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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: 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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