reason the thing a minute: + I'm an old-fashioned Dimocrat too, + Though I laid my politics out o' the way + For to keep till the war was through. + But I come back here, allowin' + To vote as I used to do, + Though it gravels me like the devil to train + Along o' sich fools as you. + + Now dog my cats ef I kin see, + In all the light of the day, + What you've got to do with the question + Ef Tim shill go or stay. + And furder than that I give notice, + Ef one of you tetches the boy, + He kin check his trunks to a warmer clime + Than he'll find in Illanoy. + + Why, blame your hearts, jest hear me! + You know that ungodly day + When our left struck Vicksburg Heights, how ripped + And torn and tattered we lay. + When the rest retreated I stayed behind, + Fur reasons sufficient to me,— + With a rib caved in, and a leg on a strike, + I sprawled on that cursed glacee. + + Lord! how the hot sun went for us, + And br'iled and blistered and burned! + How the Rebel bullets whizzed round us + When a cuss in his death-grip turned! + Till along toward dusk I seen a thing + I couldn't believe for a spell: + That nigger—that Tim—was a crawlin' to me + Through that fire-proof, gilt-edged hell! + + The Rebels seen him as quick as me, + And the bullets buzzed like bees; + But he jumped for me, and shouldered me, + Though a shot brought him once to his knees; + But he staggered up, and packed me off, + With a dozen stumbles and falls, + Till safe in our lines he drapped us both, + His black hide riddled with balls. + + So, my gentle gazelles, thar's my answer, + And here stays Banty Tim: + He trumped Death's ace for me that day, + And I'm not goin' back on him! + You may rezoloot till the cows come home, + But ef one of you tetches the boy, + He'll wrastle his hash to-night in hell, + Or my name's not Tilmon Joy! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MYSTERY OF GILGAL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The darkest, strangest mystery + I ever read, or heern, or see, + Is 'long of a drink at Taggart's Hall,— + Tom Taggart's of Gilgal. + + I've heern the tale a thousand ways, + But never could git through the maze + That hangs around that queer day's doin's; + But I'll tell the yarn to youans. + + Tom Taggart stood behind his bar, + The time was fall, the skies was fa'r, + The neighbours round the counter drawed, + And ca'mly drinked and jawed. + + At last come Colonel Blood of Pike, + And old Jedge Phinn, permiscus-like, + And each, as he meandered in, + Remarked, "A whisky-skin." + + Tom mixed the beverage full and fa'r, + And slammed it, smoking, on the bar. + Some says three fingers, some says two,— + I'll leave the choice to you. + + Phinn to the drink put forth his hand; + Blood drawed his knife, with accent bland, + "I ax yer parding, Mister Phinn— + Jest drap that whisky-skin." + + No man high-toneder could be found + Than old Jedge Phinn the country round. + Says he, "Young man, the tribe of Phinns + Knows their own whisky-skins!" + + He went for his 'leven-inch bowie-knife:— + "I tries to foller a Christian life; + But I'll drap a slice of liver or two, + My bloomin' shrub, with you." + + They carved in a way that all admired, + Tell Blood drawed iron at last, and fired. + It took Seth Bludso 'twixt the eyes, + Which caused him great surprise. + + Then coats went off, and all went in; + Shots and bad language swelled the din; + The short, sharp bark of Derringers, + Like bull-pups, cheered the furse. + + They piled the stiffs outside the door; + They made, I reckon, a cord or more. + Girls went that winter, as a rule, + Alone to spellin'-school. + + I've searched in vain, from Dan to Beer- + Sheba, to make this mystery clear; + But I end with HIT as I did begin,— + "WHO GOT THE WHISKY-SKIN?" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GOLYER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ef the way a man lights out of this world + Helps fix his heft for the other sp'ere, + I reckon my old friend Golyer's Ben + Will lay over lots of likelier men + For one thing he done down here. + + You didn't know Ben? He driv a stage + On the line they called the Old Sou'-west; + He wa'n't the best man that ever you seen, + And he wa'n't so ungodly pizen mean,— + No better nor worse than the rest. + + He was hard on women and rough on his friends; + And he didn't have many, I'll let you know; + He hated a dog and disgusted a cat, + But he'd run off his legs for a motherless brat, + And I guess there's many jess so. + + I've seed my sheer of the run of things, + I've hoofed it a many and many a miled, + But I never seed nothing that could or can + Jest git all the good from the heart of a man + Like the hands of a little child. + + Well! this young one I started to tell you about,— + His folks was all dead, I was fetchin' him through,— + He was just at the age that's loudest for boys, + And he blowed such a horn with his sarchin' small voice, + We called him "the Little Boy Blue." + + He ketched a sight of Ben on the box, + And you bet he bawled and kicked and howled, + For to git 'long of Ben, and ride thar too; + I tried to tell him it wouldn't do, + When suddingly Golyer growled, + + "What's the use of making the young one cry? + Say, what's the use of being a fool? + Sling the little one up here whar he can see, + He won't git the snuffles a-ridin' with me, + The night ain't any too cool." + + The child hushed cryin' the minute he spoke; + "Come up here, Major! don't let him slip." + And jest as nice as a woman could do, + He wropped his blanket around them two, + And was off in the crack of a whip. + + We rattled along an hour or so, + Till we heerd a yell on the still night air. + Did you ever hear an Apache yell? + Well, ye needn't want to, THIS side of hell; + There's nothing more devilish there. + + Caught in the shower of lead and flint, + We felt the old stage stagger and plunge; + Then we heerd the voice and the whip of Ben, + As he gethered his critters up again, + And tore away with a lunge. + + The passengers laughed. "Old Ben's all right, + He's druv five year and never was struck." + "Now if <i>I</i>'d been thar, as sure as you live, + They'd 'a' plugged me with holes as thick as a sieve; + It's the reg'lar Golyer luck." + + Over hill and holler and ford and creek, + Jest like the hosses had wings, we tore; + We got to Looney's, and Ben come in + And laid down the baby and axed for his gin, + And dropped in a heap on the floor. + + Said he, "When they fired, I kivered the kid,— + Although I ain't pretty, I'm middlin' broad; + And look! he ain't fazed by arrow nor ball,— + Thank God! my own carcase stopped them all." + Then we seen his eye glaze, and his lower jaw fall,— + And he carried his thanks to God. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A TALE OF EARNEST EFFORT AND HUMAN PERFIDY. + + It's all very well for preachin', + But preachin' and practice don't gee: + I've give the thing a fair trial, + And you can't ring it in on me. + So toddle along with your pledge, Squire, + Ef that's what you want me to sign; + Betwixt me and you, I've been thar, + And I'll not take any in mine. + + A year ago last Fo'th July + A lot of the boys was here. + We all got corned and signed the pledge + For to drink no more that year. + There was Tilmon Joy and Sheriff McPhail + And me and Abner Fry, + And Shelby's boy Leviticus, + And the Golyers, Luke and Cy. + + And we anteed up a hundred + In the hands of Deacon Kedge + For to be divided the follerin' Fo'th + 'Mongst the boys that kep' the pledge. + And we knowed each other so well, Squire, + You may take my scalp for a fool, + Ef every man when he signed his name + Didn't feel cock-sure of the pool. + + Fur a while it all went lovely; + We put up a job next day + Fur to make Joy b'lieve his wife was dead, + And he went home middlin' gay; + Then Abner Fry he killed a man + And afore he was hung McPhail + Jest bilked the widder outen her sheer + By getting him slewed in jail. + + But Chris'mas scooped the Sheriff, + The egg-nogs gethered him in; + And Shelby's boy Leviticus + Was, New Year's, tight as sin; + And along in March the Golyers + Got so drunk that a fresh-biled owl + Would 'a' looked 'longside o' them two young men, + Like a sober temperance fowl. + + Four months alone I walked the chalk, + I thought my heart would break; + And all them boys a-slappin my back + And axin', "What'll you take?" + I never slep' without dreamin' dreams + Of Burbin, Peach, or Rye, + But I chawed at my niggerhead and swore + I'd rake that pool or die. + + At last—the Fo'th—I humped myself + Through chores and breakfast soon, + Then scooted down to Taggart's store— + For the pledge was off at noon; + And all the boys was gethered thar, + And each man hilt his glass— + Watchin' me and the clock quite solemn-like + Fur to see the last minute pass. + + The clock struck twelve! I raised the jug + And took one lovin' pull— + I was holler clar from skull to boots. + It seemed I couldn't git full. + But I was roused by a fiendish laugh + That might have raised the dead— + Them ornary sneaks had sot the clock + A half an hour ahead! + + "All right!" I squawked. "You've got me, + Jest order your drinks agin, + And we'll paddle up to the Deacon's + And scoop the ante in." + But when we got to Kedge's, + What a sight was that we saw! + The Deacon and Parson Skeeters + In the tail of a game of Draw. + + They had shook 'em the heft of the mornin', + The Parson's luck was fa'r, + And he raked, the minute we got thar, + The last of our pool on a pa'r. + So toddle along with your pledge, Squire, + I 'low it's all very fine, + But ez fur myself, I thank ye, + I'll not take any in mine. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WANDERLIEDER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SUNRISE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE. + (PARIS, AUGUST 1865.) + + I stand at the break of day + In the Champs Elysees. + The tremulous shafts of dawning, + As they shoot o'er the Tuileries early, + Strike Luxor's cold grey spire, + And wild in the light of the morning + With their marble manes on fire, + Ramp the white Horses of Marly. + + But the Place of Concord lies + Dead hushed 'neath the ashy skies. + And the Cities sit in council + With sleep in their wide stone eyes. + I see the mystic plain + Where the army of spectres slain + In the Emperor's life-long war + March on with unsounding tread + To trumpets whose voice is dead. + Their spectral chief still leads them,— + The ghostly flash of his sword + Like a comet through mist shines far,— + And the noiseless host is poured, + For the gendarme never heeds them, + Up the long dim road where thundered + The army of Italy onward + Through the great pale Arch of the Star! + + The spectre army fades + Far up the glimmering hill, + But, vaguely lingering still, + A group of shuddering shades + Infects the pallid air, + Growing dimmer as day invades + The hush of the dusky square. + There is one that seems a King, + As if the ghost of a Crown + Still shadowed his jail-bleached hair; + I can hear the guillotine ring, + As its regicide note rang there, + When he laid his tired life down + And grew brave in his last despair. + And a woman frail and fair + Who weeps at leaving a world + Of love and revel and sin + In the vast Unknown to be hurled; + (For life was wicked and sweet + With kings at her small white feet!) + And one, every inch a Queen, + In life and in death a Queen, + Whose blood baptized the place, + In the days of madness and fear,— + Her shade has never a peer + In majesty and grace. + + Murdered and murderers swarm; + Slayers that slew and were slain, + Till the drenched place smoked with the rain + That poured in a torrent warm,— + Till red as the Riders of Edom + Were splashed the white garments of Freedom + With the wash of the horrible storm! + + And Liberty's hands were not clean + In the day of her pride unchained, + Her royal hands were stained + With the life of a King and Queen; + And darker than that with the blood + Of the nameless brave and good + Whose blood in witness clings + More damning than Queens' and Kings'. + + Has she not paid it dearly? + Chained, watching her chosen nation + Grinding late and early + In the mills of usurpation? + Have not her holy tears, + Flowing through shameful years, + Washed the stains from her tortured hands? + We thought so when God's fresh breeze, + Blowing over the sleeping lands, + In 'Forty-Eight waked the world, + And the Burgher-King was hurled + From that palace behind the trees. + + As Freedom with eyes aglow + Smiled glad through her childbirth pain, + How was the mother to know + That her woe and travail were vain? + A smirking servant smiled + When she gave him her child to keep; + Did she know he would strangle the child + As it lay in his arms asleep? + + Liberty's cruellest shame! + She is stunned and speechless yet, + In her grief and bloody sweat + Shall we make her trust her blame? + The treasure of 'Forty-Eight + A lurking jail-bird stole, + She can but watch and wait + As the swift sure seasons roll. + + And when in God's good hour + Comes the time of the brave and true, + Freedom again shall rise + With a blaze in her awful eyes + That shall wither this robber-power + As the sun now dries the dew. + This Place shall roar with the voice + Of the glad triumphant people, + And the heavens be gay with the chimes + Ringing with jubilant noise + From every clamorous steeple + The coming of better times. + And the dawn of Freedom waking + Shall fling its splendours far + Like the day which now is breaking + On the great pale Arch of the Star, + And back o'er the town shall fly, + While the joy-bells wild are ringing, + To crown the Glory springing + From the Column of July! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SPHINX OF THE TUILERIES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Out of the Latin Quarter + I came to the lofty door + Where the two marble Sphinxes guard + The Pavillon de Flore. + Two Cockneys stood by the gate, and one + Observed, as they turned to go, + "No wonder He likes that sort of thing,— + He's a Sphinx himself, you know." + + I thought as I walked where the garden glowed + In the sunset's level fire, + Of the Charlatan whom the Frenchmen loathe + And the Cockneys all admire. + They call him a Sphinx,—it pleases him,— + And if we narrowly read, + We will find some truth in the flunkey's praise,— + The man is a Sphinx indeed. + + For the Sphinx with breast of woman + And face so debonair + Had the sleek false paws of a lion, + That could furtively seize and tear. + So far to the shoulders,—but if you took + The Beast in reverse you would find + The ignoble form of a craven cur + Was all that lay behind. + + She lived by giving to simple folk + A silly riddle to read, + And when they failed she drank their blood + In cruel and ravenous greed. + But at last came one who knew her word, + And she perished in pain and shame,— + This bastard Sphinx leads the same base life + And his end will be the same. + + For an OEdipus-People is coming fast + With swelled feet limping on, + If they shout his true name once aloud + His false foul power is gone. + Afraid to fight and afraid to fly, + He cowers in an abject shiver; + The people will come to their own at last,— + God is not mocked for ever. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SURRENDER OF SPAIN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + Land of unconquered Pelayo! land of the Cid Campeador! + Sea-girdled mother of men! Spain, name of glory and power; + Cradle of world-grasping Emperors, grave of the reckless invader, + How art thou fallen, my Spain! how art thou sunk at this hour! + + II. + Once thy magnanimous sons trod, victors, the portals of Asia, + Once the Pacific waves rushed, joyful thy banners to see; + For it was Trajan that carried the battle-flushed eagles to Dacia, + Cortes that planted thy flag fast by the uttermost sea. + + III. + Hast thou forgotten those days illumined with glory and honour, + When the far isles of the sea thrilled to the tread of Castile? + When every land under Heaven was flecked by the shade of thy banner,— + When every beam of the sun flashed on thy conquering steel? + + IV. + Then through red fields of slaughter, through death and defeat and + disaster, + Still flared thy banner aloft, tattered, but free from a stain,— + Now to the upstart Savoyard thou bendest to beg for a master! + How the red flush of her shame mars the proud beauty of Spain! + + V. + Has the red blood run cold that boiled by the Xenil and Darro? + Are the high deeds of the sires sung to the children no more? + On the dun hills of the North hast thou heard of no plough-boy Pizarro? + Roams no young swine-herd Cortes hid by the Tagus' wild shore? + + VI. + Once again does Hispania bend low to the yoke of the stranger! + Once again will she rise, flinging her gyves in the sea! + Princeling of Piedmont! unwitting thou weddest with doubt and with + danger, + King over men who have learned all that it costs to be free. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not done, but near its ending, + Is the work that our eyes desired; + Not yet fulfilled, but near the goal, + Is the hope that our worn hearts fired. + And on the Alban Mountains, + Where the blushes of dawn increase, + We see the flash of the beautiful feet + Of Freedom and of Peace! + + How long were our fond dreams baffled!— + Novara's sad mischance, + The Kaiser's sword and fetter-lock, + And the traitor stab of France; + Till at last came glorious Venice, + In storm and tempest home; + And now God maddens the greedy kings, + And gives to her people Rome. + + Lame Lion of Caprera! + Red-shirts of the lost campaigns! + Not idly shed was the costly blood + You poured from generous veins. + For the shame of Aspromonte, + And the stain of Mentana's sod, + But forged the curse of kings that sprang + From your breaking hearts to God! + + We lift our souls to Thee, O Lord + Of Liberty and of Light! + Let not earth's kings pollute the work + That was done in their despite; + Let not Thy light be darkened + In the shade of a sordid crown, + Nor pampered swine devour the fruit + Thou shook'st with an earthquake down! + + Let the People come to their birthright, + And crosier and crown pass away + Like phantasms that flit o'er the marshes + At the glance of the clean, white day. + And then from the lava of AEtna + To the ice of the Alps let there be + One freedom, one faith without fetters, + One republic in Italy free! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CURSE OF HUNGARY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + King Saloman looked from his donjon bars, + Where the Danube clamours through sedge and sand, + And he cursed with a curse his revolting land,— + With a king's deep curse of treason and wars. + + He said: "May this false land know no truth! + May the good hearts die and the bad ones flourish, + And a greed of glory but live to nourish + Envy and hate in its restless youth. + + "In the barren soil may the ploughshare rust, + While the sword grows bright with its fatal labour, + And blackens between each man and neighbour + The perilous cloud of a vague distrust! + + "Be the noble idle, the peasant in thrall, + And each to the other as unknown things, + That with links of hatred and pride the kings + May forge firm fetters through each for all! + + "May a king wrong them as they wronged their king + May he wring their hearts as they wrung mine, + Till they pour their blood for his revels like wine, + And to women and monks their birthright fling!" + + The mad king died; but the rushing river + Still brawls by the spot where his donjon stands, + And its swift waves sigh to the conscious sands + That the curse of King Saloman works for ever. + + For flowing by Pressbourg they heard the cheers + Ring out from the leal and cheated hearts + That were caught and chained by Theresa's arts,— + A man's cool head and a girl's hot tears! + + And a star, scarce risen, they saw decline, + Where Orsova's hills looked coldly down, + As Kossuth buried the Iron Crown + And fled in the dark to the Turkish line. + + And latest they saw in the summer glare + The Magyar nobles in pomp arrayed, + To shout as they saw, with his unfleshed blade, + A Hapsburg beating the harmless air. + + But ever the same sad play they saw, + The same weak worship of sword and crown, + The noble crushing the humble down, + And moulding Wrong to a monstrous Law. + + The donjon stands by the turbid river, + But Time is crumbling its battered towers; + And the slow light withers a despot's powers, + And a mad king's curse is not for ever! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MONKS OF BASLE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I tore this weed from the rank, dark soil + Where it grew in the monkish time, + I trimmed it close and set it again + In a border of modern rhyme. + + I. + Long years ago, when the Devil was loose + And faith was sorely tried, + Three monks of Basle went out to walk + In the quiet eventide. + + A breeze as pure as the breath of Heaven + Blew fresh through the cloister-shades, + A sky as glad as the smile of Heaven + Blushed rose o'er the minster-glades. + + But scorning the lures of summer and sense, + The monks passed on in their walk; + Their eyes were abased, their senses slept, + Their souls were in their talk. + + In the tough grim talk of the monkish days + They hammered and slashed about,— + Dry husks of logic,—old scraps of creed,— + And the cold gray dreams of doubt,— + + And whether Just or Justified + Was the Church's mystic Head,— + And whether the Bread was changed to God, + Or God became the Bread. + + But of human hearts outside their walls + They never paused to dream, + And they never thought of the love of God + That smiled in the twilight gleam. + + II. + As these three monks went bickering on + By the foot of a spreading tree, + Out from its heart of verdurous gloom + A song burst wild and free,— + + A wordless carol of life and love, + Of nature free and wild; + And the three monks paused in the evening shade, + Looked up at each other and smiled. + + And tender and gay the bird sang on, + And cooed and whistled and trilled, + And the wasteful wealth of life and love + From his happy heart was spilled. + + The song had power on the grim old monks + In the light of the rosy skies; + And as they listened the years rolled back, + And tears came into their eyes. + + The years rolled back and they were young, + With the hearts and hopes of men, + They plucked the daisies and kissed the girls + Of dear dead summers again. + + III. + But the eldest monk soon broke the spell; + "'Tis sin and shame," quoth he, + "To be turned from talk of holy things + By a bird's cry from a tree. + + "Perchance the Enemy of Souls + Hath come to tempt us so. + Let us try by the power of the Awful Word + If it be he, or no!" + + To Heaven the three monks raised their hands; + "We charge thee, speak!" they said, + "By His dread Name who shall one day come + To judge the quick and the dead,— + + "Who art thou? Speak!" The bird laughed loud. + "I am the Devil," he said. + The monks on their faces fell, the bird + Away through the twilight sped. + + A horror fell on those holy men + (The faithful legends say), + And one by one from the face of the earth + They pined and vanished away. + + IV. + So goes the tale of the monkish books, + The moral who runs may read,— + He has no ears for Nature's voice + Whose soul is the slave of creed. + + Not all in vain with beauty and love + Has God the world adorned; + And he who Nature scorns and mocks, + By Nature is mocked and scorned. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ENCHANTED SHIRT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Fytte the First: wherein it shall be shown how the Truth + is too mighty a Drug for such as be of feeble temper. + + The King was sick. His cheek was red + And his eye was clear and bright; + He ate and drank with a kingly zest, + And peacefully snored at night. + + But he said he was sick, and a king should know, + And doctors came by the score. + They did not cure him. He cut off their heads + And sent to the schools for more. + + At last two famous doctors came, + And one was as poor as a rat,— + He had passed his life in studious toil, + And never found time to grow fat. + + The other had never looked in a book; + His patients gave him no trouble— + If they recovered they paid him well, + If they died their heirs paid double. + + Together they looked at the royal tongue, + As the King on his couch reclined; + In succession they thumped his august chest, + But no trace of disease could find. + + The old sage said, "You're as sound as a nut." + "Hang him up!" roared the King in a gale,— + In a ten-knot gale of royal rage; + The other leech grew a shade pale; + + But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose, + And thus his prescription ran,— + The King will be well, if he sleeps one night + In the Shirt of a Happy Man. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Fytte the Second: tells of the search for the Shirt, and how + it was nigh found, but was not, for reasons which are said or sung. + + Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode, + And fast their horses ran, + And many they saw, and to many they spoke, + But they found no Happy Man. + + They found poor men who would fain be rich + And rich who thought they were poor; + And men who twisted their waists in stays, + And women that shorthose wore. + + They saw two men by the roadside sit, + And both bemoaned their lot; + For one had buried his wife, he said, + And the other one had not. + + At last they came to a village gate, + A beggar lay whistling there; + He whistled and sang and laughed and rolled + On the grass in the soft June air. + + The weary couriers paused and looked + At the scamp so blithe and gay; + And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend! + You seem to be happy to-day." + + "O yes, fair sirs!" the rascal laughed, + And his voice rang free and glad, + "An idle man has so much to do + That he never has time to be sad." + + "This is our man," the courier said + "Our luck has led us aright. + I will give you a hundred ducats, friend, + For the loan of your shirt to-night." + + The merry blackguard lay back on the grass, + And laughed till his face was black; + "I would do it, God wot," and he roared with the fun, + "But I haven't a shirt to my back." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Fytte the Third: shewing how His Majesty the King came + at last to sleep in a Happy Man his Shirt. + + Each day to the King the reports came in + Of his unsuccessful spies, + And the sad panorama of human woes + Passed daily under his eyes. + + And he grew ashamed of his useless life, + And his maladies hatched in gloom; + He opened his windows and let the air + Of the free heaven into his room. + + And out he went in the world and toiled + In his own appointed way; + And the people blessed him, the land was glad, + And the King was well and gay. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WOMAN'S LOVE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A sentinel angel sitting high in glory + Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory: + "Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story! + + "I loved,—and, blind with passionate love, I fell. + Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell. + For God is just, and death for sin is well. + + "I do not rage against His high decree, + Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be; + But for my love on earth who mourns for me. + + "Great Spirit! let me see my love again + And comfort him one hour, and I were fain + To pay a thousand years of fire and pain." + + Then said the pitying angel, "Nay, repent + That wild vow! Look, the dial-finger's bent + Down to the last hour of thy punishment!" + + But still she wailed, "I pray thee, let me go! + I cannot rise to peace and leave him so. + Oh, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!" + + The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, + And upward, joyous, like a rising star, + She rose and vanished in the ether far. + + But soon adown the dying sunset sailing, + And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing, + She fluttered back, with broken-hearted wailing. + + She sobbed, "I found him by the summer sea + Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee,— + She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!" + + She wept, "Now let my punishment begin! + I have been fond and foolish. Let me in + To expiate my sorrow and my sin." + + The angel answered, "Nay, sad soul, go higher! + To be deceived in your true heart's desire + Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON PITZ LANGUARD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I stood on the top of Pitz Languard, + And heard three voices whispering low, + Where the Alpine birds in their circling ward + Made swift dark shadows upon the snow. + + First Voice. + + I loved a girl with truth and pain, + She loved me not. When she said good-bye + She gave me a kiss to sting and stain + My broken life to a rosy dye. + + Second Voice. + + I loved a woman with love well tried,— + And I swear I believe she loves me still. + But it was not I who stood by her side + When she answered the priest and said "I will." + + Third Voice. + + I loved two girls, one fond, one shy, + And I never divined which one loved me. + One married, and now, though I can't tell why, + Of the four in the story I count but three. + + The three weird voices whispered low + Where the eagles swept in their circling ward; + But only one shadow scarred the snow + As I clambered down from Pitz Languard. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOUDOIR PROPHECIES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + One day in the Tuileries, + When a south-west Spanish breeze + Brought scandalous news of the Queen, + The fair, proud Empress said, + "My good friend loses her head; + If matters go on this way, + I shall see her shopping, some day, + In the Boulevard des Capucines." + + The saying swiftly went + To the Place of the Orient, + And the stout Queen sneered, "Ah, well! + You are proud and prude, ma belle! + But I think I will hazard a guess + I shall see you one day playing chess + With the Cure of Carabanchel." + + Both ladies, though not over wise, + Were lucky in prophecies. + For the Boulevard shopmen well + Know the form of stout Isabel + As she buys her modes de Paris; + And after Sedan in despair + The Empress prude and fair + Went to visit Madame sa Mere + In her villa at Carabanchel— + But the Queen was not there to see. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A TRIUMPH OF ORDER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A squad of regular infantry, + In the Commune's closing days, + Had captured a crowd of rebels + By the wall of Pere-la-Chaise. + + There were desperate men, wild women, + And dark-eyed Amazon girls, + And one little boy, with a peach-down cheek + And yellow clustering curls. + + The captain seized the little waif, + And said, "What dost thou here?" + "Sapristi, Citizen captain! + I'm a Communist, my dear!" + + "Very well! Then you die with the others!" + —"Very well! That's my affair; + But first let me take to my mother, + Who lives by the wine-shop there, + + "My father's watch. You see it; + A gay old thing, is it not? + It would please the old lady to have it; + Then I'll come back here, and be shot." + + "That is the last we shall see of him," + The grizzled captain grinned, + As the little man skimmed down the hill + Like a swallow down the wind. + + For the joy of killing had lost its zest + In the glut of those awful days, + And Death writhed, gorged like a greedy snake, + From the Arch to Pere-la-Chaise. + + But before the last platoon had fired + The child's shrill voice was heard; + "Houp-la! the old girl made such a row + I feared I should break my word." + + Against the bullet-pitted wall + He took his place with the rest, + A button was lost from his ragged blouse, + Which showed his soft white breast. + + "Now blaze away, my children! + With your little one-two-three!" + The Chassepots tore the stout young heart, + And saved Society. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ERNST OF EDELSHEIM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I'll tell the story, kissing + This white hand for my pains: + No sweeter heart, nor falser, + E'er filled such fine, blue veins. + + I'll sing a song of true love, + My Lilith, dear! to you; + Contraria contrariis— + The rule is old and true. + + The happiest of all lovers + Was Ernst of Edelsheim; + And why he was the happiest, + I'll tell you in my rhyme. + + One summer night he wandered + Within a lonely glade, + And, couched in moss and moonlight, + He found a sleeping maid. + + The stars of midnight sifted + Above her sands of gold; + She seemed a slumbering statue, + So fair and white and cold. + + Fair and white and cold she lay + Beneath the starry skies; + Rosy was her waking + Beneath the Ritter's eyes. + + He won her drowsy fancy, + He bore her to his towers, + And swift with love and laughter + Flew morning's purpled hours. + + But when the thickening sunbeams + Had drunk the gleaming dew, + A misty cloud of sorrow + Swept o'er her eyes' deep blue. + + She hung upon the Ritter's neck, + She wept with love and pain, + She showered her sweet, warm kisses + Like fragrant summer rain. + + "I am no Christian soul," she sobbed, + As in his arms she lay; + "I'm half the day a woman, + A serpent half the day. + + "And when from yonder bell-tower + Rings out the noonday chime, + Farewell! farewell for ever, + Sir Ernst of Edelsheim!" + + "Ah! not farewell for ever!" + The Ritter wildly cried; + "I will be saved or lost with thee, + My lovely Wili-Bride!" + + Loud from the lordly bell-tower + Rang out the noon of day, + And from the bower of roses + A serpent slid away. + + But when the mid-watch moonlight + Was shimmering through the grove, + He clasped his bride thrice dowered + With beauty and with love. + + The happiest of all lovers + Was Ernst of Edelsheim— + His true love was a serpent + Only half the time! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY CASTLE IN SPAIN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There was never a castle seen + So fair as mine in Spain: + It stands embowered in green, + Crowning the gentle slope + Of a hill by the Xenil's shore + And at eve its shade flaunts o'er + The storied Vega plain, + And its towers are hid in the mists of Hope; + And I toil through years of pain + Its glimmering gates to gain. + + In visions wild and sweet + Sometimes its courts I greet: + Sometimes in joy its shining halls + I tread with favoured feet; + But never my eyes in the light of day + Were blest with its ivied walls, + Where the marble white and the granite gray + Turn gold alike when the sunbeams play, + When the soft day dimly falls. + + I know in its dusky rooms + Are treasures rich and rare; + The spoil of Eastern looms, + And whatever of bright and fair + Painters divine have caught and won + From the vault of Italy's air: + White gods in Phidian stone + People the haunted glooms; + And the song of immortal singers + Like a fragrant memory lingers, + I know, in the echoing rooms. + + But nothing of these, my soul! + Nor castle, nor treasures, nor skies, + Nor the waves of the river that roil + With a cadence faint and sweet + In peace by its marble feet— + Nothing of these is the goal + For which my whole heart sighs. + 'Tis the pearl gives worth to the shell— + The pearl I would die to gain; + For there does my lady dwell, + My love that I love so well— + The Queen whose gracious reign + Makes glad my castle in Spain. + + Her face so pure and fair + Sheds light in the shady places, + And the spell of her girlish graces + Holds charmed the happy air. + A breath of purity + For ever before her flies, + And ill things cease to be + In the glance of her honest eyes. + Around her pathway flutter, + Where her dear feet wander free + In youth's pure majesty, + The wings of the vague desires; + But the thought that love would utter + In reverence expires. + + Not yet! not yet shall I see + That face which shines like a star + O'er my storm-swept life afar, + Transfigured with love for me. + Toiling, forgetting, and learning + With labour and vigils and prayers, + Pure heart and resolute will, + At last I shall climb the hill + And breathe the enchanted airs + Where the light of my life is burning + Most lovely and fair and free, + Where alone in her youth and beauty + And bound by her fate's sweet duty, + Unconscious she waits for me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SISTER SAINT LUKE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + She lived shut in by flowers and trees + And shade of gentle bigotries. + On this side lay the trackless sea, + On that the great world's mystery; + But all unseen and all unguessed + They could not break upon her rest. + The world's far splendours gleamed and flashed, + Afar the wild seas foamed and dashed; + But in her small, dull Paradise, + Safe housed from rapture or surprise, + Nor day nor night had power to fright + The peace of God that filled her eyes. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NEW AND OLD. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MILES KEOGH'S HORSE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On the bluff of the Little Big-Horn, + At the close of a woeful day, + Custer and his Three Hundred + In death and silence lay. + + Three Hundred to Three Thousand! + They had bravely fought and bled; + For such is the will of Congress + When the White man meets the Red. + + The White men are ten millions, + The thriftiest under the sun; + The Reds are fifty thousand, + And warriors every one. + + So Custer and all his fighting-men + Lay under the evening skies, + Staring up at the tranquil heaven + With wide, accusing eyes. + + And of all that stood at noonday + In that fiery scorpion ring, + Miles Keogh's horse at evening + Was the only living thing. + + Alone from that field of slaughter, + Where lay the three hundred slain, + The horse Comanche wandered, + With Keogh's blood on his mane. + + And Sturgis issued this order, + Which future times shall read, + While the love and honour of comrades + Are the soul of the soldiers creed. + + He said— + Let the horse Comanche + Henceforth till he shall die, + Be kindly cherished and cared for + By the Seventh Cavalry. + + He shall do no labour; he never shall know + The touch of spur or rein; + Nor shall his back be ever crossed + By living rider again. + + And at regimental formation + Of the Seventh Cavalry, + Comanche draped in mourning and led + By a trooper of Company I, + + Shall parade with the Regiment! + Thus it was + Commanded and thus done, + By order of General Sturgis, signed + By Adjutant Garlington. + + Even as the sword of Custer, + In his disastrous fall, + Flashed out a blaze that charmed the world + And glorified his pall, + + This order, issued amid the gloom + That shrouds our army's name, + When all foul beasts are free to rend + And tear its honest fame, + + Shall prove to a callous people + That the sense of a soldier's worth, + That the love of comrades, the honour of arms, + Have not yet perished from earth. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ADVANCE-GUARD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the dream of the Northern poets, + The braves who in battle die + Fight on in shadowy phalanx + In the field of the upper sky; + And as we read the sounding rhyme, + The reverent fancy hears + The ghostly ring of the viewless swords + And the clash of the spectral spears. + + We think with imperious questionings + Of the brothers whom we have lost, + And we strive to track in death's mystery + The flight of each valiant ghost. + The Northern myth comes back to us, + And we feel, through our sorrow's night, + That those young souls are striving still + Somewhere for the truth and light. + + It was not their time for rest and sleep; + Their hearts beat high and strong; + In their fresh veins the blood of youth + Was singing its hot, sweet song. + The open heaven bent over them, + 'Mid flowers their lithe feet trod, + Their lives lay vivid in light, and blest + By the smiles of women and God. + + Again they come! Again I hear + The tread of that goodly band; + I know the flash of Ellsworth's eye + And the grasp of his hard, warm hand; + And Putnam, and Shaw, of the lion-heart, + And an eye like a Boston girl's; + And I see the light of heaven which lay + On Ulric Dahlgren's curls. + + There is no power in the gloom of hell + To quench those spirits' fire; + There is no power in the bliss of heaven + To bid them not aspire; + But somewhere in the eternal plan + That strength, that life survive, + And like the files on Lookout's crest, + Above death's clouds they strive. + + A chosen corps, they are marching on + In a wider field than ours; + Those bright battalions still fulfil + The scheme of the heavenly powers; + And high brave thoughts float down to us, + The echoes of that far fight, + Like the flash of a distant picket's gun + Through the shades of the severing night. + + No fear for them! In our lower field + Let us keep our arms unstained, + That at last we be worthy to stand with them + On the shining heights they've gained. + We shall meet and greet in closing ranks + In Time's declining sun, + When the bugles of God shall sound recall + And the battle of life be won. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LOVE'S PRAYER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If Heaven would hear my prayer, + My dearest wish would be, + Thy sorrows not to share, + But take them all on me; + If Heaven would hear my prayer. + + I'd beg with prayers and sighs + That never a tear might flow + From out thy lovely eyes, + If Heaven might grant it so; + Mine be the tears and sighs. + + No cloud thy brow should cover, + But smiles each other chase + From lips to eyes all over + Thy sweet and sunny face; + The clouds my heart should cover. + + That all thy path be light + Let darkness fall on me; + If all thy days be bright, + Mine black as night could be. + My love would light my night. + + For thou art more than life, + And if our fate should set + Life and my love at strife, + How could I then forget + I love thee more than life? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHRISTINE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The beauty of the Northern dawns, + Their pure, pale light is thine; + Yet all the dreams of tropic nights + Within thy blue eyes shine. + Not statelier in their prisoning seas + The icebergs grandly move, + But in thy smile is youth and joy, + And in thy voice is love. + + Thou art like Hecla's crest that stands + So lonely, proud, and high, + No earthly thing may come between + Her summit and the sky. + The sun in vain may strive to melt + Her crown of virgin snow— + But the great heart of the mountain glows + With deathless fire below. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EXPECTATION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Roll on, O shining sun, + To the far seas! + Bring down, ye shades of eve, + The soft, salt breeze! + Shine out, O stars, and light + My darling's pathway bright, + As through the summer night + She comes to me. + + No beam of any star + Can match her eyes; + Her smile the bursting day + In light outvies. + Her voice—the sweetest thing + Heard by the raptured spring + When waking wild-woods ring— + She comes to me. + + Ye stars, more swiftly wheel + O'er earth's still breast; + More wildly plunge and reel + In the dim west! + The earth is lone and lorn, + Till the glad day be born, + Till with the happy morn + She comes to me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO FLORA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When April woke the drowsy flowers, + And vagrant odours thronged the breeze, + And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers, + And daisies flashed along the leas, + And faint arbutus strove among + Dead winter's leaf-strewn wreck to rise, + And nature's sweetly jubilant song + Went murmuring up the sunny skies, + Into this cheerful world you came, + And gained by right your vernal name. + + I think the springs have changed of late, + For "Arctics" are my daily wear, + The skies are turned to cold grey slate, + And zephyrs are but draughts of air; + But you make up whate'er we lack, + When we, too rarely, come together, + More potent than the almanac, + You bring the ideal April weather; + When you are with us we defy + The blustering air, the lowering sky; + In spite of winter's icy darts, + We've spring and sunshine in our hearts. + + In fine, upon this April day, + This deep conundrum I will bring: + Tell me the two good reasons, pray, + I have, to say you are like spring? + + [You give it up?] Because we love you— + And see so very little of you. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A HAUNTED ROOM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the dim chamber whence but yesterday + Passed my beloved, filled with awe I stand; + And haunting Loves fluttering on every hand + Whisper her praises who is far away. + A thousand delicate fancies glance and play + On every object which her robes have fanned, + And tenderest thoughts and hopes bloom and expand + In the sweet memory of her beauty's ray. + Ah! could that glass but hold the faintest trace + Of all the loveliness once mirrored there, + The clustering glory of the shadowy hair + That framed so well the dear young angel face! + But no, it shows my own face, full of care, + And my heart is her beauty's dwelling place. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DREAMS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I love a woman tenderly, + But cannot know if she loves me. + I press her hand, her lips I kiss, + But still love's full assurance miss. + Our waking life for ever seems + Cleft by a veil of doubt and dreams. + + But love and night and sleep combine + In dreams to make her wholly mine. + A sure love lights her eyes' deep blue, + Her hands and lips are warm and true. + Always the fact unreal seems, + And truth I find alone in dreams. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LIGHT OF LOVE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Each shining light above us + Has its own peculiar grace; + But every light of heaven + Is in my darling's face. + + For it is like the sunlight, + So strong and pure and warm, + That folds all good and happy things, + And guards from gloom and harm. + + And it is like the moonlight, + So holy and so calm; + The rapt peace of a summer night, + When soft winds die in balm. + + And it is like the starlight; + For, love her as I may, + She dwells still lofty and serene + In mystery far away. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + QUAND MEME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I strove, like Israel, with my youth, + And said, "Till thou bestow + Upon my life Love's joy and truth, + I will not let thee go." + + And sudden on my night there woke + The trouble of the dawn; + Out of the east the red light broke, + To broaden on and on. + + And now let death be far or nigh, + Let fortune gloom or shine, + I cannot all untimely die, + For love, for love is mine. + + My days are tuned to finer chords, + And lit by higher suns; + Through all my thoughts and all my words + A purer purpose runs. + + The blank page of my heart grows rife + With wealth of tender lore; + Her image, stamped upon my life, + Gives value evermore. + + She is so noble, firm, and true, + I drink truth from her eyes, + As violets gain the heaven's own blue + In gazing at the skies. + + No matter if my hands attain + The golden crown or cross; + Only to love is such a gain + That losing is not loss. + + And thus whatever fate betide + Of rapture or of pain, + If storm or sun the future hide, + My love is not in vain. + + So only thanks are on my lips; + And through my love I see + My earliest dreams, like freighted ships, + Come sailing home to me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WORDS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When violets were springing + And sunshine filled the day, + And happy birds were singing + The praises of the May, + A word came to me, blighting + The beauty of the scene, + And in my heart was winter, + Though all the trees were green. + + Now down the blast go sailing + The dead leaves, brown and sere; + The forests are bewailing + The dying of the year; + A word comes to me, lighting + With rapture all the air, + And in my heart is summer, + Though all the trees are bare. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STIRRUP-CUP. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My short and happy day is done, + The long and dreary night comes on; + And at my door the Pale Horse stands, + To carry me to unknown lands. + + His whinny shrill, his pawing hoof, + Sound dreadful as a gathering storm; + And I must leave this sheltering roof, + And joys of life so soft and warm. + + Tender and warm the joys of life,— + Good friends, the faithful and the true; + My rosy children and my wife, + So sweet to kiss, so fair to view. + + So sweet to kiss, so fair to view,— + The night comes down, the lights burn blue; + And at my door the Pale Horse stands, + To bear me forth to unknown lands. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DREAM OF BRIC-A-BRAC. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [C. K. Loquitur.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I dreamed I was in fair Niphon. + Amid tea-fields I journeyed on, + Reclined in my jinrikishaw; + Across the rolling plains I saw + The lordly Fusi-yama rise, + His blue cone lost in bluer skies. + + At last I bade my bearers stop + Before what seemed a china-shop. + I roused myself and entered in. + A fearful joy, like some sweet sin, + Pierced through my bosom as I gazed, + Entranced, transported, and amazed. + + For all the house was but one room, + And in its clear and grateful gloom, + Filled with all odours strange and strong + That to the wondrous East belong, + I saw above, around, below, + A sight to make the warm heart glow, + And leave the eager soul no lack,— + An endless wealth of bric-a-brac. + + I saw bronze statues, old and rare, + Fashioned by no mere mortal skill, + With robes that fluttered in the air, + Blown out by Art's eternal will; + And delicate ivory netsukes, + Richer in tone than Cheddar cheese, + Of saints and hermits, cats and dogs, + Grim warriors and ecstatic frogs. + + And here and there those wondrous masks, + More living flesh than sandal-wood, + Where the full soul in pleasure basks + And dreams of love, the only good. + The walls were all with pictures hung: + Gay villas bright in rain-washed air, + Trees to whose boughs brown monkeys clung, + Outlineless dabs of fuzzy hair. + And all about the opulent shelves + Littered with porcelain beyond price: + Imari pots arrayed themselves + Beside Ming dishes; grain-of-rice + Vied with the Royal Satsuma, + Proud of its sallow ivory beam; + And Kaga's Thousand Hermits lay + Tranced in some punch-bowl's golden gleam. + Over bronze censers, black with age, + The five-clawed dragons strife engage; + A curled and insolent Dog of Foo + Sniffs at the smoke aspiring through. + + In what old days, in what far lands, + What busy brains, what cunning hands, + With what quaint speech, what alien thought, + Strange fellow-men these marvels wrought! + + As thus I mused, I was aware + There grew before my eager eyes + A little maid too bright and fair, + Too strangely lovely for surprise. + It seemed the beauty of the place + Had suddenly become concrete, + So full was she of Orient grace, + From her slant eyes and burnished face + Down to her little gold-bronzed feet. + She was a girl of old Japan; + Her small hand held a gilded fan, + Which scattered fragrance through the room; + Her cheek was rich with pallid bloom, + Her eye was dark with languid fire, + Her red lips breathed a vague desire; + Her teeth, of pearl inviolate, + Sweetly proclaimed her maiden state. + Her garb was stiff with broidered gold + Twined with mysterious fold on fold, + That gave no hint where, hidden well, + Her dainty form might warmly dwell,— + A pearl within too large a shell. + So quaint, so short, so lissome, she, + It seemed as if it well might be + Some jocose god, with sportive whirl, + Had taken up a long lithe girl + And tied a graceful knot in her. + I tried to speak, and found, oh, bliss! + I needed no interpreter; + I knew the Japanese for kiss,— + I had no other thought but this; + And she, with smile and blush divine, + Kind to my stammering prayer did seem; + My thought was hers, and hers was mine, + In the swift logic of my dream. + My arms clung round her slender waist, + Through gold and silk the form I traced, + And glad as rain that follows drouth, + I kissed and kissed her bright red mouth. + + What ailed the girl? No loving sigh + Heaved the round bosom; in her eye + Trembled no tear; from her dear throat + Bubbled a sweet and silvery note + Of girlish laughter, shrill and clear, + That all the statues seemed to hear. + The bronzes tinkled laughter fine; + I heard a chuckle argentine + Ring from the silver images; + Even the ivory netsukes + Uttered in every silent pause + Dry, bony laughs from tiny jaws; + The painted monkeys on the wall + Waked up with chatter impudent; + Pottery, porcelain, bronze, and all + Broke out in ghostly merriment,— + Faint as rain pattering on dry leaves, + Or cricket's chirp on summer eves. + + And suddenly upon my sight + There grew a portent: left and right, + On every side, as if the air + Had taken substance then and there, + In every sort of form and face, + A throng of tourists filled the place. + I saw a Frenchman's sneering shrug; + A German countess, in one hand + A sky-blue string which held a pug, + With the other a fiery face she fanned; + A Yankee with a soft felt hat; + A Coptic priest from Ararat; + An English girl with cheeks of rose; + A Nihilist with Socratic nose; + Paddy from Cork with baggage light + And pockets stuffed with dynamite; + A haughty Southern Readjuster, + Wrapped in his pride and linen duster; + Two noisy New York stockbrokers, + And twenty British globe-trotters. + To my disgust and vast surprise, + They turned on me lack-lustre eyes, + And each with dropped and wagging jaw + Burst out into a wild guffaw: + They laughed with huge mouths opened wide; + They roared till each one held his side; + They screamed and writhed with brutal glee, + With fingers rudely stretched to me,— + Till lo! at once the laughter died, + The tourists faded into air; + None but my fair maid lingered there, + Who stood demurely by my side. + "Who were your friends?" I asked the maid, + Taking a tea-cup from its shelf. + "This audience is disclosed," she said, + "Whenever a man makes a fool of himself." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LIBERTY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What man is there so bold that he should say, + "Thus, and thus only, would I have the sea"? + For whether lying calm and beautiful, + Clasping the earth in love, and throwing back + The smile of heaven from waves of amethyst; + Or whether, freshened by the busy winds, + It bears the trade and navies of the world + To ends of use or stern activity; + Or whether, lashed by tempests, it gives way + To elemental fury, howls and roars + At all its rocky barriers, in wild lust + Of ruin drinks the blood of living things, + And strews its wrecks o'er leagues of desolate shore,— + Always it is the sea, and men bow down + Before its vast and varied majesty. + + So all in vain will timorous ones essay + To set the metes and bounds of Liberty. + For Freedom is its own eternal law; + It makes its own conditions, and in storm + Or calm alike fulfils the unerring Will. + Let us not then despise it when it lies + Still as a sleeping lion, while a swarm + Of gnat-like evils hover round its head; + Nor doubt it when in mad, disjointed times + It shakes the torch of terror, and its cry + Shrills o'er the quaking earth, and in the flame + Of riot and war we see its awful form + Rise by the scaffold, where the crimson axe + Rings down its grooves the knell of shuddering kings. + For ever in thine eyes, O Liberty, + Shines that high light whereby the world is saved, + And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WHITE FLAG. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I sent my love two roses,—one + As white as driven snow, + And one a blushing royal red, + A flaming Jacqueminot. + + I meant to touch and test my fate; + That night I should divine, + The moment I should see my love, + If her true heart were mine. + + For if she holds me dear, I said, + She'll wear my blushing rose; + If not, she'll wear my cold Lamarque + As white as winter's snows. + + My heart sank when I met her: sure + I had been over bold, + For on her breast my pale rose lay + In virgin whiteness cold. + + Yet with low words she greeted me, + With smiles divinely tender; + Upon her cheek the red rose dawned.— + The white rose meant surrender. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LAW OF DEATH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The song of Kilvani: fairest she + In all the land of Savatthi. + She had one child, as sweet and gay + And dear to her as the light of day. + She was so young, and he so fair, + The same bright eyes and the same dark hair; + To see them by the blossomy way, + They seemed two children at their play. + + There came a death-dart from the sky, + Kilvani saw her darling die. + The glimmering shade his eyes invades, + Out of his cheek the red bloom fades; + His warm heart feels the icy chill, + The round limbs shudder, and are still. + And yet Kilvani held him fast + Long after life's last pulse was past, + As if her kisses could restore + The smile gone out for evermore. + + But when she saw her child was dead, + She scattered ashes on her head, + And seized the small corpse, pale and sweet, + And rushing wildly through the street, + She sobbing fell at Buddha's feet. + + "Master, all-helpful, help me now! + Here at thy feet I humbly bow; + Have mercy, Buddha, help me now!" + She grovelled on the marble floor, + And kissed the dead child o'er and o'er. + And suddenly upon the air + There fell the answer to her prayer: + "Bring me to-night a lotus tied + With thread from a house where none has died." + + She rose, and laughed with thankful joy, + Sure that the god would save the boy. + She found a lotus by the stream; + She plucked it from its noonday dream, + And then from door to door she fared, + To ask what house by Death was spared. + Her heart grew cold to see the eyes + Of all dilate with slow surprise: + "Kilvani, thou hast lost thy head; + Nothing can help a child that's dead. + There stands not by the Ganges' side + A house where none hath ever died." + Thus, through the long and weary day, + From every door she bore away + Within her heart, and on her arm, + A heavier load, a deeper harm. + By gates of gold and ivory, + By wattled huts of poverty, + The same refrain heard poor Kilvani, + THE LIVING ARE FEW, THE DEAD ARE MANY. + + The evening came—so still and fleet— + And overtook her hurrying feet. + And, heartsick, by the sacred fane + She fell, and prayed the god again. + She sobbed and beat her bursting breast: + "Ah, thou hast mocked me, Mightiest! + Lo! I have wandered far and wide; + There stands no house where none hath died." + And Buddha answered, in a tone + Soft as a flute at twilight blown, + But grand as heaven and strong as death + To him who hears with ears of faith: + "Child, thou art answered. Murmur not! + Bow, and accept the common lot." + + Kilvani heard with reverence meet, + And laid her child at Buddha's feet. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MOUNT TABOR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On Tabor's height a glory came, + And, shrined in clouds of lambent flame, + The awestruck, hushed disciples saw + Christ and the prophets of the law. + Moses, whose grand and awful face + Of Sinai's thunder bore the trace, + And wise Elias,—in his eyes + The shade of Israel's prophecies,— + Stood in that wide, mysterious light, + Than Syrian noons more purely bright, + One on each hand, and high between + Shone forth the godlike Nazarene. + They bowed their heads in holy fright,— + No mortal eyes could bear the sight,— + And when they looked again, behold! + The fiery clouds had backward rolled, + And borne aloft in grandeur lonely, + Nothing was left "save Jesus only." + + Resplendent type of things to be! + We read its mystery to-day + With clearer eyes than even they, + The fisher-saints of Galilee. + We see the Christ stand out between + The ancient law and faith serene, + Spirit and letter; but above + Spirit and letter both was Love. + Led by the hand of Jacob's God, + Through wastes of eld a path was trod + By which the savage world could move + Upward through law and faith to love. + And there in Tabor's harmless flame + The crowning revelation came. + The old world knelt in homage due, + The prophets near in reverence drew, + Law ceased its mission to fulfil, + And Love was lord on Tabor's hill. + + So now, while creeds perplex the mind + And wranglings load the weary wind, + When all the air is filled with words + And texts that wring like clashing swords, + Still, as for refuge, we may turn + Where Tabor's shining glories burn,— + The soul of antique Israel gone, + And nothing left but Christ alone. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RELIGION AND DOCTRINE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He stood before the Sanhedrim; + The scowling rabbis gazed at him. + He recked not of their praise or blame; + There was no fear, there was no shame, + For one upon whose dazzled eyes + The whole world poured its vast surprise. + The open heaven was far too near, + His first day's light too sweet and clear, + To let him waste his new-gained ken + On the hate-clouded face of men. + + But still they questioned, "Who art thou? + What hast thou been? What art thou now? + Thou art not he who yesterday + Sat here and begged beside the way; + For he was blind." + + —"And I am he; + For I was blind, but now I see." + + He told the story o'er and o'er; + It was his full heart's only lore: + A prophet on the Sabbath-day + Had touched his sightless eyes with clay, + And made him see who had been blind. + Their words passed by him like the wind, + Which raves and howls, but cannot shock + The hundred-fathom-rooted rock. + + Their threats and fury all went wide; + They could not touch his Hebrew pride. + Their sneers at Jesus and His band, + Nameless and homeless in the land, + Their boasts of Moses and his Lord, + All could not change him by one word. + + "I know not what this man may be, + Sinner or saint; but as for me, + One thing I know,—that I am he + Who once was blind, and now I see." + + They were all doctors of renown, + The great men of a famous town, + With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise, + Beneath their wide phylacteries; + The wisdom of the East was theirs, + And honour crowned their silver hairs. + The man they jeered and laughed to scorn + Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born; + But he knew better far than they + What came to him that Sabbath-day; + And what the Christ had done for him + He knew, and not the Sanhedrim. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SINAI AND CALVARY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There are two mountains hallowed + By majesty sublime, + Which rear their crests unconquered + Above the floods of Time. + Uncounted generations + Have gazed on them with awe,— + The mountain of the Gospel, + The mountain of the Law. + + From Sinai's cloud of darkness + The vivid lightnings play; + They serve the God of vengeance, + The Lord who shall repay. + Each fault must bring its penance, + Each sin the avenging blade, + For God upholds in justice + The laws that He hath made. + + But Calvary stands to ransom + The earth from utter loss, + In shade than light more glorious, + The shadow of the Cross. + To heal a sick world's trouble, + To soothe its woe and pain, + On Calvary's sacred summit + The Paschal Lamb was slain. + + The boundless might of Heaven + Its law in mercy furled, + As once the bow of promise + O'erarched a drowning world. + The Law said, "As you keep me, + It shall be done to you;" + But Calvary prays, "Forgive them; + They know not what they do." + + Almighty God! direct us + To keep Thy perfect Law! + O blessed Saviour, help us + Nearer to Thee to draw! + Let Sinai's thunders aid us + To guard our feet from sin; + And Calvary's light inspire us + The love of God to win. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE VISION OF ST. PETER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Peter by night the faithfullest came + And said, "We appeal to thee! + The life of the Church is in thy life; + We pray thee to rise and flee. + + "For the tyrant's hand is red with blood, + And his arm is heavy with power; + Thy head, the head of the Church, will fall + If thou tarry in Rome an hour." + + Through the sleeping town St. Peter passed + To the wide Campagna plain; + In the starry light of the Alban night + He drew free breath again: + + When across his path an awful form + In luminous glory stood; + His thorn-crowned brow, His hands and feet, + Were wet with immortal blood. + + The godlike sorrow which filled His eyes + Seemed changed to a godlike wrath + As they turned on Peter, who cried aloud, + And sank to his knees in the path. + + "Lord of my life, my love, my soul! + Say, what wilt Thou with me?" + A voice replied, "I go to Rome + To be crucified for thee." + + The Apostle sprang, all flushed, to his feet,— + The vision had passed away; + The light still lay on the dewy plain, + But the sky in the east was gray. + + To the city walls St. Peter turned, + And his heart in his breast grew fire; + In every vein the hot blood burned + With the strength of one high desire. + + And sturdily back he marched to his death + Of terrible pain and shame; + And never a shade of fear again + To the stout Apostle came. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ISRAEL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When by Jabbok the patriarch waited + To learn on the morrow his doom, + And his dubious spirit debated + In darkness and silence and gloom, + There descended a Being with whom + He wrestled in agony sore, + With striving of heart and of brawn, + And not for an instant forbore + Till the east gave a threat of the dawn; + And then, as the Awful One blessed him, + To his lips and his spirit there came, + Compelled by the doubts that oppressed him, + The cry that through questioning ages + Has been wrung from the hinds and the sages, + "Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy name!" + + Most fatal, most futile, of questions! + Wherever the heart of man beats, + In the spirit's most sacred retreats, + It comes with its sombre suggestions, + Unanswered for ever and aye. + The blessing may come and may stay, + For the wrestlers heroic endeavour; + But the question, unheeded for ever, + Dies out in the broadening day. + + In the ages before our traditions, + By the altars of dark superstitions, + The imperious question has come; + When the death-stricken victim lay sobbing + At the feet of his slayer and priest, + And his heart was laid smoking and throbbing + To the sound of the cymbal and drum + On the steps of the high Teocallis; + When the delicate Greek at his feast + Poured forth the red wine from his chalice + With mocking and cynical prayer; + When by Nile Egypt worshipping lay, + And afar, through the rosy, flushed air + The Memnon called out to the day; + Where the Muezzin's cry floats from his spire; + In the vaulted Cathedral's dim shades, + Where the crushed hearts of thousands aspire + Through arts highest miracles higher, + This question of questions invades + Each heart bowed in worship or shame; + In the air where the censers are swinging, + A voice, going up with the singing, + Cries, "Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy name!" + + No answer came back, not a word, + To the patriarch there by the ford; + No answer has come through the ages + To the poets, the seers, and the sages + Who have sought in the secrets of science + The name and the nature of God, + Whether cursing in desperate defiance + Or kissing His absolute rod; + But the answer which was and shall be, + "My name! Nay, what is it to thee?" + The search and the question are vain. + By use of the strength that is in you, + By wrestling of soul and of sinew + The blessing of God you may gain. + + There are lights in the far-gleaming Heaven + That never will shine on our eyes; + To mortals it may not be given + To range those inviolate skies. + The mind, whether praying or scorning, + That tempts those dread secrets shall fail; + But strive through the night till the morning, + And mightily shalt thou prevail. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CROWS AT WASHINGTON. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Slow flapping to the setting sun + By twos and threes, in wavering rows, + As twilight shadows dimly close, + The crows fly over Washington. + + Under the crimson sunset sky + Virginian woodlands leafless lie, + In wintry torpor bleak and dun. + Through the rich vault of heaven, which shines + Like a warmed opal in the sun, + With wide advance in broken lines + The crows fly over Washington. + + Over the Capitol's white dome, + Across the obelisk soaring bare + To prick the clouds, they travel home, + Content and weary, winnowing + With dusky vans the golden air, + Which hints the coming of the spring, + Though winter whitens Washington. + + The dim, deep air, the level ray + Of dying sunlight on their plumes, + Give them a beauty not their own; + Their hoarse notes fail and faint away; + A rustling murmur floating down + Blends sweetly with the thickening glooms; + They touch with grace the fading day, + Slow flying over Washington. + + I stand and watch with clouded eyes + These dim battalions move along; + Out of the distance memory cries + Of days when life and hope were strong, + When love was prompt and wit was gay; + Even then, at evening, as to-day, + I watched, while twilight hovered dim + Over Potomac's curving rim, + This selfsame flight of homing crows + Blotting the sunset's fading rose, + Above the roofs of Washington. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REMORSE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sad is the thought of sunniest days + Of love and rapture perished, + And shine through memory's tearful haze + The eyes once fondliest cherished. + Reproachful is the ghost of toys + That charmed while life was wasted. + But saddest is the thought of joys + That never yet were tasted. + + Sad is the vague and tender dream + Of dead love's lingering kisses, + To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam + Of unreturning blisses; + Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride + For the pitiless death that won them,— + But the saddest wail is for lips that died + With the virgin dew upon them. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ESSE QUAM VIDERI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The knightly legend of thy shield betrays + The moral of thy life; a forecast wise, + And that large honour that deceit defies, + Inspired thy fathers in the elder days, + Who decked thy scutcheon with that sturdy phrase, + TO BE RATHER THAN SEEM. As eve's red skies + Surpass the morning's rosy prophecies, + Thy life to that proud boast its answer pays. + Scorning thy faith and purpose to defend + The ever-mutable multitude at last + Will hail the power they did not comprehend,— + Thy fame will broaden through the centuries; + As, storm and billowy tumult overpast, + The moon rules calmly o'er the conquered seas. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There's a happy time coming, + When the boys come home. + There's a glorious day coming, + When the boys come home. + We will end the dreadful story + Of this treason dark and gory + In a sunburst of glory, + When the boys come home. + + The day will seem brighter + When the boys come home, + For our hearts will be lighter + When the boys come home. + Wives and sweethearts will press them + In their arms and caress them, + And pray God to bless them, + When the boys come home. + + The thinned ranks will be proudest + When the boys come home, + And their cheer will ring the loudest + When the boys come home. + The full ranks will be shattered, + And the bright arms will be battered, + And the battle-standards tattered, + When the boys come home. + + Their bayonets may be rusty, + When the boys come home, + And their uniforms dusty, + When the boys come home. + But all shall see the traces + Of battle's royal graces, + In the brown and bearded faces, + When the boys come home. + + Our love shall go to meet them, + When the boys come home, + To bless them and to greet them, + When the boys come home; + And the fame of their endeavour + Time and change shall not dissever + From the nation's heart for ever, + When the boys come home. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LESE-AMOUR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How well my heart remembers + Beside these camp-fire embers + The eyes that smiled so far away,— + The joy that was November's. + + Her voice to laughter moving, + So merrily reproving,— + We wandered through the autumn woods, + And neither thought of loving. + + The hills with light were glowing, + The waves in joy were flowing,— + It was not to the clouded sun + The day's delight was owing. + + Though through the brown leaves straying, + Our lives seemed gone a-Maying; + We knew not Love was with us there, + No look nor tone betraying. + + How unbelief still misses + The best of being's blisses! + Our parting saw the first and last + Of love's imagined kisses. + + Now 'mid these scenes the drearest + I dream of her, the dearest,— + Whose eyes outshine the Southern stars, + So far, and yet the nearest. + + And Love, so gaily taunted, + Who died, no welcome granted, + Comes to me now, a pallid ghost, + By whom my life is haunted. + + With bonds I may not sever, + He binds my heart for ever, + And leads me where we murdered him,— + The Hill beside the River. + + CAMP SHAW, FLORIDA, + February 1864. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NORTHWARD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Under the high unclouded sun + That makes the ship and shadow one, + I sail away as from the fort + Booms sullenly the noonday gun. + + The odorous airs blow thin and fine, + The sparkling waves like emeralds shine, + The lustre of the coral reefs + Gleams whitely through the tepid brine. + + And glitters o'er the liquid miles + The jewelled ring of verdant isles, + Where generous Nature holds her court + Of ripened bloom and sunny smiles. + + Encinctured by the faithful seas + Inviolate gardens load the breeze, + Where flaunt like giant-warders' plumes + The pennants of the cocoa-trees. + + Enthroned in light and bathed in balm, + In lonely majesty the Palm + Blesses the isles with waving hands,— + High-Priest of the eternal Calm. + + Yet Northward with an equal mind + I steer my course, and leave behind + The rapture of the Southern skies,— + The wooing of the Southern wind. + + For here o'er Nature's wanton bloom + Falls far and near the shade of gloom, + Cast from the hovering vulture-wings + Of one dark thought of woe and doom. + + I know that in the snow-white pines + The brave Norse fire of freedom shines, + And fain for this I leave the land + Where endless summer pranks the vines. + + O strong, free North, so wise and brave! + O South, too lovely for a slave! + Why read ye not the changeless truth,— + The free can conquer but to save? + + May God upon these shining sands + Send Love and Victory clasping hands, + And Freedom's banners wave in peace + For ever o'er the rescued lands! + + And here, in that triumphant hour, + Shall yielding beauty wed with power; + And blushing earth and smiling sea + In dalliance deck the bridal bower. + + KEY WEST, 1864. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE FIRELIGHT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My dear wife sits beside the fire + With folded hands and dreaming eyes, + Watching the restless flames aspire, + And rapt in thralling memories. + I mark the fitful firelight fling + Its warm caresses on her brow, + And kiss her hands' unmelting snow, + And glisten on her wedding-ring. + + The proud free head that crowns so well + The neck superb, whose outlines glide + Into the bosom's perfect swell + Soft-billowed by its peaceful tide, + The cheek's faint flush, the lip's red glow, + The gracious charm her beauty wears, + Fill my fond eyes with tender tears + As in the days of long ago. + + Days long ago, when in her eyes + The only heaven I cared for lay, + When from our thoughtless Paradise + All care and toil dwelt far away; + When Hope in wayward fancies throve, + And rioted in secret sweets, + Beguiled by Passion's dear deceits,— + The mysteries of maiden love. + + One year had passed since first my sight + Was gladdened by her girlish charms, + When on a rapturous summer night + I clasped her in possessing arms. + And now ten years have rolled away, + And left such blessings as their dower; + I owe her tenfold at this hour + The love that lit our wedding-day. + + For now, vague-hovering o'er her form, + My fancy sees, by love refined, + A warmer and a dearer charm + By wedlock's mystic hands entwined,— + A golden coil of wifely cares + That years have forged, the loving joy + That guards the curly-headed boy + Asleep an hour ago upstairs. + + A fair young mother, pure as fair, + A matron heart and virgin soul! + The flickering light that crowns her hair + Seems like a saintly aureole. + A tender sense upon me falls + That joy unmerited is mine, + And in this pleasant twilight shine + My perfect bliss myself appals. + + Come back! my darling, strayed so far + Into the realm of fantasy,— + Let thy dear face shine like a star + In love-light beaming over me. + My melting soul is jealous, sweet, + Of thy long silence' drear eclipse; + O kiss me back with living lips, + To life, love, lying at thy feet! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN A GRAVEYARD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the dewy depths of the graveyard + I lie in the tangled grass, + And watch, in the sea of azure, + The white cloud-islands pass. + + The birds in the rustling branches + Sing gaily overhead; + Grey stones like sentinel spectres + Are guarding the silent dead. + + The early flowers sleep shaded + In the cool green noonday glooms; + The broken light falls shuddering + On the cold white face of the tombs. + + Without, the world is smiling + In the infinite love of God, + But the sunlight fails and falters + When it falls on the churchyard sod. + + On me the joyous rapture + Of a heart's first love is shed, + But it falls on my heart as coldly + As sunlight on the dead. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PRAIRIE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The skies are blue above my head, + The prairie green below, + And flickering o'er the tufted grass + The shifting shadows go, + Vague-sailing, where the feathery clouds + Fleck white the tranquil skies, + Black javelins darting where aloft + The whirring pheasant flies. + + A glimmering plain in drowsy trance + The dim horizon bounds, + Where all the air is resonant + With sleepy summer sounds,— + The life that sings among the flowers, + The lisping of the breeze, + The hot cicala's sultry cry, + The murmurous dream of bees. + + The butterfly—a flying flower— + Wheels swift in flashing rings, + And flutters round his quiet kin, + With brave flame-mottled wings. + The wild Pinks burst in crimson fire + The Phlox' bright clusters shine, + And Prairie-Cups are swinging free + To spill their airy wine. + + And lavishly beneath the sun, + In liberal splendour rolled, + The Fennel fills the dipping plain + With floods of flowery gold; + And widely weaves the Iron-Weed + A woof of purple dyes + Where Autumn's royal feet may tread + When bankrupt Summer flies. + + In verdurous tumult far away + The prairie-billows gleam, + Upon their crests in blessing rests + The noontide's gracious beam. + Low quivering vapours steaming dim + The level splendours break + Where languid Lilies deck the rim + Of some land-circled lake. + + Far in the east like low-hung clouds + The waving woodlands lie; + Far in the west the glowing plain + Melts warmly in the sky. + No accent wounds the reverent air, + No footprint dints the sod, + Lone in the light the prairie lies + Rapt in a dream of God. + + ILLINOIS, 1858. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CENTENNIAL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A hundred times the bells of Brown + Have rung to sleep the idle summers, + And still to-day clangs clamouring down + A greeting to the welcome comers. + + And far, like waves of morning, pours + Her call, in airy ripples breaking, + And wanders to the farthest shores, + Her children's drowsy hearts awaking. + + The wild vibration floats along, + O'er heart-strings tense its magic plying, + And wakes in every breast its song + Of love and gratitude undying. + + My heart to meet the summons leaps + At limit of its straining tether, + Where the fresh western sunlight steeps + In golden flame the prairie heather. + + And others, happier, rise and fare + To pass within the hallowed portal, + And see the glory shining there + Shrined in her steadfast eyes immortal. + + What though their eyes be dim and dull, + Their heads be white in reverend blossom; + Our mothers smile is beautiful + As when she bore them on her bosom! + + Her heavenly forehead bears no line + Of Time's iconolastic fingers, + But o'er her form the grace divine + Of deathless youth and wisdom lingers. + + We fade and pass, grow faint and old, + Till youth and joy and hope are banished, + And still her beauty seems to fold + The sum of all the glory vanished. + + As while Tithonus faltered on + The threshold of the Olympian dawnings, + Aurora's front eternal shone + With lustre of the myriad mornings. + + So joys that slip like dead leaves down, + And hopes burnt out that die in ashes, + Rise restless from their graves to crown + Our mother's brow with fadeless flashes. + + And lives wrapped in traditions mist + These honoured halls to-day are haunting, + And lips by lips long withered kissed + The sagas of the past are chanting. + + Scornful of absence' envious bar + BROWN smiles upon the mystic meeting + Of those her sons, who, sundered far, + In brotherhood of heart are greeting; + + Her wayward children wandering on + Where setting stars are lowly burning, + But still in worship toward the dawn + That gilds their souls' dear Mecca turning; + + Or those who, armed for God's own fight, + Stand by His Word through fire and slaughter, + Or bear our banner's starry light + Far-flashing through the Gulf's blue water. + + For where one strikes for light and truth, + The right to aid, the wrong redressing, + The mother of his spirit's youth + Sheds o'er his soul her silent blessing. + + She gained her crown a gem of flame + When KNEASS fell dead in victory gory; + New splendour blazed upon her name + When IVES' young life went out in glory! + + Thus bright for ever may she keep + Her fires of tolerant Freedom burning, + Till War's red eyes are charmed to sleep + And bells ring home the boys returning. + + And may she shed her radiant truth + In largess on ingenuous comers, + And hold the bloom of gracious youth + Through many a hundred tranquil summers! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WINTER NIGHT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The winter wind is raving fierce and shrill, + And chides with angry moan the frosty skies; + The white stars gaze with sleepless Gorgon eyes + That freeze the earth in terror fixed and still. + We reck not of the wild night's gloom and chill, + Housed from its rage, dear friend; and fancy flies, + Lured by the hand of beckoning memories, + Back to those summer evenings on the hill + Where we together watched the sun go down + Beyond the gold-washed uplands, while his fires + Touched into glittering life the vanes and spires + Piercing the purpling mists that veiled the town. + The wintry night thy voice and eyes beguile, + Till wake the sleeping summers in thy smile. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STUDENT-SONG. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When Youth's warm heart beats high, my friend, + And Youth's blue sky is bright, + And shines in Youth's clear eye, my friend, + Love's early dawning light, + Let the free soul spurn care's control, + And while the glad days shine, + We'll use their beams for Youth's gay dreams + Of Love and Song and Wine. + + Let not the bigot's frown, my friend, + O'ercast thy brow with gloom, + For Autumn's sober brown, my friend, + Shall follow Summer's bloom. + Let smiles and sighs and loving eyes + In changeful beauty shine, + And shed their beams on Youth's gay dreams + Of Love and Song and Wine. + + For in the weary years, my friend, + That stretched before us lie, + There'll be enough of tears, my friend, + To dim the brightest eye. + So let them wait, and laugh at fate, + While Youth's sweet moments shine,— + Till memory gleams with golden dreams + Of Love and Song and Wine. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW IT HAPPENED. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I pray you, pardon me, Elsie, + And smile that frown away + That dims the light of your lovely face + As a thunder-cloud the day. + I really could not help it,— + Before I thought, 'twas done,— + And those great grey eyes flashed bright and cold, + Like an icicle in the sun. + + I was thinking of the summers + When we were boys and girls, + And wandered in the blossoming woods, + And the gay winds romped with your curls. + And you seemed to me the same little girl + I kissed in the alder-path, + I kissed the little girl's lips, and, alas! + I have roused a woman's wrath. + + There is not so much to pardon,— + For why were your lips so red? + The blond hair fell in a shower of gold + From the proud, provoking head. + And the beauty that flashed from the splendid eyes, + And played round the tender mouth, + Rushed over my soul like a warm sweet wind + That blows from the fragrant south. + + And where, after all, is the harm done? + I believe we were made to be gay, + And all of youth not given to love + Is vainly squandered away. + And strewn through life's low labours, + Like gold in the desert sands, + Are love's swift kisses and sighs and vows + And the clasp of clinging hands. + + And when you are old and lonely, + In Memory's magic shine + You will see on your thin and wasting hands, + Like gems, these kisses of mine. + And when you muse at evening + At the sound of some vanished name, + The ghost of my kisses shall touch your lips + And kindle your heart to flame. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GOD'S VENGEANCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine; + I will repay," saith the Lord; + Ours be the anger divine, + Lit by the flash of His word. + + How shall His vengeance be done? + How, when His purpose is clear? + Must He come down from His throne? + Hath He no instruments here? + + Sleep not in imbecile trust, + Waiting for God to begin, + While, growing strong in the dust, + Rests the bruised serpent of sin. + + Right and Wrong,—both cannot live + Death-grappled. Which shall we see? + Strike! only Justice can give + Safety to all that shall be. + + Shame! to stand paltering thus, + Tricked by the balancing odds; + Strike! God is waiting for us! + Strike! for the vengeance is God's. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TOO LATE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Had we but met in other days, + Had we but loved in other ways, + Another light and hope had shone + On your life and my own. + + In sweet but hopeless reveries + I fancy how your wistful eyes + Had saved me, had I known their power + In fate's imperious hour; + + How loving you, beloved of God, + And following you, the path I trod + Had led me, through your love and prayers, + To God's love unawares: + + And how our beings joined as one + Had passed through checkered shade and sun, + Until the earth our lives had given, + With little change, to heaven. + + God knows why this was not to be. + You bloomed from childhood far from me. + The sunshine of the favoured place + That knew your youth and grace. + + And when your eyes, so fair and free, + In fearless beauty beamed on me, + I knew the fatal die was thrown, + My choice in life was gone. + + And still with wild and tender art + Your child-love touched my torpid heart, + Gilding the blackness where it fell, + Like sunlight over hell. + + In vain, in vain! my choice was gone! + Better to struggle on alone + Than blot your pure life's blameless shine + With cloudy stains of mine. + + A vague regret, a troubled prayer, + And then the future vast and fair + Will tempt your young and eager eyes + With all its glad surprise. + + And I shall watch you, safe and far, + As some late traveller eyes a star + Wheeling beyond his desert sands + To gladden happier lands. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LOVE'S DOUBT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Tis love that blinds my heart and eyes,— + I sometimes say in doubting dreams,— + The face that near me perfect seems + Cold Memory paints in fainter dyes. + + 'Twas but love's dazzled eyes—I say— + That made her seem so strangely bright; + The face I worshipped yesternight, + I dread to meet it changed to-day. + + As, when dies out some song's refrain, + And leaves your eyes in happy tears, + Awake the same fond idle fears,— + It cannot sound so sweet again. + + You wait and say with vague annoy, + "It will not sound so sweet again," + Until comes back the wild refrain + That floods your soul with treble joy. + + So when I see my love again + Fades the unquiet doubt away, + While shines her beauty like the day + Over my happy heart and brain. + + And in that face I see no more + The fancied faults I idly dreamed, + But all the charms that fairest seemed, + I find them, fairer than before. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LACRIMAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God send me tears! + Loose the fierce band that binds my tired brain, + Give me the melting heart of other years, + And let me weep again! + + Before me pass + The shapes of things inexorably true. + Gone is the sparkle of transforming dew + From every blade of grass. + + In life's high noon + Aimless I stand, my promised task undone, + And raise my hot eyes to the angry sun + That will go down too soon. + + Turned into gall + Are the sweet joys of childhood's sunny reign; + And memory is a torture, love a chain + That binds my life in thrall. + + And childhood's pain + Could to me now the purest rapture yield; + I pray for tears as in his parching field + The husbandman for rain. + + We pray in vain! + The sullen sky flings down its blaze of brass; + The joys of life all scorched and withering pass; + I shall not weep again. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE BLUFF. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O grandly flowing River! + O silver-gliding River! + Thy springing willows shiver + In the sunset as of old; + They shiver in the silence + Of the willow-whitened islands, + While the sun-bars and the sand-bars + Fill air and wave with gold. + + O gay, oblivious River! + O sunset-kindled River! + Do you remember ever + The eyes and skies so blue + On a summer day that shone here, + When we were all alone here, + And the blue eyes were too wise + To speak the love they knew? + + O stern, impassive River! + O still, unanswering River! + The shivering willows quiver + As the night-winds moan and rave. + From the past a voice is calling, + From heaven a star is falling, + And dew swells in the bluebells + Above her hillside grave. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + UNA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the whole wide world there was but one; + Others for others, but she was mine, + The one fair woman beneath the sun. + + From her gold-flax curls' most marvellous shine + Down to the lithe and delicate feet + There was not a curve nor a waving line + + But moved in a harmony firm and sweet + With all of passion my life could know. + By knowledge perfect and faith complete + + I was bound to her,—as the planets go + Adoring around their central star, + Free, but united for weal or woe. + + She was so near and Heaven so far— + She grew my heaven and law and fate, + Rounding my life with a mystic bar + + No thought beyond could violate. + Our love to fulness in silence nursed + Grew calm as morning, when through the gate + + Of the glimmering east the sun has burst, + With his hot life filling the waiting air. + She kissed me once,—that last and first + + Of her maiden kisses was placid as prayer. + Against all comers I sat with lance + In rest, and, drunk with my joy, I sware + + Defiance and scorn to the world's worst chance. + In vain! for soon unhorsed I lay + At the feet of the strong god Circumstance— + + And never again shall break the day, + And never again shall fall the night, + That shall light me, or shield me, on my way + + To the presence of my sad soul's delight. + Her dead love comes like a passionate ghost + To mourn the Body it held so light, + + And Fate, like a hound with a purpose lost, + Goes round bewildered with shame and fright. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THROUGH THE LONG DAYS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Through the long days and years + What will my loved one be, + Parted from me? + Through the long days and years. + + Always as then she was, + Loveliest, brightest, best, + Blessing and blest,— + Always as then she was. + + Never on earth again + Shall I before her stand, + Touch lip or hand,— + Never on earth again. + + But while my darling lives + Peaceful I journey on, + Not quite alone, + Not while my darling lives. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A PHYLACTERY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wise men I hold those rakes of old + Who, as we read in antique story, + When lyres were struck and wine was poured, + Set the white Death's Head on the board— + Memento mori. + + Love well! love truly! and love fast! + True love evades the dilatory. + Life's bloom flares like a meteor past; + A joy so dazzling cannot last— + Memento mori. + + Stop not to pluck the leaves of bay + That greenly deck the path of glory, + The wreath will wither if you stay, + So pass along your earnest way— + Memento mori. + + Hear but not heed, though wild and shrill, + The cries of faction transitory; + Cleave to YOUR good, eschew YOUR ill, + A Hundred Years and all is still— + Memento mori. + + When Old Age comes with muffled drums, + That beat to sleep our tired life's story, + On thoughts of dying (Rest is good!), + Like old snakes coiled i' the sun, we brood— + Memento mori. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BLONDINE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I wandered through a careless world + Deceived when not deceiving, + And never gave an idle heart + The rapture of believing. + The smiles, the sighs, the glancing eyes, + Of many hundred comers + Swept by me, light as rose-leaves blown + From long-forgotten summers. + + But never eyes so deep and bright + And loyal in their seeming, + And never smiles so full of light + Have shone upon my dreaming. + The looks and lips so gay and wise, + The thousand charms that wreathe them, + —Almost I dare believe that truth + Is safely shrined beneath them. + + Ah! do they shine, those eyes of thine, + But for our own misleading? + The fresh young smile, so pure and fine, + Does it but mock our reading? + Then faith is fled, and trust is dead, + And unbelief grows duty, + If fraud can wield the triple arm + Of youth and wit and beauty. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DISTICHES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + + Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her. + This one may love her some day, some day the lover will not. + + II. + + There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are going, + When they seem going they come: Diplomates, women, and crabs. + + III. + + Pleasures too hastily tasted grow sweeter in fond recollection, + As the pomegranate plucked green ripens far over the sea. + + IV. + + As the meek beasts in the Garden came flocking for Adam to name them, + Men for a title to-day crawl to the feet of a king. + + V. + + What is a first love worth, except to prepare for a second? + What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first. + + VI. + + Health was wooed by the Romans in groves of the laurel and myrtle. + Happy and long are the lives brightened by glory and love. + + VII. + + Wine is like rain: when it falls on the mire it but makes it the fouler, + But when it strikes the good soil wakes it to beauty and bloom. + + VIII. + + Break not the rose; its fragrance and beauty are surely sufficient: + Resting contented with these, never a thorn shall you feel. + + IX. + + When you break up housekeeping, you learn the extent of your treasures; + Till he begins to reform, no one can number his sins. + + X. + + Maidens! why should you worry in choosing whom you shall marry? + Choose whom you may, you will find you have got somebody else. + + XI. + + Unto each man comes a day when his favourite sins all forsake him, + And he complacently thinks he has forsaken his sins. + + XII. + + Be not too anxious to gain your next-door neighbour's approval: + Live your own life, and let him strive your approval to gain. + + XIII. + + Who would succeed in the world should be wise in the use of his pronouns. + Utter the You twenty times, where you once utter the I. + + XIV. + + The best-loved man or maid in the town would perish with anguish + Could they hear all that their friends say in the + course of a day. + + XV. + + True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table: + Luckiest he who knows just when to rise and go home. + + XVI. + + Pleasant enough it is to hear the world speak of your virtues; + But in your secret heart 'tis of your faults you are proud. + + XVII. + + Try not to beat back the current, yet be not drowned in its waters; + Speak with the speech of the world, think with the thoughts of the few. + + XVIII. + + Make all good men your well-wishers, and then, in the years' steady + sifting, + Some of them turn into friends. Friends are the sunshine of life. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REGARDANT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I lay at your feet that afternoon, + Little we spoke,—you sat and mused, + Humming a sweet old-fashioned tune, + + And I worshipped you, with a sense confused + Of the good time gone and the bad on the way, + While my hungry eyes your face perused, + + To catch and brand on my soul for aye + The subtle smile which had grown my doom. + Drinking sweet poison hushed I lay + + Till the sunset shimmered athwart the room. + I rose to go. You stood so fair + And dim in the dead day's tender gloom: + + All at once, or ever I was aware, + Flashed from you on me a warm strong wave + Of passion and power; in the silence there + + I fell on my knees, like a lover, or slave, + With my wild hands clasping your slender waist; + And my lips, with a sudden frenzy brave, + + A madman's kiss on your girdle pressed, + And I felt your calm heart's quickening beat, + And your soft hands on me one instant rest. + + And if God had loved me, how endlessly sweet + Had He let my heart in its rapture burst, + And throb its last at your firm small feet! + + And when I was forth, I shuddered at first + At my imminent bliss. As a soul in pain, + Treading his desolate path accursed, + + Looks back and dreams through his tears' dim rain + That by Heaven's wide gate the angels smile, + Relenting, and beckon him back again, + + And goes on, thrice damned by that devil's wile,— + So sometimes burns in my weary brain + The thought that you loved me all the while. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GUY OF THE TEMPLE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Down the dim west slowly fails the stricken sun, + And from his hot face fades the crimson flush + Veiled in death's herald-shadows sick and grey. + Silent and dark the sombre valley lies + Forgotten; happy in the late fond beams + Glimmer the constant waves of Galilee. + Afar, below, in airy music ring + The bugles of my host; the column halts, + A wearied serpent glittering in the vale, + Where rising mist-like gleam the tented camps. + + Pitch my pavilion here, where its high cross + May catch the last light lingering on the hill. + The savage shadows, struggling by the shore, + Have conquered in the valley; inch by inch + The vanquished light fights bravely to these crags + To perish glorious in the sunset fire; + Even as our hunted Cause so pressed and torn + In Syrian valleys, and the trampled marge + Of consecrated streams, displays at last + Its narrowing glories from these steadfast walls. + Here in God's name we stand, and brighter far + Shines the stern virtue of my martyr-host + Through these invidious fortunes, than of old, + When the still sunshine glinted on their helms, + And dallying breezes woke their bridle-bells + To tinkling music by the reedy shore + Of calm Tiberias, where our angry Lord, + Wroth at the deadly sin that cursed our camp, + Denied and blinded us, and gave us up + To the avenging sword of Saladin. + Yet would He not permit His truth to sink + To utter loss amid that foundering fight, + But led us, scarred and shattered from the spoil + Of Paynim rage, the desert's thirsty death, + To where beneath the sheltering crags we prayed + And rested and grew strong. Heroes and saints + To alien peoples shall they be, my brave + And patient warriors; for in their stout hearts + God's Spirit dwells for ever, and their hands + Are swift to do His service on His foes. + The swelling music of their vesper-hymn + Is rising fragrant from the shadowed vale + Familiar to the welcoming gates of heaven. + + Mother of God! as evening falls + Upon the silent sea, + And shadows veil the mountain walls, + We lift our souls to thee! + From lurking perils of the night, + The desert's hidden harms, + From plagues that waste, from blasts that smite, + Defend thy men-at-arms! + + Ay! Heaven keep them! and ye angel-hosts + That wait with fluttering plumes around the great + White throne of God, guard them from scath and harm! + For in your starry records never shone + The memory of desert so great as theirs. + I hold not first, though peerless else on earth, + That knightly valour, born of gentle blood + And war's long tutelage, which hath made their name + Blaze like a baleful planet o'er these lands; + Firm seat in saddle, lance unmoved, a hand + Wedding the hilt with death's persistent grasp; + One-minded rush in fight that naught can stay. + Not these the highest, though I scorn not these, + But rather offer Heaven with humble heart + The deeds that Heaven hath given us arms to do. + For when God's smile was with us we were strong + To go like sudden lightning to our mark: + As on that summer day when Saladin— + Passing in scorn our host at Antioch, + Who spent the days in revel, and shamed the stars + With nightly scandal—came with all his host, + Its gay battalia brave with saffron silks, + Flaunting the banners of the Caliphate + Beneath the walls of fair Jerusalem: + And white and shaking came the Leper-King, + Great Baldwin's blasted scion, and Tripoli + And I, and twenty score of Temple Knights, + To meet the myriads marshalled by the bright + Untarnished flower of Eastern chivalry; + A moment paused with level-fronting spears + And moveless helms before that shining host, + Whose gay attire abashed the morning light, + And then struck spur and charged, while from the mass + Of rushing terror burst the awful cry, + GOD AND THE TEMPLE! As the avalanche slides + Down Alpine slopes, precipitous, cold and dark, + Unpitying and unwrathful, grinds and crushes + The mountain violets and the valley weeds, + And drags behind a trail of chaos and death; + So burst we on that field, and through and through + The gay battalia brave with saffron silks, + Crushed and abolished every grace and gleam, + And dragged where'er we rode a sinuous track + Of chaos and death, till all the plain was filled + With battered armour, turbaned trunkless heads, + With silken mantles blushing angry gules + And Bagdad's banners trampled and forlorn. + And Saladin, stunned and bewildered sore,— + The greatest prince, save in the grace of God, + That now wears sword,—mounted his brother's barb, + And, followed by a half-score followers, + Sped to his castle Shaubec, over against + The cliffs by Ascalon, and there abode: + And sullenly made order that no more + The royal nouba should be played for him + Until he should erase the rusting stain + Upon his knightly honour; and no more + The nouba sounded by the Sultan's tent, + Morning nor evening by the silent tent, + Until the headlong greed of Chatillon + Spread ruin on our cause from Montreale. + But greatest are my warriors, as I deem, + In that their hearts, nearer than any else, + Keep true the pledge of perfect purity + They pledged upon their sword-hilts long ago. + For all is possible to the pure in heart. + + Mother of God! thy starry smile + Still bless us from above! + Keep pure our souls from passion's guile, + Our hearts from earthly love! + Still save each soul from guilt apart + As stainless as each sword, + And guard undimmed in every heart + The image of our Lord! + + O goodliest fellowship that the world has known, + True hearts and stalwart arms! above your breasts + Glitters no flash of wreathen amulet + Forged against sword-stroke by the chanted rhythm + Of charms accurst; but in each steadfast heart + Blazes the light of cloudless purity, + That like a splendid jewel glorifies + With restless fire the gold that spheres it round, + And marks you children of our God, whose lives + He guards with the awful jealousy of love. + And even me that generous love has spared,— + Me, trustless knight and miserable man,— + Sad prey of dark and mutinous thoughts that tempt + My sick soul into perjury and death— + Since His great love had pity on my pain, + Has spared to lead these blameless warriors safe + Into the desert from the blazing towns, + Out of the desert to the inviolate hills + Where God has roofed them with His hollow shield. + Through all these days of tempest and eclipse + His hand has led me and His wrath has flashed + Its lightnings in the pathway of my sword. + And so I hope, and so my crescent faith + Gains daily power, that all my prayers and tears + And toils and blood and anguish borne for Him + May blot the accusing of my deadly sin + From heavens high compt, and give me rest in death; + And lay the pallid ghost of mortal love, + That fills with banned and mournful loveliness, + Unblest, the haunted chambers of my soul. + My misery will atone,—my misery,— + Dear God, will surely atone! for not the sting + Of lacerating thongs, nor the slow horror + Of crowns of thorny iron maddening the brows, + Nor all that else pale hermits have devised + To scourge the rebel senses in their shade + Of caverned desolation, have the power + To smart and goad and lash and mortify + Like the great love that binds my ruined heart + Relentless, as the insidious ivy binds + The shattered bulk of some deserted tower, + Enlacing slow and riving with strong hands + Of pitiless verdure every seam and jut, + Till none may tear it forth and save the tower. + So binds and masters me my hopeless love. + So through the desert, in the silent hills, + I' the current of the battle's storm and stress, + One thought has driven me,—that though men may call + Me stainless Paladin, Knight leal and true + To Christ and Our Lady, still I know myself + A knight not after God's own heart, a soul + Recreant, and whelmed in the forbidden sin. + For dearer to my sad heart than the cross + I give my heart's best blood for are the eyes + That long ago, when youth and hope were mine, + I loved in thy still valleys, far Provence! + And sweeter to my spirit than the bells + Of rescued Salem are the loving tones + Of her dear voice, soft echoing o'er the years. + They haunt me in the stillness and the glare + Of desert noontide when the horizon's line + Swims faintly throbbing, and my shadow hides + Skulking beneath me from the brassy sky. + And when night comes to soothe with breath of balm + And pomp of stars the worn and weary world, + Her eyes rise in my soul and make its day. + And even into the battle comes my love, + Snatching the duty that I offer Heaven. + At closing of El-Majed's awful day, + When the last quivering sunbeams, choked with dust + And fume of blood, failed on the level plain, + In the last charge, when gathered all our knights + The precious handful who from morn had stemmed + The fury of the multitudinous hosts + Of Islam, where in youth's hot fire and pride + Ramped the young lion-whelp, Ben-Saladin; + As down the slope we rode at eventide, + The dying sunlight faintly smiled to greet + Our tattered guidons and our dinted helms + And lance-heads blooming with the battle's rose. + Into the vale, dusk with the shadow of death, + With silent lips and ringing mail we rode. + And something in the spirit of the hour, + Or fate, or memory, or sorrow, or sin, + Or love, which unto me is all of these, + Possessed and bound me; for when dashed our troop + In stormy clangour on the Paynim lines + The soul of my dead youth came into me; + Faded away my oath; the woes of Zion, + God was forgot; blazed in my leaping heart, + With instant flash, life's inextinguished fires; + Plunging along each tense limb poured the blood + Hot with its years of sleeping-smothered flame. + And in a dream I charged, and in a dream + I smote resistless; foemen in my path + Fell unregarded, like the wayside flowers + Clipped by the truant's staff in daisied lanes. + For over me burned lustrous the dear eyes + Of my beloved; I strove as at a joust + To gain at end the guerdon of her smile. + And ever, as in the dense melee I dashed, + Her name burst from my lips, as lightning breaks + Out of the plunging wrack of summer storms. + + O my lost love! Bright o'er the waste of years— + That bliss and beauty shines upon my soul; + As far beyond yon desert hangs the sun, + Gilding with tender beam the barren stretch + Of sands that intervene. In this still light + The old sweet memories glimmer back to me, + Fair summers of my youth,—the idle days + I wandered in the bosky coverts hid + In the dim woods that girt my ancient home; + The blue young eyes I met and worshipped there; + The love that growing turned those gloomy wilds + To faery dells, and filled the vernal air + With light that bathed the hills of Paradise; + The warm, long days of rapturous summer-time, + When through the forests thick and lush we strayed, + And love made our own sunshine in the shades. + And all things fair and graceful in the woods + I loved with liberal heart; the violets + Were dear for her dear eyes, the quiring birds + That caught the musical tremble of her voice. + O happy twilights in the leafy glooms! + When in the glowing dusk the winsome arts + And maiden graces that all day had kept + Us twain and separate melted away + In blushing silence, and my love was mine + Utterly, utterly, with clinging arms + And quick, caressing fingers, warm red lips, + Where vows, half uttered, drowned in kisses, died; + Mine, with the starlight in her passionate eyes; + The wild wind of the woodland breathing low + To wake the elfin music of the leaves, + And free the prisoned odours of the flowers, + In honour of young Love come to his throne! + While we under the stars, with twining arms + And mutual lips insatiate, gave our souls— + Madly forgetting earth and heaven—to love! + + In desert march or battle flame, + In fortress and in field, + Our war-cry is thy holy name, + Thy love our joy and shield! + And if we falter, let thy power + Thy stern avenger be, + And God forget us in the hour + We cease to think of thee! + + Curse me not, God of Justice and of Love! + Pitiful God, let my long woe atone! + + I cannot deem but God has pitied me; + Else why with painful care have I been saved, + Whenever tossed and drenched in the fierce tide + Of Saladin's victories by the walls profaned + Of Jaffa, on the sands of far Daroum, + Or in the battle thundering on the downs + Of Ramlah, or the bloody day that shed + Red horrors on high Gaza's parapets? + For never a storm of fatal fight has raged + In Islam's track of rout and ruin swept + From Egypt to Gebail, but when the ebb + Of battle came I and my host have lain, + Scarred, scorched, safe somewhere on its fiery shore. + At Marcab's lingering siege, where day by day + We told the Moslem legions toiling slow, + Planting their engines, delving in their mines + To quench in our destruction this last light + Of Christendom, our fortress in the crags, + God's beacon swung defiant from the stars; + One thunderous night I knew their miners groped + Below, and thought ere morn to die, in crush + And tumult of the falling citadel. + And pondering of my fate—the broken storm + Sobbing its life away—I was aware + There grew between me and the quieting skies + A face and form I knew,—not as in dreams, + The sad dishevelled loveliness of earth, + But lighter than the thin air where she swayed,— + Gold hair flame-fluttered, eyes and mouth aglow + With lambent light of spiritual joy. + With sweet command she beckoned me away + And led me vaguely dreaming, till I saw + Where the wild flood in sudden fury had burst + A passage through the rocks: and thence I led + My host unharmed, following her luminous eyes, + Until the east was grey, and with a smile + Wooing me heavenward still she passed away + Into the rosy trouble of the dawn. + + And I believe my love is shrived in heaven, + And I believe that I shall soon be free. + + For ever, as I journey on, to me + Waking or sleeping come faint whisperings + And fancies not of earth, as if the gates + Of near eternity stood for me ajar, + And ghostly gales come blowing o'er my soul + Fraught with the amaranth odours of the skies. + I go to join the Lion-Heart at Acre, + And there, after due homage to my liege, + And after patient penance of the Church, + And after final devoir in the fight, + If that my God be gracious, I shall die. + And so I pray—Lord, pardon if I sin!— + That I may lose in death's embittered wave + The stain of sinful loving, and may find + In glory again the love I lost below, + With all of fair and bright and unattained, + Beautiful in the cherishing smile of God, + By the glad waters of the River of Life! + + Night hangs above the valley; dies the day + In peace, casting his last glance on my cross, + And warns me to my prayers. Ave Maria! + + Mother of God! the evening fades + On wave and hill and lea, + And in the twilight's deepening shades + We lift our souls to thee! + In passion's stress—the battle's strife, + The desert's lurking harms, + Maid-Mother of the Lord of Life + Protect thy men-at-arms! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TRANSLATIONS. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WAY TO HEAVEN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FROM THE GERMAN. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + One day the Sultan, grand and grim, + Ordered the Mufti brought to him. + "Now let thy wisdom solve for me + The question I shall put to thee. + + "The different tribes beneath my sway + Four several sects of priests obey; + Now tell me which of all the four + Is on the path to Heaven's door." + + The Sultan spake, and then was dumb. + The Mufti looked about the room, + And straight made answer to his lord, + Fearing the bowstring at each word: + + "Thou, godlike in thy lofty birth, + Who art our Allah upon earth, + Illume me with thy favouring ray, + And I will answer as I may. + + "Here, where thou thronest in thy hall, + I see there are four doors in all; + And through all four thy slaves may gaze + Upon the brightness of thy face. + + "That I came hither safely through + Was to thy gracious message due, + And, blinded by thy splendour's flame, + I cannot tell the way I came." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + COUNTESS JUTTA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Countess Jutta passed over the Rhine + In a light canoe by the moon's pale shine. + The handmaid rows and the Countess speaks: + "Seest thou not there where the water breaks + Seven corpses swim + In the moonlight dim? + So sorrowful swim the dead! + + "They were seven knights full of fire and youth, + They sank on my heart and swore me truth. + I trusted them; but for Truth's sweet sake, + Lest they should be tempted their oaths to break, + I had them bound, + And tenderly drowned! + So sorrowful swim the dead!" + + The merry Countess laughed outright! + It rang so wild in the startled night! + Up to the waist the dead men rise + And stretch lean fingers to the skies. + They nod and stare + With a glassy glare! + So sorrowful swim the dead! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A BLESSING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AFTER HEINE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I look on thee and feel how dear, + How pure, and how fair thou art, + Into my eyes there steals a tear, + And a shadow mingled of love and fear + Creeps slowly over my heart. + + And my very hands feel as if they would lay + Themselves on thy fair young head, + And pray the good God to keep thee alway + As good and lovely, as pure and gay,— + When I and my wild love are dead. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO THE YOUNG. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AFTER HEINE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Let your feet not falter, your course not alter + By golden apples, till victory's won! + The sword's sharp clangour, the dart's shrill anger, + Swerve not the hero thundering on. + + A bold beginning is half the winning, + An Alexander makes worlds his fee. + No long debating! The Queens are waiting + In his pavilion on beaded knee. + + Thus swift pursuing his wars and wooing, + He mounts old Darius' bed and throne. + O glorious ruin! O blithe undoing! + O drunk death-triumph in Babylon! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GOLDEN CALF. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AFTER HEINE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Double flutes and horns resound + As they dance the idol round; + Jacob's daughters, madly reeling, + Whirl about the golden calf. + Hear them laugh! + Kettledrums and laughter pealing. + + Dresses tucked above their knees, + Maids of noblest families, + In the swift dance blindly wheeling, + Circle in their wild career + Round the steer,— + Kettledrums and laughter pealing. + + Aaron's self, the guardian grey + Of the faith, at last gives way, + Madness all his senses stealing; + Prances in his high priest's coat + Like a goat,— + Kettledrums and laughter pealing. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE AZRA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AFTER HEINE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Daily walked the fair and lovely + Sultan's daughter in the twilight,— + In the twilight by the fountain, + Where the sparkling waters plash. + + Daily stood the young slave silent + In the twilight by the fountain, + Where the plashing waters sparkle, + Pale and paler every day. + + Once by twilight came the princess + Up to him with rapid questions: + "I would know thy name, thy nation, + Whence thou comest, who thou art." + + And the young slave said, "My name is + Mahomet, I come from Yemmen. + I am of the sons of Azra, + Men who perish if they love." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GOOD AND BAD LUCK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AFTER HEINE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Good luck is the gayest of all gay girls, + Long in one place she will not stay; + Back from your brow she strokes the curls, + Kisses you quick and flies away. + + But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes + And stays,—no fancy has she for flitting,— + Snatches of true love-songs she hums, + And sits by your bed, and brings her knitting. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + L'AMOUR DU MENSONGE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AFTER CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I behold thee, O my indolent love, + To the sound of ringing brazen melodies, + Through garish halls harmoniously move, + Scattering a scornful light from languid eyes; + + When I see, smitten by the blazing lights, + Thy pale front, beauteous in its bloodless glow + As the faint fires that deck the Northern nights, + And eyes that draw me wheresoe'er I go; + + I say, She is fair, too coldly strange for speech; + A crown of memories, her calm brow above, + Shines; and her heart is like a bruised red peach, + Ripe as her body for intelligent love. + + Art thou late fruit of spicy savour and scent? + A funeral vase awaiting tearful showers? + An Eastern odour, waste and oasis blent? + A silken cushion or a bank of flowers? + + I know there are eyes of melancholy sheen + To which no passionate secrets e'er were given; + Shrines where no god or saint has ever been, + As deep and empty as the vault of Heaven. + + But what care I if this be all pretence? + 'Twill serve a heart that seeks for truth no more. + All one thy folly or indifference,— + Hail, lovely mask, thy beauty I adore! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AMOR MYSTICUS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FROM THE SPANISH OF SOR MARCELA DE CARPIO. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Let them say to my Lover + That here I lie! + The thing of His pleasure, + His slave am I. + + Say that I seek Him + Only for love, + And welcome are tortures + My passion to prove. + + Love giving gifts + Is suspicious and cold; + I have all, my Beloved, + When Thee I hold. + + Hope and devotion + The good may gain; + I am but worthy + Of passion and pain. + + So noble a Lord + None serves in vain, + For the pay of my love + Is my love's sweet pain. + + I love Thee, to love Thee,— + No more I desire; + By faith is nourished + My love's strong fire. + + I kiss Thy hands + When I feel their blows; + In the place of caresses + Thou givest me woes. + + But in Thy chastising + Is joy and peace. + O Master and Love, + Let Thy blows not cease. + + Thy beauty, Beloved, + With scorn is rife, + But I know that Thou lovest me, + Better than life. + + And because thou lovest me, + Lover of mine, + Death can but make me + Utterly Thine. + + I die with longing + Thy face to see; + Oh! sweet is the anguish + Of death to me! +</pre> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Pike County Ballads and Other Poems, by John Hay + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIKE COUNTRY BALLADS *** + +***** This file should be named 6062-h.htm or 6062-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/6/6062/ + +Produced by Les Bowler and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: Pike County Ballads and Other Poems + +Author: John Hay + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6062] +Last Updated: August 21, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIKE COUNTRY BALLADS *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler + + + + + + +PIKE COUNTY BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS + +By John Hay + + +LIST OF CONTENTS. + + INTRODUCTION by Henry Morley. + + POEMS BY JOHN HAY. + + THE PIKE COUNTY BALLADS. + + JIM BLUDSO + LITTLE BREECHES + BANTY TIM + THE MYSTERY OF GILGAL + GOLYER + THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT + + WANDERLIEDER. + + SUNRISE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE + THE SPHINX OF THE TUILERIES + THE SURRENDER OF SPAIN + THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS + THE CURSE OF HUNGARY + THE MONKS OF BASLE + THE ENCHANTED SHIRT + A WOMAN'S LOVE + ON PITZ LANGUARD + BOUDOIR PROPHECIES + A TRIUMPH OF ORDER + ERNST OF EDELSHEIM + MY CASTLE IN SPAIN + SISTER SAINT LUKE + + NEW AND OLD. + + MILES KEOGH'S HORSE + THE ADVANCE-GUARD + LOVE'S PRAYER + CHRISTINE + EXPECTATION + TO FLORA + A HAUNTED ROOM + DREAMS + THE LIGHT OF LOVE + QUAND MEME + WORDS + THE STIRRUP-CUP + A DREAM OF BRIC-A-BRAC + LIBERTY + THE WHITE FLAG + THE LAW OF DEATH + MOUNT TABOR + RELIGION AND DOCTRINE + SINAI AND CALVARY + THE VISION OF ST. PETER + ISRAEL + THE CROWS AT WASHINGTON + REMORSE + ESSE QUAM VIDERI + WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME + LESE-AMOUR + NORTHWARD + IN THE FIRELIGHT + IN A GRAVEYARD + THE PRAIRIE + CENTENNIAL + A WINTER NIGHT + STUDENT-SONG + HOW IT HAPPENED + GOD'S VENGEANCE + TOO LATE + LOVE'S DOUBT + LAGRIMAS + ON THE BLUFF + UNA + "THROUGH THE LONG DAYS AND YEARS" + A PHYLACTERY + BLONDINE + DISTICHES + REGARDANT + GUY OF THE TEMPLE + + TRANSLATIONS. + + THE WAY TO HEAVEN + COUNTESS JUTTA + A BLESSING + TO THE YOUNG + THE GOLDEN CALF + THE AZRA + GOOD AND BAD LUCK + L'AMOUR DU MENSONGE + AMOR MYSTICUS + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +Pike County Ballads and other poems in this volume by Colonel John Hay +represent in the best manner the spirit of our strong and independent +sister-land across the Atlantic. Pike County Ballads do full justice to +the raw material in the United States, and show a loyal temper in the +rough. The other pieces show how the love of freedom speaks through +finer spirits of the land, and, dealing with realities, can turn a life +of action into music. + +Colonel Hay has lived always in vigorous relation with the full life of +the people whose best mind his poems represent. He is descended from a +Scottish soldier, a John Hay, who, at the beginning of the last century, +left his country to take service under the Elector-Palatine, and whose +son went afterwards with his family to settle among the Kentucky +pioneers. Dr. Charles Hay was the father of John Hay the poet, who was +born on the 8th of October 1838, in the heart of the United States, at +Salem in Indiana. When twenty years old he graduated at the +neighbouring Brown University, where his fellow-students valued his skill +as a writer. Then he studied for the Bar, and he was called to the Bar +three years later, at Springfield, Illinois. + +At Springfield, Abraham Lincoln practised as a barrister. Shrewd, +lively, earnest, honest, he grudged help to a rogue. In a criminal case, +when evidence threw unexpected light upon a client's character, Abraham +Lincoln said suddenly to his junior, "Swett, the man is guilty; you +defend him, I can't." In another case, when a piece of rascality in his +client came out, Abraham Lincoln left his junior in possession of the +case and went to his hotel. To the judge, who sent for him, he replied +that he had found his hands were very dirty, and had gone away to get +them clean. Almost immediately after John Hay's call to the Bar at +Springfield he was chosen by Abraham Lincoln, newly made President, to go +with him to Washington. At Washington, Hay acted as Assistant-Secretary, +and was also, in the Civil War, aide-de-camp to President Lincoln. +Throughout that momentous struggle he was actively employed on the side +of the North at the headquarters and on the field of battle. He served +for a time under Generals Hunter and Gillmore, became a Colonel in the +army of the North, and served also as Assistant Adjutant-General. John +Hay had in that struggle three brothers and two brothers-in-law serving +also in the field. + +In 1890 there was published, in ten volumes, at New York, by the New York +Century Company, "Abraham Lincoln, a History: by John G. Nicolay and +John Hay." This was, with fresh material inserted, a collection of +chapters that had been published in The Century Magazine from November +1886 to the beginning of 1890. The friends, who worked equally together +upon this large record, said, "We knew Mr. Lincoln intimately before his +election to the Presidency. We came from Illinois to Washington with +him, and remained at his side and in his service--separately or +together--until the day of his death." + +Abroad, as at home, Colonel Hay has been active in the service of his +country. In 1865 he went to Paris as Secretary of Legation, and after +remaining two years in that office he went as Charge-d'Affaires for the +United States to Vienna. After a year at Vienna, Colonel Hay went to +Madrid as Secretary of Legation under General Daniel Sickles. In 1870 he +returned to the United States, and was for the next five years an +editorial writer for the New York Tribune. During seven months, when +Whitelaw Reid was in Europe, Colonel Hay was editor in chief. + +It was for The Tribune that Hay wrote "The Pike County Ballads," which +were first reprinted separately in 1871, and are placed first in the +collection of his poems. In the same year he published his "Castilian +Days," inspired by residence in Spain. + +In 1876 Colonel Hay removed from New York to Cleveland, Ohio. He then +ceased to take part in the editing of The Tribune, but continued friendly +service as a writer. From 1879 to 1881 Colonel Hay served under +President Hayes as Assistant-Secretary of State in the Government of the +United States. In 1881 he was President of the International Sanitary +Congress at Washington. Since that time he has been active, with John G. +Nicolay, in the preparation and production of the full Memoir of Abraham +Lincoln, now completed, that will take high rank among the records of a +war which, in its issues, touched the future of the world, perhaps, more +nearly than any war since Waterloo, not even excepting the great struggle +which ended at Sedan. + +That is the life of a man, here is its music. + +H. M. + + + + +THE PIKE COUNTY BALLADS. + + + + +JIM BLUDSO, OF THE "PRAIRIE BELLE." + + + Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives, + Becase he don't live, you see; + Leastways, he's got out of the habit + Of livin' like you and me. + Whar have you been for the last three year + That you haven't heard folks tell + How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks + The night of the Prairie Belle? + + He weren't no saint,--them engineers + Is all pretty much alike,-- + One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill, + And another one here, in Pike; + A keerless man in his talk was Jim, + And an awkward hand in a row, + But he never flunked, and he never lied,-- + I reckon he never knowed how. + + And this was all the religion he had,-- + To treat his engine well; + Never be passed on the river; + To mind the pilot's bell; + And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire,-- + A thousand times he swore, + He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last soul got ashore. + + All boats has their day on the Mississip, + And her day come at last,-- + The Movastar was a better boat, + But the Belle she WOULDN'T be passed. + And so she come tearin' along that night-- + The oldest craft on the line-- + With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, + And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine. + + The fire bust out as she clared the bar, + And burnt a hole in the night, + And quick as a flash she turned, and made + For that willer-bank on the right. + There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out, + Over all the infernal roar, + "I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last galoot's ashore." + + Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat + Jim Bludso's voice was heard, + And they all had trust in his cussedness, + And knowed he would keep his word. + And, sure's you're born, they all got off + Afore the smokestacks fell,-- + And Bludso's ghost went up alone + In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. + + He weren't no saint,--but at jedgment + I'd run my chance with Jim, + 'Longside of some pious gentlemen + That wouldn't shook hands with him. + He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing,-- + And went for it thar and then; + And Christ ain't a-going to be too hard + On a man that died for men. + + + + +LITTLE BREECHES. + + + I don't go much on religion, + I never ain't had no show; + But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir, + On the handful o' things I know. + I don't pan out on the prophets + And free-will, and that sort of thing,-- + But I b'lieve in God and the angels, + Ever sence one night last spring. + + I come into town with some turnips, + And my little Gabe come along,-- + No four-year-old in the county + Could beat him for pretty and strong, + Peart and chipper and sassy, + Always ready to swear and fight,-- + And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker + Jest to keep his milk-teeth white. + + The snow come down like a blanket + As I passed by Taggart's store; + I went in for a jug of molasses + And left the team at the door. + They scared at something and started,-- + I heard one little squall, + And hell-to-split over the prairie + Went team, Little Breeches and all. + + Hell-to-split over the prairie! + I was almost froze with skeer; + But we rousted up some torches, + And searched for 'em far and near. + At last we struck hosses and wagon, + Snowed under a soft white mound, + Upsot, dead beat,--but of little Gabe + No hide nor hair was found. + + And here all hope soured on me, + Of my fellow-critters' aid,-- + I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones, + Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed. + + . . . . + + By this, the torches was played out, + And me and Isrul Parr + Went off for some wood to a sheepfold + That he said was somewhar thar. + + We found it at last, and a little shed + Where they shut up the lambs at night. + We looked in and seen them huddled thar, + So warm and sleepy and white; + And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped, + As peart as ever you see, + "I want a chaw of terbacker, + And that's what's the matter of me." + + How did he git thar? Angels. + He could never have walked in that storm; + They jest scooped down and toted him + To whar it was safe and warm. + And I think that saving a little child, + And fotching him to his own, + Is a derned sight better business + Than loafing around The Throne. + + + + +BANTY TIM. + + + REMARKS OF SERGEANT TILMON JOY TO THE WHITE MAN'S + COMMITTEE OF SPUNKY POINT, ILLINOIS. + + I reckon I git your drift, gents,-- + You 'low the boy sha'n't stay; + This is a white man's country; + You're Dimocrats, you say; + And whereas, and seein', and wherefore, + The times bein' all out o' j'int, + The nigger has got to mosey + From the limits o' Spunky P'int! + + Le's reason the thing a minute: + I'm an old-fashioned Dimocrat too, + Though I laid my politics out o' the way + For to keep till the war was through. + But I come back here, allowin' + To vote as I used to do, + Though it gravels me like the devil to train + Along o' sich fools as you. + + Now dog my cats ef I kin see, + In all the light of the day, + What you've got to do with the question + Ef Tim shill go or stay. + And furder than that I give notice, + Ef one of you tetches the boy, + He kin check his trunks to a warmer clime + Than he'll find in Illanoy. + + Why, blame your hearts, jest hear me! + You know that ungodly day + When our left struck Vicksburg Heights, how ripped + And torn and tattered we lay. + When the rest retreated I stayed behind, + Fur reasons sufficient to me,-- + With a rib caved in, and a leg on a strike, + I sprawled on that cursed glacee. + + Lord! how the hot sun went for us, + And br'iled and blistered and burned! + How the Rebel bullets whizzed round us + When a cuss in his death-grip turned! + Till along toward dusk I seen a thing + I couldn't believe for a spell: + That nigger--that Tim--was a crawlin' to me + Through that fire-proof, gilt-edged hell! + + The Rebels seen him as quick as me, + And the bullets buzzed like bees; + But he jumped for me, and shouldered me, + Though a shot brought him once to his knees; + But he staggered up, and packed me off, + With a dozen stumbles and falls, + Till safe in our lines he drapped us both, + His black hide riddled with balls. + + So, my gentle gazelles, thar's my answer, + And here stays Banty Tim: + He trumped Death's ace for me that day, + And I'm not goin' back on him! + You may rezoloot till the cows come home, + But ef one of you tetches the boy, + He'll wrastle his hash to-night in hell, + Or my name's not Tilmon Joy! + + + + +THE MYSTERY OF GILGAL. + + + The darkest, strangest mystery + I ever read, or heern, or see, + Is 'long of a drink at Taggart's Hall,-- + Tom Taggart's of Gilgal. + + I've heern the tale a thousand ways, + But never could git through the maze + That hangs around that queer day's doin's; + But I'll tell the yarn to youans. + + Tom Taggart stood behind his bar, + The time was fall, the skies was fa'r, + The neighbours round the counter drawed, + And ca'mly drinked and jawed. + + At last come Colonel Blood of Pike, + And old Jedge Phinn, permiscus-like, + And each, as he meandered in, + Remarked, "A whisky-skin." + + Tom mixed the beverage full and fa'r, + And slammed it, smoking, on the bar. + Some says three fingers, some says two,-- + I'll leave the choice to you. + + Phinn to the drink put forth his hand; + Blood drawed his knife, with accent bland, + "I ax yer parding, Mister Phinn-- + Jest drap that whisky-skin." + + No man high-toneder could be found + Than old Jedge Phinn the country round. + Says he, "Young man, the tribe of Phinns + Knows their own whisky-skins!" + + He went for his 'leven-inch bowie-knife:-- + "I tries to foller a Christian life; + But I'll drap a slice of liver or two, + My bloomin' shrub, with you." + + They carved in a way that all admired, + Tell Blood drawed iron at last, and fired. + It took Seth Bludso 'twixt the eyes, + Which caused him great surprise. + + Then coats went off, and all went in; + Shots and bad language swelled the din; + The short, sharp bark of Derringers, + Like bull-pups, cheered the furse. + + They piled the stiffs outside the door; + They made, I reckon, a cord or more. + Girls went that winter, as a rule, + Alone to spellin'-school. + + I've searched in vain, from Dan to Beer- + Sheba, to make this mystery clear; + But I end with HIT as I did begin,-- + "WHO GOT THE WHISKY-SKIN?" + + + + +GOLYER. + + + Ef the way a man lights out of this world + Helps fix his heft for the other sp'ere, + I reckon my old friend Golyer's Ben + Will lay over lots of likelier men + For one thing he done down here. + + You didn't know Ben? He driv a stage + On the line they called the Old Sou'-west; + He wa'n't the best man that ever you seen, + And he wa'n't so ungodly pizen mean,-- + No better nor worse than the rest. + + He was hard on women and rough on his friends; + And he didn't have many, I'll let you know; + He hated a dog and disgusted a cat, + But he'd run off his legs for a motherless brat, + And I guess there's many jess so. + + I've seed my sheer of the run of things, + I've hoofed it a many and many a miled, + But I never seed nothing that could or can + Jest git all the good from the heart of a man + Like the hands of a little child. + + Well! this young one I started to tell you about,-- + His folks was all dead, I was fetchin' him through,-- + He was just at the age that's loudest for boys, + And he blowed such a horn with his sarchin' small voice, + We called him "the Little Boy Blue." + + He ketched a sight of Ben on the box, + And you bet he bawled and kicked and howled, + For to git 'long of Ben, and ride thar too; + I tried to tell him it wouldn't do, + When suddingly Golyer growled, + + "What's the use of making the young one cry? + Say, what's the use of being a fool? + Sling the little one up here whar he can see, + He won't git the snuffles a-ridin' with me, + The night ain't any too cool." + + The child hushed cryin' the minute he spoke; + "Come up here, Major! don't let him slip." + And jest as nice as a woman could do, + He wropped his blanket around them two, + And was off in the crack of a whip. + + We rattled along an hour or so, + Till we heerd a yell on the still night air. + Did you ever hear an Apache yell? + Well, ye needn't want to, THIS side of hell; + There's nothing more devilish there. + + Caught in the shower of lead and flint, + We felt the old stage stagger and plunge; + Then we heerd the voice and the whip of Ben, + As he gethered his critters up again, + And tore away with a lunge. + + The passengers laughed. "Old Ben's all right, + He's druv five year and never was struck." + "Now if _I_'d been thar, as sure as you live, + They'd 'a' plugged me with holes as thick as a sieve; + It's the reg'lar Golyer luck." + + Over hill and holler and ford and creek, + Jest like the hosses had wings, we tore; + We got to Looney's, and Ben come in + And laid down the baby and axed for his gin, + And dropped in a heap on the floor. + + Said he, "When they fired, I kivered the kid,-- + Although I ain't pretty, I'm middlin' broad; + And look! he ain't fazed by arrow nor ball,-- + Thank God! my own carcase stopped them all." + Then we seen his eye glaze, and his lower jaw fall,-- + And he carried his thanks to God. + + + + +THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT. + + + A TALE OF EARNEST EFFORT AND HUMAN PERFIDY. + + It's all very well for preachin', + But preachin' and practice don't gee: + I've give the thing a fair trial, + And you can't ring it in on me. + So toddle along with your pledge, Squire, + Ef that's what you want me to sign; + Betwixt me and you, I've been thar, + And I'll not take any in mine. + + A year ago last Fo'th July + A lot of the boys was here. + We all got corned and signed the pledge + For to drink no more that year. + There was Tilmon Joy and Sheriff McPhail + And me and Abner Fry, + And Shelby's boy Leviticus, + And the Golyers, Luke and Cy. + + And we anteed up a hundred + In the hands of Deacon Kedge + For to be divided the follerin' Fo'th + 'Mongst the boys that kep' the pledge. + And we knowed each other so well, Squire, + You may take my scalp for a fool, + Ef every man when he signed his name + Didn't feel cock-sure of the pool. + + Fur a while it all went lovely; + We put up a job next day + Fur to make Joy b'lieve his wife was dead, + And he went home middlin' gay; + Then Abner Fry he killed a man + And afore he was hung McPhail + Jest bilked the widder outen her sheer + By getting him slewed in jail. + + But Chris'mas scooped the Sheriff, + The egg-nogs gethered him in; + And Shelby's boy Leviticus + Was, New Year's, tight as sin; + And along in March the Golyers + Got so drunk that a fresh-biled owl + Would 'a' looked 'longside o' them two young men, + Like a sober temperance fowl. + + Four months alone I walked the chalk, + I thought my heart would break; + And all them boys a-slappin my back + And axin', "What'll you take?" + I never slep' without dreamin' dreams + Of Burbin, Peach, or Rye, + But I chawed at my niggerhead and swore + I'd rake that pool or die. + + At last--the Fo'th--I humped myself + Through chores and breakfast soon, + Then scooted down to Taggart's store-- + For the pledge was off at noon; + And all the boys was gethered thar, + And each man hilt his glass-- + Watchin' me and the clock quite solemn-like + Fur to see the last minute pass. + + The clock struck twelve! I raised the jug + And took one lovin' pull-- + I was holler clar from skull to boots. + It seemed I couldn't git full. + But I was roused by a fiendish laugh + That might have raised the dead-- + Them ornary sneaks had sot the clock + A half an hour ahead! + + "All right!" I squawked. "You've got me, + Jest order your drinks agin, + And we'll paddle up to the Deacon's + And scoop the ante in." + But when we got to Kedge's, + What a sight was that we saw! + The Deacon and Parson Skeeters + In the tail of a game of Draw. + + They had shook 'em the heft of the mornin', + The Parson's luck was fa'r, + And he raked, the minute we got thar, + The last of our pool on a pa'r. + So toddle along with your pledge, Squire, + I 'low it's all very fine, + But ez fur myself, I thank ye, + I'll not take any in mine. + + + + +WANDERLIEDER. + + + SUNRISE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE. + (PARIS, AUGUST 1865.) + + I stand at the break of day + In the Champs Elysees. + The tremulous shafts of dawning, + As they shoot o'er the Tuileries early, + Strike Luxor's cold grey spire, + And wild in the light of the morning + With their marble manes on fire, + Ramp the white Horses of Marly. + + But the Place of Concord lies + Dead hushed 'neath the ashy skies. + And the Cities sit in council + With sleep in their wide stone eyes. + I see the mystic plain + Where the army of spectres slain + In the Emperor's life-long war + March on with unsounding tread + To trumpets whose voice is dead. + Their spectral chief still leads them,-- + The ghostly flash of his sword + Like a comet through mist shines far,-- + And the noiseless host is poured, + For the gendarme never heeds them, + Up the long dim road where thundered + The army of Italy onward + Through the great pale Arch of the Star! + + The spectre army fades + Far up the glimmering hill, + But, vaguely lingering still, + A group of shuddering shades + Infects the pallid air, + Growing dimmer as day invades + The hush of the dusky square. + There is one that seems a King, + As if the ghost of a Crown + Still shadowed his jail-bleached hair; + I can hear the guillotine ring, + As its regicide note rang there, + When he laid his tired life down + And grew brave in his last despair. + And a woman frail and fair + Who weeps at leaving a world + Of love and revel and sin + In the vast Unknown to be hurled; + (For life was wicked and sweet + With kings at her small white feet!) + And one, every inch a Queen, + In life and in death a Queen, + Whose blood baptized the place, + In the days of madness and fear,-- + Her shade has never a peer + In majesty and grace. + + Murdered and murderers swarm; + Slayers that slew and were slain, + Till the drenched place smoked with the rain + That poured in a torrent warm,-- + Till red as the Riders of Edom + Were splashed the white garments of Freedom + With the wash of the horrible storm! + + And Liberty's hands were not clean + In the day of her pride unchained, + Her royal hands were stained + With the life of a King and Queen; + And darker than that with the blood + Of the nameless brave and good + Whose blood in witness clings + More damning than Queens' and Kings'. + + Has she not paid it dearly? + Chained, watching her chosen nation + Grinding late and early + In the mills of usurpation? + Have not her holy tears, + Flowing through shameful years, + Washed the stains from her tortured hands? + We thought so when God's fresh breeze, + Blowing over the sleeping lands, + In 'Forty-Eight waked the world, + And the Burgher-King was hurled + From that palace behind the trees. + + As Freedom with eyes aglow + Smiled glad through her childbirth pain, + How was the mother to know + That her woe and travail were vain? + A smirking servant smiled + When she gave him her child to keep; + Did she know he would strangle the child + As it lay in his arms asleep? + + Liberty's cruellest shame! + She is stunned and speechless yet, + In her grief and bloody sweat + Shall we make her trust her blame? + The treasure of 'Forty-Eight + A lurking jail-bird stole, + She can but watch and wait + As the swift sure seasons roll. + + And when in God's good hour + Comes the time of the brave and true, + Freedom again shall rise + With a blaze in her awful eyes + That shall wither this robber-power + As the sun now dries the dew. + This Place shall roar with the voice + Of the glad triumphant people, + And the heavens be gay with the chimes + Ringing with jubilant noise + From every clamorous steeple + The coming of better times. + And the dawn of Freedom waking + Shall fling its splendours far + Like the day which now is breaking + On the great pale Arch of the Star, + And back o'er the town shall fly, + While the joy-bells wild are ringing, + To crown the Glory springing + From the Column of July! + + + + +THE SPHINX OF THE TUILERIES. + + + Out of the Latin Quarter + I came to the lofty door + Where the two marble Sphinxes guard + The Pavillon de Flore. + Two Cockneys stood by the gate, and one + Observed, as they turned to go, + "No wonder He likes that sort of thing,-- + He's a Sphinx himself, you know." + + I thought as I walked where the garden glowed + In the sunset's level fire, + Of the Charlatan whom the Frenchmen loathe + And the Cockneys all admire. + They call him a Sphinx,--it pleases him,-- + And if we narrowly read, + We will find some truth in the flunkey's praise,-- + The man is a Sphinx indeed. + + For the Sphinx with breast of woman + And face so debonair + Had the sleek false paws of a lion, + That could furtively seize and tear. + So far to the shoulders,--but if you took + The Beast in reverse you would find + The ignoble form of a craven cur + Was all that lay behind. + + She lived by giving to simple folk + A silly riddle to read, + And when they failed she drank their blood + In cruel and ravenous greed. + But at last came one who knew her word, + And she perished in pain and shame,-- + This bastard Sphinx leads the same base life + And his end will be the same. + + For an OEdipus-People is coming fast + With swelled feet limping on, + If they shout his true name once aloud + His false foul power is gone. + Afraid to fight and afraid to fly, + He cowers in an abject shiver; + The people will come to their own at last,-- + God is not mocked for ever. + + + + +THE SURRENDER OF SPAIN. + + + I. + Land of unconquered Pelayo! land of the Cid Campeador! + Sea-girdled mother of men! Spain, name of glory and power; + Cradle of world-grasping Emperors, grave of the reckless invader, + How art thou fallen, my Spain! how art thou sunk at this hour! + + II. + Once thy magnanimous sons trod, victors, the portals of Asia, + Once the Pacific waves rushed, joyful thy banners to see; + For it was Trajan that carried the battle-flushed eagles to Dacia, + Cortes that planted thy flag fast by the uttermost sea. + + III. + Hast thou forgotten those days illumined with glory and honour, + When the far isles of the sea thrilled to the tread of Castile? + When every land under Heaven was flecked by the shade of thy banner,-- + When every beam of the sun flashed on thy conquering steel? + + IV. + Then through red fields of slaughter, through death and defeat and + disaster, + Still flared thy banner aloft, tattered, but free from a stain,-- + Now to the upstart Savoyard thou bendest to beg for a master! + How the red flush of her shame mars the proud beauty of Spain! + + V. + Has the red blood run cold that boiled by the Xenil and Darro? + Are the high deeds of the sires sung to the children no more? + On the dun hills of the North hast thou heard of no plough-boy Pizarro? + Roams no young swine-herd Cortes hid by the Tagus' wild shore? + + VI. + Once again does Hispania bend low to the yoke of the stranger! + Once again will she rise, flinging her gyves in the sea! + Princeling of Piedmont! unwitting thou weddest with doubt and with + danger, + King over men who have learned all that it costs to be free. + + + + +THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS. + + + Not done, but near its ending, + Is the work that our eyes desired; + Not yet fulfilled, but near the goal, + Is the hope that our worn hearts fired. + And on the Alban Mountains, + Where the blushes of dawn increase, + We see the flash of the beautiful feet + Of Freedom and of Peace! + + How long were our fond dreams baffled!-- + Novara's sad mischance, + The Kaiser's sword and fetter-lock, + And the traitor stab of France; + Till at last came glorious Venice, + In storm and tempest home; + And now God maddens the greedy kings, + And gives to her people Rome. + + Lame Lion of Caprera! + Red-shirts of the lost campaigns! + Not idly shed was the costly blood + You poured from generous veins. + For the shame of Aspromonte, + And the stain of Mentana's sod, + But forged the curse of kings that sprang + From your breaking hearts to God! + + We lift our souls to Thee, O Lord + Of Liberty and of Light! + Let not earth's kings pollute the work + That was done in their despite; + Let not Thy light be darkened + In the shade of a sordid crown, + Nor pampered swine devour the fruit + Thou shook'st with an earthquake down! + + Let the People come to their birthright, + And crosier and crown pass away + Like phantasms that flit o'er the marshes + At the glance of the clean, white day. + And then from the lava of AEtna + To the ice of the Alps let there be + One freedom, one faith without fetters, + One republic in Italy free! + + + + +THE CURSE OF HUNGARY. + + + King Saloman looked from his donjon bars, + Where the Danube clamours through sedge and sand, + And he cursed with a curse his revolting land,-- + With a king's deep curse of treason and wars. + + He said: "May this false land know no truth! + May the good hearts die and the bad ones flourish, + And a greed of glory but live to nourish + Envy and hate in its restless youth. + + "In the barren soil may the ploughshare rust, + While the sword grows bright with its fatal labour, + And blackens between each man and neighbour + The perilous cloud of a vague distrust! + + "Be the noble idle, the peasant in thrall, + And each to the other as unknown things, + That with links of hatred and pride the kings + May forge firm fetters through each for all! + + "May a king wrong them as they wronged their king + May he wring their hearts as they wrung mine, + Till they pour their blood for his revels like wine, + And to women and monks their birthright fling!" + + The mad king died; but the rushing river + Still brawls by the spot where his donjon stands, + And its swift waves sigh to the conscious sands + That the curse of King Saloman works for ever. + + For flowing by Pressbourg they heard the cheers + Ring out from the leal and cheated hearts + That were caught and chained by Theresa's arts,-- + A man's cool head and a girl's hot tears! + + And a star, scarce risen, they saw decline, + Where Orsova's hills looked coldly down, + As Kossuth buried the Iron Crown + And fled in the dark to the Turkish line. + + And latest they saw in the summer glare + The Magyar nobles in pomp arrayed, + To shout as they saw, with his unfleshed blade, + A Hapsburg beating the harmless air. + + But ever the same sad play they saw, + The same weak worship of sword and crown, + The noble crushing the humble down, + And moulding Wrong to a monstrous Law. + + The donjon stands by the turbid river, + But Time is crumbling its battered towers; + And the slow light withers a despot's powers, + And a mad king's curse is not for ever! + + + + +THE MONKS OF BASLE. + + + I tore this weed from the rank, dark soil + Where it grew in the monkish time, + I trimmed it close and set it again + In a border of modern rhyme. + + I. + Long years ago, when the Devil was loose + And faith was sorely tried, + Three monks of Basle went out to walk + In the quiet eventide. + + A breeze as pure as the breath of Heaven + Blew fresh through the cloister-shades, + A sky as glad as the smile of Heaven + Blushed rose o'er the minster-glades. + + But scorning the lures of summer and sense, + The monks passed on in their walk; + Their eyes were abased, their senses slept, + Their souls were in their talk. + + In the tough grim talk of the monkish days + They hammered and slashed about,-- + Dry husks of logic,--old scraps of creed,-- + And the cold gray dreams of doubt,-- + + And whether Just or Justified + Was the Church's mystic Head,-- + And whether the Bread was changed to God, + Or God became the Bread. + + But of human hearts outside their walls + They never paused to dream, + And they never thought of the love of God + That smiled in the twilight gleam. + + II. + As these three monks went bickering on + By the foot of a spreading tree, + Out from its heart of verdurous gloom + A song burst wild and free,-- + + A wordless carol of life and love, + Of nature free and wild; + And the three monks paused in the evening shade, + Looked up at each other and smiled. + + And tender and gay the bird sang on, + And cooed and whistled and trilled, + And the wasteful wealth of life and love + From his happy heart was spilled. + + The song had power on the grim old monks + In the light of the rosy skies; + And as they listened the years rolled back, + And tears came into their eyes. + + The years rolled back and they were young, + With the hearts and hopes of men, + They plucked the daisies and kissed the girls + Of dear dead summers again. + + III. + But the eldest monk soon broke the spell; + "'Tis sin and shame," quoth he, + "To be turned from talk of holy things + By a bird's cry from a tree. + + "Perchance the Enemy of Souls + Hath come to tempt us so. + Let us try by the power of the Awful Word + If it be he, or no!" + + To Heaven the three monks raised their hands; + "We charge thee, speak!" they said, + "By His dread Name who shall one day come + To judge the quick and the dead,-- + + "Who art thou? Speak!" The bird laughed loud. + "I am the Devil," he said. + The monks on their faces fell, the bird + Away through the twilight sped. + + A horror fell on those holy men + (The faithful legends say), + And one by one from the face of the earth + They pined and vanished away. + + IV. + So goes the tale of the monkish books, + The moral who runs may read,-- + He has no ears for Nature's voice + Whose soul is the slave of creed. + + Not all in vain with beauty and love + Has God the world adorned; + And he who Nature scorns and mocks, + By Nature is mocked and scorned. + + + + +THE ENCHANTED SHIRT. + + + Fytte the First: wherein it shall be shown how the Truth + is too mighty a Drug for such as be of feeble temper. + + The King was sick. His cheek was red + And his eye was clear and bright; + He ate and drank with a kingly zest, + And peacefully snored at night. + + But he said he was sick, and a king should know, + And doctors came by the score. + They did not cure him. He cut off their heads + And sent to the schools for more. + + At last two famous doctors came, + And one was as poor as a rat,-- + He had passed his life in studious toil, + And never found time to grow fat. + + The other had never looked in a book; + His patients gave him no trouble-- + If they recovered they paid him well, + If they died their heirs paid double. + + Together they looked at the royal tongue, + As the King on his couch reclined; + In succession they thumped his august chest, + But no trace of disease could find. + + The old sage said, "You're as sound as a nut." + "Hang him up!" roared the King in a gale,-- + In a ten-knot gale of royal rage; + The other leech grew a shade pale; + + But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose, + And thus his prescription ran,-- + The King will be well, if he sleeps one night + In the Shirt of a Happy Man. + + + Fytte the Second: tells of the search for the Shirt, and how + it was nigh found, but was not, for reasons which are said or sung. + + Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode, + And fast their horses ran, + And many they saw, and to many they spoke, + But they found no Happy Man. + + They found poor men who would fain be rich + And rich who thought they were poor; + And men who twisted their waists in stays, + And women that shorthose wore. + + They saw two men by the roadside sit, + And both bemoaned their lot; + For one had buried his wife, he said, + And the other one had not. + + At last they came to a village gate, + A beggar lay whistling there; + He whistled and sang and laughed and rolled + On the grass in the soft June air. + + The weary couriers paused and looked + At the scamp so blithe and gay; + And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend! + You seem to be happy to-day." + + "O yes, fair sirs!" the rascal laughed, + And his voice rang free and glad, + "An idle man has so much to do + That he never has time to be sad." + + "This is our man," the courier said + "Our luck has led us aright. + I will give you a hundred ducats, friend, + For the loan of your shirt to-night." + + The merry blackguard lay back on the grass, + And laughed till his face was black; + "I would do it, God wot," and he roared with the fun, + "But I haven't a shirt to my back." + + + Fytte the Third: shewing how His Majesty the King came + at last to sleep in a Happy Man his Shirt. + + Each day to the King the reports came in + Of his unsuccessful spies, + And the sad panorama of human woes + Passed daily under his eyes. + + And he grew ashamed of his useless life, + And his maladies hatched in gloom; + He opened his windows and let the air + Of the free heaven into his room. + + And out he went in the world and toiled + In his own appointed way; + And the people blessed him, the land was glad, + And the King was well and gay. + + + + +A WOMAN'S LOVE. + + + A sentinel angel sitting high in glory + Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory: + "Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story! + + "I loved,--and, blind with passionate love, I fell. + Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell. + For God is just, and death for sin is well. + + "I do not rage against His high decree, + Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be; + But for my love on earth who mourns for me. + + "Great Spirit! let me see my love again + And comfort him one hour, and I were fain + To pay a thousand years of fire and pain." + + Then said the pitying angel, "Nay, repent + That wild vow! Look, the dial-finger's bent + Down to the last hour of thy punishment!" + + But still she wailed, "I pray thee, let me go! + I cannot rise to peace and leave him so. + Oh, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!" + + The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, + And upward, joyous, like a rising star, + She rose and vanished in the ether far. + + But soon adown the dying sunset sailing, + And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing, + She fluttered back, with broken-hearted wailing. + + She sobbed, "I found him by the summer sea + Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee,-- + She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!" + + She wept, "Now let my punishment begin! + I have been fond and foolish. Let me in + To expiate my sorrow and my sin." + + The angel answered, "Nay, sad soul, go higher! + To be deceived in your true heart's desire + Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire!" + + + + +ON PITZ LANGUARD. + + + I stood on the top of Pitz Languard, + And heard three voices whispering low, + Where the Alpine birds in their circling ward + Made swift dark shadows upon the snow. + + First Voice. + + I loved a girl with truth and pain, + She loved me not. When she said good-bye + She gave me a kiss to sting and stain + My broken life to a rosy dye. + + Second Voice. + + I loved a woman with love well tried,-- + And I swear I believe she loves me still. + But it was not I who stood by her side + When she answered the priest and said "I will." + + Third Voice. + + I loved two girls, one fond, one shy, + And I never divined which one loved me. + One married, and now, though I can't tell why, + Of the four in the story I count but three. + + The three weird voices whispered low + Where the eagles swept in their circling ward; + But only one shadow scarred the snow + As I clambered down from Pitz Languard. + + + + +BOUDOIR PROPHECIES. + + + One day in the Tuileries, + When a south-west Spanish breeze + Brought scandalous news of the Queen, + The fair, proud Empress said, + "My good friend loses her head; + If matters go on this way, + I shall see her shopping, some day, + In the Boulevard des Capucines." + + The saying swiftly went + To the Place of the Orient, + And the stout Queen sneered, "Ah, well! + You are proud and prude, ma belle! + But I think I will hazard a guess + I shall see you one day playing chess + With the Cure of Carabanchel." + + Both ladies, though not over wise, + Were lucky in prophecies. + For the Boulevard shopmen well + Know the form of stout Isabel + As she buys her modes de Paris; + And after Sedan in despair + The Empress prude and fair + Went to visit Madame sa Mere + In her villa at Carabanchel-- + But the Queen was not there to see. + + + + +A TRIUMPH OF ORDER. + + + A squad of regular infantry, + In the Commune's closing days, + Had captured a crowd of rebels + By the wall of Pere-la-Chaise. + + There were desperate men, wild women, + And dark-eyed Amazon girls, + And one little boy, with a peach-down cheek + And yellow clustering curls. + + The captain seized the little waif, + And said, "What dost thou here?" + "Sapristi, Citizen captain! + I'm a Communist, my dear!" + + "Very well! Then you die with the others!" + --"Very well! That's my affair; + But first let me take to my mother, + Who lives by the wine-shop there, + + "My father's watch. You see it; + A gay old thing, is it not? + It would please the old lady to have it; + Then I'll come back here, and be shot." + + "That is the last we shall see of him," + The grizzled captain grinned, + As the little man skimmed down the hill + Like a swallow down the wind. + + For the joy of killing had lost its zest + In the glut of those awful days, + And Death writhed, gorged like a greedy snake, + From the Arch to Pere-la-Chaise. + + But before the last platoon had fired + The child's shrill voice was heard; + "Houp-la! the old girl made such a row + I feared I should break my word." + + Against the bullet-pitted wall + He took his place with the rest, + A button was lost from his ragged blouse, + Which showed his soft white breast. + + "Now blaze away, my children! + With your little one-two-three!" + The Chassepots tore the stout young heart, + And saved Society. + + + + +ERNST OF EDELSHEIM. + + + I'll tell the story, kissing + This white hand for my pains: + No sweeter heart, nor falser, + E'er filled such fine, blue veins. + + I'll sing a song of true love, + My Lilith, dear! to you; + Contraria contrariis-- + The rule is old and true. + + The happiest of all lovers + Was Ernst of Edelsheim; + And why he was the happiest, + I'll tell you in my rhyme. + + One summer night he wandered + Within a lonely glade, + And, couched in moss and moonlight, + He found a sleeping maid. + + The stars of midnight sifted + Above her sands of gold; + She seemed a slumbering statue, + So fair and white and cold. + + Fair and white and cold she lay + Beneath the starry skies; + Rosy was her waking + Beneath the Ritter's eyes. + + He won her drowsy fancy, + He bore her to his towers, + And swift with love and laughter + Flew morning's purpled hours. + + But when the thickening sunbeams + Had drunk the gleaming dew, + A misty cloud of sorrow + Swept o'er her eyes' deep blue. + + She hung upon the Ritter's neck, + She wept with love and pain, + She showered her sweet, warm kisses + Like fragrant summer rain. + + "I am no Christian soul," she sobbed, + As in his arms she lay; + "I'm half the day a woman, + A serpent half the day. + + "And when from yonder bell-tower + Rings out the noonday chime, + Farewell! farewell for ever, + Sir Ernst of Edelsheim!" + + "Ah! not farewell for ever!" + The Ritter wildly cried; + "I will be saved or lost with thee, + My lovely Wili-Bride!" + + Loud from the lordly bell-tower + Rang out the noon of day, + And from the bower of roses + A serpent slid away. + + But when the mid-watch moonlight + Was shimmering through the grove, + He clasped his bride thrice dowered + With beauty and with love. + + The happiest of all lovers + Was Ernst of Edelsheim-- + His true love was a serpent + Only half the time! + + + + +MY CASTLE IN SPAIN. + + + There was never a castle seen + So fair as mine in Spain: + It stands embowered in green, + Crowning the gentle slope + Of a hill by the Xenil's shore + And at eve its shade flaunts o'er + The storied Vega plain, + And its towers are hid in the mists of Hope; + And I toil through years of pain + Its glimmering gates to gain. + + In visions wild and sweet + Sometimes its courts I greet: + Sometimes in joy its shining halls + I tread with favoured feet; + But never my eyes in the light of day + Were blest with its ivied walls, + Where the marble white and the granite gray + Turn gold alike when the sunbeams play, + When the soft day dimly falls. + + I know in its dusky rooms + Are treasures rich and rare; + The spoil of Eastern looms, + And whatever of bright and fair + Painters divine have caught and won + From the vault of Italy's air: + White gods in Phidian stone + People the haunted glooms; + And the song of immortal singers + Like a fragrant memory lingers, + I know, in the echoing rooms. + + But nothing of these, my soul! + Nor castle, nor treasures, nor skies, + Nor the waves of the river that roil + With a cadence faint and sweet + In peace by its marble feet-- + Nothing of these is the goal + For which my whole heart sighs. + 'Tis the pearl gives worth to the shell-- + The pearl I would die to gain; + For there does my lady dwell, + My love that I love so well-- + The Queen whose gracious reign + Makes glad my castle in Spain. + + Her face so pure and fair + Sheds light in the shady places, + And the spell of her girlish graces + Holds charmed the happy air. + A breath of purity + For ever before her flies, + And ill things cease to be + In the glance of her honest eyes. + Around her pathway flutter, + Where her dear feet wander free + In youth's pure majesty, + The wings of the vague desires; + But the thought that love would utter + In reverence expires. + + Not yet! not yet shall I see + That face which shines like a star + O'er my storm-swept life afar, + Transfigured with love for me. + Toiling, forgetting, and learning + With labour and vigils and prayers, + Pure heart and resolute will, + At last I shall climb the hill + And breathe the enchanted airs + Where the light of my life is burning + Most lovely and fair and free, + Where alone in her youth and beauty + And bound by her fate's sweet duty, + Unconscious she waits for me. + + + + +SISTER SAINT LUKE. + + + She lived shut in by flowers and trees + And shade of gentle bigotries. + On this side lay the trackless sea, + On that the great world's mystery; + But all unseen and all unguessed + They could not break upon her rest. + The world's far splendours gleamed and flashed, + Afar the wild seas foamed and dashed; + But in her small, dull Paradise, + Safe housed from rapture or surprise, + Nor day nor night had power to fright + The peace of God that filled her eyes. + + + + +NEW AND OLD. + + + + +MILES KEOGH'S HORSE. + + + On the bluff of the Little Big-Horn, + At the close of a woeful day, + Custer and his Three Hundred + In death and silence lay. + + Three Hundred to Three Thousand! + They had bravely fought and bled; + For such is the will of Congress + When the White man meets the Red. + + The White men are ten millions, + The thriftiest under the sun; + The Reds are fifty thousand, + And warriors every one. + + So Custer and all his fighting-men + Lay under the evening skies, + Staring up at the tranquil heaven + With wide, accusing eyes. + + And of all that stood at noonday + In that fiery scorpion ring, + Miles Keogh's horse at evening + Was the only living thing. + + Alone from that field of slaughter, + Where lay the three hundred slain, + The horse Comanche wandered, + With Keogh's blood on his mane. + + And Sturgis issued this order, + Which future times shall read, + While the love and honour of comrades + Are the soul of the soldiers creed. + + He said-- + Let the horse Comanche + Henceforth till he shall die, + Be kindly cherished and cared for + By the Seventh Cavalry. + + He shall do no labour; he never shall know + The touch of spur or rein; + Nor shall his back be ever crossed + By living rider again. + + And at regimental formation + Of the Seventh Cavalry, + Comanche draped in mourning and led + By a trooper of Company I, + + Shall parade with the Regiment! + Thus it was + Commanded and thus done, + By order of General Sturgis, signed + By Adjutant Garlington. + + Even as the sword of Custer, + In his disastrous fall, + Flashed out a blaze that charmed the world + And glorified his pall, + + This order, issued amid the gloom + That shrouds our army's name, + When all foul beasts are free to rend + And tear its honest fame, + + Shall prove to a callous people + That the sense of a soldier's worth, + That the love of comrades, the honour of arms, + Have not yet perished from earth. + + + + +THE ADVANCE-GUARD. + + + In the dream of the Northern poets, + The braves who in battle die + Fight on in shadowy phalanx + In the field of the upper sky; + And as we read the sounding rhyme, + The reverent fancy hears + The ghostly ring of the viewless swords + And the clash of the spectral spears. + + We think with imperious questionings + Of the brothers whom we have lost, + And we strive to track in death's mystery + The flight of each valiant ghost. + The Northern myth comes back to us, + And we feel, through our sorrow's night, + That those young souls are striving still + Somewhere for the truth and light. + + It was not their time for rest and sleep; + Their hearts beat high and strong; + In their fresh veins the blood of youth + Was singing its hot, sweet song. + The open heaven bent over them, + 'Mid flowers their lithe feet trod, + Their lives lay vivid in light, and blest + By the smiles of women and God. + + Again they come! Again I hear + The tread of that goodly band; + I know the flash of Ellsworth's eye + And the grasp of his hard, warm hand; + And Putnam, and Shaw, of the lion-heart, + And an eye like a Boston girl's; + And I see the light of heaven which lay + On Ulric Dahlgren's curls. + + There is no power in the gloom of hell + To quench those spirits' fire; + There is no power in the bliss of heaven + To bid them not aspire; + But somewhere in the eternal plan + That strength, that life survive, + And like the files on Lookout's crest, + Above death's clouds they strive. + + A chosen corps, they are marching on + In a wider field than ours; + Those bright battalions still fulfil + The scheme of the heavenly powers; + And high brave thoughts float down to us, + The echoes of that far fight, + Like the flash of a distant picket's gun + Through the shades of the severing night. + + No fear for them! In our lower field + Let us keep our arms unstained, + That at last we be worthy to stand with them + On the shining heights they've gained. + We shall meet and greet in closing ranks + In Time's declining sun, + When the bugles of God shall sound recall + And the battle of life be won. + + + + +LOVE'S PRAYER. + + + If Heaven would hear my prayer, + My dearest wish would be, + Thy sorrows not to share, + But take them all on me; + If Heaven would hear my prayer. + + I'd beg with prayers and sighs + That never a tear might flow + From out thy lovely eyes, + If Heaven might grant it so; + Mine be the tears and sighs. + + No cloud thy brow should cover, + But smiles each other chase + From lips to eyes all over + Thy sweet and sunny face; + The clouds my heart should cover. + + That all thy path be light + Let darkness fall on me; + If all thy days be bright, + Mine black as night could be. + My love would light my night. + + For thou art more than life, + And if our fate should set + Life and my love at strife, + How could I then forget + I love thee more than life? + + + + +CHRISTINE. + + + The beauty of the Northern dawns, + Their pure, pale light is thine; + Yet all the dreams of tropic nights + Within thy blue eyes shine. + Not statelier in their prisoning seas + The icebergs grandly move, + But in thy smile is youth and joy, + And in thy voice is love. + + Thou art like Hecla's crest that stands + So lonely, proud, and high, + No earthly thing may come between + Her summit and the sky. + The sun in vain may strive to melt + Her crown of virgin snow-- + But the great heart of the mountain glows + With deathless fire below. + + + + +EXPECTATION. + + + Roll on, O shining sun, + To the far seas! + Bring down, ye shades of eve, + The soft, salt breeze! + Shine out, O stars, and light + My darling's pathway bright, + As through the summer night + She comes to me. + + No beam of any star + Can match her eyes; + Her smile the bursting day + In light outvies. + Her voice--the sweetest thing + Heard by the raptured spring + When waking wild-woods ring-- + She comes to me. + + Ye stars, more swiftly wheel + O'er earth's still breast; + More wildly plunge and reel + In the dim west! + The earth is lone and lorn, + Till the glad day be born, + Till with the happy morn + She comes to me. + + + + +TO FLORA. + + + When April woke the drowsy flowers, + And vagrant odours thronged the breeze, + And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers, + And daisies flashed along the leas, + And faint arbutus strove among + Dead winter's leaf-strewn wreck to rise, + And nature's sweetly jubilant song + Went murmuring up the sunny skies, + Into this cheerful world you came, + And gained by right your vernal name. + + I think the springs have changed of late, + For "Arctics" are my daily wear, + The skies are turned to cold grey slate, + And zephyrs are but draughts of air; + But you make up whate'er we lack, + When we, too rarely, come together, + More potent than the almanac, + You bring the ideal April weather; + When you are with us we defy + The blustering air, the lowering sky; + In spite of winter's icy darts, + We've spring and sunshine in our hearts. + + In fine, upon this April day, + This deep conundrum I will bring: + Tell me the two good reasons, pray, + I have, to say you are like spring? + + [You give it up?] Because we love you-- + And see so very little of you. + + + + +A HAUNTED ROOM. + + + In the dim chamber whence but yesterday + Passed my beloved, filled with awe I stand; + And haunting Loves fluttering on every hand + Whisper her praises who is far away. + A thousand delicate fancies glance and play + On every object which her robes have fanned, + And tenderest thoughts and hopes bloom and expand + In the sweet memory of her beauty's ray. + Ah! could that glass but hold the faintest trace + Of all the loveliness once mirrored there, + The clustering glory of the shadowy hair + That framed so well the dear young angel face! + But no, it shows my own face, full of care, + And my heart is her beauty's dwelling place. + + + + +DREAMS. + + + I love a woman tenderly, + But cannot know if she loves me. + I press her hand, her lips I kiss, + But still love's full assurance miss. + Our waking life for ever seems + Cleft by a veil of doubt and dreams. + + But love and night and sleep combine + In dreams to make her wholly mine. + A sure love lights her eyes' deep blue, + Her hands and lips are warm and true. + Always the fact unreal seems, + And truth I find alone in dreams. + + + + +THE LIGHT OF LOVE. + + + Each shining light above us + Has its own peculiar grace; + But every light of heaven + Is in my darling's face. + + For it is like the sunlight, + So strong and pure and warm, + That folds all good and happy things, + And guards from gloom and harm. + + And it is like the moonlight, + So holy and so calm; + The rapt peace of a summer night, + When soft winds die in balm. + + And it is like the starlight; + For, love her as I may, + She dwells still lofty and serene + In mystery far away. + + + + +QUAND MEME. + + + I strove, like Israel, with my youth, + And said, "Till thou bestow + Upon my life Love's joy and truth, + I will not let thee go." + + And sudden on my night there woke + The trouble of the dawn; + Out of the east the red light broke, + To broaden on and on. + + And now let death be far or nigh, + Let fortune gloom or shine, + I cannot all untimely die, + For love, for love is mine. + + My days are tuned to finer chords, + And lit by higher suns; + Through all my thoughts and all my words + A purer purpose runs. + + The blank page of my heart grows rife + With wealth of tender lore; + Her image, stamped upon my life, + Gives value evermore. + + She is so noble, firm, and true, + I drink truth from her eyes, + As violets gain the heaven's own blue + In gazing at the skies. + + No matter if my hands attain + The golden crown or cross; + Only to love is such a gain + That losing is not loss. + + And thus whatever fate betide + Of rapture or of pain, + If storm or sun the future hide, + My love is not in vain. + + So only thanks are on my lips; + And through my love I see + My earliest dreams, like freighted ships, + Come sailing home to me. + + + + +WORDS. + + + When violets were springing + And sunshine filled the day, + And happy birds were singing + The praises of the May, + A word came to me, blighting + The beauty of the scene, + And in my heart was winter, + Though all the trees were green. + + Now down the blast go sailing + The dead leaves, brown and sere; + The forests are bewailing + The dying of the year; + A word comes to me, lighting + With rapture all the air, + And in my heart is summer, + Though all the trees are bare. + + + + +THE STIRRUP-CUP. + + + My short and happy day is done, + The long and dreary night comes on; + And at my door the Pale Horse stands, + To carry me to unknown lands. + + His whinny shrill, his pawing hoof, + Sound dreadful as a gathering storm; + And I must leave this sheltering roof, + And joys of life so soft and warm. + + Tender and warm the joys of life,-- + Good friends, the faithful and the true; + My rosy children and my wife, + So sweet to kiss, so fair to view. + + So sweet to kiss, so fair to view,-- + The night comes down, the lights burn blue; + And at my door the Pale Horse stands, + To bear me forth to unknown lands. + + + + +A DREAM OF BRIC-A-BRAC. + + [C. K. Loquitur.] + + + I dreamed I was in fair Niphon. + Amid tea-fields I journeyed on, + Reclined in my jinrikishaw; + Across the rolling plains I saw + The lordly Fusi-yama rise, + His blue cone lost in bluer skies. + + At last I bade my bearers stop + Before what seemed a china-shop. + I roused myself and entered in. + A fearful joy, like some sweet sin, + Pierced through my bosom as I gazed, + Entranced, transported, and amazed. + + For all the house was but one room, + And in its clear and grateful gloom, + Filled with all odours strange and strong + That to the wondrous East belong, + I saw above, around, below, + A sight to make the warm heart glow, + And leave the eager soul no lack,-- + An endless wealth of bric-a-brac. + + I saw bronze statues, old and rare, + Fashioned by no mere mortal skill, + With robes that fluttered in the air, + Blown out by Art's eternal will; + And delicate ivory netsukes, + Richer in tone than Cheddar cheese, + Of saints and hermits, cats and dogs, + Grim warriors and ecstatic frogs. + + And here and there those wondrous masks, + More living flesh than sandal-wood, + Where the full soul in pleasure basks + And dreams of love, the only good. + The walls were all with pictures hung: + Gay villas bright in rain-washed air, + Trees to whose boughs brown monkeys clung, + Outlineless dabs of fuzzy hair. + And all about the opulent shelves + Littered with porcelain beyond price: + Imari pots arrayed themselves + Beside Ming dishes; grain-of-rice + Vied with the Royal Satsuma, + Proud of its sallow ivory beam; + And Kaga's Thousand Hermits lay + Tranced in some punch-bowl's golden gleam. + Over bronze censers, black with age, + The five-clawed dragons strife engage; + A curled and insolent Dog of Foo + Sniffs at the smoke aspiring through. + + In what old days, in what far lands, + What busy brains, what cunning hands, + With what quaint speech, what alien thought, + Strange fellow-men these marvels wrought! + + As thus I mused, I was aware + There grew before my eager eyes + A little maid too bright and fair, + Too strangely lovely for surprise. + It seemed the beauty of the place + Had suddenly become concrete, + So full was she of Orient grace, + From her slant eyes and burnished face + Down to her little gold-bronzed feet. + She was a girl of old Japan; + Her small hand held a gilded fan, + Which scattered fragrance through the room; + Her cheek was rich with pallid bloom, + Her eye was dark with languid fire, + Her red lips breathed a vague desire; + Her teeth, of pearl inviolate, + Sweetly proclaimed her maiden state. + Her garb was stiff with broidered gold + Twined with mysterious fold on fold, + That gave no hint where, hidden well, + Her dainty form might warmly dwell,-- + A pearl within too large a shell. + So quaint, so short, so lissome, she, + It seemed as if it well might be + Some jocose god, with sportive whirl, + Had taken up a long lithe girl + And tied a graceful knot in her. + I tried to speak, and found, oh, bliss! + I needed no interpreter; + I knew the Japanese for kiss,-- + I had no other thought but this; + And she, with smile and blush divine, + Kind to my stammering prayer did seem; + My thought was hers, and hers was mine, + In the swift logic of my dream. + My arms clung round her slender waist, + Through gold and silk the form I traced, + And glad as rain that follows drouth, + I kissed and kissed her bright red mouth. + + What ailed the girl? No loving sigh + Heaved the round bosom; in her eye + Trembled no tear; from her dear throat + Bubbled a sweet and silvery note + Of girlish laughter, shrill and clear, + That all the statues seemed to hear. + The bronzes tinkled laughter fine; + I heard a chuckle argentine + Ring from the silver images; + Even the ivory netsukes + Uttered in every silent pause + Dry, bony laughs from tiny jaws; + The painted monkeys on the wall + Waked up with chatter impudent; + Pottery, porcelain, bronze, and all + Broke out in ghostly merriment,-- + Faint as rain pattering on dry leaves, + Or cricket's chirp on summer eves. + + And suddenly upon my sight + There grew a portent: left and right, + On every side, as if the air + Had taken substance then and there, + In every sort of form and face, + A throng of tourists filled the place. + I saw a Frenchman's sneering shrug; + A German countess, in one hand + A sky-blue string which held a pug, + With the other a fiery face she fanned; + A Yankee with a soft felt hat; + A Coptic priest from Ararat; + An English girl with cheeks of rose; + A Nihilist with Socratic nose; + Paddy from Cork with baggage light + And pockets stuffed with dynamite; + A haughty Southern Readjuster, + Wrapped in his pride and linen duster; + Two noisy New York stockbrokers, + And twenty British globe-trotters. + To my disgust and vast surprise, + They turned on me lack-lustre eyes, + And each with dropped and wagging jaw + Burst out into a wild guffaw: + They laughed with huge mouths opened wide; + They roared till each one held his side; + They screamed and writhed with brutal glee, + With fingers rudely stretched to me,-- + Till lo! at once the laughter died, + The tourists faded into air; + None but my fair maid lingered there, + Who stood demurely by my side. + "Who were your friends?" I asked the maid, + Taking a tea-cup from its shelf. + "This audience is disclosed," she said, + "Whenever a man makes a fool of himself." + + + + +LIBERTY. + + + What man is there so bold that he should say, + "Thus, and thus only, would I have the sea"? + For whether lying calm and beautiful, + Clasping the earth in love, and throwing back + The smile of heaven from waves of amethyst; + Or whether, freshened by the busy winds, + It bears the trade and navies of the world + To ends of use or stern activity; + Or whether, lashed by tempests, it gives way + To elemental fury, howls and roars + At all its rocky barriers, in wild lust + Of ruin drinks the blood of living things, + And strews its wrecks o'er leagues of desolate shore,-- + Always it is the sea, and men bow down + Before its vast and varied majesty. + + So all in vain will timorous ones essay + To set the metes and bounds of Liberty. + For Freedom is its own eternal law; + It makes its own conditions, and in storm + Or calm alike fulfils the unerring Will. + Let us not then despise it when it lies + Still as a sleeping lion, while a swarm + Of gnat-like evils hover round its head; + Nor doubt it when in mad, disjointed times + It shakes the torch of terror, and its cry + Shrills o'er the quaking earth, and in the flame + Of riot and war we see its awful form + Rise by the scaffold, where the crimson axe + Rings down its grooves the knell of shuddering kings. + For ever in thine eyes, O Liberty, + Shines that high light whereby the world is saved, + And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee! + + + + +THE WHITE FLAG. + + + I sent my love two roses,--one + As white as driven snow, + And one a blushing royal red, + A flaming Jacqueminot. + + I meant to touch and test my fate; + That night I should divine, + The moment I should see my love, + If her true heart were mine. + + For if she holds me dear, I said, + She'll wear my blushing rose; + If not, she'll wear my cold Lamarque + As white as winter's snows. + + My heart sank when I met her: sure + I had been over bold, + For on her breast my pale rose lay + In virgin whiteness cold. + + Yet with low words she greeted me, + With smiles divinely tender; + Upon her cheek the red rose dawned.-- + The white rose meant surrender. + + + + +THE LAW OF DEATH. + + + The song of Kilvani: fairest she + In all the land of Savatthi. + She had one child, as sweet and gay + And dear to her as the light of day. + She was so young, and he so fair, + The same bright eyes and the same dark hair; + To see them by the blossomy way, + They seemed two children at their play. + + There came a death-dart from the sky, + Kilvani saw her darling die. + The glimmering shade his eyes invades, + Out of his cheek the red bloom fades; + His warm heart feels the icy chill, + The round limbs shudder, and are still. + And yet Kilvani held him fast + Long after life's last pulse was past, + As if her kisses could restore + The smile gone out for evermore. + + But when she saw her child was dead, + She scattered ashes on her head, + And seized the small corpse, pale and sweet, + And rushing wildly through the street, + She sobbing fell at Buddha's feet. + + "Master, all-helpful, help me now! + Here at thy feet I humbly bow; + Have mercy, Buddha, help me now!" + She grovelled on the marble floor, + And kissed the dead child o'er and o'er. + And suddenly upon the air + There fell the answer to her prayer: + "Bring me to-night a lotus tied + With thread from a house where none has died." + + She rose, and laughed with thankful joy, + Sure that the god would save the boy. + She found a lotus by the stream; + She plucked it from its noonday dream, + And then from door to door she fared, + To ask what house by Death was spared. + Her heart grew cold to see the eyes + Of all dilate with slow surprise: + "Kilvani, thou hast lost thy head; + Nothing can help a child that's dead. + There stands not by the Ganges' side + A house where none hath ever died." + Thus, through the long and weary day, + From every door she bore away + Within her heart, and on her arm, + A heavier load, a deeper harm. + By gates of gold and ivory, + By wattled huts of poverty, + The same refrain heard poor Kilvani, + THE LIVING ARE FEW, THE DEAD ARE MANY. + + The evening came--so still and fleet-- + And overtook her hurrying feet. + And, heartsick, by the sacred fane + She fell, and prayed the god again. + She sobbed and beat her bursting breast: + "Ah, thou hast mocked me, Mightiest! + Lo! I have wandered far and wide; + There stands no house where none hath died." + And Buddha answered, in a tone + Soft as a flute at twilight blown, + But grand as heaven and strong as death + To him who hears with ears of faith: + "Child, thou art answered. Murmur not! + Bow, and accept the common lot." + + Kilvani heard with reverence meet, + And laid her child at Buddha's feet. + + + + +MOUNT TABOR. + + + On Tabor's height a glory came, + And, shrined in clouds of lambent flame, + The awestruck, hushed disciples saw + Christ and the prophets of the law. + Moses, whose grand and awful face + Of Sinai's thunder bore the trace, + And wise Elias,--in his eyes + The shade of Israel's prophecies,-- + Stood in that wide, mysterious light, + Than Syrian noons more purely bright, + One on each hand, and high between + Shone forth the godlike Nazarene. + They bowed their heads in holy fright,-- + No mortal eyes could bear the sight,-- + And when they looked again, behold! + The fiery clouds had backward rolled, + And borne aloft in grandeur lonely, + Nothing was left "save Jesus only." + + Resplendent type of things to be! + We read its mystery to-day + With clearer eyes than even they, + The fisher-saints of Galilee. + We see the Christ stand out between + The ancient law and faith serene, + Spirit and letter; but above + Spirit and letter both was Love. + Led by the hand of Jacob's God, + Through wastes of eld a path was trod + By which the savage world could move + Upward through law and faith to love. + And there in Tabor's harmless flame + The crowning revelation came. + The old world knelt in homage due, + The prophets near in reverence drew, + Law ceased its mission to fulfil, + And Love was lord on Tabor's hill. + + So now, while creeds perplex the mind + And wranglings load the weary wind, + When all the air is filled with words + And texts that wring like clashing swords, + Still, as for refuge, we may turn + Where Tabor's shining glories burn,-- + The soul of antique Israel gone, + And nothing left but Christ alone. + + + + +RELIGION AND DOCTRINE. + + + He stood before the Sanhedrim; + The scowling rabbis gazed at him. + He recked not of their praise or blame; + There was no fear, there was no shame, + For one upon whose dazzled eyes + The whole world poured its vast surprise. + The open heaven was far too near, + His first day's light too sweet and clear, + To let him waste his new-gained ken + On the hate-clouded face of men. + + But still they questioned, "Who art thou? + What hast thou been? What art thou now? + Thou art not he who yesterday + Sat here and begged beside the way; + For he was blind." + + --"And I am he; + For I was blind, but now I see." + + He told the story o'er and o'er; + It was his full heart's only lore: + A prophet on the Sabbath-day + Had touched his sightless eyes with clay, + And made him see who had been blind. + Their words passed by him like the wind, + Which raves and howls, but cannot shock + The hundred-fathom-rooted rock. + + Their threats and fury all went wide; + They could not touch his Hebrew pride. + Their sneers at Jesus and His band, + Nameless and homeless in the land, + Their boasts of Moses and his Lord, + All could not change him by one word. + + "I know not what this man may be, + Sinner or saint; but as for me, + One thing I know,--that I am he + Who once was blind, and now I see." + + They were all doctors of renown, + The great men of a famous town, + With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise, + Beneath their wide phylacteries; + The wisdom of the East was theirs, + And honour crowned their silver hairs. + The man they jeered and laughed to scorn + Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born; + But he knew better far than they + What came to him that Sabbath-day; + And what the Christ had done for him + He knew, and not the Sanhedrim. + + + + +SINAI AND CALVARY. + + + There are two mountains hallowed + By majesty sublime, + Which rear their crests unconquered + Above the floods of Time. + Uncounted generations + Have gazed on them with awe,-- + The mountain of the Gospel, + The mountain of the Law. + + From Sinai's cloud of darkness + The vivid lightnings play; + They serve the God of vengeance, + The Lord who shall repay. + Each fault must bring its penance, + Each sin the avenging blade, + For God upholds in justice + The laws that He hath made. + + But Calvary stands to ransom + The earth from utter loss, + In shade than light more glorious, + The shadow of the Cross. + To heal a sick world's trouble, + To soothe its woe and pain, + On Calvary's sacred summit + The Paschal Lamb was slain. + + The boundless might of Heaven + Its law in mercy furled, + As once the bow of promise + O'erarched a drowning world. + The Law said, "As you keep me, + It shall be done to you;" + But Calvary prays, "Forgive them; + They know not what they do." + + Almighty God! direct us + To keep Thy perfect Law! + O blessed Saviour, help us + Nearer to Thee to draw! + Let Sinai's thunders aid us + To guard our feet from sin; + And Calvary's light inspire us + The love of God to win. + + + + +THE VISION OF ST. PETER. + + + To Peter by night the faithfullest came + And said, "We appeal to thee! + The life of the Church is in thy life; + We pray thee to rise and flee. + + "For the tyrant's hand is red with blood, + And his arm is heavy with power; + Thy head, the head of the Church, will fall + If thou tarry in Rome an hour." + + Through the sleeping town St. Peter passed + To the wide Campagna plain; + In the starry light of the Alban night + He drew free breath again: + + When across his path an awful form + In luminous glory stood; + His thorn-crowned brow, His hands and feet, + Were wet with immortal blood. + + The godlike sorrow which filled His eyes + Seemed changed to a godlike wrath + As they turned on Peter, who cried aloud, + And sank to his knees in the path. + + "Lord of my life, my love, my soul! + Say, what wilt Thou with me?" + A voice replied, "I go to Rome + To be crucified for thee." + + The Apostle sprang, all flushed, to his feet,-- + The vision had passed away; + The light still lay on the dewy plain, + But the sky in the east was gray. + + To the city walls St. Peter turned, + And his heart in his breast grew fire; + In every vein the hot blood burned + With the strength of one high desire. + + And sturdily back he marched to his death + Of terrible pain and shame; + And never a shade of fear again + To the stout Apostle came. + + + + +ISRAEL. + + + When by Jabbok the patriarch waited + To learn on the morrow his doom, + And his dubious spirit debated + In darkness and silence and gloom, + There descended a Being with whom + He wrestled in agony sore, + With striving of heart and of brawn, + And not for an instant forbore + Till the east gave a threat of the dawn; + And then, as the Awful One blessed him, + To his lips and his spirit there came, + Compelled by the doubts that oppressed him, + The cry that through questioning ages + Has been wrung from the hinds and the sages, + "Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy name!" + + Most fatal, most futile, of questions! + Wherever the heart of man beats, + In the spirit's most sacred retreats, + It comes with its sombre suggestions, + Unanswered for ever and aye. + The blessing may come and may stay, + For the wrestlers heroic endeavour; + But the question, unheeded for ever, + Dies out in the broadening day. + + In the ages before our traditions, + By the altars of dark superstitions, + The imperious question has come; + When the death-stricken victim lay sobbing + At the feet of his slayer and priest, + And his heart was laid smoking and throbbing + To the sound of the cymbal and drum + On the steps of the high Teocallis; + When the delicate Greek at his feast + Poured forth the red wine from his chalice + With mocking and cynical prayer; + When by Nile Egypt worshipping lay, + And afar, through the rosy, flushed air + The Memnon called out to the day; + Where the Muezzin's cry floats from his spire; + In the vaulted Cathedral's dim shades, + Where the crushed hearts of thousands aspire + Through arts highest miracles higher, + This question of questions invades + Each heart bowed in worship or shame; + In the air where the censers are swinging, + A voice, going up with the singing, + Cries, "Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy name!" + + No answer came back, not a word, + To the patriarch there by the ford; + No answer has come through the ages + To the poets, the seers, and the sages + Who have sought in the secrets of science + The name and the nature of God, + Whether cursing in desperate defiance + Or kissing His absolute rod; + But the answer which was and shall be, + "My name! Nay, what is it to thee?" + The search and the question are vain. + By use of the strength that is in you, + By wrestling of soul and of sinew + The blessing of God you may gain. + + There are lights in the far-gleaming Heaven + That never will shine on our eyes; + To mortals it may not be given + To range those inviolate skies. + The mind, whether praying or scorning, + That tempts those dread secrets shall fail; + But strive through the night till the morning, + And mightily shalt thou prevail. + + + + +THE CROWS AT WASHINGTON. + + + Slow flapping to the setting sun + By twos and threes, in wavering rows, + As twilight shadows dimly close, + The crows fly over Washington. + + Under the crimson sunset sky + Virginian woodlands leafless lie, + In wintry torpor bleak and dun. + Through the rich vault of heaven, which shines + Like a warmed opal in the sun, + With wide advance in broken lines + The crows fly over Washington. + + Over the Capitol's white dome, + Across the obelisk soaring bare + To prick the clouds, they travel home, + Content and weary, winnowing + With dusky vans the golden air, + Which hints the coming of the spring, + Though winter whitens Washington. + + The dim, deep air, the level ray + Of dying sunlight on their plumes, + Give them a beauty not their own; + Their hoarse notes fail and faint away; + A rustling murmur floating down + Blends sweetly with the thickening glooms; + They touch with grace the fading day, + Slow flying over Washington. + + I stand and watch with clouded eyes + These dim battalions move along; + Out of the distance memory cries + Of days when life and hope were strong, + When love was prompt and wit was gay; + Even then, at evening, as to-day, + I watched, while twilight hovered dim + Over Potomac's curving rim, + This selfsame flight of homing crows + Blotting the sunset's fading rose, + Above the roofs of Washington. + + + + +REMORSE. + + + Sad is the thought of sunniest days + Of love and rapture perished, + And shine through memory's tearful haze + The eyes once fondliest cherished. + Reproachful is the ghost of toys + That charmed while life was wasted. + But saddest is the thought of joys + That never yet were tasted. + + Sad is the vague and tender dream + Of dead love's lingering kisses, + To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam + Of unreturning blisses; + Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride + For the pitiless death that won them,-- + But the saddest wail is for lips that died + With the virgin dew upon them. + + + + +ESSE QUAM VIDERI. + + + The knightly legend of thy shield betrays + The moral of thy life; a forecast wise, + And that large honour that deceit defies, + Inspired thy fathers in the elder days, + Who decked thy scutcheon with that sturdy phrase, + TO BE RATHER THAN SEEM. As eve's red skies + Surpass the morning's rosy prophecies, + Thy life to that proud boast its answer pays. + Scorning thy faith and purpose to defend + The ever-mutable multitude at last + Will hail the power they did not comprehend,-- + Thy fame will broaden through the centuries; + As, storm and billowy tumult overpast, + The moon rules calmly o'er the conquered seas. + + + + +WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME. + + + There's a happy time coming, + When the boys come home. + There's a glorious day coming, + When the boys come home. + We will end the dreadful story + Of this treason dark and gory + In a sunburst of glory, + When the boys come home. + + The day will seem brighter + When the boys come home, + For our hearts will be lighter + When the boys come home. + Wives and sweethearts will press them + In their arms and caress them, + And pray God to bless them, + When the boys come home. + + The thinned ranks will be proudest + When the boys come home, + And their cheer will ring the loudest + When the boys come home. + The full ranks will be shattered, + And the bright arms will be battered, + And the battle-standards tattered, + When the boys come home. + + Their bayonets may be rusty, + When the boys come home, + And their uniforms dusty, + When the boys come home. + But all shall see the traces + Of battle's royal graces, + In the brown and bearded faces, + When the boys come home. + + Our love shall go to meet them, + When the boys come home, + To bless them and to greet them, + When the boys come home; + And the fame of their endeavour + Time and change shall not dissever + From the nation's heart for ever, + When the boys come home. + + + + +LESE-AMOUR. + + + How well my heart remembers + Beside these camp-fire embers + The eyes that smiled so far away,-- + The joy that was November's. + + Her voice to laughter moving, + So merrily reproving,-- + We wandered through the autumn woods, + And neither thought of loving. + + The hills with light were glowing, + The waves in joy were flowing,-- + It was not to the clouded sun + The day's delight was owing. + + Though through the brown leaves straying, + Our lives seemed gone a-Maying; + We knew not Love was with us there, + No look nor tone betraying. + + How unbelief still misses + The best of being's blisses! + Our parting saw the first and last + Of love's imagined kisses. + + Now 'mid these scenes the drearest + I dream of her, the dearest,-- + Whose eyes outshine the Southern stars, + So far, and yet the nearest. + + And Love, so gaily taunted, + Who died, no welcome granted, + Comes to me now, a pallid ghost, + By whom my life is haunted. + + With bonds I may not sever, + He binds my heart for ever, + And leads me where we murdered him,-- + The Hill beside the River. + + CAMP SHAW, FLORIDA, + February 1864. + + + + +NORTHWARD. + + + Under the high unclouded sun + That makes the ship and shadow one, + I sail away as from the fort + Booms sullenly the noonday gun. + + The odorous airs blow thin and fine, + The sparkling waves like emeralds shine, + The lustre of the coral reefs + Gleams whitely through the tepid brine. + + And glitters o'er the liquid miles + The jewelled ring of verdant isles, + Where generous Nature holds her court + Of ripened bloom and sunny smiles. + + Encinctured by the faithful seas + Inviolate gardens load the breeze, + Where flaunt like giant-warders' plumes + The pennants of the cocoa-trees. + + Enthroned in light and bathed in balm, + In lonely majesty the Palm + Blesses the isles with waving hands,-- + High-Priest of the eternal Calm. + + Yet Northward with an equal mind + I steer my course, and leave behind + The rapture of the Southern skies,-- + The wooing of the Southern wind. + + For here o'er Nature's wanton bloom + Falls far and near the shade of gloom, + Cast from the hovering vulture-wings + Of one dark thought of woe and doom. + + I know that in the snow-white pines + The brave Norse fire of freedom shines, + And fain for this I leave the land + Where endless summer pranks the vines. + + O strong, free North, so wise and brave! + O South, too lovely for a slave! + Why read ye not the changeless truth,-- + The free can conquer but to save? + + May God upon these shining sands + Send Love and Victory clasping hands, + And Freedom's banners wave in peace + For ever o'er the rescued lands! + + And here, in that triumphant hour, + Shall yielding beauty wed with power; + And blushing earth and smiling sea + In dalliance deck the bridal bower. + + KEY WEST, 1864. + + + + +IN THE FIRELIGHT. + + + My dear wife sits beside the fire + With folded hands and dreaming eyes, + Watching the restless flames aspire, + And rapt in thralling memories. + I mark the fitful firelight fling + Its warm caresses on her brow, + And kiss her hands' unmelting snow, + And glisten on her wedding-ring. + + The proud free head that crowns so well + The neck superb, whose outlines glide + Into the bosom's perfect swell + Soft-billowed by its peaceful tide, + The cheek's faint flush, the lip's red glow, + The gracious charm her beauty wears, + Fill my fond eyes with tender tears + As in the days of long ago. + + Days long ago, when in her eyes + The only heaven I cared for lay, + When from our thoughtless Paradise + All care and toil dwelt far away; + When Hope in wayward fancies throve, + And rioted in secret sweets, + Beguiled by Passion's dear deceits,-- + The mysteries of maiden love. + + One year had passed since first my sight + Was gladdened by her girlish charms, + When on a rapturous summer night + I clasped her in possessing arms. + And now ten years have rolled away, + And left such blessings as their dower; + I owe her tenfold at this hour + The love that lit our wedding-day. + + For now, vague-hovering o'er her form, + My fancy sees, by love refined, + A warmer and a dearer charm + By wedlock's mystic hands entwined,-- + A golden coil of wifely cares + That years have forged, the loving joy + That guards the curly-headed boy + Asleep an hour ago upstairs. + + A fair young mother, pure as fair, + A matron heart and virgin soul! + The flickering light that crowns her hair + Seems like a saintly aureole. + A tender sense upon me falls + That joy unmerited is mine, + And in this pleasant twilight shine + My perfect bliss myself appals. + + Come back! my darling, strayed so far + Into the realm of fantasy,-- + Let thy dear face shine like a star + In love-light beaming over me. + My melting soul is jealous, sweet, + Of thy long silence' drear eclipse; + O kiss me back with living lips, + To life, love, lying at thy feet! + + + + +IN A GRAVEYARD. + + + In the dewy depths of the graveyard + I lie in the tangled grass, + And watch, in the sea of azure, + The white cloud-islands pass. + + The birds in the rustling branches + Sing gaily overhead; + Grey stones like sentinel spectres + Are guarding the silent dead. + + The early flowers sleep shaded + In the cool green noonday glooms; + The broken light falls shuddering + On the cold white face of the tombs. + + Without, the world is smiling + In the infinite love of God, + But the sunlight fails and falters + When it falls on the churchyard sod. + + On me the joyous rapture + Of a heart's first love is shed, + But it falls on my heart as coldly + As sunlight on the dead. + + + + +THE PRAIRIE. + + + The skies are blue above my head, + The prairie green below, + And flickering o'er the tufted grass + The shifting shadows go, + Vague-sailing, where the feathery clouds + Fleck white the tranquil skies, + Black javelins darting where aloft + The whirring pheasant flies. + + A glimmering plain in drowsy trance + The dim horizon bounds, + Where all the air is resonant + With sleepy summer sounds,-- + The life that sings among the flowers, + The lisping of the breeze, + The hot cicala's sultry cry, + The murmurous dream of bees. + + The butterfly--a flying flower-- + Wheels swift in flashing rings, + And flutters round his quiet kin, + With brave flame-mottled wings. + The wild Pinks burst in crimson fire + The Phlox' bright clusters shine, + And Prairie-Cups are swinging free + To spill their airy wine. + + And lavishly beneath the sun, + In liberal splendour rolled, + The Fennel fills the dipping plain + With floods of flowery gold; + And widely weaves the Iron-Weed + A woof of purple dyes + Where Autumn's royal feet may tread + When bankrupt Summer flies. + + In verdurous tumult far away + The prairie-billows gleam, + Upon their crests in blessing rests + The noontide's gracious beam. + Low quivering vapours steaming dim + The level splendours break + Where languid Lilies deck the rim + Of some land-circled lake. + + Far in the east like low-hung clouds + The waving woodlands lie; + Far in the west the glowing plain + Melts warmly in the sky. + No accent wounds the reverent air, + No footprint dints the sod, + Lone in the light the prairie lies + Rapt in a dream of God. + + ILLINOIS, 1858. + + + + +CENTENNIAL. + + + A hundred times the bells of Brown + Have rung to sleep the idle summers, + And still to-day clangs clamouring down + A greeting to the welcome comers. + + And far, like waves of morning, pours + Her call, in airy ripples breaking, + And wanders to the farthest shores, + Her children's drowsy hearts awaking. + + The wild vibration floats along, + O'er heart-strings tense its magic plying, + And wakes in every breast its song + Of love and gratitude undying. + + My heart to meet the summons leaps + At limit of its straining tether, + Where the fresh western sunlight steeps + In golden flame the prairie heather. + + And others, happier, rise and fare + To pass within the hallowed portal, + And see the glory shining there + Shrined in her steadfast eyes immortal. + + What though their eyes be dim and dull, + Their heads be white in reverend blossom; + Our mothers smile is beautiful + As when she bore them on her bosom! + + Her heavenly forehead bears no line + Of Time's iconolastic fingers, + But o'er her form the grace divine + Of deathless youth and wisdom lingers. + + We fade and pass, grow faint and old, + Till youth and joy and hope are banished, + And still her beauty seems to fold + The sum of all the glory vanished. + + As while Tithonus faltered on + The threshold of the Olympian dawnings, + Aurora's front eternal shone + With lustre of the myriad mornings. + + So joys that slip like dead leaves down, + And hopes burnt out that die in ashes, + Rise restless from their graves to crown + Our mother's brow with fadeless flashes. + + And lives wrapped in traditions mist + These honoured halls to-day are haunting, + And lips by lips long withered kissed + The sagas of the past are chanting. + + Scornful of absence' envious bar + BROWN smiles upon the mystic meeting + Of those her sons, who, sundered far, + In brotherhood of heart are greeting; + + Her wayward children wandering on + Where setting stars are lowly burning, + But still in worship toward the dawn + That gilds their souls' dear Mecca turning; + + Or those who, armed for God's own fight, + Stand by His Word through fire and slaughter, + Or bear our banner's starry light + Far-flashing through the Gulf's blue water. + + For where one strikes for light and truth, + The right to aid, the wrong redressing, + The mother of his spirit's youth + Sheds o'er his soul her silent blessing. + + She gained her crown a gem of flame + When KNEASS fell dead in victory gory; + New splendour blazed upon her name + When IVES' young life went out in glory! + + Thus bright for ever may she keep + Her fires of tolerant Freedom burning, + Till War's red eyes are charmed to sleep + And bells ring home the boys returning. + + And may she shed her radiant truth + In largess on ingenuous comers, + And hold the bloom of gracious youth + Through many a hundred tranquil summers! + + + + +A WINTER NIGHT. + + + The winter wind is raving fierce and shrill, + And chides with angry moan the frosty skies; + The white stars gaze with sleepless Gorgon eyes + That freeze the earth in terror fixed and still. + We reck not of the wild night's gloom and chill, + Housed from its rage, dear friend; and fancy flies, + Lured by the hand of beckoning memories, + Back to those summer evenings on the hill + Where we together watched the sun go down + Beyond the gold-washed uplands, while his fires + Touched into glittering life the vanes and spires + Piercing the purpling mists that veiled the town. + The wintry night thy voice and eyes beguile, + Till wake the sleeping summers in thy smile. + + + + +STUDENT-SONG. + + + When Youth's warm heart beats high, my friend, + And Youth's blue sky is bright, + And shines in Youth's clear eye, my friend, + Love's early dawning light, + Let the free soul spurn care's control, + And while the glad days shine, + We'll use their beams for Youth's gay dreams + Of Love and Song and Wine. + + Let not the bigot's frown, my friend, + O'ercast thy brow with gloom, + For Autumn's sober brown, my friend, + Shall follow Summer's bloom. + Let smiles and sighs and loving eyes + In changeful beauty shine, + And shed their beams on Youth's gay dreams + Of Love and Song and Wine. + + For in the weary years, my friend, + That stretched before us lie, + There'll be enough of tears, my friend, + To dim the brightest eye. + So let them wait, and laugh at fate, + While Youth's sweet moments shine,-- + Till memory gleams with golden dreams + Of Love and Song and Wine. + + + + +HOW IT HAPPENED. + + + I pray you, pardon me, Elsie, + And smile that frown away + That dims the light of your lovely face + As a thunder-cloud the day. + I really could not help it,-- + Before I thought, 'twas done,-- + And those great grey eyes flashed bright and cold, + Like an icicle in the sun. + + I was thinking of the summers + When we were boys and girls, + And wandered in the blossoming woods, + And the gay winds romped with your curls. + And you seemed to me the same little girl + I kissed in the alder-path, + I kissed the little girl's lips, and, alas! + I have roused a woman's wrath. + + There is not so much to pardon,-- + For why were your lips so red? + The blond hair fell in a shower of gold + From the proud, provoking head. + And the beauty that flashed from the splendid eyes, + And played round the tender mouth, + Rushed over my soul like a warm sweet wind + That blows from the fragrant south. + + And where, after all, is the harm done? + I believe we were made to be gay, + And all of youth not given to love + Is vainly squandered away. + And strewn through life's low labours, + Like gold in the desert sands, + Are love's swift kisses and sighs and vows + And the clasp of clinging hands. + + And when you are old and lonely, + In Memory's magic shine + You will see on your thin and wasting hands, + Like gems, these kisses of mine. + And when you muse at evening + At the sound of some vanished name, + The ghost of my kisses shall touch your lips + And kindle your heart to flame. + + + + +GOD'S VENGEANCE. + + + Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine; + I will repay," saith the Lord; + Ours be the anger divine, + Lit by the flash of His word. + + How shall His vengeance be done? + How, when His purpose is clear? + Must He come down from His throne? + Hath He no instruments here? + + Sleep not in imbecile trust, + Waiting for God to begin, + While, growing strong in the dust, + Rests the bruised serpent of sin. + + Right and Wrong,--both cannot live + Death-grappled. Which shall we see? + Strike! only Justice can give + Safety to all that shall be. + + Shame! to stand paltering thus, + Tricked by the balancing odds; + Strike! God is waiting for us! + Strike! for the vengeance is God's. + + + + +TOO LATE. + + + Had we but met in other days, + Had we but loved in other ways, + Another light and hope had shone + On your life and my own. + + In sweet but hopeless reveries + I fancy how your wistful eyes + Had saved me, had I known their power + In fate's imperious hour; + + How loving you, beloved of God, + And following you, the path I trod + Had led me, through your love and prayers, + To God's love unawares: + + And how our beings joined as one + Had passed through checkered shade and sun, + Until the earth our lives had given, + With little change, to heaven. + + God knows why this was not to be. + You bloomed from childhood far from me. + The sunshine of the favoured place + That knew your youth and grace. + + And when your eyes, so fair and free, + In fearless beauty beamed on me, + I knew the fatal die was thrown, + My choice in life was gone. + + And still with wild and tender art + Your child-love touched my torpid heart, + Gilding the blackness where it fell, + Like sunlight over hell. + + In vain, in vain! my choice was gone! + Better to struggle on alone + Than blot your pure life's blameless shine + With cloudy stains of mine. + + A vague regret, a troubled prayer, + And then the future vast and fair + Will tempt your young and eager eyes + With all its glad surprise. + + And I shall watch you, safe and far, + As some late traveller eyes a star + Wheeling beyond his desert sands + To gladden happier lands. + + + + +LOVE'S DOUBT. + + + 'Tis love that blinds my heart and eyes,-- + I sometimes say in doubting dreams,-- + The face that near me perfect seems + Cold Memory paints in fainter dyes. + + 'Twas but love's dazzled eyes--I say-- + That made her seem so strangely bright; + The face I worshipped yesternight, + I dread to meet it changed to-day. + + As, when dies out some song's refrain, + And leaves your eyes in happy tears, + Awake the same fond idle fears,-- + It cannot sound so sweet again. + + You wait and say with vague annoy, + "It will not sound so sweet again," + Until comes back the wild refrain + That floods your soul with treble joy. + + So when I see my love again + Fades the unquiet doubt away, + While shines her beauty like the day + Over my happy heart and brain. + + And in that face I see no more + The fancied faults I idly dreamed, + But all the charms that fairest seemed, + I find them, fairer than before. + + + + +LACRIMAS. + + + God send me tears! + Loose the fierce band that binds my tired brain, + Give me the melting heart of other years, + And let me weep again! + + Before me pass + The shapes of things inexorably true. + Gone is the sparkle of transforming dew + From every blade of grass. + + In life's high noon + Aimless I stand, my promised task undone, + And raise my hot eyes to the angry sun + That will go down too soon. + + Turned into gall + Are the sweet joys of childhood's sunny reign; + And memory is a torture, love a chain + That binds my life in thrall. + + And childhood's pain + Could to me now the purest rapture yield; + I pray for tears as in his parching field + The husbandman for rain. + + We pray in vain! + The sullen sky flings down its blaze of brass; + The joys of life all scorched and withering pass; + I shall not weep again. + + + + +ON THE BLUFF. + + + O grandly flowing River! + O silver-gliding River! + Thy springing willows shiver + In the sunset as of old; + They shiver in the silence + Of the willow-whitened islands, + While the sun-bars and the sand-bars + Fill air and wave with gold. + + O gay, oblivious River! + O sunset-kindled River! + Do you remember ever + The eyes and skies so blue + On a summer day that shone here, + When we were all alone here, + And the blue eyes were too wise + To speak the love they knew? + + O stern, impassive River! + O still, unanswering River! + The shivering willows quiver + As the night-winds moan and rave. + From the past a voice is calling, + From heaven a star is falling, + And dew swells in the bluebells + Above her hillside grave. + + + + +UNA. + + + In the whole wide world there was but one; + Others for others, but she was mine, + The one fair woman beneath the sun. + + From her gold-flax curls' most marvellous shine + Down to the lithe and delicate feet + There was not a curve nor a waving line + + But moved in a harmony firm and sweet + With all of passion my life could know. + By knowledge perfect and faith complete + + I was bound to her,--as the planets go + Adoring around their central star, + Free, but united for weal or woe. + + She was so near and Heaven so far-- + She grew my heaven and law and fate, + Rounding my life with a mystic bar + + No thought beyond could violate. + Our love to fulness in silence nursed + Grew calm as morning, when through the gate + + Of the glimmering east the sun has burst, + With his hot life filling the waiting air. + She kissed me once,--that last and first + + Of her maiden kisses was placid as prayer. + Against all comers I sat with lance + In rest, and, drunk with my joy, I sware + + Defiance and scorn to the world's worst chance. + In vain! for soon unhorsed I lay + At the feet of the strong god Circumstance-- + + And never again shall break the day, + And never again shall fall the night, + That shall light me, or shield me, on my way + + To the presence of my sad soul's delight. + Her dead love comes like a passionate ghost + To mourn the Body it held so light, + + And Fate, like a hound with a purpose lost, + Goes round bewildered with shame and fright. + + + + +THROUGH THE LONG DAYS. + + + Through the long days and years + What will my loved one be, + Parted from me? + Through the long days and years. + + Always as then she was, + Loveliest, brightest, best, + Blessing and blest,-- + Always as then she was. + + Never on earth again + Shall I before her stand, + Touch lip or hand,-- + Never on earth again. + + But while my darling lives + Peaceful I journey on, + Not quite alone, + Not while my darling lives. + + + + +A PHYLACTERY. + + + Wise men I hold those rakes of old + Who, as we read in antique story, + When lyres were struck and wine was poured, + Set the white Death's Head on the board-- + Memento mori. + + Love well! love truly! and love fast! + True love evades the dilatory. + Life's bloom flares like a meteor past; + A joy so dazzling cannot last-- + Memento mori. + + Stop not to pluck the leaves of bay + That greenly deck the path of glory, + The wreath will wither if you stay, + So pass along your earnest way-- + Memento mori. + + Hear but not heed, though wild and shrill, + The cries of faction transitory; + Cleave to YOUR good, eschew YOUR ill, + A Hundred Years and all is still-- + Memento mori. + + When Old Age comes with muffled drums, + That beat to sleep our tired life's story, + On thoughts of dying (Rest is good!), + Like old snakes coiled i' the sun, we brood-- + Memento mori. + + + + +BLONDINE. + + + I wandered through a careless world + Deceived when not deceiving, + And never gave an idle heart + The rapture of believing. + The smiles, the sighs, the glancing eyes, + Of many hundred comers + Swept by me, light as rose-leaves blown + From long-forgotten summers. + + But never eyes so deep and bright + And loyal in their seeming, + And never smiles so full of light + Have shone upon my dreaming. + The looks and lips so gay and wise, + The thousand charms that wreathe them, + --Almost I dare believe that truth + Is safely shrined beneath them. + + Ah! do they shine, those eyes of thine, + But for our own misleading? + The fresh young smile, so pure and fine, + Does it but mock our reading? + Then faith is fled, and trust is dead, + And unbelief grows duty, + If fraud can wield the triple arm + Of youth and wit and beauty. + + + + +DISTICHES. + + + I. + + Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her. + This one may love her some day, some day the lover will not. + + II. + + There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are going, + When they seem going they come: Diplomates, women, and crabs. + + III. + + Pleasures too hastily tasted grow sweeter in fond recollection, + As the pomegranate plucked green ripens far over the sea. + + IV. + + As the meek beasts in the Garden came flocking for Adam to name them, + Men for a title to-day crawl to the feet of a king. + + V. + + What is a first love worth, except to prepare for a second? + What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first. + + VI. + + Health was wooed by the Romans in groves of the laurel and myrtle. + Happy and long are the lives brightened by glory and love. + + VII. + + Wine is like rain: when it falls on the mire it but makes it the fouler, + But when it strikes the good soil wakes it to beauty and bloom. + + VIII. + + Break not the rose; its fragrance and beauty are surely sufficient: + Resting contented with these, never a thorn shall you feel. + + IX. + + When you break up housekeeping, you learn the extent of your treasures; + Till he begins to reform, no one can number his sins. + + X. + + Maidens! why should you worry in choosing whom you shall marry? + Choose whom you may, you will find you have got somebody else. + + XI. + + Unto each man comes a day when his favourite sins all forsake him, + And he complacently thinks he has forsaken his sins. + + XII. + + Be not too anxious to gain your next-door neighbour's approval: + Live your own life, and let him strive your approval to gain. + + XIII. + + Who would succeed in the world should be wise in the use of his pronouns. + Utter the You twenty times, where you once utter the I. + + XIV. + + The best-loved man or maid in the town would perish with anguish + Could they hear all that their friends say in the + course of a day. + + XV. + + True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table: + Luckiest he who knows just when to rise and go home. + + XVI. + + Pleasant enough it is to hear the world speak of your virtues; + But in your secret heart 'tis of your faults you are proud. + + XVII. + + Try not to beat back the current, yet be not drowned in its waters; + Speak with the speech of the world, think with the thoughts of the few. + + XVIII. + + Make all good men your well-wishers, and then, in the years' steady + sifting, + Some of them turn into friends. Friends are the sunshine of life. + + + + +REGARDANT. + + + As I lay at your feet that afternoon, + Little we spoke,--you sat and mused, + Humming a sweet old-fashioned tune, + + And I worshipped you, with a sense confused + Of the good time gone and the bad on the way, + While my hungry eyes your face perused, + + To catch and brand on my soul for aye + The subtle smile which had grown my doom. + Drinking sweet poison hushed I lay + + Till the sunset shimmered athwart the room. + I rose to go. You stood so fair + And dim in the dead day's tender gloom: + + All at once, or ever I was aware, + Flashed from you on me a warm strong wave + Of passion and power; in the silence there + + I fell on my knees, like a lover, or slave, + With my wild hands clasping your slender waist; + And my lips, with a sudden frenzy brave, + + A madman's kiss on your girdle pressed, + And I felt your calm heart's quickening beat, + And your soft hands on me one instant rest. + + And if God had loved me, how endlessly sweet + Had He let my heart in its rapture burst, + And throb its last at your firm small feet! + + And when I was forth, I shuddered at first + At my imminent bliss. As a soul in pain, + Treading his desolate path accursed, + + Looks back and dreams through his tears' dim rain + That by Heaven's wide gate the angels smile, + Relenting, and beckon him back again, + + And goes on, thrice damned by that devil's wile,-- + So sometimes burns in my weary brain + The thought that you loved me all the while. + + + + +GUY OF THE TEMPLE. + + + Down the dim west slowly fails the stricken sun, + And from his hot face fades the crimson flush + Veiled in death's herald-shadows sick and grey. + Silent and dark the sombre valley lies + Forgotten; happy in the late fond beams + Glimmer the constant waves of Galilee. + Afar, below, in airy music ring + The bugles of my host; the column halts, + A wearied serpent glittering in the vale, + Where rising mist-like gleam the tented camps. + + Pitch my pavilion here, where its high cross + May catch the last light lingering on the hill. + The savage shadows, struggling by the shore, + Have conquered in the valley; inch by inch + The vanquished light fights bravely to these crags + To perish glorious in the sunset fire; + Even as our hunted Cause so pressed and torn + In Syrian valleys, and the trampled marge + Of consecrated streams, displays at last + Its narrowing glories from these steadfast walls. + Here in God's name we stand, and brighter far + Shines the stern virtue of my martyr-host + Through these invidious fortunes, than of old, + When the still sunshine glinted on their helms, + And dallying breezes woke their bridle-bells + To tinkling music by the reedy shore + Of calm Tiberias, where our angry Lord, + Wroth at the deadly sin that cursed our camp, + Denied and blinded us, and gave us up + To the avenging sword of Saladin. + Yet would He not permit His truth to sink + To utter loss amid that foundering fight, + But led us, scarred and shattered from the spoil + Of Paynim rage, the desert's thirsty death, + To where beneath the sheltering crags we prayed + And rested and grew strong. Heroes and saints + To alien peoples shall they be, my brave + And patient warriors; for in their stout hearts + God's Spirit dwells for ever, and their hands + Are swift to do His service on His foes. + The swelling music of their vesper-hymn + Is rising fragrant from the shadowed vale + Familiar to the welcoming gates of heaven. + + Mother of God! as evening falls + Upon the silent sea, + And shadows veil the mountain walls, + We lift our souls to thee! + From lurking perils of the night, + The desert's hidden harms, + From plagues that waste, from blasts that smite, + Defend thy men-at-arms! + + Ay! Heaven keep them! and ye angel-hosts + That wait with fluttering plumes around the great + White throne of God, guard them from scath and harm! + For in your starry records never shone + The memory of desert so great as theirs. + I hold not first, though peerless else on earth, + That knightly valour, born of gentle blood + And war's long tutelage, which hath made their name + Blaze like a baleful planet o'er these lands; + Firm seat in saddle, lance unmoved, a hand + Wedding the hilt with death's persistent grasp; + One-minded rush in fight that naught can stay. + Not these the highest, though I scorn not these, + But rather offer Heaven with humble heart + The deeds that Heaven hath given us arms to do. + For when God's smile was with us we were strong + To go like sudden lightning to our mark: + As on that summer day when Saladin-- + Passing in scorn our host at Antioch, + Who spent the days in revel, and shamed the stars + With nightly scandal--came with all his host, + Its gay battalia brave with saffron silks, + Flaunting the banners of the Caliphate + Beneath the walls of fair Jerusalem: + And white and shaking came the Leper-King, + Great Baldwin's blasted scion, and Tripoli + And I, and twenty score of Temple Knights, + To meet the myriads marshalled by the bright + Untarnished flower of Eastern chivalry; + A moment paused with level-fronting spears + And moveless helms before that shining host, + Whose gay attire abashed the morning light, + And then struck spur and charged, while from the mass + Of rushing terror burst the awful cry, + GOD AND THE TEMPLE! As the avalanche slides + Down Alpine slopes, precipitous, cold and dark, + Unpitying and unwrathful, grinds and crushes + The mountain violets and the valley weeds, + And drags behind a trail of chaos and death; + So burst we on that field, and through and through + The gay battalia brave with saffron silks, + Crushed and abolished every grace and gleam, + And dragged where'er we rode a sinuous track + Of chaos and death, till all the plain was filled + With battered armour, turbaned trunkless heads, + With silken mantles blushing angry gules + And Bagdad's banners trampled and forlorn. + And Saladin, stunned and bewildered sore,-- + The greatest prince, save in the grace of God, + That now wears sword,--mounted his brother's barb, + And, followed by a half-score followers, + Sped to his castle Shaubec, over against + The cliffs by Ascalon, and there abode: + And sullenly made order that no more + The royal nouba should be played for him + Until he should erase the rusting stain + Upon his knightly honour; and no more + The nouba sounded by the Sultan's tent, + Morning nor evening by the silent tent, + Until the headlong greed of Chatillon + Spread ruin on our cause from Montreale. + But greatest are my warriors, as I deem, + In that their hearts, nearer than any else, + Keep true the pledge of perfect purity + They pledged upon their sword-hilts long ago. + For all is possible to the pure in heart. + + Mother of God! thy starry smile + Still bless us from above! + Keep pure our souls from passion's guile, + Our hearts from earthly love! + Still save each soul from guilt apart + As stainless as each sword, + And guard undimmed in every heart + The image of our Lord! + + O goodliest fellowship that the world has known, + True hearts and stalwart arms! above your breasts + Glitters no flash of wreathen amulet + Forged against sword-stroke by the chanted rhythm + Of charms accurst; but in each steadfast heart + Blazes the light of cloudless purity, + That like a splendid jewel glorifies + With restless fire the gold that spheres it round, + And marks you children of our God, whose lives + He guards with the awful jealousy of love. + And even me that generous love has spared,-- + Me, trustless knight and miserable man,-- + Sad prey of dark and mutinous thoughts that tempt + My sick soul into perjury and death-- + Since His great love had pity on my pain, + Has spared to lead these blameless warriors safe + Into the desert from the blazing towns, + Out of the desert to the inviolate hills + Where God has roofed them with His hollow shield. + Through all these days of tempest and eclipse + His hand has led me and His wrath has flashed + Its lightnings in the pathway of my sword. + And so I hope, and so my crescent faith + Gains daily power, that all my prayers and tears + And toils and blood and anguish borne for Him + May blot the accusing of my deadly sin + From heavens high compt, and give me rest in death; + And lay the pallid ghost of mortal love, + That fills with banned and mournful loveliness, + Unblest, the haunted chambers of my soul. + My misery will atone,--my misery,-- + Dear God, will surely atone! for not the sting + Of lacerating thongs, nor the slow horror + Of crowns of thorny iron maddening the brows, + Nor all that else pale hermits have devised + To scourge the rebel senses in their shade + Of caverned desolation, have the power + To smart and goad and lash and mortify + Like the great love that binds my ruined heart + Relentless, as the insidious ivy binds + The shattered bulk of some deserted tower, + Enlacing slow and riving with strong hands + Of pitiless verdure every seam and jut, + Till none may tear it forth and save the tower. + So binds and masters me my hopeless love. + So through the desert, in the silent hills, + I' the current of the battle's storm and stress, + One thought has driven me,--that though men may call + Me stainless Paladin, Knight leal and true + To Christ and Our Lady, still I know myself + A knight not after God's own heart, a soul + Recreant, and whelmed in the forbidden sin. + For dearer to my sad heart than the cross + I give my heart's best blood for are the eyes + That long ago, when youth and hope were mine, + I loved in thy still valleys, far Provence! + And sweeter to my spirit than the bells + Of rescued Salem are the loving tones + Of her dear voice, soft echoing o'er the years. + They haunt me in the stillness and the glare + Of desert noontide when the horizon's line + Swims faintly throbbing, and my shadow hides + Skulking beneath me from the brassy sky. + And when night comes to soothe with breath of balm + And pomp of stars the worn and weary world, + Her eyes rise in my soul and make its day. + And even into the battle comes my love, + Snatching the duty that I offer Heaven. + At closing of El-Majed's awful day, + When the last quivering sunbeams, choked with dust + And fume of blood, failed on the level plain, + In the last charge, when gathered all our knights + The precious handful who from morn had stemmed + The fury of the multitudinous hosts + Of Islam, where in youth's hot fire and pride + Ramped the young lion-whelp, Ben-Saladin; + As down the slope we rode at eventide, + The dying sunlight faintly smiled to greet + Our tattered guidons and our dinted helms + And lance-heads blooming with the battle's rose. + Into the vale, dusk with the shadow of death, + With silent lips and ringing mail we rode. + And something in the spirit of the hour, + Or fate, or memory, or sorrow, or sin, + Or love, which unto me is all of these, + Possessed and bound me; for when dashed our troop + In stormy clangour on the Paynim lines + The soul of my dead youth came into me; + Faded away my oath; the woes of Zion, + God was forgot; blazed in my leaping heart, + With instant flash, life's inextinguished fires; + Plunging along each tense limb poured the blood + Hot with its years of sleeping-smothered flame. + And in a dream I charged, and in a dream + I smote resistless; foemen in my path + Fell unregarded, like the wayside flowers + Clipped by the truant's staff in daisied lanes. + For over me burned lustrous the dear eyes + Of my beloved; I strove as at a joust + To gain at end the guerdon of her smile. + And ever, as in the dense melee I dashed, + Her name burst from my lips, as lightning breaks + Out of the plunging wrack of summer storms. + + O my lost love! Bright o'er the waste of years-- + That bliss and beauty shines upon my soul; + As far beyond yon desert hangs the sun, + Gilding with tender beam the barren stretch + Of sands that intervene. In this still light + The old sweet memories glimmer back to me, + Fair summers of my youth,--the idle days + I wandered in the bosky coverts hid + In the dim woods that girt my ancient home; + The blue young eyes I met and worshipped there; + The love that growing turned those gloomy wilds + To faery dells, and filled the vernal air + With light that bathed the hills of Paradise; + The warm, long days of rapturous summer-time, + When through the forests thick and lush we strayed, + And love made our own sunshine in the shades. + And all things fair and graceful in the woods + I loved with liberal heart; the violets + Were dear for her dear eyes, the quiring birds + That caught the musical tremble of her voice. + O happy twilights in the leafy glooms! + When in the glowing dusk the winsome arts + And maiden graces that all day had kept + Us twain and separate melted away + In blushing silence, and my love was mine + Utterly, utterly, with clinging arms + And quick, caressing fingers, warm red lips, + Where vows, half uttered, drowned in kisses, died; + Mine, with the starlight in her passionate eyes; + The wild wind of the woodland breathing low + To wake the elfin music of the leaves, + And free the prisoned odours of the flowers, + In honour of young Love come to his throne! + While we under the stars, with twining arms + And mutual lips insatiate, gave our souls-- + Madly forgetting earth and heaven--to love! + + In desert march or battle flame, + In fortress and in field, + Our war-cry is thy holy name, + Thy love our joy and shield! + And if we falter, let thy power + Thy stern avenger be, + And God forget us in the hour + We cease to think of thee! + + Curse me not, God of Justice and of Love! + Pitiful God, let my long woe atone! + + I cannot deem but God has pitied me; + Else why with painful care have I been saved, + Whenever tossed and drenched in the fierce tide + Of Saladin's victories by the walls profaned + Of Jaffa, on the sands of far Daroum, + Or in the battle thundering on the downs + Of Ramlah, or the bloody day that shed + Red horrors on high Gaza's parapets? + For never a storm of fatal fight has raged + In Islam's track of rout and ruin swept + From Egypt to Gebail, but when the ebb + Of battle came I and my host have lain, + Scarred, scorched, safe somewhere on its fiery shore. + At Marcab's lingering siege, where day by day + We told the Moslem legions toiling slow, + Planting their engines, delving in their mines + To quench in our destruction this last light + Of Christendom, our fortress in the crags, + God's beacon swung defiant from the stars; + One thunderous night I knew their miners groped + Below, and thought ere morn to die, in crush + And tumult of the falling citadel. + And pondering of my fate--the broken storm + Sobbing its life away--I was aware + There grew between me and the quieting skies + A face and form I knew,--not as in dreams, + The sad dishevelled loveliness of earth, + But lighter than the thin air where she swayed,-- + Gold hair flame-fluttered, eyes and mouth aglow + With lambent light of spiritual joy. + With sweet command she beckoned me away + And led me vaguely dreaming, till I saw + Where the wild flood in sudden fury had burst + A passage through the rocks: and thence I led + My host unharmed, following her luminous eyes, + Until the east was grey, and with a smile + Wooing me heavenward still she passed away + Into the rosy trouble of the dawn. + + And I believe my love is shrived in heaven, + And I believe that I shall soon be free. + + For ever, as I journey on, to me + Waking or sleeping come faint whisperings + And fancies not of earth, as if the gates + Of near eternity stood for me ajar, + And ghostly gales come blowing o'er my soul + Fraught with the amaranth odours of the skies. + I go to join the Lion-Heart at Acre, + And there, after due homage to my liege, + And after patient penance of the Church, + And after final devoir in the fight, + If that my God be gracious, I shall die. + And so I pray--Lord, pardon if I sin!-- + That I may lose in death's embittered wave + The stain of sinful loving, and may find + In glory again the love I lost below, + With all of fair and bright and unattained, + Beautiful in the cherishing smile of God, + By the glad waters of the River of Life! + + Night hangs above the valley; dies the day + In peace, casting his last glance on my cross, + And warns me to my prayers. Ave Maria! + + Mother of God! the evening fades + On wave and hill and lea, + And in the twilight's deepening shades + We lift our souls to thee! + In passion's stress--the battle's strife, + The desert's lurking harms, + Maid-Mother of the Lord of Life + Protect thy men-at-arms! + + + + +TRANSLATIONS. + + + + +THE WAY TO HEAVEN. + + FROM THE GERMAN. + + + + One day the Sultan, grand and grim, + Ordered the Mufti brought to him. + "Now let thy wisdom solve for me + The question I shall put to thee. + + "The different tribes beneath my sway + Four several sects of priests obey; + Now tell me which of all the four + Is on the path to Heaven's door." + + The Sultan spake, and then was dumb. + The Mufti looked about the room, + And straight made answer to his lord, + Fearing the bowstring at each word: + + "Thou, godlike in thy lofty birth, + Who art our Allah upon earth, + Illume me with thy favouring ray, + And I will answer as I may. + + "Here, where thou thronest in thy hall, + I see there are four doors in all; + And through all four thy slaves may gaze + Upon the brightness of thy face. + + "That I came hither safely through + Was to thy gracious message due, + And, blinded by thy splendour's flame, + I cannot tell the way I came." + + + + +COUNTESS JUTTA. + + FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE. + + + The Countess Jutta passed over the Rhine + In a light canoe by the moon's pale shine. + The handmaid rows and the Countess speaks: + "Seest thou not there where the water breaks + Seven corpses swim + In the moonlight dim? + So sorrowful swim the dead! + + "They were seven knights full of fire and youth, + They sank on my heart and swore me truth. + I trusted them; but for Truth's sweet sake, + Lest they should be tempted their oaths to break, + I had them bound, + And tenderly drowned! + So sorrowful swim the dead!" + + The merry Countess laughed outright! + It rang so wild in the startled night! + Up to the waist the dead men rise + And stretch lean fingers to the skies. + They nod and stare + With a glassy glare! + So sorrowful swim the dead! + + + + +A BLESSING. + + AFTER HEINE. + + + When I look on thee and feel how dear, + How pure, and how fair thou art, + Into my eyes there steals a tear, + And a shadow mingled of love and fear + Creeps slowly over my heart. + + And my very hands feel as if they would lay + Themselves on thy fair young head, + And pray the good God to keep thee alway + As good and lovely, as pure and gay,-- + When I and my wild love are dead. + + + + +TO THE YOUNG. + + AFTER HEINE. + + + Let your feet not falter, your course not alter + By golden apples, till victory's won! + The sword's sharp clangour, the dart's shrill anger, + Swerve not the hero thundering on. + + A bold beginning is half the winning, + An Alexander makes worlds his fee. + No long debating! The Queens are waiting + In his pavilion on beaded knee. + + Thus swift pursuing his wars and wooing, + He mounts old Darius' bed and throne. + O glorious ruin! O blithe undoing! + O drunk death-triumph in Babylon! + + + + +THE GOLDEN CALF. + + AFTER HEINE. + + + Double flutes and horns resound + As they dance the idol round; + Jacob's daughters, madly reeling, + Whirl about the golden calf. + Hear them laugh! + Kettledrums and laughter pealing. + + Dresses tucked above their knees, + Maids of noblest families, + In the swift dance blindly wheeling, + Circle in their wild career + Round the steer,-- + Kettledrums and laughter pealing. + + Aaron's self, the guardian grey + Of the faith, at last gives way, + Madness all his senses stealing; + Prances in his high priest's coat + Like a goat,-- + Kettledrums and laughter pealing. + + + + +THE AZRA. + + AFTER HEINE. + + + Daily walked the fair and lovely + Sultan's daughter in the twilight,-- + In the twilight by the fountain, + Where the sparkling waters plash. + + Daily stood the young slave silent + In the twilight by the fountain, + Where the plashing waters sparkle, + Pale and paler every day. + + Once by twilight came the princess + Up to him with rapid questions: + "I would know thy name, thy nation, + Whence thou comest, who thou art." + + And the young slave said, "My name is + Mahomet, I come from Yemmen. + I am of the sons of Azra, + Men who perish if they love." + + + + +GOOD AND BAD LUCK. + + AFTER HEINE. + + + Good luck is the gayest of all gay girls, + Long in one place she will not stay; + Back from your brow she strokes the curls, + Kisses you quick and flies away. + + But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes + And stays,--no fancy has she for flitting,-- + Snatches of true love-songs she hums, + And sits by your bed, and brings her knitting. + + + + +L'AMOUR DU MENSONGE. + + AFTER CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. + + + When I behold thee, O my indolent love, + To the sound of ringing brazen melodies, + Through garish halls harmoniously move, + Scattering a scornful light from languid eyes; + + When I see, smitten by the blazing lights, + Thy pale front, beauteous in its bloodless glow + As the faint fires that deck the Northern nights, + And eyes that draw me wheresoe'er I go; + + I say, She is fair, too coldly strange for speech; + A crown of memories, her calm brow above, + Shines; and her heart is like a bruised red peach, + Ripe as her body for intelligent love. + + Art thou late fruit of spicy savour and scent? + A funeral vase awaiting tearful showers? + An Eastern odour, waste and oasis blent? + A silken cushion or a bank of flowers? + + I know there are eyes of melancholy sheen + To which no passionate secrets e'er were given; + Shrines where no god or saint has ever been, + As deep and empty as the vault of Heaven. + + But what care I if this be all pretence? + 'Twill serve a heart that seeks for truth no more. + All one thy folly or indifference,-- + Hail, lovely mask, thy beauty I adore! + + + + +AMOR MYSTICUS. + + FROM THE SPANISH OF SOR MARCELA DE CARPIO. + + + Let them say to my Lover + That here I lie! + The thing of His pleasure, + His slave am I. + + Say that I seek Him + Only for love, + And welcome are tortures + My passion to prove. + + Love giving gifts + Is suspicious and cold; + I have all, my Beloved, + When Thee I hold. + + Hope and devotion + The good may gain; + I am but worthy + Of passion and pain. + + So noble a Lord + None serves in vain, + For the pay of my love + Is my love's sweet pain. + + I love Thee, to love Thee,-- + No more I desire; + By faith is nourished + My love's strong fire. + + I kiss Thy hands + When I feel their blows; + In the place of caresses + Thou givest me woes. + + But in Thy chastising + Is joy and peace. + O Master and Love, + Let Thy blows not cease. + + Thy beauty, Beloved, + With scorn is rife, + But I know that Thou lovest me, + Better than life. + + And because thou lovest me, + Lover of mine, + Death can but make me + Utterly Thine. + + I die with longing + Thy face to see; + Oh! sweet is the anguish + Of death to me! + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Pike County Ballads and Other Poems, by John Hay + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIKE COUNTRY BALLADS *** + +***** This file should be named 6062.txt or 6062.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/6/6062/ + +Produced by Les Bowler + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fc10a76 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #6062 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6062) diff --git a/old/2004-07-pkcb10.txt b/old/2004-07-pkcb10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..75aa2ca --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2004-07-pkcb10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4746 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pike County Ballads and Other Poems, by Hay +(#1 in our series by John Hay) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Pike County Ballads and Other Poems + +Author: John Hay + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6062] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 30, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PIKE COUNTY BALLADS ETC *** + + + + +This etext was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset. + + + + +PIKE COUNTY BALLADS and other poems by John Hay. + + + + +CONTENTS. + +INTRODUCTION by Henry Morley. + +POEMS BY JOHN HAY. + +THE PIKE COUNTY BALLADS. + +JIM BLUDSO +LITTLE BREECHES +BANTY TIM +THE MYSTERY OF GILGAL +GOLYER +THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT + +WANDERLIEDER. + +SUNRISE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE +THE SPHINX OF THE TUILERIES +THE SURRENDER OF SPAIN +THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS +THE CURSE OF HUNGARY +THE MONKS OF BASLE +THE ENCHANTED SHIRT +A WOMAN'S LOVE +ON PITZ LANGUARD +BOUDOIR PROPHECIES +A TRIUMPH OF ORDER +ERNST OF EDELSHEIM +MY CASTLE IN SPAIN +SISTER SAINT LUKE + +NEW AND OLD. + +MILES KEOGH'S HORSE +THE ADVANCE-GUARD +LOVE'S PRAYER +CHRISTINE +EXPECTATION +TO FLORA +A HAUNTED ROOM +DREAMS +THE LIGHT OF LOVE +QUAND MEME +WORDS +THE STIRRUP-CUP +A DREAM OF BRIC-A-BRAC +LIBERTY +THE WHITE FLAG +THE LAW OF DEATH +MOUNT TABOR +RELIGION AND DOCTRINE +SINAI AND CALVARY +THE VISION OF ST. PETER +ISRAEL +THE CROWS AT WASHINGTON +REMORSE +ESSE QUAM VIDERI +WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME +LESE-AMOUR +NORTHWARD +IN THE FIRELIGHT +IN A GRAVEYARD +THE PRAIRIE +CENTENNIAL +A WINTER NIGHT +STUDENT-SONG +HOW IT HAPPENED +GOD'S VENGEANCE +TOO LATE +LOVE'S DOUBT +LAGRIMAS +ON THE BLUFF +UNA +"THROUGH THE LONG DAYS AND YEARS" +A PHYLACTERY +BLONDINE +DISTICHES +REGARDANT +GUY OF THE TEMPLE + +TRANSLATIONS. + +THE WAY TO HEAVEN +COUNTESS JUTTA +A BLESSING +TO THE YOUNG +THE GOLDEN CALF +THE AZRA +GOOD AND BAD LUCK +L'AMOUR DU MENSONGE +AMOR MYSTICUS + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + + +Pike County Ballads and other poems in this volume by Colonel John Hay +represent in the best manner the spirit of our strong and independent +sister-land across the Atlantic. Pike County Ballads do full justice to +the raw material in the United States, and show a loyal temper in the +rough. The other pieces show how the love of freedom speaks through +finer spirits of the land, and, dealing with realities, can turn a life +of action into music. + +Colonel Hay has lived always in vigorous relation with the full life of +the people whose best mind his poems represent. He is descended from a +Scottish soldier, a John Hay, who, at the beginning of the last century, +left his country to take service under the Elector-Palatine, and whose +son went afterwards with his family to settle among the Kentucky +pioneers. Dr. Charles Hay was the father of John Hay the poet, who was +born on the 8th of October 1838, in the heart of the United States, at +Salem in Indiana. When twenty years old he graduated at the +neighbouring Brown University, where his fellow-students valued his skill +as a writer. Then he studied for the Bar, and he was called to the Bar +three years later, at Springfield, Illinois. + +At Springfield, Abraham Lincoln practised as a barrister. Shrewd, +lively, earnest, honest, he grudged help to a rogue. In a criminal case, +when evidence threw unexpected light upon a client's character, Abraham +Lincoln said suddenly to his junior, "Swett, the man is guilty; you +defend him, I can't." In another case, when a piece of rascality in his +client came out, Abraham Lincoln left his junior in possession of the +case and went to his hotel. To the judge, who sent for him, he replied +that he had found his hands were very dirty, and had gone away to get +them clean. Almost immediately after John Hay's call to the Bar at +Springfield he was chosen by Abraham Lincoln, newly made President, to go +with him to Washington. At Washington, Hay acted as Assistant-Secretary, +and was also, in the Civil War, aide-de-camp to President Lincoln. +Throughout that momentous struggle he was actively employed on the side +of the North at the headquarters and on the field of battle. He served +for a time under Generals Hunter and Gillmore, became a Colonel in the +army of the North, and served also as Assistant Adjutant-General. John +Hay had in that struggle three brothers and two brothers-in-law serving +also in the field. + +In 1890 there was published, in ten volumes, at New York, by the New York +Century Company, "Abraham Lincoln, a History: by John G. Nicolay and +John Hay." This was, with fresh material inserted, a collection of +chapters that had been published in The Century Magazine from November +1886 to the beginning of 1890. The friends, who worked equally together +upon this large record, said, "We knew Mr. Lincoln intimately before his +election to the Presidency. We came from Illinois to Washington with +him, and remained at his side and in his service--separately or together- +-until the day of his death." + +Abroad, as at home, Colonel Hay has been active in the service of his +country. In 1865 he went to Paris as Secretary of Legation, and after +remaining two years in that office he went as Charge-d'Affaires for the +United States to Vienna. After a year at Vienna, Colonel Hay went to +Madrid as Secretary of Legation under General Daniel Sickles. In 1870 he +returned to the United States, and was for the next five years an +editorial writer for the New York Tribune. During seven months, when +Whitelaw Reid was in Europe, Colonel Hay was editor in chief. + +It was for The Tribune that Hay wrote "The Pike County Ballads," which +were first reprinted separately in 1871, and are placed first in the +collection of his poems. In the same year he published his "Castilian +Days," inspired by residence in Spain. + +In 1876 Colonel Hay removed from New York to Cleveland, Ohio. He then +ceased to take part in the editing of The Tribune, but continued friendly +service as a writer. From 1879 to 1881 Colonel Hay served under +President Hayes as Assistant-Secretary of State in the Government of the +United States. In 1881 he was President of the International Sanitary +Congress at Washington. Since that time he has been active, with John G. +Nicolay, in the preparation and production of the full Memoir of Abraham +Lincoln, now completed, that will take high rank among the records of a +war which, in its issues, touched the future of the world, perhaps, more +nearly than any war since Waterloo, not even excepting the great struggle +which ended at Sedan. + +That is the life of a man, here is its music. +H. M. + + + +THE PIKE COUNTY BALLADS. + + + +JIM BLUDSO, OF THE "PRAIRIE BELLE." + + + +Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives, + Becase he don't live, you see; +Leastways, he's got out of the habit + Of livin' like you and me. +Whar have you been for the last three year + That you haven't heard folks tell +How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks + The night of the Prairie Belle? + +He weren't no saint,--them engineers + Is all pretty much alike, - +One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill, + And another one here, in Pike; +A keerless man in his talk was Jim, + And an awkward hand in a row, +But he never flunked, and he never lied, - + I reckon he never knowed how. + +And this was all the religion he had, - + To treat his engine well; +Never be passed on the river; + To mind the pilot's bell; +And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire, - + A thousand times he swore, +He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last soul got ashore. + +All boats has their day on the Mississip, + And her day come at last, - +The Movastar was a better boat, + But the Belle she WOULDN'T be passed. +And so she come tearin' along that night - + The oldest craft on the line - +With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, + And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine. + +The fire bust out as she clared the bar, + And burnt a hole in the night, +And quick as a flash she turned, and made + For that willer-bank on the right. +There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out, + Over all the infernal roar, +"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last galoot's ashore." + +Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat + Jim Bludso's voice was heard, +And they all had trust in his cussedness, + And knowed he would keep his word. +And, sure's you're born, they all got off + Afore the smokestacks fell, - +And Bludso's ghost went up alone + In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. + +He weren't no saint,--but at jedgment + I'd run my chance with Jim, +'Longside of some pious gentlemen + That wouldn't shook hands with him. +He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing, - + And went for it thar and then; +And Christ ain't a-going to be too hard + On a man that died for men. + + + +LITTLE BREECHES. + + + +I don't go much on religion, + I never ain't had no show; +But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir, + On the handful o' things I know. +I don't pan out on the prophets + And free-will, and that sort of thing, - +But I b'lieve in God and the angels, + Ever sence one night last spring. + +I come into town with some turnips, + And my little Gabe come along, - +No four-year-old in the county + Could beat him for pretty and strong, +Peart and chipper and sassy, + Always ready to swear and fight, - +And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker + Jest to keep his milk-teeth white. + +The snow come down like a blanket + As I passed by Taggart's store; +I went in for a jug of molasses + And left the team at the door. +They scared at something and started, - + I heard one little squall, +And hell-to-split over the prairie + Went team, Little Breeches and all. + +Hell-to-split over the prairie! + I was almost froze with skeer; +But we rousted up some torches, + And searched for 'em far and near. +At last we struck hosses and wagon, + Snowed under a soft white mound, +Upsot, dead beat,--but of little Gabe + No hide nor hair was found. + +And here all hope soured on me, + Of my fellow-critters' aid, - +I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones, + Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed. + + . . . . + +By this, the torches was played out, + And me and Isrul Parr +Went off for some wood to a sheepfold + That he said was somewhar thar. + +We found it at last, and a little shed + Where they shut up the lambs at night. +We looked in and seen them huddled thar, + So warm and sleepy and white; +And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped, + As peart as ever you see, +"I want a chaw of terbacker, + And that's what's the matter of me." + +How did he git thar? Angels. + He could never have walked in that storm; +They jest scooped down and toted him + To whar it was safe and warm. +And I think that saving a little child, + And fotching him to his own, +Is a derned sight better business + Than loafing around The Throne. + + + +BANTY TIM. + + + +REMARKS OF SERGEANT TILMON JOY TO THE WHITE MAN'S COMMITTEE OF SPUNKY +POINT, ILLINOIS. + +I reckon I git your drift, gents, - + You 'low the boy sha'n't stay; +This is a white man's country; + You're Dimocrats, you say; +And whereas, and seein', and wherefore, + The times bein' all out o' j'int, +The nigger has got to mosey + From the limits o' Spunky P'int! + +Le's reason the thing a minute: + I'm an old-fashioned Dimocrat too, +Though I laid my politics out o' the way + For to keep till the war was through. +But I come back here, allowin' + To vote as I used to do, +Though it gravels me like the devil to train + Along o' sich fools as you. + +Now dog my cats ef I kin see, + In all the light of the day, +What you've got to do with the question + Ef Tim shill go or stay. +And furder than that I give notice, + Ef one of you tetches the boy, +He kin check his trunks to a warmer clime + Than he'll find in Illanoy. + +Why, blame your hearts, jest hear me! + You know that ungodly day +When our left struck Vicksburg Heights, how ripped + And torn and tattered we lay. +When the rest retreated I stayed behind, + Fur reasons sufficient to me, - +With a rib caved in, and a leg on a strike, + I sprawled on that cursed glacee. + +Lord! how the hot sun went for us, + And br'iled and blistered and burned! +How the Rebel bullets whizzed round us + When a cuss in his death-grip turned! +Till along toward dusk I seen a thing + I couldn't believe for a spell: +That nigger--that Tim--was a crawlin' to me + Through that fire-proof, gilt-edged hell! + +The Rebels seen him as quick as me, + And the bullets buzzed like bees; +But he jumped for me, and shouldered me, + Though a shot brought him once to his knees; +But he staggered up, and packed me off, + With a dozen stumbles and falls, +Till safe in our lines he drapped us both, + His black hide riddled with balls. + +So, my gentle gazelles, thar's my answer, + And here stays Banty Tim: +He trumped Death's ace for me that day, + And I'm not goin' back on him! +You may rezoloot till the cows come home, + But ef one of you tetches the boy, +He'll wrastle his hash to-night in hell, + Or my name's not Tilmon Joy! + + + +THE MYSTERY OF GILGAL. + + + +The darkest, strangest mystery +I ever read, or heern, or see, +Is 'long of a drink at Taggart's Hall, - + Tom Taggart's of Gilgal. + +I've heern the tale a thousand ways, +But never could git through the maze +That hangs around that queer day's doin's; + But I'll tell the yarn to youans. + +Tom Taggart stood behind his bar, +The time was fall, the skies was fa'r, +The neighbours round the counter drawed, + And ca'mly drinked and jawed. + +At last come Colonel Blood of Pike, +And old Jedge Phinn, permiscus-like, +And each, as he meandered in, + Remarked, "A whisky-skin." + +Tom mixed the beverage full and fa'r, +And slammed it, smoking, on the bar. +Some says three fingers, some says two, - + I'll leave the choice to you. + +Phinn to the drink put forth his hand; +Blood drawed his knife, with accent bland, +"I ax yer parding, Mister Phinn - + Jest drap that whisky-skin." + +No man high-toneder could be found +Than old Jedge Phinn the country round. +Says he, "Young man, the tribe of Phinns + Knows their own whisky-skins!" + +He went for his 'leven-inch bowie-knife: - +"I tries to foller a Christian life; +But I'll drap a slice of liver or two, + My bloomin' shrub, with you." + +They carved in a way that all admired, +Tell Blood drawed iron at last, and fired. +It took Seth Bludso 'twixt the eyes, + Which caused him great surprise. + +Then coats went off, and all went in; +Shots and bad language swelled the din; +The short, sharp bark of Derringers, + Like bull-pups, cheered the furse. + +They piled the stiffs outside the door; +They made, I reckon, a cord or more. +Girls went that winter, as a rule, + Alone to spellin'-school. + +I've searched in vain, from Dan to Beer- +Sheba, to make this mystery clear; +But I end with HIT as I did begin, - + "WHO GOT THE WHISKY-SKIN?" + + + +GOLYER. + + + +Ef the way a man lights out of this world + Helps fix his heft for the other sp'ere, +I reckon my old friend Golyer's Ben +Will lay over lots of likelier men + For one thing he done down here. + +You didn't know Ben? He driv a stage + On the line they called the Old Sou'-west; +He wa'n't the best man that ever you seen, +And he wa'n't so ungodly pizen mean, - + No better nor worse than the rest. + +He was hard on women and rough on his friends; + And he didn't have many, I'll let you know; +He hated a dog and disgusted a cat, +But he'd run off his legs for a motherless brat, + And I guess there's many jess so. + +I've seed my sheer of the run of things, + I've hoofed it a many and many a miled, +But I never seed nothing that could or can +Jest git all the good from the heart of a man + Like the hands of a little child. + +Well! this young one I started to tell you about, - + His folks was all dead, I was fetchin' him through, - +He was just at the age that's loudest for boys, +And he blowed such a horn with his sarchin' small voice, + We called him "the Little Boy Blue." + +He ketched a sight of Ben on the box, + And you bet he bawled and kicked and howled, +For to git 'long of Ben, and ride thar too; +I tried to tell him it wouldn't do, + When suddingly Golyer growled, + +"What's the use of making the young one cry? + Say, what's the use of being a fool? +Sling the little one up here whar he can see, +He won't git the snuffles a-ridin' with me, + The night ain't any too cool." + +The child hushed cryin' the minute he spoke; + "Come up here, Major! don't let him slip." +And jest as nice as a woman could do, +He wropped his blanket around them two, + And was off in the crack of a whip. + +We rattled along an hour or so, + Till we heerd a yell on the still night air. +Did you ever hear an Apache yell? +Well, ye needn't want to, THIS side of hell; + There's nothing more devilish there. + +Caught in the shower of lead and flint, + We felt the old stage stagger and plunge; +Then we heerd the voice and the whip of Ben, +As he gethered his critters up again, + And tore away with a lunge. + +The passengers laughed. "Old Ben's all right, + He's druv five year and never was struck." +"Now if _I_'d been thar, as sure as you live, +They'd 'a' plugged me with holes as thick as a sieve; + It's the reg'lar Golyer luck." + +Over hill and holler and ford and creek, + Jest like the hosses had wings, we tore; +We got to Looney's, and Ben come in +And laid down the baby and axed for his gin, + And dropped in a heap on the floor. + +Said he, "When they fired, I kivered the kid, - + Although I ain't pretty, I'm middlin' broad; +And look! he ain't fazed by arrow nor ball, - +Thank God! my own carcase stopped them all." +Then we seen his eye glaze, and his lower jaw fall, - + And he carried his thanks to God. + + + +THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT. + + + +A TALE OF EARNEST EFFORT AND HUMAN PERFIDY. + +It's all very well for preachin', + But preachin' and practice don't gee: +I've give the thing a fair trial, + And you can't ring it in on me. +So toddle along with your pledge, Squire, + Ef that's what you want me to sign; +Betwixt me and you, I've been thar, + And I'll not take any in mine. + +A year ago last Fo'th July + A lot of the boys was here. +We all got corned and signed the pledge + For to drink no more that year. +There was Tilmon Joy and Sheriff McPhail + And me and Abner Fry, +And Shelby's boy Leviticus, + And the Golyers, Luke and Cy. + +And we anteed up a hundred + In the hands of Deacon Kedge +For to be divided the follerin' Fo'th + 'Mongst the boys that kep' the pledge. +And we knowed each other so well, Squire, + You may take my scalp for a fool, +Ef every man when he signed his name + Didn't feel cock-sure of the pool. + +Fur a while it all went lovely; + We put up a job next day +Fur to make Joy b'lieve his wife was dead, + And he went home middlin' gay; +Then Abner Fry he killed a man + And afore he was hung McPhail +Jest bilked the widder outen her sheer + By getting him slewed in jail. + +But Chris'mas scooped the Sheriff, + The egg-nogs gethered him in; +And Shelby's boy Leviticus + Was, New Year's, tight as sin; +And along in March the Golyers + Got so drunk that a fresh-biled owl +Would 'a' looked 'longside o' them two young men, + Like a sober temperance fowl. + +Four months alone I walked the chalk, + I thought my heart would break; +And all them boys a-slappin my back + And axin', "What'll you take?" +I never slep' without dreamin' dreams + Of Burbin, Peach, or Rye, +But I chawed at my niggerhead and swore + I'd rake that pool or die. + +At last--the Fo'th--I humped myself + Through chores and breakfast soon, +Then scooted down to Taggart's store - + For the pledge was off at noon; +And all the boys was gethered thar, + And each man hilt his glass - +Watchin' me and the clock quite solemn-like + Fur to see the last minute pass. + +The clock struck twelve! I raised the jug + And took one lovin' pull - +I was holler clar from skull to boots. + It seemed I couldn't git full. +But I was roused by a fiendish laugh + That might have raised the dead - +Them ornary sneaks had sot the clock + A half an hour ahead! + +"All right!" I squawked. "You've got me, + Jest order your drinks agin, +And we'll paddle up to the Deacon's + And scoop the ante in." +But when we got to Kedge's, + What a sight was that we saw! +The Deacon and Parson Skeeters + In the tail of a game of Draw. + +They had shook 'em the heft of the mornin', + The Parson's luck was fa'r, +And he raked, the minute we got thar, + The last of our pool on a pa'r. +So toddle along with your pledge, Squire, + I 'low it's all very fine, +But ez fur myself, I thank ye, + I'll not take any in mine. + + + +WANDERLIEDER. + + + +SUNRISE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE. +(PARIS, AUGUST 1865.) + + + +I stand at the break of day +In the Champs Elysees. +The tremulous shafts of dawning, +As they shoot o'er the Tuileries early, +Strike Luxor's cold grey spire, +And wild in the light of the morning +With their marble manes on fire, +Ramp the white Horses of Marly. + +But the Place of Concord lies +Dead hushed 'neath the ashy skies. +And the Cities sit in council +With sleep in their wide stone eyes. +I see the mystic plain +Where the army of spectres slain +In the Emperor's life-long war +March on with unsounding tread +To trumpets whose voice is dead. +Their spectral chief still leads them, - +The ghostly flash of his sword +Like a comet through mist shines far, - +And the noiseless host is poured, +For the gendarme never heeds them, +Up the long dim road where thundered +The army of Italy onward +Through the great pale Arch of the Star! + +The spectre army fades +Far up the glimmering hill, +But, vaguely lingering still, +A group of shuddering shades +Infects the pallid air, +Growing dimmer as day invades +The hush of the dusky square. +There is one that seems a King, +As if the ghost of a Crown +Still shadowed his jail-bleached hair; +I can hear the guillotine ring, +As its regicide note rang there, +When he laid his tired life down +And grew brave in his last despair. +And a woman frail and fair +Who weeps at leaving a world +Of love and revel and sin +In the vast Unknown to be hurled; +(For life was wicked and sweet +With kings at her small white feet!) +And one, every inch a Queen, +In life and in death a Queen, +Whose blood baptized the place, +In the days of madness and fear, - +Her shade has never a peer +In majesty and grace. + +Murdered and murderers swarm; +Slayers that slew and were slain, +Till the drenched place smoked with the rain +That poured in a torrent warm, - +Till red as the Riders of Edom +Were splashed the white garments of Freedom +With the wash of the horrible storm! + +And Liberty's hands were not clean +In the day of her pride unchained, +Her royal hands were stained +With the life of a King and Queen; +And darker than that with the blood +Of the nameless brave and good +Whose blood in witness clings +More damning than Queens' and Kings'. + +Has she not paid it dearly? +Chained, watching her chosen nation +Grinding late and early +In the mills of usurpation? +Have not her holy tears, +Flowing through shameful years, +Washed the stains from her tortured hands? +We thought so when God's fresh breeze, +Blowing over the sleeping lands, +In 'Forty-Eight waked the world, +And the Burgher-King was hurled +From that palace behind the trees. + +As Freedom with eyes aglow +Smiled glad through her childbirth pain, +How was the mother to know +That her woe and travail were vain? +A smirking servant smiled +When she gave him her child to keep; +Did she know he would strangle the child +As it lay in his arms asleep? + +Liberty's cruellest shame! +She is stunned and speechless yet, +In her grief and bloody sweat +Shall we make her trust her blame? +The treasure of 'Forty-Eight +A lurking jail-bird stole, +She can but watch and wait +As the swift sure seasons roll. + +And when in God's good hour +Comes the time of the brave and true, +Freedom again shall rise +With a blaze in her awful eyes +That shall wither this robber-power +As the sun now dries the dew. +This Place shall roar with the voice +Of the glad triumphant people, +And the heavens be gay with the chimes +Ringing with jubilant noise +From every clamorous steeple +The coming of better times. +And the dawn of Freedom waking +Shall fling its splendours far +Like the day which now is breaking +On the great pale Arch of the Star, +And back o'er the town shall fly, +While the joy-bells wild are ringing, +To crown the Glory springing +From the Column of July! + + + +THE SPHINX OF THE TUILERIES. + + + +Out of the Latin Quarter + I came to the lofty door +Where the two marble Sphinxes guard + The Pavillon de Flore. +Two Cockneys stood by the gate, and one + Observed, as they turned to go, +"No wonder He likes that sort of thing, - + He's a Sphinx himself, you know." + +I thought as I walked where the garden glowed + In the sunset's level fire, +Of the Charlatan whom the Frenchmen loathe + And the Cockneys all admire. +They call him a Sphinx,--it pleases him, - + And if we narrowly read, +We will find some truth in the flunkey's praise, - + The man is a Sphinx indeed. + +For the Sphinx with breast of woman + And face so debonair +Had the sleek false paws of a lion, + That could furtively seize and tear. +So far to the shoulders,--but if you took + The Beast in reverse you would find +The ignoble form of a craven cur + Was all that lay behind. + +She lived by giving to simple folk + A silly riddle to read, +And when they failed she drank their blood + In cruel and ravenous greed. +But at last came one who knew her word, + And she perished in pain and shame, - +This bastard Sphinx leads the same base life + And his end will be the same. + +For an OEdipus-People is coming fast + With swelled feet limping on, +If they shout his true name once aloud + His false foul power is gone. +Afraid to fight and afraid to fly, + He cowers in an abject shiver; +The people will come to their own at last, - + God is not mocked for ever. + + + +THE SURRENDER OF SPAIN. + + + +I. +Land of unconquered Pelayo! land of the Cid Campeador! +Sea-girdled mother of men! Spain, name of glory and power; +Cradle of world-grasping Emperors, grave of the reckless invader, +How art thou fallen, my Spain! how art thou sunk at this hour! + +II. +Once thy magnanimous sons trod, victors, the portals of Asia, +Once the Pacific waves rushed, joyful thy banners to see; +For it was Trajan that carried the battle-flushed eagles to Dacia, +Cortes that planted thy flag fast by the uttermost sea. + +III. +Hast thou forgotten those days illumined with glory and honour, +When the far isles of the sea thrilled to the tread of Castile? +When every land under Heaven was flecked by the shade of thy banner, - +When every beam of the sun flashed on thy conquering steel? + +IV. +Then through red fields of slaughter, through death and defeat and +disaster, +Still flared thy banner aloft, tattered, but free from a stain, - +Now to the upstart Savoyard thou bendest to beg for a master! +How the red flush of her shame mars the proud beauty of Spain! + +V. +Has the red blood run cold that boiled by the Xenil and Darro? +Are the high deeds of the sires sung to the children no more? +On the dun hills of the North hast thou heard of no plough-boy Pizarro? +Roams no young swine-herd Cortes hid by the Tagus' wild shore? + +VI. +Once again does Hispania bend low to the yoke of the stranger! +Once again will she rise, flinging her gyves in the sea! +Princeling of Piedmont! unwitting thou weddest with doubt and with +danger, +King over men who have learned all that it costs to be free. + + + +THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS. + + + +Not done, but near its ending, + Is the work that our eyes desired; +Not yet fulfilled, but near the goal, + Is the hope that our worn hearts fired. +And on the Alban Mountains, + Where the blushes of dawn increase, +We see the flash of the beautiful feet + Of Freedom and of Peace! + +How long were our fond dreams baffled! - + Novara's sad mischance, +The Kaiser's sword and fetter-lock, + And the traitor stab of France; +Till at last came glorious Venice, + In storm and tempest home; +And now God maddens the greedy kings, + And gives to her people Rome. + +Lame Lion of Caprera! + Red-shirts of the lost campaigns! +Not idly shed was the costly blood + You poured from generous veins. +For the shame of Aspromonte, + And the stain of Mentana's sod, +But forged the curse of kings that sprang + From your breaking hearts to God! + +We lift our souls to Thee, O Lord + Of Liberty and of Light! +Let not earth's kings pollute the work + That was done in their despite; +Let not Thy light be darkened + In the shade of a sordid crown, +Nor pampered swine devour the fruit + Thou shook'st with an earthquake down! + +Let the People come to their birthright, + And crosier and crown pass away +Like phantasms that flit o'er the marshes + At the glance of the clean, white day. +And then from the lava of AEtna + To the ice of the Alps let there be +One freedom, one faith without fetters, + One republic in Italy free! + + + +THE CURSE OF HUNGARY. + + + +King Saloman looked from his donjon bars, + Where the Danube clamours through sedge and sand, + And he cursed with a curse his revolting land, - +With a king's deep curse of treason and wars. + +He said: "May this false land know no truth! + May the good hearts die and the bad ones flourish, + And a greed of glory but live to nourish +Envy and hate in its restless youth. + +"In the barren soil may the ploughshare rust, + While the sword grows bright with its fatal labour, + And blackens between each man and neighbour +The perilous cloud of a vague distrust! + +"Be the noble idle, the peasant in thrall, + And each to the other as unknown things, + That with links of hatred and pride the kings +May forge firm fetters through each for all! + +"May a king wrong them as they wronged their king + May he wring their hearts as they wrung mine, + Till they pour their blood for his revels like wine, +And to women and monks their birthright fling!" + +The mad king died; but the rushing river + Still brawls by the spot where his donjon stands, + And its swift waves sigh to the conscious sands +That the curse of King Saloman works for ever. + +For flowing by Pressbourg they heard the cheers + Ring out from the leal and cheated hearts + That were caught and chained by Theresa's arts, - +A man's cool head and a girl's hot tears! + +And a star, scarce risen, they saw decline, + Where Orsova's hills looked coldly down, + As Kossuth buried the Iron Crown +And fled in the dark to the Turkish line. + +And latest they saw in the summer glare + The Magyar nobles in pomp arrayed, + To shout as they saw, with his unfleshed blade, +A Hapsburg beating the harmless air. + +But ever the same sad play they saw, + The same weak worship of sword and crown, + The noble crushing the humble down, +And moulding Wrong to a monstrous Law. + +The donjon stands by the turbid river, + But Time is crumbling its battered towers; + And the slow light withers a despot's powers, +And a mad king's curse is not for ever! + + + +THE MONKS OF BASLE. + + + +I tore this weed from the rank, dark soil + Where it grew in the monkish time, +I trimmed it close and set it again + In a border of modern rhyme. + +I. +Long years ago, when the Devil was loose + And faith was sorely tried, +Three monks of Basle went out to walk + In the quiet eventide. + +A breeze as pure as the breath of Heaven + Blew fresh through the cloister-shades, +A sky as glad as the smile of Heaven + Blushed rose o'er the minster-glades. + +But scorning the lures of summer and sense, + The monks passed on in their walk; +Their eyes were abased, their senses slept, + Their souls were in their talk. + +In the tough grim talk of the monkish days + They hammered and slashed about, - +Dry husks of logic,--old scraps of creed, - + And the cold gray dreams of doubt, - + +And whether Just or Justified + Was the Church's mystic Head, - +And whether the Bread was changed to God, + Or God became the Bread. + +But of human hearts outside their walls + They never paused to dream, +And they never thought of the love of God + That smiled in the twilight gleam. + +II. +As these three monks went bickering on + By the foot of a spreading tree, +Out from its heart of verdurous gloom + A song burst wild and free, - + +A wordless carol of life and love, + Of nature free and wild; +And the three monks paused in the evening shade, + Looked up at each other and smiled. + +And tender and gay the bird sang on, + And cooed and whistled and trilled, +And the wasteful wealth of life and love + From his happy heart was spilled. + +The song had power on the grim old monks + In the light of the rosy skies; +And as they listened the years rolled back, + And tears came into their eyes. + +The years rolled back and they were young, + With the hearts and hopes of men, +They plucked the daisies and kissed the girls + Of dear dead summers again. + +III. +But the eldest monk soon broke the spell; + "'Tis sin and shame," quoth he, +"To be turned from talk of holy things + By a bird's cry from a tree. + +"Perchance the Enemy of Souls + Hath come to tempt us so. +Let us try by the power of the Awful Word + If it be he, or no!" + +To Heaven the three monks raised their hands; + "We charge thee, speak!" they said, +"By His dread Name who shall one day come + To judge the quick and the dead, - + +"Who art thou? Speak!" The bird laughed loud. + "I am the Devil," he said. +The monks on their faces fell, the bird + Away through the twilight sped. + +A horror fell on those holy men + (The faithful legends say), +And one by one from the face of the earth + They pined and vanished away. + +IV. +So goes the tale of the monkish books, + The moral who runs may read, - +He has no ears for Nature's voice + Whose soul is the slave of creed. + +Not all in vain with beauty and love + Has God the world adorned; +And he who Nature scorns and mocks, + By Nature is mocked and scorned. + + + +THE ENCHANTED SHIRT. + + + +Fytte the First: wherein it shall be shown how the Truth is too mighty a +Drug for such as be of feeble temper. + +The King was sick. His cheek was red + And his eye was clear and bright; +He ate and drank with a kingly zest, + And peacefully snored at night. + +But he said he was sick, and a king should know, + And doctors came by the score. +They did not cure him. He cut off their heads + And sent to the schools for more. + +At last two famous doctors came, + And one was as poor as a rat, - +He had passed his life in studious toil, + And never found time to grow fat. + +The other had never looked in a book; + His patients gave him no trouble - +If they recovered they paid him well, + If they died their heirs paid double. + +Together they looked at the royal tongue, + As the King on his couch reclined; +In succession they thumped his august chest, + But no trace of disease could find. + +The old sage said, "You're as sound as a nut." + "Hang him up!" roared the King in a gale, - +In a ten-knot gale of royal rage; + The other leech grew a shade pale; + +But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose, + And thus his prescription ran, - +The King will be well, if he sleeps one night + In the Shirt of a Happy Man. + + + +Fytte the Second: tells of the search for the Shirt, and how it was nigh +found, but was not, for reasons which are said or sung. + +Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode, + And fast their horses ran, +And many they saw, and to many they spoke, + But they found no Happy Man. + +They found poor men who would fain be rich + And rich who thought they were poor; +And men who twisted their waists in stays, + And women that shorthose wore. + +They saw two men by the roadside sit, + And both bemoaned their lot; +For one had buried his wife, he said, + And the other one had not. + +At last they came to a village gate, + A beggar lay whistling there; +He whistled and sang and laughed and rolled + On the grass in the soft June air. + +The weary couriers paused and looked + At the scamp so blithe and gay; +And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend! + You seem to be happy to-day." + +"O yes, fair sirs!" the rascal laughed, + And his voice rang free and glad, +"An idle man has so much to do + That he never has time to be sad." + +"This is our man," the courier said + "Our luck has led us aright. +I will give you a hundred ducats, friend, + For the loan of your shirt to-night." + +The merry blackguard lay back on the grass, + And laughed till his face was black; +"I would do it, God wot," and he roared with the fun, + "But I haven't a shirt to my back." + + + +Fytte the Third: shewing how His Majesty the King came at last to sleep +in a Happy Man his Shirt. + +Each day to the King the reports came in + Of his unsuccessful spies, +And the sad panorama of human woes + Passed daily under his eyes. + +And he grew ashamed of his useless life, + And his maladies hatched in gloom; +He opened his windows and let the air + Of the free heaven into his room. + +And out he went in the world and toiled + In his own appointed way; +And the people blessed him, the land was glad, + And the King was well and gay. + + + +A WOMAN'S LOVE. + + + +A sentinel angel sitting high in glory +Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory: +"Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story! + +"I loved,--and, blind with passionate love, I fell. +Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell. +For God is just, and death for sin is well. + +"I do not rage against His high decree, +Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be; +But for my love on earth who mourns for me. + +"Great Spirit! let me see my love again +And comfort him one hour, and I were fain +To pay a thousand years of fire and pain." + +Then said the pitying angel, "Nay, repent +That wild vow! Look, the dial-finger's bent +Down to the last hour of thy punishment!" + +But still she wailed, "I pray thee, let me go! +I cannot rise to peace and leave him so. +Oh, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!" + +The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, +And upward, joyous, like a rising star, +She rose and vanished in the ether far. + +But soon adown the dying sunset sailing, +And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing, +She fluttered back, with broken-hearted wailing. + +She sobbed, "I found him by the summer sea +Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee, - +She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!" + +She wept, "Now let my punishment begin! +I have been fond and foolish. Let me in +To expiate my sorrow and my sin." + +The angel answered, "Nay, sad soul, go higher! +To be deceived in your true heart's desire +Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire!" + + + +ON PITZ LANGUARD. + + + +I stood on the top of Pitz Languard, + And heard three voices whispering low, +Where the Alpine birds in their circling ward + Made swift dark shadows upon the snow. + +First Voice. + +I loved a girl with truth and pain, + She loved me not. When she said good-bye +She gave me a kiss to sting and stain + My broken life to a rosy dye. + +Second Voice. + +I loved a woman with love well tried, - + And I swear I believe she loves me still. +But it was not I who stood by her side + When she answered the priest and said "I will." + +Third Voice. + +I loved two girls, one fond, one shy, + And I never divined which one loved me. +One married, and now, though I can't tell why, + Of the four in the story I count but three. + +The three weird voices whispered low + Where the eagles swept in their circling ward; +But only one shadow scarred the snow + As I clambered down from Pitz Languard. + + + +BOUDOIR PROPHECIES. + + + +One day in the Tuileries, +When a south-west Spanish breeze + Brought scandalous news of the Queen, +The fair, proud Empress said, +"My good friend loses her head; + If matters go on this way, + I shall see her shopping, some day, + In the Boulevard des Capucines." + +The saying swiftly went +To the Place of the Orient, + And the stout Queen sneered, "Ah, well! + You are proud and prude, ma belle! +But I think I will hazard a guess +I shall see you one day playing chess + With the Cure of Carabanchel." + +Both ladies, though not over wise, +Were lucky in prophecies. + For the Boulevard shopmen well + Know the form of stout Isabel + As she buys her modes de Paris; +And after Sedan in despair +The Empress prude and fair +Went to visit Madame sa Mere + In her villa at Carabanchel - + But the Queen was not there to see. + + + +A TRIUMPH OF ORDER. + + + +A squad of regular infantry, + In the Commune's closing days, +Had captured a crowd of rebels + By the wall of Pere-la-Chaise. + +There were desperate men, wild women, + And dark-eyed Amazon girls, +And one little boy, with a peach-down cheek + And yellow clustering curls. + +The captain seized the little waif, + And said, "What dost thou here?" +"Sapristi, Citizen captain! + I'm a Communist, my dear!" + +"Very well! Then you die with the others!" +--"Very well! That's my affair; +But first let me take to my mother, + Who lives by the wine-shop there, + +"My father's watch. You see it; + A gay old thing, is it not? +It would please the old lady to have it; + Then I'll come back here, and be shot." + +"That is the last we shall see of him," + The grizzled captain grinned, +As the little man skimmed down the hill + Like a swallow down the wind. + +For the joy of killing had lost its zest + In the glut of those awful days, +And Death writhed, gorged like a greedy snake, + From the Arch to Pere-la-Chaise. + +But before the last platoon had fired + The child's shrill voice was heard; +"Houp-la! the old girl made such a row + I feared I should break my word." + +Against the bullet-pitted wall + He took his place with the rest, +A button was lost from his ragged blouse, + Which showed his soft white breast. + +"Now blaze away, my children! + With your little one-two-three!" +The Chassepots tore the stout young heart, + And saved Society. + + + +ERNST OF EDELSHEIM. + + + +I'll tell the story, kissing + This white hand for my pains: +No sweeter heart, nor falser, + E'er filled such fine, blue veins. + +I'll sing a song of true love, + My Lilith, dear! to you; +Contraria contrariis - + The rule is old and true. + +The happiest of all lovers + Was Ernst of Edelsheim; +And why he was the happiest, + I'll tell you in my rhyme. + +One summer night he wandered + Within a lonely glade, +And, couched in moss and moonlight, + He found a sleeping maid. + +The stars of midnight sifted + Above her sands of gold; +She seemed a slumbering statue, + So fair and white and cold. + +Fair and white and cold she lay + Beneath the starry skies; +Rosy was her waking + Beneath the Ritter's eyes. + +He won her drowsy fancy, + He bore her to his towers, +And swift with love and laughter + Flew morning's purpled hours. + +But when the thickening sunbeams + Had drunk the gleaming dew, +A misty cloud of sorrow + Swept o'er her eyes' deep blue. + +She hung upon the Ritter's neck, + She wept with love and pain, +She showered her sweet, warm kisses + Like fragrant summer rain. + +"I am no Christian soul," she sobbed, + As in his arms she lay; +"I'm half the day a woman, + A serpent half the day. + +"And when from yonder bell-tower + Rings out the noonday chime, +Farewell! farewell for ever, + Sir Ernst of Edelsheim!" + +"Ah! not farewell for ever!" + The Ritter wildly cried; +"I will be saved or lost with thee, + My lovely Wili-Bride!" + +Loud from the lordly bell-tower + Rang out the noon of day, +And from the bower of roses + A serpent slid away. + +But when the mid-watch moonlight + Was shimmering through the grove, +He clasped his bride thrice dowered + With beauty and with love. + +The happiest of all lovers + Was Ernst of Edelsheim - +His true love was a serpent + Only half the time! + + + +MY CASTLE IN SPAIN. + + + +There was never a castle seen + So fair as mine in Spain: +It stands embowered in green, + Crowning the gentle slope +Of a hill by the Xenil's shore +And at eve its shade flaunts o'er + The storied Vega plain, +And its towers are hid in the mists of Hope; + And I toil through years of pain + Its glimmering gates to gain. + +In visions wild and sweet +Sometimes its courts I greet: + Sometimes in joy its shining halls +I tread with favoured feet; +But never my eyes in the light of day + Were blest with its ivied walls, +Where the marble white and the granite gray +Turn gold alike when the sunbeams play, + When the soft day dimly falls. + +I know in its dusky rooms + Are treasures rich and rare; +The spoil of Eastern looms, + And whatever of bright and fair +Painters divine have caught and won + From the vault of Italy's air: +White gods in Phidian stone + People the haunted glooms; +And the song of immortal singers +Like a fragrant memory lingers, + I know, in the echoing rooms. + +But nothing of these, my soul! + Nor castle, nor treasures, nor skies, +Nor the waves of the river that roil + With a cadence faint and sweet + In peace by its marble feet - +Nothing of these is the goal + For which my whole heart sighs. +'Tis the pearl gives worth to the shell - + The pearl I would die to gain; +For there does my lady dwell, +My love that I love so well - + The Queen whose gracious reign + Makes glad my castle in Spain. + +Her face so pure and fair + Sheds light in the shady places, +And the spell of her girlish graces + Holds charmed the happy air. +A breath of purity + For ever before her flies, +And ill things cease to be + In the glance of her honest eyes. +Around her pathway flutter, + Where her dear feet wander free + In youth's pure majesty, + The wings of the vague desires; +But the thought that love would utter + In reverence expires. + +Not yet! not yet shall I see + That face which shines like a star + O'er my storm-swept life afar, +Transfigured with love for me. +Toiling, forgetting, and learning +With labour and vigils and prayers, + Pure heart and resolute will, + At last I shall climb the hill +And breathe the enchanted airs +Where the light of my life is burning + Most lovely and fair and free, +Where alone in her youth and beauty +And bound by her fate's sweet duty, + Unconscious she waits for me. + + + +SISTER SAINT LUKE. + + + +She lived shut in by flowers and trees +And shade of gentle bigotries. +On this side lay the trackless sea, +On that the great world's mystery; +But all unseen and all unguessed +They could not break upon her rest. +The world's far splendours gleamed and flashed, +Afar the wild seas foamed and dashed; +But in her small, dull Paradise, +Safe housed from rapture or surprise, +Nor day nor night had power to fright +The peace of God that filled her eyes. + + + +NEW AND OLD. + + + +MILES KEOGH'S HORSE. + + + +On the bluff of the Little Big-Horn, + At the close of a woeful day, +Custer and his Three Hundred + In death and silence lay. + +Three Hundred to Three Thousand! + They had bravely fought and bled; +For such is the will of Congress + When the White man meets the Red. + +The White men are ten millions, + The thriftiest under the sun; +The Reds are fifty thousand, + And warriors every one. + +So Custer and all his fighting-men + Lay under the evening skies, +Staring up at the tranquil heaven + With wide, accusing eyes. + +And of all that stood at noonday + In that fiery scorpion ring, +Miles Keogh's horse at evening + Was the only living thing. + +Alone from that field of slaughter, + Where lay the three hundred slain, +The horse Comanche wandered, + With Keogh's blood on his mane. + +And Sturgis issued this order, + Which future times shall read, +While the love and honour of comrades + Are the soul of the soldiers creed. + +He said - + Let the horse Comanche + Henceforth till he shall die, +Be kindly cherished and cared for + By the Seventh Cavalry. + +He shall do no labour; he never shall know + The touch of spur or rein; +Nor shall his back be ever crossed + By living rider again. + +And at regimental formation + Of the Seventh Cavalry, +Comanche draped in mourning and led + By a trooper of Company I, + +Shall parade with the Regiment! + Thus it was + Commanded and thus done, +By order of General Sturgis, signed + By Adjutant Garlington. + +Even as the sword of Custer, + In his disastrous fall, +Flashed out a blaze that charmed the world + And glorified his pall, + +This order, issued amid the gloom + That shrouds our army's name, +When all foul beasts are free to rend + And tear its honest fame, + +Shall prove to a callous people + That the sense of a soldier's worth, +That the love of comrades, the honour of arms, + Have not yet perished from earth. + + + +THE ADVANCE-GUARD. + + + +In the dream of the Northern poets, + The braves who in battle die +Fight on in shadowy phalanx + In the field of the upper sky; +And as we read the sounding rhyme, + The reverent fancy hears +The ghostly ring of the viewless swords + And the clash of the spectral spears. + +We think with imperious questionings + Of the brothers whom we have lost, +And we strive to track in death's mystery + The flight of each valiant ghost. +The Northern myth comes back to us, + And we feel, through our sorrow's night, +That those young souls are striving still + Somewhere for the truth and light. + +It was not their time for rest and sleep; + Their hearts beat high and strong; +In their fresh veins the blood of youth + Was singing its hot, sweet song. +The open heaven bent over them, + 'Mid flowers their lithe feet trod, +Their lives lay vivid in light, and blest + By the smiles of women and God. + +Again they come! Again I hear + The tread of that goodly band; +I know the flash of Ellsworth's eye + And the grasp of his hard, warm hand; +And Putnam, and Shaw, of the lion-heart, + And an eye like a Boston girl's; +And I see the light of heaven which lay + On Ulric Dahlgren's curls. + +There is no power in the gloom of hell + To quench those spirits' fire; +There is no power in the bliss of heaven + To bid them not aspire; +But somewhere in the eternal plan + That strength, that life survive, +And like the files on Lookout's crest, + Above death's clouds they strive. + +A chosen corps, they are marching on + In a wider field than ours; +Those bright battalions still fulfil + The scheme of the heavenly powers; +And high brave thoughts float down to us, + The echoes of that far fight, +Like the flash of a distant picket's gun + Through the shades of the severing night. + +No fear for them! In our lower field + Let us keep our arms unstained, +That at last we be worthy to stand with them + On the shining heights they've gained. +We shall meet and greet in closing ranks + In Time's declining sun, +When the bugles of God shall sound recall + And the battle of life be won. + + + +LOVE'S PRAYER. + + + +If Heaven would hear my prayer, + My dearest wish would be, +Thy sorrows not to share, + But take them all on me; +If Heaven would hear my prayer. + +I'd beg with prayers and sighs + That never a tear might flow +From out thy lovely eyes, + If Heaven might grant it so; +Mine be the tears and sighs. + +No cloud thy brow should cover, + But smiles each other chase +From lips to eyes all over + Thy sweet and sunny face; +The clouds my heart should cover. + +That all thy path be light + Let darkness fall on me; +If all thy days be bright, + Mine black as night could be. +My love would light my night. + +For thou art more than life, + And if our fate should set +Life and my love at strife, + How could I then forget +I love thee more than life? + + + +CHRISTINE. + + + +The beauty of the Northern dawns, + Their pure, pale light is thine; +Yet all the dreams of tropic nights + Within thy blue eyes shine. +Not statelier in their prisoning seas + The icebergs grandly move, +But in thy smile is youth and joy, + And in thy voice is love. + +Thou art like Hecla's crest that stands + So lonely, proud, and high, +No earthly thing may come between + Her summit and the sky. +The sun in vain may strive to melt + Her crown of virgin snow - +But the great heart of the mountain glows + With deathless fire below. + + + +EXPECTATION. + + + +Roll on, O shining sun, + To the far seas! +Bring down, ye shades of eve, + The soft, salt breeze! +Shine out, O stars, and light +My darling's pathway bright, +As through the summer night + She comes to me. + +No beam of any star + Can match her eyes; +Her smile the bursting day + In light outvies. +Her voice--the sweetest thing +Heard by the raptured spring +When waking wild-woods ring - + She comes to me. + +Ye stars, more swiftly wheel + O'er earth's still breast; +More wildly plunge and reel + In the dim west! +The earth is lone and lorn, +Till the glad day be born, +Till with the happy morn + She comes to me. + + + +TO FLORA. + + + +When April woke the drowsy flowers, + And vagrant odours thronged the breeze, +And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers, + And daisies flashed along the leas, +And faint arbutus strove among + Dead winter's leaf-strewn wreck to rise, +And nature's sweetly jubilant song + Went murmuring up the sunny skies, +Into this cheerful world you came, +And gained by right your vernal name. + +I think the springs have changed of late, + For "Arctics" are my daily wear, +The skies are turned to cold grey slate, + And zephyrs are but draughts of air; +But you make up whate'er we lack, + When we, too rarely, come together, +More potent than the almanac, + You bring the ideal April weather; +When you are with us we defy +The blustering air, the lowering sky; +In spite of winter's icy darts, +We've spring and sunshine in our hearts. + +In fine, upon this April day, + This deep conundrum I will bring: +Tell me the two good reasons, pray, + I have, to say you are like spring? + +[You give it up?] Because we love you - + And see so very little of you. + + + +A HAUNTED ROOM. + + + +In the dim chamber whence but yesterday + Passed my beloved, filled with awe I stand; + And haunting Loves fluttering on every hand +Whisper her praises who is far away. +A thousand delicate fancies glance and play + On every object which her robes have fanned, + And tenderest thoughts and hopes bloom and expand +In the sweet memory of her beauty's ray. +Ah! could that glass but hold the faintest trace + Of all the loveliness once mirrored there, + The clustering glory of the shadowy hair +That framed so well the dear young angel face! + But no, it shows my own face, full of care, +And my heart is her beauty's dwelling place. + + + +DREAMS. + + + +I love a woman tenderly, +But cannot know if she loves me. +I press her hand, her lips I kiss, +But still love's full assurance miss. +Our waking life for ever seems +Cleft by a veil of doubt and dreams. + +But love and night and sleep combine +In dreams to make her wholly mine. +A sure love lights her eyes' deep blue, +Her hands and lips are warm and true. +Always the fact unreal seems, +And truth I find alone in dreams. + + + +THE LIGHT OF LOVE. + + + +Each shining light above us + Has its own peculiar grace; +But every light of heaven + Is in my darling's face. + +For it is like the sunlight, + So strong and pure and warm, +That folds all good and happy things, + And guards from gloom and harm. + +And it is like the moonlight, + So holy and so calm; +The rapt peace of a summer night, + When soft winds die in balm. + +And it is like the starlight; + For, love her as I may, +She dwells still lofty and serene + In mystery far away. + + + +QUAND MEME. + + + +I strove, like Israel, with my youth, + And said, "Till thou bestow +Upon my life Love's joy and truth, + I will not let thee go." + +And sudden on my night there woke + The trouble of the dawn; +Out of the east the red light broke, + To broaden on and on. + +And now let death be far or nigh, + Let fortune gloom or shine, +I cannot all untimely die, + For love, for love is mine. + +My days are tuned to finer chords, + And lit by higher suns; +Through all my thoughts and all my words + A purer purpose runs. + +The blank page of my heart grows rife + With wealth of tender lore; +Her image, stamped upon my life, + Gives value evermore. + +She is so noble, firm, and true, + I drink truth from her eyes, +As violets gain the heaven's own blue + In gazing at the skies. + +No matter if my hands attain + The golden crown or cross; +Only to love is such a gain + That losing is not loss. + +And thus whatever fate betide + Of rapture or of pain, +If storm or sun the future hide, + My love is not in vain. + +So only thanks are on my lips; + And through my love I see +My earliest dreams, like freighted ships, + Come sailing home to me. + + + +WORDS. + + + +When violets were springing + And sunshine filled the day, +And happy birds were singing + The praises of the May, +A word came to me, blighting + The beauty of the scene, +And in my heart was winter, + Though all the trees were green. + +Now down the blast go sailing + The dead leaves, brown and sere; +The forests are bewailing + The dying of the year; +A word comes to me, lighting + With rapture all the air, +And in my heart is summer, + Though all the trees are bare. + + + +THE STIRRUP-CUP. + + + +My short and happy day is done, +The long and dreary night comes on; +And at my door the Pale Horse stands, +To carry me to unknown lands. + +His whinny shrill, his pawing hoof, +Sound dreadful as a gathering storm; +And I must leave this sheltering roof, +And joys of life so soft and warm. + +Tender and warm the joys of life, - +Good friends, the faithful and the true; +My rosy children and my wife, +So sweet to kiss, so fair to view. + +So sweet to kiss, so fair to view, - +The night comes down, the lights burn blue; +And at my door the Pale Horse stands, +To bear me forth to unknown lands. + + + +A DREAM OF BRIC-A-BRAC. + [C. K. loquitur.] + + + +I dreamed I was in fair Niphon. +Amid tea-fields I journeyed on, +Reclined in my jinrikishaw; +Across the rolling plains I saw +The lordly Fusi-yama rise, +His blue cone lost in bluer skies. + +At last I bade my bearers stop +Before what seemed a china-shop. +I roused myself and entered in. +A fearful joy, like some sweet sin, +Pierced through my bosom as I gazed, +Entranced, transported, and amazed. + +For all the house was but one room, +And in its clear and grateful gloom, +Filled with all odours strange and strong +That to the wondrous East belong, +I saw above, around, below, +A sight to make the warm heart glow, +And leave the eager soul no lack, - +An endless wealth of bric-a-brac. + +I saw bronze statues, old and rare, +Fashioned by no mere mortal skill, +With robes that fluttered in the air, +Blown out by Art's eternal will; +And delicate ivory netsukes, +Richer in tone than Cheddar cheese, +Of saints and hermits, cats and dogs, +Grim warriors and ecstatic frogs. + +And here and there those wondrous masks, +More living flesh than sandal-wood, +Where the full soul in pleasure basks +And dreams of love, the only good. +The walls were all with pictures hung: +Gay villas bright in rain-washed air, +Trees to whose boughs brown monkeys clung, +Outlineless dabs of fuzzy hair. +And all about the opulent shelves +Littered with porcelain beyond price: +Imari pots arrayed themselves +Beside Ming dishes; grain-of-rice +Vied with the Royal Satsuma, +Proud of its sallow ivory beam; +And Kaga's Thousand Hermits lay +Tranced in some punch-bowl's golden gleam. +Over bronze censers, black with age, +The five-clawed dragons strife engage; +A curled and insolent Dog of Foo +Sniffs at the smoke aspiring through. + +In what old days, in what far lands, +What busy brains, what cunning hands, +With what quaint speech, what alien thought, +Strange fellow-men these marvels wrought! + +As thus I mused, I was aware +There grew before my eager eyes +A little maid too bright and fair, +Too strangely lovely for surprise. +It seemed the beauty of the place +Had suddenly become concrete, +So full was she of Orient grace, +From her slant eyes and burnished face +Down to her little gold-bronzed feet. +She was a girl of old Japan; +Her small hand held a gilded fan, +Which scattered fragrance through the room; +Her cheek was rich with pallid bloom, +Her eye was dark with languid fire, +Her red lips breathed a vague desire; +Her teeth, of pearl inviolate, +Sweetly proclaimed her maiden state. +Her garb was stiff with broidered gold +Twined with mysterious fold on fold, +That gave no hint where, hidden well, +Her dainty form might warmly dwell, - +A pearl within too large a shell. +So quaint, so short, so lissome, she, +It seemed as if it well might be +Some jocose god, with sportive whirl, +Had taken up a long lithe girl +And tied a graceful knot in her. +I tried to speak, and found, oh, bliss! +I needed no interpreter; +I knew the Japanese for kiss, - +I had no other thought but this; +And she, with smile and blush divine, +Kind to my stammering prayer did seem; +My thought was hers, and hers was mine, +In the swift logic of my dream. +My arms clung round her slender waist, +Through gold and silk the form I traced, +And glad as rain that follows drouth, +I kissed and kissed her bright red mouth. + +What ailed the girl? No loving sigh +Heaved the round bosom; in her eye +Trembled no tear; from her dear throat +Bubbled a sweet and silvery note +Of girlish laughter, shrill and clear, +That all the statues seemed to hear. +The bronzes tinkled laughter fine; +I heard a chuckle argentine +Ring from the silver images; +Even the ivory netsukes +Uttered in every silent pause +Dry, bony laughs from tiny jaws; +The painted monkeys on the wall +Waked up with chatter impudent; +Pottery, porcelain, bronze, and all +Broke out in ghostly merriment, - +Faint as rain pattering on dry leaves, +Or cricket's chirp on summer eves. + +And suddenly upon my sight +There grew a portent: left and right, +On every side, as if the air +Had taken substance then and there, +In every sort of form and face, +A throng of tourists filled the place. +I saw a Frenchman's sneering shrug; +A German countess, in one hand +A sky-blue string which held a pug, +With the other a fiery face she fanned; +A Yankee with a soft felt hat; +A Coptic priest from Ararat; +An English girl with cheeks of rose; +A Nihilist with Socratic nose; +Paddy from Cork with baggage light +And pockets stuffed with dynamite; +A haughty Southern Readjuster, +Wrapped in his pride and linen duster; +Two noisy New York stockbrokers, +And twenty British globe-trotters. +To my disgust and vast surprise, +They turned on me lack-lustre eyes, +And each with dropped and wagging jaw +Burst out into a wild guffaw: +They laughed with huge mouths opened wide; +They roared till each one held his side; +They screamed and writhed with brutal glee, +With fingers rudely stretched to me, - +Till lo! at once the laughter died, +The tourists faded into air; +None but my fair maid lingered there, +Who stood demurely by my side. +"Who were your friends?" I asked the maid, +Taking a tea-cup from its shelf. +"This audience is disclosed," she said, +"Whenever a man makes a fool of himself." + + + +LIBERTY. + + + +What man is there so bold that he should say, +"Thus, and thus only, would I have the sea"? +For whether lying calm and beautiful, +Clasping the earth in love, and throwing back +The smile of heaven from waves of amethyst; +Or whether, freshened by the busy winds, +It bears the trade and navies of the world +To ends of use or stern activity; +Or whether, lashed by tempests, it gives way +To elemental fury, howls and roars +At all its rocky barriers, in wild lust +Of ruin drinks the blood of living things, +And strews its wrecks o'er leagues of desolate shore, - +Always it is the sea, and men bow down +Before its vast and varied majesty. + +So all in vain will timorous ones essay +To set the metes and bounds of Liberty. +For Freedom is its own eternal law; +It makes its own conditions, and in storm +Or calm alike fulfils the unerring Will. +Let us not then despise it when it lies +Still as a sleeping lion, while a swarm +Of gnat-like evils hover round its head; +Nor doubt it when in mad, disjointed times +It shakes the torch of terror, and its cry +Shrills o'er the quaking earth, and in the flame +Of riot and war we see its awful form +Rise by the scaffold, where the crimson axe +Rings down its grooves the knell of shuddering kings. +For ever in thine eyes, O Liberty, +Shines that high light whereby the world is saved, +And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee! + + + +THE WHITE FLAG. + + + +I sent my love two roses,--one + As white as driven snow, +And one a blushing royal red, + A flaming Jacqueminot. + +I meant to touch and test my fate; + That night I should divine, +The moment I should see my love, + If her true heart were mine. + +For if she holds me dear, I said, + She'll wear my blushing rose; +If not, she'll wear my cold Lamarque + As white as winter's snows. + +My heart sank when I met her: sure + I had been over bold, +For on her breast my pale rose lay + In virgin whiteness cold. + +Yet with low words she greeted me, + With smiles divinely tender; +Upon her cheek the red rose dawned. - + The white rose meant surrender. + + + +THE LAW OF DEATH. + + + +The song of Kilvani: fairest she +In all the land of Savatthi. +She had one child, as sweet and gay +And dear to her as the light of day. +She was so young, and he so fair, +The same bright eyes and the same dark hair; +To see them by the blossomy way, +They seemed two children at their play. + +There came a death-dart from the sky, +Kilvani saw her darling die. +The glimmering shade his eyes invades, +Out of his cheek the red bloom fades; +His warm heart feels the icy chill, +The round limbs shudder, and are still. +And yet Kilvani held him fast +Long after life's last pulse was past, +As if her kisses could restore +The smile gone out for evermore. + +But when she saw her child was dead, +She scattered ashes on her head, +And seized the small corpse, pale and sweet, +And rushing wildly through the street, +She sobbing fell at Buddha's feet. + +"Master, all-helpful, help me now! +Here at thy feet I humbly bow; +Have mercy, Buddha, help me now!" +She grovelled on the marble floor, +And kissed the dead child o'er and o'er. +And suddenly upon the air +There fell the answer to her prayer: +"Bring me to-night a lotus tied +With thread from a house where none has died." + +She rose, and laughed with thankful joy, +Sure that the god would save the boy. +She found a lotus by the stream; +She plucked it from its noonday dream, +And then from door to door she fared, +To ask what house by Death was spared. +Her heart grew cold to see the eyes +Of all dilate with slow surprise: +"Kilvani, thou hast lost thy head; +Nothing can help a child that's dead. +There stands not by the Ganges' side +A house where none hath ever died." +Thus, through the long and weary day, +From every door she bore away +Within her heart, and on her arm, +A heavier load, a deeper harm. +By gates of gold and ivory, +By wattled huts of poverty, +The same refrain heard poor Kilvani, +THE LIVING ARE FEW, THE DEAD ARE MANY. + +The evening came--so still and fleet - +And overtook her hurrying feet. +And, heartsick, by the sacred fane +She fell, and prayed the god again. +She sobbed and beat her bursting breast: +"Ah, thou hast mocked me, Mightiest! +Lo! I have wandered far and wide; +There stands no house where none hath died." +And Buddha answered, in a tone +Soft as a flute at twilight blown, +But grand as heaven and strong as death +To him who hears with ears of faith: +"Child, thou art answered. Murmur not! +Bow, and accept the common lot." + +Kilvani heard with reverence meet, +And laid her child at Buddha's feet. + + + +MOUNT TABOR. + + + +On Tabor's height a glory came, +And, shrined in clouds of lambent flame, +The awestruck, hushed disciples saw +Christ and the prophets of the law. +Moses, whose grand and awful face +Of Sinai's thunder bore the trace, +And wise Elias,--in his eyes +The shade of Israel's prophecies, - +Stood in that wide, mysterious light, +Than Syrian noons more purely bright, +One on each hand, and high between +Shone forth the godlike Nazarene. +They bowed their heads in holy fright, - +No mortal eyes could bear the sight, - +And when they looked again, behold! +The fiery clouds had backward rolled, +And borne aloft in grandeur lonely, +Nothing was left "save Jesus only." + +Resplendent type of things to be! +We read its mystery to-day +With clearer eyes than even they, +The fisher-saints of Galilee. +We see the Christ stand out between +The ancient law and faith serene, +Spirit and letter; but above +Spirit and letter both was Love. +Led by the hand of Jacob's God, +Through wastes of eld a path was trod +By which the savage world could move +Upward through law and faith to love. +And there in Tabor's harmless flame +The crowning revelation came. +The old world knelt in homage due, +The prophets near in reverence drew, +Law ceased its mission to fulfil, +And Love was lord on Tabor's hill. + +So now, while creeds perplex the mind +And wranglings load the weary wind, +When all the air is filled with words +And texts that wring like clashing swords, +Still, as for refuge, we may turn +Where Tabor's shining glories burn, - +The soul of antique Israel gone, +And nothing left but Christ alone. + + + +RELIGION AND DOCTRINE. + + + + He stood before the Sanhedrim; +The scowling rabbis gazed at him. +He recked not of their praise or blame; +There was no fear, there was no shame, +For one upon whose dazzled eyes +The whole world poured its vast surprise. +The open heaven was far too near, +His first day's light too sweet and clear, +To let him waste his new-gained ken +On the hate-clouded face of men. + + But still they questioned, "Who art thou? +What hast thou been? What art thou now? +Thou art not he who yesterday +Sat here and begged beside the way; +For he was blind." + + --"And I am he; +For I was blind, but now I see." + + He told the story o'er and o'er; +It was his full heart's only lore: +A prophet on the Sabbath-day +Had touched his sightless eyes with clay, +And made him see who had been blind. +Their words passed by him like the wind, +Which raves and howls, but cannot shock +The hundred-fathom-rooted rock. + + Their threats and fury all went wide; +They could not touch his Hebrew pride. +Their sneers at Jesus and His band, +Nameless and homeless in the land, +Their boasts of Moses and his Lord, +All could not change him by one word. + + "I know not what this man may be, +Sinner or saint; but as for me, +One thing I know,--that I am he +Who once was blind, and now I see." + + They were all doctors of renown, +The great men of a famous town, +With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise, +Beneath their wide phylacteries; +The wisdom of the East was theirs, +And honour crowned their silver hairs. +The man they jeered and laughed to scorn +Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born; +But he knew better far than they +What came to him that Sabbath-day; +And what the Christ had done for him +He knew, and not the Sanhedrim. + + + +SINAI AND CALVARY. + + + +There are two mountains hallowed + By majesty sublime, +Which rear their crests unconquered + Above the floods of Time. +Uncounted generations + Have gazed on them with awe, - +The mountain of the Gospel, + The mountain of the Law. + +From Sinai's cloud of darkness + The vivid lightnings play; +They serve the God of vengeance, + The Lord who shall repay. +Each fault must bring its penance, + Each sin the avenging blade, +For God upholds in justice + The laws that He hath made. + +But Calvary stands to ransom + The earth from utter loss, +In shade than light more glorious, + The shadow of the Cross. +To heal a sick world's trouble, + To soothe its woe and pain, +On Calvary's sacred summit + The Paschal Lamb was slain. + +The boundless might of Heaven + Its law in mercy furled, +As once the bow of promise + O'erarched a drowning world. +The Law said, "As you keep me, + It shall be done to you; " +But Calvary prays, "Forgive them; + They know not what they do." + +Almighty God! direct us + To keep Thy perfect Law! +O blessed Saviour, help us + Nearer to Thee to draw! +Let Sinai's thunders aid us + To guard our feet from sin; +And Calvary's light inspire us + The love of God to win. + + + +THE VISION OF ST. PETER. + + + +To Peter by night the faithfullest came + And said, "We appeal to thee! +The life of the Church is in thy life; + We pray thee to rise and flee. + +"For the tyrant's hand is red with blood, + And his arm is heavy with power; +Thy head, the head of the Church, will fall + If thou tarry in Rome an hour." + +Through the sleeping town St. Peter passed + To the wide Campagna plain; +In the starry light of the Alban night + He drew free breath again: + +When across his path an awful form + In luminous glory stood; +His thorn-crowned brow, His hands and feet, + Were wet with immortal blood. + +The godlike sorrow which filled His eyes + Seemed changed to a godlike wrath +As they turned on Peter, who cried aloud, + And sank to his knees in the path. + +"Lord of my life, my love, my soul! + Say, what wilt Thou with me?" +A voice replied, "I go to Rome + To be crucified for thee." + +The Apostle sprang, all flushed, to his feet, - + The vision had passed away; +The light still lay on the dewy plain, + But the sky in the east was gray. + +To the city walls St. Peter turned, + And his heart in his breast grew fire; +In every vein the hot blood burned + With the strength of one high desire. + +And sturdily back he marched to his death + Of terrible pain and shame; +And never a shade of fear again + To the stout Apostle came. + + + +ISRAEL. + + + +When by Jabbok the patriarch waited + To learn on the morrow his doom, +And his dubious spirit debated + In darkness and silence and gloom, + There descended a Being with whom +He wrestled in agony sore, + With striving of heart and of brawn, +And not for an instant forbore + Till the east gave a threat of the dawn; +And then, as the Awful One blessed him, + To his lips and his spirit there came, +Compelled by the doubts that oppressed him, +The cry that through questioning ages +Has been wrung from the hinds and the sages, + "Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy name!" + +Most fatal, most futile, of questions! + Wherever the heart of man beats, + In the spirit's most sacred retreats, +It comes with its sombre suggestions, + Unanswered for ever and aye. + The blessing may come and may stay, +For the wrestlers heroic endeavour; +But the question, unheeded for ever, + Dies out in the broadening day. + +In the ages before our traditions, +By the altars of dark superstitions, + The imperious question has come; +When the death-stricken victim lay sobbing + At the feet of his slayer and priest, +And his heart was laid smoking and throbbing + To the sound of the cymbal and drum +On the steps of the high Teocallis; + When the delicate Greek at his feast +Poured forth the red wine from his chalice + With mocking and cynical prayer; +When by Nile Egypt worshipping lay, + And afar, through the rosy, flushed air +The Memnon called out to the day; +Where the Muezzin's cry floats from his spire; + In the vaulted Cathedral's dim shades, +Where the crushed hearts of thousands aspire +Through arts highest miracles higher, + This question of questions invades + Each heart bowed in worship or shame; +In the air where the censers are swinging, +A voice, going up with the singing, + Cries, "Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy name!" + +No answer came back, not a word, +To the patriarch there by the ford; +No answer has come through the ages +To the poets, the seers, and the sages +Who have sought in the secrets of science +The name and the nature of God, +Whether cursing in desperate defiance +Or kissing His absolute rod; +But the answer which was and shall be, +"My name! Nay, what is it to thee?" +The search and the question are vain. +By use of the strength that is in you, +By wrestling of soul and of sinew +The blessing of God you may gain. + +There are lights in the far-gleaming Heaven + That never will shine on our eyes; +To mortals it may not be given + To range those inviolate skies. +The mind, whether praying or scorning, + That tempts those dread secrets shall fail; +But strive through the night till the morning, + And mightily shalt thou prevail. + + + +THE CROWS AT WASHINGTON. + + + +Slow flapping to the setting sun + By twos and threes, in wavering rows, + As twilight shadows dimly close, +The crows fly over Washington. + +Under the crimson sunset sky +Virginian woodlands leafless lie, + In wintry torpor bleak and dun. +Through the rich vault of heaven, which shines + Like a warmed opal in the sun, +With wide advance in broken lines + The crows fly over Washington. + +Over the Capitol's white dome, + Across the obelisk soaring bare +To prick the clouds, they travel home, +Content and weary, winnowing + With dusky vans the golden air, +Which hints the coming of the spring, + Though winter whitens Washington. + +The dim, deep air, the level ray +Of dying sunlight on their plumes, + Give them a beauty not their own; +Their hoarse notes fail and faint away; + A rustling murmur floating down +Blends sweetly with the thickening glooms; +They touch with grace the fading day, + Slow flying over Washington. + +I stand and watch with clouded eyes + These dim battalions move along; +Out of the distance memory cries + Of days when life and hope were strong, +When love was prompt and wit was gay; +Even then, at evening, as to-day, + I watched, while twilight hovered dim + Over Potomac's curving rim, +This selfsame flight of homing crows +Blotting the sunset's fading rose, + Above the roofs of Washington. + + + +REMORSE. + + + +Sad is the thought of sunniest days + Of love and rapture perished, +And shine through memory's tearful haze + The eyes once fondliest cherished. +Reproachful is the ghost of toys + That charmed while life was wasted. +But saddest is the thought of joys + That never yet were tasted. + +Sad is the vague and tender dream + Of dead love's lingering kisses, +To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam + Of unreturning blisses; +Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride + For the pitiless death that won them, - +But the saddest wail is for lips that died + With the virgin dew upon them. + + + + +ESSE QUAM VIDERI. + + + +The knightly legend of thy shield betrays + The moral of thy life; a forecast wise, + And that large honour that deceit defies, +Inspired thy fathers in the elder days, +Who decked thy scutcheon with that sturdy phrase, + TO BE RATHER THAN SEEM. As eve's red skies + Surpass the morning's rosy prophecies, +Thy life to that proud boast its answer pays. +Scorning thy faith and purpose to defend + The ever-mutable multitude at last + Will hail the power they did not comprehend, - +Thy fame will broaden through the centuries; + As, storm and billowy tumult overpast, + The moon rules calmly o'er the conquered seas. + + + +WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME. + + + +There's a happy time coming, + When the boys come home. +There's a glorious day coming, + When the boys come home. +We will end the dreadful story +Of this treason dark and gory +In a sunburst of glory, + When the boys come home. + +The day will seem brighter + When the boys come home, +For our hearts will be lighter + When the boys come home. +Wives and sweethearts will press them +In their arms and caress them, +And pray God to bless them, + When the boys come home. + +The thinned ranks will be proudest + When the boys come home, +And their cheer will ring the loudest + When the boys come home. +The full ranks will be shattered, +And the bright arms will be battered, +And the battle-standards tattered, + When the boys come home. + +Their bayonets may be rusty, + When the boys come home, +And their uniforms dusty, + When the boys come home. +But all shall see the traces +Of battle's royal graces, +In the brown and bearded faces, + When the boys come home. + +Our love shall go to meet them, + When the boys come home, +To bless them and to greet them, + When the boys come home; +And the fame of their endeavour +Time and change shall not dissever +From the nation's heart for ever, + When the boys come home. + + + +LESE-AMOUR. + + + + How well my heart remembers + Beside these camp-fire embers +The eyes that smiled so far away, - + The joy that was November's. + + Her voice to laughter moving, + So merrily reproving, - +We wandered through the autumn woods, + And neither thought of loving. + + The hills with light were glowing, + The waves in joy were flowing, - +It was not to the clouded sun + The day's delight was owing. + + Though through the brown leaves straying, + Our lives seemed gone a-Maying; +We knew not Love was with us there, + No look nor tone betraying. + + How unbelief still misses + The best of being's blisses! +Our parting saw the first and last + Of love's imagined kisses. + + Now 'mid these scenes the drearest + I dream of her, the dearest, - +Whose eyes outshine the Southern stars, + So far, and yet the nearest. + + And Love, so gaily taunted, + Who died, no welcome granted, +Comes to me now, a pallid ghost, + By whom my life is haunted. + + With bonds I may not sever, + He binds my heart for ever, +And leads me where we murdered him, - + The Hill beside the River. + +CAMP SHAW, FLORIDA, + February 1864. + + + +NORTHWARD. + + + +Under the high unclouded sun +That makes the ship and shadow one, + I sail away as from the fort +Booms sullenly the noonday gun. + +The odorous airs blow thin and fine, +The sparkling waves like emeralds shine, + The lustre of the coral reefs +Gleams whitely through the tepid brine. + +And glitters o'er the liquid miles +The jewelled ring of verdant isles, + Where generous Nature holds her court +Of ripened bloom and sunny smiles. + +Encinctured by the faithful seas +Inviolate gardens load the breeze, + Where flaunt like giant-warders' plumes +The pennants of the cocoa-trees. + +Enthroned in light and bathed in balm, +In lonely majesty the Palm + Blesses the isles with waving hands, - +High-Priest of the eternal Calm. + +Yet Northward with an equal mind +I steer my course, and leave behind + The rapture of the Southern skies, - +The wooing of the Southern wind. + +For here o'er Nature's wanton bloom +Falls far and near the shade of gloom, + Cast from the hovering vulture-wings +Of one dark thought of woe and doom. + +I know that in the snow-white pines +The brave Norse fire of freedom shines, + And fain for this I leave the land +Where endless summer pranks the vines. + +O strong, free North, so wise and brave! +O South, too lovely for a slave! + Why read ye not the changeless truth, - +The free can conquer but to save? + +May God upon these shining sands +Send Love and Victory clasping hands, + And Freedom's banners wave in peace +For ever o'er the rescued lands! + +And here, in that triumphant hour, +Shall yielding beauty wed with power; + And blushing earth and smiling sea +In dalliance deck the bridal bower. + +KEY WEST, 1864. + + + +IN THE FIRELIGHT. + + + +My dear wife sits beside the fire + With folded hands and dreaming eyes, +Watching the restless flames aspire, + And rapt in thralling memories. +I mark the fitful firelight fling + Its warm caresses on her brow, + And kiss her hands' unmelting snow, +And glisten on her wedding-ring. + +The proud free head that crowns so well + The neck superb, whose outlines glide +Into the bosom's perfect swell + Soft-billowed by its peaceful tide, +The cheek's faint flush, the lip's red glow, + The gracious charm her beauty wears, + Fill my fond eyes with tender tears +As in the days of long ago. + +Days long ago, when in her eyes + The only heaven I cared for lay, +When from our thoughtless Paradise + All care and toil dwelt far away; +When Hope in wayward fancies throve, + And rioted in secret sweets, + Beguiled by Passion's dear deceits, - +The mysteries of maiden love. + +One year had passed since first my sight + Was gladdened by her girlish charms, +When on a rapturous summer night + I clasped her in possessing arms. +And now ten years have rolled away, + And left such blessings as their dower; + I owe her tenfold at this hour +The love that lit our wedding-day. + +For now, vague-hovering o'er her form, + My fancy sees, by love refined, +A warmer and a dearer charm + By wedlock's mystic hands entwined, - +A golden coil of wifely cares + That years have forged, the loving joy + That guards the curly-headed boy +Asleep an hour ago upstairs. + +A fair young mother, pure as fair, + A matron heart and virgin soul! +The flickering light that crowns her hair + Seems like a saintly aureole. +A tender sense upon me falls + That joy unmerited is mine, + And in this pleasant twilight shine +My perfect bliss myself appals. + +Come back! my darling, strayed so far + Into the realm of fantasy, - +Let thy dear face shine like a star + In love-light beaming over me. +My melting soul is jealous, sweet, + Of thy long silence' drear eclipse; + O kiss me back with living lips, +To life, love, lying at thy feet! + + + +IN A GRAVEYARD. + + + +In the dewy depths of the graveyard + I lie in the tangled grass, +And watch, in the sea of azure, + The white cloud-islands pass. + +The birds in the rustling branches + Sing gaily overhead; +Grey stones like sentinel spectres + Are guarding the silent dead. + +The early flowers sleep shaded + In the cool green noonday glooms; +The broken light falls shuddering + On the cold white face of the tombs. + +Without, the world is smiling + In the infinite love of God, +But the sunlight fails and falters + When it falls on the churchyard sod. + +On me the joyous rapture + Of a heart's first love is shed, +But it falls on my heart as coldly + As sunlight on the dead. + + + +THE PRAIRIE. + + + +The skies are blue above my head, + The prairie green below, +And flickering o'er the tufted grass + The shifting shadows go, +Vague-sailing, where the feathery clouds + Fleck white the tranquil skies, +Black javelins darting where aloft + The whirring pheasant flies. + +A glimmering plain in drowsy trance + The dim horizon bounds, +Where all the air is resonant + With sleepy summer sounds, - +The life that sings among the flowers, + The lisping of the breeze, +The hot cicala's sultry cry, + The murmurous dream of bees. + +The butterfly--a flying flower - + Wheels swift in flashing rings, +And flutters round his quiet kin, + With brave flame-mottled wings. +The wild Pinks burst in crimson fire + The Phlox' bright clusters shine, +And Prairie-Cups are swinging free + To spill their airy wine. + +And lavishly beneath the sun, + In liberal splendour rolled, +The Fennel fills the dipping plain + With floods of flowery gold; +And widely weaves the Iron-Weed + A woof of purple dyes +Where Autumn's royal feet may tread + When bankrupt Summer flies. + +In verdurous tumult far away + The prairie-billows gleam, +Upon their crests in blessing rests + The noontide's gracious beam. +Low quivering vapours steaming dim + The level splendours break +Where languid Lilies deck the rim + Of some land-circled lake. + +Far in the east like low-hung clouds + The waving woodlands lie; +Far in the west the glowing plain + Melts warmly in the sky. +No accent wounds the reverent air, + No footprint dints the sod, +Lone in the light the prairie lies + Rapt in a dream of God. + +ILLINOIS, 1858. + + + +CENTENNIAL. + + + +A hundred times the bells of Brown + Have rung to sleep the idle summers, +And still to-day clangs clamouring down + A greeting to the welcome comers. + +And far, like waves of morning, pours + Her call, in airy ripples breaking, +And wanders to the farthest shores, + Her children's drowsy hearts awaking. + +The wild vibration floats along, + O'er heart-strings tense its magic plying, +And wakes in every breast its song + Of love and gratitude undying. + +My heart to meet the summons leaps + At limit of its straining tether, +Where the fresh western sunlight steeps + In golden flame the prairie heather. + +And others, happier, rise and fare + To pass within the hallowed portal, +And see the glory shining there + Shrined in her steadfast eyes immortal. + +What though their eyes be dim and dull, + Their heads be white in reverend blossom; +Our mothers smile is beautiful + As when she bore them on her bosom! + +Her heavenly forehead bears no line + Of Time's iconolastic fingers, +But o'er her form the grace divine + Of deathless youth and wisdom lingers. + +We fade and pass, grow faint and old, + Till youth and joy and hope are banished, +And still her beauty seems to fold + The sum of all the glory vanished. + +As while Tithonus faltered on + The threshold of the Olympian dawnings, +Aurora's front eternal shone + With lustre of the myriad mornings. + +So joys that slip like dead leaves down, + And hopes burnt out that die in ashes, +Rise restless from their graves to crown + Our mother's brow with fadeless flashes. + +And lives wrapped in traditions mist + These honoured halls to-day are haunting, +And lips by lips long withered kissed + The sagas of the past are chanting. + +Scornful of absence' envious bar + BROWN smiles upon the mystic meeting +Of those her sons, who, sundered far, + In brotherhood of heart are greeting; + +Her wayward children wandering on + Where setting stars are lowly burning, +But still in worship toward the dawn + That gilds their souls' dear Mecca turning; + +Or those who, armed for God's own fight, + Stand by His Word through fire and slaughter, +Or bear our banner's starry light + Far-flashing through the Gulf's blue water. + +For where one strikes for light and truth, + The right to aid, the wrong redressing, +The mother of his spirit's youth + Sheds o'er his soul her silent blessing. + +She gained her crown a gem of flame + When KNEASS fell dead in victory gory; +New splendour blazed upon her name + When IVES' young life went out in glory! + +Thus bright for ever may she keep + Her fires of tolerant Freedom burning, +Till War's red eyes are charmed to sleep + And bells ring home the boys returning. + +And may she shed her radiant truth + In largess on ingenuous comers, +And hold the bloom of gracious youth + Through many a hundred tranquil summers! + + + +A WINTER NIGHT. + + + +The winter wind is raving fierce and shrill, + And chides with angry moan the frosty skies; + The white stars gaze with sleepless Gorgon eyes +That freeze the earth in terror fixed and still. +We reck not of the wild night's gloom and chill, + Housed from its rage, dear friend; and fancy flies, + Lured by the hand of beckoning memories, +Back to those summer evenings on the hill +Where we together watched the sun go down + Beyond the gold-washed uplands, while his fires + Touched into glittering life the vanes and spires +Piercing the purpling mists that veiled the town. + The wintry night thy voice and eyes beguile, + Till wake the sleeping summers in thy smile. + + + +STUDENT-SONG. + + + +When Youth's warm heart beats high, my friend, + And Youth's blue sky is bright, +And shines in Youth's clear eye, my friend, + Love's early dawning light, +Let the free soul spurn care's control, + And while the glad days shine, +We'll use their beams for Youth's gay dreams + Of Love and Song and Wine. + +Let not the bigot's frown, my friend, + O'ercast thy brow with gloom, +For Autumn's sober brown, my friend, + Shall follow Summer's bloom. +Let smiles and sighs and loving eyes + In changeful beauty shine, +And shed their beams on Youth's gay dreams + Of Love and Song and Wine. + +For in the weary years, my friend, + That stretched before us lie, +There'll be enough of tears, my friend, + To dim the brightest eye. +So let them wait, and laugh at fate, + While Youth's sweet moments shine, - +Till memory gleams with golden dreams + Of Love and Song and Wine. + + + +HOW IT HAPPENED. + + + +I pray you, pardon me, Elsie, + And smile that frown away +That dims the light of your lovely face + As a thunder-cloud the day. +I really could not help it, - + Before I thought, 'twas done, - +And those great grey eyes flashed bright and cold, + Like an icicle in the sun. + +I was thinking of the summers + When we were boys and girls, +And wandered in the blossoming woods, + And the gay winds romped with your curls. +And you seemed to me the same little girl + I kissed in the alder-path, +I kissed the little girl's lips, and, alas! + I have roused a woman's wrath. + +There is not so much to pardon, - + For why were your lips so red? +The blond hair fell in a shower of gold + From the proud, provoking head. +And the beauty that flashed from the splendid eyes, + And played round the tender mouth, +Rushed over my soul like a warm sweet wind + That blows from the fragrant south. + +And where, after all, is the harm done? + I believe we were made to be gay, +And all of youth not given to love + Is vainly squandered away. +And strewn through life's low labours, + Like gold in the desert sands, +Are love's swift kisses and sighs and vows + And the clasp of clinging hands. + +And when you are old and lonely, + In Memory's magic shine +You will see on your thin and wasting hands, + Like gems, these kisses of mine. +And when you muse at evening + At the sound of some vanished name, +The ghost of my kisses shall touch your lips + And kindle your heart to flame. + + + +GOD'S VENGEANCE. + + + +Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine; + I will repay," saith the Lord; +Ours be the anger divine, + Lit by the flash of His word. + +How shall His vengeance be done? + How, when His purpose is clear? +Must He come down from His throne? + Hath He no instruments here? + +Sleep not in imbecile trust, + Waiting for God to begin, +While, growing strong in the dust, + Rests the bruised serpent of sin. + +Right and Wrong,--both cannot live + Death-grappled. Which shall we see? +Strike! only Justice can give + Safety to all that shall be. + +Shame! to stand paltering thus, + Tricked by the balancing odds; +Strike! God is waiting for us! + Strike! for the vengeance is God's. + + + +TOO LATE. + + + +Had we but met in other days, +Had we but loved in other ways, +Another light and hope had shone + On your life and my own. + +In sweet but hopeless reveries +I fancy how your wistful eyes +Had saved me, had I known their power + In fate's imperious hour; + +How loving you, beloved of God, +And following you, the path I trod +Had led me, through your love and prayers, + To God's love unawares: + +And how our beings joined as one +Had passed through checkered shade and sun, +Until the earth our lives had given, + With little change, to heaven. + +God knows why this was not to be. +You bloomed from childhood far from me. +The sunshine of the favoured place + That knew your youth and grace. + +And when your eyes, so fair and free, +In fearless beauty beamed on me, +I knew the fatal die was thrown, + My choice in life was gone. + +And still with wild and tender art +Your child-love touched my torpid heart, +Gilding the blackness where it fell, + Like sunlight over hell. + +In vain, in vain! my choice was gone! +Better to struggle on alone +Than blot your pure life's blameless shine + With cloudy stains of mine. + +A vague regret, a troubled prayer, +And then the future vast and fair +Will tempt your young and eager eyes + With all its glad surprise. + +And I shall watch you, safe and far, +As some late traveller eyes a star +Wheeling beyond his desert sands + To gladden happier lands. + + + +LOVE'S DOUBT. + + + +'Tis love that blinds my heart and eyes, - + I sometimes say in doubting dreams, - + The face that near me perfect seems +Cold Memory paints in fainter dyes. + +'Twas but love's dazzled eyes--I say - + That made her seem so strangely bright; + The face I worshipped yesternight, +I dread to meet it changed to-day. + +As, when dies out some song's refrain, + And leaves your eyes in happy tears, + Awake the same fond idle fears, - +It cannot sound so sweet again. + +You wait and say with vague annoy, + "It will not sound so sweet again," + Until comes back the wild refrain +That floods your soul with treble joy. + +So when I see my love again + Fades the unquiet doubt away, + While shines her beauty like the day +Over my happy heart and brain. + +And in that face I see no more + The fancied faults I idly dreamed, + But all the charms that fairest seemed, +I find them, fairer than before. + + + +LAGRIMAS. + + + + God send me tears! +Loose the fierce band that binds my tired brain, +Give me the melting heart of other years, + And let me weep again! + + Before me pass +The shapes of things inexorably true. +Gone is the sparkle of transforming dew + From every blade of grass. + + In life's high noon +Aimless I stand, my promised task undone, +And raise my hot eyes to the angry sun + That will go down too soon. + + Turned into gall +Are the sweet joys of childhood's sunny reign; +And memory is a torture, love a chain + That binds my life in thrall. + + And childhood's pain +Could to me now the purest rapture yield; +I pray for tears as in his parching field + The husbandman for rain. + + We pray in vain! +The sullen sky flings down its blaze of brass; +The joys of life all scorched and withering pass; + I shall not weep again. + + + +ON THE BLUFF. + + + +O grandly flowing River! +O silver-gliding River! +Thy springing willows shiver + In the sunset as of old; +They shiver in the silence +Of the willow-whitened islands, +While the sun-bars and the sand-bars + Fill air and wave with gold. + +O gay, oblivious River! +O sunset-kindled River! +Do you remember ever + The eyes and skies so blue +On a summer day that shone here, +When we were all alone here, +And the blue eyes were too wise + To speak the love they knew? + +O stern, impassive River! +O still, unanswering River! +The shivering willows quiver + As the night-winds moan and rave. +From the past a voice is calling, +From heaven a star is falling, +And dew swells in the bluebells + Above her hillside grave. + + + +UNA. + + + +In the whole wide world there was but one; +Others for others, but she was mine, +The one fair woman beneath the sun. + +From her gold-flax curls' most marvellous shine +Down to the lithe and delicate feet +There was not a curve nor a waving line + +But moved in a harmony firm and sweet +With all of passion my life could know. +By knowledge perfect and faith complete + +I was bound to her,--as the planets go +Adoring around their central star, +Free, but united for weal or woe. + +She was so near and Heaven so far - +She grew my heaven and law and fate, +Rounding my life with a mystic bar + +No thought beyond could violate. +Our love to fulness in silence nursed +Grew calm as morning, when through the gate + +Of the glimmering east the sun has burst, +With his hot life filling the waiting air. +She kissed me once,--that last and first + +Of her maiden kisses was placid as prayer. +Against all comers I sat with lance +In rest, and, drunk with my joy, I sware + +Defiance and scorn to the world's worst chance. +In vain! for soon unhorsed I lay +At the feet of the strong god Circumstance - + +And never again shall break the day, +And never again shall fall the night, +That shall light me, or shield me, on my way + +To the presence of my sad soul's delight. +Her dead love comes like a passionate ghost +To mourn the Body it held so light, + +And Fate, like a hound with a purpose lost, +Goes round bewildered with shame and fright. + + + +THROUGH THE LONG DAYS. + + + +Through the long days and years + What will my loved one be, + Parted from me? +Through the long days and years. + +Always as then she was, + Loveliest, brightest, best, + Blessing and blest, - +Always as then she was. + +Never on earth again + Shall I before her stand, + Touch lip or hand, - +Never on earth again. + +But while my darling lives + Peaceful I journey on, + Not quite alone, +Not while my darling lives. + + + +A PHYLACTERY. + + + +Wise men I hold those rakes of old + Who, as we read in antique story, +When lyres were struck and wine was poured, +Set the white Death's Head on the board - + Memento mori. + +Love well! love truly! and love fast! + True love evades the dilatory. +Life's bloom flares like a meteor past; +A joy so dazzling cannot last - + Memento mori. + +Stop not to pluck the leaves of bay + That greenly deck the path of glory, +The wreath will wither if you stay, +So pass along your earnest way - + Memento mori. + +Hear but not heed, though wild and shrill, + The cries of faction transitory; +Cleave to YOUR good, eschew YOUR ill, +A Hundred Years and all is still - + Memento mori. + +When Old Age comes with muffled drums, + That beat to sleep our tired life's story, +On thoughts of dying (Rest is good!), +Like old snakes coiled i' the sun, we brood - + Memento mori. + + + +BLONDINE. + + + +I wandered through a careless world + Deceived when not deceiving, +And never gave an idle heart + The rapture of believing. +The smiles, the sighs, the glancing eyes, + Of many hundred comers +Swept by me, light as rose-leaves blown + From long-forgotten summers. + +But never eyes so deep and bright + And loyal in their seeming, +And never smiles so full of light + Have shone upon my dreaming. +The looks and lips so gay and wise, + The thousand charms that wreathe them, +--Almost I dare believe that truth + Is safely shrined beneath them. + +Ah! do they shine, those eyes of thine, + But for our own misleading? +The fresh young smile, so pure and fine, + Does it but mock our reading? +Then faith is fled, and trust is dead, + And unbelief grows duty, +If fraud can wield the triple arm + Of youth and wit and beauty. + + + +DISTICHES. + + + +I. + +Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her. + This one may love her some day, some day the lover will not. + +II. + +There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are going, + When they seem going they come: Diplomates, women, and crabs. + +III. + +Pleasures too hastily tasted grow sweeter in fond recollection, + As the pomegranate plucked green ripens far over the sea. + +IV. + +As the meek beasts in the Garden came flocking for Adam to name them, + Men for a title to-day crawl to the feet of a king. + +V. + +What is a first love worth, except to prepare for a second? + What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first. + +VI. + +Health was wooed by the Romans in groves of the laurel and myrtle. + Happy and long are the lives brightened by glory and love. + +VII. + +Wine is like rain: when it falls on the mire it but makes it the fouler, + But when it strikes the good soil wakes it to beauty and bloom. + +VIII. + +Break not the rose; its fragrance and beauty are surely sufficient: + Resting contented with these, never a thorn shall you feel. + +IX. + +When you break up housekeeping, you learn the extent of your treasures; + Till he begins to reform, no one can number his sins. + +X. + +Maidens! why should you worry in choosing whom you shall marry? + Choose whom you may, you will find you have got somebody else. + +XI. + +Unto each man comes a day when his favourite sins all forsake him, + And he complacently thinks he has forsaken his sins. + +XII. + +Be not too anxious to gain your next-door neighbour's approval: + Live your own life, and let him strive your approval to gain. + +XIII. + +Who would succeed in the world should be wise in the use of his pronouns. + Utter the You twenty times, where you once utter the I. + +XIV. + +The best-loved man or maid in the town would perish with anguish + Could they hear all that their friends say in the +course of a day. + +XV. + +True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table: + Luckiest he who knows just when to rise and go home. + +XVI. + +Pleasant enough it is to hear the world speak of your virtues; + But in your secret heart 'tis of your faults you are proud. + +XVII. + +Try not to beat back the current, yet be not drowned in its waters; + Speak with the speech of the world, think with the thoughts of the few. + +XVIII. + +Make all good men your well-wishers, and then, in the years' steady +sifting, + Some of them turn into friends. Friends are the sunshine of life. + + + +REGARDANT. + + + +As I lay at your feet that afternoon, +Little we spoke,--you sat and mused, +Humming a sweet old-fashioned tune, + +And I worshipped you, with a sense confused +Of the good time gone and the bad on the way, +While my hungry eyes your face perused, + +To catch and brand on my soul for aye +The subtle smile which had grown my doom. +Drinking sweet poison hushed I lay + +Till the sunset shimmered athwart the room. +I rose to go. You stood so fair +And dim in the dead day's tender gloom: + +All at once, or ever I was aware, +Flashed from you on me a warm strong wave +Of passion and power; in the silence there + +I fell on my knees, like a lover, or slave, +With my wild hands clasping your slender waist; +And my lips, with a sudden frenzy brave, + +A madman's kiss on your girdle pressed, +And I felt your calm heart's quickening beat, +And your soft hands on me one instant rest. + +And if God had loved me, how endlessly sweet +Had He let my heart in its rapture burst, +And throb its last at your firm small feet! + +And when I was forth, I shuddered at first +At my imminent bliss. As a soul in pain, +Treading his desolate path accursed, + +Looks back and dreams through his tears' dim rain +That by Heaven's wide gate the angels smile, +Relenting, and beckon him back again, + +And goes on, thrice damned by that devil's wile, - +So sometimes burns in my weary brain +The thought that you loved me all the while. + + + +GUY OF THE TEMPLE. + + + +Down the dim west slowly fails the stricken sun, +And from his hot face fades the crimson flush +Veiled in death's herald-shadows sick and grey. +Silent and dark the sombre valley lies +Forgotten; happy in the late fond beams +Glimmer the constant waves of Galilee. +Afar, below, in airy music ring +The bugles of my host; the column halts, +A wearied serpent glittering in the vale, +Where rising mist-like gleam the tented camps. + +Pitch my pavilion here, where its high cross +May catch the last light lingering on the hill. +The savage shadows, struggling by the shore, +Have conquered in the valley; inch by inch +The vanquished light fights bravely to these crags +To perish glorious in the sunset fire; +Even as our hunted Cause so pressed and torn +In Syrian valleys, and the trampled marge +Of consecrated streams, displays at last +Its narrowing glories from these steadfast walls. +Here in God's name we stand, and brighter far +Shines the stern virtue of my martyr-host +Through these invidious fortunes, than of old, +When the still sunshine glinted on their helms, +And dallying breezes woke their bridle-bells +To tinkling music by the reedy shore +Of calm Tiberias, where our angry Lord, +Wroth at the deadly sin that cursed our camp, +Denied and blinded us, and gave us up +To the avenging sword of Saladin. +Yet would He not permit His truth to sink +To utter loss amid that foundering fight, +But led us, scarred and shattered from the spoil +Of Paynim rage, the desert's thirsty death, +To where beneath the sheltering crags we prayed +And rested and grew strong. Heroes and saints +To alien peoples shall they be, my brave +And patient warriors; for in their stout hearts +God's Spirit dwells for ever, and their hands +Are swift to do His service on His foes. +The swelling music of their vesper-hymn +Is rising fragrant from the shadowed vale +Familiar to the welcoming gates of heaven. + + Mother of God! as evening falls + Upon the silent sea, + And shadows veil the mountain walls, + We lift our souls to thee! + From lurking perils of the night, + The desert's hidden harms, + From plagues that waste, from blasts that smite, + Defend thy men-at-arms! + +Ay! Heaven keep them! and ye angel-hosts +That wait with fluttering plumes around the great +White throne of God, guard them from scath and harm! +For in your starry records never shone +The memory of desert so great as theirs. +I hold not first, though peerless else on earth, +That knightly valour, born of gentle blood +And war's long tutelage, which hath made their name +Blaze like a baleful planet o'er these lands; +Firm seat in saddle, lance unmoved, a hand +Wedding the hilt with death's persistent grasp; +One-minded rush in fight that naught can stay. +Not these the highest, though I scorn not these, +But rather offer Heaven with humble heart +The deeds that Heaven hath given us arms to do. +For when God's smile was with us we were strong +To go like sudden lightning to our mark: +As on that summer day when Saladin - +Passing in scorn our host at Antioch, +Who spent the days in revel, and shamed the stars +With nightly scandal--came with all his host, +Its gay battalia brave with saffron silks, +Flaunting the banners of the Caliphate +Beneath the walls of fair Jerusalem: +And white and shaking came the Leper-King, +Great Baldwin's blasted scion, and Tripoli +And I, and twenty score of Temple Knights, +To meet the myriads marshalled by the bright +Untarnished flower of Eastern chivalry; +A moment paused with level-fronting spears +And moveless helms before that shining host, +Whose gay attire abashed the morning light, +And then struck spur and charged, while from the mass +Of rushing terror burst the awful cry, +GOD AND THE TEMPLE! As the avalanche slides +Down Alpine slopes, precipitous, cold and dark, +Unpitying and unwrathful, grinds and crushes +The mountain violets and the valley weeds, +And drags behind a trail of chaos and death; +So burst we on that field, and through and through +The gay battalia brave with saffron silks, +Crushed and abolished every grace and gleam, +And dragged where'er we rode a sinuous track +Of chaos and death, till all the plain was filled +With battered armour, turbaned trunkless heads, +With silken mantles blushing angry gules +And Bagdad's banners trampled and forlorn. +And Saladin, stunned and bewildered sore, - +The greatest prince, save in the grace of God, +That now wears sword,--mounted his brother's barb, +And, followed by a half-score followers, +Sped to his castle Shaubec, over against +The cliffs by Ascalon, and there abode: +And sullenly made order that no more +The royal nouba should be played for him +Until he should erase the rusting stain +Upon his knightly honour; and no more +The nouba sounded by the Sultan's tent, +Morning nor evening by the silent tent, +Until the headlong greed of Chatillon +Spread ruin on our cause from Montreale. +But greatest are my warriors, as I deem, +In that their hearts, nearer than any else, +Keep true the pledge of perfect purity +They pledged upon their sword-hilts long ago. +For all is possible to the pure in heart. + + Mother of God! thy starry smile + Still bless us from above! + Keep pure our souls from passion's guile, + Our hearts from earthly love! + Still save each soul from guilt apart + As stainless as each sword, + And guard undimmed in every heart + The image of our Lord! + +O goodliest fellowship that the world has known, +True hearts and stalwart arms! above your breasts +Glitters no flash of wreathen amulet +Forged against sword-stroke by the chanted rhythm +Of charms accurst; but in each steadfast heart +Blazes the light of cloudless purity, +That like a splendid jewel glorifies +With restless fire the gold that spheres it round, +And marks you children of our God, whose lives +He guards with the awful jealousy of love. +And even me that generous love has spared, - +Me, trustless knight and miserable man, - +Sad prey of dark and mutinous thoughts that tempt +My sick soul into perjury and death - +Since His great love had pity on my pain, +Has spared to lead these blameless warriors safe +Into the desert from the blazing towns, +Out of the desert to the inviolate hills +Where God has roofed them with His hollow shield. +Through all these days of tempest and eclipse +His hand has led me and His wrath has flashed +Its lightnings in the pathway of my sword. +And so I hope, and so my crescent faith +Gains daily power, that all my prayers and tears +And toils and blood and anguish borne for Him +May blot the accusing of my deadly sin +From heavens high compt, and give me rest in death; +And lay the pallid ghost of mortal love, +That fills with banned and mournful loveliness, +Unblest, the haunted chambers of my soul. +My misery will atone,--my misery, - +Dear God, will surely atone! for not the sting +Of lacerating thongs, nor the slow horror +Of crowns of thorny iron maddening the brows, +Nor all that else pale hermits have devised +To scourge the rebel senses in their shade +Of caverned desolation, have the power +To smart and goad and lash and mortify +Like the great love that binds my ruined heart +Relentless, as the insidious ivy binds +The shattered bulk of some deserted tower, +Enlacing slow and riving with strong hands +Of pitiless verdure every seam and jut, +Till none may tear it forth and save the tower. +So binds and masters me my hopeless love. +So through the desert, in the silent hills, +I' the current of the battle's storm and stress, +One thought has driven me,--that though men may call +Me stainless Paladin, Knight leal and true +To Christ and Our Lady, still I know myself +A knight not after God's own heart, a soul +Recreant, and whelmed in the forbidden sin. +For dearer to my sad heart than the cross +I give my heart's best blood for are the eyes +That long ago, when youth and hope were mine, +I loved in thy still valleys, far Provence! +And sweeter to my spirit than the bells +Of rescued Salem are the loving tones +Of her dear voice, soft echoing o'er the years. +They haunt me in the stillness and the glare +Of desert noontide when the horizon's line +Swims faintly throbbing, and my shadow hides +Skulking beneath me from the brassy sky. +And when night comes to soothe with breath of balm +And pomp of stars the worn and weary world, +Her eyes rise in my soul and make its day. +And even into the battle comes my love, +Snatching the duty that I offer Heaven. + At closing of El-Majed's awful day, +When the last quivering sunbeams, choked with dust +And fume of blood, failed on the level plain, +In the last charge, when gathered all our knights +The precious handful who from morn had stemmed +The fury of the multitudinous hosts +Of Islam, where in youth's hot fire and pride +Ramped the young lion-whelp, Ben-Saladin; +As down the slope we rode at eventide, +The dying sunlight faintly smiled to greet +Our tattered guidons and our dinted helms +And lance-heads blooming with the battle's rose. +Into the vale, dusk with the shadow of death, +With silent lips and ringing mail we rode. +And something in the spirit of the hour, +Or fate, or memory, or sorrow, or sin, +Or love, which unto me is all of these, +Possessed and bound me; for when dashed our troop +In stormy clangour on the Paynim lines +The soul of my dead youth came into me; +Faded away my oath; the woes of Zion, +God was forgot; blazed in my leaping heart, +With instant flash, life's inextinguished fires; +Plunging along each tense limb poured the blood +Hot with its years of sleeping-smothered flame. +And in a dream I charged, and in a dream +I smote resistless; foemen in my path +Fell unregarded, like the wayside flowers +Clipped by the truant's staff in daisied lanes. +For over me burned lustrous the dear eyes +Of my beloved; I strove as at a joust +To gain at end the guerdon of her smile. +And ever, as in the dense melee I dashed, +Her name burst from my lips, as lightning breaks +Out of the plunging wrack of summer storms. + +O my lost love! Bright o'er the waste of years - +That bliss and beauty shines upon my soul; +As far beyond yon desert hangs the sun, +Gilding with tender beam the barren stretch +Of sands that intervene. In this still light +The old sweet memories glimmer back to me, +Fair summers of my youth,--the idle days +I wandered in the bosky coverts hid +In the dim woods that girt my ancient home; +The blue young eyes I met and worshipped there; +The love that growing turned those gloomy wilds +To faery dells, and filled the vernal air +With light that bathed the hills of Paradise; +The warm, long days of rapturous summer-time, +When through the forests thick and lush we strayed, +And love made our own sunshine in the shades. +And all things fair and graceful in the woods +I loved with liberal heart; the violets +Were dear for her dear eyes, the quiring birds +That caught the musical tremble of her voice. +O happy twilights in the leafy glooms! +When in the glowing dusk the winsome arts +And maiden graces that all day had kept +Us twain and separate melted away +In blushing silence, and my love was mine +Utterly, utterly, with clinging arms +And quick, caressing fingers, warm red lips, +Where vows, half uttered, drowned in kisses, died; +Mine, with the starlight in her passionate eyes; +The wild wind of the woodland breathing low +To wake the elfin music of the leaves, +And free the prisoned odours of the flowers, +In honour of young Love come to his throne! +While we under the stars, with twining arms +And mutual lips insatiate, gave our souls - +Madly forgetting earth and heaven--to love! + + In desert march or battle flame, + In fortress and in field, + Our war-cry is thy holy name, + Thy love our joy and shield! + And if we falter, let thy power + Thy stern avenger be, + And God forget us in the hour + We cease to think of thee! + +Curse me not, God of Justice and of Love! +Pitiful God, let my long woe atone! + +I cannot deem but God has pitied me; +Else why with painful care have I been saved, +Whenever tossed and drenched in the fierce tide +Of Saladin's victories by the walls profaned +Of Jaffa, on the sands of far Daroum, +Or in the battle thundering on the downs +Of Ramlah, or the bloody day that shed +Red horrors on high Gaza's parapets? +For never a storm of fatal fight has raged +In Islam's track of rout and ruin swept +From Egypt to Gebail, but when the ebb +Of battle came I and my host have lain, +Scarred, scorched, safe somewhere on its fiery shore. +At Marcab's lingering siege, where day by day +We told the Moslem legions toiling slow, +Planting their engines, delving in their mines +To quench in our destruction this last light +Of Christendom, our fortress in the crags, +God's beacon swung defiant from the stars; +One thunderous night I knew their miners groped +Below, and thought ere morn to die, in crush +And tumult of the falling citadel. +And pondering of my fate--the broken storm +Sobbing its life away--I was aware +There grew between me and the quieting skies +A face and form I knew,--not as in dreams, +The sad dishevelled loveliness of earth, +But lighter than the thin air where she swayed, - +Gold hair flame-fluttered, eyes and mouth aglow +With lambent light of spiritual joy. +With sweet command she beckoned me away +And led me vaguely dreaming, till I saw +Where the wild flood in sudden fury had burst +A passage through the rocks: and thence I led +My host unharmed, following her luminous eyes, +Until the east was grey, and with a smile +Wooing me heavenward still she passed away +Into the rosy trouble of the dawn. + +And I believe my love is shrived in heaven, +And I believe that I shall soon be free. + +For ever, as I journey on, to me +Waking or sleeping come faint whisperings +And fancies not of earth, as if the gates +Of near eternity stood for me ajar, +And ghostly gales come blowing o'er my soul +Fraught with the amaranth odours of the skies. +I go to join the Lion-Heart at Acre, +And there, after due homage to my liege, +And after patient penance of the Church, +And after final devoir in the fight, +If that my God be gracious, I shall die. +And so I pray--Lord, pardon if I sin! - +That I may lose in death's embittered wave +The stain of sinful loving, and may find +In glory again the love I lost below, +With all of fair and bright and unattained, +Beautiful in the cherishing smile of God, +By the glad waters of the River of Life! + +Night hangs above the valley; dies the day +In peace, casting his last glance on my cross, +And warns me to my prayers. Ave Maria! + + Mother of God! the evening fades + On wave and hill and lea, + And in the twilight's deepening shades + We lift our souls to thee! + In passion's stress--the battle's strife, + The desert's lurking harms, + Maid-Mother of the Lord of Life + Protect thy men-at-arms! + + + +TRANSLATIONS. + + + +THE WAY TO HEAVEN. + FROM THE GERMAN. + + + +One day the Sultan, grand and grim, +Ordered the Mufti brought to him. +"Now let thy wisdom solve for me +The question I shall put to thee. + +"The different tribes beneath my sway +Four several sects of priests obey; +Now tell me which of all the four +Is on the path to Heaven's door." + +The Sultan spake, and then was dumb. +The Mufti looked about the room, +And straight made answer to his lord, +Fearing the bowstring at each word: + +"Thou, godlike in thy lofty birth, +Who art our Allah upon earth, +Illume me with thy favouring ray, +And I will answer as I may. + +"Here, where thou thronest in thy hall, +I see there are four doors in all; +And through all four thy slaves may gaze +Upon the brightness of thy face. + +"That I came hither safely through +Was to thy gracious message due, +And, blinded by thy splendour's flame, +I cannot tell the way I came." + + + +COUNTESS JUTTA. + FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE. + + + +The Countess Jutta passed over the Rhine +In a light canoe by the moon's pale shine. +The handmaid rows and the Countess speaks: +"Seest thou not there where the water breaks + Seven corpses swim + In the moonlight dim? +So sorrowful swim the dead! + +"They were seven knights full of fire and youth, +They sank on my heart and swore me truth. +I trusted them; but for Truth's sweet sake, +Lest they should be tempted their oaths to break, + I had them bound, + And tenderly drowned! +So sorrowful swim the dead!" + +The merry Countess laughed outright! +It rang so wild in the startled night! +Up to the waist the dead men rise +And stretch lean fingers to the skies. + They nod and stare + With a glassy glare! +So sorrowful swim the dead! + + + +A BLESSING. + AFTER HEINE. + + + +When I look on thee and feel how dear, + How pure, and how fair thou art, +Into my eyes there steals a tear, +And a shadow mingled of love and fear + Creeps slowly over my heart. + +And my very hands feel as if they would lay + Themselves on thy fair young head, +And pray the good God to keep thee alway +As good and lovely, as pure and gay, - + When I and my wild love are dead. + + + +TO THE YOUNG. + AFTER HEINE. + + + +Let your feet not falter, your course not alter + By golden apples, till victory's won! +The sword's sharp clangour, the dart's shrill anger, + Swerve not the hero thundering on. + +A bold beginning is half the winning, + An Alexander makes worlds his fee. +No long debating! The Queens are waiting + In his pavilion on beaded knee. + +Thus swift pursuing his wars and wooing, + He mounts old Darius' bed and throne. +O glorious ruin! O blithe undoing! + O drunk death-triumph in Babylon! + + + +THE GOLDEN CALF. + AFTER HEINE. + + + +Double flutes and horns resound +As they dance the idol round; +Jacob's daughters, madly reeling, + Whirl about the golden calf. + Hear them laugh! +Kettledrums and laughter pealing. + +Dresses tucked above their knees, +Maids of noblest families, +In the swift dance blindly wheeling, + Circle in their wild career + Round the steer, - +Kettledrums and laughter pealing. + +Aaron's self, the guardian grey +Of the faith, at last gives way, +Madness all his senses stealing; + Prances in his high priest's coat + Like a goat, - +Kettledrums and laughter pealing. + + + +THE AZRA. + AFTER HEINE. + + + +Daily walked the fair and lovely +Sultan's daughter in the twilight, - +In the twilight by the fountain, +Where the sparkling waters plash. + +Daily stood the young slave silent +In the twilight by the fountain, +Where the plashing waters sparkle, +Pale and paler every day. + +Once by twilight came the princess +Up to him with rapid questions: +"I would know thy name, thy nation, +Whence thou comest, who thou art." + +And the young slave said, "My name is +Mahomet, I come from Yemmen. +I am of the sons of Azra, +Men who perish if they love." + + + +GOOD AND BAD LUCK. + AFTER HEINE. + + + +Good luck is the gayest of all gay girls, + Long in one place she will not stay; +Back from your brow she strokes the curls, + Kisses you quick and flies away. + +But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes + And stays,--no fancy has she for flitting, - +Snatches of true love-songs she hums, + And sits by your bed, and brings her knitting. + + + +L'AMOUR DU MENSONGE. + AFTER CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. + + + +When I behold thee, O my indolent love, + To the sound of ringing brazen melodies, +Through garish halls harmoniously move, + Scattering a scornful light from languid eyes; + +When I see, smitten by the blazing lights, + Thy pale front, beauteous in its bloodless glow +As the faint fires that deck the Northern nights, + And eyes that draw me wheresoe'er I go; + +I say, She is fair, too coldly strange for speech; + A crown of memories, her calm brow above, +Shines; and her heart is like a bruised red peach, + Ripe as her body for intelligent love. + +Art thou late fruit of spicy savour and scent? + A funeral vase awaiting tearful showers? +An Eastern odour, waste and oasis blent? + A silken cushion or a bank of flowers? + +I know there are eyes of melancholy sheen + To which no passionate secrets e'er were given; +Shrines where no god or saint has ever been, + As deep and empty as the vault of Heaven. + +But what care I if this be all pretence? + 'Twill serve a heart that seeks for truth no more. +All one thy folly or indifference, - + Hail, lovely mask, thy beauty I adore! + + + +AMOR MYSTICUS. + FROM THE SPANISH OF SOR MARCELA DE CARPIO. + + + +Let them say to my Lover + That here I lie! +The thing of His pleasure, + His slave am I. + +Say that I seek Him + Only for love, +And welcome are tortures + My passion to prove. + +Love giving gifts + Is suspicious and cold; +I have all, my Beloved, + When Thee I hold. + +Hope and devotion + The good may gain; +I am but worthy + Of passion and pain. + +So noble a Lord + None serves in vain, +For the pay of my love + Is my love's sweet pain. + +I love Thee, to love Thee, - + No more I desire; +By faith is nourished + My love's strong fire. + +I kiss Thy hands + When I feel their blows; +In the place of caresses + Thou givest me woes. + +But in Thy chastising + Is joy and peace. +O Master and Love, + Let Thy blows not cease. + +Thy beauty, Beloved, + With scorn is rife, +But I know that Thou lovest me, + Better than life. + +And because thou lovest me, + Lover of mine, +Death can but make me + Utterly Thine. + +I die with longing + Thy face to see; +Oh! sweet is the anguish + Of death to me! + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PIKE COUNTY BALLADS ETC. *** + +This file should be named pkcb10.txt or pkcb10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, pkcb11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, pkcb10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/2004-07-pkcb10.zip b/old/2004-07-pkcb10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5965e70 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2004-07-pkcb10.zip diff --git a/old/2004-07-pkcb10h.htm b/old/2004-07-pkcb10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d16af47 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2004-07-pkcb10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2958 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Pike County Ballads and Other Poems</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Pike County Ballads and Other Poems, by John Hay</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pike County Ballads and Other Poems, by Hay +(#1 in our series by John Hay) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Pike County Ballads and Other Poems + +Author: John Hay + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6062] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 30, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>This etext was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>PIKE COUNTY BALLADS and other poems by John Hay.</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>CONTENTS.</p> +<p>INTRODUCTION by Henry Morley.</p> +<p>POEMS BY JOHN HAY.</p> +<p>THE PIKE COUNTY BALLADS.</p> +<p>JIM BLUDSO<br />LITTLE BREECHES<br />BANTY TIM<br />THE MYSTERY OF +GILGAL<br />GOLYER<br />THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT</p> +<p>WANDERLIEDER.</p> +<p>SUNRISE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE<br />THE SPHINX OF THE TUILERIES<br />THE +SURRENDER OF SPAIN<br />THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS<br />THE CURSE OF HUNGARY<br />THE +MONKS OF BASLE<br />THE ENCHANTED SHIRT<br />A WOMAN’S LOVE<br />ON +PITZ LANGUARD<br />BOUDOIR PROPHECIES<br />A TRIUMPH OF ORDER<br />ERNST +OF EDELSHEIM<br />MY CASTLE IN SPAIN<br />SISTER SAINT LUKE</p> +<p>NEW AND OLD.</p> +<p>MILES KEOGH’S HORSE<br />THE ADVANCE-GUARD<br />LOVE’S +PRAYER<br />CHRISTINE<br />EXPECTATION<br />TO FLORA<br />A HAUNTED +ROOM<br />DREAMS<br />THE LIGHT OF LOVE<br />QUAND MÊME<br />WORDS<br />THE +STIRRUP-CUP<br />A DREAM OF BRIC-A-BRAC<br />LIBERTY<br />THE WHITE +FLAG<br />THE LAW OF DEATH<br />MOUNT TABOR<br />RELIGION AND DOCTRINE<br />SINAI +AND CALVARY<br />THE VISION OF ST. PETER<br />ISRAEL<br />THE CROWS +AT WASHINGTON<br />REMORSE<br />ESSE QUAM VIDERI<br />WHEN THE BOYS +COME HOME<br />LÈSE-AMOUR<br />NORTHWARD<br />IN THE FIRELIGHT<br />IN +A GRAVEYARD<br />THE PRAIRIE<br />CENTENNIAL<br />A WINTER NIGHT<br />STUDENT-SONG<br />HOW +IT HAPPENED<br />GOD’S VENGEANCE<br />TOO LATE<br />LOVE’S +DOUBT<br />LAGRIMAS<br />ON THE BLUFF<br />UNA<br />“THROUGH THE +LONG DAYS AND YEARS”<br />A PHYLACTERY<br />BLONDINE<br />DISTICHES<br />REGARDANT<br />GUY +OF THE TEMPLE</p> +<p>TRANSLATIONS.</p> +<p>THE WAY TO HEAVEN<br />COUNTESS JUTTA<br />A BLESSING<br />TO THE +YOUNG<br />THE GOLDEN CALF<br />THE AZRA<br />GOOD AND BAD LUCK<br />L’AMOUR +DU MENSONGE<br />AMOR MYSTICUS</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Pike County Ballads and other poems in this volume by Colonel John +Hay represent in the best manner the spirit of our strong and independent +sister-land across the Atlantic. Pike County Ballads do full justice +to the raw material in the United States, and show a loyal temper in +the rough. The other pieces show how the love of freedom speaks +through finer spirits of the land, and, dealing with realities, can +turn a life of action into music.</p> +<p>Colonel Hay has lived always in vigorous relation with the full life +of the people whose best mind his poems represent. He is descended +from a Scottish soldier, a John Hay, who, at the beginning of the last +century, left his country to take service under the Elector-Palatine, +and whose son went afterwards with his family to settle among the Kentucky +pioneers. Dr. Charles Hay was the father of John Hay the poet, +who was born on the 8th of October 1838, in the heart of the United +States, at Salem in Indiana. When twenty years old he graduated +at the neighbouring Brown University, where his fellow-students valued +his skill as a writer. Then he studied for the Bar, and he was +called to the Bar three years later, at Springfield, Illinois.</p> +<p>At Springfield, Abraham Lincoln practised as a barrister. Shrewd, +lively, earnest, honest, he grudged help to a rogue. In a criminal +case, when evidence threw unexpected light upon a client’s character, +Abraham Lincoln said suddenly to his junior, “Swett, the man is +guilty; you defend him, I can’t.” In another case, +when a piece of rascality in his client came out, Abraham Lincoln left +his junior in possession of the case and went to his hotel. To +the judge, who sent for him, he replied that he had found his hands +were very dirty, and had gone away to get them clean. Almost immediately +after John Hay’s call to the Bar at Springfield he was chosen +by Abraham Lincoln, newly made President, to go with him to Washington. +At Washington, Hay acted as Assistant-Secretary, and was also, in the +Civil War, <i>aide-de-camp</i> to President Lincoln. Throughout +that momentous struggle he was actively employed on the side of the +North at the headquarters and on the field of battle. He served +for a time under Generals Hunter and Gillmore, became a Colonel in the +army of the North, and served also as Assistant Adjutant-General. +John Hay had in that struggle three brothers and two brothers-in-law +serving also in the field.</p> +<p>In 1890 there was published, in ten volumes, at New York, by the +New York Century Company, “Abraham Lincoln, a History: by John +G. Nicolay and John Hay.” This was, with fresh material +inserted, a collection of chapters that had been published in <i>The +Century Magazine</i> from November 1886 to the beginning of 1890. +The friends, who worked equally together upon this large record, said, +“We knew Mr. Lincoln intimately before his election to the Presidency. +We came from Illinois to Washington with him, and remained at his side +and in his service - separately or together - until the day of his death.”</p> +<p>Abroad, as at home, Colonel Hay has been active in the service of +his country. In 1865 he went to Paris as Secretary of Legation, +and after remaining two years in that office he went as <i>Chargé-d’Affaires</i> +for the United States to Vienna. After a year at Vienna, Colonel +Hay went to Madrid as Secretary of Legation under General Daniel Sickles. +In 1870 he returned to the United States, and was for the next five +years an editorial writer for the New York <i>Tribune</i>. During +seven months, when Whitelaw Reid was in Europe, Colonel Hay was editor +in chief.</p> +<p>It was for <i>The Tribune</i> that Hay wrote “The Pike County +Ballads,” which were first reprinted separately in 1871, and are +placed first in the collection of his poems. In the same year +he published his “Castilian Days,” inspired by residence +in Spain.</p> +<p>In 1876 Colonel Hay removed from New York to Cleveland, Ohio. +He then ceased to take part in the editing of <i>The Tribune</i>, but +continued friendly service as a writer. From 1879 to 1881 Colonel +Hay served under President Hayes as Assistant-Secretary of State in +the Government of the United States. In 1881 he was President +of the International Sanitary Congress at Washington. Since that +time he has been active, with John G. Nicolay, in the preparation and +production of the full Memoir of Abraham Lincoln, now completed, that +will take high rank among the records of a war which, in its issues, +touched the future of the world, perhaps, more nearly than any war since +Waterloo, not even excepting the great struggle which ended at Sedan.</p> +<p>That is the life of a man, here is its music.<br />H. M.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE PIKE COUNTY BALLADS.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>JIM BLUDSO, OF THE “PRAIRIE BELLE.”</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Wall, no! I can’t tell whar he lives,<br /> Becase +he don’t live, you see;<br />Leastways, he’s got out of +the habit<br /> Of livin’ like you and me.<br />Whar +have you been for the last three year<br /> That you haven’t +heard folks tell<br />How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks<br /> The +night of the <i>Prairie Belle?</i></p> +<p>He weren’t no saint, - them engineers<br /> Is all +pretty much alike, -<br />One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill,<br /> And +another one here, in Pike;<br />A keerless man in his talk was Jim,<br /> And +an awkward hand in a row,<br />But he never flunked, and he never lied, +-<br /> I reckon he never knowed how.</p> +<p>And this was all the religion he had, -<br /> To treat +his engine well;<br />Never be passed on the river;<br /> To +mind the pilot’s bell;<br />And if ever the <i>Prairie Belle</i> +took fire, -<br /> A thousand times he swore,<br />He’d +hold her nozzle agin the bank<br /> Till the last soul got +ashore.</p> +<p>All boats has their day on the Mississip,<br /> And her +day come at last, -<br />The <i>Movastar</i> was a better boat,<br /> But +the <i>Belle</i> she <i>wouldn’t</i> be passed.<br />And so she +come tearin’ along that night -<br /> The oldest craft +on the line -<br />With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,<br /> And +her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.</p> +<p>The fire bust out as she clared the bar,<br /> And burnt +a hole in the night,<br />And quick as a flash she turned, and made<br /> For +that willer-bank on the right.<br />There was runnin’ and cursin’, +but Jim yelled out,<br /> Over all the infernal roar,<br />“I’ll +hold her nozzle agin the bank<br /> Till the last galoot’s +ashore.”</p> +<p>Through the hot, black breath of the burnin’ boat<br /> Jim +Bludso’s voice was heard,<br />And they all had trust in his cussedness,<br /> And +knowed he would keep his word.<br />And, sure’s you’re born, +they all got off<br /> Afore the smokestacks fell, -<br />And +Bludso’s ghost went up alone<br /> In the smoke of +the <i>Prairie Belle.</i></p> +<p>He weren’t no saint, - but at jedgment<br /> I’d +run my chance with Jim,<br />’Longside of some pious gentlemen<br /> That +wouldn’t shook hands with him.<br />He seen his duty, a dead-sure +thing, -<br /> And went for it thar and then;<br />And Christ +ain’t a-going to be too hard<br /> On a man that died +for men.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LITTLE BREECHES.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I don’t go much on religion,<br /> I never ain’t +had no show;<br />But I’ve got a middlin’ tight grip, sir,<br /> On +the handful o’ things I know.<br />I don’t pan out on the +prophets<br /> And free-will, and that sort of thing, -<br />But +I b’lieve in God and the angels,<br /> Ever sence one +night last spring.</p> +<p>I come into town with some turnips,<br /> And my little +Gabe come along, -<br />No four-year-old in the county<br /> Could +beat him for pretty and strong,<br />Peart and chipper and sassy,<br /> Always +ready to swear and fight, -<br />And I’d larnt him to chaw terbacker<br /> Jest +to keep his milk-teeth white.</p> +<p>The snow come down like a blanket<br /> As I passed by +Taggart’s store;<br />I went in for a jug of molasses<br /> And +left the team at the door.<br />They scared at something and started, +-<br /> I heard one little squall,<br />And hell-to-split +over the prairie<br /> Went team, Little Breeches and all.</p> +<p>Hell-to-split over the prairie!<br /> I was almost froze +with skeer;<br />But we rousted up some torches,<br /> And +searched for ’em far and near.<br />At last we struck hosses and +wagon,<br /> Snowed under a soft white mound,<br />Upsot, +dead beat, - but of little Gabe<br /> No hide nor hair was +found.</p> +<p>And here all hope soured on me,<br /> Of my fellow-critters’ +aid, -<br />I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones,<br /> Crotch-deep +in the snow, and prayed.</p> +<p> . . + . .</p> +<p>By this, the torches was played out,<br /> And me and +Isrul Parr<br />Went off for some wood to a sheepfold<br /> That +he said was somewhar thar.</p> +<p>We found it at last, and a little shed<br /> Where they +shut up the lambs at night.<br />We looked in and seen them huddled +thar,<br /> So warm and sleepy and white;<br />And thar sot +Little Breeches and chirped,<br /> As peart as ever you see,<br />“I +want a chaw of terbacker,<br /> And that’s what’s +the matter of me.”</p> +<p>How did he git thar? Angels.<br /> He could never +have walked in that storm;<br />They jest scooped down and toted him<br /> To +whar it was safe and warm.<br />And I think that saving a little child,<br /> And +fotching him to his own,<br />Is a derned sight better business<br /> Than +loafing around The Throne.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>BANTY TIM.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>REMARKS OF SERGEANT TILMON JOY TO THE WHITE MAN’S COMMITTEE +OF SPUNKY POINT, ILLINOIS.</i></p> +<p>I reckon I git your drift, gents, -<br /> You ’low +the boy sha’n’t stay;<br />This is a white man’s country;<br /> You’re +Dimocrats, you say;<br />And whereas, and seein’, and wherefore,<br /> The +times bein’ all out o’ j’int,<br />The nigger has +got to mosey<br /> From the limits o’ Spunky P’int!</p> +<p>Le’s reason the thing a minute:<br /> I’m +an old-fashioned Dimocrat too,<br />Though I laid my politics out o’ +the way<br /> For to keep till the war was through.<br />But +I come back here, allowin’<br /> To vote as I used +to do,<br />Though it gravels me like the devil to train<br /> Along +o’ sich fools as you.</p> +<p>Now dog my cats ef I kin see,<br /> In all the light of +the day,<br />What you’ve got to do with the question<br /> Ef +Tim shill go or stay.<br />And furder than that I give notice,<br /> Ef +one of you tetches the boy,<br />He kin check his trunks to a warmer +clime<br /> Than he’ll find in Illanoy.</p> +<p>Why, blame your hearts, jest hear me!<br /> You know that +ungodly day<br />When our left struck Vicksburg Heights, how ripped<br /> And +torn and tattered we lay.<br />When the rest retreated I stayed behind,<br /> Fur +reasons sufficient to me, -<br />With a rib caved in, and a leg on a +strike,<br /> I sprawled on that cursed glacee.</p> +<p>Lord! how the hot sun went for us,<br /> And br’iled +and blistered and burned!<br />How the Rebel bullets whizzed round us<br /> When +a cuss in his death-grip turned!<br />Till along toward dusk I seen +a thing<br /> I couldn’t believe for a spell:<br />That +nigger - that Tim - was a crawlin’ to me<br /> Through +that fire-proof, gilt-edged hell!</p> +<p>The Rebels seen him as quick as me,<br /> And the bullets +buzzed like bees;<br />But he jumped for me, and shouldered me,<br /> Though +a shot brought him once to his knees;<br />But he staggered up, and +packed me off,<br /> With a dozen stumbles and falls,<br />Till +safe in our lines he drapped us both,<br /> His black hide +riddled with balls.</p> +<p>So, my gentle gazelles, thar’s my answer,<br /> And +here stays Banty Tim:<br />He trumped Death’s ace for me that +day,<br /> And I’m not goin’ back on him!<br />You +may rezoloot till the cows come home,<br /> But ef one of +you tetches the boy,<br />He’ll wrastle his hash to-night in hell,<br /> Or +my name’s not Tilmon Joy!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE MYSTERY OF GILGAL.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The darkest, strangest mystery<br />I ever read, or heern, or see,<br />Is +’long of a drink at Taggart’s Hall, -<br /> Tom +Taggart’s of Gilgal.</p> +<p>I’ve heern the tale a thousand ways,<br />But never could git +through the maze<br />That hangs around that queer day’s doin’s;<br /> But +I’ll tell the yarn to youans.</p> +<p>Tom Taggart stood behind his bar,<br />The time was fall, the skies +was fa’r,<br />The neighbours round the counter drawed,<br /> And +ca’mly drinked and jawed.</p> +<p>At last come Colonel Blood of Pike,<br />And old Jedge Phinn, permiscus-like,<br />And +each, as he meandered in,<br /> Remarked, “A whisky-skin.”</p> +<p>Tom mixed the beverage full and fa’r,<br />And slammed it, +smoking, on the bar.<br />Some says three fingers, some says two, -<br /> I’ll +leave the choice to you.</p> +<p>Phinn to the drink put forth his hand;<br />Blood drawed his knife, +with accent bland,<br />“I ax yer parding, Mister Phinn -<br /> Jest +drap that whisky-skin.”</p> +<p>No man high-toneder could be found<br />Than old Jedge Phinn the +country round.<br />Says he, “Young man, the tribe of Phinns<br /> Knows +their own whisky-skins!”</p> +<p>He went for his ’leven-inch bowie-knife: -<br />“I tries +to foller a Christian life;<br />But I’ll drap a slice of liver +or two,<br /> My bloomin’ shrub, with you.”</p> +<p>They carved in a way that all admired,<br />Tell Blood drawed iron +at last, and fired.<br />It took Seth Bludso ’twixt the eyes,<br /> Which +caused him great surprise.</p> +<p>Then coats went off, and all went in;<br />Shots and bad language +swelled the din;<br />The short, sharp bark of Derringers,<br /> Like +bull-pups, cheered the furse.</p> +<p>They piled the stiffs outside the door;<br />They made, I reckon, +a cord or more.<br />Girls went that winter, as a rule,<br /> Alone +to spellin’-school.</p> +<p>I’ve searched in vain, from Dan to Beer-<br />Sheba, to make +this mystery clear;<br />But I end with <i>hit</i> as I did begin, -<br /> “WHO +GOT THE WHISKY-SKIN?”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>GOLYER.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Ef the way a man lights out of this world<br /> Helps +fix his heft for the other sp’ere,<br />I reckon my old friend +Golyer’s Ben<br />Will lay over lots of likelier men<br /> For +one thing he done down here.</p> +<p>You didn’t know Ben? He driv a stage<br /> On +the line they called the Old Sou’-west;<br />He wa’n’t +the best man that ever you seen,<br />And he wa’n’t so ungodly +pizen mean, -<br /> No better nor worse than the rest.</p> +<p>He was hard on women and rough on his friends;<br /> And +he didn’t have many, I’ll let you know;<br />He hated a +dog and disgusted a cat,<br />But he’d run off his legs for a +motherless brat,<br /> And I guess there’s many jess +so.</p> +<p>I’ve seed my sheer of the run of things,<br /> I’ve +hoofed it a many and many a miled,<br />But I never seed nothing that +could or can<br />Jest git all the good from the heart of a man<br /> Like +the hands of a little child.</p> +<p>Well! this young one I started to tell you about, -<br /> His +folks was all dead, I was fetchin’ him through, -<br />He was +just at the age that’s loudest for boys,<br />And he blowed such +a horn with his sarchin’ small voice,<br /> We called +him “the Little Boy Blue.”</p> +<p>He ketched a sight of Ben on the box,<br /> And you bet +he bawled and kicked and howled,<br />For to git ’long of Ben, +and ride thar too;<br />I tried to tell him it wouldn’t do,<br /> When +suddingly Golyer growled,</p> +<p>“What’s the use of making the young one cry?<br /> Say, +what’s the use of being a fool?<br />Sling the little one up here +whar he can see,<br />He won’t git the snuffles a-ridin’ +with me,<br /> The night ain’t any too cool.”</p> +<p>The child hushed cryin’ the minute he spoke;<br /> “Come +up here, Major! don’t let him slip.”<br />And jest as nice +as a woman could do,<br />He wropped his blanket around them two,<br /> And +was off in the crack of a whip.</p> +<p>We rattled along an hour or so,<br /> Till we heerd a +yell on the still night air.<br />Did you ever hear an Apache yell?<br />Well, +ye needn’t want to, <i>this</i> side of hell;<br /> There’s +nothing more devilish there.</p> +<p>Caught in the shower of lead and flint,<br /> We felt +the old stage stagger and plunge;<br />Then we heerd the voice and the +whip of Ben,<br />As he gethered his critters up again,<br /> And +tore away with a lunge.</p> +<p>The passengers laughed. “Old Ben’s all right,<br /> He’s +druv five year and never was struck.”<br />“Now if <i>I</i>’d +been thar, as sure as you live,<br />They’d ’a’ plugged +me with holes as thick as a sieve;<br /> It’s the reg’lar +Golyer luck.”</p> +<p>Over hill and holler and ford and creek,<br /> Jest like +the hosses had wings, we tore;<br />We got to Looney’s, and Ben +come in<br />And laid down the baby and axed for his gin,<br /> And +dropped in a heap on the floor.</p> +<p>Said he, “When they fired, I kivered the kid, -<br /> Although +I ain’t pretty, I’m middlin’ broad;<br />And look! +he ain’t fazed by arrow nor ball, -<br />Thank God! my own carcase +stopped them all.”<br />Then we seen his eye glaze, and his lower +jaw fall, -<br /> And he carried his thanks to God.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>A TALE OF EARNEST EFFORT AND HUMAN PERFIDY.</i></p> +<p>It’s all very well for preachin’,<br /> But +preachin’ and practice don’t gee:<br />I’ve give the +thing a fair trial,<br /> And you can’t ring it in +on me.<br />So toddle along with your pledge, Squire,<br /> Ef +that’s what you want me to sign;<br />Betwixt me and you, I’ve +been thar,<br /> And I’ll not take any in mine.</p> +<p>A year ago last Fo’th July<br /> A lot of the boys +was here.<br />We all got corned and signed the pledge<br /> For +to drink no more that year.<br />There was Tilmon Joy and Sheriff McPhail<br /> And +me and Abner Fry,<br />And Shelby’s boy Leviticus,<br /> And +the Golyers, Luke and Cy.</p> +<p>And we anteed up a hundred<br /> In the hands of Deacon +Kedge<br />For to be divided the follerin’ Fo’th<br /> ’Mongst +the boys that kep’ the pledge.<br />And we knowed each other so +well, Squire,<br /> You may take my scalp for a fool,<br />Ef +every man when he signed his name<br /> Didn’t feel +cock-sure of the pool.</p> +<p>Fur a while it all went lovely;<br /> We put up a job +next day<br />Fur to make Joy b’lieve his wife was dead,<br /> And +he went home middlin’ gay;<br />Then Abner Fry he killed a man<br /> And +afore he was hung McPhail<br />Jest bilked the widder outen her sheer<br /> By +getting him slewed in jail.</p> +<p>But Chris’mas scooped the Sheriff,<br /> The egg-nogs +gethered him in;<br />And Shelby’s boy Leviticus<br /> Was, +New Year’s, tight as sin;<br />And along in March the Golyers<br /> Got +so drunk that a fresh-biled owl<br />Would ’a’ looked ’longside +o’ them two young men,<br /> Like a sober temperance +fowl.</p> +<p>Four months alone I walked the chalk,<br /> I thought +my heart would break;<br />And all them boys a-slappin my back<br /> And +axin’, “What’ll you take?”<br />I never slep’ +without dreamin’ dreams<br /> Of Burbin, Peach, or +Rye,<br />But I chawed at my niggerhead and swore<br /> I’d +rake that pool or die.</p> +<p>At last - the Fo’th - I humped myself<br /> Through +chores and breakfast soon,<br />Then scooted down to Taggart’s +store -<br /> For the pledge was off at noon;<br />And all +the boys was gethered thar,<br /> And each man hilt his glass +-<br />Watchin’ me and the clock quite solemn-like<br /> Fur +to see the last minute pass.</p> +<p>The clock struck twelve! I raised the jug<br /> And +took one lovin’ pull -<br />I was holler clar from skull to boots.<br /> It +seemed I couldn’t git full.<br />But I was roused by a fiendish +laugh<br /> That might have raised the dead -<br />Them ornary +sneaks had sot the clock<br /> A half an hour ahead!</p> +<p>“All right!” I squawked. “You’ve got +me,<br /> Jest order your drinks agin,<br />And we’ll +paddle up to the Deacon’s<br /> And scoop the ante +in.”<br />But when we got to Kedge’s,<br /> What +a sight was that we saw!<br />The Deacon and Parson Skeeters<br /> In +the tail of a game of Draw.</p> +<p>They had shook ’em the heft of the mornin’,<br /> The +Parson’s luck was fa’r,<br />And he raked, the minute we +got thar,<br /> The last of our pool on a pa’r.<br />So +toddle along with your pledge, Squire,<br /> I ’low +it’s all very fine,<br />But ez fur myself, I thank ye,<br /> I’ll +not take any in mine.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>WANDERLIEDER.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>SUNRISE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.<br /><i>(PARIS, AUGUST 1865.)</i></h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I stand at the break of day<br />In the Champs Elysées.<br />The +tremulous shafts of dawning,<br />As they shoot o’er the Tuileries +early,<br />Strike Luxor’s cold grey spire,<br />And wild in the +light of the morning<br />With their marble manes on fire,<br />Ramp +the white Horses of Marly.</p> +<p>But the Place of Concord lies<br />Dead hushed ’neath the ashy +skies.<br />And the Cities sit in council<br />With sleep in their wide +stone eyes.<br />I see the mystic plain<br />Where the army of spectres +slain<br />In the Emperor’s life-long war<br />March on with unsounding +tread<br />To trumpets whose voice is dead.<br />Their spectral chief +still leads them, -<br />The ghostly flash of his sword<br />Like a +comet through mist shines far, -<br />And the noiseless host is poured,<br />For +the gendarme never heeds them,<br />Up the long dim road where thundered<br />The +army of Italy onward<br />Through the great pale Arch of the Star!</p> +<p>The spectre army fades<br />Far up the glimmering hill,<br />But, +vaguely lingering still,<br />A group of shuddering shades<br />Infects +the pallid air,<br />Growing dimmer as day invades<br />The hush of +the dusky square.<br />There is one that seems a King,<br />As if the +ghost of a Crown<br />Still shadowed his jail-bleached hair;<br />I +can hear the guillotine ring,<br />As its regicide note rang there,<br />When +he laid his tired life down<br />And grew brave in his last despair.<br />And +a woman frail and fair<br />Who weeps at leaving a world<br />Of love +and revel and sin<br />In the vast Unknown to be hurled;<br />(For life +was wicked and sweet<br />With kings at her small white feet!)<br />And +one, every inch a Queen,<br />In life and in death a Queen,<br />Whose +blood baptized the place,<br />In the days of madness and fear, -<br />Her +shade has never a peer<br />In majesty and grace.</p> +<p>Murdered and murderers swarm;<br />Slayers that slew and were slain,<br />Till +the drenched place smoked with the rain<br />That poured in a torrent +warm, -<br />Till red as the Riders of Edom<br />Were splashed the white +garments of Freedom<br />With the wash of the horrible storm!</p> +<p>And Liberty’s hands were not clean<br />In the day of her pride +unchained,<br />Her royal hands were stained<br />With the life of a +King and Queen;<br />And darker than that with the blood<br />Of the +nameless brave and good<br />Whose blood in witness clings<br />More +damning than Queens’ and Kings’.</p> +<p>Has she not paid it dearly?<br />Chained, watching her chosen nation<br />Grinding +late and early<br />In the mills of usurpation?<br />Have not her holy +tears,<br />Flowing through shameful years,<br />Washed the stains from +her tortured hands?<br />We thought so when God’s fresh breeze,<br />Blowing +over the sleeping lands,<br />In ’Forty-Eight waked the world,<br />And +the Burgher-King was hurled<br />From that palace behind the trees.</p> +<p>As Freedom with eyes aglow<br />Smiled glad through her childbirth +pain,<br />How was the mother to know<br />That her woe and travail +were vain?<br />A smirking servant smiled<br />When she gave him her +child to keep;<br />Did she know he would strangle the child<br />As +it lay in his arms asleep?</p> +<p>Liberty’s cruellest shame!<br />She is stunned and speechless +yet,<br />In her grief and bloody sweat<br />Shall we make her trust +her blame?<br />The treasure of ’Forty-Eight<br />A lurking jail-bird +stole,<br />She can but watch and wait<br />As the swift sure seasons +roll.</p> +<p>And when in God’s good hour<br />Comes the time of the brave +and true,<br />Freedom again shall rise<br />With a blaze in her awful +eyes<br />That shall wither this robber-power<br />As the sun now dries +the dew.<br />This Place shall roar with the voice<br />Of the glad +triumphant people,<br />And the heavens be gay with the chimes<br />Ringing +with jubilant noise<br />From every clamorous steeple<br />The coming +of better times.<br />And the dawn of Freedom waking<br />Shall fling +its splendours far<br />Like the day which now is breaking<br />On the +great pale Arch of the Star,<br />And back o’er the town shall +fly,<br />While the joy-bells wild are ringing,<br />To crown the Glory +springing<br />From the Column of July!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE SPHINX OF THE TUILERIES.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Out of the Latin Quarter<br /> I came to the lofty door<br />Where +the two marble Sphinxes guard<br /> The Pavillon de Flore.<br />Two +Cockneys stood by the gate, and one<br /> Observed, as they +turned to go,<br />“No wonder He likes that sort of thing, -<br /> He’s +a Sphinx himself, you know.”</p> +<p>I thought as I walked where the garden glowed<br /> In +the sunset’s level fire,<br />Of the Charlatan whom the Frenchmen +loathe<br /> And the Cockneys all admire.<br />They call +him a Sphinx, - it pleases him, -<br /> And if we narrowly +read,<br />We will find some truth in the flunkey’s praise, -<br /> The +man is a Sphinx indeed.</p> +<p>For the Sphinx with breast of woman<br /> And face so +debonair<br />Had the sleek false paws of a lion,<br /> That +could furtively seize and tear.<br />So far to the shoulders, - but +if you took<br /> The Beast in reverse you would find<br />The +ignoble form of a craven cur<br /> Was all that lay behind.</p> +<p>She lived by giving to simple folk<br /> A silly riddle +to read,<br />And when they failed she drank their blood<br /> In +cruel and ravenous greed.<br />But at last came one who knew her word,<br /> And +she perished in pain and shame, -<br />This bastard Sphinx leads the +same base life<br /> And his end will be the same.</p> +<p>For an Œdipus-People is coming fast<br /> With swelled +feet limping on,<br />If they shout his true name once aloud<br /> His +false foul power is gone.<br />Afraid to fight and afraid to fly,<br /> He +cowers in an abject shiver;<br />The people will come to their own at +last, -<br /> God is not mocked for ever.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE SURRENDER OF SPAIN.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I.<br />Land of unconquered Pelayo! land of the Cid Campeador!<br />Sea-girdled +mother of men! Spain, name of glory and power;<br />Cradle of world-grasping +Emperors, grave of the reckless invader,<br />How art thou fallen, my +Spain! how art thou sunk at this hour!</p> +<p>II.<br />Once thy magnanimous sons trod, victors, the portals of +Asia,<br />Once the Pacific waves rushed, joyful thy banners to see;<br />For +it was Trajan that carried the battle-flushed eagles to Dacia,<br />Cortés +that planted thy flag fast by the uttermost sea.</p> +<p>III.<br />Hast thou forgotten those days illumined with glory and +honour,<br />When the far isles of the sea thrilled to the tread of +Castile?<br />When every land under Heaven was flecked by the shade +of thy banner, -<br />When every beam of the sun flashed on thy conquering +steel?</p> +<p>IV.<br />Then through red fields of slaughter, through death and +defeat and disaster,<br />Still flared thy banner aloft, tattered, but +free from a stain, -<br />Now to the upstart Savoyard thou bendest to +beg for a master!<br />How the red flush of her shame mars the proud +beauty of Spain!</p> +<p>V.<br />Has the red blood run cold that boiled by the Xenil and Darro?<br />Are +the high deeds of the sires sung to the children no more?<br />On the +dun hills of the North hast thou heard of no plough-boy Pizarro?<br />Roams +no young swine-herd Cortés hid by the Tagus’ wild shore?</p> +<p>VI.<br />Once again does Hispania bend low to the yoke of the stranger!<br />Once +again will she rise, flinging her gyves in the sea!<br />Princeling +of Piedmont! unwitting thou weddest with doubt and with danger,<br />King +over men who have learned all that it costs to be free.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Not done, but near its ending,<br /> Is the work that +our eyes desired;<br />Not yet fulfilled, but near the goal,<br /> Is +the hope that our worn hearts fired.<br />And on the Alban Mountains,<br /> Where +the blushes of dawn increase,<br />We see the flash of the beautiful +feet<br /> Of Freedom and of Peace!</p> +<p>How long were our fond dreams baffled! -<br /> Novara’s +sad mischance,<br />The Kaiser’s sword and fetter-lock,<br /> And +the traitor stab of France;<br />Till at last came glorious Venice,<br /> In +storm and tempest home;<br />And now God maddens the greedy kings,<br /> And +gives to her people Rome.</p> +<p>Lame Lion of Caprera!<br /> Red-shirts of the lost campaigns!<br />Not +idly shed was the costly blood<br /> You poured from generous +veins.<br />For the shame of Aspromonte,<br /> And the stain +of Mentana’s sod,<br />But forged the curse of kings that sprang<br /> From +your breaking hearts to God!</p> +<p>We lift our souls to Thee, O Lord<br /> Of Liberty and +of Light!<br />Let not earth’s kings pollute the work<br /> That +was done in their despite;<br />Let not Thy light be darkened<br /> In +the shade of a sordid crown,<br />Nor pampered swine devour the fruit<br /> Thou +shook’st with an earthquake down!</p> +<p>Let the People come to their birthright,<br /> And crosier +and crown pass away<br />Like phantasms that flit o’er the marshes<br /> At +the glance of the clean, white day.<br />And then from the lava of Ætna<br /> To +the ice of the Alps let there be<br />One freedom, one faith without +fetters,<br /> One republic in Italy free!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE CURSE OF HUNGARY.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>King Saloman looked from his donjon bars,<br /> Where +the Danube clamours through sedge and sand,<br /> And he +cursed with a curse his revolting land, -<br />With a king’s deep +curse of treason and wars.</p> +<p>He said: “May this false land know no truth!<br /> May +the good hearts die and the bad ones flourish,<br /> And +a greed of glory but live to nourish<br />Envy and hate in its restless +youth.</p> +<p>“In the barren soil may the ploughshare rust,<br /> While +the sword grows bright with its fatal labour,<br /> And blackens +between each man and neighbour<br />The perilous cloud of a vague distrust!</p> +<p>“Be the noble idle, the peasant in thrall,<br /> And +each to the other as unknown things,<br /> That with links +of hatred and pride the kings<br />May forge firm fetters through each +for all!</p> +<p>“May a king wrong them as they wronged their king<br /> May +he wring their hearts as they wrung mine,<br /> Till they +pour their blood for his revels like wine,<br />And to women and monks +their birthright fling!”</p> +<p>The mad king died; but the rushing river<br /> Still brawls +by the spot where his donjon stands,<br /> And its swift +waves sigh to the conscious sands<br />That the curse of King Saloman +works for ever.</p> +<p>For flowing by Pressbourg they heard the cheers<br /> Ring +out from the leal and cheated hearts<br /> That were caught +and chained by Theresa’s arts, -<br />A man’s cool head +and a girl’s hot tears!</p> +<p>And a star, scarce risen, they saw decline,<br /> Where +Orsova’s hills looked coldly down,<br /> As Kossuth +buried the Iron Crown<br />And fled in the dark to the Turkish line.</p> +<p>And latest they saw in the summer glare<br /> The Magyar +nobles in pomp arrayed,<br /> To shout as they saw, with +his unfleshed blade,<br />A Hapsburg beating the harmless air.</p> +<p>But ever the same sad play they saw,<br /> The same weak +worship of sword and crown,<br /> The noble crushing the +humble down,<br />And moulding Wrong to a monstrous Law.</p> +<p>The donjon stands by the turbid river,<br /> But Time +is crumbling its battered towers;<br /> And the slow light +withers a despot’s powers,<br />And a mad king’s curse is +not for ever!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE MONKS OF BASLE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I tore this weed from the rank, dark soil<br /> Where +it grew in the monkish time,<br />I trimmed it close and set it again<br /> In +a border of modern rhyme.</p> +<p>I.<br />Long years ago, when the Devil was loose<br /> And +faith was sorely tried,<br />Three monks of Basle went out to walk<br /> In +the quiet eventide.</p> +<p>A breeze as pure as the breath of Heaven<br /> Blew fresh +through the cloister-shades,<br />A sky as glad as the smile of Heaven<br /> Blushed +rose o’er the minster-glades.</p> +<p>But scorning the lures of summer and sense,<br /> The +monks passed on in their walk;<br />Their eyes were abased, their senses +slept,<br /> Their souls were in their talk.</p> +<p>In the tough grim talk of the monkish days<br /> They +hammered and slashed about, -<br />Dry husks of logic, - old scraps +of creed, -<br /> And the cold gray dreams of doubt, -</p> +<p>And whether Just or Justified<br /> Was the Church’s +mystic Head, -<br />And whether the Bread was changed to God,<br /> Or +God became the Bread.</p> +<p>But of human hearts outside their walls<br /> They never +paused to dream,<br />And they never thought of the love of God<br /> That +smiled in the twilight gleam.</p> +<p>II.<br />As these three monks went bickering on<br /> By +the foot of a spreading tree,<br />Out from its heart of verdurous gloom<br /> A +song burst wild and free, -</p> +<p>A wordless carol of life and love,<br /> Of nature free +and wild;<br />And the three monks paused in the evening shade,<br /> Looked +up at each other and smiled.</p> +<p>And tender and gay the bird sang on,<br /> And cooed and +whistled and trilled,<br />And the wasteful wealth of life and love<br /> From +his happy heart was spilled.</p> +<p>The song had power on the grim old monks<br /> In the +light of the rosy skies;<br />And as they listened the years rolled +back,<br /> And tears came into their eyes.</p> +<p>The years rolled back and they were young,<br /> With +the hearts and hopes of men,<br />They plucked the daisies and kissed +the girls<br /> Of dear dead summers again.</p> +<p>III.<br />But the eldest monk soon broke the spell;<br /> “’Tis +sin and shame,” quoth he,<br />“To be turned from talk of +holy things<br /> By a bird’s cry from a tree.</p> +<p>“Perchance the Enemy of Souls<br /> Hath come to +tempt us so.<br />Let us try by the power of the Awful Word<br /> If +it be he, or no!”</p> +<p>To Heaven the three monks raised their hands;<br /> “We +charge thee, speak!” they said,<br />“By His dread Name +who shall one day come<br /> To judge the quick and the dead, +-</p> +<p>“Who art thou? Speak!” The bird laughed loud.<br /> “I +am the Devil,” he said.<br />The monks on their faces fell, the +bird<br /> Away through the twilight sped.</p> +<p>A horror fell on those holy men<br /> (The faithful legends +say),<br />And one by one from the face of the earth<br /> They +pined and vanished away.</p> +<p>IV.<br />So goes the tale of the monkish books,<br /> The +moral who runs may read, -<br />He has no ears for Nature’s voice<br /> Whose +soul is the slave of creed.</p> +<p>Not all in vain with beauty and love<br /> Has God the +world adorned;<br />And he who Nature scorns and mocks,<br /> By +Nature is mocked and scorned.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE ENCHANTED SHIRT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Fytte the First: <i>wherein it shall be shown how the Truth is too +mighty a Drug for such as be of feeble temper.</i></p> +<p>The King was sick. His cheek was red<br /> And his eye +was clear and bright;<br />He ate and drank with a kingly zest,<br /> And +peacefully snored at night.</p> +<p>But he said he was sick, and a king should know,<br /> And +doctors came by the score.<br />They did not cure him. He cut +off their heads<br /> And sent to the schools for more.</p> +<p>At last two famous doctors came,<br /> And one was as +poor as a rat, -<br />He had passed his life in studious toil,<br /> And +never found time to grow fat.</p> +<p>The other had never looked in a book;<br /> His patients +gave him no trouble -<br />If they recovered they paid him well,<br /> If +they died their heirs paid double.</p> +<p>Together they looked at the royal tongue,<br /> As the +King on his couch reclined;<br />In succession they thumped his august +chest,<br /> But no trace of disease could find.</p> +<p>The old sage said, “You’re as sound as a nut.”<br /> “Hang +him up!” roared the King in a gale, -<br />In a ten-knot gale +of royal rage;<br /> The other leech grew a shade pale;</p> +<p>But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose,<br /> And +thus his prescription ran, -<br /><i>The King will be well, if he sleeps +one night<br /> In the Shirt of a Happy Man.</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Fytte the Second: <i>tells of the search for the Shirt, and how it +was nigh found, but was not, for reasons which are said or sung.</i></p> +<p>Wide o’er the realm the couriers rode,<br /> And +fast their horses ran,<br />And many they saw, and to many they spoke,<br /> But +they found no Happy Man.</p> +<p>They found poor men who would fain be rich<br /> And rich +who thought they were poor;<br />And men who twisted their waists in +stays,<br /> And women that shorthose wore.</p> +<p>They saw two men by the roadside sit,<br /> And both bemoaned +their lot;<br />For one had buried his wife, he said,<br /> And +the other one had not.</p> +<p>At last they came to a village gate,<br /> A beggar lay +whistling there;<br />He whistled and sang and laughed and rolled<br /> On +the grass in the soft June air.</p> +<p>The weary couriers paused and looked<br /> At the scamp +so blithe and gay;<br />And one of them said, “Heaven save you, +friend!<br /> You seem to be happy to-day.”</p> +<p>“O yes, fair sirs!” the rascal laughed,<br /> And +his voice rang free and glad,<br />“An idle man has so much to +do<br /> That he never has time to be sad.”</p> +<p>“This is our man,” the courier said<br /> “Our +luck has led us aright.<br />I will give you a hundred ducats, friend,<br /> For +the loan of your shirt to-night.”</p> +<p>The merry blackguard lay back on the grass,<br /> And +laughed till his face was black;<br />“I would do it, God wot,” +and he roared with the fun,<br /> “But I haven’t +a shirt to my back.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Fytte the Third: <i>shewing how His Majesty the King came at last +to sleep in a Happy Man his Shirt.</i></p> +<p>Each day to the King the reports came in<br /> Of his +unsuccessful spies,<br />And the sad panorama of human woes<br /> Passed +daily under his eyes.</p> +<p>And he grew ashamed of his useless life,<br /> And his +maladies hatched in gloom;<br />He opened his windows and let the air<br /> Of +the free heaven into his room.</p> +<p>And out he went in the world and toiled<br /> In his own +appointed way;<br />And the people blessed him, the land was glad,<br /> And +the King was well and gay.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A WOMAN’S LOVE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A sentinel angel sitting high in glory<br />Heard this shrill wail +ring out from Purgatory:<br />“Have mercy, mighty angel, hear +my story!</p> +<p>“I loved, - and, blind with passionate love, I fell.<br />Love +brought me down to death, and death to Hell.<br />For God is just, and +death for sin is well.</p> +<p>“I do not rage against His high decree,<br />Nor for myself +do ask that grace shall be;<br />But for my love on earth who mourns +for me.</p> +<p>“Great Spirit! let me see my love again<br />And comfort him +one hour, and I were fain<br />To pay a thousand years of fire and pain.”</p> +<p>Then said the pitying angel, “Nay, repent<br />That wild vow! +Look, the dial-finger’s bent<br />Down to the last hour of thy +punishment!”</p> +<p>But still she wailed, “I pray thee, let me go!<br />I cannot +rise to peace and leave him so.<br />Oh, let me soothe him in his bitter +woe!”</p> +<p>The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar,<br />And upward, joyous, like +a rising star,<br />She rose and vanished in the ether far.</p> +<p>But soon adown the dying sunset sailing,<br />And like a wounded +bird her pinions trailing,<br />She fluttered back, with broken-hearted +wailing.</p> +<p>She sobbed, “I found him by the summer sea<br />Reclined, his +head upon a maiden’s knee, -<br />She curled his hair and kissed +him. Woe is me!”</p> +<p>She wept, “Now let my punishment begin!<br />I have been fond +and foolish. Let me in<br />To expiate my sorrow and my sin.”</p> +<p>The angel answered, “Nay, sad soul, go higher!<br />To be deceived +in your true heart’s desire<br />Was bitterer than a thousand +years of fire!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>ON PITZ LANGUARD.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I stood on the top of Pitz Languard,<br /> And heard three +voices whispering low,<br />Where the Alpine birds in their circling +ward<br /> Made swift dark shadows upon the snow.</p> +<p><i>First Voice.</i></p> +<p>I loved a girl with truth and pain,<br /> She loved me +not. When she said good-bye<br />She gave me a kiss to sting and +stain<br /> My broken life to a rosy dye.</p> +<p><i>Second Voice.</i></p> +<p>I loved a woman with love well tried, -<br /> And I swear +I believe she loves me still.<br />But it was not I who stood by her +side<br /> When she answered the priest and said “I +will.”</p> +<p><i>Third Voice.</i></p> +<p>I loved two girls, one fond, one shy,<br /> And I never +divined which one loved me.<br />One married, and now, though I can’t +tell why,<br /> Of the four in the story I count but three.</p> +<p>The three weird voices whispered low<br /> Where the eagles +swept in their circling ward;<br />But only one shadow scarred the snow<br /> As +I clambered down from Pitz Languard.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>BOUDOIR PROPHECIES.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>One day in the Tuileries,<br />When a south-west Spanish breeze<br /> Brought +scandalous news of the Queen,<br />The fair, proud Empress said,<br />“My +good friend loses her head;<br /> If matters go on this way,<br /> I +shall see her shopping, some day,<br /> In the +Boulevard des Capucines.”</p> +<p>The saying swiftly went<br />To the Place of the Orient,<br /> And +the stout Queen sneered, “Ah, well!<br /> You are proud +and prude, ma belle!<br />But I think I will hazard a guess<br />I shall +see you one day playing chess<br /> With the Curé +of Carabanchel.”</p> +<p>Both ladies, though not over wise,<br />Were lucky in prophecies.<br /> For +the Boulevard shopmen well<br /> Know the form of stout Isabel<br /> As +she buys her modes de Paris;<br />And after Sedan in despair<br />The +Empress prude and fair<br />Went to visit Madame sa Mère<br /> In +her villa at Carabanchel -<br /> But the Queen +was not there to see.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A TRIUMPH OF ORDER.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A squad of regular infantry,<br /> In the Commune’s +closing days,<br />Had captured a crowd of rebels<br /> By +the wall of Père-la-Chaise.</p> +<p>There were desperate men, wild women,<br /> And dark-eyed +Amazon girls,<br />And one little boy, with a peach-down cheek<br /> And +yellow clustering curls.</p> +<p>The captain seized the little waif,<br /> And said, “What +dost thou here?”<br />“Sapristi, Citizen captain!<br /> I’m +a Communist, my dear!”</p> +<p>“Very well! Then you die with the others!”<br /> - +”Very well! That’s my affair;<br />But first let me +take to my mother,<br /> Who lives by the wine-shop there,</p> +<p>“My father’s watch. You see it;<br /> A +gay old thing, is it not?<br />It would please the old lady to have +it;<br /> Then I’ll come back here, and be shot.”</p> +<p>“That is the last we shall see of him,”<br /> The +grizzled captain grinned,<br />As the little man skimmed down the hill<br /> Like +a swallow down the wind.</p> +<p>For the joy of killing had lost its zest<br /> In the +glut of those awful days,<br />And Death writhed, gorged like a greedy +snake,<br /> From the Arch to Père-la-Chaise.</p> +<p>But before the last platoon had fired<br /> The child’s +shrill voice was heard;<br />“Houp-là! the old girl made +such a row<br /> I feared I should break my word.”</p> +<p>Against the bullet-pitted wall<br /> He took his place +with the rest,<br />A button was lost from his ragged blouse,<br /> Which +showed his soft white breast.</p> +<p>“Now blaze away, my children!<br /> With your little +one-two-three!”<br />The Chassepots tore the stout young heart,<br /> And +saved Society.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>ERNST OF EDELSHEIM.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I’ll tell the story, kissing<br /> This white hand +for my pains:<br />No sweeter heart, nor falser,<br /> E’er +filled such fine, blue veins.</p> +<p>I’ll sing a song of true love,<br /> My Lilith, +dear! to you;<br /><i>Contraria contrariis -<br /></i> The +rule is old and true.</p> +<p>The happiest of all lovers<br /> Was Ernst of Edelsheim;<br />And +why he was the happiest,<br /> I’ll tell you in my +rhyme.</p> +<p>One summer night he wandered<br /> Within a lonely glade,<br />And, +couched in moss and moonlight,<br /> He found a sleeping +maid.</p> +<p>The stars of midnight sifted<br /> Above her sands of +gold;<br />She seemed a slumbering statue,<br /> So fair +and white and cold.</p> +<p>Fair and white and cold she lay<br /> Beneath the starry +skies;<br />Rosy was her waking<br /> Beneath the Ritter’s +eyes.</p> +<p>He won her drowsy fancy,<br /> He bore her to his towers,<br />And +swift with love and laughter<br /> Flew morning’s purpled +hours.</p> +<p>But when the thickening sunbeams<br /> Had drunk the gleaming +dew,<br />A misty cloud of sorrow<br /> Swept o’er +her eyes’ deep blue.</p> +<p>She hung upon the Ritter’s neck,<br /> She wept +with love and pain,<br />She showered her sweet, warm kisses<br /> Like +fragrant summer rain.</p> +<p>“I am no Christian soul,” she sobbed,<br /> As +in his arms she lay;<br />“I’m half the day a woman,<br /> A +serpent half the day.</p> +<p>“And when from yonder bell-tower<br /> Rings out +the noonday chime,<br />Farewell! farewell for ever,<br /> Sir +Ernst of Edelsheim!”</p> +<p>“Ah! not farewell for ever!”<br /> The Ritter +wildly cried;<br />“I will be saved or lost with thee,<br /> My +lovely Wili-Bride!”</p> +<p>Loud from the lordly bell-tower<br /> Rang out the noon +of day,<br />And from the bower of roses<br /> A serpent +slid away.</p> +<p>But when the mid-watch moonlight<br /> Was shimmering +through the grove,<br />He clasped his bride thrice dowered<br /> With +beauty and with love.</p> +<p>The happiest of all lovers<br /> Was Ernst of Edelsheim +-<br />His true love was a serpent<br /> Only half the time!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>MY CASTLE IN SPAIN.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There was never a castle seen<br /> So fair as mine in +Spain:<br />It stands embowered in green,<br /> Crowning +the gentle slope<br />Of a hill by the Xenil’s shore<br />And +at eve its shade flaunts o’er<br /> The storied Vega +plain,<br />And its towers are hid in the mists of Hope;<br /> And +I toil through years of pain<br /> Its glimmering gates to +gain.</p> +<p>In visions wild and sweet<br />Sometimes its courts I greet:<br /> Sometimes +in joy its shining halls<br />I tread with favoured feet;<br />But never +my eyes in the light of day<br /> Were blest with its ivied +walls,<br />Where the marble white and the granite gray<br />Turn gold +alike when the sunbeams play,<br /> When the soft day dimly +falls.</p> +<p>I know in its dusky rooms<br /> Are treasures rich and +rare;<br />The spoil of Eastern looms,<br /> And whatever +of bright and fair<br />Painters divine have caught and won<br /> From +the vault of Italy’s air:<br />White gods in Phidian stone<br /> People +the haunted glooms;<br />And the song of immortal singers<br />Like +a fragrant memory lingers,<br /> I know, in the echoing rooms.</p> +<p>But nothing of these, my soul!<br /> Nor castle, nor treasures, +nor skies,<br />Nor the waves of the river that roil<br /> With +a cadence faint and sweet<br /> In peace by its marble feet +-<br />Nothing of these is the goal<br /> For which my whole +heart sighs.<br />’Tis the pearl gives worth to the shell -<br /> The +pearl I would die to gain;<br />For there does my lady dwell,<br />My +love that I love so well -<br /> The Queen whose gracious +reign<br /> Makes glad my castle in Spain.</p> +<p>Her face so pure and fair<br /> Sheds light in the shady +places,<br />And the spell of her girlish graces<br /> Holds +charmed the happy air.<br />A breath of purity<br /> For +ever before her flies,<br />And ill things cease to be<br /> In +the glance of her honest eyes.<br />Around her pathway flutter,<br /> Where +her dear feet wander free<br /> In youth’s pure majesty,<br /> The +wings of the vague desires;<br />But the thought that love would utter<br /> In +reverence expires.</p> +<p>Not yet! not yet shall I see<br /> That face which shines +like a star<br /> O’er my storm-swept life afar,<br />Transfigured +with love for me.<br />Toiling, forgetting, and learning<br />With labour +and vigils and prayers,<br /> Pure heart and resolute will,<br /> At +last I shall climb the hill<br />And breathe the enchanted airs<br />Where +the light of my life is burning<br /> Most lovely and fair +and free,<br />Where alone in her youth and beauty<br />And bound by +her fate’s sweet duty,<br /> Unconscious she waits +for me.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>SISTER SAINT LUKE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>She lived shut in by flowers and trees<br />And shade of gentle bigotries.<br />On +this side lay the trackless sea,<br />On that the great world’s +mystery;<br />But all unseen and all unguessed<br />They could not break +upon her rest.<br />The world’s far splendours gleamed and flashed,<br />Afar +the wild seas foamed and dashed;<br />But in her small, dull Paradise,<br />Safe +housed from rapture or surprise,<br />Nor day nor night had power to +fright<br />The peace of God that filled her eyes.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>NEW AND OLD.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>MILES KEOGH’S HORSE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>On the bluff of the Little Big-Horn,<br /> At the close +of a woeful day,<br />Custer and his Three Hundred<br /> In +death and silence lay.</p> +<p>Three Hundred to Three Thousand!<br /> They had bravely +fought and bled;<br />For such is the will of Congress<br /> When +the White man meets the Red.</p> +<p>The White men are ten millions,<br /> The thriftiest under +the sun;<br />The Reds are fifty thousand,<br /> And warriors +every one.</p> +<p>So Custer and all his fighting-men<br /> Lay under the +evening skies,<br />Staring up at the tranquil heaven<br /> With +wide, accusing eyes.</p> +<p>And of all that stood at noonday<br /> In that fiery scorpion +ring,<br />Miles Keogh’s horse at evening<br /> Was +the only living thing.</p> +<p>Alone from that field of slaughter,<br /> Where lay the +three hundred slain,<br />The horse Comanche wandered,<br /> With +Keogh’s blood on his mane.</p> +<p>And Sturgis issued this order,<br /> Which future times +shall read,<br />While the love and honour of comrades<br /> Are +the soul of the soldiers creed.</p> +<p>He said -<br /> <i>Let +the horse Comanche<br /> Henceforth till he shall die,<br />Be +kindly cherished and cared for<br /> By the Seventh Cavalry.</i></p> +<p><i>He shall do no labour; he never shall know<br /> The +touch of spur or rein;<br />Nor shall his back be ever crossed<br /> By +living rider again.</i></p> +<p><i>And at regimental formation<br /> Of the Seventh Cavalry,<br />Comanche +draped in mourning and led<br /> By a trooper of Company +I,</i></p> +<p><i>Shall parade with the Regiment!<br /></i> Thus +it was<br /> Commanded and thus done,<br />By order of General +Sturgis, signed<br /> By Adjutant Garlington.</p> +<p>Even as the sword of Custer,<br /> In his disastrous fall,<br />Flashed +out a blaze that charmed the world<br /> And glorified his +pall,</p> +<p>This order, issued amid the gloom<br /> That shrouds our +army’s name,<br />When all foul beasts are free to rend<br /> And +tear its honest fame,</p> +<p>Shall prove to a callous people<br /> That the sense of +a soldier’s worth,<br />That the love of comrades, the honour +of arms,<br /> Have not yet perished from earth.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE ADVANCE-GUARD.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the dream of the Northern poets,<br /> The braves who +in battle die<br />Fight on in shadowy phalanx<br /> In the +field of the upper sky;<br />And as we read the sounding rhyme,<br /> The +reverent fancy hears<br />The ghostly ring of the viewless swords<br /> And +the clash of the spectral spears.</p> +<p>We think with imperious questionings<br /> Of the brothers +whom we have lost,<br />And we strive to track in death’s mystery<br /> The +flight of each valiant ghost.<br />The Northern myth comes back to us,<br /> And +we feel, through our sorrow’s night,<br />That those young souls +are striving still<br /> Somewhere for the truth and light.</p> +<p>It was not their time for rest and sleep;<br /> Their +hearts beat high and strong;<br />In their fresh veins the blood of +youth<br /> Was singing its hot, sweet song.<br />The open +heaven bent over them,<br /> ’Mid flowers their lithe +feet trod,<br />Their lives lay vivid in light, and blest<br /> By +the smiles of women and God.</p> +<p>Again they come! Again I hear<br /> The tread of +that goodly band;<br />I know the flash of Ellsworth’s eye<br /> And +the grasp of his hard, warm hand;<br />And Putnam, and Shaw, of the +lion-heart,<br /> And an eye like a Boston girl’s;<br />And +I see the light of heaven which lay<br /> On Ulric Dahlgren’s +curls.</p> +<p>There is no power in the gloom of hell<br /> To quench +those spirits’ fire;<br />There is no power in the bliss of heaven<br /> To +bid them not aspire;<br />But somewhere in the eternal plan<br /> That +strength, that life survive,<br />And like the files on Lookout’s +crest,<br /> Above death’s clouds they strive.</p> +<p>A chosen corps, they are marching on<br /> In a wider +field than ours;<br />Those bright battalions still fulfil<br /> The +scheme of the heavenly powers;<br />And high brave thoughts float down +to us,<br /> The echoes of that far fight,<br />Like the +flash of a distant picket’s gun<br /> Through the shades +of the severing night.</p> +<p>No fear for them! In our lower field<br /> Let us +keep our arms unstained,<br />That at last we be worthy to stand with +them<br /> On the shining heights they’ve gained.<br />We +shall meet and greet in closing ranks<br /> In Time’s +declining sun,<br />When the bugles of God shall sound recall<br /> And +the battle of life be won.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LOVE’S PRAYER.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>If Heaven would hear my prayer,<br /> My dearest wish +would be,<br />Thy sorrows not to share,<br /> But take them +all on me;<br />If Heaven would hear my prayer.</p> +<p>I’d beg with prayers and sighs<br /> That never +a tear might flow<br />From out thy lovely eyes,<br /> If +Heaven might grant it so;<br />Mine be the tears and sighs.</p> +<p>No cloud thy brow should cover,<br /> But smiles each +other chase<br />From lips to eyes all over<br /> Thy sweet +and sunny face;<br />The clouds my heart should cover.</p> +<p>That all thy path be light<br /> Let darkness fall on +me;<br />If all thy days be bright,<br /> Mine black as night +could be.<br />My love would light my night.</p> +<p>For thou art more than life,<br /> And if our fate should +set<br />Life and my love at strife,<br /> How could I then +forget<br />I love thee more than life?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHRISTINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The beauty of the Northern dawns,<br /> Their pure, pale +light is thine;<br />Yet all the dreams of tropic nights<br /> Within +thy blue eyes shine.<br />Not statelier in their prisoning seas<br /> The +icebergs grandly move,<br />But in thy smile is youth and joy,<br /> And +in thy voice is love.</p> +<p>Thou art like Hecla’s crest that stands<br /> So +lonely, proud, and high,<br />No earthly thing may come between<br /> Her +summit and the sky.<br />The sun in vain may strive to melt<br /> Her +crown of virgin snow -<br />But the great heart of the mountain glows<br /> With +deathless fire below.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>EXPECTATION.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Roll on, O shining sun,<br /> To the far seas!<br />Bring +down, ye shades of eve,<br /> The soft, salt breeze!<br />Shine +out, O stars, and light<br />My darling’s pathway bright,<br />As +through the summer night<br /> She comes to me.</p> +<p>No beam of any star<br /> Can match her eyes;<br />Her +smile the bursting day<br /> In light outvies.<br />Her voice +- the sweetest thing<br />Heard by the raptured spring<br />When waking +wild-woods ring -<br /> She comes to me.</p> +<p>Ye stars, more swiftly wheel<br /> O’er earth’s +still breast;<br />More wildly plunge and reel<br /> In the +dim west!<br />The earth is lone and lorn,<br />Till the glad day be +born,<br />Till with the happy morn<br /> She comes to me.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>TO FLORA.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When April woke the drowsy flowers,<br /> And vagrant +odours thronged the breeze,<br />And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers,<br /> And +daisies flashed along the leas,<br />And faint arbutus strove among<br /> Dead +winter’s leaf-strewn wreck to rise,<br />And nature’s sweetly +jubilant song<br /> Went murmuring up the sunny skies,<br />Into +this cheerful world you came,<br />And gained by right your vernal name.</p> +<p>I think the springs have changed of late,<br /> For “Arctics” +are my daily wear,<br />The skies are turned to cold grey slate,<br /> And +zephyrs are but draughts of air;<br />But you make up whate’er +we lack,<br /> When we, too rarely, come together,<br />More +potent than the almanac,<br /> You bring the ideal April +weather;<br />When you are with us we defy<br />The blustering air, +the lowering sky;<br />In spite of winter’s icy darts,<br />We’ve +spring and sunshine in our hearts.</p> +<p>In fine, upon this April day,<br /> This deep conundrum +I will bring:<br />Tell me the two good reasons, pray,<br /> I +have, to say you are like spring?</p> +<p>[You give it up?] Because we love you -<br /> And +see so very little of you.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A HAUNTED ROOM.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the dim chamber whence but yesterday<br /> Passed my +belovèd, filled with awe I stand;<br /> And haunting +Loves fluttering on every hand<br />Whisper her praises who is far away.<br />A +thousand delicate fancies glance and play<br /> On every +object which her robes have fanned,<br /> And tenderest thoughts +and hopes bloom and expand<br />In the sweet memory of her beauty’s +ray.<br />Ah! could that glass but hold the faintest trace<br /> Of +all the loveliness once mirrored there,<br /> The clustering +glory of the shadowy hair<br />That framed so well the dear young angel +face!<br /> But no, it shows my own face, full of care,<br />And +my heart is her beauty’s dwelling place.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>DREAMS.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I love a woman tenderly,<br />But cannot know if she loves me.<br />I +press her hand, her lips I kiss,<br />But still love’s full assurance +miss.<br />Our waking life for ever seems<br />Cleft by a veil of doubt +and dreams.</p> +<p>But love and night and sleep combine<br />In dreams to make her wholly +mine.<br />A sure love lights her eyes’ deep blue,<br />Her hands +and lips are warm and true.<br />Always the fact unreal seems,<br />And +truth I find alone in dreams.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE LIGHT OF LOVE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Each shining light above us<br /> Has its own peculiar +grace;<br />But every light of heaven<br /> Is in my darling’s +face.</p> +<p>For it is like the sunlight,<br /> So strong and pure +and warm,<br />That folds all good and happy things,<br /> And +guards from gloom and harm.</p> +<p>And it is like the moonlight,<br /> So holy and so calm;<br />The +rapt peace of a summer night,<br /> When soft winds die in +balm.</p> +<p>And it is like the starlight;<br /> For, love her as I +may,<br />She dwells still lofty and serene<br /> In mystery +far away.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>QUAND MÈME.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I strove, like Israel, with my youth,<br /> And said, +“Till thou bestow<br />Upon my life Love’s joy and truth,<br /> I +will not let thee go.”</p> +<p>And sudden on my night there woke<br /> The trouble of +the dawn;<br />Out of the east the red light broke,<br /> To +broaden on and on.</p> +<p>And now let death be far or nigh,<br /> Let fortune gloom +or shine,<br />I cannot all untimely die,<br /> For love, +for love is mine.</p> +<p>My days are tuned to finer chords,<br /> And lit by higher +suns;<br />Through all my thoughts and all my words<br /> A +purer purpose runs.</p> +<p>The blank page of my heart grows rife<br /> With wealth +of tender lore;<br />Her image, stamped upon my life,<br /> Gives +value evermore.</p> +<p>She is so noble, firm, and true,<br /> I drink truth from +her eyes,<br />As violets gain the heaven’s own blue<br /> In +gazing at the skies.</p> +<p>No matter if my hands attain<br /> The golden crown or +cross;<br />Only to love is such a gain<br /> That losing +is not loss.</p> +<p>And thus whatever fate betide<br /> Of rapture or of pain,<br />If +storm or sun the future hide,<br /> My love is not in vain.</p> +<p>So only thanks are on my lips;<br /> And through my love +I see<br />My earliest dreams, like freighted ships,<br /> Come +sailing home to me.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>WORDS.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When violets were springing<br /> And sunshine filled +the day,<br />And happy birds were singing<br /> The praises +of the May,<br />A word came to me, blighting<br /> The beauty +of the scene,<br />And in my heart was winter,<br /> Though +all the trees were green.</p> +<p>Now down the blast go sailing<br /> The dead leaves, brown +and sere;<br />The forests are bewailing<br /> The dying +of the year;<br />A word comes to me, lighting<br /> With +rapture all the air,<br />And in my heart is summer,<br /> Though +all the trees are bare.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE STIRRUP-CUP.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>My short and happy day is done,<br />The long and dreary night comes +on;<br />And at my door the Pale Horse stands,<br />To carry me to unknown +lands.</p> +<p>His whinny shrill, his pawing hoof,<br />Sound dreadful as a gathering +storm;<br />And I must leave this sheltering roof,<br />And joys of +life so soft and warm.</p> +<p>Tender and warm the joys of life, -<br />Good friends, the faithful +and the true;<br />My rosy children and my wife,<br />So sweet to kiss, +so fair to view.</p> +<p>So sweet to kiss, so fair to view, -<br />The night comes down, the +lights burn blue;<br />And at my door the Pale Horse stands,<br />To +bear me forth to unknown lands.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A DREAM OF BRIC-A-BRAC.<br /> [C. +K. <i>loquitur</i>.]</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I dreamed I was in fair Niphon.<br />Amid tea-fields I journeyed +on,<br />Reclined in my jinrikishaw;<br />Across the rolling plains +I saw<br />The lordly Fusi-yama rise,<br />His blue cone lost in bluer +skies.</p> +<p>At last I bade my bearers stop<br />Before what seemed a china-shop.<br />I +roused myself and entered in.<br />A fearful joy, like some sweet sin,<br />Pierced +through my bosom as I gazed,<br />Entranced, transported, and amazed.</p> +<p>For all the house was but one room,<br />And in its clear and grateful +gloom,<br />Filled with all odours strange and strong<br />That to the +wondrous East belong,<br />I saw above, around, below,<br />A sight +to make the warm heart glow,<br />And leave the eager soul no lack, +-<br />An endless wealth of bric-a-brac.</p> +<p>I saw bronze statues, old and rare,<br />Fashioned by no mere mortal +skill,<br />With robes that fluttered in the air,<br />Blown out by +Art’s eternal will;<br />And delicate ivory netsukes,<br />Richer +in tone than Cheddar cheese,<br />Of saints and hermits, cats and dogs,<br />Grim +warriors and ecstatic frogs.</p> +<p>And here and there those wondrous masks,<br />More living flesh than +sandal-wood,<br />Where the full soul in pleasure basks<br />And dreams +of love, the only good.<br />The walls were all with pictures hung:<br />Gay +villas bright in rain-washed air,<br />Trees to whose boughs brown monkeys +clung,<br />Outlineless dabs of fuzzy hair.<br />And all about the opulent +shelves<br />Littered with porcelain beyond price:<br />Imari pots arrayed +themselves<br />Beside Ming dishes; grain-of-rice<br />Vied with the +Royal Satsuma,<br />Proud of its sallow ivory beam;<br />And Kaga’s +Thousand Hermits lay<br />Tranced in some punch-bowl’s golden +gleam.<br />Over bronze censers, black with age,<br />The five-clawed +dragons strife engage;<br />A curled and insolent Dog of Foo<br />Sniffs +at the smoke aspiring through.</p> +<p>In what old days, in what far lands,<br />What busy brains, what +cunning hands,<br />With what quaint speech, what alien thought,<br />Strange +fellow-men these marvels wrought!</p> +<p>As thus I mused, I was aware<br />There grew before my eager eyes<br />A +little maid too bright and fair,<br />Too strangely lovely for surprise.<br />It +seemed the beauty of the place<br />Had suddenly become concrete,<br />So +full was she of Orient grace,<br />From her slant eyes and burnished +face<br />Down to her little gold-bronzed feet.<br />She was a girl +of old Japan;<br />Her small hand held a gilded fan,<br />Which scattered +fragrance through the room;<br />Her cheek was rich with pallid bloom,<br />Her +eye was dark with languid fire,<br />Her red lips breathed a vague desire;<br />Her +teeth, of pearl inviolate,<br />Sweetly proclaimed her maiden state.<br />Her +garb was stiff with broidered gold<br />Twined with mysterious fold +on fold,<br />That gave no hint where, hidden well,<br />Her dainty +form might warmly dwell, -<br />A pearl within too large a shell.<br />So +quaint, so short, so lissome, she,<br />It seemed as if it well might +be<br />Some jocose god, with sportive whirl,<br />Had taken up a long +lithe girl<br />And tied a graceful knot in her.<br />I tried to speak, +and found, oh, bliss!<br />I needed no interpreter;<br />I knew the +Japanese for kiss, -<br />I had no other thought but this;<br />And +she, with smile and blush divine,<br />Kind to my stammering prayer +did seem;<br />My thought was hers, and hers was mine,<br />In the swift +logic of my dream.<br />My arms clung round her slender waist,<br />Through +gold and silk the form I traced,<br />And glad as rain that follows +drouth,<br />I kissed and kissed her bright red mouth.</p> +<p>What ailed the girl? No loving sigh<br />Heaved the round bosom; +in her eye<br />Trembled no tear; from her dear throat<br />Bubbled +a sweet and silvery note<br />Of girlish laughter, shrill and clear,<br />That +all the statues seemed to hear.<br />The bronzes tinkled laughter fine;<br />I +heard a chuckle argentine<br />Ring from the silver images;<br />Even +the ivory netsukes<br />Uttered in every silent pause<br />Dry, bony +laughs from tiny jaws;<br />The painted monkeys on the wall<br />Waked +up with chatter impudent;<br />Pottery, porcelain, bronze, and all<br />Broke +out in ghostly merriment, -<br />Faint as rain pattering on dry leaves,<br />Or +cricket’s chirp on summer eves.</p> +<p>And suddenly upon my sight<br />There grew a portent: left and right,<br />On +every side, as if the air<br />Had taken substance then and there,<br />In +every sort of form and face,<br />A throng of tourists filled the place.<br />I +saw a Frenchman’s sneering shrug;<br />A German countess, in one +hand<br />A sky-blue string which held a pug,<br />With the other a +fiery face she fanned;<br />A Yankee with a soft felt hat;<br />A Coptic +priest from Ararat;<br />An English girl with cheeks of rose;<br />A +Nihilist with Socratic nose;<br />Paddy from Cork with baggage light<br />And +pockets stuffed with dynamite;<br />A haughty Southern Readjuster,<br />Wrapped +in his pride and linen duster;<br />Two noisy New York stockbrokers,<br />And +twenty British globe-trotters.<br />To my disgust and vast surprise,<br />They +turned on me lack-lustre eyes,<br />And each with dropped and wagging +jaw<br />Burst out into a wild guffaw:<br />They laughed with huge mouths +opened wide;<br />They roared till each one held his side;<br />They +screamed and writhed with brutal glee,<br />With fingers rudely stretched +to me, -<br />Till lo! at once the laughter died,<br />The tourists +faded into air;<br />None but my fair maid lingered there,<br />Who +stood demurely by my side.<br />“Who were your friends?” +I asked the maid,<br />Taking a tea-cup from its shelf.<br />“This +audience is disclosed,” she said,<br />“Whenever a man makes +a fool of himself.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LIBERTY.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>What man is there so bold that he should say,<br />“Thus, and +thus only, would I have the sea”?<br />For whether lying calm +and beautiful,<br />Clasping the earth in love, and throwing back<br />The +smile of heaven from waves of amethyst;<br />Or whether, freshened by +the busy winds,<br />It bears the trade and navies of the world<br />To +ends of use or stern activity;<br />Or whether, lashed by tempests, +it gives way<br />To elemental fury, howls and roars<br />At all its +rocky barriers, in wild lust<br />Of ruin drinks the blood of living +things,<br />And strews its wrecks o’er leagues of desolate shore, +-<br />Always it is the sea, and men bow down<br />Before its vast and +varied majesty.</p> +<p>So all in vain will timorous ones essay<br />To set the metes and +bounds of Liberty.<br />For Freedom is its own eternal law;<br />It +makes its own conditions, and in storm<br />Or calm alike fulfils the +unerring Will.<br />Let us not then despise it when it lies<br />Still +as a sleeping lion, while a swarm<br />Of gnat-like evils hover round +its head;<br />Nor doubt it when in mad, disjointed times<br />It shakes +the torch of terror, and its cry<br />Shrills o’er the quaking +earth, and in the flame<br />Of riot and war we see its awful form<br />Rise +by the scaffold, where the crimson axe<br />Rings down its grooves the +knell of shuddering kings.<br />For ever in thine eyes, O Liberty,<br />Shines +that high light whereby the world is saved,<br />And though thou slay +us, we will trust in thee!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE WHITE FLAG.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I sent my love two roses, - one<br /> As white as driven +snow,<br />And one a blushing royal red,<br /> A flaming +Jacqueminot.</p> +<p>I meant to touch and test my fate;<br /> That night I +should divine,<br />The moment I should see my love,<br /> If +her true heart were mine.</p> +<p>For if she holds me dear, I said,<br /> She’ll wear +my blushing rose;<br />If not, she’ll wear my cold Lamarque<br /> As +white as winter’s snows.</p> +<p>My heart sank when I met her: sure<br /> I had been over +bold,<br />For on her breast my pale rose lay<br /> In virgin +whiteness cold.</p> +<p>Yet with low words she greeted me,<br /> With smiles divinely +tender;<br />Upon her cheek the red rose dawned. -<br /> The +white rose meant surrender.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE LAW OF DEATH.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The song of Kilvani: fairest she<br />In all the land of Savatthi.<br />She +had one child, as sweet and gay<br />And dear to her as the light of +day.<br />She was so young, and he so fair,<br />The same bright eyes +and the same dark hair;<br />To see them by the blossomy way,<br />They +seemed two children at their play.</p> +<p>There came a death-dart from the sky,<br />Kilvani saw her darling +die.<br />The glimmering shade his eyes invades,<br />Out of his cheek +the red bloom fades;<br />His warm heart feels the icy chill,<br />The +round limbs shudder, and are still.<br />And yet Kilvani held him fast<br />Long +after life’s last pulse was past,<br />As if her kisses could +restore<br />The smile gone out for evermore.</p> +<p>But when she saw her child was dead,<br />She scattered ashes on +her head,<br />And seized the small corpse, pale and sweet,<br />And +rushing wildly through the street,<br />She sobbing fell at Buddha’s +feet.</p> +<p>“Master, all-helpful, help me now!<br />Here at thy feet I +humbly bow;<br />Have mercy, Buddha, help me now!”<br />She grovelled +on the marble floor,<br />And kissed the dead child o’er and o’er.<br />And +suddenly upon the air<br />There fell the answer to her prayer:<br />“Bring +me to-night a lotus tied<br />With thread from a house where none has +died.”</p> +<p>She rose, and laughed with thankful joy,<br />Sure that the god would +save the boy.<br />She found a lotus by the stream;<br />She plucked +it from its noonday dream,<br />And then from door to door she fared,<br />To +ask what house by Death was spared.<br />Her heart grew cold to see +the eyes<br />Of all dilate with slow surprise:<br />“Kilvani, +thou hast lost thy head;<br />Nothing can help a child that’s +dead.<br />There stands not by the Ganges’ side<br />A house where +none hath ever died.”<br />Thus, through the long and weary day,<br />From +every door she bore away<br />Within her heart, and on her arm,<br />A +heavier load, a deeper harm.<br />By gates of gold and ivory,<br />By +wattled huts of poverty,<br />The same refrain heard poor Kilvani,<br /><i>The +living are few, the dead are many.</i></p> +<p>The evening came - so still and fleet -<br />And overtook her hurrying +feet.<br />And, heartsick, by the sacred fane<br />She fell, and prayed +the god again.<br />She sobbed and beat her bursting breast:<br />“Ah, +thou hast mocked me, Mightiest!<br />Lo! I have wandered far and wide;<br />There +stands no house where none hath died.”<br />And Buddha answered, +in a tone<br />Soft as a flute at twilight blown,<br />But grand as +heaven and strong as death<br />To him who hears with ears of faith:<br />“Child, +thou art answered. Murmur not!<br />Bow, and accept the common +lot.”</p> +<p>Kilvani heard with reverence meet,<br />And laid her child at Buddha’s +feet.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>MOUNT TABOR.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>On Tabor’s height a glory came,<br />And, shrined in clouds +of lambent flame,<br />The awestruck, hushed disciples saw<br />Christ +and the prophets of the law.<br />Moses, whose grand and awful face<br />Of +Sinai’s thunder bore the trace,<br />And wise Elias, - in his +eyes<br />The shade of Israel’s prophecies, -<br />Stood in that +wide, mysterious light,<br />Than Syrian noons more purely bright,<br />One +on each hand, and high between<br />Shone forth the godlike Nazarene.<br />They +bowed their heads in holy fright, -<br />No mortal eyes could bear the +sight, -<br />And when they looked again, behold!<br />The fiery clouds +had backward rolled,<br />And borne aloft in grandeur lonely,<br />Nothing +was left “save Jesus only.”</p> +<p>Resplendent type of things to be!<br />We read its mystery to-day<br />With +clearer eyes than even they,<br />The fisher-saints of Galilee.<br />We +see the Christ stand out between<br />The ancient law and faith serene,<br />Spirit +and letter; but above<br />Spirit and letter both was Love.<br />Led +by the hand of Jacob’s God,<br />Through wastes of eld a path +was trod<br />By which the savage world could move<br />Upward through +law and faith to love.<br />And there in Tabor’s harmless flame<br />The +crowning revelation came.<br />The old world knelt in homage due,<br />The +prophets near in reverence drew,<br />Law ceased its mission to fulfil,<br />And +Love was lord on Tabor’s hill.</p> +<p>So now, while creeds perplex the mind<br />And wranglings load the +weary wind,<br />When all the air is filled with words<br />And texts +that wring like clashing swords,<br />Still, as for refuge, we may turn<br />Where +Tabor’s shining glories burn, -<br />The soul of antique Israel +gone,<br />And nothing left but Christ alone.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>RELIGION AND DOCTRINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> He stood before the Sanhedrim;<br />The scowling rabbis +gazed at him.<br />He recked not of their praise or blame;<br />There +was no fear, there was no shame,<br />For one upon whose dazzled eyes<br />The +whole world poured its vast surprise.<br />The open heaven was far too +near,<br />His first day’s light too sweet and clear,<br />To +let him waste his new-gained ken<br />On the hate-clouded face of men.</p> +<p> But still they questioned, “Who art thou?<br />What +hast thou been? What art thou now?<br />Thou art not he who yesterday<br />Sat +here and begged beside the way;<br />For he was blind.”</p> +<p> <i> - +”And I am he;<br />For I was blind, but now I see.”</i></p> +<p> He told the story o’er and o’er;<br />It +was his full heart’s only lore:<br />A prophet on the Sabbath-day<br />Had +touched his sightless eyes with clay,<br />And made him see who had +been blind.<br />Their words passed by him like the wind,<br />Which +raves and howls, but cannot shock<br />The hundred-fathom-rooted rock.</p> +<p> Their threats and fury all went wide;<br />They could +not touch his Hebrew pride.<br />Their sneers at Jesus and His band,<br />Nameless +and homeless in the land,<br />Their boasts of Moses and his Lord,<br />All +could not change him by one word.</p> +<p> <i>“I know not what this man may be,<br />Sinner +or saint; but as for me,<br />One thing I know, - that I am he<br />Who +once was blind, and now I see.”</i></p> +<p> They were all doctors of renown,<br />The great men of +a famous town,<br />With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise,<br />Beneath +their wide phylacteries;<br />The wisdom of the East was theirs,<br />And +honour crowned their silver hairs.<br />The man they jeered and laughed +to scorn<br />Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born;<br />But he knew +better far than they<br />What came to him that Sabbath-day;<br />And +what the Christ had done for him<br />He knew, and not the Sanhedrim.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>SINAI AND CALVARY.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There are two mountains hallowed<br /> By majesty sublime,<br />Which +rear their crests unconquered<br /> Above the floods of Time.<br />Uncounted +generations<br /> Have gazed on them with awe, -<br />The +mountain of the Gospel,<br /> The mountain of the Law.</p> +<p>From Sinai’s cloud of darkness<br /> The vivid lightnings +play;<br />They serve the God of vengeance,<br /> The Lord +who shall repay.<br />Each fault must bring its penance,<br /> Each +sin the avenging blade,<br />For God upholds in justice<br /> The +laws that He hath made.</p> +<p>But Calvary stands to ransom<br /> The earth from utter +loss,<br />In shade than light more glorious,<br /> The shadow +of the Cross.<br />To heal a sick world’s trouble,<br /> To +soothe its woe and pain,<br />On Calvary’s sacred summit<br /> The +Paschal Lamb was slain.</p> +<p>The boundless might of Heaven<br /> Its law in mercy furled,<br />As +once the bow of promise<br /> O’erarched a drowning +world.<br />The Law said, “As you keep me,<br /> It +shall be done to you; “<br />But Calvary prays, “Forgive +them;<br /> They know not what they do.”</p> +<p>Almighty God! direct us<br /> To keep Thy perfect Law!<br />O +blessed Saviour, help us<br /> Nearer to Thee to draw!<br />Let +Sinai’s thunders aid us<br /> To guard our feet from +sin;<br />And Calvary’s light inspire us<br /> The +love of God to win.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE VISION OF ST. PETER.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>To Peter by night the faithfullest came<br /> And said, +“We appeal to thee!<br />The life of the Church is in thy life;<br /> We +pray thee to rise and flee.</p> +<p>“For the tyrant’s hand is red with blood,<br /> And +his arm is heavy with power;<br />Thy head, the head of the Church, +will fall<br /> If thou tarry in Rome an hour.”</p> +<p>Through the sleeping town St. Peter passed<br /> To the +wide Campagna plain;<br />In the starry light of the Alban night<br /> He +drew free breath again:</p> +<p>When across his path an awful form<br /> In luminous glory +stood;<br />His thorn-crowned brow, His hands and feet,<br /> Were +wet with immortal blood.</p> +<p>The godlike sorrow which filled His eyes<br /> Seemed +changed to a godlike wrath<br />As they turned on Peter, who cried aloud,<br /> And +sank to his knees in the path.</p> +<p>“Lord of my life, my love, my soul!<br /> Say, what +wilt Thou with me?”<br />A voice replied, “I go to Rome<br /> To +be crucified for thee.”</p> +<p>The Apostle sprang, all flushed, to his feet, -<br /> The +vision had passed away;<br />The light still lay on the dewy plain,<br /> But +the sky in the east was gray.</p> +<p>To the city walls St. Peter turned,<br /> And his heart +in his breast grew fire;<br />In every vein the hot blood burned<br /> With +the strength of one high desire.</p> +<p>And sturdily back he marched to his death<br /> Of terrible +pain and shame;<br />And never a shade of fear again<br /> To +the stout Apostle came.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>ISRAEL.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When by Jabbok the patriarch waited<br /> To learn on +the morrow his doom,<br />And his dubious spirit debated<br /> In +darkness and silence and gloom,<br /> There descended a Being +with whom<br />He wrestled in agony sore,<br /> With striving +of heart and of brawn,<br />And not for an instant forbore<br /> Till +the east gave a threat of the dawn;<br />And then, as the Awful One +blessed him,<br /> To his lips and his spirit there came,<br />Compelled +by the doubts that oppressed him,<br />The cry that through questioning +ages<br />Has been wrung from the hinds and the sages,<br /> “Tell +me, I pray Thee, Thy name!”</p> +<p>Most fatal, most futile, of questions!<br /> Wherever +the heart of man beats,<br /> In the spirit’s most +sacred retreats,<br />It comes with its sombre suggestions,<br /> Unanswered +for ever and aye.<br /> The blessing may come and may stay,<br />For +the wrestlers heroic endeavour;<br />But the question, unheeded for +ever,<br /> Dies out in the broadening day.</p> +<p>In the ages before our traditions,<br />By the altars of dark superstitions,<br /> The +imperious question has come;<br />When the death-stricken victim lay +sobbing<br /> At the feet of his slayer and priest,<br />And +his heart was laid smoking and throbbing<br /> To the sound +of the cymbal and drum<br />On the steps of the high Teocallis;<br /> When +the delicate Greek at his feast<br />Poured forth the red wine from +his chalice<br /> With mocking and cynical prayer;<br />When +by Nile Egypt worshipping lay,<br /> And afar, through the +rosy, flushed air<br />The Memnon called out to the day;<br />Where +the Muezzin’s cry floats from his spire;<br /> In the +vaulted Cathedral’s dim shades,<br />Where the crushed hearts +of thousands aspire<br />Through arts highest miracles higher,<br /> This +question of questions invades<br /> Each heart bowed in worship +or shame;<br />In the air where the censers are swinging,<br />A voice, +going up with the singing,<br /> Cries, “Tell me, I +pray Thee, Thy name!”</p> +<p>No answer came back, not a word,<br />To the patriarch there by the +ford;<br />No answer has come through the ages<br />To the poets, the +seers, and the sages<br />Who have sought in the secrets of science<br />The +name and the nature of God,<br />Whether cursing in desperate defiance<br />Or +kissing His absolute rod;<br />But the answer which was and shall be,<br />“My +name! Nay, what is it to thee?”<br />The search and the +question are vain.<br />By use of the strength that is in you,<br />By +wrestling of soul and of sinew<br />The blessing of God you may gain.</p> +<p>There are lights in the far-gleaming Heaven<br /> That +never will shine on our eyes;<br />To mortals it may not be given<br /> To +range those inviolate skies.<br />The mind, whether praying or scorning,<br /> That +tempts those dread secrets shall fail;<br />But strive through the night +till the morning,<br /> And mightily shalt thou prevail.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE CROWS AT WASHINGTON.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Slow flapping to the setting sun<br /> By twos and threes, +in wavering rows,<br /> As twilight shadows dimly close,<br />The +crows fly over Washington.</p> +<p>Under the crimson sunset sky<br />Virginian woodlands leafless lie,<br /> In +wintry torpor bleak and dun.<br />Through the rich vault of heaven, +which shines<br /> Like a warmed opal in the sun,<br />With +wide advance in broken lines<br /> The crows fly over Washington.</p> +<p>Over the Capitol’s white dome,<br /> Across the +obelisk soaring bare<br />To prick the clouds, they travel home,<br />Content +and weary, winnowing<br /> With dusky vans the golden air,<br />Which +hints the coming of the spring,<br /> Though winter whitens +Washington.</p> +<p>The dim, deep air, the level ray<br />Of dying sunlight on their +plumes,<br /> Give them a beauty not their own;<br />Their +hoarse notes fail and faint away;<br /> A rustling murmur +floating down<br />Blends sweetly with the thickening glooms;<br />They +touch with grace the fading day,<br /> Slow flying over Washington.</p> +<p>I stand and watch with clouded eyes<br /> These dim battalions +move along;<br />Out of the distance memory cries<br /> Of +days when life and hope were strong,<br />When love was prompt and wit +was gay;<br />Even then, at evening, as to-day,<br /> I watched, +while twilight hovered dim<br /> Over Potomac’s curving +rim,<br />This selfsame flight of homing crows<br />Blotting the sunset’s +fading rose,<br /> Above the roofs of Washington.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>REMORSE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Sad is the thought of sunniest days<br /> Of love and +rapture perished,<br />And shine through memory’s tearful haze<br /> The +eyes once fondliest cherished.<br />Reproachful is the ghost of toys<br /> That +charmed while life was wasted.<br />But saddest is the thought of joys<br /> That +never yet were tasted.</p> +<p>Sad is the vague and tender dream<br /> Of dead love’s +lingering kisses,<br />To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam<br /> Of +unreturning blisses;<br />Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride<br /> For +the pitiless death that won them, -<br />But the saddest wail is for +lips that died<br /> With the virgin dew upon them.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>ESSE QUAM VIDERI.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The knightly legend of thy shield betrays<br /> The moral +of thy life; a forecast wise,<br /> And that large honour +that deceit defies,<br />Inspired thy fathers in the elder days,<br />Who +decked thy scutcheon with that sturdy phrase,<br /> <i>To +be rather than seem</i>. As eve’s red skies<br /> Surpass +the morning’s rosy prophecies,<br />Thy life to that proud boast +its answer pays.<br />Scorning thy faith and purpose to defend<br /> The +ever-mutable multitude at last<br /> Will hail the power +they did not comprehend, -<br />Thy fame will broaden through the centuries;<br /> As, +storm and billowy tumult overpast,<br /> The moon rules calmly +o’er the conquered seas.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There’s a happy time coming,<br /> When the boys +come home.<br />There’s a glorious day coming,<br /> When +the boys come home.<br />We will end the dreadful story<br />Of this +treason dark and gory<br />In a sunburst of glory,<br /> When +the boys come home.</p> +<p>The day will seem brighter<br /> When the boys come home,<br />For +our hearts will be lighter<br /> When the boys come home.<br />Wives +and sweethearts will press them<br />In their arms and caress them,<br />And +pray God to bless them,<br /> When the boys come home.</p> +<p>The thinned ranks will be proudest<br /> When the boys +come home,<br />And their cheer will ring the loudest<br /> When +the boys come home.<br />The full ranks will be shattered,<br />And +the bright arms will be battered,<br />And the battle-standards tattered,<br /> When +the boys come home.</p> +<p>Their bayonets may be rusty,<br /> When the boys come +home,<br />And their uniforms dusty,<br /> When the boys +come home.<br />But all shall see the traces<br />Of battle’s +royal graces,<br />In the brown and bearded faces,<br /> When +the boys come home.</p> +<p>Our love shall go to meet them,<br /> When the boys come +home,<br />To bless them and to greet them,<br /> When the +boys come home;<br />And the fame of their endeavour<br />Time and change +shall not dissever<br />From the nation’s heart for ever,<br /> When +the boys come home.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LÈSE-AMOUR.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> How well my heart remembers<br /> Beside these +camp-fire embers<br />The eyes that smiled so far away, -<br /> The +joy that was November’s.</p> +<p> Her voice to laughter moving,<br /> So merrily +reproving, -<br />We wandered through the autumn woods,<br /> And +neither thought of loving.</p> +<p> The hills with light were glowing,<br /> The +waves in joy were flowing, -<br />It was not to the clouded sun<br /> The +day’s delight was owing.</p> +<p> Though through the brown leaves straying,<br /> Our +lives seemed gone a-Maying;<br />We knew not Love was with us there,<br /> No +look nor tone betraying.</p> +<p> How unbelief still misses<br /> The best of +being’s blisses!<br />Our parting saw the first and last<br /> Of +love’s imagined kisses.</p> +<p> Now ’mid these scenes the drearest<br /> I +dream of her, the dearest, -<br />Whose eyes outshine the Southern stars,<br /> So +far, and yet the nearest.</p> +<p> And Love, so gaily taunted,<br /> Who died, +no welcome granted,<br />Comes to me now, a pallid ghost,<br /> By +whom my life is haunted.</p> +<p> With bonds I may not sever,<br /> He binds +my heart for ever,<br />And leads me where we murdered him, -<br /> The +Hill beside the River.</p> +<p>CAMP SHAW, FLORIDA,<br /><i> February</i> 1864.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>NORTHWARD.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Under the high unclouded sun<br />That makes the ship and shadow +one,<br /> I sail away as from the fort<br />Booms sullenly +the noonday gun.</p> +<p>The odorous airs blow thin and fine,<br />The sparkling waves like +emeralds shine,<br /> The lustre of the coral reefs<br />Gleams +whitely through the tepid brine.</p> +<p>And glitters o’er the liquid miles<br />The jewelled ring of +verdant isles,<br /> Where generous Nature holds her court<br />Of +ripened bloom and sunny smiles.</p> +<p>Encinctured by the faithful seas<br />Inviolate gardens load the +breeze,<br /> Where flaunt like giant-warders’ plumes<br />The +pennants of the cocoa-trees.</p> +<p>Enthroned in light and bathed in balm,<br />In lonely majesty the +Palm<br /> Blesses the isles with waving hands, -<br />High-Priest +of the eternal Calm.</p> +<p>Yet Northward with an equal mind<br />I steer my course, and leave +behind<br /> The rapture of the Southern skies, -<br />The +wooing of the Southern wind.</p> +<p>For here o’er Nature’s wanton bloom<br />Falls far and +near the shade of gloom,<br /> Cast from the hovering vulture-wings<br />Of +one dark thought of woe and doom.</p> +<p>I know that in the snow-white pines<br />The brave Norse fire of +freedom shines,<br /> And fain for this I leave the land<br />Where +endless summer pranks the vines.</p> +<p>O strong, free North, so wise and brave!<br />O South, too lovely +for a slave!<br /> Why read ye not the changeless truth, +-<br />The free can conquer but to save?</p> +<p>May God upon these shining sands<br />Send Love and Victory clasping +hands,<br /> And Freedom’s banners wave in peace<br />For +ever o’er the rescued lands!</p> +<p>And here, in that triumphant hour,<br />Shall yielding beauty wed +with power;<br /> And blushing earth and smiling sea<br />In +dalliance deck the bridal bower.</p> +<p>KEY WEST, 1864.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>IN THE FIRELIGHT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>My dear wife sits beside the fire<br /> With folded hands +and dreaming eyes,<br />Watching the restless flames aspire,<br /> And +rapt in thralling memories.<br />I mark the fitful firelight fling<br /> Its +warm caresses on her brow,<br /> And kiss her hands’ +unmelting snow,<br />And glisten on her wedding-ring.</p> +<p>The proud free head that crowns so well<br /> The neck +superb, whose outlines glide<br />Into the bosom’s perfect swell<br /> Soft-billowed +by its peaceful tide,<br />The cheek’s faint flush, the lip’s +red glow,<br /> The gracious charm her beauty wears,<br /> Fill +my fond eyes with tender tears<br />As in the days of long ago.</p> +<p>Days long ago, when in her eyes<br /> The only heaven +I cared for lay,<br />When from our thoughtless Paradise<br /> All +care and toil dwelt far away;<br />When Hope in wayward fancies throve,<br /> And +rioted in secret sweets,<br /> Beguiled by Passion’s +dear deceits, -<br />The mysteries of maiden love.</p> +<p>One year had passed since first my sight<br /> Was gladdened +by her girlish charms,<br />When on a rapturous summer night<br /> I +clasped her in possessing arms.<br />And now ten years have rolled away,<br /> And +left such blessings as their dower;<br /> I owe her tenfold +at this hour<br />The love that lit our wedding-day.</p> +<p>For now, vague-hovering o’er her form,<br /> My +fancy sees, by love refined,<br />A warmer and a dearer charm<br /> By +wedlock’s mystic hands entwined, -<br />A golden coil of wifely +cares<br /> That years have forged, the loving joy<br /> That +guards the curly-headed boy<br />Asleep an hour ago upstairs.</p> +<p>A fair young mother, pure as fair,<br /> A matron heart +and virgin soul!<br />The flickering light that crowns her hair<br /> Seems +like a saintly aureole.<br />A tender sense upon me falls<br /> That +joy unmerited is mine,<br /> And in this pleasant twilight +shine<br />My perfect bliss myself appals.</p> +<p>Come back! my darling, strayed so far<br /> Into the realm +of fantasy, -<br />Let thy dear face shine like a star<br /> In +love-light beaming over me.<br />My melting soul is jealous, sweet,<br /> Of +thy long silence’ drear eclipse;<br /> O kiss me back +with living lips,<br />To life, love, lying at thy feet!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>IN A GRAVEYARD.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the dewy depths of the graveyard<br /> I lie in the +tangled grass,<br />And watch, in the sea of azure,<br /> The +white cloud-islands pass.</p> +<p>The birds in the rustling branches<br /> Sing gaily overhead;<br />Grey +stones like sentinel spectres<br /> Are guarding the silent +dead.</p> +<p>The early flowers sleep shaded<br /> In the cool green +noonday glooms;<br />The broken light falls shuddering<br /> On +the cold white face of the tombs.</p> +<p>Without, the world is smiling<br /> In the infinite love +of God,<br />But the sunlight fails and falters<br /> When +it falls on the churchyard sod.</p> +<p>On me the joyous rapture<br /> Of a heart’s first +love is shed,<br />But it falls on my heart as coldly<br /> As +sunlight on the dead.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE PRAIRIE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The skies are blue above my head,<br /> The prairie green +below,<br />And flickering o’er the tufted grass<br /> The +shifting shadows go,<br />Vague-sailing, where the feathery clouds<br /> Fleck +white the tranquil skies,<br />Black javelins darting where aloft<br /> The +whirring pheasant flies.</p> +<p>A glimmering plain in drowsy trance<br /> The dim horizon +bounds,<br />Where all the air is resonant<br /> With sleepy +summer sounds, -<br />The life that sings among the flowers,<br /> The +lisping of the breeze,<br />The hot cicala’s sultry cry,<br /> The +murmurous dream of bees.</p> +<p>The butterfly - a flying flower -<br /> Wheels swift in +flashing rings,<br />And flutters round his quiet kin,<br /> With +brave flame-mottled wings.<br />The wild Pinks burst in crimson fire<br /> The +Phlox’ bright clusters shine,<br />And Prairie-Cups are swinging +free<br /> To spill their airy wine.</p> +<p>And lavishly beneath the sun,<br /> In liberal splendour +rolled,<br />The Fennel fills the dipping plain<br /> With +floods of flowery gold;<br />And widely weaves the Iron-Weed<br /> A +woof of purple dyes<br />Where Autumn’s royal feet may tread<br /> When +bankrupt Summer flies.</p> +<p>In verdurous tumult far away<br /> The prairie-billows +gleam,<br />Upon their crests in blessing rests<br /> The +noontide’s gracious beam.<br />Low quivering vapours steaming +dim<br /> The level splendours break<br />Where languid Lilies +deck the rim<br /> Of some land-circled lake.</p> +<p>Far in the east like low-hung clouds<br /> The waving +woodlands lie;<br />Far in the west the glowing plain<br /> Melts +warmly in the sky.<br />No accent wounds the reverent air,<br /> No +footprint dints the sod,<br />Lone in the light the prairie lies<br /> Rapt +in a dream of God.</p> +<p>ILLINOIS, 1858.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CENTENNIAL.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A hundred times the bells of Brown<br /> Have rung to +sleep the idle summers,<br />And still to-day clangs clamouring down<br /> A +greeting to the welcome comers.</p> +<p>And far, like waves of morning, pours<br /> Her call, +in airy ripples breaking,<br />And wanders to the farthest shores,<br /> Her +children’s drowsy hearts awaking.</p> +<p>The wild vibration floats along,<br /> O’er heart-strings +tense its magic plying,<br />And wakes in every breast its song<br /> Of +love and gratitude undying.</p> +<p>My heart to meet the summons leaps<br /> At limit of its +straining tether,<br />Where the fresh western sunlight steeps<br /> In +golden flame the prairie heather.</p> +<p>And others, happier, rise and fare<br /> To pass within +the hallowed portal,<br />And see the glory shining there<br /> Shrined +in her steadfast eyes immortal.</p> +<p>What though their eyes be dim and dull,<br /> Their heads +be white in reverend blossom;<br />Our mothers smile is beautiful<br /> As +when she bore them on her bosom!</p> +<p>Her heavenly forehead bears no line<br /> Of Time’s +iconolastic fingers,<br />But o’er her form the grace divine<br /> Of +deathless youth and wisdom lingers.</p> +<p>We fade and pass, grow faint and old,<br /> Till youth +and joy and hope are banished,<br />And still her beauty seems to fold<br /> The +sum of all the glory vanished.</p> +<p>As while Tithonus faltered on<br /> The threshold of the +Olympian dawnings,<br />Aurora’s front eternal shone<br /> With +lustre of the myriad mornings.</p> +<p>So joys that slip like dead leaves down,<br /> And hopes +burnt out that die in ashes,<br />Rise restless from their graves to +crown<br /> Our mother’s brow with fadeless flashes.</p> +<p>And lives wrapped in traditions mist<br /> These honoured +halls to-day are haunting,<br />And lips by lips long withered kissed<br /> The +sagas of the past are chanting.</p> +<p>Scornful of absence’ envious bar<br /> BROWN smiles +upon the mystic meeting<br />Of those her sons, who, sundered far,<br /> In +brotherhood of heart are greeting;</p> +<p>Her wayward children wandering on<br /> Where setting +stars are lowly burning,<br />But still in worship toward the dawn<br /> That +gilds their souls’ dear Mecca turning;</p> +<p>Or those who, armed for God’s own fight,<br /> Stand +by His Word through fire and slaughter,<br />Or bear our banner’s +starry light<br /> Far-flashing through the Gulf’s +blue water.</p> +<p>For where one strikes for light and truth,<br /> The right +to aid, the wrong redressing,<br />The mother of his spirit’s +youth<br /> Sheds o’er his soul her silent blessing.</p> +<p>She gained her crown a gem of flame<br /> When KNEASS +fell dead in victory gory;<br />New splendour blazed upon her name<br /> When +IVES’ young life went out in glory!</p> +<p>Thus bright for ever may she keep<br /> Her fires of tolerant +Freedom burning,<br />Till War’s red eyes are charmed to sleep<br /> And +bells ring home the boys returning.</p> +<p>And may she shed her radiant truth<br /> In largess on +ingenuous comers,<br />And hold the bloom of gracious youth<br /> Through +many a hundred tranquil summers!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A WINTER NIGHT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The winter wind is raving fierce and shrill,<br /> And +chides with angry moan the frosty skies;<br /> The white +stars gaze with sleepless Gorgon eyes<br />That freeze the earth in +terror fixed and still.<br />We reck not of the wild night’s gloom +and chill,<br /> Housed from its rage, dear friend; and fancy +flies,<br /> Lured by the hand of beckoning memories,<br />Back +to those summer evenings on the hill<br />Where we together watched +the sun go down<br /> Beyond the gold-washed uplands, while +his fires<br /> Touched into glittering life the vanes and +spires<br />Piercing the purpling mists that veiled the town.<br /> The +wintry night thy voice and eyes beguile,<br /> Till wake +the sleeping summers in thy smile.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>STUDENT-SONG.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When Youth’s warm heart beats high, my friend,<br /> And +Youth’s blue sky is bright,<br />And shines in Youth’s clear +eye, my friend,<br /> Love’s early dawning light,<br />Let +the free soul spurn care’s control,<br /> And while +the glad days shine,<br />We’ll use their beams for Youth’s +gay dreams<br /> Of Love and Song and Wine.</p> +<p>Let not the bigot’s frown, my friend,<br /> O’ercast +thy brow with gloom,<br />For Autumn’s sober brown, my friend,<br /> Shall +follow Summer’s bloom.<br />Let smiles and sighs and loving eyes<br /> In +changeful beauty shine,<br />And shed their beams on Youth’s gay +dreams<br /> Of Love and Song and Wine.</p> +<p>For in the weary years, my friend,<br /> That stretched +before us lie,<br />There’ll be enough of tears, my friend,<br /> To +dim the brightest eye.<br />So let them wait, and laugh at fate,<br /> While +Youth’s sweet moments shine, -<br />Till memory gleams with golden +dreams<br /> Of Love and Song and Wine.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>HOW IT HAPPENED.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I pray you, pardon me, Elsie,<br /> And smile that frown +away<br />That dims the light of your lovely face<br /> As +a thunder-cloud the day.<br />I really could not help it, -<br /> Before +I thought, ’twas done, -<br />And those great grey eyes flashed +bright and cold,<br /> Like an icicle in the sun.</p> +<p>I was thinking of the summers<br /> When we were boys +and girls,<br />And wandered in the blossoming woods,<br /> And +the gay winds romped with your curls.<br />And you seemed to me the +same little girl<br /> I kissed in the alder-path,<br />I +kissed the little girl’s lips, and, alas!<br /> I have +roused a woman’s wrath.</p> +<p>There is not so much to pardon, -<br /> For why were your +lips so red?<br />The blond hair fell in a shower of gold<br /> From +the proud, provoking head.<br />And the beauty that flashed from the +splendid eyes,<br /> And played round the tender mouth,<br />Rushed +over my soul like a warm sweet wind<br /> That blows from +the fragrant south.</p> +<p>And where, after all, is the harm done?<br /> I believe +we were made to be gay,<br />And all of youth not given to love<br /> Is +vainly squandered away.<br />And strewn through life’s low labours,<br /> Like +gold in the desert sands,<br />Are love’s swift kisses and sighs +and vows<br /> And the clasp of clinging hands.</p> +<p>And when you are old and lonely,<br /> In Memory’s +magic shine<br />You will see on your thin and wasting hands,<br /> Like +gems, these kisses of mine.<br />And when you muse at evening<br /> At +the sound of some vanished name,<br />The ghost of my kisses shall touch +your lips<br /> And kindle your heart to flame.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>GOD’S VENGEANCE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Saith the Lord, “Vengeance is mine;<br /> I will +repay,” saith the Lord;<br />Ours be the anger divine,<br /> Lit +by the flash of His word.</p> +<p>How shall His vengeance be done?<br /> How, when His purpose +is clear?<br />Must He come down from His throne?<br /> Hath +He no instruments here?</p> +<p>Sleep not in imbecile trust,<br /> Waiting for God to +begin,<br />While, growing strong in the dust,<br /> Rests +the bruised serpent of sin.</p> +<p>Right and Wrong, - both cannot live<br /> Death-grappled. +Which shall we see?<br />Strike! only Justice can give<br /> Safety +to all that shall be.</p> +<p>Shame! to stand paltering thus,<br /> Tricked by the balancing +odds;<br />Strike! God is waiting for us!<br /> Strike! for +the vengeance is God’s.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>TOO LATE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Had we but met in other days,<br />Had we but loved in other ways,<br />Another +light and hope had shone<br /> On your life and my own.</p> +<p>In sweet but hopeless reveries<br />I fancy how your wistful eyes<br />Had +saved me, had I known their power<br /> In fate’s imperious +hour;</p> +<p>How loving you, beloved of God,<br />And following you, the path +I trod<br />Had led me, through your love and prayers,<br /> To +God’s love unawares:</p> +<p>And how our beings joined as one<br />Had passed through checkered +shade and sun,<br />Until the earth our lives had given,<br /> With +little change, to heaven.</p> +<p>God knows why this was not to be.<br />You bloomed from childhood +far from me.<br />The sunshine of the favoured place<br /> That +knew your youth and grace.</p> +<p>And when your eyes, so fair and free,<br />In fearless beauty beamed +on me,<br />I knew the fatal die was thrown,<br /> My choice +in life was gone.</p> +<p>And still with wild and tender art<br />Your child-love touched my +torpid heart,<br />Gilding the blackness where it fell,<br /> Like +sunlight over hell.</p> +<p>In vain, in vain! my choice was gone!<br />Better to struggle on +alone<br />Than blot your pure life’s blameless shine<br /> With +cloudy stains of mine.</p> +<p>A vague regret, a troubled prayer,<br />And then the future vast +and fair<br />Will tempt your young and eager eyes<br /> With +all its glad surprise.</p> +<p>And I shall watch you, safe and far,<br />As some late traveller +eyes a star<br />Wheeling beyond his desert sands<br /> To +gladden happier lands.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LOVE’S DOUBT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>’Tis love that blinds my heart and eyes, -<br /> I +sometimes say in doubting dreams, -<br /> The face that near +me perfect seems<br />Cold Memory paints in fainter dyes.</p> +<p>’Twas but love’s dazzled eyes - I say -<br /> That +made her seem so strangely bright;<br /> The face I worshipped +yesternight,<br />I dread to meet it changed to-day.</p> +<p>As, when dies out some song’s refrain,<br /> And +leaves your eyes in happy tears,<br /> Awake the same fond +idle fears, -<br />It cannot sound so sweet again.</p> +<p>You wait and say with vague annoy,<br /> “It will +not sound so sweet again,”<br /> Until comes back the +wild refrain<br />That floods your soul with treble joy.</p> +<p>So when I see my love again<br /> Fades the unquiet doubt +away,<br /> While shines her beauty like the day<br />Over +my happy heart and brain.</p> +<p>And in that face I see no more<br /> The fancied faults +I idly dreamed,<br /> But all the charms that fairest seemed,<br />I +find them, fairer than before.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LAGRIMAS.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> God send me tears!<br />Loose the fierce +band that binds my tired brain,<br />Give me the melting heart of other +years,<br /> And let me weep again!</p> +<p> Before me pass<br />The shapes of things +inexorably true.<br />Gone is the sparkle of transforming dew<br /> From +every blade of grass.</p> +<p> In life’s high noon<br />Aimless +I stand, my promised task undone,<br />And raise my hot eyes to the +angry sun<br /> That will go down too soon.</p> +<p> Turned into gall<br />Are the sweet +joys of childhood’s sunny reign;<br />And memory is a torture, +love a chain<br /> That binds my life in +thrall.</p> +<p> And childhood’s pain<br />Could +to me now the purest rapture yield;<br />I pray for tears as in his +parching field<br /> The husbandman for +rain.</p> +<p> We pray in vain!<br />The sullen sky +flings down its blaze of brass;<br />The joys of life all scorched and +withering pass;<br /> I shall not weep +again.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>ON THE BLUFF.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>O grandly flowing River!<br />O silver-gliding River!<br />Thy springing +willows shiver<br /> In the sunset as of old;<br />They shiver +in the silence<br />Of the willow-whitened islands,<br />While the sun-bars +and the sand-bars<br /> Fill air and wave with gold.</p> +<p>O gay, oblivious River!<br />O sunset-kindled River!<br />Do you +remember ever<br /> The eyes and skies so blue<br />On a +summer day that shone here,<br />When we were all alone here,<br />And +the blue eyes were too wise<br /> To speak the love they +knew?</p> +<p>O stern, impassive River!<br />O still, unanswering River!<br />The +shivering willows quiver<br /> As the night-winds moan and +rave.<br />From the past a voice is calling,<br />From heaven a star +is falling,<br />And dew swells in the bluebells<br /> Above +her hillside grave.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>UNA.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the whole wide world there was but one;<br />Others for others, +but she was mine,<br />The one fair woman beneath the sun.</p> +<p>From her gold-flax curls’ most marvellous shine<br />Down to +the lithe and delicate feet<br />There was not a curve nor a waving +line</p> +<p>But moved in a harmony firm and sweet<br />With all of passion my +life could know.<br />By knowledge perfect and faith complete</p> +<p>I was bound to her, - as the planets go<br />Adoring around their +central star,<br />Free, but united for weal or woe.</p> +<p>She was so near and Heaven so far -<br />She grew my heaven and law +and fate,<br />Rounding my life with a mystic bar</p> +<p>No thought beyond could violate.<br />Our love to fulness in silence +nursed<br />Grew calm as morning, when through the gate</p> +<p>Of the glimmering east the sun has burst,<br />With his hot life +filling the waiting air.<br />She kissed me once, - that last and first</p> +<p>Of her maiden kisses was placid as prayer.<br />Against all comers +I sat with lance<br />In rest, and, drunk with my joy, I sware</p> +<p>Defiance and scorn to the world’s worst chance.<br />In vain! +for soon unhorsed I lay<br />At the feet of the strong god Circumstance +-</p> +<p>And never again shall break the day,<br />And never again shall fall +the night,<br />That shall light me, or shield me, on my way</p> +<p>To the presence of my sad soul’s delight.<br />Her dead love +comes like a passionate ghost<br />To mourn the Body it held so light,</p> +<p>And Fate, like a hound with a purpose lost,<br />Goes round bewildered +with shame and fright.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THROUGH THE LONG DAYS.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Through the long days and years<br /> What will my loved +one be,<br /> Parted from me?<br />Through the +long days and years.</p> +<p>Always as then she was,<br /> Loveliest, brightest, best,<br /> Blessing +and blest, -<br />Always as then she was.</p> +<p>Never on earth again<br /> Shall I before her stand,<br /> Touch +lip or hand, -<br />Never on earth again.</p> +<p>But while my darling lives<br /> Peaceful I journey on,<br /> Not +quite alone,<br />Not while my darling lives.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A PHYLACTERY.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Wise men I hold those rakes of old<br /> Who, as we read +in antique story,<br />When lyres were struck and wine was poured,<br />Set +the white Death’s Head on the board -<br /> Memento +mori.</p> +<p>Love well! love truly! and love fast!<br /> True love +evades the dilatory.<br />Life’s bloom flares like a meteor past;<br />A +joy so dazzling cannot last -<br /> Memento mori.</p> +<p>Stop not to pluck the leaves of bay<br /> That greenly +deck the path of glory,<br />The wreath will wither if you stay,<br />So +pass along your earnest way -<br /> Memento mori.</p> +<p>Hear but not heed, though wild and shrill,<br /> The cries +of faction transitory;<br />Cleave to <i>your</i> good, eschew <i>your</i> +ill,<br />A Hundred Years and all is still -<br /> Memento +mori.</p> +<p>When Old Age comes with muffled drums,<br /> That beat +to sleep our tired life’s story,<br />On thoughts of dying (Rest +is good!),<br />Like old snakes coiled i’ the sun, we brood -<br /> Memento +mori.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>BLONDINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I wandered through a careless world<br /> Deceived when +not deceiving,<br />And never gave an idle heart<br /> The +rapture of believing.<br />The smiles, the sighs, the glancing eyes,<br /> Of +many hundred comers<br />Swept by me, light as rose-leaves blown<br /> From +long-forgotten summers.</p> +<p>But never eyes so deep and bright<br /> And loyal in their +seeming,<br />And never smiles so full of light<br /> Have +shone upon my dreaming.<br />The looks and lips so gay and wise,<br /> The +thousand charms that wreathe them,<br /> - Almost I dare believe +that truth<br /> Is safely shrined beneath them.</p> +<p>Ah! do they shine, those eyes of thine,<br /> But for +our own misleading?<br />The fresh young smile, so pure and fine,<br /> Does +it but mock our reading?<br />Then faith is fled, and trust is dead,<br /> And +unbelief grows duty,<br />If fraud can wield the triple arm<br /> Of +youth and wit and beauty.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>DISTICHES.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her.<br /> This +one may love her some day, some day the lover will not.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are +going,<br /> When they seem going they come: Diplomates, +women, and crabs.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>Pleasures too hastily tasted grow sweeter in fond recollection,<br /> As +the pomegranate plucked green ripens far over the sea.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>As the meek beasts in the Garden came flocking for Adam to name them,<br /> Men +for a title to-day crawl to the feet of a king.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>What is a first love worth, except to prepare for a second?<br /> What +does the second love bring? Only regret for the first.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>Health was wooed by the Romans in groves of the laurel and myrtle.<br /> Happy +and long are the lives brightened by glory and love.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>Wine is like rain: when it falls on the mire it but makes it the +fouler,<br /> But when it strikes the good soil wakes it +to beauty and bloom.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>Break not the rose; its fragrance and beauty are surely sufficient:<br /> Resting +contented with these, never a thorn shall you feel.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>When you break up housekeeping, you learn the extent of your treasures;<br /> Till +he begins to reform, no one can number his sins.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Maidens! why should you worry in choosing whom you shall marry?<br /> Choose +whom you may, you will find you have got somebody else.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>Unto each man comes a day when his favourite sins all forsake him,<br /> And +he complacently thinks he has forsaken his sins.</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>Be not too anxious to gain your next-door neighbour’s approval:<br /> Live +your own life, and let him strive your approval to gain.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>Who would succeed in the world should be wise in the use of his pronouns.<br /> Utter +the You twenty times, where you once utter the I.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>The best-loved man or maid in the town would perish with anguish<br /> Could +they hear all that their friends say in the<br />course of a day.</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table:<br /> Luckiest +he who knows just when to rise and go home.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>Pleasant enough it is to hear the world speak of your virtues;<br /> But +in your secret heart ’tis of your faults you are proud.</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>Try not to beat back the current, yet be not drowned in its waters;<br /> Speak +with the speech of the world, think with the thoughts of the few.</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>Make all good men your well-wishers, and then, in the years’ +steady sifting,<br /> Some of them turn into friends. +Friends are the sunshine of life.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>REGARDANT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>As I lay at your feet that afternoon,<br />Little we spoke, - you +sat and mused,<br />Humming a sweet old-fashioned tune,</p> +<p>And I worshipped you, with a sense confused<br />Of the good time +gone and the bad on the way,<br />While my hungry eyes your face perused,</p> +<p>To catch and brand on my soul for aye<br />The subtle smile which +had grown my doom.<br />Drinking sweet poison hushed I lay</p> +<p>Till the sunset shimmered athwart the room.<br />I rose to go. +You stood so fair<br />And dim in the dead day’s tender gloom:</p> +<p>All at once, or ever I was aware,<br />Flashed from you on me a warm +strong wave<br />Of passion and power; in the silence there</p> +<p>I fell on my knees, like a lover, or slave,<br />With my wild hands +clasping your slender waist;<br />And my lips, with a sudden frenzy +brave,</p> +<p>A madman’s kiss on your girdle pressed,<br />And I felt your +calm heart’s quickening beat,<br />And your soft hands on me one +instant rest.</p> +<p>And if God had loved me, how endlessly sweet<br />Had He let my heart +in its rapture burst,<br />And throb its last at your firm small feet!</p> +<p>And when I was forth, I shuddered at first<br />At my imminent bliss. +As a soul in pain,<br />Treading his desolate path accursed,</p> +<p>Looks back and dreams through his tears’ dim rain<br />That +by Heaven’s wide gate the angels smile,<br />Relenting, and beckon +him back again,</p> +<p>And goes on, thrice damned by that devil’s wile, -<br />So +sometimes burns in my weary brain<br />The thought that you loved me +all the while.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>GUY OF THE TEMPLE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Down the dim west slowly fails the stricken sun,<br />And from his +hot face fades the crimson flush<br />Veiled in death’s herald-shadows +sick and grey.<br />Silent and dark the sombre valley lies<br />Forgotten; +happy in the late fond beams<br />Glimmer the constant waves of Galilee.<br />Afar, +below, in airy music ring<br />The bugles of my host; the column halts,<br />A +wearied serpent glittering in the vale,<br />Where rising mist-like +gleam the tented camps.</p> +<p>Pitch my pavilion here, where its high cross<br />May catch the last +light lingering on the hill.<br />The savage shadows, struggling by +the shore,<br />Have conquered in the valley; inch by inch<br />The +vanquished light fights bravely to these crags<br />To perish glorious +in the sunset fire;<br />Even as our hunted Cause so pressed and torn<br />In +Syrian valleys, and the trampled marge<br />Of consecrated streams, +displays at last<br />Its narrowing glories from these steadfast walls.<br />Here +in God’s name we stand, and brighter far<br />Shines the stern +virtue of my martyr-host<br />Through these invidious fortunes, than +of old,<br />When the still sunshine glinted on their helms,<br />And +dallying breezes woke their bridle-bells<br />To tinkling music by the +reedy shore<br />Of calm Tiberias, where our angry Lord,<br />Wroth +at the deadly sin that cursed our camp,<br />Denied and blinded us, +and gave us up<br />To the avenging sword of Saladin.<br />Yet would +He not permit His truth to sink<br />To utter loss amid that foundering +fight,<br />But led us, scarred and shattered from the spoil<br />Of +Paynim rage, the desert’s thirsty death,<br />To where beneath +the sheltering crags we prayed<br />And rested and grew strong. +Heroes and saints<br />To alien peoples shall they be, my brave<br />And +patient warriors; for in their stout hearts<br />God’s Spirit +dwells for ever, and their hands<br />Are swift to do His service on +His foes.<br />The swelling music of their vesper-hymn<br />Is rising +fragrant from the shadowed vale<br />Familiar to the welcoming gates +of heaven.</p> +<p> <i> Mother of God! as evening falls<br /> Upon +the silent sea,<br /> And shadows veil the mountain walls,<br /> We +lift our souls to thee!<br /> From lurking perils of the +night,<br /> The desert’s hidden harms,<br /> From +plagues that waste, from blasts that smite,<br /> Defend +thy men-at-arms!</i></p> +<p>Ay! Heaven keep them! and ye angel-hosts<br />That wait with fluttering +plumes around the great<br />White throne of God, guard them from scath +and harm!<br />For in your starry records never shone<br />The memory +of desert so great as theirs.<br />I hold not first, though peerless +else on earth,<br />That knightly valour, born of gentle blood<br />And +war’s long tutelage, which hath made their name<br />Blaze like +a baleful planet o’er these lands;<br />Firm seat in saddle, lance +unmoved, a hand<br />Wedding the hilt with death’s persistent +grasp;<br />One-minded rush in fight that naught can stay.<br />Not +these the highest, though I scorn not these,<br />But rather offer Heaven +with humble heart<br />The deeds that Heaven hath given us arms to do.<br />For +when God’s smile was with us we were strong<br />To go like sudden +lightning to our mark:<br />As on that summer day when Saladin -<br />Passing +in scorn our host at Antioch,<br />Who spent the days in revel, and +shamed the stars<br />With nightly scandal - came with all his host,<br />Its +gay battalia brave with saffron silks,<br />Flaunting the banners of +the Caliphate<br />Beneath the walls of fair Jerusalem:<br />And white +and shaking came the Leper-King,<br />Great Baldwin’s blasted +scion, and Tripoli<br />And I, and twenty score of Temple Knights,<br />To +meet the myriads marshalled by the bright<br />Untarnished flower of +Eastern chivalry;<br />A moment paused with level-fronting spears<br />And +moveless helms before that shining host,<br />Whose gay attire abashed +the morning light,<br />And then struck spur and charged, while from +the mass<br />Of rushing terror burst the awful cry,<br /><i>God and +the Temple</i>! As the avalanche slides<br />Down Alpine slopes, +precipitous, cold and dark,<br />Unpitying and unwrathful, grinds and +crushes<br />The mountain violets and the valley weeds,<br />And drags +behind a trail of chaos and death;<br />So burst we on that field, and +through and through<br />The gay battalia brave with saffron silks,<br />Crushed +and abolished every grace and gleam,<br />And dragged where’er +we rode a sinuous track<br />Of chaos and death, till all the plain +was filled<br />With battered armour, turbaned trunkless heads,<br />With +silken mantles blushing angry gules<br />And Bagdad’s banners +trampled and forlorn.<br />And Saladin, stunned and bewildered sore, +-<br />The greatest prince, save in the grace of God,<br />That now +wears sword, - mounted his brother’s barb,<br />And, followed +by a half-score followers,<br />Sped to his castle Shaubec, over against<br />The +cliffs by Ascalon, and there abode:<br />And sullenly made order that +no more<br />The royal nouba should be played for him<br />Until he +should erase the rusting stain<br />Upon his knightly honour; and no +more<br />The nouba sounded by the Sultan’s tent,<br />Morning +nor evening by the silent tent,<br />Until the headlong greed of Chatillon<br />Spread +ruin on our cause from Montreale.<br />But greatest are my warriors, +as I deem,<br />In that their hearts, nearer than any else,<br />Keep +true the pledge of perfect purity<br />They pledged upon their sword-hilts +long ago.<br />For all is possible to the pure in heart.</p> +<p> <i>Mother of God! thy starry smile<br /> Still +bless us from above!<br /> Keep pure our souls from passion’s +guile,<br /> Our hearts from earthly love!<br /> Still +save each soul from guilt apart<br /> As stainless +as each sword,<br /> And guard undimmed in every heart<br /> The +image of our Lord!</i></p> +<p>O goodliest fellowship that the world has known,<br />True hearts +and stalwart arms! above your breasts<br />Glitters no flash of wreathen +amulet<br />Forged against sword-stroke by the chanted rhythm<br />Of +charms accurst; but in each steadfast heart<br />Blazes the light of +cloudless purity,<br />That like a splendid jewel glorifies<br />With +restless fire the gold that spheres it round,<br />And marks you children +of our God, whose lives<br />He guards with the awful jealousy of love.<br />And +even me that generous love has spared, -<br />Me, trustless knight and +miserable man, -<br />Sad prey of dark and mutinous thoughts that tempt<br />My +sick soul into perjury and death -<br />Since His great love had pity +on my pain,<br />Has spared to lead these blameless warriors safe<br />Into +the desert from the blazing towns,<br />Out of the desert to the inviolate +hills<br />Where God has roofed them with His hollow shield.<br />Through +all these days of tempest and eclipse<br />His hand has led me and His +wrath has flashed<br />Its lightnings in the pathway of my sword.<br />And +so I hope, and so my crescent faith<br />Gains daily power, that all +my prayers and tears<br />And toils and blood and anguish borne for +Him<br />May blot the accusing of my deadly sin<br />From heavens high +compt, and give me rest in death;<br />And lay the pallid ghost of mortal +love,<br />That fills with banned and mournful loveliness,<br />Unblest, +the haunted chambers of my soul.<br />My misery will atone, - my misery, +-<br />Dear God, will surely atone! for not the sting<br />Of lacerating +thongs, nor the slow horror<br />Of crowns of thorny iron maddening +the brows,<br />Nor all that else pale hermits have devised<br />To +scourge the rebel senses in their shade<br />Of caverned desolation, +have the power<br />To smart and goad and lash and mortify<br />Like +the great love that binds my ruined heart<br />Relentless, as the insidious +ivy binds<br />The shattered bulk of some deserted tower,<br />Enlacing +slow and riving with strong hands<br />Of pitiless verdure every seam +and jut,<br />Till none may tear it forth and save the tower.<br />So +binds and masters me my hopeless love.<br />So through the desert, in +the silent hills,<br />I’ the current of the battle’s storm +and stress,<br />One thought has driven me, - that though men may call<br />Me +stainless Paladin, Knight leal and true<br />To Christ and Our Lady, +still I know myself<br />A knight not after God’s own heart, a +soul<br />Recreant, and whelmed in the forbidden sin.<br />For dearer +to my sad heart than the cross<br />I give my heart’s best blood +for are the eyes<br />That long ago, when youth and hope were mine,<br />I +loved in thy still valleys, far Provence!<br />And sweeter to my spirit +than the bells<br />Of rescued Salem are the loving tones<br />Of her +dear voice, soft echoing o’er the years.<br />They haunt me in +the stillness and the glare<br />Of desert noontide when the horizon’s +line<br />Swims faintly throbbing, and my shadow hides<br />Skulking +beneath me from the brassy sky.<br />And when night comes to soothe +with breath of balm<br />And pomp of stars the worn and weary world,<br />Her +eyes rise in my soul and make its day.<br />And even into the battle +comes my love,<br />Snatching the duty that I offer Heaven.<br /> At +closing of El-Majed’s awful day,<br />When the last quivering +sunbeams, choked with dust<br />And fume of blood, failed on the level +plain,<br />In the last charge, when gathered all our knights<br />The +precious handful who from morn had stemmed<br />The fury of the multitudinous +hosts<br />Of Islam, where in youth’s hot fire and pride<br />Ramped +the young lion-whelp, Ben-Saladin;<br />As down the slope we rode at +eventide,<br />The dying sunlight faintly smiled to greet<br />Our tattered +guidons and our dinted helms<br />And lance-heads blooming with the +battle’s rose.<br />Into the vale, dusk with the shadow of death,<br />With +silent lips and ringing mail we rode.<br />And something in the spirit +of the hour,<br />Or fate, or memory, or sorrow, or sin,<br />Or love, +which unto me is all of these,<br />Possessed and bound me; for when +dashed our troop<br />In stormy clangour on the Paynim lines<br />The +soul of my dead youth came into me;<br />Faded away my oath; the woes +of Zion,<br />God was forgot; blazed in my leaping heart,<br />With +instant flash, life’s inextinguished fires;<br />Plunging along +each tense limb poured the blood<br />Hot with its years of sleeping-smothered +flame.<br />And in a dream I charged, and in a dream<br />I smote resistless; +foemen in my path<br />Fell unregarded, like the wayside flowers<br />Clipped +by the truant’s staff in daisied lanes.<br />For over me burned +lustrous the dear eyes<br />Of my beloved; I strove as at a joust<br />To +gain at end the guerdon of her smile.<br />And ever, as in the dense +mêlée I dashed,<br />Her name burst from my lips, as lightning +breaks<br />Out of the plunging wrack of summer storms.</p> +<p>O my lost love! Bright o’er the waste of years -<br />That +bliss and beauty shines upon my soul;<br />As far beyond yon desert +hangs the sun,<br />Gilding with tender beam the barren stretch<br />Of +sands that intervene. In this still light<br />The old sweet memories +glimmer back to me,<br />Fair summers of my youth, - the idle days<br />I +wandered in the bosky coverts hid<br />In the dim woods that girt my +ancient home;<br />The blue young eyes I met and worshipped there;<br />The +love that growing turned those gloomy wilds<br />To faery dells, and +filled the vernal air<br />With light that bathed the hills of Paradise;<br />The +warm, long days of rapturous summer-time,<br />When through the forests +thick and lush we strayed,<br />And love made our own sunshine in the +shades.<br />And all things fair and graceful in the woods<br />I loved +with liberal heart; the violets<br />Were dear for her dear eyes, the +quiring birds<br />That caught the musical tremble of her voice.<br />O +happy twilights in the leafy glooms!<br />When in the glowing dusk the +winsome arts<br />And maiden graces that all day had kept<br />Us twain +and separate melted away<br />In blushing silence, and my love was mine<br />Utterly, +utterly, with clinging arms<br />And quick, caressing fingers, warm +red lips,<br />Where vows, half uttered, drowned in kisses, died;<br />Mine, +with the starlight in her passionate eyes;<br />The wild wind of the +woodland breathing low<br />To wake the elfin music of the leaves,<br />And +free the prisoned odours of the flowers,<br />In honour of young Love +come to his throne!<br />While we under the stars, with twining arms<br />And +mutual lips insatiate, gave our souls -<br />Madly forgetting earth +and heaven - to love!</p> +<p> <i>In desert march or battle flame,<br /> In +fortress and in field,<br /> Our war-cry is thy holy name,<br /> Thy +love our joy and shield!<br /> And if we falter, let thy +power<br /> Thy stern avenger be,<br /> And +God forget us in the hour<br /> We cease to think +of thee!</i></p> +<p>Curse me not, God of Justice and of Love!<br />Pitiful God, let my +long woe atone!</p> +<p>I cannot deem but God has pitied me;<br />Else why with painful care +have I been saved,<br />Whenever tossed and drenched in the fierce tide<br />Of +Saladin’s victories by the walls profaned<br />Of Jaffa, on the +sands of far Daroum,<br />Or in the battle thundering on the downs<br />Of +Ramlah, or the bloody day that shed<br />Red horrors on high Gaza’s +parapets?<br />For never a storm of fatal fight has raged<br />In Islam’s +track of rout and ruin swept<br />From Egypt to Gebail, but when the +ebb<br />Of battle came I and my host have lain,<br />Scarred, scorched, +safe somewhere on its fiery shore.<br />At Marcab’s lingering +siege, where day by day<br />We told the Moslem legions toiling slow,<br />Planting +their engines, delving in their mines<br />To quench in our destruction +this last light<br />Of Christendom, our fortress in the crags,<br />God’s +beacon swung defiant from the stars;<br />One thunderous night I knew +their miners groped<br />Below, and thought ere morn to die, in crush<br />And +tumult of the falling citadel.<br />And pondering of my fate - the broken +storm<br />Sobbing its life away - I was aware<br />There grew between +me and the quieting skies<br />A face and form I knew, - not as in dreams,<br />The +sad dishevelled loveliness of earth,<br />But lighter than the thin +air where she swayed, -<br />Gold hair flame-fluttered, eyes and mouth +aglow<br />With lambent light of spiritual joy.<br />With sweet command +she beckoned me away<br />And led me vaguely dreaming, till I saw<br />Where +the wild flood in sudden fury had burst<br />A passage through the rocks: +and thence I led<br />My host unharmed, following her luminous eyes,<br />Until +the east was grey, and with a smile<br />Wooing me heavenward still +she passed away<br />Into the rosy trouble of the dawn.</p> +<p>And I believe my love is shrived in heaven,<br />And I believe that +I shall soon be free.</p> +<p>For ever, as I journey on, to me<br />Waking or sleeping come faint +whisperings<br />And fancies not of earth, as if the gates<br />Of near +eternity stood for me ajar,<br />And ghostly gales come blowing o’er +my soul<br />Fraught with the amaranth odours of the skies.<br />I go +to join the Lion-Heart at Acre,<br />And there, after due homage to +my liege,<br />And after patient penance of the Church,<br />And after +final devoir in the fight,<br />If that my God be gracious, I shall +die.<br />And so I pray - Lord, pardon if I sin! -<br />That I may lose +in death’s embittered wave<br />The stain of sinful loving, and +may find<br />In glory again the love I lost below,<br />With all of +fair and bright and unattained,<br />Beautiful in the cherishing smile +of God,<br />By the glad waters of the River of Life!</p> +<p>Night hangs above the valley; dies the day<br />In peace, casting +his last glance on my cross,<br />And warns me to my prayers. +<i>Ave Maria!</i></p> +<p> <i>Mother of God! the evening fades<br /> On +wave and hill and lea,<br /> And in the twilight’s +deepening shades<br /> We lift our souls to thee!<br /> In +passion’s stress - the battle’s strife,<br /> The +desert’s lurking harms,<br /> Maid-Mother of the Lord +of Life<br /> Protect thy men-at-arms!</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>TRANSLATIONS.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE WAY TO HEAVEN.<br /> FROM +THE GERMAN.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>One day the Sultan, grand and grim,<br />Ordered the Mufti brought +to him.<br />“Now let thy wisdom solve for me<br />The question +I shall put to thee.</p> +<p>“The different tribes beneath my sway<br />Four several sects +of priests obey;<br />Now tell me which of all the four<br />Is on the +path to Heaven’s door.”</p> +<p>The Sultan spake, and then was dumb.<br />The Mufti looked about +the room,<br />And straight made answer to his lord,<br />Fearing the +bowstring at each word:</p> +<p>“Thou, godlike in thy lofty birth,<br />Who art our Allah upon +earth,<br />Illume me with thy favouring ray,<br />And I will answer +as I may.</p> +<p>“Here, where thou thronest in thy hall,<br />I see there are +four doors in all;<br />And through all four thy slaves may gaze<br />Upon +the brightness of thy face.</p> +<p>“That I came hither safely through<br />Was to thy gracious +message due,<br />And, blinded by thy splendour’s flame,<br />I +cannot tell the way I came.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>COUNTESS JUTTA.<br /> FROM +THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The Countess Jutta passed over the Rhine<br />In a light canoe by +the moon’s pale shine.<br />The handmaid rows and the Countess +speaks:<br />“Seest thou not there where the water breaks<br /> Seven +corpses swim<br /> In +the moonlight dim?<br />So sorrowful swim the dead!</p> +<p>“They were seven knights full of fire and youth,<br />They +sank on my heart and swore me truth.<br />I trusted them; but for Truth’s +sweet sake,<br />Lest they should be tempted their oaths to break,<br /> I +had them bound,<br /> And +tenderly drowned!<br />So sorrowful swim the dead!”</p> +<p>The merry Countess laughed outright!<br />It rang so wild in the +startled night!<br />Up to the waist the dead men rise<br />And stretch +lean fingers to the skies.<br /> They +nod and stare<br /> With +a glassy glare!<br />So sorrowful swim the dead!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A BLESSING.<br /> AFTER +HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When I look on thee and feel how dear,<br /> How pure, +and how fair thou art,<br />Into my eyes there steals a tear,<br />And +a shadow mingled of love and fear<br /> Creeps slowly over +my heart.</p> +<p>And my very hands feel as if they would lay<br /> Themselves +on thy fair young head,<br />And pray the good God to keep thee alway<br />As +good and lovely, as pure and gay, -<br /> When I and my wild +love are dead.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>TO THE YOUNG.<br /> AFTER +HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Let your feet not falter, your course not alter<br /> By +golden apples, till victory’s won!<br />The sword’s sharp +clangour, the dart’s shrill anger,<br /> Swerve not +the hero thundering on.</p> +<p>A bold beginning is half the winning,<br /> An Alexander +makes worlds his fee.<br />No long debating! The Queens are waiting<br /> In +his pavilion on beaded knee.</p> +<p>Thus swift pursuing his wars and wooing,<br /> He mounts +old Darius’ bed and throne.<br />O glorious ruin! O blithe +undoing!<br /> O drunk death-triumph in Babylon!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE GOLDEN CALF.<br /> AFTER +HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Double flutes and horns resound<br />As they dance the idol round;<br />Jacob’s +daughters, madly reeling,<br /> Whirl about the golden calf.<br /> Hear +them laugh!<br />Kettledrums and laughter pealing.</p> +<p>Dresses tucked above their knees,<br />Maids of noblest families,<br />In +the swift dance blindly wheeling,<br /> Circle in their wild +career<br /> Round the steer, -<br />Kettledrums +and laughter pealing.</p> +<p>Aaron’s self, the guardian grey<br />Of the faith, at last +gives way,<br />Madness all his senses stealing;<br /> Prances +in his high priest’s coat<br /> Like a +goat, -<br />Kettledrums and laughter pealing.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE AZRA.<br /> AFTER +HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Daily walked the fair and lovely<br />Sultan’s daughter in +the twilight, -<br />In the twilight by the fountain,<br />Where the +sparkling waters plash.</p> +<p>Daily stood the young slave silent<br />In the twilight by the fountain,<br />Where +the plashing waters sparkle,<br />Pale and paler every day.</p> +<p>Once by twilight came the princess<br />Up to him with rapid questions:<br />“I +would know thy name, thy nation,<br />Whence thou comest, who thou art.”</p> +<p>And the young slave said, “My name is<br />Mahomet, I come +from Yemmen.<br />I am of the sons of Azra,<br />Men who perish if they +love.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>GOOD AND BAD LUCK.<br /> AFTER +HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Good luck is the gayest of all gay girls,<br /> Long in +one place she will not stay;<br />Back from your brow she strokes the +curls,<br /> Kisses you quick and flies away.</p> +<p>But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes<br /> And stays, - no +fancy has she for flitting, -<br />Snatches of true love-songs she hums,<br /> And +sits by your bed, and brings her knitting.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>L’AMOUR DU MENSONGE.<br /> AFTER +CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When I behold thee, O my indolent love,<br /> To the sound +of ringing brazen melodies,<br />Through garish halls harmoniously move,<br /> Scattering +a scornful light from languid eyes;</p> +<p>When I see, smitten by the blazing lights,<br /> Thy pale +front, beauteous in its bloodless glow<br />As the faint fires that +deck the Northern nights,<br /> And eyes that draw me wheresoe’er +I go;</p> +<p>I say, She is fair, too coldly strange for speech;<br /> A +crown of memories, her calm brow above,<br />Shines; and her heart is +like a bruised red peach,<br /> Ripe as her body for intelligent +love.</p> +<p>Art thou late fruit of spicy savour and scent?<br /> A +funeral vase awaiting tearful showers?<br />An Eastern odour, waste +and oasis blent?<br /> A silken cushion or a bank of flowers?</p> +<p>I know there are eyes of melancholy sheen<br /> To which +no passionate secrets e’er were given;<br />Shrines where no god +or saint has ever been,<br /> As deep and empty as the vault +of Heaven.</p> +<p>But what care I if this be all pretence?<br /> ’Twill +serve a heart that seeks for truth no more.<br />All one thy folly or +indifference, -<br /> Hail, lovely mask, thy beauty I adore!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>AMOR MYSTICUS.<br /> FROM +THE SPANISH OF SOR MARCELA DE CARPIO.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Let them say to my Lover<br /> That here I +lie!<br />The thing of His pleasure,<br /> His +slave am I.</p> +<p>Say that I seek Him<br /> Only for love,<br />And +welcome are tortures<br /> My passion to prove.</p> +<p>Love giving gifts<br /> Is suspicious and +cold;<br />I have all, my Belovèd,<br /> When +Thee I hold.</p> +<p>Hope and devotion<br /> The good may gain;<br />I +am but worthy<br /> Of passion and pain.</p> +<p>So noble a Lord<br /> None serves in vain,<br />For +the pay of my love<br /> Is my love’s sweet +pain.</p> +<p>I love Thee, to love Thee, -<br /> No more +I desire;<br />By faith is nourished<br /> My +love’s strong fire.</p> +<p>I kiss Thy hands<br /> When I feel their blows;<br />In +the place of caresses<br /> Thou givest me woes.</p> +<p>But in Thy chastising<br /> Is joy and peace.<br />O +Master and Love,<br /> Let Thy blows not cease.</p> +<p>Thy beauty, Belovèd,<br /> With scorn +is rife,<br />But I know that Thou lovest me,<br /> Better +than life.</p> +<p>And because thou lovest me,<br /> Lover of +mine,<br />Death can but make me<br /> Utterly +Thine.</p> +<p>I die with longing<br /> Thy face to see;<br />Oh! +sweet is the anguish<br /> Of death to me!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines4"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PIKE COUNTY BALLADS ETC. ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named pkcb10h.htm or pkcb10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, pkcb11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, pkcb10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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