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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6956.txt b/6956.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d519fa2 --- /dev/null +++ b/6956.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3022 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook In Divers Tones, by Charles G. D. Roberts + +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: In Divers Tones + +Author: Charles G. D. Roberts + +Release Date: November 2004 [EBook #6956] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 17, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: Latin 1 + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN DIVERS TONES BY ROBERTS *** + + + +This eBook was produced by John Williams, Juliet Sutherland, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +IN DIVERS TONES + +BY + +CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS + +AUTHOR OF "ORION, AND OTHER POEMS"; PROFESSOR OF +ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE UNIVERSITY OF +KING'S COLLEGE, WINDSOR, N. S. + + + +To My Friend, +EDMUND COLLINS. + + +In divers tones I sing, + And pray you, Friend, give ear! +My medley of song I bring + You, who can rightly hear. + +Themes gathered far and near, + Thoughts from my heart that spring, + In divers tones I sing, +And pray you. Friend, give ear! + +Here's many a serious thing-- + You'll know if it's sincere. +Where the light laughters ring + You may detect a tear. +In divers tones I sing, + And pray you, Friend, give ear! + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +DEDICATION + +COLLECT FOR DOMINION DAY + +CANADA + +ACTAEON + +IN THE AFTERNOON + +THE PIPES OF PAN + +BEFORE THE BREATH OF STORM + +OUT OF POMPEII + +TO FREDERICTON IN MAY-TIME + +IN SEPTEMBER + +CONCERNING CUTHBERT THE MONK + +IMPULSE + +THE ISLES--AN ODE + +A SERENADE + +OFF PELORUS + +A BALLADE OF CALYPSO + +RAIN + +MIST + +THE TANTRAMAR REVISITED + +THE SLAVE WOMAN + +THE MARVELLOUS WORK + +A SONG OF DEPENDENCE + +ON THE CREEK + +LOTOS + +THE SOWER + +THE POTATO HARVEST + +AFLOAT + +RECKONING + +IN NOTRE DAME + +NOCTURNE + +TIDES + +CONSOLATION + +DARK + +THE FOOTPATH + +TOUT OU RIEN + +SALT + +KHARTOUM + +LIBERTY. (From the French of Fréchette) + +TO THE MEMORY OF SIDNEY LANIER + +ON READING THE POEMS OF SIDNEY LANIER + +IN LANG'S "HELEN OF TROY." (TO BLISS CARMAN.) + +A BALLADE OF PHILOMELA + +A HERALD + +WINTER GERANIUMS + +A BREATHING TIME + +BIRCH AND PADDLE. (To BLISS CARMAN.) + +AN ODE FOR THE CANADIAN CONFEDERACY + +THE QUELLING OF THE MOOSE + +A SONG OF REGRET + +THE DEPARTING OF CLOTE SCARP + +A BREAK + +TO A LADY, AFTER HEARING HER READ KEATS' "NIGHTINGALE" + +RONDEAU. (TO LOUIS HONORE FRÉCHETTE.) + +A BIRTHDAY BALLADE + +To S---- M---- + +LA BELLE TROMBONISTE + +THE POET IS BIDDEN TO MANHATTAN ISLAND + +THE BLUE VIOLET + + + + +IN DIVERS TONES. + + + +COLLECT FOR DOMINION DAY. + + +Father of nations! Help of the feeble hand! + Strength of the strong! to whom the nations kneel! + Stay and destroyer, at whose just command + Earth's kingdoms tremble and her empires reel! +Who dost the low uplift, the small make great, + And dost abase the ignorantly proud, + Of our scant people mould a mighty state, + To the strong, stern,--to Thee in meekness bowed! +Father of unity, make this people one! + Weld, interfuse them in the patriot's flame,-- + Whose forging on thine anvil was begun +In blood late shed to purge the common shame; + That so our hearts, the fever of faction done, + Banish old feud in our young nation's name. + + + +CANADA. + + +O Child of Nations, giant-limbed, + Who stand'st among the nations now +Unheeded, unadored, unhymned, + With unanointed brow,-- + +How long the ignoble sloth, how long + The trust in greatness not thine own? +Surely the lion's brood is strong + To front the world alone! + +How long the indolence, ere thou dare + Achieve thy destiny, seize thy fame-- +Ere our proud eyes behold thee bear + A nation's franchise, nation's name? + +The Saxon force, the Celtic fire, + These are thy manhood's heritage! +Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek higher + The place of race and age. + +I see to every wind unfurled + The flag that bears the Maple-Wreath; +Thy swift keels furrow round the world + Its blood-red folds beneath; + +Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas; + Thy white sails swell with alien gales; +To stream on each remotest breeze + The black smoke of thy pipes exhales. + +O Falterer, let thy past convince + Thy future,--all the growth, the gain, +The fame since Cartier knew thee, since + Thy shores beheld Champlain! + +Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm! + Quebec, thy storied citadel +Attest in burning song and psalm + How here thy heroes fell! + +O Thou that bor'st the battle's brunt + At Queenston, and at Lundy's Lane,-- +On whose scant ranks but iron front + The battle broke in vain!-- + +Whose was the danger, whose the day, + From whose triumphant throats the cheers, +At Chrysler's Farm, at Chateauguay, + Storming like clarion-bursts our ears? + +On soft Pacific slopes,--beside + Strange floods that northward rave and fall,-- +Where chafes Acadia's chainless tide-- + Thy sons await thy call. + +They wait; but some in exile, some + With strangers housed, in stranger lands;-- +And some Canadian lips are dumb + Beneath Egyptian sands. + +O mystic Nile! Thy secret yields + Before us; thy most ancient dreams +Are mixed with far Canadian fields + And murmur of Canadian streams. + +But thou, my Country, dream not thou! + Wake, and behold how night is done,-- +How on thy breast, and o'er thy brow, + Bursts the uprising sun! + + + +ACTAEON. + +A WOMAN OF PLATAEA SPEAKS. + + +I have lived long, and watched out many days, +And seen the showers fall and the light shine down +Equally on the vile and righteous head. +I have lived long, and served the gods, and drawn +Small joy and liberal sorrow,--scorned the gods, +And drawn no less my little meed of good, +Suffered my ill in no more grievous measure. +I have been glad--alas, my foolish people, +I have been glad with you! And ye are glad, +Seeing the gods in all things, praising them +In yon their lucid heaven, this green world, +The moving inexorable sea, and wide +Delight of noonday,--till in ignorance +Ye err, your feet transgress, and the bolt falls! +Ay, have I sung, and dreamed that they would hear; +And worshipped, and made offerings;--it may be +They heard, and did perceive, and were well pleased,-- +A little music in their ears; perchance, +A grain more savor to their nostrils, sweet +Tho' scarce accounted of. But when for me +The mists of Acheron have striven up, +And horror was shed round me; when my knees +Relaxed, my tongue clave speechless, they forgot. +And when my sharp cry cut the moveless night, +And days and nights my wailings clamored up +And beat about their golden homes, perchance +They shut their ears. No happy music this, +Eddying through their nectar cups and calm! +Then I cried out against them, and died not; +And rose, and set me to my daily tasks. +So all day long, with bare, uplift right arm, +Drew out the strong thread from the carded wool, +Or wrought strange figures, lotus-buds and serpents, +In Purple on the himation's saffron fold; +Nor uttered praise with the slim-wristed girls +To any god, nor uttered any prayer, +Nor poured out bowls of wine and smooth bright oil, +Nor brake and gave small cakes of beaten meal +And honey, as this time, or such a god +Required; nor offered apples summer-flushed, +Scarlet pomegranates, poppy-bells, or doves. +All this with scorn, and waiting all day long, +And night long with dim fear, afraid of sleep,-- +Seeing I took no hurt of all these things, +And seeing mine eyes were drièd of their tears +So that once more the light grew sweet for me, +Once more grew fair the fields and valley streams, +I thought with how small profit men take heed +To worship with bowed heads, and suppliant hands, +And sacrifice, the everlasting gods, +Who take small thought of them to curse or bless, +Girt with their purples of perpetual peace! +Thus blindly deemed I of them;--yet--and yet-- +Have late well learned their hate is swift as fire, +Be one so wretched to encounter it; +Ay, have I seen a multitude of good deeds +Fly up in the pan like husks, like husks blown dry. +Hereafter let none question the high gods! +I questioned; but these watching eyes have seen +Actaeon, thewed and sinewed like a god, +Godlike for sweet speech and great deeds, hurled down +To hideous death,--scarce suffered space to breathe +Ere the wild heart in his changed quivering side +Burst with mad terror, and the stag's wide eyes +Stared one sick moment 'mid the dogs' hot jaws. + + * * * * * + +Cithaeron, mother mount, set steadfastly +Deep in Boeotia, past the utmost roar +Of seas, beyond Corinthian waves withdrawn, +Girt with green vales awake with brooks or still, +Towers up mid lesser-browed Boeotian hills-- +These couched like herds secure beneath its ken-- +And watches earth's green corners. At mid-noon +We of Plataea mark the sun make pause +Right over it, and top its crest with pride. +Men of Eleusis look toward north at dawn +To see the long white fleeces upward roll, +Smitten aslant with saffron, fade like smoke, +And leave the gray-green dripping glens all bare, +The drenched slopes open sunward; slopes wherein +What gods, what godlike men to match with gods, +Have roamed, and grown up mighty, and waxed wise +Under the law of him whom gods and men +Reverence, and call Cheiron! He, made wise +With knowledge of all wisdom, had made wise +Actaeon, till there moved none cunninger +To drive with might the javelin forth, or bend +The corded ebony, save Leto's son. + +But him the Centaur shall behold no more +With long stride making down the beechy glade, +Clear-eyed, with firm lips laughing,--at his heels +The clamor of his fifty deep-tongued hounds; +Him the wise Centaur shall behold no more. + +I have lived long, and watched out many days, +And am well sick of watching. Three days since, +I had gone out upon the slopes for herbs, +Snake-root, and subtle gums; and when the light +Fell slantwise through the upper glens, and missed +The sunk ravines, I came where all the hills +Circle the valley of Gargaphian streams. +Reach beyond reach all down the valley gleamed,-- +Thick branches ringed them. Scarce a bowshot past +My platan, thro' the woven leaves low-hung, +Trembling in meshes of the woven sun, +A yellow-sanded pool, shallow and clear, +Lay sparkling, brown about the further bank +From scarlet-berried ash-trees hanging over. +But suddenly the shallows brake awake +With laughter and light voices, and I saw +Where Artemis, white goddess incorrupt, +Bane of swift beasts, and deadly for straight shaft +Unswerving, from a coppice not far off +Came to the pool from the hither bank to bathe. +Amid her maiden company she moved, +Their cross-thonged yellow buskins scattered off, +Unloosed their knotted hair; and thus the pool +Received them stepping, shrinking, down to it. + +Here they flocked white, and splashed the water-drops +On rounded breast and shoulder snowier +Than the washed clouds athwart the morning's blue,-- +Fresher than river grasses which the herds +Pluck from the river in the burning noons. +Their tresses on the summer wind they flung; +And some a shining yellow fleece let fall +For the sun's envy; others with white hands +Lifted a glooming wealth of locks more dark +Than deepest wells, but purple in the sun. +And She, their mistress, of the heart unstormed, +Stood taller than they all, supreme, and still, +Perfectly fair like day, and crowned with hair +The color of nipt beech-leaves: Ay, such hair +Was mine in years when I was such as these. +I let it fall to cover me, or coiled +Its soft thick coils about my throat and arms; +Its color like nipt beech-leaves, tawny brown, +But in the sun a fountain of live gold. + +Even as thus they played, and some lithe maids +Upreached white arms to grasp the berried ash, +And, plucking the bright bunches, shed them wide +By red ripe handfuls, not far off I saw +With long stride making down the beechy glade, +Clear-eyed, with firm lips laughing, at his heels +The clamor of his fifty deep-tongued hounds, +Actaeon. I beheld him not far off, +But unto bath and bathers hid from view, +Being beyond that mighty rock whereon +His wont was to be stretched at dip of eve, +When frogs are loud amid the tall-plumed sedge +In marshy spots about Asopus' bank,-- +Deeming his life was very sweet, his day +A pleasant one, the peopled breadths of earth +Most fair, and fair the shining tracts of sea; +Green solitudes, and broad low-lying plains +Made brown with frequent labors of men's hands, +And salt, blue, fruitless waters. But this mount, +Cithaeron, bosomed deep in soundless hills, +Its fountained vales, its nights of starry calm, +Its high chill dawns, its long-drawn golden days,-- +Was dearest to him. Here he dreamed high dreams, +And felt within his sinews strength to strive +Where strife was sorest and to overcome, +And in his heart the thought to do great deeds, +With power in all ways to accomplish them. +For had not he done well to men, and done +Well to the gods? Therefore he stood secure. + +But him,--for him--Ah that these eyes should see!-- +Approached a sudden stumbling in his ways! +Not yet, not yet he knew a god's fierce wrath, +Nor wist of that swift vengeance lying in wait. + +And now he came upon a slope of sward +Against the pool. With startled cry the maids +Shrank clamoring round their mistress, or made flight +To covert in the hazel thickets. She +Stirred not; but pitiless anger paled her eyes, +Intent with deadly purpose. He, amazed, +Stood with his head thrust forward, while his curls +Sun-lit lay glorious on his mighty neck,-- +Let fall his bow and clanging spear, and gazed +Dilate with ecstasy; nor marked the dogs +Hush their deep tongues, draw close, and ring him round, +And fix upon him strange, red, hungry eyes, +And crouch to spring. This for a moment. Then +It seemed his strong knees faltered, and he sank. +Then I cried out,--for straight a shuddering stag +Sprang one wild leap over the dogs; but they +Fastened upon his flanks with a long yell, +And reached his throat; and that proud head went down +Beneath their wet, red fangs and reeking jaws. + +I have lived long, and watched out many days, +Yet have not seen that ought is sweet save life, +Nor learned that life hath other end than death. +Thick horror like a cloud had veiled my sight, +That for a space I saw not, and my ears +Were shut from hearing; but when sense grew clear +Once more, I only saw the vacant pool +Unrippled,--only saw the dreadful sward. +Where dogs lay gorged, or moved in fretful search, +Questing uneasily; and some far up +The slope, and some at the low water's edge, +With snouts set high in air and straining throats +Uttered keen howls that smote the echoing hills. +They missed their master's form, nor understood +Where was the voice they loved, the hand that reared;-- +And some lay watching by the spear and bow +Flung down. + + And now upon the homeless pack +And paling stream arose a noiseless wind +Out of the yellow west awhile, and stirred +The branches down the valley; then blew off +To eastward toward the long gray straits, and died +Into the dark, beyond the utmost verge. + + + +IN THE AFTERNOON. + + +Wind of the summer afternoon, +Hush, for my heart is out of tune! + +Hush, for thou movest restlessly +The too light sleeper, Memory! + +Whate'er thou hast to tell me, yet +'Twere something sweeter to forget,-- + +Sweeter than all thy breath of balm +An hour of unremembering calm! + +Blowing over the roofs, and down +The bright streets of this inland town, + +These busy crowds, these rocking trees-- +What strange note hast thou caught from these? + +A note of waves and rushing tides, +Where past the dikes the red flood glides, + +To brim the shining channels far +Up the green plains of Tantramar. + +Once more I snuff the salt, I stand +On the long dikes of Westmoreland; + +I watch the narrowing flats, the strip +Of red clay at the water's lip; + +Far off the net-reels, brown and high, +And boat-masts slim against the sky; + +Along the ridges of the dikes +Wind-beaten scant sea-grass, and spikes + +Of last year's mullein; down the slopes +To landward, in the sun, thick ropes + +Of blue vetch, and convolvulus, +And matted roses glorious. + +The liberal blooms o'erbrim my hands; +I walk the level, wide marsh-lands; + +Waist-deep in dusty-blossomed grass +I watch the swooping breezes pass + +In sudden, long, pale lines, that flee +Up the deep breast of this green sea. + +I listen to the bird that stirs +The purple tops, and grasshoppers + +Whose summer din, before my feet +Subsiding, wakes on my retreat. + +Again the droning bees hum by; +Still-winged, the gray hawk wheels on high; + +I drink again the wild perfumes, +And roll, and crush the grassy blooms. + +Blown back to olden days, I fain +Would quaff the olden joys again; + +But all the olden sweetness not +The old unmindful peace hath brought. + +Wind of this summer afternoon, +Thou hast recalled my childhood's June; + +My heart--still is it satisfied +By all the golden summer-tide? + +Hast thou one eager yearning filled, +Or any restless throbbing stilled, + +Or hast thou any power to bear +Even a little of my care?-- + +Ever so little of this weight +Of weariness canst thou abate? + +Ah, poor thy gift indeed, unless +Thou bring the old child-heartedness,-- + +And such a gift to bring is given, +Alas, to no wind under heaven! + +Wind of the summer afternoon, +Be still; my heart is not in tune. + +Sweet is thy voice; but yet, but yet-- +Of all 'twere sweetest to forget! + +FREDERICTON, N. B. + + + +THE PIPES OF PAN. + + +Ringed with the flocking of hills, within shepherding watch of Olympus, +Tempe, vale of the gods, lies in green quiet withdrawn; +Tempe, vale of the gods, deep-couched amid woodland and woodland, +Threaded with amber of brooks, mirrored in azure of pools, +All day drowsed with the sun, charm-drunken with moonlight at midnight, +Walled from the world forever under a vapor of dreams,-- +Hid by the shadows of dreams, not found by the curious footstep, +Sacred and secret forever, Tempe, vale of the gods. +How, through the cleft of its bosom, goes sweetly the water Penëus! +How by Penëus the sward breaks into saffron and blue! +How the long slope-floored beech-glades mount to the wind-wakened uplands, +Where, through flame-berried ash, troop the hoofed Centaurs at morn! +Nowhere greens a copse but the eye-beams of Artemis pierce it. +Breathes no laurel her balm but Phoebus' fingers caress. +Springs no bed of wild blossom but limbs of dryad have pressed it. +Sparkle the nymphs, and the brooks chime with shy laughter and calls. + +Here is a nook. Two rivulets fall to mix with Penëus, +Loiter a space, and sleep, checked and choked by the reeds. +Long grass waves in the windless water, strown with the lote-leaf; +Twist thro' dripping soil great alder roots, and the air +Glooms with the dripping tangle of leaf-thick branches, and stillness +Keeps in the strange-coiled stems, ferns, and wet-loving weeds. +Hither comes Pan, to this pregnant earthy spot, when his piping +Flags; and his pipes outworn breaking and casting away, +Fits new reeds to his mouth with the weird earth-melody in them, +Piercing, alive with a life able to mix with the god's. +Then, as he blows, and the searching sequence delights him, the goat-feet +Furtive withdraw; and a bird stirs and flutes in the gloom +Answering. Float with the stream the outworn pipes, with a whisper,-- +"What the god breathes on, the god never can wholly evade!" +God-breath lurks in each fragment forever. Dispersed by Penëus +Wandering, caught in the ripples, wind-blown hither and there, +Over the whole green earth and globe of sea they are scattered, +Coming to secret spots, where in a visible form +Comes not the god; though he come declared in his workings. And mortals +Straying in cool of morn, or bodeful hasting at eve, +Or in the depths of noonday plunged to shadiest coverts, +Spy them, and set to their lips; blow, and fling them away! + +Ay, they fling them away,--but never wholly! Thereafter +Creeps strange fire in their veins, murmur strange tongues in their brain, +Sweetly evasive; a secret madness takes them,--a charm-struck +Passion for woods and wild life, the solitude of the hills. +Therefore they fly the heedless throngs and traffic of cities, +Haunt mossed caverns, and wells bubbling ice-cool; and their souls +Gather a magical gleam of the secret of life, and the god's voice +Calls to them, not from afar, teaching them wonderful things. + + + +BEFORE THE BREATH OF STORM. + + + Before the breath of storm. +While yet the long, bright afternoons are warm, +Under this stainless arch of azure sky + The air is filled with gathering wings for flight; + Yet with the shrill mirth and the loud delight +Comes the foreboding sorrow of this cry-- +"Till the storm scatter and the gloom dispel, + Farewell! Farewell! + Farewell!" + + Why will ye go so soon, +In these soft hours, this sweeter month than June? +The liquid air floats over field and tree + A veil of dreams;--where do ye find the sting? +A gold enchantment sleeps upon the sea + And purple hills;--why have ye taken wing? +But faint, far-heard, the answers fall and swell-- + "Farewell! Farewell! + Farewell!" + + + +OUT OF POMPEII. + + +Save what the night-wind woke of sweet + And solemn sound, I heard alone +The sleepless ocean's ceaseless beat, + The surge's monotone. + +Low down the south a dreary gleam + Of white light smote the sullen swells, +Evasive as a blissful dream, + Or wind-borne notes of bells. + +The water's lapping whispers stole + Into my brain, and there effaced +All human memories from my soul,-- + An atom in a shifting waste. + +Weird fingers, groping, strove to raise + Some numbing horror from my mind; +And ever, as it met my gaze, + The sharp truth struck me blind. + +The keen edged breath of the salt sea + Stung, but a faint, swift, sulphurous smell +Blew past, and I reeled dizzily + As from the blink of hell, + +One moment; then the swan-necked prow + Sustained me, and once more I scanned +The unfenced flood, against my brow + Arching my lifted hand. + +O'er all the unstable vague expanse + I towered the lord supreme, and smiled; +And marked the hard, white sparkles glance, + The dark vault wide and wild. + +Again that faint wind swept my face-- + With hideous menace swept my eyes. +I cowered back in my straitened place + And groped with dim surmise, + +Not knowing yet. Not knowing why, + I turned, as one asleep might turn, +And noted with half curious eye + The figure crouched astern. + +On heaped-up leopard skins she crouched, + Asleep, and soft skins covered her, +And scarlet stuffs where she was couched, + Sodden with sea-water, + +Burned lurid with black stains, and smote + My thought with waking pangs; I saw +The white arm drooping from the boat, + Round-moulded, pure from flaw; + +The yellow sandals even-thonged; + The fair face, wan with haunting pain;-- +Then sudden, crowding memories thronged + Like unpent sudden rain. + +Clear-stamped, as by white lightning when + The swift flame rends the night, wide-eyed +I saw dim streets, and fleeing men, + And walls from side to side + +Reeling, and great rocks fallen; a pall + Above us, an encumbering shroud +About our feet, and over all + The awful Form that bowed + +Our hearts, the fiery scourge that smote + The city,--the red Mount. Clear, clear +I saw it,--and this lonely boat, + And us two drifting here! + +With one sharp cry I sprang and hid + My face among the skins beside +Her feet, and held her safe, and chid + The tumult till it died. + +And crouched thus at her rescued feet + Save her low breath, I heard alone +The sleepless ocean's ceaseless beat, + The surge's monotone. + + + + +TO FREDERICTON IN MAY-TIME. + + +This morning, full of breezes and perfume, + Brimful of promise of midsummer weather, + When bees and birds and I are glad together, +Breathes of the full-leaved season, when soft gloom +Chequers thy streets, and thy close elms assume + Round roof and spire the semblance of green billows; + Yet now thy glory is the yellow willows, +The yellow willows, full of bees and bloom. + +Under their dusty blossoms blackbirds meet, + And robins pipe amid the cedars nigher. +Thro' the still elms I hear the ferry's beat. + The swallows chirp about the towering spire; +The whole air pulses with its weight of sweet, + Yet not quite satisfied is my desire! + + + +IN SEPTEMBER. + + +This windy, bright September afternoon + My heart is wide awake, yet full of dreams. + The air, alive with hushed confusion, teems +With scent of grain-fields, and a mystic rune, +Foreboding of the fall of Summer soon, + Keeps swelling and subsiding, till there seems + O'er all the world of valleys, hills, and streams, +Only the wind's inexplicable tune. + +My heart is full of dreams, yet wide awake. + I lie and watch the topmost tossing boughs + Of tall elms, pale against the vaulted blue; +But even now some yellowing branches shake, + Some hue of death the living green endows:-- + If beauty flies, fain would I vanish too. + + + +CONCERNING CUTHBERT THE MONK. + + +Cuthbert, open! Let me in! + Cease your praying for a minute! +Here the darkness seems to grin, + Holds a thousand horrors in it; +Down the stony corridor +Footsteps pace the stony floor. + +Here they foot it, pacing slow, + Monk-like, one behind another!-- +Don't you hear me? Don't you know + I'm a little nervous, Brother? +Won't you speak? Then, by your leave, +Here's a guest for Christmas Eve! + +Shrive me, but I got a fright! + Monks of centuries ago +Wander back to see to-night + How the old place looks.--Hello! +This the kind of watch you keep! +Come to pray--and go to sleep! + +Ah, this mortal flesh is weak! + Who is saintly there's no saying. +Here are tears upon his cheek, + And he sleeps that should be praying;-- +Sleeps, and dreams, and murmurs. Nay, +I'll not wake you.--Sleep away! + +Holy saints, the night is keen! + How the nipping wind does drive +Through yon tree-tops, bare and lean, + Till their shadow seems alive,-- +Patters through the bars, and falls, +Shivering, on the floor and walls! + +How yon patch of freezing sky + Echoes back their bell-ringings! +Down in the gray city, nigh + Severn, every steeple swings. +All the busy streets are bright. +Many folk are out to-night. + +--What's that, Brother? Did you speak?-- + Christ save them that talk in sleep! +Smile they howsoever meek, + Somewhat in their hearts they keep. +We, good souls, what shifts we make +To keep talking whilst awake! + +Christ be praised, that fetched me in + Early, yet a youngling, while +All unlearned in life and sin, + Love and travail, grief and guile! +For your world of two-score years, +Cuthbert, all you have is tears. + +Dreaming, still he hears the bells + As he heard them years ago, +Ere he sought our quiet cells + Iron-mouthed and wrenched with woe, +Out of what dread storms who knows-- +Faithfulest of friends and foes! + +Faithful was he, aye, I ween, + Pitiful, and kind, and wise; +But in mindful moods I've seen + Flame enough in those sunk eyes! +Praised be Christ, whose timely Hand +Plucked from out the fire this brand! + +Now in dreams he's many miles + Hence, he's back in Ireland. +Ah, how tenderly he smiles, + Stretching a caressing hand! +Backward now his memory glides +To old happy Christmas-tides. + +Now once more a loving wife + Holds him; now he sees his boys, +Smiles at all their playful strife, + All their childish mirth and noise; +Softly now she strokes his hair.-- +Ah, their world is very fair! + +--Waking, all your loss shall be + Unforgotten evermore! +Sleep alone holds these for thee. + Sleep then, Brother!--To restore +All your heaven that has died +Heaven and Hell may be too wide! + +Sleep, and dream, and be awhile + Happy, Cuthbert, once again! +Soon you'll wake, and cease to smile, + And your heart will sink with pain. +You will hear the merry town,-- +And a weight will press you down. + +Hungry-hearted, you will see + Only the thin shadows fall +From yon bleak-topped poplar-tree,-- + Icy fingers on the wall. +You will watch them come and go, +Telling o'er your count of woe. + +--Nay, now, hear me, how I prate! + I, a foolish monk, and old, +Maundering o'er a life and fate + To me unknown, by you untold! +Yet I know you're like to weep + Soon, so, Brother, this night sleep. + + + +IMPULSE. + + +A hollow on the verge of May. + Thick strewn with drift of leaves. Beneath + The densest drift a thrusting sheath +Of sharp green striving toward the day! + I mused--"So dull Obstruction sets + A bar to even violets, +When these would go their nobler way!" + +My feet again, some days gone by. + The self-same spot sought idly. There, + Obstruction foiled, the adoring air +Caressed a blossom woven of sky + And dew, whose misty petals blue, + With bliss of being thrilled athrough, +Dilated like a timorous eye. + +Reck well this rede, my soul! The good + The blossom craved was near, tho' hid. + Fret not that thou must doubt, but rid +Thy sky-path of obstructions strewed + By winds of folly. Then, do thou + The Godward impulse room allow +To reach its perfect air and food! + + + +THE ISLES--AN ODE. + + +I. + +Faithful reports of them have reached me oft! + Many their embassage to mortal court, + By golden pomp, and breathless-heard consort + Of music soft-- +By fragrances accredited, and dreams. + Many their speeding herald, whose light feet +Make pause at wayside brooks, and fords of streams, + Leaving transfigured by an effluence fleet + Those wayfarers they meet. + +II. + +No wind from out the solemn wells of night + But hath its burden of strange messages, + Tormenting for interpreter; nor less + The wizard light +That steals from noon-stilled waters, woven in shade, + Beckons somewhither, with cool fingers slim. +No dawn but hath some subtle word conveyed + In rose ineffable at sunrise rim, + Or charactery dim. + +III. + +One moment throbs the hearing, yearns the sight. + But tho' not far, yet strangely hid--the way, + And our sense slow; nor long for us delay + The guides their flight! +The breath goes by; the word, the light, elude; + And we stay wondering. But there comes an hour +Of fitness perfect and unfettered mood, + When splits her husk the finer sense with power, + And--yon their palm-trees tower! + +IV. + +Here Homer came, and Milton came, tho' blind. + Omar's deep doubts still found them nigh and nigher, + And learned them fashioned to the heart's desire. + The supreme mind +Of Shakspere took their sovereignty, and smiled. + Those passionate Israelitish lips that poured +The Song of Songs attained them; and the wild + Child-heart of Shelley, here from strife restored, + Remembers not life's sword. + + + +A SERENADE. + + +Love hath given the day for longing, + And for joy the night. +Dearest, to thy distant chamber + Wings my soul its flight. + +Though unfathomed seas divide us, + And the lingering year, +'Tis the hour when absence parts not,-- + Memory hath no tear. + +O'er the charmed and silent river + Drifts my lonely boat; +From the haunted shores and islands + Tender murmurs float, + +Tender breaths of glade and forest, + Breezes of perfume;-- +Surely, surely thou canst hear me + In thy quiet room! + +Unto shore, and sky, and silence, + Low I pour my song. +All the spell, the summer sweetness,-- + These to thee belong. + +Thou art love, the trance and rapture + Of the midnight clear! +Sweet, tho' world on world withhold thee, + I can clasp thee here. + + + +OFF PELORUS. + + +Crimson swims the sunset over far Pelorus; + Burning crimson tops its frowning crest of pine. +Purple sleeps the shore and floats the wave before us, + Eachwhere from the oar-stroke eddying warm like wine. + +Soundless foams the creamy violet wake behind us; + We but see the creaking of the labored oar; +We have stopped our ears,--mad were we not to blind us, + Lest our eyes behold our Ithaca no more. + +See the purple splendor o'er the island streaming, + O'er the prostrate sails and equal-sided ship! +Windless hangs the vine, and warm the sands lie gleaming; + Droop the great grape-clusters melting for the lip. + +Sweet the golden calm, the glowing light elysian. + Sweet were red-mouthed plenty mindless grown of pain. +Sweeter yet behold--a sore-bewildering vision! + Idly took we thought, and stopped our ears in vain. + +Idly took we thought, for still our eyes betray us. + Lo, the white-limbed maids, with love-soft eyes aglow, +Gleaming bosoms bare, loosed hair, sweet hands to slay us, + Warm lips wild with song, and softer throats than snow! + +See the King! he hearkens,--hears their song,--strains forward,-- + As some mountain snake attends the shepherd's reed. +Now with urgent hand he bids us turn us shoreward,-- + Bend the groaning oar now; give the King no heed! + +Mark the luring music by his eyes' wild yearning, + Eager lips, and mighty straining at the cords! +Well we guess the song, the subtle words and burning, + Sung to him, the subtle king of burning words. + +"Much-enduring Wanderer, wondrous-tongued, come nigher! + Sage of princes, bane of Ilion's lofty walls! + Whatsoe'er in all the populous earth befalls +We will teach thee, to thine uttermost desire." + +So, we rise up twain, and make his bonds securer. + Seethes the startled sea now from the surging blade. +Leaps the dark ship forth, as we, with hearts grown surer, + Eyes averse, and war-worn faces made afraid, + +O'er the waste warm reaches drive our prow, sea-cleaving, + Past the luring death, into the folding night. +Home shall hold us yet, and cease our wives from grieving,-- + Safe from storm, and toil, and flame, and clanging fight. + + + +A BALLADE OF CALYPSO. + + +The loud black flight of the storm diverges + Over a spot in the loud-mouthed main, +Where, crowned with summer and sun, emerges + An isle unbeaten of wind or rain. + And here, of its sweet queen grown full fain,-- +By whose kisses the whole broad earth seems poor,-- + Tarries the wave-worn prince, Troy's bane, +In the green Ogygian Isle secure. + +To her voice our sweetest songs are dirges. + She gives him all things, counting it gain. +Ringed with the rocks and ancient surges, + How could Fate dissever these twain? + But him no loves nor delights retain; +New knowledge, new lands, new loves allure; + Forgotten the perils, and toils, and pain, +In the green Ogygian Isle secure. + +So he spurns her kisses and gifts, and urges + His weak skiff over the wind-vext plain, +Till the gray of the sky in the gray sea merges, + And nights reel round, and waver, and wane. + He sits once more in his own domain. +No more the remote sea-walls immure.-- + But ah, for the love he shall clasp not again +In the green Ogygian Isle secure! + + L'ENVOI. +Princes, and ye whose delights remain, + To the one good gift of the gods hold sure, +Lest ye too mourn, in vain, in vain, + Your green Ogygian Isle secure! + + + +RAIN. + + +Sharp drives the rain, sharp drives the endless rain. + The rain-winds wake and wander, lift and blow. + The slow smoke-wreaths of vapor to and fro +Wave, and unweave, and gather and build again. +Over the far gray reaches of the plain-- + Gray miles on miles my passionate thought must go,-- + I strain my sight, grown dim with gazing so, +Pressing my face against the streaming pane. + +How the rain beats! Ah God, if love had power + To voice its utmost yearning, even tho' + Thro' time and bitter distance, not in vain, +Surely Her heart would hear me at this hour, + Look thro' the years, and see! But would She know + The white face pressed against the streaming pane? + + + +MIST. + + +Its hand compassionate guards our restless sight + Against how many a harshness, many an ill! + Tender as sleep, its shadowy palms distil +Weird vapors that ensnare our eyes with light. +Rash eyes, kept ignorant in their own despite, + It lets not see the unsightliness they will, + But paints each scanty fairness fairer still, +And still deludes us to our own delight. + +It fades, regathers, never quite dissolves. + And ah that life, ah that the heart and brain + Might keep their mist and glamour, not to know +So soon the disenchantment and the pain! + But one by one our dear illusions go, + Stript and cast forth as time's slow wheel revolves. + + + +THE TANTRAMAR REVISITED. + + +Summers and summers have come, and gone with the flight of the swallow; +Sunshine and thunder have been, storm, and winter, and frost, +Many and many a sorrow has all but died from remembrance, +Many a dream of joy fall'n in the shadow of pain. +Hands of chance and change have marred, or moulded, or broken, +Busy with spirit or flesh, all I most have adored; +Even the bosom of Earth is strewn with heavier shadows,-- +Only in these green hills, aslant to the sea, no change! +Here where the road that has climbed from the inland valleys and woodlands, +Dips from the hill-tops down, straight to the base of the hills,-- +Here, from my vantage-ground, I can see the scattering houses, +Stained with time, set warm in orchards, and meadows, and wheat, +Dotting the broad bright slopes outspread to southward and eastward, +Wind-swept all day long, blown by the south-east wind. +Skirting the sunbright uplands stretches a riband of meadow, +Shorn of the laboring grass, bulwarked well from the sea, +Fenced on its seaward border with long clay dikes from the turbid +Surge and flow of the tides vexing the Westmoreland shores. +Yonder, toward the left, lie broad the Westmoreland marshes,-- +Miles on miles they extend, level, and grassy, and dim, +Clear from the long red sweep of flats to the sky in the distance, +Save for the outlying heights, green-rampired Cumberland Point; +Miles on miles outrolled, and the river-channels divide them,-- +Miles on miles of green, barred by the hurtling gusts. + +Miles on miles beyond the tawny bay is Minudie. +There are the low blue hills; villages gleam at their feet. +Nearer a white sail shines across the water, and nearer +Still are the slim, gray masts of fishing boats dry on the flats. +Ah, how well I remember those wide red flats, above tide-mark +Pale with scurf of the salt, seamed and baked in the sun! +Well I remember the piles of blocks and ropes, and the net-reels +Wound with the beaded nets, dripping and dark from the sea! +Now at this season the nets are unwound; they hang from the rafters +Over the fresh-stowed hay in upland barns, and the wind +Blows all day through the chinks, with the streaks of sunlight, + and sways them +Softly at will, or they lie heaped in the gloom of a loft. + +Now at this season the reels are empty and idle; I see them +Over the lines of the dikes, over the gossiping grass. +Now at this season they swing in the long strong wind, thro' the lonesome +Golden afternoon, shunned by the foraging gulls. +Near about sunset the crane will journey homeward above them; +Round them, under the moon, all the calm night long, +Winnowing soft gray wings of marsh-owls wander and wander, +Now to the broad, lit marsh, now to the dusk of the dike. +Soon, thro' their dew-wet frames, in the live keen freshness of morning, +Out of the teeth of the dawn blows back the awakening wind. + +Then, as the blue day mounts, and the low-shot shafts of the sunlight +Glance from the tide to the shore, gossamers jewelled with dew +Sparkle and wave, where late sea-spoiling fathoms of drift-net +Myriad-meshed, uploomed sombrely over the land. + +Well I remember it all. The salt raw scent of the margin; +While, with men at the windlass, groaned each reel, and the net, +Surging in ponderous lengths, uprose and coiled in its station; +Then each man to his home,--well I remember it all! + +Yet, as I sit and watch, this present peace of the landscape,-- +Stranded boats, these reels empty and idle, the hush, +One gray hawk slow-wheeling above yon cluster of haystacks,-- +More than the old-time stir this stillness welcomes me home. + +Ah the old-time stir, how once it stung me with rapture,-- +Old-time sweetness, the winds freighted with honey and salt! +Yet will I stay my steps and not go down to the marsh-land,-- +Muse and recall far off, rather remember than see,-- +Lest on too close sight I miss the darling illusion, +Spy at their task even here the hands of chance and change. + + + +THE SLAVE WOMAN. + + +Shedding cool drops upon the sun-baked clay, + The dripping jar, brimful, she rests a space + On the well's dry white brink, and leans her face, +Heavy with tears and many a heartsick day, +Down to the water's lip, whence slips away + A rivulet thro' the hot, bright square apace, + And lo! her brow casts off each servile trace-- +The wave's cool breath hath won her thoughts astray. + +Ah desolate heart! Thy fate thou hast forgot + One moment; the dull pain hath left those eyes + Whose yearning pierces time, and space, and tears. +Thou seest what was once, but now is not,-- + By Niger thy bright home, thy Paradise, + Unscathed of flame, and foe, and hostile spears. + + + +THE MARVELLOUS WORK. + +"Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me"--Whitman + + +Not yet, for all their quest of it, have men +Cast wholly by the ignoble dread of truth! +Each of God's laws, if but so late discerned +Their faiths upgrew unsuckled in it, fills +Their hearts with angry fears, perchance lest God +Be dwarfed behind his own decrees, or made +Superfluous through his perfectness of deed! +But large increase of knowledge in these days +Is come about us, fraught with ill for them +Whose creeds are cut too straight to hold new growth, +Whose faiths are clamped against access of wisdom; +Fraught with some sadness, too, for those just souls +Who, clothed in rigid teachings found too scant, +Are fain to piece the dear accustomed garb, +Till here a liberal, there a literal fragment, +Here new, there old, here bright, there dark, disclose +Their vestiture a strange discordant motley. +But O rare motley,--starred with thirst of truth, +Patched with desire of wisdom, zoned about +With passion for fresh knowledge, and the quest +Of right! Such motley may be made at last, +Through grave sincerity, a dawn-clear garment! + +But, for the enfranchised spirit, this expanse +Immeasurable of broad-horizoned view,-- +What rapt, considerate awe it summons forth, +What adoration of the Eternal Cause! +His days unmeasured ages, His designs +Unfold through age-long silences, through surge +Of world upheaval, coming to their aim +As swerveless in fit time as tho' His finger +But yesterday ordained, and wrought to-day. +How the Eternal's unconcern of time,-- +Omnipotence that hath not dreamed of haste,-- +Is graven in granite-moulding aeons' gloom; +Is told in stony record of the roar +Of long Silurian storms, and tempests huge +Scourging the circuit of Devonian seas; +Is whispered in the noiseless mists, the gray +Soft drip of clouds about rank fern-forests, +Through dateless terms that stored the layered coal; +Is uttered hoarse in strange Triassic forms +Of monstrous life; or stamped in ice-blue gleams +Athwart the death-still years of glacial sleep! + +Down the stupendous sequence, age on age, +Thro' storm and peace, thro' shine and gloom, thro' warm +And pregnant periods of teeming birth, +And seething realms of thunderous overthrow,-- +In the obscure and formless dawn of life, +In gradual march from simple to complex, +From lower to higher forms, and last to Man +Through faint prophetic fashions,--stands declared +The God of order and unchanging purpose. +Creation, which He covers, Him contains, +Even to the least up-groping atom. His +The impulse and the quickening germ, whereby +All things strive upward, reach toward greater good; +Till craving brute, informed with soul, grows Man, +And Man turns homeward, yearning back to God. + + + +A SONG OF DEPENDENCE. + + +Love, what were fame, + And thou not in it, +That I should hold it worth + Much toil to win it? + +What were success + Didst thou not share it? +As Spring can spare the snows + I well could spare it! + +Love, what were love + But of thy giving +That it should much prevail + To sweeten living? + +Nay, what were life, + Save thou inspire it, +That I should bid my soul + Greatly desire it? + + + +ON THE CREEK. + + +Dear Heart, the noisy strife + And bitter carpings cease. +Here is the lap of life, + Here are the lips of peace. + +Afar from stir of streets, + The city's dust and din, +What healing silence meets + And greets us gliding in! + +Our light birch silent floats; + Soundless the paddle dips. +Yon sunbeam thick with motes + Athro' the leafage slips, + +To light the iris wings + Of dragon-flies alit +On lily-leaves, and things + Of gauze that float and flit. + +Above the water's brink + Hush'd winds make summer riot; +Our thirsty spirits drink + Deep, deep, the summer quiet. + +We slip the world's gray husk, + Emerge, and spread new plumes; +In sunbeam-fretted dusk, + Thro' populous golden glooms, + +Like thistledown we slide, + Two disembodied dreams,-- +With spirits alert, wide-eyed, + Explore the perfume-streams. + +For scents of various grass + Stream down the veering breeze; +Warm puffs of honey pass + From flowering linden-trees; + +And fragrant gusts of gum, + From clammy balm-tree buds, +With fern-brake odors, come + From intricate solitudes. + +The elm-tops are astir + With flirt of idle wings. +Hark to the grackles' chirr + Whene'er an elm-bough swings! + +From off yon ash-limb sere + Out-thrust amid green branches, +Keen like an azure spear + A kingfisher down launches. + +Far up the creek his calls + And lessening laugh retreat; +Again the silence falls, + And soft the green hours fleet. + +They fleet with drowsy hum + Of insects on the wing;-- +We sigh--the end must come! + We taste our pleasure's sting. + +No more, then, need we try + The rapture to regain. +We feel our day slip by, + And cling to it in vain. + +But, Dear, keep thou in mind + These moments swift and sweet! +Their memory thou shall find + Illume the common street; + +And thro' the dust and din, + Smiling, thy heart shall hear +Quiet waters lapsing thin, + And locusts shrilling clear. + + + +LOTOS. + + +Wherefore awake so long, +Wide-eyed, laden with care? +Not all battle is life, +But a little respite and peace +May fold us round as a fleece +Soft-woven for all men's wear. +Sleep, then, mindless of strife; +Slumber, dreamless of wrong;-- +Hearken my slumber-song, + Falling asleep. + +Drowsily all noon long +The warm winds rustle the grass +Hush'dly, lulling thy brain,-- +Burthened with murmur of bees +And numberless whispers, and ease. +Dream-clouds gather and pass +Of painless remembrance of pain. +Havened from rumor of wrong, +Dreams are thy slumber-song, + Fallen asleep. + + + +THE SOWER. + + +A brown sad-colored hillside, where the soil, + Fresh from the frequent harrow, deep and fine, + Lies bare; no break in the remote sky-line, +Save where a flock of pigeons streams aloft, +Startled from feed in some low-lying croft, + Or far-off spires with yellow of sunset shine; + And here the Sower, unwittingly divine, +Exerts the silent forethought of his toil. + +Alone he treads the glebe, his measured stride + Dumb in the yielding soil; and tho' small joy + Dwell in his heavy face, as spreads the blind +Pale grain from his dispensing palm aside, + This plodding churl grows great in his employ;-- + Godlike, he makes provision for mankind. + + + +THE POTATO HARVEST. + + +A high bare field, brown from the plough, and borne + Aslant from sunset; amber wastes of sky + Washing the ridge, a clamor of crows that fly +In from the wide flats where the spent tides mourn +To yon their rocking roosts in pines wind-torn; + A line of gray snake-fence, that zigzags by + A pond, and cattle, from the homestead nigh +The long deep summonings of the supper horn. + +Black, on the ridge, against that lonely flush, + A cart, and stoop-necked oxen; ranged beside, + Some barrels, and the day-worn harvest folk, +Here emptying their baskets, jar the hush + With hollow thunders; down the dusk hillside + Lumbers the wain; and day fades out like smoke. + + + +AFLOAT. + + +Afloat!-- +Ah Love, on the mirror of waters +All the world seems with us afloat,-- +All the wide, bright world of the night; +But the mad world of men is remote, +And the prating of tongues is afar. +We have fled from the crowd in our flight, +And beyond the gray rim of the waters +All the turmoil has sunk from our sight. +Turn your head, Love, a little, and note +Low down in the south a pale star. +The mists of the horizon-line drench it, +The beams of the moon all but quench it, +Yet it shines thro' this flood-tide of light. +Love, under that star is the world +Of the day, of our life, and our sorrow, +Where defamers and envious are. +Here, here is our peace, our delight,-- +To our closest love-converse no bar. +Yet, as even in the moonbeam's despite +Still is seen the pale beam of the star, +So the light of our rapture this hour +Cannot quench the remembrance of morrow. +Though the wings of all winds are upfurled +And a limitless silence hath power, +Still the envious strife we forget not; +For the future is skilful to mar, +And the past we have banished not quite. + +But this hour--Ah Love, if it might +With this splendor, this shining moon, set not! +If only forever as now +In this silence of silver adrift, +In this reeling, slow, luminous sphere, +This hollow great round of the night, +We might drift with the tide-flow, and lift +With the infinite pulse of the waters, +See each but the other, and hear +Our own language alone, I and thou, +I here at the stern, at the prow +The one woman, God's costliest gift! +So only to see you, to hear you, +To speak with you, Love, to be near you,-- +I should reckon this life, well content. + +But this dream is in vain, is in vain; +I will dream you one other. Suppose +This one hour some nepenthe were lent, +So pain, nor remembrance of pain, +Nor remembrance nor knowledge of care, +Nor distrust, nor fear, nor despair,-- +For these, and more also, God knows +We have known and endured them, full share,-- +Should have power to approach us! Suppose +To us drifting and dreaming afloat +On this shadowless shining of waters, +This mirror of tide without stain, +It were possible just for one hour +To forebode, or remember, or fear, +Nothing; of one thing aware +And one only, that we two are here, +And together, unhindered: then, Dear, +This one hour were our life,--all the past +But the ignorant sleep before birth, +All the future a trance, that should last +Till we turn us again to our earth! + +And this dream, hadst thou courage to hear +Me interpret, were dreamed not in vain. +For this hour, O Love, was not meant, +With its rapture of peace, to endure, +Intense, calm, passionate, pure,-- +My spirit with thy spirit blent +As the odor of flower and flower, +Of hyacinth blossom and rose. +Heart, spirit, and body, and brain, +Thou art utterly mine, as I thine; +But the love of the flesh, tho' at first +When I saw you and loved you it burst +With the love of the spirit one flame, +Neither greater nor less, but the same, +Is yet finite, attains not the height +Of the spirit enfranchised, and must +With the body slip back into dust. +Our soul-passion is deathless, divine. + +So, we strike now the perfectest note +That man's heart is attuned to, attain +The white light of the zenith supreme, +Pierce the seventh and innermost sphere; +We are gods! Let us cast us adrift +From the world of the flesh and its power! +It is only a plunge, a quick roll +Of our skiff--I will gather and fold +You close, for the waters are cold,-- +A few sobs, and we rise one soul, +Undissevered for ever and ever. + + + +RECKONING. + + +What matter that the sad gray city sleeps, + Sodden with dull dreams, ill at ease, and snow + Still falling chokes the swollen drains! I know +That even with sun and summer not less creeps +My spirit thro' gloom, nor ever gains the steeps + Where Peace sits, inaccessible, yearned for so. + Well have I learned that from my breast my woe +Starts,--that as my own hand hath sown, it reaps. + +I have had my measure of achievement, won + Most I have striven for; and at last remains + This one thing certain only, that who gains +Success hath gained it at too sore a cost, +If in his triumph hour his heart have lost + Youth, and have found its sorrow of age begun. + + + +IN NOTRE DAME. + + +When first did I perceive you, when take heed + Of what is now so deep in heart and brain +That tears shall not efface it, nor the greed + Of time or fate destroy, nor scorn, nor pain? + +Long summers back I trembled to the vision + Of your keen beauty,--a delirious sense +That he you loved might hold in like derision + Or Hell or Heaven, or sin or innocence. + +This in my heart of hearts, while outwardly + Nor speech nor guarded glance my dream betrayed; +Till one day, so past thought you maddened me, + My dream escaped my lips, glad and afraid. + +Afraid, where no fear was. For lo, the gift + (Worlds could not purchase it) was mine, was mine! +And oh, my Sweet, how swift we went adrift + On wild sweet waters, warmer-hued than wine! + +My very eyes are dizzy with delight + At your recalled caresses. Peace, my heart! +She whom you beat so wild for lies to-night + From you too many bitter leagues apart. + +Be calm, and I will talk to you of her; + And you shall listen, passionately still; +And as the pauses in my verse recur, + Think, heart, all this does fealty to your will! + +All this,--a lithe and perfect-moulded form, + Instinct with subtle gesture, soft, intense. +Head small and queenlike, dainty feet that warm + Even the dull world's ways into rapturous sense. + +Clear, broad, white forehead, crowned low down with hair + Darker than night, more soft than sleep or tears. +Nose neither small nor great, but straight, and fair. + Like naught but smooth sea-shells her delicate ears. + +But how to tell about her mouth and eyes! + Her strange, sweet, maddening eyes, her subtle mouth! +Mouth in whose closure all love's sweetness lives,-- + Eyes with the warm gleam of the lustrous south! + +Fathomless dusk by night, the day lets in + Glimmer of emerald,--thus those eyes of hers! +Above the firm sweep of the moulded chin + The lips, than whose least kiss Heaven's gifts were worse. + +Her bosom,--ah that now my head were laid! + Warm in that resting-place! But, heart, be still! +I will refrain, and break my dreams, afraid + To stir the yearning I can not fulfil. + +Love, in the northern night of Brittany + Hear you no voice divide the night like flame? +In these gray walls the inmost soul of me + Is swooning with the music of your name. + + + +NOCTURNE. + + + Soothe, soothe + The day-fall, soothe, + Till wrinkling winds and seas are smooth,-- + Till yon low band + Of charméd strand + Puff seaward dreams from the inner land,-- +Till, lapped in mild half-lights, our dream-blown boat + Is felt to float, to fall, to float. + + A sundown rose + Delays and glows + O'er yon spired peak's remoter snows. + Uprolling soon + A red-ripe moon + Lolls in the pines in drowsed half-swoon; +And thin moon-shades pace out to us, and shift + Our visions as we drift, and drift. + + From night-wide blooms + In coppice glooms + Set outward voyaging spice perfumes. + The slow-pulsed seas, + The shadowed trees,-- + The night-spell holds us one with these, +Till, Love, we scarce know life from sleep,--we seem + To smile a little, dream, and dream. + + + +TIDES. + + +Through the still dusk how sighs the ebb-tide out, + Reluctant for the reed-beds! Down the sands + It washes. Hark! Beyond the wan gray strand's +Low limits how the winding channels grieve, +Aware the evasive waters soon will leave + Them void amid the waste of desolate lands, + Where shadowless to the sky the marsh expands, +And the noon-heats must scar them, and the drought. + +Yet soon for them the solacing tide returns + To quench their thirst of longing. Ah, not so + Works the stern law oar tides of life obey! + Ebbing in the night-watches swift away, + Scarce known ere fled forever is the flow; +And in parched channel still the shrunk stream mourns. + + + +CONSOLATION. + + +Dear Heart, between us can be no farewell. + We have so long to live, so much to endure, +What ills despair might work us who can tell, + Had we not help in that one trust secure! + +Time cannot sever, nor space keep long apart, + Those whom Love's sleepless yearning would draw near. +Fate bends unto the indomitable heart + And firm-fixt will.--What room have we for fear! + + + +DARK. + + +Now, for the night is hushed and blind with rain, + My soul desires communion, Dear, with thee. + But hour by hour my spirit gets not free,-- +Hour by still hour my longing strives in vain. +The thick dark hems me, ev'n to the restless brain. + The wind's confusion vague encumbers me. + Ev'n passionate memory, grown too faint to see +Thy features, stirs not in her straitening chain. + +And thou, dost thou too feel this strange divorce + Of will from power? The spell of night and wind, + Baffling desire and dream, dost thou too find? +Not distance parts us, Dear; but this dim force, + Intangible, holds us helpless, hushed with pain, + Dumb with the dark, blind with the gusts of rain! + + + +THE FOOTPATH. + + +Path by Which her feet have gone, + Still you climb the windy hill, +Still the hillside fronts the dawn, + Fronts the clustering village still. + +On the bare hill-summit waves + Still the lonely poplar-tree. +Where the blue lake-water raves, + Still the plover pipe and flee. + +Still you climb from windy pier, + Where the white gull drops and screams, +Through the village grown so dear, + Till you reach my heaven of dreams. + +Ah, the place we used to meet, + I and she,--where sharp you turn, +Shun the curious village street, + Lurk thro' hollows, hide in fern! + +Then; the old house, ample-eaved, + Night-long quiet beneath the stars,-- +How the maples, many-leaved, + Screened us at the orchard bars! + +Path by which her feet have gone, + Still you climb the windy hill; +Still the hillside fronts the dawn, + Fronts the clustering village still; + +But no longer she, my own, + Treads you, save as dreams allow. +And these eyes in dreams alone + Dare to look upon you now. + + + +TOUT OU RIEN. + + +Love, if you love me, love with heart and soul! + I am not liberal as some lovers are, +Accepting small return, and scanty dole, + Gratefully glad to worship from afar. + +Ah, love me passionately, or not at all! + For love that counts the cost I have small need. +My fingers would with laughing scorn let fall + That poor half-love so many lovers heed. + + +Then be mine wholly,--body, soul, and brain! + Your memory shall outlive kings. For Time +Forgets his cunning and assails in vain + Her whose name rings along the poet's rhyme. + + + +SALT. + + +O breath of wind and sea, + Bitter and clear, +Now my faint soul springs free, + Blown clean from fear! + +O hard sweet strife, O sting + Of buffeting salt! +Doubt and despair take wing, + Failure, and fault. + +I dread not wrath or wrong,-- + Smile, and am free; +Strong while the winds are strong, + The rocks, the sea. + +Heart of my heart, tho' life + Front us with storm, +Love will outlast the strife, + More pure, more warm. + + + +KHARTOUM. + + +Set in the fierce red desert for a sword, + Drawn and deep-driven implacably! The tide + Of scorching sand that chafes thy landward side +Storming thy palms; and past thy front outpoured +The Nile's vast dread and wonder! Late there roared + (While far off paused the long war, long defied) + Mad tumult thro' thy streets; and Gordon died, +Slaughtered amid the yelling rebel horde! + +Yet, spite of shame and wrathful tears, Khartoum, + We owe thee certain thanks, for thou hast shown + How still the one a thousand crowds outweighs,-- +Still one man's mood sways millions,--one man's doom + Smites nations;--and our burning spirits own + Not sordid these nor unheroic days! + + + +LIBERTY. + +[From the French of Louis Honore Fréchette] + + +A child, I set the thirsting of my mouth + To the gold chalices of loves that craze. +Surely, alas, I have found therein but drouth, + Surely has sorrow darkened o'er my days. +While worldlings chase each other madly round + Their giddy track of frivolous gayety, +Dreamer, my dream earth's utmost longings bound: + One love alone is mine, my love is Liberty. + +I have sung them all;--youth's lightsomeness that fleets, + Pure friendship, my most fondly cherished dreams, +Wild blossoms and the winds that steal their sweets, + Wood odors, and the star that whitely gleams. +But our hearts change; the spirit dulls its edge + In the chill contact with reality; +These vanished like the foam-bells on the sedge: + I sing one burden now, my song is Liberty. + +I drench my spirit in ecstasy, consoled, + And my gaze trembles toward the azure arc, +When in the wide world-records I behold + Flame like a meteor God's finger thro' the dark +But if, at times, bowed over the abyss + Wherein man crawls toward immortality,-- +Beholding here how sore his suffering is, + I make my prayer with tears, it is for Liberty. + + + +TO THE MEMORY OF SIDNEY LANIER. + + +Sullenly falls the rain, + Still hangs the dripping leaf, +And ah, the pain!-- + The slow, dull ache of my grief, +That throbs--"In vain, in vain,-- + You have garnered your sheaf!" + +You have garnered your sheaf, with the tares + Therein, and unripe wheat,-- +All that Death spares, + Who has come with too swift feet, +Not turning for any prayers + Nor all who entreat. + +They entreated with tears. But I-- + Ah me, all I can say +Is only a cry! + I had loved you many a day, +Yet never had fate drawn nigh + My way to your way. + +My spirit made swift with love + Went forth to you in your place +Far off and above + Tho' we met not face to face, +My Elder Brother, yet love + Had pierced through space! + + + +ON READING THE POEMS OF SIDNEY LANIER. + + +Poet and Flute-player, that flute of thine +To me must ever seem thy perfect sign! + Tho' strenuously with breath divine inspired, +To thy strait law is due thy deathless line. + + + +TO BLISS CARMAN, + +WITH A COPY OF LANG'S "HELEN OF TROY." + + +This antique song, new sung in fashion new, +From me, half silent fallen, with love to you, +O singer of unvexed scenes and virgin themes +In strait, quaint, ancient metres, thronged with dreams! + + + +A BALLADE OF PHILOMELA. + + +From gab of jay and chatter of crake + The dusk wood covered me utterly. +And here the tongue of the thrush was awake. + Flame-floods out of the low bright sky + Lighted the gloom with gold-brown dye, +Before dark; and a manifold chorussing + Arose of thrushes remote and nigh,-- +For the tongue of the singer needs must sing. + +Midmost a close green covert of brake + A brown bird listening silently +Sat; and I thought--"She grieves for the sake + Of Itylus,--for the stains that lie + In her heritage of sad memory." +But the thrushes were hushed at evening. + Then I waited to hear the brown bird try,-- +For the tongue of the singer needs must sing. + +And I said--"The thought of the thrushes Will shake + With rapture remembered her heart; and her shy +Tongue of the dear times dead will take + To make her a living song, when sigh + The soft night winds disburthened by. +Hark now!"--for the upraised quivering wing, + The throat exultant, I could descry,-- +And the tongue of the singer needs must sing! + + L'ENVOI. +But the bird dropped dead with only a cry. + I found its tongue was withered, poor thing! +Then I no whit wondered, for well knew I + That the heart of the singer will break or sing. + + + +A HERALD. + + +Ere the Spring comes near + O'er the smoking hills, + Stirring a million rills +To laughter low and clear +Till winds are hushed to hear,-- + +Ere the eaves at noon + Thaw and drip, there flies + A herald thro' the skies +With promise of a boon-- +Of birds and blossoms soon. + +Subtle though it be, + Yet sweetly sure that word; + E'en such my heart hath heard +(Over life's frosty lea) +Of Immortality. + + + +WINTER GERANIUMS. + + + O What avails the storm, +When o'er my sense this Magian flower enweaves + His charm of slumbrous summer, green and warm, +And laps me in his luxury of leaves! + + O where the frost that chills, +Whilst these rich blooms burn red about my face, + Luring me out across the irised hills +Where Autumn broods o'er purple deeps of space! + + + +A BREATHING TIME. + + +Here is a breathing time, and rest for a little season. +Here have I drained deep draughts out of the springs of life. +Here, as of old, while still unacquainted with toil and faintness, +Stretched are my veins with strength, fearless my heart and at peace. +I have come back from the crowd, the blinding strife and the tumult, +Pain, and the shadow of pain, sorrow in silence endured; +Fighting, at last I have fallen, and sought the breast of the Mother,-- +Quite cast down I have crept close to the broad sweet earth. +Lo, out of failure triumph! Renewed the wavering courage, +Tense the unstrung nerves, steadfast the faltering knees +Weary no more, nor faint, nor grieved at heart, nor despairing, +Hushed in the earth's green lap, lulled to slumber and dreams! + + + + +BIRCH AND PADDLE. + +TO BLISS CARMAN. + + +Friend, those delights of ours +Under the sun and showers,-- + +Athrough the noonday blue +Sliding our light canoe, + +Or floating, hushed, at eve, +When the dim pine-tops grieve! + +What tonic days were they +Where shy streams dart and play,-- + +Where rivers brown and strong +As caribou bound along, + +Break into angry parle +Where wildcat rapids snarl, + +Subside, and like a snake +Wind to the quiet lake! + +We've paddled furtively, +Where giant boughs hide the sky,-- + +Have stolen, and held our breath, +Thro' coverts still as death,-- + +Have left with wing unstirred +The brooding phoebe-bird, + +And hardly caused a care +In the water-spider's lair. + +For love of his clear pipe +We've flushed the zigzag snipe,-- + +Have chased in wilful mood +The wood-duck's flapping brood,-- + +Have spied the antlered moose +Cropping the young green spruce, + +And watched him till betrayed +By the kingfisher's sharp tirade. + +Quitting the bodeful shades +We've run thro' sunnier glades, + +And dropping craft and heed +Have bid our paddles speed. + +Where the mad rapids chafe +We've shouted, steering safe,-- + +With sinew tense, nerve keen, +Shot thro' the roar, and seen, + +With spirit wild as theirs, +The white waves leap-like hares. + +And then, with souls grown clear +In that sweet atmosphere, + +With influences serene +Our blood and brain washed clean, + +We've idled down the breast +Of broadening tides at rest, + +And marked the winds, the birds, +The bees, the far-off herds, + +Into a drowsy tune +Transmute the afternoon. + +So, Friend, with ears and eyes +Which shy divinities + +Have opened with their kiss, +We need no balm but this,-- + +A little space for dreams +On care-unsullied streams,-- + +'Mid task and toil, a space +To dream on Nature's face! + + + +AN ODE FOR THE CANADIAN CONFEDERACY. + + +Awake, my country, the hour is great with change! + Under this gloom which yet obscures the land, +From ice-blue strait and stern Laurentian range + To where giant peaks our western bounds command, +A deep voice stirs, vibrating in men's ears + As if their own hearts throbbed that thunder forth, +A sound wherein who hearkens wisely hears + The voice of the desire of this strong North,-- + This North whose heart of fire + Yet knows not its desire + Clearly, but dreams, and murmurs in the dream. +The hour of dreams is done. Lo, on the hills the gleam! + +Awake, my country, the hour of dreams is done! + Doubt not, nor dread the greatness of thy fate. +Tho' faint souls fear the keen confronting sun, + And fain would bid the morn of splendor wait; +Tho' dreamers, rapt in starry visions, cry + "Lo, yon thy future, yon thy faith, thy fame!" +And stretch vain hands to stars, thy fame is nigh, + Here in Canadian hearth, and home, and name;-- + This name which yet shall grow + Till all the nations know + Us for a patriot people, heart and hand +Loyal to our native earth, our own Canadian land! + +O strong hearts, guarding the birthright of our glory, + Worth your best blood this heritage that ye guard! +These mighty streams resplendent with our story, + These iron coasts by rage of seas unjarred,-- +What fields of peace these bulwarks well secure! + What vales of plenty those calm floods supply! +Shall not our love this rough, sweet land make sure, + Her bounds preserve inviolate, though we die? + O strong hearts of the North, + Let flame your loyalty forth, + And put the craven and base to an open shame, +Till earth shall know the Child of Nations by her name! + + + +THE QUELLING OF THE MOOSE. + +A MELICETE LEGEND. + + +When tent was pitched, and supper done, +And forgotten were paddle, and rod, and gun, +And the low, bright planets, one by one, + +Lit in the pine-tops their lamps of gold +To us by the fire, in our blankets rolled, +This was the story Sacòbi told-- + +"In those days came the moose from the east, +A monster out of the white north-east, +And as leaves before him were man and beast. + +"The dark rock-hills of Saguenay +Are strong,--they were but straw in his way. +He leapt the St. Lawrence as in play. + +"His breath was a storm and a flame; his feet +In the mountains thundered, fierce and fleet, +Till men's hearts were as milk, and ceased to beat. + +"But in those days dwelt Clote Scarp with men. +It is long to wait till he comes again,-- +But a Friend was near and could hear us, then! + +"In his wigwam, built by the Oolastook, +Where the ash-trees over the water look, +A voice of trouble the stillness shook. + +"He rose, and took his bow from the wall, +And listened; he heard his people's call +Pierce up from the villages one and all. + +"From village to village he passed with cheer; +And the people followed; but when drew near +The stride of the moose, they fled in fear. + +"Like smoke in a wind they fled at the last +But he in a pass of the hills stood fast, +And down at his feet his bow he cast. + +"That terrible forehead, maned with flame, +He smote with his open hand,--and tame +As a dog the raging beast became. + +"He smote with his open hand; and lo! +As shrinks in the rains of spring the snow, +So shrank the monster beneath that blow, + +"Till scarce the bulk of a bull he stood. +And Clote Scarp led him down to the wood, +And gave him the tender shoots for food." + +He ceased; and a voice said, "Understand +How huge a peril will shrink like sand, +When stayed by a prompt and steady hand!" + + + +A SONG OF REGRET. + + +In the southward sky +The late swallows fly, + The low red willows + In the river quiver; +From the beeches nigh +Russet leaves sail by, + The tawny billows + In the chill wind shiver; +The beech-burrs burst, + And the nuts down-patter; + The red squirrels chatter +O'er the wealth disperst. + +Yon carmine glare +Would the west outdare;-- + 'Tis the Fall attire + Of the maples flaming. +In the keen late air +Is an impulse rare, + A sting like fire, + A desire past naming. +But the crisp mists rise + And my heart falls a-sighing,-- + Sighing, sighing +That the sweet time dies! + + + +THE DEPARTING OF CLOTE SCARP. + + +It is so long ago; and men well nigh +Forget what gladness was, and how the earth +Gave corn in plenty, and the rivers fish, +And the woods meat, before he went away. +His going was on this wise. + + All the works +And words and ways of men and beasts became +Evil, and all their thoughts continually +Were but of evil. Then he made a feast. +Upon the shore that is beside the sea +That takes the setting sun, he ordered it, +And called the beasts thereto. Only the men +He called not, seeing them evil utterly. +He fed the panther's crafty brood, and filled +The lean wolf's hunger; from the hollow tree +His honey stayed the bear's terrific jaws; +And the brown rabbit couched at peace, within +The circling shadow of the eagle's wings. +And when the feast was done he told them all +That now, because their ways were evil grown, +On that same day he must depart from them, +And they should look upon his face no more. +Then all the beasts were very sorrowful. + +It was near sunset, and the wind was still, +And down the yellow shore a thin wave washed +Slowly; and Clote Scarp launched his birch canoe, +And spread his yellow sail, and moved from shore, +Though no wind followed, streaming in the sail, +Or roughening the clear waters after him. +And all the beasts stood by the shore, and watched. +Then to the west appeared a long red trail +Over the wave; and Clote Scarp sailed and sang +Till the canoe grew little like a bird, +And black, and vanished in the shining trail. +And when the beasts could see his form no more, +They still could hear him, singing as he sailed, +And still they listened, hanging down their heads +In long row, where the thin wave washed and fled. +But when the sound of singing died, and when +They lifted up their voices in their grief, +Lo! on the mouth of every beast a strange +New tongue! Then rose they all and fled apart, +Nor met again in council from that day. + + + +A BREAK. + + +Oh, the scent of the hyacinth blossom! + The joy of that night, + But the grievous awaking! + The speed of my flight + Thro' the dawn redly breaking! + Gray lay the still sea; + Naked hillside and lea; + And gray with night frost + The wide garden I crossed! + But the hyacinth beds were a-bloom. + I stooped and plucked one-- + In an instant 'twas done,-- + And I heard, not far off, a gun boom! + In my bosom + I thrust the crushed blossom; + And turned, and looked back + Where She stood at her pane + Waving sadly farewell once again; + Then down the dim track + Fled amain, + With the flower in my bosom. +Oh, the scent of the hyacinth blossom! + + + +TO A LADY, + +AFTER HEARING HER READ KEATS' "NIGHTINGALE." + + +This supreme song of him who dreamed + All beauty, and whose heart foreknew +The anguish of vain longing, seemed + To breathe new mystery, breathed by you. + +As if the rapture of the night, + Moon-tranced, and passion-still, were stirred +To some undreamed divine delight + By sudden singing of a bird! + + +RONDEAU. + +TO LOUIS HONORE FRÉCHETTE. + + +Laurels for song! And nobler bays, +In old Olympian golden days + Of clamor thro' the clear-eyed morn, + No bowed triumphant head hath borne, +Victorious in all Hellas' gaze! + +They watched his glowing axles graze +The goal, and rent the heavens with praise;-- + Yet the supremer heads have worn + Laurels for song. + +So thee, from no palaestra-plays +A conqueror, to the gods we raise, + Whose brows of all our singers born + The sacred fillets chief adorn,-- +Who first of all our choir displays + Laurels for song. + + + +A BIRTHDAY BALLADE. + + +All deserted to wind and to sun + You have left the dear, dusky canoe. +The amber cool currents still run, + But our paddle forgets to pursue. + Our river wears still the rare blue, +But its sparkle seems somehow less gay; + It confides me this greeting for you-- +Many Happy Returns of the Day! + +Where's the mirth that with morn was begun, + Nor dreaded the dark and the dew? +Some sweet thieves have made off with our fun! + Would our paddles were free to pursue! + Ah, could we but catch them anew, +Clip their wings, forbid them to stray, + Then more blithely we'd sing than we do-- +Many Happy Returns of the Day! + +Dear remembrances die, one by one, + So cunning Time's craft to undo! +But ours must be never undone. + Oft again must the paddle pursue, + Oft the treasured impression renew! +Then, return our Acadian way, + For our days of delight were too few-- +Many Happy Returns of the Day! + + L'ENVOI. +Now an easy enigma or two + This ballade is devised to convey. +Unto you, and us lonely ones too, + Many Happy Returns of the Day! + + + +TO S---- M----. + +The disciple of Master Herrick returneth thanks for the gift of a band +of pansies for his hat. + + +I. + + Never poet + From Musaeus down, +Crowned with rose, or myrtle-wreath, or laurel, + Had of daintier hand + Dearer trophy! + Therefore (know it, +Castaly! and, Daphne's lover, quarrel!) + I for crown +Flout the bay and wear thy pansy-band, + Mistress Sophie. + +II. + + As these petals + Die not, + So the thought that settles + Softly in the purple petals + Fly not! +Half a memory, which a world of men + Can buy not,-- +Half a prayer, that till we meet again + Thou sigh not! + + + +LA BELLE TROMBONISTE. + + +How grave she sits and toots + In the glare! +From her dainty bits of boots + To her hair +Not the sign remotest shows +If she either cares or knows +How the beer-imbibing beaux + Sit and stare. + +They're most prodigal with sighs, + Or they laugh; +Or they cast adoring eyes + As they quaff. +They exert their every wile +Her attention to beguile. +Do they ever win a smile? + Not by half! + +She leans upon her chin + (Not a toot!), +While the leading violin + And the flute +Wail and plead in low duet +Till, it may be, eyes are wet. +She her trombone doth forget-- + She is mute. + +The music louder grows; + She's awake! +She applies her lips and blows-- + Goodness sake!...... +To think that such a peal +From such throat and frame ideal, +From such tender lips could steal-- + Takes the cake! + +The dinning cymbals shrill + Kiss and clash. +Drum and kettle-drum at will + Roll and crash. +But that trombone over all +Toots unto my heart a call;-- +Maid petite, and trombone tall-- + It's a mash! + +Yet, I hesitate--for lo, + What a pout! +She's poetic; and I know + I am stout. +In her little room would she +On her trombone, tenderly, +Sit and toot as thus to me?-- + Ah, I doubt! + + + +THE POET IS BIDDEN TO MANHATTAN ISLAND. + + +Dear Poet, quit your shady lanes + And come where more than lanes are shady. +Leave Phyllis to the rustic swains + And sing some Knickerbocker lady. +O hither haste, and here devise + Divine ballades before unuttered. +Your poet's eyes must recognize + The side on which your bread is buttered! + +Dream not I tempt you to forswear + One pastoral joy, or rural frolic. +I call you to a city where + The most urbane are most bucolic. +'Twill charm your poet's eyes to find + Good husbandmen in brokers burly;-- +Their stock is ever on their mind; + To water it they rise up early. + +Things you have sung, but ah, not seen-- + Things proper to the age of Saturn-- +Shall greet you here; for we have been + Wrought quaintly, on the Arcadian pattern. +Your poet's lips will break in song + For joy, to see at last appearing +The bulls and bears, a peaceful throng, + While a lamb leads them--to the shearing! + +And metamorphoses, of course, + You'll mark in plenty, à la Proteus: +A bear become a little horse-- + Presumably from too much throat-use! +A thousandfold must go untold; + But, should you miss your farm-yard sunny, +And miss your ducks and drakes, behold + We'll make you ducks and drakes--of money! + +Greengrocers here are fairly read. + And should you set your heart upon them, +We lack not beets--but some are dead, + While others have policemen on them. +And be the dewfall dear to you, + Possess your poet's soul in patience! +Your notes shall soon be falling dew,-- + Most mystical of transformations! + +Your heart, dear Poet, surely yields; + And soon you'll leave your uplands flowery, +Forsaking fresh and bowery fields, + For "pastures new"--upon the Bowery! +You've piped at home, where none could pay, + Till now, I trust, your wits are riper. +Make no delay, but come this way, + And pipe for them that pay the piper! + + + +THE BLUE VIOLET. + + +Blossom that spread'st, as spring brings in + Her sudden flights of swallows, +Thy nets of blue, cool-meshed and thin, + In rain-wet pasture hollows,-- + +Thronging the dim grass everywhere + Amid thy heart-leaves tender, +Thy temperate fairness seems more fair + Even than August's splendor! + +Yet do I hear complaints of thee,-- + Men doubting of thy fragrance! +But, Dear, thou hast revealed to me + That shyest of perfume-vagrants. + +Do ever so, my Flower discreet, + And all the world be fair to, +While men but guess that rarest sweet + Which one alone can swear to! + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN DIVERS TONES BY ROBERTS *** + +******* This file should be named 6956.txt or 6956.zip ******** + +This eBook was produced by John Williams, Juliet Sutherland, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +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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