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diff --git a/old/2004-07-pkcb10h.htm b/old/2004-07-pkcb10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d16af47 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2004-07-pkcb10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2958 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Pike County Ballads and Other Poems</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Pike County Ballads and Other Poems, by John Hay</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pike County Ballads and Other Poems, by Hay +(#1 in our series by John Hay) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Pike County Ballads and Other Poems + +Author: John Hay + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6062] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 30, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>This etext was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>PIKE COUNTY BALLADS and other poems by John Hay.</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>CONTENTS.</p> +<p>INTRODUCTION by Henry Morley.</p> +<p>POEMS BY JOHN HAY.</p> +<p>THE PIKE COUNTY BALLADS.</p> +<p>JIM BLUDSO<br />LITTLE BREECHES<br />BANTY TIM<br />THE MYSTERY OF +GILGAL<br />GOLYER<br />THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT</p> +<p>WANDERLIEDER.</p> +<p>SUNRISE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE<br />THE SPHINX OF THE TUILERIES<br />THE +SURRENDER OF SPAIN<br />THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS<br />THE CURSE OF HUNGARY<br />THE +MONKS OF BASLE<br />THE ENCHANTED SHIRT<br />A WOMAN’S LOVE<br />ON +PITZ LANGUARD<br />BOUDOIR PROPHECIES<br />A TRIUMPH OF ORDER<br />ERNST +OF EDELSHEIM<br />MY CASTLE IN SPAIN<br />SISTER SAINT LUKE</p> +<p>NEW AND OLD.</p> +<p>MILES KEOGH’S HORSE<br />THE ADVANCE-GUARD<br />LOVE’S +PRAYER<br />CHRISTINE<br />EXPECTATION<br />TO FLORA<br />A HAUNTED +ROOM<br />DREAMS<br />THE LIGHT OF LOVE<br />QUAND MÊME<br />WORDS<br />THE +STIRRUP-CUP<br />A DREAM OF BRIC-A-BRAC<br />LIBERTY<br />THE WHITE +FLAG<br />THE LAW OF DEATH<br />MOUNT TABOR<br />RELIGION AND DOCTRINE<br />SINAI +AND CALVARY<br />THE VISION OF ST. PETER<br />ISRAEL<br />THE CROWS +AT WASHINGTON<br />REMORSE<br />ESSE QUAM VIDERI<br />WHEN THE BOYS +COME HOME<br />LÈSE-AMOUR<br />NORTHWARD<br />IN THE FIRELIGHT<br />IN +A GRAVEYARD<br />THE PRAIRIE<br />CENTENNIAL<br />A WINTER NIGHT<br />STUDENT-SONG<br />HOW +IT HAPPENED<br />GOD’S VENGEANCE<br />TOO LATE<br />LOVE’S +DOUBT<br />LAGRIMAS<br />ON THE BLUFF<br />UNA<br />“THROUGH THE +LONG DAYS AND YEARS”<br />A PHYLACTERY<br />BLONDINE<br />DISTICHES<br />REGARDANT<br />GUY +OF THE TEMPLE</p> +<p>TRANSLATIONS.</p> +<p>THE WAY TO HEAVEN<br />COUNTESS JUTTA<br />A BLESSING<br />TO THE +YOUNG<br />THE GOLDEN CALF<br />THE AZRA<br />GOOD AND BAD LUCK<br />L’AMOUR +DU MENSONGE<br />AMOR MYSTICUS</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Pike County Ballads and other poems in this volume by Colonel John +Hay represent in the best manner the spirit of our strong and independent +sister-land across the Atlantic. Pike County Ballads do full justice +to the raw material in the United States, and show a loyal temper in +the rough. The other pieces show how the love of freedom speaks +through finer spirits of the land, and, dealing with realities, can +turn a life of action into music.</p> +<p>Colonel Hay has lived always in vigorous relation with the full life +of the people whose best mind his poems represent. He is descended +from a Scottish soldier, a John Hay, who, at the beginning of the last +century, left his country to take service under the Elector-Palatine, +and whose son went afterwards with his family to settle among the Kentucky +pioneers. Dr. Charles Hay was the father of John Hay the poet, +who was born on the 8th of October 1838, in the heart of the United +States, at Salem in Indiana. When twenty years old he graduated +at the neighbouring Brown University, where his fellow-students valued +his skill as a writer. Then he studied for the Bar, and he was +called to the Bar three years later, at Springfield, Illinois.</p> +<p>At Springfield, Abraham Lincoln practised as a barrister. Shrewd, +lively, earnest, honest, he grudged help to a rogue. In a criminal +case, when evidence threw unexpected light upon a client’s character, +Abraham Lincoln said suddenly to his junior, “Swett, the man is +guilty; you defend him, I can’t.” In another case, +when a piece of rascality in his client came out, Abraham Lincoln left +his junior in possession of the case and went to his hotel. To +the judge, who sent for him, he replied that he had found his hands +were very dirty, and had gone away to get them clean. Almost immediately +after John Hay’s call to the Bar at Springfield he was chosen +by Abraham Lincoln, newly made President, to go with him to Washington. +At Washington, Hay acted as Assistant-Secretary, and was also, in the +Civil War, <i>aide-de-camp</i> to President Lincoln. Throughout +that momentous struggle he was actively employed on the side of the +North at the headquarters and on the field of battle. He served +for a time under Generals Hunter and Gillmore, became a Colonel in the +army of the North, and served also as Assistant Adjutant-General. +John Hay had in that struggle three brothers and two brothers-in-law +serving also in the field.</p> +<p>In 1890 there was published, in ten volumes, at New York, by the +New York Century Company, “Abraham Lincoln, a History: by John +G. Nicolay and John Hay.” This was, with fresh material +inserted, a collection of chapters that had been published in <i>The +Century Magazine</i> from November 1886 to the beginning of 1890. +The friends, who worked equally together upon this large record, said, +“We knew Mr. Lincoln intimately before his election to the Presidency. +We came from Illinois to Washington with him, and remained at his side +and in his service - separately or together - until the day of his death.”</p> +<p>Abroad, as at home, Colonel Hay has been active in the service of +his country. In 1865 he went to Paris as Secretary of Legation, +and after remaining two years in that office he went as <i>Chargé-d’Affaires</i> +for the United States to Vienna. After a year at Vienna, Colonel +Hay went to Madrid as Secretary of Legation under General Daniel Sickles. +In 1870 he returned to the United States, and was for the next five +years an editorial writer for the New York <i>Tribune</i>. During +seven months, when Whitelaw Reid was in Europe, Colonel Hay was editor +in chief.</p> +<p>It was for <i>The Tribune</i> that Hay wrote “The Pike County +Ballads,” which were first reprinted separately in 1871, and are +placed first in the collection of his poems. In the same year +he published his “Castilian Days,” inspired by residence +in Spain.</p> +<p>In 1876 Colonel Hay removed from New York to Cleveland, Ohio. +He then ceased to take part in the editing of <i>The Tribune</i>, but +continued friendly service as a writer. From 1879 to 1881 Colonel +Hay served under President Hayes as Assistant-Secretary of State in +the Government of the United States. In 1881 he was President +of the International Sanitary Congress at Washington. Since that +time he has been active, with John G. Nicolay, in the preparation and +production of the full Memoir of Abraham Lincoln, now completed, that +will take high rank among the records of a war which, in its issues, +touched the future of the world, perhaps, more nearly than any war since +Waterloo, not even excepting the great struggle which ended at Sedan.</p> +<p>That is the life of a man, here is its music.<br />H. M.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE PIKE COUNTY BALLADS.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>JIM BLUDSO, OF THE “PRAIRIE BELLE.”</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Wall, no! I can’t tell whar he lives,<br /> Becase +he don’t live, you see;<br />Leastways, he’s got out of +the habit<br /> Of livin’ like you and me.<br />Whar +have you been for the last three year<br /> That you haven’t +heard folks tell<br />How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks<br /> The +night of the <i>Prairie Belle?</i></p> +<p>He weren’t no saint, - them engineers<br /> Is all +pretty much alike, -<br />One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill,<br /> And +another one here, in Pike;<br />A keerless man in his talk was Jim,<br /> And +an awkward hand in a row,<br />But he never flunked, and he never lied, +-<br /> I reckon he never knowed how.</p> +<p>And this was all the religion he had, -<br /> To treat +his engine well;<br />Never be passed on the river;<br /> To +mind the pilot’s bell;<br />And if ever the <i>Prairie Belle</i> +took fire, -<br /> A thousand times he swore,<br />He’d +hold her nozzle agin the bank<br /> Till the last soul got +ashore.</p> +<p>All boats has their day on the Mississip,<br /> And her +day come at last, -<br />The <i>Movastar</i> was a better boat,<br /> But +the <i>Belle</i> she <i>wouldn’t</i> be passed.<br />And so she +come tearin’ along that night -<br /> The oldest craft +on the line -<br />With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,<br /> And +her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.</p> +<p>The fire bust out as she clared the bar,<br /> And burnt +a hole in the night,<br />And quick as a flash she turned, and made<br /> For +that willer-bank on the right.<br />There was runnin’ and cursin’, +but Jim yelled out,<br /> Over all the infernal roar,<br />“I’ll +hold her nozzle agin the bank<br /> Till the last galoot’s +ashore.”</p> +<p>Through the hot, black breath of the burnin’ boat<br /> Jim +Bludso’s voice was heard,<br />And they all had trust in his cussedness,<br /> And +knowed he would keep his word.<br />And, sure’s you’re born, +they all got off<br /> Afore the smokestacks fell, -<br />And +Bludso’s ghost went up alone<br /> In the smoke of +the <i>Prairie Belle.</i></p> +<p>He weren’t no saint, - but at jedgment<br /> I’d +run my chance with Jim,<br />’Longside of some pious gentlemen<br /> That +wouldn’t shook hands with him.<br />He seen his duty, a dead-sure +thing, -<br /> And went for it thar and then;<br />And Christ +ain’t a-going to be too hard<br /> On a man that died +for men.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LITTLE BREECHES.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I don’t go much on religion,<br /> I never ain’t +had no show;<br />But I’ve got a middlin’ tight grip, sir,<br /> On +the handful o’ things I know.<br />I don’t pan out on the +prophets<br /> And free-will, and that sort of thing, -<br />But +I b’lieve in God and the angels,<br /> Ever sence one +night last spring.</p> +<p>I come into town with some turnips,<br /> And my little +Gabe come along, -<br />No four-year-old in the county<br /> Could +beat him for pretty and strong,<br />Peart and chipper and sassy,<br /> Always +ready to swear and fight, -<br />And I’d larnt him to chaw terbacker<br /> Jest +to keep his milk-teeth white.</p> +<p>The snow come down like a blanket<br /> As I passed by +Taggart’s store;<br />I went in for a jug of molasses<br /> And +left the team at the door.<br />They scared at something and started, +-<br /> I heard one little squall,<br />And hell-to-split +over the prairie<br /> Went team, Little Breeches and all.</p> +<p>Hell-to-split over the prairie!<br /> I was almost froze +with skeer;<br />But we rousted up some torches,<br /> And +searched for ’em far and near.<br />At last we struck hosses and +wagon,<br /> Snowed under a soft white mound,<br />Upsot, +dead beat, - but of little Gabe<br /> No hide nor hair was +found.</p> +<p>And here all hope soured on me,<br /> Of my fellow-critters’ +aid, -<br />I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones,<br /> Crotch-deep +in the snow, and prayed.</p> +<p> . . + . .</p> +<p>By this, the torches was played out,<br /> And me and +Isrul Parr<br />Went off for some wood to a sheepfold<br /> That +he said was somewhar thar.</p> +<p>We found it at last, and a little shed<br /> Where they +shut up the lambs at night.<br />We looked in and seen them huddled +thar,<br /> So warm and sleepy and white;<br />And thar sot +Little Breeches and chirped,<br /> As peart as ever you see,<br />“I +want a chaw of terbacker,<br /> And that’s what’s +the matter of me.”</p> +<p>How did he git thar? Angels.<br /> He could never +have walked in that storm;<br />They jest scooped down and toted him<br /> To +whar it was safe and warm.<br />And I think that saving a little child,<br /> And +fotching him to his own,<br />Is a derned sight better business<br /> Than +loafing around The Throne.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>BANTY TIM.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>REMARKS OF SERGEANT TILMON JOY TO THE WHITE MAN’S COMMITTEE +OF SPUNKY POINT, ILLINOIS.</i></p> +<p>I reckon I git your drift, gents, -<br /> You ’low +the boy sha’n’t stay;<br />This is a white man’s country;<br /> You’re +Dimocrats, you say;<br />And whereas, and seein’, and wherefore,<br /> The +times bein’ all out o’ j’int,<br />The nigger has +got to mosey<br /> From the limits o’ Spunky P’int!</p> +<p>Le’s reason the thing a minute:<br /> I’m +an old-fashioned Dimocrat too,<br />Though I laid my politics out o’ +the way<br /> For to keep till the war was through.<br />But +I come back here, allowin’<br /> To vote as I used +to do,<br />Though it gravels me like the devil to train<br /> Along +o’ sich fools as you.</p> +<p>Now dog my cats ef I kin see,<br /> In all the light of +the day,<br />What you’ve got to do with the question<br /> Ef +Tim shill go or stay.<br />And furder than that I give notice,<br /> Ef +one of you tetches the boy,<br />He kin check his trunks to a warmer +clime<br /> Than he’ll find in Illanoy.</p> +<p>Why, blame your hearts, jest hear me!<br /> You know that +ungodly day<br />When our left struck Vicksburg Heights, how ripped<br /> And +torn and tattered we lay.<br />When the rest retreated I stayed behind,<br /> Fur +reasons sufficient to me, -<br />With a rib caved in, and a leg on a +strike,<br /> I sprawled on that cursed glacee.</p> +<p>Lord! how the hot sun went for us,<br /> And br’iled +and blistered and burned!<br />How the Rebel bullets whizzed round us<br /> When +a cuss in his death-grip turned!<br />Till along toward dusk I seen +a thing<br /> I couldn’t believe for a spell:<br />That +nigger - that Tim - was a crawlin’ to me<br /> Through +that fire-proof, gilt-edged hell!</p> +<p>The Rebels seen him as quick as me,<br /> And the bullets +buzzed like bees;<br />But he jumped for me, and shouldered me,<br /> Though +a shot brought him once to his knees;<br />But he staggered up, and +packed me off,<br /> With a dozen stumbles and falls,<br />Till +safe in our lines he drapped us both,<br /> His black hide +riddled with balls.</p> +<p>So, my gentle gazelles, thar’s my answer,<br /> And +here stays Banty Tim:<br />He trumped Death’s ace for me that +day,<br /> And I’m not goin’ back on him!<br />You +may rezoloot till the cows come home,<br /> But ef one of +you tetches the boy,<br />He’ll wrastle his hash to-night in hell,<br /> Or +my name’s not Tilmon Joy!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE MYSTERY OF GILGAL.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The darkest, strangest mystery<br />I ever read, or heern, or see,<br />Is +’long of a drink at Taggart’s Hall, -<br /> Tom +Taggart’s of Gilgal.</p> +<p>I’ve heern the tale a thousand ways,<br />But never could git +through the maze<br />That hangs around that queer day’s doin’s;<br /> But +I’ll tell the yarn to youans.</p> +<p>Tom Taggart stood behind his bar,<br />The time was fall, the skies +was fa’r,<br />The neighbours round the counter drawed,<br /> And +ca’mly drinked and jawed.</p> +<p>At last come Colonel Blood of Pike,<br />And old Jedge Phinn, permiscus-like,<br />And +each, as he meandered in,<br /> Remarked, “A whisky-skin.”</p> +<p>Tom mixed the beverage full and fa’r,<br />And slammed it, +smoking, on the bar.<br />Some says three fingers, some says two, -<br /> I’ll +leave the choice to you.</p> +<p>Phinn to the drink put forth his hand;<br />Blood drawed his knife, +with accent bland,<br />“I ax yer parding, Mister Phinn -<br /> Jest +drap that whisky-skin.”</p> +<p>No man high-toneder could be found<br />Than old Jedge Phinn the +country round.<br />Says he, “Young man, the tribe of Phinns<br /> Knows +their own whisky-skins!”</p> +<p>He went for his ’leven-inch bowie-knife: -<br />“I tries +to foller a Christian life;<br />But I’ll drap a slice of liver +or two,<br /> My bloomin’ shrub, with you.”</p> +<p>They carved in a way that all admired,<br />Tell Blood drawed iron +at last, and fired.<br />It took Seth Bludso ’twixt the eyes,<br /> Which +caused him great surprise.</p> +<p>Then coats went off, and all went in;<br />Shots and bad language +swelled the din;<br />The short, sharp bark of Derringers,<br /> Like +bull-pups, cheered the furse.</p> +<p>They piled the stiffs outside the door;<br />They made, I reckon, +a cord or more.<br />Girls went that winter, as a rule,<br /> Alone +to spellin’-school.</p> +<p>I’ve searched in vain, from Dan to Beer-<br />Sheba, to make +this mystery clear;<br />But I end with <i>hit</i> as I did begin, -<br /> “WHO +GOT THE WHISKY-SKIN?”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>GOLYER.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Ef the way a man lights out of this world<br /> Helps +fix his heft for the other sp’ere,<br />I reckon my old friend +Golyer’s Ben<br />Will lay over lots of likelier men<br /> For +one thing he done down here.</p> +<p>You didn’t know Ben? He driv a stage<br /> On +the line they called the Old Sou’-west;<br />He wa’n’t +the best man that ever you seen,<br />And he wa’n’t so ungodly +pizen mean, -<br /> No better nor worse than the rest.</p> +<p>He was hard on women and rough on his friends;<br /> And +he didn’t have many, I’ll let you know;<br />He hated a +dog and disgusted a cat,<br />But he’d run off his legs for a +motherless brat,<br /> And I guess there’s many jess +so.</p> +<p>I’ve seed my sheer of the run of things,<br /> I’ve +hoofed it a many and many a miled,<br />But I never seed nothing that +could or can<br />Jest git all the good from the heart of a man<br /> Like +the hands of a little child.</p> +<p>Well! this young one I started to tell you about, -<br /> His +folks was all dead, I was fetchin’ him through, -<br />He was +just at the age that’s loudest for boys,<br />And he blowed such +a horn with his sarchin’ small voice,<br /> We called +him “the Little Boy Blue.”</p> +<p>He ketched a sight of Ben on the box,<br /> And you bet +he bawled and kicked and howled,<br />For to git ’long of Ben, +and ride thar too;<br />I tried to tell him it wouldn’t do,<br /> When +suddingly Golyer growled,</p> +<p>“What’s the use of making the young one cry?<br /> Say, +what’s the use of being a fool?<br />Sling the little one up here +whar he can see,<br />He won’t git the snuffles a-ridin’ +with me,<br /> The night ain’t any too cool.”</p> +<p>The child hushed cryin’ the minute he spoke;<br /> “Come +up here, Major! don’t let him slip.”<br />And jest as nice +as a woman could do,<br />He wropped his blanket around them two,<br /> And +was off in the crack of a whip.</p> +<p>We rattled along an hour or so,<br /> Till we heerd a +yell on the still night air.<br />Did you ever hear an Apache yell?<br />Well, +ye needn’t want to, <i>this</i> side of hell;<br /> There’s +nothing more devilish there.</p> +<p>Caught in the shower of lead and flint,<br /> We felt +the old stage stagger and plunge;<br />Then we heerd the voice and the +whip of Ben,<br />As he gethered his critters up again,<br /> And +tore away with a lunge.</p> +<p>The passengers laughed. “Old Ben’s all right,<br /> He’s +druv five year and never was struck.”<br />“Now if <i>I</i>’d +been thar, as sure as you live,<br />They’d ’a’ plugged +me with holes as thick as a sieve;<br /> It’s the reg’lar +Golyer luck.”</p> +<p>Over hill and holler and ford and creek,<br /> Jest like +the hosses had wings, we tore;<br />We got to Looney’s, and Ben +come in<br />And laid down the baby and axed for his gin,<br /> And +dropped in a heap on the floor.</p> +<p>Said he, “When they fired, I kivered the kid, -<br /> Although +I ain’t pretty, I’m middlin’ broad;<br />And look! +he ain’t fazed by arrow nor ball, -<br />Thank God! my own carcase +stopped them all.”<br />Then we seen his eye glaze, and his lower +jaw fall, -<br /> And he carried his thanks to God.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE PLEDGE AT SPUNKY POINT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p><i>A TALE OF EARNEST EFFORT AND HUMAN PERFIDY.</i></p> +<p>It’s all very well for preachin’,<br /> But +preachin’ and practice don’t gee:<br />I’ve give the +thing a fair trial,<br /> And you can’t ring it in +on me.<br />So toddle along with your pledge, Squire,<br /> Ef +that’s what you want me to sign;<br />Betwixt me and you, I’ve +been thar,<br /> And I’ll not take any in mine.</p> +<p>A year ago last Fo’th July<br /> A lot of the boys +was here.<br />We all got corned and signed the pledge<br /> For +to drink no more that year.<br />There was Tilmon Joy and Sheriff McPhail<br /> And +me and Abner Fry,<br />And Shelby’s boy Leviticus,<br /> And +the Golyers, Luke and Cy.</p> +<p>And we anteed up a hundred<br /> In the hands of Deacon +Kedge<br />For to be divided the follerin’ Fo’th<br /> ’Mongst +the boys that kep’ the pledge.<br />And we knowed each other so +well, Squire,<br /> You may take my scalp for a fool,<br />Ef +every man when he signed his name<br /> Didn’t feel +cock-sure of the pool.</p> +<p>Fur a while it all went lovely;<br /> We put up a job +next day<br />Fur to make Joy b’lieve his wife was dead,<br /> And +he went home middlin’ gay;<br />Then Abner Fry he killed a man<br /> And +afore he was hung McPhail<br />Jest bilked the widder outen her sheer<br /> By +getting him slewed in jail.</p> +<p>But Chris’mas scooped the Sheriff,<br /> The egg-nogs +gethered him in;<br />And Shelby’s boy Leviticus<br /> Was, +New Year’s, tight as sin;<br />And along in March the Golyers<br /> Got +so drunk that a fresh-biled owl<br />Would ’a’ looked ’longside +o’ them two young men,<br /> Like a sober temperance +fowl.</p> +<p>Four months alone I walked the chalk,<br /> I thought +my heart would break;<br />And all them boys a-slappin my back<br /> And +axin’, “What’ll you take?”<br />I never slep’ +without dreamin’ dreams<br /> Of Burbin, Peach, or +Rye,<br />But I chawed at my niggerhead and swore<br /> I’d +rake that pool or die.</p> +<p>At last - the Fo’th - I humped myself<br /> Through +chores and breakfast soon,<br />Then scooted down to Taggart’s +store -<br /> For the pledge was off at noon;<br />And all +the boys was gethered thar,<br /> And each man hilt his glass +-<br />Watchin’ me and the clock quite solemn-like<br /> Fur +to see the last minute pass.</p> +<p>The clock struck twelve! I raised the jug<br /> And +took one lovin’ pull -<br />I was holler clar from skull to boots.<br /> It +seemed I couldn’t git full.<br />But I was roused by a fiendish +laugh<br /> That might have raised the dead -<br />Them ornary +sneaks had sot the clock<br /> A half an hour ahead!</p> +<p>“All right!” I squawked. “You’ve got +me,<br /> Jest order your drinks agin,<br />And we’ll +paddle up to the Deacon’s<br /> And scoop the ante +in.”<br />But when we got to Kedge’s,<br /> What +a sight was that we saw!<br />The Deacon and Parson Skeeters<br /> In +the tail of a game of Draw.</p> +<p>They had shook ’em the heft of the mornin’,<br /> The +Parson’s luck was fa’r,<br />And he raked, the minute we +got thar,<br /> The last of our pool on a pa’r.<br />So +toddle along with your pledge, Squire,<br /> I ’low +it’s all very fine,<br />But ez fur myself, I thank ye,<br /> I’ll +not take any in mine.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>WANDERLIEDER.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>SUNRISE IN THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.<br /><i>(PARIS, AUGUST 1865.)</i></h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I stand at the break of day<br />In the Champs Elysées.<br />The +tremulous shafts of dawning,<br />As they shoot o’er the Tuileries +early,<br />Strike Luxor’s cold grey spire,<br />And wild in the +light of the morning<br />With their marble manes on fire,<br />Ramp +the white Horses of Marly.</p> +<p>But the Place of Concord lies<br />Dead hushed ’neath the ashy +skies.<br />And the Cities sit in council<br />With sleep in their wide +stone eyes.<br />I see the mystic plain<br />Where the army of spectres +slain<br />In the Emperor’s life-long war<br />March on with unsounding +tread<br />To trumpets whose voice is dead.<br />Their spectral chief +still leads them, -<br />The ghostly flash of his sword<br />Like a +comet through mist shines far, -<br />And the noiseless host is poured,<br />For +the gendarme never heeds them,<br />Up the long dim road where thundered<br />The +army of Italy onward<br />Through the great pale Arch of the Star!</p> +<p>The spectre army fades<br />Far up the glimmering hill,<br />But, +vaguely lingering still,<br />A group of shuddering shades<br />Infects +the pallid air,<br />Growing dimmer as day invades<br />The hush of +the dusky square.<br />There is one that seems a King,<br />As if the +ghost of a Crown<br />Still shadowed his jail-bleached hair;<br />I +can hear the guillotine ring,<br />As its regicide note rang there,<br />When +he laid his tired life down<br />And grew brave in his last despair.<br />And +a woman frail and fair<br />Who weeps at leaving a world<br />Of love +and revel and sin<br />In the vast Unknown to be hurled;<br />(For life +was wicked and sweet<br />With kings at her small white feet!)<br />And +one, every inch a Queen,<br />In life and in death a Queen,<br />Whose +blood baptized the place,<br />In the days of madness and fear, -<br />Her +shade has never a peer<br />In majesty and grace.</p> +<p>Murdered and murderers swarm;<br />Slayers that slew and were slain,<br />Till +the drenched place smoked with the rain<br />That poured in a torrent +warm, -<br />Till red as the Riders of Edom<br />Were splashed the white +garments of Freedom<br />With the wash of the horrible storm!</p> +<p>And Liberty’s hands were not clean<br />In the day of her pride +unchained,<br />Her royal hands were stained<br />With the life of a +King and Queen;<br />And darker than that with the blood<br />Of the +nameless brave and good<br />Whose blood in witness clings<br />More +damning than Queens’ and Kings’.</p> +<p>Has she not paid it dearly?<br />Chained, watching her chosen nation<br />Grinding +late and early<br />In the mills of usurpation?<br />Have not her holy +tears,<br />Flowing through shameful years,<br />Washed the stains from +her tortured hands?<br />We thought so when God’s fresh breeze,<br />Blowing +over the sleeping lands,<br />In ’Forty-Eight waked the world,<br />And +the Burgher-King was hurled<br />From that palace behind the trees.</p> +<p>As Freedom with eyes aglow<br />Smiled glad through her childbirth +pain,<br />How was the mother to know<br />That her woe and travail +were vain?<br />A smirking servant smiled<br />When she gave him her +child to keep;<br />Did she know he would strangle the child<br />As +it lay in his arms asleep?</p> +<p>Liberty’s cruellest shame!<br />She is stunned and speechless +yet,<br />In her grief and bloody sweat<br />Shall we make her trust +her blame?<br />The treasure of ’Forty-Eight<br />A lurking jail-bird +stole,<br />She can but watch and wait<br />As the swift sure seasons +roll.</p> +<p>And when in God’s good hour<br />Comes the time of the brave +and true,<br />Freedom again shall rise<br />With a blaze in her awful +eyes<br />That shall wither this robber-power<br />As the sun now dries +the dew.<br />This Place shall roar with the voice<br />Of the glad +triumphant people,<br />And the heavens be gay with the chimes<br />Ringing +with jubilant noise<br />From every clamorous steeple<br />The coming +of better times.<br />And the dawn of Freedom waking<br />Shall fling +its splendours far<br />Like the day which now is breaking<br />On the +great pale Arch of the Star,<br />And back o’er the town shall +fly,<br />While the joy-bells wild are ringing,<br />To crown the Glory +springing<br />From the Column of July!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE SPHINX OF THE TUILERIES.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Out of the Latin Quarter<br /> I came to the lofty door<br />Where +the two marble Sphinxes guard<br /> The Pavillon de Flore.<br />Two +Cockneys stood by the gate, and one<br /> Observed, as they +turned to go,<br />“No wonder He likes that sort of thing, -<br /> He’s +a Sphinx himself, you know.”</p> +<p>I thought as I walked where the garden glowed<br /> In +the sunset’s level fire,<br />Of the Charlatan whom the Frenchmen +loathe<br /> And the Cockneys all admire.<br />They call +him a Sphinx, - it pleases him, -<br /> And if we narrowly +read,<br />We will find some truth in the flunkey’s praise, -<br /> The +man is a Sphinx indeed.</p> +<p>For the Sphinx with breast of woman<br /> And face so +debonair<br />Had the sleek false paws of a lion,<br /> That +could furtively seize and tear.<br />So far to the shoulders, - but +if you took<br /> The Beast in reverse you would find<br />The +ignoble form of a craven cur<br /> Was all that lay behind.</p> +<p>She lived by giving to simple folk<br /> A silly riddle +to read,<br />And when they failed she drank their blood<br /> In +cruel and ravenous greed.<br />But at last came one who knew her word,<br /> And +she perished in pain and shame, -<br />This bastard Sphinx leads the +same base life<br /> And his end will be the same.</p> +<p>For an Œdipus-People is coming fast<br /> With swelled +feet limping on,<br />If they shout his true name once aloud<br /> His +false foul power is gone.<br />Afraid to fight and afraid to fly,<br /> He +cowers in an abject shiver;<br />The people will come to their own at +last, -<br /> God is not mocked for ever.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE SURRENDER OF SPAIN.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I.<br />Land of unconquered Pelayo! land of the Cid Campeador!<br />Sea-girdled +mother of men! Spain, name of glory and power;<br />Cradle of world-grasping +Emperors, grave of the reckless invader,<br />How art thou fallen, my +Spain! how art thou sunk at this hour!</p> +<p>II.<br />Once thy magnanimous sons trod, victors, the portals of +Asia,<br />Once the Pacific waves rushed, joyful thy banners to see;<br />For +it was Trajan that carried the battle-flushed eagles to Dacia,<br />Cortés +that planted thy flag fast by the uttermost sea.</p> +<p>III.<br />Hast thou forgotten those days illumined with glory and +honour,<br />When the far isles of the sea thrilled to the tread of +Castile?<br />When every land under Heaven was flecked by the shade +of thy banner, -<br />When every beam of the sun flashed on thy conquering +steel?</p> +<p>IV.<br />Then through red fields of slaughter, through death and +defeat and disaster,<br />Still flared thy banner aloft, tattered, but +free from a stain, -<br />Now to the upstart Savoyard thou bendest to +beg for a master!<br />How the red flush of her shame mars the proud +beauty of Spain!</p> +<p>V.<br />Has the red blood run cold that boiled by the Xenil and Darro?<br />Are +the high deeds of the sires sung to the children no more?<br />On the +dun hills of the North hast thou heard of no plough-boy Pizarro?<br />Roams +no young swine-herd Cortés hid by the Tagus’ wild shore?</p> +<p>VI.<br />Once again does Hispania bend low to the yoke of the stranger!<br />Once +again will she rise, flinging her gyves in the sea!<br />Princeling +of Piedmont! unwitting thou weddest with doubt and with danger,<br />King +over men who have learned all that it costs to be free.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE PRAYER OF THE ROMANS.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Not done, but near its ending,<br /> Is the work that +our eyes desired;<br />Not yet fulfilled, but near the goal,<br /> Is +the hope that our worn hearts fired.<br />And on the Alban Mountains,<br /> Where +the blushes of dawn increase,<br />We see the flash of the beautiful +feet<br /> Of Freedom and of Peace!</p> +<p>How long were our fond dreams baffled! -<br /> Novara’s +sad mischance,<br />The Kaiser’s sword and fetter-lock,<br /> And +the traitor stab of France;<br />Till at last came glorious Venice,<br /> In +storm and tempest home;<br />And now God maddens the greedy kings,<br /> And +gives to her people Rome.</p> +<p>Lame Lion of Caprera!<br /> Red-shirts of the lost campaigns!<br />Not +idly shed was the costly blood<br /> You poured from generous +veins.<br />For the shame of Aspromonte,<br /> And the stain +of Mentana’s sod,<br />But forged the curse of kings that sprang<br /> From +your breaking hearts to God!</p> +<p>We lift our souls to Thee, O Lord<br /> Of Liberty and +of Light!<br />Let not earth’s kings pollute the work<br /> That +was done in their despite;<br />Let not Thy light be darkened<br /> In +the shade of a sordid crown,<br />Nor pampered swine devour the fruit<br /> Thou +shook’st with an earthquake down!</p> +<p>Let the People come to their birthright,<br /> And crosier +and crown pass away<br />Like phantasms that flit o’er the marshes<br /> At +the glance of the clean, white day.<br />And then from the lava of Ætna<br /> To +the ice of the Alps let there be<br />One freedom, one faith without +fetters,<br /> One republic in Italy free!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE CURSE OF HUNGARY.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>King Saloman looked from his donjon bars,<br /> Where +the Danube clamours through sedge and sand,<br /> And he +cursed with a curse his revolting land, -<br />With a king’s deep +curse of treason and wars.</p> +<p>He said: “May this false land know no truth!<br /> May +the good hearts die and the bad ones flourish,<br /> And +a greed of glory but live to nourish<br />Envy and hate in its restless +youth.</p> +<p>“In the barren soil may the ploughshare rust,<br /> While +the sword grows bright with its fatal labour,<br /> And blackens +between each man and neighbour<br />The perilous cloud of a vague distrust!</p> +<p>“Be the noble idle, the peasant in thrall,<br /> And +each to the other as unknown things,<br /> That with links +of hatred and pride the kings<br />May forge firm fetters through each +for all!</p> +<p>“May a king wrong them as they wronged their king<br /> May +he wring their hearts as they wrung mine,<br /> Till they +pour their blood for his revels like wine,<br />And to women and monks +their birthright fling!”</p> +<p>The mad king died; but the rushing river<br /> Still brawls +by the spot where his donjon stands,<br /> And its swift +waves sigh to the conscious sands<br />That the curse of King Saloman +works for ever.</p> +<p>For flowing by Pressbourg they heard the cheers<br /> Ring +out from the leal and cheated hearts<br /> That were caught +and chained by Theresa’s arts, -<br />A man’s cool head +and a girl’s hot tears!</p> +<p>And a star, scarce risen, they saw decline,<br /> Where +Orsova’s hills looked coldly down,<br /> As Kossuth +buried the Iron Crown<br />And fled in the dark to the Turkish line.</p> +<p>And latest they saw in the summer glare<br /> The Magyar +nobles in pomp arrayed,<br /> To shout as they saw, with +his unfleshed blade,<br />A Hapsburg beating the harmless air.</p> +<p>But ever the same sad play they saw,<br /> The same weak +worship of sword and crown,<br /> The noble crushing the +humble down,<br />And moulding Wrong to a monstrous Law.</p> +<p>The donjon stands by the turbid river,<br /> But Time +is crumbling its battered towers;<br /> And the slow light +withers a despot’s powers,<br />And a mad king’s curse is +not for ever!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE MONKS OF BASLE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I tore this weed from the rank, dark soil<br /> Where +it grew in the monkish time,<br />I trimmed it close and set it again<br /> In +a border of modern rhyme.</p> +<p>I.<br />Long years ago, when the Devil was loose<br /> And +faith was sorely tried,<br />Three monks of Basle went out to walk<br /> In +the quiet eventide.</p> +<p>A breeze as pure as the breath of Heaven<br /> Blew fresh +through the cloister-shades,<br />A sky as glad as the smile of Heaven<br /> Blushed +rose o’er the minster-glades.</p> +<p>But scorning the lures of summer and sense,<br /> The +monks passed on in their walk;<br />Their eyes were abased, their senses +slept,<br /> Their souls were in their talk.</p> +<p>In the tough grim talk of the monkish days<br /> They +hammered and slashed about, -<br />Dry husks of logic, - old scraps +of creed, -<br /> And the cold gray dreams of doubt, -</p> +<p>And whether Just or Justified<br /> Was the Church’s +mystic Head, -<br />And whether the Bread was changed to God,<br /> Or +God became the Bread.</p> +<p>But of human hearts outside their walls<br /> They never +paused to dream,<br />And they never thought of the love of God<br /> That +smiled in the twilight gleam.</p> +<p>II.<br />As these three monks went bickering on<br /> By +the foot of a spreading tree,<br />Out from its heart of verdurous gloom<br /> A +song burst wild and free, -</p> +<p>A wordless carol of life and love,<br /> Of nature free +and wild;<br />And the three monks paused in the evening shade,<br /> Looked +up at each other and smiled.</p> +<p>And tender and gay the bird sang on,<br /> And cooed and +whistled and trilled,<br />And the wasteful wealth of life and love<br /> From +his happy heart was spilled.</p> +<p>The song had power on the grim old monks<br /> In the +light of the rosy skies;<br />And as they listened the years rolled +back,<br /> And tears came into their eyes.</p> +<p>The years rolled back and they were young,<br /> With +the hearts and hopes of men,<br />They plucked the daisies and kissed +the girls<br /> Of dear dead summers again.</p> +<p>III.<br />But the eldest monk soon broke the spell;<br /> “’Tis +sin and shame,” quoth he,<br />“To be turned from talk of +holy things<br /> By a bird’s cry from a tree.</p> +<p>“Perchance the Enemy of Souls<br /> Hath come to +tempt us so.<br />Let us try by the power of the Awful Word<br /> If +it be he, or no!”</p> +<p>To Heaven the three monks raised their hands;<br /> “We +charge thee, speak!” they said,<br />“By His dread Name +who shall one day come<br /> To judge the quick and the dead, +-</p> +<p>“Who art thou? Speak!” The bird laughed loud.<br /> “I +am the Devil,” he said.<br />The monks on their faces fell, the +bird<br /> Away through the twilight sped.</p> +<p>A horror fell on those holy men<br /> (The faithful legends +say),<br />And one by one from the face of the earth<br /> They +pined and vanished away.</p> +<p>IV.<br />So goes the tale of the monkish books,<br /> The +moral who runs may read, -<br />He has no ears for Nature’s voice<br /> Whose +soul is the slave of creed.</p> +<p>Not all in vain with beauty and love<br /> Has God the +world adorned;<br />And he who Nature scorns and mocks,<br /> By +Nature is mocked and scorned.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE ENCHANTED SHIRT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Fytte the First: <i>wherein it shall be shown how the Truth is too +mighty a Drug for such as be of feeble temper.</i></p> +<p>The King was sick. His cheek was red<br /> And his eye +was clear and bright;<br />He ate and drank with a kingly zest,<br /> And +peacefully snored at night.</p> +<p>But he said he was sick, and a king should know,<br /> And +doctors came by the score.<br />They did not cure him. He cut +off their heads<br /> And sent to the schools for more.</p> +<p>At last two famous doctors came,<br /> And one was as +poor as a rat, -<br />He had passed his life in studious toil,<br /> And +never found time to grow fat.</p> +<p>The other had never looked in a book;<br /> His patients +gave him no trouble -<br />If they recovered they paid him well,<br /> If +they died their heirs paid double.</p> +<p>Together they looked at the royal tongue,<br /> As the +King on his couch reclined;<br />In succession they thumped his august +chest,<br /> But no trace of disease could find.</p> +<p>The old sage said, “You’re as sound as a nut.”<br /> “Hang +him up!” roared the King in a gale, -<br />In a ten-knot gale +of royal rage;<br /> The other leech grew a shade pale;</p> +<p>But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose,<br /> And +thus his prescription ran, -<br /><i>The King will be well, if he sleeps +one night<br /> In the Shirt of a Happy Man.</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Fytte the Second: <i>tells of the search for the Shirt, and how it +was nigh found, but was not, for reasons which are said or sung.</i></p> +<p>Wide o’er the realm the couriers rode,<br /> And +fast their horses ran,<br />And many they saw, and to many they spoke,<br /> But +they found no Happy Man.</p> +<p>They found poor men who would fain be rich<br /> And rich +who thought they were poor;<br />And men who twisted their waists in +stays,<br /> And women that shorthose wore.</p> +<p>They saw two men by the roadside sit,<br /> And both bemoaned +their lot;<br />For one had buried his wife, he said,<br /> And +the other one had not.</p> +<p>At last they came to a village gate,<br /> A beggar lay +whistling there;<br />He whistled and sang and laughed and rolled<br /> On +the grass in the soft June air.</p> +<p>The weary couriers paused and looked<br /> At the scamp +so blithe and gay;<br />And one of them said, “Heaven save you, +friend!<br /> You seem to be happy to-day.”</p> +<p>“O yes, fair sirs!” the rascal laughed,<br /> And +his voice rang free and glad,<br />“An idle man has so much to +do<br /> That he never has time to be sad.”</p> +<p>“This is our man,” the courier said<br /> “Our +luck has led us aright.<br />I will give you a hundred ducats, friend,<br /> For +the loan of your shirt to-night.”</p> +<p>The merry blackguard lay back on the grass,<br /> And +laughed till his face was black;<br />“I would do it, God wot,” +and he roared with the fun,<br /> “But I haven’t +a shirt to my back.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Fytte the Third: <i>shewing how His Majesty the King came at last +to sleep in a Happy Man his Shirt.</i></p> +<p>Each day to the King the reports came in<br /> Of his +unsuccessful spies,<br />And the sad panorama of human woes<br /> Passed +daily under his eyes.</p> +<p>And he grew ashamed of his useless life,<br /> And his +maladies hatched in gloom;<br />He opened his windows and let the air<br /> Of +the free heaven into his room.</p> +<p>And out he went in the world and toiled<br /> In his own +appointed way;<br />And the people blessed him, the land was glad,<br /> And +the King was well and gay.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A WOMAN’S LOVE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A sentinel angel sitting high in glory<br />Heard this shrill wail +ring out from Purgatory:<br />“Have mercy, mighty angel, hear +my story!</p> +<p>“I loved, - and, blind with passionate love, I fell.<br />Love +brought me down to death, and death to Hell.<br />For God is just, and +death for sin is well.</p> +<p>“I do not rage against His high decree,<br />Nor for myself +do ask that grace shall be;<br />But for my love on earth who mourns +for me.</p> +<p>“Great Spirit! let me see my love again<br />And comfort him +one hour, and I were fain<br />To pay a thousand years of fire and pain.”</p> +<p>Then said the pitying angel, “Nay, repent<br />That wild vow! +Look, the dial-finger’s bent<br />Down to the last hour of thy +punishment!”</p> +<p>But still she wailed, “I pray thee, let me go!<br />I cannot +rise to peace and leave him so.<br />Oh, let me soothe him in his bitter +woe!”</p> +<p>The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar,<br />And upward, joyous, like +a rising star,<br />She rose and vanished in the ether far.</p> +<p>But soon adown the dying sunset sailing,<br />And like a wounded +bird her pinions trailing,<br />She fluttered back, with broken-hearted +wailing.</p> +<p>She sobbed, “I found him by the summer sea<br />Reclined, his +head upon a maiden’s knee, -<br />She curled his hair and kissed +him. Woe is me!”</p> +<p>She wept, “Now let my punishment begin!<br />I have been fond +and foolish. Let me in<br />To expiate my sorrow and my sin.”</p> +<p>The angel answered, “Nay, sad soul, go higher!<br />To be deceived +in your true heart’s desire<br />Was bitterer than a thousand +years of fire!”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>ON PITZ LANGUARD.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I stood on the top of Pitz Languard,<br /> And heard three +voices whispering low,<br />Where the Alpine birds in their circling +ward<br /> Made swift dark shadows upon the snow.</p> +<p><i>First Voice.</i></p> +<p>I loved a girl with truth and pain,<br /> She loved me +not. When she said good-bye<br />She gave me a kiss to sting and +stain<br /> My broken life to a rosy dye.</p> +<p><i>Second Voice.</i></p> +<p>I loved a woman with love well tried, -<br /> And I swear +I believe she loves me still.<br />But it was not I who stood by her +side<br /> When she answered the priest and said “I +will.”</p> +<p><i>Third Voice.</i></p> +<p>I loved two girls, one fond, one shy,<br /> And I never +divined which one loved me.<br />One married, and now, though I can’t +tell why,<br /> Of the four in the story I count but three.</p> +<p>The three weird voices whispered low<br /> Where the eagles +swept in their circling ward;<br />But only one shadow scarred the snow<br /> As +I clambered down from Pitz Languard.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>BOUDOIR PROPHECIES.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>One day in the Tuileries,<br />When a south-west Spanish breeze<br /> Brought +scandalous news of the Queen,<br />The fair, proud Empress said,<br />“My +good friend loses her head;<br /> If matters go on this way,<br /> I +shall see her shopping, some day,<br /> In the +Boulevard des Capucines.”</p> +<p>The saying swiftly went<br />To the Place of the Orient,<br /> And +the stout Queen sneered, “Ah, well!<br /> You are proud +and prude, ma belle!<br />But I think I will hazard a guess<br />I shall +see you one day playing chess<br /> With the Curé +of Carabanchel.”</p> +<p>Both ladies, though not over wise,<br />Were lucky in prophecies.<br /> For +the Boulevard shopmen well<br /> Know the form of stout Isabel<br /> As +she buys her modes de Paris;<br />And after Sedan in despair<br />The +Empress prude and fair<br />Went to visit Madame sa Mère<br /> In +her villa at Carabanchel -<br /> But the Queen +was not there to see.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A TRIUMPH OF ORDER.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A squad of regular infantry,<br /> In the Commune’s +closing days,<br />Had captured a crowd of rebels<br /> By +the wall of Père-la-Chaise.</p> +<p>There were desperate men, wild women,<br /> And dark-eyed +Amazon girls,<br />And one little boy, with a peach-down cheek<br /> And +yellow clustering curls.</p> +<p>The captain seized the little waif,<br /> And said, “What +dost thou here?”<br />“Sapristi, Citizen captain!<br /> I’m +a Communist, my dear!”</p> +<p>“Very well! Then you die with the others!”<br /> - +”Very well! That’s my affair;<br />But first let me +take to my mother,<br /> Who lives by the wine-shop there,</p> +<p>“My father’s watch. You see it;<br /> A +gay old thing, is it not?<br />It would please the old lady to have +it;<br /> Then I’ll come back here, and be shot.”</p> +<p>“That is the last we shall see of him,”<br /> The +grizzled captain grinned,<br />As the little man skimmed down the hill<br /> Like +a swallow down the wind.</p> +<p>For the joy of killing had lost its zest<br /> In the +glut of those awful days,<br />And Death writhed, gorged like a greedy +snake,<br /> From the Arch to Père-la-Chaise.</p> +<p>But before the last platoon had fired<br /> The child’s +shrill voice was heard;<br />“Houp-là! the old girl made +such a row<br /> I feared I should break my word.”</p> +<p>Against the bullet-pitted wall<br /> He took his place +with the rest,<br />A button was lost from his ragged blouse,<br /> Which +showed his soft white breast.</p> +<p>“Now blaze away, my children!<br /> With your little +one-two-three!”<br />The Chassepots tore the stout young heart,<br /> And +saved Society.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>ERNST OF EDELSHEIM.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I’ll tell the story, kissing<br /> This white hand +for my pains:<br />No sweeter heart, nor falser,<br /> E’er +filled such fine, blue veins.</p> +<p>I’ll sing a song of true love,<br /> My Lilith, +dear! to you;<br /><i>Contraria contrariis -<br /></i> The +rule is old and true.</p> +<p>The happiest of all lovers<br /> Was Ernst of Edelsheim;<br />And +why he was the happiest,<br /> I’ll tell you in my +rhyme.</p> +<p>One summer night he wandered<br /> Within a lonely glade,<br />And, +couched in moss and moonlight,<br /> He found a sleeping +maid.</p> +<p>The stars of midnight sifted<br /> Above her sands of +gold;<br />She seemed a slumbering statue,<br /> So fair +and white and cold.</p> +<p>Fair and white and cold she lay<br /> Beneath the starry +skies;<br />Rosy was her waking<br /> Beneath the Ritter’s +eyes.</p> +<p>He won her drowsy fancy,<br /> He bore her to his towers,<br />And +swift with love and laughter<br /> Flew morning’s purpled +hours.</p> +<p>But when the thickening sunbeams<br /> Had drunk the gleaming +dew,<br />A misty cloud of sorrow<br /> Swept o’er +her eyes’ deep blue.</p> +<p>She hung upon the Ritter’s neck,<br /> She wept +with love and pain,<br />She showered her sweet, warm kisses<br /> Like +fragrant summer rain.</p> +<p>“I am no Christian soul,” she sobbed,<br /> As +in his arms she lay;<br />“I’m half the day a woman,<br /> A +serpent half the day.</p> +<p>“And when from yonder bell-tower<br /> Rings out +the noonday chime,<br />Farewell! farewell for ever,<br /> Sir +Ernst of Edelsheim!”</p> +<p>“Ah! not farewell for ever!”<br /> The Ritter +wildly cried;<br />“I will be saved or lost with thee,<br /> My +lovely Wili-Bride!”</p> +<p>Loud from the lordly bell-tower<br /> Rang out the noon +of day,<br />And from the bower of roses<br /> A serpent +slid away.</p> +<p>But when the mid-watch moonlight<br /> Was shimmering +through the grove,<br />He clasped his bride thrice dowered<br /> With +beauty and with love.</p> +<p>The happiest of all lovers<br /> Was Ernst of Edelsheim +-<br />His true love was a serpent<br /> Only half the time!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>MY CASTLE IN SPAIN.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There was never a castle seen<br /> So fair as mine in +Spain:<br />It stands embowered in green,<br /> Crowning +the gentle slope<br />Of a hill by the Xenil’s shore<br />And +at eve its shade flaunts o’er<br /> The storied Vega +plain,<br />And its towers are hid in the mists of Hope;<br /> And +I toil through years of pain<br /> Its glimmering gates to +gain.</p> +<p>In visions wild and sweet<br />Sometimes its courts I greet:<br /> Sometimes +in joy its shining halls<br />I tread with favoured feet;<br />But never +my eyes in the light of day<br /> Were blest with its ivied +walls,<br />Where the marble white and the granite gray<br />Turn gold +alike when the sunbeams play,<br /> When the soft day dimly +falls.</p> +<p>I know in its dusky rooms<br /> Are treasures rich and +rare;<br />The spoil of Eastern looms,<br /> And whatever +of bright and fair<br />Painters divine have caught and won<br /> From +the vault of Italy’s air:<br />White gods in Phidian stone<br /> People +the haunted glooms;<br />And the song of immortal singers<br />Like +a fragrant memory lingers,<br /> I know, in the echoing rooms.</p> +<p>But nothing of these, my soul!<br /> Nor castle, nor treasures, +nor skies,<br />Nor the waves of the river that roil<br /> With +a cadence faint and sweet<br /> In peace by its marble feet +-<br />Nothing of these is the goal<br /> For which my whole +heart sighs.<br />’Tis the pearl gives worth to the shell -<br /> The +pearl I would die to gain;<br />For there does my lady dwell,<br />My +love that I love so well -<br /> The Queen whose gracious +reign<br /> Makes glad my castle in Spain.</p> +<p>Her face so pure and fair<br /> Sheds light in the shady +places,<br />And the spell of her girlish graces<br /> Holds +charmed the happy air.<br />A breath of purity<br /> For +ever before her flies,<br />And ill things cease to be<br /> In +the glance of her honest eyes.<br />Around her pathway flutter,<br /> Where +her dear feet wander free<br /> In youth’s pure majesty,<br /> The +wings of the vague desires;<br />But the thought that love would utter<br /> In +reverence expires.</p> +<p>Not yet! not yet shall I see<br /> That face which shines +like a star<br /> O’er my storm-swept life afar,<br />Transfigured +with love for me.<br />Toiling, forgetting, and learning<br />With labour +and vigils and prayers,<br /> Pure heart and resolute will,<br /> At +last I shall climb the hill<br />And breathe the enchanted airs<br />Where +the light of my life is burning<br /> Most lovely and fair +and free,<br />Where alone in her youth and beauty<br />And bound by +her fate’s sweet duty,<br /> Unconscious she waits +for me.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>SISTER SAINT LUKE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>She lived shut in by flowers and trees<br />And shade of gentle bigotries.<br />On +this side lay the trackless sea,<br />On that the great world’s +mystery;<br />But all unseen and all unguessed<br />They could not break +upon her rest.<br />The world’s far splendours gleamed and flashed,<br />Afar +the wild seas foamed and dashed;<br />But in her small, dull Paradise,<br />Safe +housed from rapture or surprise,<br />Nor day nor night had power to +fright<br />The peace of God that filled her eyes.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>NEW AND OLD.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>MILES KEOGH’S HORSE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>On the bluff of the Little Big-Horn,<br /> At the close +of a woeful day,<br />Custer and his Three Hundred<br /> In +death and silence lay.</p> +<p>Three Hundred to Three Thousand!<br /> They had bravely +fought and bled;<br />For such is the will of Congress<br /> When +the White man meets the Red.</p> +<p>The White men are ten millions,<br /> The thriftiest under +the sun;<br />The Reds are fifty thousand,<br /> And warriors +every one.</p> +<p>So Custer and all his fighting-men<br /> Lay under the +evening skies,<br />Staring up at the tranquil heaven<br /> With +wide, accusing eyes.</p> +<p>And of all that stood at noonday<br /> In that fiery scorpion +ring,<br />Miles Keogh’s horse at evening<br /> Was +the only living thing.</p> +<p>Alone from that field of slaughter,<br /> Where lay the +three hundred slain,<br />The horse Comanche wandered,<br /> With +Keogh’s blood on his mane.</p> +<p>And Sturgis issued this order,<br /> Which future times +shall read,<br />While the love and honour of comrades<br /> Are +the soul of the soldiers creed.</p> +<p>He said -<br /> <i>Let +the horse Comanche<br /> Henceforth till he shall die,<br />Be +kindly cherished and cared for<br /> By the Seventh Cavalry.</i></p> +<p><i>He shall do no labour; he never shall know<br /> The +touch of spur or rein;<br />Nor shall his back be ever crossed<br /> By +living rider again.</i></p> +<p><i>And at regimental formation<br /> Of the Seventh Cavalry,<br />Comanche +draped in mourning and led<br /> By a trooper of Company +I,</i></p> +<p><i>Shall parade with the Regiment!<br /></i> Thus +it was<br /> Commanded and thus done,<br />By order of General +Sturgis, signed<br /> By Adjutant Garlington.</p> +<p>Even as the sword of Custer,<br /> In his disastrous fall,<br />Flashed +out a blaze that charmed the world<br /> And glorified his +pall,</p> +<p>This order, issued amid the gloom<br /> That shrouds our +army’s name,<br />When all foul beasts are free to rend<br /> And +tear its honest fame,</p> +<p>Shall prove to a callous people<br /> That the sense of +a soldier’s worth,<br />That the love of comrades, the honour +of arms,<br /> Have not yet perished from earth.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE ADVANCE-GUARD.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the dream of the Northern poets,<br /> The braves who +in battle die<br />Fight on in shadowy phalanx<br /> In the +field of the upper sky;<br />And as we read the sounding rhyme,<br /> The +reverent fancy hears<br />The ghostly ring of the viewless swords<br /> And +the clash of the spectral spears.</p> +<p>We think with imperious questionings<br /> Of the brothers +whom we have lost,<br />And we strive to track in death’s mystery<br /> The +flight of each valiant ghost.<br />The Northern myth comes back to us,<br /> And +we feel, through our sorrow’s night,<br />That those young souls +are striving still<br /> Somewhere for the truth and light.</p> +<p>It was not their time for rest and sleep;<br /> Their +hearts beat high and strong;<br />In their fresh veins the blood of +youth<br /> Was singing its hot, sweet song.<br />The open +heaven bent over them,<br /> ’Mid flowers their lithe +feet trod,<br />Their lives lay vivid in light, and blest<br /> By +the smiles of women and God.</p> +<p>Again they come! Again I hear<br /> The tread of +that goodly band;<br />I know the flash of Ellsworth’s eye<br /> And +the grasp of his hard, warm hand;<br />And Putnam, and Shaw, of the +lion-heart,<br /> And an eye like a Boston girl’s;<br />And +I see the light of heaven which lay<br /> On Ulric Dahlgren’s +curls.</p> +<p>There is no power in the gloom of hell<br /> To quench +those spirits’ fire;<br />There is no power in the bliss of heaven<br /> To +bid them not aspire;<br />But somewhere in the eternal plan<br /> That +strength, that life survive,<br />And like the files on Lookout’s +crest,<br /> Above death’s clouds they strive.</p> +<p>A chosen corps, they are marching on<br /> In a wider +field than ours;<br />Those bright battalions still fulfil<br /> The +scheme of the heavenly powers;<br />And high brave thoughts float down +to us,<br /> The echoes of that far fight,<br />Like the +flash of a distant picket’s gun<br /> Through the shades +of the severing night.</p> +<p>No fear for them! In our lower field<br /> Let us +keep our arms unstained,<br />That at last we be worthy to stand with +them<br /> On the shining heights they’ve gained.<br />We +shall meet and greet in closing ranks<br /> In Time’s +declining sun,<br />When the bugles of God shall sound recall<br /> And +the battle of life be won.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LOVE’S PRAYER.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>If Heaven would hear my prayer,<br /> My dearest wish +would be,<br />Thy sorrows not to share,<br /> But take them +all on me;<br />If Heaven would hear my prayer.</p> +<p>I’d beg with prayers and sighs<br /> That never +a tear might flow<br />From out thy lovely eyes,<br /> If +Heaven might grant it so;<br />Mine be the tears and sighs.</p> +<p>No cloud thy brow should cover,<br /> But smiles each +other chase<br />From lips to eyes all over<br /> Thy sweet +and sunny face;<br />The clouds my heart should cover.</p> +<p>That all thy path be light<br /> Let darkness fall on +me;<br />If all thy days be bright,<br /> Mine black as night +could be.<br />My love would light my night.</p> +<p>For thou art more than life,<br /> And if our fate should +set<br />Life and my love at strife,<br /> How could I then +forget<br />I love thee more than life?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHRISTINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The beauty of the Northern dawns,<br /> Their pure, pale +light is thine;<br />Yet all the dreams of tropic nights<br /> Within +thy blue eyes shine.<br />Not statelier in their prisoning seas<br /> The +icebergs grandly move,<br />But in thy smile is youth and joy,<br /> And +in thy voice is love.</p> +<p>Thou art like Hecla’s crest that stands<br /> So +lonely, proud, and high,<br />No earthly thing may come between<br /> Her +summit and the sky.<br />The sun in vain may strive to melt<br /> Her +crown of virgin snow -<br />But the great heart of the mountain glows<br /> With +deathless fire below.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>EXPECTATION.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Roll on, O shining sun,<br /> To the far seas!<br />Bring +down, ye shades of eve,<br /> The soft, salt breeze!<br />Shine +out, O stars, and light<br />My darling’s pathway bright,<br />As +through the summer night<br /> She comes to me.</p> +<p>No beam of any star<br /> Can match her eyes;<br />Her +smile the bursting day<br /> In light outvies.<br />Her voice +- the sweetest thing<br />Heard by the raptured spring<br />When waking +wild-woods ring -<br /> She comes to me.</p> +<p>Ye stars, more swiftly wheel<br /> O’er earth’s +still breast;<br />More wildly plunge and reel<br /> In the +dim west!<br />The earth is lone and lorn,<br />Till the glad day be +born,<br />Till with the happy morn<br /> She comes to me.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>TO FLORA.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When April woke the drowsy flowers,<br /> And vagrant +odours thronged the breeze,<br />And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers,<br /> And +daisies flashed along the leas,<br />And faint arbutus strove among<br /> Dead +winter’s leaf-strewn wreck to rise,<br />And nature’s sweetly +jubilant song<br /> Went murmuring up the sunny skies,<br />Into +this cheerful world you came,<br />And gained by right your vernal name.</p> +<p>I think the springs have changed of late,<br /> For “Arctics” +are my daily wear,<br />The skies are turned to cold grey slate,<br /> And +zephyrs are but draughts of air;<br />But you make up whate’er +we lack,<br /> When we, too rarely, come together,<br />More +potent than the almanac,<br /> You bring the ideal April +weather;<br />When you are with us we defy<br />The blustering air, +the lowering sky;<br />In spite of winter’s icy darts,<br />We’ve +spring and sunshine in our hearts.</p> +<p>In fine, upon this April day,<br /> This deep conundrum +I will bring:<br />Tell me the two good reasons, pray,<br /> I +have, to say you are like spring?</p> +<p>[You give it up?] Because we love you -<br /> And +see so very little of you.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A HAUNTED ROOM.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the dim chamber whence but yesterday<br /> Passed my +belovèd, filled with awe I stand;<br /> And haunting +Loves fluttering on every hand<br />Whisper her praises who is far away.<br />A +thousand delicate fancies glance and play<br /> On every +object which her robes have fanned,<br /> And tenderest thoughts +and hopes bloom and expand<br />In the sweet memory of her beauty’s +ray.<br />Ah! could that glass but hold the faintest trace<br /> Of +all the loveliness once mirrored there,<br /> The clustering +glory of the shadowy hair<br />That framed so well the dear young angel +face!<br /> But no, it shows my own face, full of care,<br />And +my heart is her beauty’s dwelling place.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>DREAMS.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I love a woman tenderly,<br />But cannot know if she loves me.<br />I +press her hand, her lips I kiss,<br />But still love’s full assurance +miss.<br />Our waking life for ever seems<br />Cleft by a veil of doubt +and dreams.</p> +<p>But love and night and sleep combine<br />In dreams to make her wholly +mine.<br />A sure love lights her eyes’ deep blue,<br />Her hands +and lips are warm and true.<br />Always the fact unreal seems,<br />And +truth I find alone in dreams.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE LIGHT OF LOVE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Each shining light above us<br /> Has its own peculiar +grace;<br />But every light of heaven<br /> Is in my darling’s +face.</p> +<p>For it is like the sunlight,<br /> So strong and pure +and warm,<br />That folds all good and happy things,<br /> And +guards from gloom and harm.</p> +<p>And it is like the moonlight,<br /> So holy and so calm;<br />The +rapt peace of a summer night,<br /> When soft winds die in +balm.</p> +<p>And it is like the starlight;<br /> For, love her as I +may,<br />She dwells still lofty and serene<br /> In mystery +far away.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>QUAND MÈME.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I strove, like Israel, with my youth,<br /> And said, +“Till thou bestow<br />Upon my life Love’s joy and truth,<br /> I +will not let thee go.”</p> +<p>And sudden on my night there woke<br /> The trouble of +the dawn;<br />Out of the east the red light broke,<br /> To +broaden on and on.</p> +<p>And now let death be far or nigh,<br /> Let fortune gloom +or shine,<br />I cannot all untimely die,<br /> For love, +for love is mine.</p> +<p>My days are tuned to finer chords,<br /> And lit by higher +suns;<br />Through all my thoughts and all my words<br /> A +purer purpose runs.</p> +<p>The blank page of my heart grows rife<br /> With wealth +of tender lore;<br />Her image, stamped upon my life,<br /> Gives +value evermore.</p> +<p>She is so noble, firm, and true,<br /> I drink truth from +her eyes,<br />As violets gain the heaven’s own blue<br /> In +gazing at the skies.</p> +<p>No matter if my hands attain<br /> The golden crown or +cross;<br />Only to love is such a gain<br /> That losing +is not loss.</p> +<p>And thus whatever fate betide<br /> Of rapture or of pain,<br />If +storm or sun the future hide,<br /> My love is not in vain.</p> +<p>So only thanks are on my lips;<br /> And through my love +I see<br />My earliest dreams, like freighted ships,<br /> Come +sailing home to me.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>WORDS.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When violets were springing<br /> And sunshine filled +the day,<br />And happy birds were singing<br /> The praises +of the May,<br />A word came to me, blighting<br /> The beauty +of the scene,<br />And in my heart was winter,<br /> Though +all the trees were green.</p> +<p>Now down the blast go sailing<br /> The dead leaves, brown +and sere;<br />The forests are bewailing<br /> The dying +of the year;<br />A word comes to me, lighting<br /> With +rapture all the air,<br />And in my heart is summer,<br /> Though +all the trees are bare.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE STIRRUP-CUP.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>My short and happy day is done,<br />The long and dreary night comes +on;<br />And at my door the Pale Horse stands,<br />To carry me to unknown +lands.</p> +<p>His whinny shrill, his pawing hoof,<br />Sound dreadful as a gathering +storm;<br />And I must leave this sheltering roof,<br />And joys of +life so soft and warm.</p> +<p>Tender and warm the joys of life, -<br />Good friends, the faithful +and the true;<br />My rosy children and my wife,<br />So sweet to kiss, +so fair to view.</p> +<p>So sweet to kiss, so fair to view, -<br />The night comes down, the +lights burn blue;<br />And at my door the Pale Horse stands,<br />To +bear me forth to unknown lands.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A DREAM OF BRIC-A-BRAC.<br /> [C. +K. <i>loquitur</i>.]</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I dreamed I was in fair Niphon.<br />Amid tea-fields I journeyed +on,<br />Reclined in my jinrikishaw;<br />Across the rolling plains +I saw<br />The lordly Fusi-yama rise,<br />His blue cone lost in bluer +skies.</p> +<p>At last I bade my bearers stop<br />Before what seemed a china-shop.<br />I +roused myself and entered in.<br />A fearful joy, like some sweet sin,<br />Pierced +through my bosom as I gazed,<br />Entranced, transported, and amazed.</p> +<p>For all the house was but one room,<br />And in its clear and grateful +gloom,<br />Filled with all odours strange and strong<br />That to the +wondrous East belong,<br />I saw above, around, below,<br />A sight +to make the warm heart glow,<br />And leave the eager soul no lack, +-<br />An endless wealth of bric-a-brac.</p> +<p>I saw bronze statues, old and rare,<br />Fashioned by no mere mortal +skill,<br />With robes that fluttered in the air,<br />Blown out by +Art’s eternal will;<br />And delicate ivory netsukes,<br />Richer +in tone than Cheddar cheese,<br />Of saints and hermits, cats and dogs,<br />Grim +warriors and ecstatic frogs.</p> +<p>And here and there those wondrous masks,<br />More living flesh than +sandal-wood,<br />Where the full soul in pleasure basks<br />And dreams +of love, the only good.<br />The walls were all with pictures hung:<br />Gay +villas bright in rain-washed air,<br />Trees to whose boughs brown monkeys +clung,<br />Outlineless dabs of fuzzy hair.<br />And all about the opulent +shelves<br />Littered with porcelain beyond price:<br />Imari pots arrayed +themselves<br />Beside Ming dishes; grain-of-rice<br />Vied with the +Royal Satsuma,<br />Proud of its sallow ivory beam;<br />And Kaga’s +Thousand Hermits lay<br />Tranced in some punch-bowl’s golden +gleam.<br />Over bronze censers, black with age,<br />The five-clawed +dragons strife engage;<br />A curled and insolent Dog of Foo<br />Sniffs +at the smoke aspiring through.</p> +<p>In what old days, in what far lands,<br />What busy brains, what +cunning hands,<br />With what quaint speech, what alien thought,<br />Strange +fellow-men these marvels wrought!</p> +<p>As thus I mused, I was aware<br />There grew before my eager eyes<br />A +little maid too bright and fair,<br />Too strangely lovely for surprise.<br />It +seemed the beauty of the place<br />Had suddenly become concrete,<br />So +full was she of Orient grace,<br />From her slant eyes and burnished +face<br />Down to her little gold-bronzed feet.<br />She was a girl +of old Japan;<br />Her small hand held a gilded fan,<br />Which scattered +fragrance through the room;<br />Her cheek was rich with pallid bloom,<br />Her +eye was dark with languid fire,<br />Her red lips breathed a vague desire;<br />Her +teeth, of pearl inviolate,<br />Sweetly proclaimed her maiden state.<br />Her +garb was stiff with broidered gold<br />Twined with mysterious fold +on fold,<br />That gave no hint where, hidden well,<br />Her dainty +form might warmly dwell, -<br />A pearl within too large a shell.<br />So +quaint, so short, so lissome, she,<br />It seemed as if it well might +be<br />Some jocose god, with sportive whirl,<br />Had taken up a long +lithe girl<br />And tied a graceful knot in her.<br />I tried to speak, +and found, oh, bliss!<br />I needed no interpreter;<br />I knew the +Japanese for kiss, -<br />I had no other thought but this;<br />And +she, with smile and blush divine,<br />Kind to my stammering prayer +did seem;<br />My thought was hers, and hers was mine,<br />In the swift +logic of my dream.<br />My arms clung round her slender waist,<br />Through +gold and silk the form I traced,<br />And glad as rain that follows +drouth,<br />I kissed and kissed her bright red mouth.</p> +<p>What ailed the girl? No loving sigh<br />Heaved the round bosom; +in her eye<br />Trembled no tear; from her dear throat<br />Bubbled +a sweet and silvery note<br />Of girlish laughter, shrill and clear,<br />That +all the statues seemed to hear.<br />The bronzes tinkled laughter fine;<br />I +heard a chuckle argentine<br />Ring from the silver images;<br />Even +the ivory netsukes<br />Uttered in every silent pause<br />Dry, bony +laughs from tiny jaws;<br />The painted monkeys on the wall<br />Waked +up with chatter impudent;<br />Pottery, porcelain, bronze, and all<br />Broke +out in ghostly merriment, -<br />Faint as rain pattering on dry leaves,<br />Or +cricket’s chirp on summer eves.</p> +<p>And suddenly upon my sight<br />There grew a portent: left and right,<br />On +every side, as if the air<br />Had taken substance then and there,<br />In +every sort of form and face,<br />A throng of tourists filled the place.<br />I +saw a Frenchman’s sneering shrug;<br />A German countess, in one +hand<br />A sky-blue string which held a pug,<br />With the other a +fiery face she fanned;<br />A Yankee with a soft felt hat;<br />A Coptic +priest from Ararat;<br />An English girl with cheeks of rose;<br />A +Nihilist with Socratic nose;<br />Paddy from Cork with baggage light<br />And +pockets stuffed with dynamite;<br />A haughty Southern Readjuster,<br />Wrapped +in his pride and linen duster;<br />Two noisy New York stockbrokers,<br />And +twenty British globe-trotters.<br />To my disgust and vast surprise,<br />They +turned on me lack-lustre eyes,<br />And each with dropped and wagging +jaw<br />Burst out into a wild guffaw:<br />They laughed with huge mouths +opened wide;<br />They roared till each one held his side;<br />They +screamed and writhed with brutal glee,<br />With fingers rudely stretched +to me, -<br />Till lo! at once the laughter died,<br />The tourists +faded into air;<br />None but my fair maid lingered there,<br />Who +stood demurely by my side.<br />“Who were your friends?” +I asked the maid,<br />Taking a tea-cup from its shelf.<br />“This +audience is disclosed,” she said,<br />“Whenever a man makes +a fool of himself.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LIBERTY.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>What man is there so bold that he should say,<br />“Thus, and +thus only, would I have the sea”?<br />For whether lying calm +and beautiful,<br />Clasping the earth in love, and throwing back<br />The +smile of heaven from waves of amethyst;<br />Or whether, freshened by +the busy winds,<br />It bears the trade and navies of the world<br />To +ends of use or stern activity;<br />Or whether, lashed by tempests, +it gives way<br />To elemental fury, howls and roars<br />At all its +rocky barriers, in wild lust<br />Of ruin drinks the blood of living +things,<br />And strews its wrecks o’er leagues of desolate shore, +-<br />Always it is the sea, and men bow down<br />Before its vast and +varied majesty.</p> +<p>So all in vain will timorous ones essay<br />To set the metes and +bounds of Liberty.<br />For Freedom is its own eternal law;<br />It +makes its own conditions, and in storm<br />Or calm alike fulfils the +unerring Will.<br />Let us not then despise it when it lies<br />Still +as a sleeping lion, while a swarm<br />Of gnat-like evils hover round +its head;<br />Nor doubt it when in mad, disjointed times<br />It shakes +the torch of terror, and its cry<br />Shrills o’er the quaking +earth, and in the flame<br />Of riot and war we see its awful form<br />Rise +by the scaffold, where the crimson axe<br />Rings down its grooves the +knell of shuddering kings.<br />For ever in thine eyes, O Liberty,<br />Shines +that high light whereby the world is saved,<br />And though thou slay +us, we will trust in thee!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE WHITE FLAG.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I sent my love two roses, - one<br /> As white as driven +snow,<br />And one a blushing royal red,<br /> A flaming +Jacqueminot.</p> +<p>I meant to touch and test my fate;<br /> That night I +should divine,<br />The moment I should see my love,<br /> If +her true heart were mine.</p> +<p>For if she holds me dear, I said,<br /> She’ll wear +my blushing rose;<br />If not, she’ll wear my cold Lamarque<br /> As +white as winter’s snows.</p> +<p>My heart sank when I met her: sure<br /> I had been over +bold,<br />For on her breast my pale rose lay<br /> In virgin +whiteness cold.</p> +<p>Yet with low words she greeted me,<br /> With smiles divinely +tender;<br />Upon her cheek the red rose dawned. -<br /> The +white rose meant surrender.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE LAW OF DEATH.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The song of Kilvani: fairest she<br />In all the land of Savatthi.<br />She +had one child, as sweet and gay<br />And dear to her as the light of +day.<br />She was so young, and he so fair,<br />The same bright eyes +and the same dark hair;<br />To see them by the blossomy way,<br />They +seemed two children at their play.</p> +<p>There came a death-dart from the sky,<br />Kilvani saw her darling +die.<br />The glimmering shade his eyes invades,<br />Out of his cheek +the red bloom fades;<br />His warm heart feels the icy chill,<br />The +round limbs shudder, and are still.<br />And yet Kilvani held him fast<br />Long +after life’s last pulse was past,<br />As if her kisses could +restore<br />The smile gone out for evermore.</p> +<p>But when she saw her child was dead,<br />She scattered ashes on +her head,<br />And seized the small corpse, pale and sweet,<br />And +rushing wildly through the street,<br />She sobbing fell at Buddha’s +feet.</p> +<p>“Master, all-helpful, help me now!<br />Here at thy feet I +humbly bow;<br />Have mercy, Buddha, help me now!”<br />She grovelled +on the marble floor,<br />And kissed the dead child o’er and o’er.<br />And +suddenly upon the air<br />There fell the answer to her prayer:<br />“Bring +me to-night a lotus tied<br />With thread from a house where none has +died.”</p> +<p>She rose, and laughed with thankful joy,<br />Sure that the god would +save the boy.<br />She found a lotus by the stream;<br />She plucked +it from its noonday dream,<br />And then from door to door she fared,<br />To +ask what house by Death was spared.<br />Her heart grew cold to see +the eyes<br />Of all dilate with slow surprise:<br />“Kilvani, +thou hast lost thy head;<br />Nothing can help a child that’s +dead.<br />There stands not by the Ganges’ side<br />A house where +none hath ever died.”<br />Thus, through the long and weary day,<br />From +every door she bore away<br />Within her heart, and on her arm,<br />A +heavier load, a deeper harm.<br />By gates of gold and ivory,<br />By +wattled huts of poverty,<br />The same refrain heard poor Kilvani,<br /><i>The +living are few, the dead are many.</i></p> +<p>The evening came - so still and fleet -<br />And overtook her hurrying +feet.<br />And, heartsick, by the sacred fane<br />She fell, and prayed +the god again.<br />She sobbed and beat her bursting breast:<br />“Ah, +thou hast mocked me, Mightiest!<br />Lo! I have wandered far and wide;<br />There +stands no house where none hath died.”<br />And Buddha answered, +in a tone<br />Soft as a flute at twilight blown,<br />But grand as +heaven and strong as death<br />To him who hears with ears of faith:<br />“Child, +thou art answered. Murmur not!<br />Bow, and accept the common +lot.”</p> +<p>Kilvani heard with reverence meet,<br />And laid her child at Buddha’s +feet.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>MOUNT TABOR.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>On Tabor’s height a glory came,<br />And, shrined in clouds +of lambent flame,<br />The awestruck, hushed disciples saw<br />Christ +and the prophets of the law.<br />Moses, whose grand and awful face<br />Of +Sinai’s thunder bore the trace,<br />And wise Elias, - in his +eyes<br />The shade of Israel’s prophecies, -<br />Stood in that +wide, mysterious light,<br />Than Syrian noons more purely bright,<br />One +on each hand, and high between<br />Shone forth the godlike Nazarene.<br />They +bowed their heads in holy fright, -<br />No mortal eyes could bear the +sight, -<br />And when they looked again, behold!<br />The fiery clouds +had backward rolled,<br />And borne aloft in grandeur lonely,<br />Nothing +was left “save Jesus only.”</p> +<p>Resplendent type of things to be!<br />We read its mystery to-day<br />With +clearer eyes than even they,<br />The fisher-saints of Galilee.<br />We +see the Christ stand out between<br />The ancient law and faith serene,<br />Spirit +and letter; but above<br />Spirit and letter both was Love.<br />Led +by the hand of Jacob’s God,<br />Through wastes of eld a path +was trod<br />By which the savage world could move<br />Upward through +law and faith to love.<br />And there in Tabor’s harmless flame<br />The +crowning revelation came.<br />The old world knelt in homage due,<br />The +prophets near in reverence drew,<br />Law ceased its mission to fulfil,<br />And +Love was lord on Tabor’s hill.</p> +<p>So now, while creeds perplex the mind<br />And wranglings load the +weary wind,<br />When all the air is filled with words<br />And texts +that wring like clashing swords,<br />Still, as for refuge, we may turn<br />Where +Tabor’s shining glories burn, -<br />The soul of antique Israel +gone,<br />And nothing left but Christ alone.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>RELIGION AND DOCTRINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> He stood before the Sanhedrim;<br />The scowling rabbis +gazed at him.<br />He recked not of their praise or blame;<br />There +was no fear, there was no shame,<br />For one upon whose dazzled eyes<br />The +whole world poured its vast surprise.<br />The open heaven was far too +near,<br />His first day’s light too sweet and clear,<br />To +let him waste his new-gained ken<br />On the hate-clouded face of men.</p> +<p> But still they questioned, “Who art thou?<br />What +hast thou been? What art thou now?<br />Thou art not he who yesterday<br />Sat +here and begged beside the way;<br />For he was blind.”</p> +<p> <i> - +”And I am he;<br />For I was blind, but now I see.”</i></p> +<p> He told the story o’er and o’er;<br />It +was his full heart’s only lore:<br />A prophet on the Sabbath-day<br />Had +touched his sightless eyes with clay,<br />And made him see who had +been blind.<br />Their words passed by him like the wind,<br />Which +raves and howls, but cannot shock<br />The hundred-fathom-rooted rock.</p> +<p> Their threats and fury all went wide;<br />They could +not touch his Hebrew pride.<br />Their sneers at Jesus and His band,<br />Nameless +and homeless in the land,<br />Their boasts of Moses and his Lord,<br />All +could not change him by one word.</p> +<p> <i>“I know not what this man may be,<br />Sinner +or saint; but as for me,<br />One thing I know, - that I am he<br />Who +once was blind, and now I see.”</i></p> +<p> They were all doctors of renown,<br />The great men of +a famous town,<br />With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise,<br />Beneath +their wide phylacteries;<br />The wisdom of the East was theirs,<br />And +honour crowned their silver hairs.<br />The man they jeered and laughed +to scorn<br />Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born;<br />But he knew +better far than they<br />What came to him that Sabbath-day;<br />And +what the Christ had done for him<br />He knew, and not the Sanhedrim.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>SINAI AND CALVARY.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There are two mountains hallowed<br /> By majesty sublime,<br />Which +rear their crests unconquered<br /> Above the floods of Time.<br />Uncounted +generations<br /> Have gazed on them with awe, -<br />The +mountain of the Gospel,<br /> The mountain of the Law.</p> +<p>From Sinai’s cloud of darkness<br /> The vivid lightnings +play;<br />They serve the God of vengeance,<br /> The Lord +who shall repay.<br />Each fault must bring its penance,<br /> Each +sin the avenging blade,<br />For God upholds in justice<br /> The +laws that He hath made.</p> +<p>But Calvary stands to ransom<br /> The earth from utter +loss,<br />In shade than light more glorious,<br /> The shadow +of the Cross.<br />To heal a sick world’s trouble,<br /> To +soothe its woe and pain,<br />On Calvary’s sacred summit<br /> The +Paschal Lamb was slain.</p> +<p>The boundless might of Heaven<br /> Its law in mercy furled,<br />As +once the bow of promise<br /> O’erarched a drowning +world.<br />The Law said, “As you keep me,<br /> It +shall be done to you; “<br />But Calvary prays, “Forgive +them;<br /> They know not what they do.”</p> +<p>Almighty God! direct us<br /> To keep Thy perfect Law!<br />O +blessed Saviour, help us<br /> Nearer to Thee to draw!<br />Let +Sinai’s thunders aid us<br /> To guard our feet from +sin;<br />And Calvary’s light inspire us<br /> The +love of God to win.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE VISION OF ST. PETER.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>To Peter by night the faithfullest came<br /> And said, +“We appeal to thee!<br />The life of the Church is in thy life;<br /> We +pray thee to rise and flee.</p> +<p>“For the tyrant’s hand is red with blood,<br /> And +his arm is heavy with power;<br />Thy head, the head of the Church, +will fall<br /> If thou tarry in Rome an hour.”</p> +<p>Through the sleeping town St. Peter passed<br /> To the +wide Campagna plain;<br />In the starry light of the Alban night<br /> He +drew free breath again:</p> +<p>When across his path an awful form<br /> In luminous glory +stood;<br />His thorn-crowned brow, His hands and feet,<br /> Were +wet with immortal blood.</p> +<p>The godlike sorrow which filled His eyes<br /> Seemed +changed to a godlike wrath<br />As they turned on Peter, who cried aloud,<br /> And +sank to his knees in the path.</p> +<p>“Lord of my life, my love, my soul!<br /> Say, what +wilt Thou with me?”<br />A voice replied, “I go to Rome<br /> To +be crucified for thee.”</p> +<p>The Apostle sprang, all flushed, to his feet, -<br /> The +vision had passed away;<br />The light still lay on the dewy plain,<br /> But +the sky in the east was gray.</p> +<p>To the city walls St. Peter turned,<br /> And his heart +in his breast grew fire;<br />In every vein the hot blood burned<br /> With +the strength of one high desire.</p> +<p>And sturdily back he marched to his death<br /> Of terrible +pain and shame;<br />And never a shade of fear again<br /> To +the stout Apostle came.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>ISRAEL.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When by Jabbok the patriarch waited<br /> To learn on +the morrow his doom,<br />And his dubious spirit debated<br /> In +darkness and silence and gloom,<br /> There descended a Being +with whom<br />He wrestled in agony sore,<br /> With striving +of heart and of brawn,<br />And not for an instant forbore<br /> Till +the east gave a threat of the dawn;<br />And then, as the Awful One +blessed him,<br /> To his lips and his spirit there came,<br />Compelled +by the doubts that oppressed him,<br />The cry that through questioning +ages<br />Has been wrung from the hinds and the sages,<br /> “Tell +me, I pray Thee, Thy name!”</p> +<p>Most fatal, most futile, of questions!<br /> Wherever +the heart of man beats,<br /> In the spirit’s most +sacred retreats,<br />It comes with its sombre suggestions,<br /> Unanswered +for ever and aye.<br /> The blessing may come and may stay,<br />For +the wrestlers heroic endeavour;<br />But the question, unheeded for +ever,<br /> Dies out in the broadening day.</p> +<p>In the ages before our traditions,<br />By the altars of dark superstitions,<br /> The +imperious question has come;<br />When the death-stricken victim lay +sobbing<br /> At the feet of his slayer and priest,<br />And +his heart was laid smoking and throbbing<br /> To the sound +of the cymbal and drum<br />On the steps of the high Teocallis;<br /> When +the delicate Greek at his feast<br />Poured forth the red wine from +his chalice<br /> With mocking and cynical prayer;<br />When +by Nile Egypt worshipping lay,<br /> And afar, through the +rosy, flushed air<br />The Memnon called out to the day;<br />Where +the Muezzin’s cry floats from his spire;<br /> In the +vaulted Cathedral’s dim shades,<br />Where the crushed hearts +of thousands aspire<br />Through arts highest miracles higher,<br /> This +question of questions invades<br /> Each heart bowed in worship +or shame;<br />In the air where the censers are swinging,<br />A voice, +going up with the singing,<br /> Cries, “Tell me, I +pray Thee, Thy name!”</p> +<p>No answer came back, not a word,<br />To the patriarch there by the +ford;<br />No answer has come through the ages<br />To the poets, the +seers, and the sages<br />Who have sought in the secrets of science<br />The +name and the nature of God,<br />Whether cursing in desperate defiance<br />Or +kissing His absolute rod;<br />But the answer which was and shall be,<br />“My +name! Nay, what is it to thee?”<br />The search and the +question are vain.<br />By use of the strength that is in you,<br />By +wrestling of soul and of sinew<br />The blessing of God you may gain.</p> +<p>There are lights in the far-gleaming Heaven<br /> That +never will shine on our eyes;<br />To mortals it may not be given<br /> To +range those inviolate skies.<br />The mind, whether praying or scorning,<br /> That +tempts those dread secrets shall fail;<br />But strive through the night +till the morning,<br /> And mightily shalt thou prevail.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE CROWS AT WASHINGTON.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Slow flapping to the setting sun<br /> By twos and threes, +in wavering rows,<br /> As twilight shadows dimly close,<br />The +crows fly over Washington.</p> +<p>Under the crimson sunset sky<br />Virginian woodlands leafless lie,<br /> In +wintry torpor bleak and dun.<br />Through the rich vault of heaven, +which shines<br /> Like a warmed opal in the sun,<br />With +wide advance in broken lines<br /> The crows fly over Washington.</p> +<p>Over the Capitol’s white dome,<br /> Across the +obelisk soaring bare<br />To prick the clouds, they travel home,<br />Content +and weary, winnowing<br /> With dusky vans the golden air,<br />Which +hints the coming of the spring,<br /> Though winter whitens +Washington.</p> +<p>The dim, deep air, the level ray<br />Of dying sunlight on their +plumes,<br /> Give them a beauty not their own;<br />Their +hoarse notes fail and faint away;<br /> A rustling murmur +floating down<br />Blends sweetly with the thickening glooms;<br />They +touch with grace the fading day,<br /> Slow flying over Washington.</p> +<p>I stand and watch with clouded eyes<br /> These dim battalions +move along;<br />Out of the distance memory cries<br /> Of +days when life and hope were strong,<br />When love was prompt and wit +was gay;<br />Even then, at evening, as to-day,<br /> I watched, +while twilight hovered dim<br /> Over Potomac’s curving +rim,<br />This selfsame flight of homing crows<br />Blotting the sunset’s +fading rose,<br /> Above the roofs of Washington.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>REMORSE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Sad is the thought of sunniest days<br /> Of love and +rapture perished,<br />And shine through memory’s tearful haze<br /> The +eyes once fondliest cherished.<br />Reproachful is the ghost of toys<br /> That +charmed while life was wasted.<br />But saddest is the thought of joys<br /> That +never yet were tasted.</p> +<p>Sad is the vague and tender dream<br /> Of dead love’s +lingering kisses,<br />To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam<br /> Of +unreturning blisses;<br />Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride<br /> For +the pitiless death that won them, -<br />But the saddest wail is for +lips that died<br /> With the virgin dew upon them.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>ESSE QUAM VIDERI.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The knightly legend of thy shield betrays<br /> The moral +of thy life; a forecast wise,<br /> And that large honour +that deceit defies,<br />Inspired thy fathers in the elder days,<br />Who +decked thy scutcheon with that sturdy phrase,<br /> <i>To +be rather than seem</i>. As eve’s red skies<br /> Surpass +the morning’s rosy prophecies,<br />Thy life to that proud boast +its answer pays.<br />Scorning thy faith and purpose to defend<br /> The +ever-mutable multitude at last<br /> Will hail the power +they did not comprehend, -<br />Thy fame will broaden through the centuries;<br /> As, +storm and billowy tumult overpast,<br /> The moon rules calmly +o’er the conquered seas.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There’s a happy time coming,<br /> When the boys +come home.<br />There’s a glorious day coming,<br /> When +the boys come home.<br />We will end the dreadful story<br />Of this +treason dark and gory<br />In a sunburst of glory,<br /> When +the boys come home.</p> +<p>The day will seem brighter<br /> When the boys come home,<br />For +our hearts will be lighter<br /> When the boys come home.<br />Wives +and sweethearts will press them<br />In their arms and caress them,<br />And +pray God to bless them,<br /> When the boys come home.</p> +<p>The thinned ranks will be proudest<br /> When the boys +come home,<br />And their cheer will ring the loudest<br /> When +the boys come home.<br />The full ranks will be shattered,<br />And +the bright arms will be battered,<br />And the battle-standards tattered,<br /> When +the boys come home.</p> +<p>Their bayonets may be rusty,<br /> When the boys come +home,<br />And their uniforms dusty,<br /> When the boys +come home.<br />But all shall see the traces<br />Of battle’s +royal graces,<br />In the brown and bearded faces,<br /> When +the boys come home.</p> +<p>Our love shall go to meet them,<br /> When the boys come +home,<br />To bless them and to greet them,<br /> When the +boys come home;<br />And the fame of their endeavour<br />Time and change +shall not dissever<br />From the nation’s heart for ever,<br /> When +the boys come home.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LÈSE-AMOUR.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> How well my heart remembers<br /> Beside these +camp-fire embers<br />The eyes that smiled so far away, -<br /> The +joy that was November’s.</p> +<p> Her voice to laughter moving,<br /> So merrily +reproving, -<br />We wandered through the autumn woods,<br /> And +neither thought of loving.</p> +<p> The hills with light were glowing,<br /> The +waves in joy were flowing, -<br />It was not to the clouded sun<br /> The +day’s delight was owing.</p> +<p> Though through the brown leaves straying,<br /> Our +lives seemed gone a-Maying;<br />We knew not Love was with us there,<br /> No +look nor tone betraying.</p> +<p> How unbelief still misses<br /> The best of +being’s blisses!<br />Our parting saw the first and last<br /> Of +love’s imagined kisses.</p> +<p> Now ’mid these scenes the drearest<br /> I +dream of her, the dearest, -<br />Whose eyes outshine the Southern stars,<br /> So +far, and yet the nearest.</p> +<p> And Love, so gaily taunted,<br /> Who died, +no welcome granted,<br />Comes to me now, a pallid ghost,<br /> By +whom my life is haunted.</p> +<p> With bonds I may not sever,<br /> He binds +my heart for ever,<br />And leads me where we murdered him, -<br /> The +Hill beside the River.</p> +<p>CAMP SHAW, FLORIDA,<br /><i> February</i> 1864.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>NORTHWARD.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Under the high unclouded sun<br />That makes the ship and shadow +one,<br /> I sail away as from the fort<br />Booms sullenly +the noonday gun.</p> +<p>The odorous airs blow thin and fine,<br />The sparkling waves like +emeralds shine,<br /> The lustre of the coral reefs<br />Gleams +whitely through the tepid brine.</p> +<p>And glitters o’er the liquid miles<br />The jewelled ring of +verdant isles,<br /> Where generous Nature holds her court<br />Of +ripened bloom and sunny smiles.</p> +<p>Encinctured by the faithful seas<br />Inviolate gardens load the +breeze,<br /> Where flaunt like giant-warders’ plumes<br />The +pennants of the cocoa-trees.</p> +<p>Enthroned in light and bathed in balm,<br />In lonely majesty the +Palm<br /> Blesses the isles with waving hands, -<br />High-Priest +of the eternal Calm.</p> +<p>Yet Northward with an equal mind<br />I steer my course, and leave +behind<br /> The rapture of the Southern skies, -<br />The +wooing of the Southern wind.</p> +<p>For here o’er Nature’s wanton bloom<br />Falls far and +near the shade of gloom,<br /> Cast from the hovering vulture-wings<br />Of +one dark thought of woe and doom.</p> +<p>I know that in the snow-white pines<br />The brave Norse fire of +freedom shines,<br /> And fain for this I leave the land<br />Where +endless summer pranks the vines.</p> +<p>O strong, free North, so wise and brave!<br />O South, too lovely +for a slave!<br /> Why read ye not the changeless truth, +-<br />The free can conquer but to save?</p> +<p>May God upon these shining sands<br />Send Love and Victory clasping +hands,<br /> And Freedom’s banners wave in peace<br />For +ever o’er the rescued lands!</p> +<p>And here, in that triumphant hour,<br />Shall yielding beauty wed +with power;<br /> And blushing earth and smiling sea<br />In +dalliance deck the bridal bower.</p> +<p>KEY WEST, 1864.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>IN THE FIRELIGHT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>My dear wife sits beside the fire<br /> With folded hands +and dreaming eyes,<br />Watching the restless flames aspire,<br /> And +rapt in thralling memories.<br />I mark the fitful firelight fling<br /> Its +warm caresses on her brow,<br /> And kiss her hands’ +unmelting snow,<br />And glisten on her wedding-ring.</p> +<p>The proud free head that crowns so well<br /> The neck +superb, whose outlines glide<br />Into the bosom’s perfect swell<br /> Soft-billowed +by its peaceful tide,<br />The cheek’s faint flush, the lip’s +red glow,<br /> The gracious charm her beauty wears,<br /> Fill +my fond eyes with tender tears<br />As in the days of long ago.</p> +<p>Days long ago, when in her eyes<br /> The only heaven +I cared for lay,<br />When from our thoughtless Paradise<br /> All +care and toil dwelt far away;<br />When Hope in wayward fancies throve,<br /> And +rioted in secret sweets,<br /> Beguiled by Passion’s +dear deceits, -<br />The mysteries of maiden love.</p> +<p>One year had passed since first my sight<br /> Was gladdened +by her girlish charms,<br />When on a rapturous summer night<br /> I +clasped her in possessing arms.<br />And now ten years have rolled away,<br /> And +left such blessings as their dower;<br /> I owe her tenfold +at this hour<br />The love that lit our wedding-day.</p> +<p>For now, vague-hovering o’er her form,<br /> My +fancy sees, by love refined,<br />A warmer and a dearer charm<br /> By +wedlock’s mystic hands entwined, -<br />A golden coil of wifely +cares<br /> That years have forged, the loving joy<br /> That +guards the curly-headed boy<br />Asleep an hour ago upstairs.</p> +<p>A fair young mother, pure as fair,<br /> A matron heart +and virgin soul!<br />The flickering light that crowns her hair<br /> Seems +like a saintly aureole.<br />A tender sense upon me falls<br /> That +joy unmerited is mine,<br /> And in this pleasant twilight +shine<br />My perfect bliss myself appals.</p> +<p>Come back! my darling, strayed so far<br /> Into the realm +of fantasy, -<br />Let thy dear face shine like a star<br /> In +love-light beaming over me.<br />My melting soul is jealous, sweet,<br /> Of +thy long silence’ drear eclipse;<br /> O kiss me back +with living lips,<br />To life, love, lying at thy feet!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>IN A GRAVEYARD.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the dewy depths of the graveyard<br /> I lie in the +tangled grass,<br />And watch, in the sea of azure,<br /> The +white cloud-islands pass.</p> +<p>The birds in the rustling branches<br /> Sing gaily overhead;<br />Grey +stones like sentinel spectres<br /> Are guarding the silent +dead.</p> +<p>The early flowers sleep shaded<br /> In the cool green +noonday glooms;<br />The broken light falls shuddering<br /> On +the cold white face of the tombs.</p> +<p>Without, the world is smiling<br /> In the infinite love +of God,<br />But the sunlight fails and falters<br /> When +it falls on the churchyard sod.</p> +<p>On me the joyous rapture<br /> Of a heart’s first +love is shed,<br />But it falls on my heart as coldly<br /> As +sunlight on the dead.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE PRAIRIE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The skies are blue above my head,<br /> The prairie green +below,<br />And flickering o’er the tufted grass<br /> The +shifting shadows go,<br />Vague-sailing, where the feathery clouds<br /> Fleck +white the tranquil skies,<br />Black javelins darting where aloft<br /> The +whirring pheasant flies.</p> +<p>A glimmering plain in drowsy trance<br /> The dim horizon +bounds,<br />Where all the air is resonant<br /> With sleepy +summer sounds, -<br />The life that sings among the flowers,<br /> The +lisping of the breeze,<br />The hot cicala’s sultry cry,<br /> The +murmurous dream of bees.</p> +<p>The butterfly - a flying flower -<br /> Wheels swift in +flashing rings,<br />And flutters round his quiet kin,<br /> With +brave flame-mottled wings.<br />The wild Pinks burst in crimson fire<br /> The +Phlox’ bright clusters shine,<br />And Prairie-Cups are swinging +free<br /> To spill their airy wine.</p> +<p>And lavishly beneath the sun,<br /> In liberal splendour +rolled,<br />The Fennel fills the dipping plain<br /> With +floods of flowery gold;<br />And widely weaves the Iron-Weed<br /> A +woof of purple dyes<br />Where Autumn’s royal feet may tread<br /> When +bankrupt Summer flies.</p> +<p>In verdurous tumult far away<br /> The prairie-billows +gleam,<br />Upon their crests in blessing rests<br /> The +noontide’s gracious beam.<br />Low quivering vapours steaming +dim<br /> The level splendours break<br />Where languid Lilies +deck the rim<br /> Of some land-circled lake.</p> +<p>Far in the east like low-hung clouds<br /> The waving +woodlands lie;<br />Far in the west the glowing plain<br /> Melts +warmly in the sky.<br />No accent wounds the reverent air,<br /> No +footprint dints the sod,<br />Lone in the light the prairie lies<br /> Rapt +in a dream of God.</p> +<p>ILLINOIS, 1858.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CENTENNIAL.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A hundred times the bells of Brown<br /> Have rung to +sleep the idle summers,<br />And still to-day clangs clamouring down<br /> A +greeting to the welcome comers.</p> +<p>And far, like waves of morning, pours<br /> Her call, +in airy ripples breaking,<br />And wanders to the farthest shores,<br /> Her +children’s drowsy hearts awaking.</p> +<p>The wild vibration floats along,<br /> O’er heart-strings +tense its magic plying,<br />And wakes in every breast its song<br /> Of +love and gratitude undying.</p> +<p>My heart to meet the summons leaps<br /> At limit of its +straining tether,<br />Where the fresh western sunlight steeps<br /> In +golden flame the prairie heather.</p> +<p>And others, happier, rise and fare<br /> To pass within +the hallowed portal,<br />And see the glory shining there<br /> Shrined +in her steadfast eyes immortal.</p> +<p>What though their eyes be dim and dull,<br /> Their heads +be white in reverend blossom;<br />Our mothers smile is beautiful<br /> As +when she bore them on her bosom!</p> +<p>Her heavenly forehead bears no line<br /> Of Time’s +iconolastic fingers,<br />But o’er her form the grace divine<br /> Of +deathless youth and wisdom lingers.</p> +<p>We fade and pass, grow faint and old,<br /> Till youth +and joy and hope are banished,<br />And still her beauty seems to fold<br /> The +sum of all the glory vanished.</p> +<p>As while Tithonus faltered on<br /> The threshold of the +Olympian dawnings,<br />Aurora’s front eternal shone<br /> With +lustre of the myriad mornings.</p> +<p>So joys that slip like dead leaves down,<br /> And hopes +burnt out that die in ashes,<br />Rise restless from their graves to +crown<br /> Our mother’s brow with fadeless flashes.</p> +<p>And lives wrapped in traditions mist<br /> These honoured +halls to-day are haunting,<br />And lips by lips long withered kissed<br /> The +sagas of the past are chanting.</p> +<p>Scornful of absence’ envious bar<br /> BROWN smiles +upon the mystic meeting<br />Of those her sons, who, sundered far,<br /> In +brotherhood of heart are greeting;</p> +<p>Her wayward children wandering on<br /> Where setting +stars are lowly burning,<br />But still in worship toward the dawn<br /> That +gilds their souls’ dear Mecca turning;</p> +<p>Or those who, armed for God’s own fight,<br /> Stand +by His Word through fire and slaughter,<br />Or bear our banner’s +starry light<br /> Far-flashing through the Gulf’s +blue water.</p> +<p>For where one strikes for light and truth,<br /> The right +to aid, the wrong redressing,<br />The mother of his spirit’s +youth<br /> Sheds o’er his soul her silent blessing.</p> +<p>She gained her crown a gem of flame<br /> When KNEASS +fell dead in victory gory;<br />New splendour blazed upon her name<br /> When +IVES’ young life went out in glory!</p> +<p>Thus bright for ever may she keep<br /> Her fires of tolerant +Freedom burning,<br />Till War’s red eyes are charmed to sleep<br /> And +bells ring home the boys returning.</p> +<p>And may she shed her radiant truth<br /> In largess on +ingenuous comers,<br />And hold the bloom of gracious youth<br /> Through +many a hundred tranquil summers!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A WINTER NIGHT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The winter wind is raving fierce and shrill,<br /> And +chides with angry moan the frosty skies;<br /> The white +stars gaze with sleepless Gorgon eyes<br />That freeze the earth in +terror fixed and still.<br />We reck not of the wild night’s gloom +and chill,<br /> Housed from its rage, dear friend; and fancy +flies,<br /> Lured by the hand of beckoning memories,<br />Back +to those summer evenings on the hill<br />Where we together watched +the sun go down<br /> Beyond the gold-washed uplands, while +his fires<br /> Touched into glittering life the vanes and +spires<br />Piercing the purpling mists that veiled the town.<br /> The +wintry night thy voice and eyes beguile,<br /> Till wake +the sleeping summers in thy smile.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>STUDENT-SONG.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When Youth’s warm heart beats high, my friend,<br /> And +Youth’s blue sky is bright,<br />And shines in Youth’s clear +eye, my friend,<br /> Love’s early dawning light,<br />Let +the free soul spurn care’s control,<br /> And while +the glad days shine,<br />We’ll use their beams for Youth’s +gay dreams<br /> Of Love and Song and Wine.</p> +<p>Let not the bigot’s frown, my friend,<br /> O’ercast +thy brow with gloom,<br />For Autumn’s sober brown, my friend,<br /> Shall +follow Summer’s bloom.<br />Let smiles and sighs and loving eyes<br /> In +changeful beauty shine,<br />And shed their beams on Youth’s gay +dreams<br /> Of Love and Song and Wine.</p> +<p>For in the weary years, my friend,<br /> That stretched +before us lie,<br />There’ll be enough of tears, my friend,<br /> To +dim the brightest eye.<br />So let them wait, and laugh at fate,<br /> While +Youth’s sweet moments shine, -<br />Till memory gleams with golden +dreams<br /> Of Love and Song and Wine.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>HOW IT HAPPENED.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I pray you, pardon me, Elsie,<br /> And smile that frown +away<br />That dims the light of your lovely face<br /> As +a thunder-cloud the day.<br />I really could not help it, -<br /> Before +I thought, ’twas done, -<br />And those great grey eyes flashed +bright and cold,<br /> Like an icicle in the sun.</p> +<p>I was thinking of the summers<br /> When we were boys +and girls,<br />And wandered in the blossoming woods,<br /> And +the gay winds romped with your curls.<br />And you seemed to me the +same little girl<br /> I kissed in the alder-path,<br />I +kissed the little girl’s lips, and, alas!<br /> I have +roused a woman’s wrath.</p> +<p>There is not so much to pardon, -<br /> For why were your +lips so red?<br />The blond hair fell in a shower of gold<br /> From +the proud, provoking head.<br />And the beauty that flashed from the +splendid eyes,<br /> And played round the tender mouth,<br />Rushed +over my soul like a warm sweet wind<br /> That blows from +the fragrant south.</p> +<p>And where, after all, is the harm done?<br /> I believe +we were made to be gay,<br />And all of youth not given to love<br /> Is +vainly squandered away.<br />And strewn through life’s low labours,<br /> Like +gold in the desert sands,<br />Are love’s swift kisses and sighs +and vows<br /> And the clasp of clinging hands.</p> +<p>And when you are old and lonely,<br /> In Memory’s +magic shine<br />You will see on your thin and wasting hands,<br /> Like +gems, these kisses of mine.<br />And when you muse at evening<br /> At +the sound of some vanished name,<br />The ghost of my kisses shall touch +your lips<br /> And kindle your heart to flame.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>GOD’S VENGEANCE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Saith the Lord, “Vengeance is mine;<br /> I will +repay,” saith the Lord;<br />Ours be the anger divine,<br /> Lit +by the flash of His word.</p> +<p>How shall His vengeance be done?<br /> How, when His purpose +is clear?<br />Must He come down from His throne?<br /> Hath +He no instruments here?</p> +<p>Sleep not in imbecile trust,<br /> Waiting for God to +begin,<br />While, growing strong in the dust,<br /> Rests +the bruised serpent of sin.</p> +<p>Right and Wrong, - both cannot live<br /> Death-grappled. +Which shall we see?<br />Strike! only Justice can give<br /> Safety +to all that shall be.</p> +<p>Shame! to stand paltering thus,<br /> Tricked by the balancing +odds;<br />Strike! God is waiting for us!<br /> Strike! for +the vengeance is God’s.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>TOO LATE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Had we but met in other days,<br />Had we but loved in other ways,<br />Another +light and hope had shone<br /> On your life and my own.</p> +<p>In sweet but hopeless reveries<br />I fancy how your wistful eyes<br />Had +saved me, had I known their power<br /> In fate’s imperious +hour;</p> +<p>How loving you, beloved of God,<br />And following you, the path +I trod<br />Had led me, through your love and prayers,<br /> To +God’s love unawares:</p> +<p>And how our beings joined as one<br />Had passed through checkered +shade and sun,<br />Until the earth our lives had given,<br /> With +little change, to heaven.</p> +<p>God knows why this was not to be.<br />You bloomed from childhood +far from me.<br />The sunshine of the favoured place<br /> That +knew your youth and grace.</p> +<p>And when your eyes, so fair and free,<br />In fearless beauty beamed +on me,<br />I knew the fatal die was thrown,<br /> My choice +in life was gone.</p> +<p>And still with wild and tender art<br />Your child-love touched my +torpid heart,<br />Gilding the blackness where it fell,<br /> Like +sunlight over hell.</p> +<p>In vain, in vain! my choice was gone!<br />Better to struggle on +alone<br />Than blot your pure life’s blameless shine<br /> With +cloudy stains of mine.</p> +<p>A vague regret, a troubled prayer,<br />And then the future vast +and fair<br />Will tempt your young and eager eyes<br /> With +all its glad surprise.</p> +<p>And I shall watch you, safe and far,<br />As some late traveller +eyes a star<br />Wheeling beyond his desert sands<br /> To +gladden happier lands.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LOVE’S DOUBT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>’Tis love that blinds my heart and eyes, -<br /> I +sometimes say in doubting dreams, -<br /> The face that near +me perfect seems<br />Cold Memory paints in fainter dyes.</p> +<p>’Twas but love’s dazzled eyes - I say -<br /> That +made her seem so strangely bright;<br /> The face I worshipped +yesternight,<br />I dread to meet it changed to-day.</p> +<p>As, when dies out some song’s refrain,<br /> And +leaves your eyes in happy tears,<br /> Awake the same fond +idle fears, -<br />It cannot sound so sweet again.</p> +<p>You wait and say with vague annoy,<br /> “It will +not sound so sweet again,”<br /> Until comes back the +wild refrain<br />That floods your soul with treble joy.</p> +<p>So when I see my love again<br /> Fades the unquiet doubt +away,<br /> While shines her beauty like the day<br />Over +my happy heart and brain.</p> +<p>And in that face I see no more<br /> The fancied faults +I idly dreamed,<br /> But all the charms that fairest seemed,<br />I +find them, fairer than before.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>LAGRIMAS.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p> God send me tears!<br />Loose the fierce +band that binds my tired brain,<br />Give me the melting heart of other +years,<br /> And let me weep again!</p> +<p> Before me pass<br />The shapes of things +inexorably true.<br />Gone is the sparkle of transforming dew<br /> From +every blade of grass.</p> +<p> In life’s high noon<br />Aimless +I stand, my promised task undone,<br />And raise my hot eyes to the +angry sun<br /> That will go down too soon.</p> +<p> Turned into gall<br />Are the sweet +joys of childhood’s sunny reign;<br />And memory is a torture, +love a chain<br /> That binds my life in +thrall.</p> +<p> And childhood’s pain<br />Could +to me now the purest rapture yield;<br />I pray for tears as in his +parching field<br /> The husbandman for +rain.</p> +<p> We pray in vain!<br />The sullen sky +flings down its blaze of brass;<br />The joys of life all scorched and +withering pass;<br /> I shall not weep +again.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>ON THE BLUFF.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>O grandly flowing River!<br />O silver-gliding River!<br />Thy springing +willows shiver<br /> In the sunset as of old;<br />They shiver +in the silence<br />Of the willow-whitened islands,<br />While the sun-bars +and the sand-bars<br /> Fill air and wave with gold.</p> +<p>O gay, oblivious River!<br />O sunset-kindled River!<br />Do you +remember ever<br /> The eyes and skies so blue<br />On a +summer day that shone here,<br />When we were all alone here,<br />And +the blue eyes were too wise<br /> To speak the love they +knew?</p> +<p>O stern, impassive River!<br />O still, unanswering River!<br />The +shivering willows quiver<br /> As the night-winds moan and +rave.<br />From the past a voice is calling,<br />From heaven a star +is falling,<br />And dew swells in the bluebells<br /> Above +her hillside grave.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>UNA.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the whole wide world there was but one;<br />Others for others, +but she was mine,<br />The one fair woman beneath the sun.</p> +<p>From her gold-flax curls’ most marvellous shine<br />Down to +the lithe and delicate feet<br />There was not a curve nor a waving +line</p> +<p>But moved in a harmony firm and sweet<br />With all of passion my +life could know.<br />By knowledge perfect and faith complete</p> +<p>I was bound to her, - as the planets go<br />Adoring around their +central star,<br />Free, but united for weal or woe.</p> +<p>She was so near and Heaven so far -<br />She grew my heaven and law +and fate,<br />Rounding my life with a mystic bar</p> +<p>No thought beyond could violate.<br />Our love to fulness in silence +nursed<br />Grew calm as morning, when through the gate</p> +<p>Of the glimmering east the sun has burst,<br />With his hot life +filling the waiting air.<br />She kissed me once, - that last and first</p> +<p>Of her maiden kisses was placid as prayer.<br />Against all comers +I sat with lance<br />In rest, and, drunk with my joy, I sware</p> +<p>Defiance and scorn to the world’s worst chance.<br />In vain! +for soon unhorsed I lay<br />At the feet of the strong god Circumstance +-</p> +<p>And never again shall break the day,<br />And never again shall fall +the night,<br />That shall light me, or shield me, on my way</p> +<p>To the presence of my sad soul’s delight.<br />Her dead love +comes like a passionate ghost<br />To mourn the Body it held so light,</p> +<p>And Fate, like a hound with a purpose lost,<br />Goes round bewildered +with shame and fright.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THROUGH THE LONG DAYS.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Through the long days and years<br /> What will my loved +one be,<br /> Parted from me?<br />Through the +long days and years.</p> +<p>Always as then she was,<br /> Loveliest, brightest, best,<br /> Blessing +and blest, -<br />Always as then she was.</p> +<p>Never on earth again<br /> Shall I before her stand,<br /> Touch +lip or hand, -<br />Never on earth again.</p> +<p>But while my darling lives<br /> Peaceful I journey on,<br /> Not +quite alone,<br />Not while my darling lives.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A PHYLACTERY.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Wise men I hold those rakes of old<br /> Who, as we read +in antique story,<br />When lyres were struck and wine was poured,<br />Set +the white Death’s Head on the board -<br /> Memento +mori.</p> +<p>Love well! love truly! and love fast!<br /> True love +evades the dilatory.<br />Life’s bloom flares like a meteor past;<br />A +joy so dazzling cannot last -<br /> Memento mori.</p> +<p>Stop not to pluck the leaves of bay<br /> That greenly +deck the path of glory,<br />The wreath will wither if you stay,<br />So +pass along your earnest way -<br /> Memento mori.</p> +<p>Hear but not heed, though wild and shrill,<br /> The cries +of faction transitory;<br />Cleave to <i>your</i> good, eschew <i>your</i> +ill,<br />A Hundred Years and all is still -<br /> Memento +mori.</p> +<p>When Old Age comes with muffled drums,<br /> That beat +to sleep our tired life’s story,<br />On thoughts of dying (Rest +is good!),<br />Like old snakes coiled i’ the sun, we brood -<br /> Memento +mori.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>BLONDINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I wandered through a careless world<br /> Deceived when +not deceiving,<br />And never gave an idle heart<br /> The +rapture of believing.<br />The smiles, the sighs, the glancing eyes,<br /> Of +many hundred comers<br />Swept by me, light as rose-leaves blown<br /> From +long-forgotten summers.</p> +<p>But never eyes so deep and bright<br /> And loyal in their +seeming,<br />And never smiles so full of light<br /> Have +shone upon my dreaming.<br />The looks and lips so gay and wise,<br /> The +thousand charms that wreathe them,<br /> - Almost I dare believe +that truth<br /> Is safely shrined beneath them.</p> +<p>Ah! do they shine, those eyes of thine,<br /> But for +our own misleading?<br />The fresh young smile, so pure and fine,<br /> Does +it but mock our reading?<br />Then faith is fled, and trust is dead,<br /> And +unbelief grows duty,<br />If fraud can wield the triple arm<br /> Of +youth and wit and beauty.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>DISTICHES.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her.<br /> This +one may love her some day, some day the lover will not.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are +going,<br /> When they seem going they come: Diplomates, +women, and crabs.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>Pleasures too hastily tasted grow sweeter in fond recollection,<br /> As +the pomegranate plucked green ripens far over the sea.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>As the meek beasts in the Garden came flocking for Adam to name them,<br /> Men +for a title to-day crawl to the feet of a king.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>What is a first love worth, except to prepare for a second?<br /> What +does the second love bring? Only regret for the first.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>Health was wooed by the Romans in groves of the laurel and myrtle.<br /> Happy +and long are the lives brightened by glory and love.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>Wine is like rain: when it falls on the mire it but makes it the +fouler,<br /> But when it strikes the good soil wakes it +to beauty and bloom.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>Break not the rose; its fragrance and beauty are surely sufficient:<br /> Resting +contented with these, never a thorn shall you feel.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>When you break up housekeeping, you learn the extent of your treasures;<br /> Till +he begins to reform, no one can number his sins.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Maidens! why should you worry in choosing whom you shall marry?<br /> Choose +whom you may, you will find you have got somebody else.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>Unto each man comes a day when his favourite sins all forsake him,<br /> And +he complacently thinks he has forsaken his sins.</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>Be not too anxious to gain your next-door neighbour’s approval:<br /> Live +your own life, and let him strive your approval to gain.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>Who would succeed in the world should be wise in the use of his pronouns.<br /> Utter +the You twenty times, where you once utter the I.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>The best-loved man or maid in the town would perish with anguish<br /> Could +they hear all that their friends say in the<br />course of a day.</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table:<br /> Luckiest +he who knows just when to rise and go home.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>Pleasant enough it is to hear the world speak of your virtues;<br /> But +in your secret heart ’tis of your faults you are proud.</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>Try not to beat back the current, yet be not drowned in its waters;<br /> Speak +with the speech of the world, think with the thoughts of the few.</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>Make all good men your well-wishers, and then, in the years’ +steady sifting,<br /> Some of them turn into friends. +Friends are the sunshine of life.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>REGARDANT.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>As I lay at your feet that afternoon,<br />Little we spoke, - you +sat and mused,<br />Humming a sweet old-fashioned tune,</p> +<p>And I worshipped you, with a sense confused<br />Of the good time +gone and the bad on the way,<br />While my hungry eyes your face perused,</p> +<p>To catch and brand on my soul for aye<br />The subtle smile which +had grown my doom.<br />Drinking sweet poison hushed I lay</p> +<p>Till the sunset shimmered athwart the room.<br />I rose to go. +You stood so fair<br />And dim in the dead day’s tender gloom:</p> +<p>All at once, or ever I was aware,<br />Flashed from you on me a warm +strong wave<br />Of passion and power; in the silence there</p> +<p>I fell on my knees, like a lover, or slave,<br />With my wild hands +clasping your slender waist;<br />And my lips, with a sudden frenzy +brave,</p> +<p>A madman’s kiss on your girdle pressed,<br />And I felt your +calm heart’s quickening beat,<br />And your soft hands on me one +instant rest.</p> +<p>And if God had loved me, how endlessly sweet<br />Had He let my heart +in its rapture burst,<br />And throb its last at your firm small feet!</p> +<p>And when I was forth, I shuddered at first<br />At my imminent bliss. +As a soul in pain,<br />Treading his desolate path accursed,</p> +<p>Looks back and dreams through his tears’ dim rain<br />That +by Heaven’s wide gate the angels smile,<br />Relenting, and beckon +him back again,</p> +<p>And goes on, thrice damned by that devil’s wile, -<br />So +sometimes burns in my weary brain<br />The thought that you loved me +all the while.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>GUY OF THE TEMPLE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Down the dim west slowly fails the stricken sun,<br />And from his +hot face fades the crimson flush<br />Veiled in death’s herald-shadows +sick and grey.<br />Silent and dark the sombre valley lies<br />Forgotten; +happy in the late fond beams<br />Glimmer the constant waves of Galilee.<br />Afar, +below, in airy music ring<br />The bugles of my host; the column halts,<br />A +wearied serpent glittering in the vale,<br />Where rising mist-like +gleam the tented camps.</p> +<p>Pitch my pavilion here, where its high cross<br />May catch the last +light lingering on the hill.<br />The savage shadows, struggling by +the shore,<br />Have conquered in the valley; inch by inch<br />The +vanquished light fights bravely to these crags<br />To perish glorious +in the sunset fire;<br />Even as our hunted Cause so pressed and torn<br />In +Syrian valleys, and the trampled marge<br />Of consecrated streams, +displays at last<br />Its narrowing glories from these steadfast walls.<br />Here +in God’s name we stand, and brighter far<br />Shines the stern +virtue of my martyr-host<br />Through these invidious fortunes, than +of old,<br />When the still sunshine glinted on their helms,<br />And +dallying breezes woke their bridle-bells<br />To tinkling music by the +reedy shore<br />Of calm Tiberias, where our angry Lord,<br />Wroth +at the deadly sin that cursed our camp,<br />Denied and blinded us, +and gave us up<br />To the avenging sword of Saladin.<br />Yet would +He not permit His truth to sink<br />To utter loss amid that foundering +fight,<br />But led us, scarred and shattered from the spoil<br />Of +Paynim rage, the desert’s thirsty death,<br />To where beneath +the sheltering crags we prayed<br />And rested and grew strong. +Heroes and saints<br />To alien peoples shall they be, my brave<br />And +patient warriors; for in their stout hearts<br />God’s Spirit +dwells for ever, and their hands<br />Are swift to do His service on +His foes.<br />The swelling music of their vesper-hymn<br />Is rising +fragrant from the shadowed vale<br />Familiar to the welcoming gates +of heaven.</p> +<p> <i> Mother of God! as evening falls<br /> Upon +the silent sea,<br /> And shadows veil the mountain walls,<br /> We +lift our souls to thee!<br /> From lurking perils of the +night,<br /> The desert’s hidden harms,<br /> From +plagues that waste, from blasts that smite,<br /> Defend +thy men-at-arms!</i></p> +<p>Ay! Heaven keep them! and ye angel-hosts<br />That wait with fluttering +plumes around the great<br />White throne of God, guard them from scath +and harm!<br />For in your starry records never shone<br />The memory +of desert so great as theirs.<br />I hold not first, though peerless +else on earth,<br />That knightly valour, born of gentle blood<br />And +war’s long tutelage, which hath made their name<br />Blaze like +a baleful planet o’er these lands;<br />Firm seat in saddle, lance +unmoved, a hand<br />Wedding the hilt with death’s persistent +grasp;<br />One-minded rush in fight that naught can stay.<br />Not +these the highest, though I scorn not these,<br />But rather offer Heaven +with humble heart<br />The deeds that Heaven hath given us arms to do.<br />For +when God’s smile was with us we were strong<br />To go like sudden +lightning to our mark:<br />As on that summer day when Saladin -<br />Passing +in scorn our host at Antioch,<br />Who spent the days in revel, and +shamed the stars<br />With nightly scandal - came with all his host,<br />Its +gay battalia brave with saffron silks,<br />Flaunting the banners of +the Caliphate<br />Beneath the walls of fair Jerusalem:<br />And white +and shaking came the Leper-King,<br />Great Baldwin’s blasted +scion, and Tripoli<br />And I, and twenty score of Temple Knights,<br />To +meet the myriads marshalled by the bright<br />Untarnished flower of +Eastern chivalry;<br />A moment paused with level-fronting spears<br />And +moveless helms before that shining host,<br />Whose gay attire abashed +the morning light,<br />And then struck spur and charged, while from +the mass<br />Of rushing terror burst the awful cry,<br /><i>God and +the Temple</i>! As the avalanche slides<br />Down Alpine slopes, +precipitous, cold and dark,<br />Unpitying and unwrathful, grinds and +crushes<br />The mountain violets and the valley weeds,<br />And drags +behind a trail of chaos and death;<br />So burst we on that field, and +through and through<br />The gay battalia brave with saffron silks,<br />Crushed +and abolished every grace and gleam,<br />And dragged where’er +we rode a sinuous track<br />Of chaos and death, till all the plain +was filled<br />With battered armour, turbaned trunkless heads,<br />With +silken mantles blushing angry gules<br />And Bagdad’s banners +trampled and forlorn.<br />And Saladin, stunned and bewildered sore, +-<br />The greatest prince, save in the grace of God,<br />That now +wears sword, - mounted his brother’s barb,<br />And, followed +by a half-score followers,<br />Sped to his castle Shaubec, over against<br />The +cliffs by Ascalon, and there abode:<br />And sullenly made order that +no more<br />The royal nouba should be played for him<br />Until he +should erase the rusting stain<br />Upon his knightly honour; and no +more<br />The nouba sounded by the Sultan’s tent,<br />Morning +nor evening by the silent tent,<br />Until the headlong greed of Chatillon<br />Spread +ruin on our cause from Montreale.<br />But greatest are my warriors, +as I deem,<br />In that their hearts, nearer than any else,<br />Keep +true the pledge of perfect purity<br />They pledged upon their sword-hilts +long ago.<br />For all is possible to the pure in heart.</p> +<p> <i>Mother of God! thy starry smile<br /> Still +bless us from above!<br /> Keep pure our souls from passion’s +guile,<br /> Our hearts from earthly love!<br /> Still +save each soul from guilt apart<br /> As stainless +as each sword,<br /> And guard undimmed in every heart<br /> The +image of our Lord!</i></p> +<p>O goodliest fellowship that the world has known,<br />True hearts +and stalwart arms! above your breasts<br />Glitters no flash of wreathen +amulet<br />Forged against sword-stroke by the chanted rhythm<br />Of +charms accurst; but in each steadfast heart<br />Blazes the light of +cloudless purity,<br />That like a splendid jewel glorifies<br />With +restless fire the gold that spheres it round,<br />And marks you children +of our God, whose lives<br />He guards with the awful jealousy of love.<br />And +even me that generous love has spared, -<br />Me, trustless knight and +miserable man, -<br />Sad prey of dark and mutinous thoughts that tempt<br />My +sick soul into perjury and death -<br />Since His great love had pity +on my pain,<br />Has spared to lead these blameless warriors safe<br />Into +the desert from the blazing towns,<br />Out of the desert to the inviolate +hills<br />Where God has roofed them with His hollow shield.<br />Through +all these days of tempest and eclipse<br />His hand has led me and His +wrath has flashed<br />Its lightnings in the pathway of my sword.<br />And +so I hope, and so my crescent faith<br />Gains daily power, that all +my prayers and tears<br />And toils and blood and anguish borne for +Him<br />May blot the accusing of my deadly sin<br />From heavens high +compt, and give me rest in death;<br />And lay the pallid ghost of mortal +love,<br />That fills with banned and mournful loveliness,<br />Unblest, +the haunted chambers of my soul.<br />My misery will atone, - my misery, +-<br />Dear God, will surely atone! for not the sting<br />Of lacerating +thongs, nor the slow horror<br />Of crowns of thorny iron maddening +the brows,<br />Nor all that else pale hermits have devised<br />To +scourge the rebel senses in their shade<br />Of caverned desolation, +have the power<br />To smart and goad and lash and mortify<br />Like +the great love that binds my ruined heart<br />Relentless, as the insidious +ivy binds<br />The shattered bulk of some deserted tower,<br />Enlacing +slow and riving with strong hands<br />Of pitiless verdure every seam +and jut,<br />Till none may tear it forth and save the tower.<br />So +binds and masters me my hopeless love.<br />So through the desert, in +the silent hills,<br />I’ the current of the battle’s storm +and stress,<br />One thought has driven me, - that though men may call<br />Me +stainless Paladin, Knight leal and true<br />To Christ and Our Lady, +still I know myself<br />A knight not after God’s own heart, a +soul<br />Recreant, and whelmed in the forbidden sin.<br />For dearer +to my sad heart than the cross<br />I give my heart’s best blood +for are the eyes<br />That long ago, when youth and hope were mine,<br />I +loved in thy still valleys, far Provence!<br />And sweeter to my spirit +than the bells<br />Of rescued Salem are the loving tones<br />Of her +dear voice, soft echoing o’er the years.<br />They haunt me in +the stillness and the glare<br />Of desert noontide when the horizon’s +line<br />Swims faintly throbbing, and my shadow hides<br />Skulking +beneath me from the brassy sky.<br />And when night comes to soothe +with breath of balm<br />And pomp of stars the worn and weary world,<br />Her +eyes rise in my soul and make its day.<br />And even into the battle +comes my love,<br />Snatching the duty that I offer Heaven.<br /> At +closing of El-Majed’s awful day,<br />When the last quivering +sunbeams, choked with dust<br />And fume of blood, failed on the level +plain,<br />In the last charge, when gathered all our knights<br />The +precious handful who from morn had stemmed<br />The fury of the multitudinous +hosts<br />Of Islam, where in youth’s hot fire and pride<br />Ramped +the young lion-whelp, Ben-Saladin;<br />As down the slope we rode at +eventide,<br />The dying sunlight faintly smiled to greet<br />Our tattered +guidons and our dinted helms<br />And lance-heads blooming with the +battle’s rose.<br />Into the vale, dusk with the shadow of death,<br />With +silent lips and ringing mail we rode.<br />And something in the spirit +of the hour,<br />Or fate, or memory, or sorrow, or sin,<br />Or love, +which unto me is all of these,<br />Possessed and bound me; for when +dashed our troop<br />In stormy clangour on the Paynim lines<br />The +soul of my dead youth came into me;<br />Faded away my oath; the woes +of Zion,<br />God was forgot; blazed in my leaping heart,<br />With +instant flash, life’s inextinguished fires;<br />Plunging along +each tense limb poured the blood<br />Hot with its years of sleeping-smothered +flame.<br />And in a dream I charged, and in a dream<br />I smote resistless; +foemen in my path<br />Fell unregarded, like the wayside flowers<br />Clipped +by the truant’s staff in daisied lanes.<br />For over me burned +lustrous the dear eyes<br />Of my beloved; I strove as at a joust<br />To +gain at end the guerdon of her smile.<br />And ever, as in the dense +mêlée I dashed,<br />Her name burst from my lips, as lightning +breaks<br />Out of the plunging wrack of summer storms.</p> +<p>O my lost love! Bright o’er the waste of years -<br />That +bliss and beauty shines upon my soul;<br />As far beyond yon desert +hangs the sun,<br />Gilding with tender beam the barren stretch<br />Of +sands that intervene. In this still light<br />The old sweet memories +glimmer back to me,<br />Fair summers of my youth, - the idle days<br />I +wandered in the bosky coverts hid<br />In the dim woods that girt my +ancient home;<br />The blue young eyes I met and worshipped there;<br />The +love that growing turned those gloomy wilds<br />To faery dells, and +filled the vernal air<br />With light that bathed the hills of Paradise;<br />The +warm, long days of rapturous summer-time,<br />When through the forests +thick and lush we strayed,<br />And love made our own sunshine in the +shades.<br />And all things fair and graceful in the woods<br />I loved +with liberal heart; the violets<br />Were dear for her dear eyes, the +quiring birds<br />That caught the musical tremble of her voice.<br />O +happy twilights in the leafy glooms!<br />When in the glowing dusk the +winsome arts<br />And maiden graces that all day had kept<br />Us twain +and separate melted away<br />In blushing silence, and my love was mine<br />Utterly, +utterly, with clinging arms<br />And quick, caressing fingers, warm +red lips,<br />Where vows, half uttered, drowned in kisses, died;<br />Mine, +with the starlight in her passionate eyes;<br />The wild wind of the +woodland breathing low<br />To wake the elfin music of the leaves,<br />And +free the prisoned odours of the flowers,<br />In honour of young Love +come to his throne!<br />While we under the stars, with twining arms<br />And +mutual lips insatiate, gave our souls -<br />Madly forgetting earth +and heaven - to love!</p> +<p> <i>In desert march or battle flame,<br /> In +fortress and in field,<br /> Our war-cry is thy holy name,<br /> Thy +love our joy and shield!<br /> And if we falter, let thy +power<br /> Thy stern avenger be,<br /> And +God forget us in the hour<br /> We cease to think +of thee!</i></p> +<p>Curse me not, God of Justice and of Love!<br />Pitiful God, let my +long woe atone!</p> +<p>I cannot deem but God has pitied me;<br />Else why with painful care +have I been saved,<br />Whenever tossed and drenched in the fierce tide<br />Of +Saladin’s victories by the walls profaned<br />Of Jaffa, on the +sands of far Daroum,<br />Or in the battle thundering on the downs<br />Of +Ramlah, or the bloody day that shed<br />Red horrors on high Gaza’s +parapets?<br />For never a storm of fatal fight has raged<br />In Islam’s +track of rout and ruin swept<br />From Egypt to Gebail, but when the +ebb<br />Of battle came I and my host have lain,<br />Scarred, scorched, +safe somewhere on its fiery shore.<br />At Marcab’s lingering +siege, where day by day<br />We told the Moslem legions toiling slow,<br />Planting +their engines, delving in their mines<br />To quench in our destruction +this last light<br />Of Christendom, our fortress in the crags,<br />God’s +beacon swung defiant from the stars;<br />One thunderous night I knew +their miners groped<br />Below, and thought ere morn to die, in crush<br />And +tumult of the falling citadel.<br />And pondering of my fate - the broken +storm<br />Sobbing its life away - I was aware<br />There grew between +me and the quieting skies<br />A face and form I knew, - not as in dreams,<br />The +sad dishevelled loveliness of earth,<br />But lighter than the thin +air where she swayed, -<br />Gold hair flame-fluttered, eyes and mouth +aglow<br />With lambent light of spiritual joy.<br />With sweet command +she beckoned me away<br />And led me vaguely dreaming, till I saw<br />Where +the wild flood in sudden fury had burst<br />A passage through the rocks: +and thence I led<br />My host unharmed, following her luminous eyes,<br />Until +the east was grey, and with a smile<br />Wooing me heavenward still +she passed away<br />Into the rosy trouble of the dawn.</p> +<p>And I believe my love is shrived in heaven,<br />And I believe that +I shall soon be free.</p> +<p>For ever, as I journey on, to me<br />Waking or sleeping come faint +whisperings<br />And fancies not of earth, as if the gates<br />Of near +eternity stood for me ajar,<br />And ghostly gales come blowing o’er +my soul<br />Fraught with the amaranth odours of the skies.<br />I go +to join the Lion-Heart at Acre,<br />And there, after due homage to +my liege,<br />And after patient penance of the Church,<br />And after +final devoir in the fight,<br />If that my God be gracious, I shall +die.<br />And so I pray - Lord, pardon if I sin! -<br />That I may lose +in death’s embittered wave<br />The stain of sinful loving, and +may find<br />In glory again the love I lost below,<br />With all of +fair and bright and unattained,<br />Beautiful in the cherishing smile +of God,<br />By the glad waters of the River of Life!</p> +<p>Night hangs above the valley; dies the day<br />In peace, casting +his last glance on my cross,<br />And warns me to my prayers. +<i>Ave Maria!</i></p> +<p> <i>Mother of God! the evening fades<br /> On +wave and hill and lea,<br /> And in the twilight’s +deepening shades<br /> We lift our souls to thee!<br /> In +passion’s stress - the battle’s strife,<br /> The +desert’s lurking harms,<br /> Maid-Mother of the Lord +of Life<br /> Protect thy men-at-arms!</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>TRANSLATIONS.</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE WAY TO HEAVEN.<br /> FROM +THE GERMAN.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>One day the Sultan, grand and grim,<br />Ordered the Mufti brought +to him.<br />“Now let thy wisdom solve for me<br />The question +I shall put to thee.</p> +<p>“The different tribes beneath my sway<br />Four several sects +of priests obey;<br />Now tell me which of all the four<br />Is on the +path to Heaven’s door.”</p> +<p>The Sultan spake, and then was dumb.<br />The Mufti looked about +the room,<br />And straight made answer to his lord,<br />Fearing the +bowstring at each word:</p> +<p>“Thou, godlike in thy lofty birth,<br />Who art our Allah upon +earth,<br />Illume me with thy favouring ray,<br />And I will answer +as I may.</p> +<p>“Here, where thou thronest in thy hall,<br />I see there are +four doors in all;<br />And through all four thy slaves may gaze<br />Upon +the brightness of thy face.</p> +<p>“That I came hither safely through<br />Was to thy gracious +message due,<br />And, blinded by thy splendour’s flame,<br />I +cannot tell the way I came.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>COUNTESS JUTTA.<br /> FROM +THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The Countess Jutta passed over the Rhine<br />In a light canoe by +the moon’s pale shine.<br />The handmaid rows and the Countess +speaks:<br />“Seest thou not there where the water breaks<br /> Seven +corpses swim<br /> In +the moonlight dim?<br />So sorrowful swim the dead!</p> +<p>“They were seven knights full of fire and youth,<br />They +sank on my heart and swore me truth.<br />I trusted them; but for Truth’s +sweet sake,<br />Lest they should be tempted their oaths to break,<br /> I +had them bound,<br /> And +tenderly drowned!<br />So sorrowful swim the dead!”</p> +<p>The merry Countess laughed outright!<br />It rang so wild in the +startled night!<br />Up to the waist the dead men rise<br />And stretch +lean fingers to the skies.<br /> They +nod and stare<br /> With +a glassy glare!<br />So sorrowful swim the dead!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>A BLESSING.<br /> AFTER +HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When I look on thee and feel how dear,<br /> How pure, +and how fair thou art,<br />Into my eyes there steals a tear,<br />And +a shadow mingled of love and fear<br /> Creeps slowly over +my heart.</p> +<p>And my very hands feel as if they would lay<br /> Themselves +on thy fair young head,<br />And pray the good God to keep thee alway<br />As +good and lovely, as pure and gay, -<br /> When I and my wild +love are dead.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>TO THE YOUNG.<br /> AFTER +HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Let your feet not falter, your course not alter<br /> By +golden apples, till victory’s won!<br />The sword’s sharp +clangour, the dart’s shrill anger,<br /> Swerve not +the hero thundering on.</p> +<p>A bold beginning is half the winning,<br /> An Alexander +makes worlds his fee.<br />No long debating! The Queens are waiting<br /> In +his pavilion on beaded knee.</p> +<p>Thus swift pursuing his wars and wooing,<br /> He mounts +old Darius’ bed and throne.<br />O glorious ruin! O blithe +undoing!<br /> O drunk death-triumph in Babylon!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE GOLDEN CALF.<br /> AFTER +HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Double flutes and horns resound<br />As they dance the idol round;<br />Jacob’s +daughters, madly reeling,<br /> Whirl about the golden calf.<br /> Hear +them laugh!<br />Kettledrums and laughter pealing.</p> +<p>Dresses tucked above their knees,<br />Maids of noblest families,<br />In +the swift dance blindly wheeling,<br /> Circle in their wild +career<br /> Round the steer, -<br />Kettledrums +and laughter pealing.</p> +<p>Aaron’s self, the guardian grey<br />Of the faith, at last +gives way,<br />Madness all his senses stealing;<br /> Prances +in his high priest’s coat<br /> Like a +goat, -<br />Kettledrums and laughter pealing.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE AZRA.<br /> AFTER +HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Daily walked the fair and lovely<br />Sultan’s daughter in +the twilight, -<br />In the twilight by the fountain,<br />Where the +sparkling waters plash.</p> +<p>Daily stood the young slave silent<br />In the twilight by the fountain,<br />Where +the plashing waters sparkle,<br />Pale and paler every day.</p> +<p>Once by twilight came the princess<br />Up to him with rapid questions:<br />“I +would know thy name, thy nation,<br />Whence thou comest, who thou art.”</p> +<p>And the young slave said, “My name is<br />Mahomet, I come +from Yemmen.<br />I am of the sons of Azra,<br />Men who perish if they +love.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>GOOD AND BAD LUCK.<br /> AFTER +HEINE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Good luck is the gayest of all gay girls,<br /> Long in +one place she will not stay;<br />Back from your brow she strokes the +curls,<br /> Kisses you quick and flies away.</p> +<p>But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes<br /> And stays, - no +fancy has she for flitting, -<br />Snatches of true love-songs she hums,<br /> And +sits by your bed, and brings her knitting.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>L’AMOUR DU MENSONGE.<br /> AFTER +CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When I behold thee, O my indolent love,<br /> To the sound +of ringing brazen melodies,<br />Through garish halls harmoniously move,<br /> Scattering +a scornful light from languid eyes;</p> +<p>When I see, smitten by the blazing lights,<br /> Thy pale +front, beauteous in its bloodless glow<br />As the faint fires that +deck the Northern nights,<br /> And eyes that draw me wheresoe’er +I go;</p> +<p>I say, She is fair, too coldly strange for speech;<br /> A +crown of memories, her calm brow above,<br />Shines; and her heart is +like a bruised red peach,<br /> Ripe as her body for intelligent +love.</p> +<p>Art thou late fruit of spicy savour and scent?<br /> A +funeral vase awaiting tearful showers?<br />An Eastern odour, waste +and oasis blent?<br /> A silken cushion or a bank of flowers?</p> +<p>I know there are eyes of melancholy sheen<br /> To which +no passionate secrets e’er were given;<br />Shrines where no god +or saint has ever been,<br /> As deep and empty as the vault +of Heaven.</p> +<p>But what care I if this be all pretence?<br /> ’Twill +serve a heart that seeks for truth no more.<br />All one thy folly or +indifference, -<br /> Hail, lovely mask, thy beauty I adore!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>AMOR MYSTICUS.<br /> FROM +THE SPANISH OF SOR MARCELA DE CARPIO.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Let them say to my Lover<br /> That here I +lie!<br />The thing of His pleasure,<br /> His +slave am I.</p> +<p>Say that I seek Him<br /> Only for love,<br />And +welcome are tortures<br /> My passion to prove.</p> +<p>Love giving gifts<br /> Is suspicious and +cold;<br />I have all, my Belovèd,<br /> When +Thee I hold.</p> +<p>Hope and devotion<br /> The good may gain;<br />I +am but worthy<br /> Of passion and pain.</p> +<p>So noble a Lord<br /> None serves in vain,<br />For +the pay of my love<br /> Is my love’s sweet +pain.</p> +<p>I love Thee, to love Thee, -<br /> No more +I desire;<br />By faith is nourished<br /> My +love’s strong fire.</p> +<p>I kiss Thy hands<br /> When I feel their blows;<br />In +the place of caresses<br /> Thou givest me woes.</p> +<p>But in Thy chastising<br /> Is joy and peace.<br />O +Master and Love,<br /> Let Thy blows not cease.</p> +<p>Thy beauty, Belovèd,<br /> With scorn +is rife,<br />But I know that Thou lovest me,<br /> Better +than life.</p> +<p>And because thou lovest me,<br /> Lover of +mine,<br />Death can but make me<br /> Utterly +Thine.</p> +<p>I die with longing<br /> Thy face to see;<br />Oh! +sweet is the anguish<br /> Of death to me!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines4"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PIKE COUNTY BALLADS ETC. ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named pkcb10h.htm or pkcb10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, pkcb11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, pkcb10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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