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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. brrata Ito pelure. In d 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 / I THE N Ew Poems OF Jean Ingelow. / -*-«:- John Greenleaf Whittier. -;X!e«>«:- Henry WAC(^W0RT#/4h^GFELL0w. TORONTO : BELFORD BROTHERS. 1876. "^''l'* /r64-i CONTENTS. THE siip:pherd lady- Above THE Clouds — Love's Thread of Gold- Failure— One Morning, Oh ! so early— The Days without Alloy — The Leaves of Lign Aloes— On the Rocks of Aberdeen — Feathers and Moss — Sv;eet ls Childhood — The Gypsy's Selling Song — My Fair Lady- Sleep and Time — Master, Quoth the Auld Hound I,iKE A Laverock in the Lift — At one Again — Jean Ingelow. II II II )i. Part MABEL MARTIN— John G. I. The River Valley — II. The Husking — III. The Witch's Daughter — IV. The Champion — V. In the Shadow — VI. The Betrothal — IVhittier. II 15 16 18 19 21 23 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 34 48 52 55 59 62 65 ^Pl Contents. THE MASQUE OF PANDORA- . W. Longfellm'. I. Tub: Workshop of HepH/^stus II. Olympus III. Tower of Promktheus on Mount Caucasus IV. The Air .... V. The House of Epimetheus VI. In the Garden VII. The House of Epimetheus VIII. IiV the Garden THE HANGING OF THE CRANE MORITURI SALUTAMUS, . ■ BIRDS OF PASSAGE. Flight the Fourth. Charles Sumner . Travels by the Fireside Cadenabiua . Monte Cassino Amalfi .... The Sermon of St. Francis 71 75 77 85 86 92 103 108 117 131 145 147 149 152 156 160 '■f; \\ 71 75 77 85 86 92 I03 io8 117 131 145 147 149 15- 156 160 THE SHEPHEED LADY AND OTHEE POEMS. . BY JEAN INGELOW. I i • TORON ro DUDLEY & BURNS, I'RIXTKRS, COLBORNB ST. ill H SH THE SHEPHERD LADY. I. Who pipes upon the long green hill, Where meadow grass is deep ? The white lamb bleats but followeth on- Follow the clean white sheep. The dear white lady in yon high tower, She harkeneth in her sleep. All in long grass the piper stands, Goodly and grave is he ; Outside the tower, at dawn of day, The notes of his pipe ring free. A thought from his heart doth reach to hers " Come down, O lady ! to me." r^ 12 The Shepherd Lady. She lifts hei head, she dons her gown : Ah ! the lady is fair ; She ties the girdle on her waist, And binds her flaxen hair, And down she stealeth, down and down, Down the turret stair. « '• liehold him ! With the flock he wons Along yon grassy lea. '' My shepherd lord, my shepherd love. What wilt thou, then, with me ? My heart is gone out of my brea'- And foUoweth on to thee." ('.. II. " The white lambs feed in tender grass With them and thee to bide, How good it were," she saith at noon ; " Albeit the meads are wide. Oh ! well is me," she saith when day Draws on to eventide. The Shepherd Lady. Hark ' hark ! the shepherd s voice. Oh, sweet ! Her tears drop down like rain. " Take now this crook, my chosen, my fere, And tend the flock full fain ; Feed them, O lady, and lose not one. Till I shall come again." Right soft her speech .• " My will is thine, And my reward thy grace ! " (ione are his footsteps over the hill, Withdrawn his goodly face ; The mournful dusk begins to gather, The daylight wanes apace. 13 III. On sunny slopes, ah ! long the lady Feedeth her flock at noon ; She leads it down to drink at eve Where the small rivulets croon. All night her locks are wet with dew, Her eyes outwatch the moon. J \ . ii ii II 14 The Shepherd LaJy. Beyond the hills her voice is hea-d, She sings v/hen light r'oth wane : ' My longing heart is full of love, Nor shall my watch be vain. My shepherd lord, I see him not, But he will come again." ABOVE THE CLOUDS. And can this be my own world ? "Tis all gold and snow, ■"'. Save where scarlet waves are hurled Down yon gulf below ? . 'Tis thy world, 'tis my world, ^'"^ City mead, and shore, For he that hath his own world • Hath many worlds more. ■« V j • * ' ( 15) <* 1 ' It f \t II i I il LOVE'S THREAD OF GOLD, In the night she told a story, In the night and all night through, While the moon was in her glory, And the branches dropped with dew, 'Twas my life she told, and round it Rose the years as from a deep ; In the world's great heart she found it^ Cradled like a child asleep. In the night I saw her weaving By the misty moonbeam cold, All the weft her shuttle cleaving With a sacred thread of gold, Ah ! she wept me tears of sorrow, Lulling tears so mystic sweet ; • Then she wove my last to-morrow. And her web lay at my feet. (i6) ti ! . Lovci Thread of Gold. 17 Of my life she made the story : I must weep — so soon 'twas told ! But your name did lend it glory, And your love its thread of gold I ^w. htr i!^ in i I !l "f FAILURE. We are much bound to them that do succeed But, in a more pathetic sense, are bound To such as fail. They all our loss expound ; They comfort us for work that will not speed, And life — itself a failure. Ay, his deed, Sweetest in story, who the dusk profound Of Hades flooded with entrancing sound, Music's own tears, was failure. Doth it read Therefore the worse ? Ah, no ! so much to dare, He fronts the regnant Darkness on its throne. - .So much to do : impetuous even there, He pours out love's disconsolate sweet moan — He wins ; but few for that his deed recall : Its power is in the look which costs him all. (i8) 1 mtrnktm ONE MORNING, OH ! SO EARLY. One morning, oh I so early, my beloved, my beloved, All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease ; 'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, " Hear the story, hear the story ! " And the lark sang, " Give us glory ! " And the dove said, " Give us peace ! " Then I listened, oh ! so early, my beloved, my beloved, To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove ; When the nightingale came after, " Give us fame to sweeten duty!" When the wren sang, " Give us beauty : " She made answer, " Give us love ! " (19) i J 30 One Morning, oh ! So Early. 11 Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved ; Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year's increase, And my prayer goes up, " Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory. Give for all our life's dear story, Give us love, and give us peace ! " ■■■iji ■ i | HM WH K W g giSiftWRMWL IWffW beloved, my upon the year's vned in youth THE DAYS WITHOUT ALLOY. When I sit on market days amid the comers and the goers.. Oh ! full oft I have a vision of the days without alloy, And a ship comes up the river with a jolly gang of towers, And a *• pull'e haul'e, pull'e haul'e, yoy ! heave, hoy ! " I'here is busy talk around me, all about mine ears it hum- meth, But the wooden wharves I look on, and a dancing, heav- ing buoy, [•or 'tis tidetime in the river, and she cometh— oh, she Cometh ! With a " pull'e haul'e, pull'e haul'e, yoy 1 heave, hoy ! " Then I hear the water washing, never golden waves were brighter, And I hear the capstan creaking — 'tis a sound that can- >. not cloy. (21) • • A ■r (, V I 22 T/fe Days Without Alloy. Bring her to, to ship her lading, brig or schooner, sloop or lighter, |. With a " puU'e haul'e, pull'e haul'e, yoy ! heave, hoy ! " •' Will ye step aboard, my dearest ? for the high seas lie before us." So I sailed with him the river in those days without alloy : Sailed afar, but when, I wonder, shall a sweeter sound float o'er us Than yon " puU'e haul'e, pull'e haul'e, yoy ! heave, hoy ! " • ! heave, hoy ! " | THE LEAVES OF LIGN ALOES. t Drop, drop from the leaves of lign aloes, O honey-dew ! drop from the tree. Float up through your clear river shallows, White lilies, beloved of the bee. Let the people, O Queen ! say, and bless thee,. Her bounty drops soft as the dew, And spotless in honor confess thee. As lilies are spotless in hue. On the roof stands yon white stork awaking. His feathers flush rosy the while. For, lo ! from the blushing east breaking. The sun sheds the bloom of his smile. ( 23 ) itfr .1 i i -24 T/w Leaves of Lign Aloes. Let them boast of thy word, *' It is certain ; We doubt it no more," let them say, " Than to-morrow that night's dusky curtain Shall roll back its folds for the day." |ccrtam ; curtain ON THE ROCKS BY ABERDEEN, On the rocks by Aberdeen, ' Where the whislin' wave had been, As I wandered and at e'en Was eerie ; There I saw thee saiHng west, And I ran with joy opprest — Ay, and took out all my best, My dearie. Then I busked mysel' wi' speed, And the neighbors cried " What need ? 'Tis a lass in any weed Aye bonny ! " Now my heart, my heart is sair : What's the good, though I be fair, For thou'lt never see me mair, Man Johnnie ! (25) w ' i i iliit FEATHERS AND MOSS. The marten flew to the finch's nest, Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay ; " The arrow it sped to thy brown mate's breast ; Low in the broom is thy mate to-day." " Liest thou low, love ? low in the broom ? Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay, Warm the white eggs till I learn his doom." She beateth her wings, and away, away. "Ah, my sweet singer, thy days are told (Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay) I Thine eyes are dim, and the eggs grow cold, O mournful morrow ! O dark to-day ! " * The finch flew back to her cold, cold nest, Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay, Mine is the trouble that rent her breast, And home is silent, and love is clay. (26) hay ; |.te's breast ; lay." loom ? hay, loom." iway. [old hay): [w cold, |ay!" nest, lay, i,st, CHILDHOOD. Sweet is childhood — childhood's over, Kiss and part. Sweet is youth ; but youth's a rover — So's my heart. Sweet is rest ; but by all showing Toil is nigh. We must go. Alas ! the going, Say "good-bye." (27) y i ! ! i t HI i m \ I I ' THE GYPSY'S SELLING SONG. My good man — he's an old, old man, And my good mai. got a fall, To buy me a bargain so fast he ran When he heard the [^yr>sies call : " Buy, buy brushes, Baskets wrought o' rushes. Buy them, buy them, take them, try them, Buy, dames all." My old man, he has money and land, And a young, young wife am L Let him put the penny in my white hand Wi lie hears the gypsies cry : " Buy, buy laces, Veils to screen your faces. Buy them, buy them, take and try them. Buy, maids, buy." (28) ' . •^hW 1i . iiONG. MY FAIR LADY. man, ran ill: liem, try them, land, I. hitc hand ind try them. My fair lady's a dear, dear lady — I walked by her side to woo. In a garden alley, so sweet and shady, She answered, " I love not you, John, John Brady," Quoth my dear lar'y, " Pray now, pray now, go your way now,. Do, John, do !" Yet my fair lady's my own, own lady, For I passed another day ; While making her moan, she sat all alone, And thus and thus did she say : " John, John Brady," Quoth my dear lady, " Do now, do now, once more woo now, Pray, John, pray 1" I II 1 1 Ml ("9) n ; X i illllin ' i I i - i i 1 .^ SLEEP AND TIME. *' Wake, baillie, wake ! the crafts are out ; Wake !" said the knight, " be quick ! P'or high street, bye street, over the town They fight with poker and stick." Said the squire, " A fight so fell was ne'er In all thy bailliewick." ^Vhat said the old clock in the tower ? " Tick, tick, tick !" " Wake, daughter, wake ! the hour draws on ; Wake !" quoth the dame, "be quick ! The meats aie set, the guests are coming, The fiddler waxing his stick." She said, " The biidegroom waiting and waiting To see thy face is sick." ^Vhat said the new clock in her bower ? " Tick, tick, tick !" (30) MASTER, QUOTH THE AULD HOUND. " Master," quoth the auld hound, " Where will ye go ?" " Over moss, over muir, To court my new jo." " Master, though the night be merk, I'se follow through the snow. " Court her, master, court her, So shall ye do weel ; But and ben she'll guide the house, I'se get milk and meal. Ye'se get lilting while she sits With her rock and reel." " For, oh ! she has a sweet tongue, And een that look down, A gold girdle for her waist. And a pu.ple gown. ' She has a good word forbye Fra a' folk in the town." V (30 'V^ A M t i iih ' ill ':i| li : 1 ii 1 1 1 1 j i ^ 4 ii L . LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT. It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye, All the world and we two, and Heaven be our stay. Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride ! All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side. What's the world, my lass, my love ! — what can it do ? I am thine, and thou art mine ; life is sweet and new. If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by. For we two have gotten leave, and once more we'll try. Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride ! It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side. Take a kiss from me thy man ; now the song begins : •' All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins." When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll dry thine. It's we two, it's we two, while the world's away. Sitting by the golden sheaves on our weddmg-day. (32) ^ • LIFT. k \l our stay, )ride ! / his side. t can it do ? it and new. and by, ore we'll try. •ride ! ng begins : leart wins." ill shine, hine. way, ng-day. AT ONE AGAIK 'IT II ) it li AT OI^E AGAIN. I. NOONDAY. Two angry men — in heat they sever, And one goes home by a harvest field : — •* Hope's nought," quoth he, " and vain endeavour ; " I said and say it, I will not yield ! " As for this wrong, no art can mend it, The bond is shiver'd that held us twain : Old friends we be, but law must end it, Whether for loss or whether for gain. •* Yon stream is small — full slow its wending ; But winning is sweet, but right is fine ; And shoal of trout, or willowy bending — Though Law be costly — I'll prove them mine, (34) i i i -, V '^^, i endeavour ; in : din?; ; At One Again. 35 " His strawberry cow slipped loose her tether, And trod the best of my barley down ; His little lasses at play together Pluck'd the poppies my boys had grown. " What then ?— Why nought ! She lack'd of reason ;. And t/tey — my little ones match them well : — But this — Nay all things have their season, And 'tis my season to curb and quell." ;m mme. n ^ 1 M \ T 1 ! ( \ ^ A\ 1 II. SUNSET. So saith he, when noontide fervours flout him, So thinks, when the AVest is amber and red, When he smells the hop-vines sweet about him. And the clouds are rosy overhead. While slender and tall the hop-poles going Straight to the West in their leafy lines. Portion it out into chambers, glowing. And bask in red day as the sun declines. Between the leaves in his latticed arbour He sees the sky, as they flutter and turn, While moor'd like boats in a golden harbour The fleets of feathery cloudlets burn. AVithdrawn in shadow, he thinketh over Harsh thoughts, the fruit-laden trees among, Till pheasants call their young to cover. And cushats coo them a nursery song. ' (36) ^ er ;s among, er, ng. ' W!fl» i: At One Agaiji. 37 And flocks of ducks forsake their sedges, Wending home to the wide barn-door, And loaded wains between the hedges Slowly creep to his threshing floor — Dut him, and red, bout him, Slowly creep. And his tired senses. Float him over the magic stream, To a world where Fancy recompenses Vengeful thoughts, with a troubled dream ! ouig nes, :)ines. our i turn, larbour n. III. THE DREAM. What's this ? a wood — What's that ? one calleth^ Calleth and cryeth in mortal dread — He hears men strive — then somewhat falleth ! — " Help me, neighbour — I'm hard bestead." The dream is strong — the voice he knoweth — But when he would run, his feet are fast, And death lies beyond, and no man goeth To help, and he says the time is past. His feet are held, and he shakes all over, — Nay — they are free — he has found the place — Green boughs are gather'd — what is't they cover ? — *' I pray you, look on the dead man's face ; You that stand by," he saith, and cowers — " Man, or Angel, to guard the dead With shadowy spear, and a brow that lowers. And wing-points reared in the gloom o'erhead — ( 38 ) lis i! At One Ai;ain. I dare not look. He wronged me never, Men say we difter'd ; they speak amiss : This man and I were neighbours ever — I would have ventured my life for his. But fast my feet were — fast with tangles — Aye ! words— but they were not sliarp, I trow, Though parish feuds and vestry wrangles — O pitiful sight — I see thee now ! — If we fell out, 'twas but foul weather, After long shining ! O bitter cup, — ♦ What — dead ? — why, man, we play'd together — Art dead — ere a friend can make it up ?" 39 ) : f m n IV. THE WAKING. Over his head the chafer hummeth, Under his feet the daisies bend : Waken, man ! the enemy cometh, Thy neighbour, counted so long a friend. He cannot waken — and firm, and steady, The enemy comes with lowering brow ; He looks for war, his heart is ready. His thoughts are bitter — he will not bow, He fronts the seat, — the dream is flinging A spell that his footsteps may not break, - But one in the garden of hops is singing — The dreamer hears it, and starts awake. (40) N' : V. A SON(;. Walking apart, she thinks none listen ; And now she carols, and now she stops ; And the evening star begins to glisten Atween the lines of blossoming hops. Sweetest Mercy, your mother taught you All uses and cares that to maids belong ; Apt scholar to read and to sew she taught you- She did not teach you that tender song — " The lady sang in her charmed bower, Sheltered and safe under roses blown — ' Storm cannot touch me, hail, nor shower, Where ail alone I sit, all alone. My bower ! The fair Fay twiticd it round me ; Care nor trouble can pierce it through ; But once a sigh from the warm world found me Between tivo leaves that were bent with deiv. (41 ) 42 At One Again. And day to night, and night to morrow, Though soft as slumber the long hours wore I looked for my dower of love, of sorrow — Is there no more — no ?nore — fio more T Give her the sun-sweet light, and duly To walk in shadow, nor chide her part ; Give her the rose, and truly, truly — To wear its thorn with a patient heart. — Misty as dreams the moonbeam lyeth Chequered and faint on her charmed lloor ; The lady singeth, the lady sigheth — ' Is there no more — no more — no more /' " VI. THE LOVERS. A crash of boughs ' — one through them breaking ! Mercy is startled, and fain would fly, But e'en as she turns, her steps o'ertaking. He pleads with her — " Mercy, it is but I !" - " Mercy !" he touches her hand unbidden — " The air is balmy, I pray you stay — Mercy ?" Her downcast eyes are hidden, And never a word she has to say. Till closer drawn, her prison'd fingers He takes to his lips with a yearning strong ; And she murmurs low, that late she lingers, Her mother will want her, and think her long. " Good mother is she, then honour duly The lightest wish in her heart that stirs ; But there is a bond yet dearer truly. And there is a love that passeth hers. 3 (43) * 44 ^^ One Again, Mercy, Mercy !" Her heart attendeth — Love's birthday blush on her brow lies sweet ; She turns her face when his own he bendeth, And the lips of the youth and the maiden meet. VII. THE FATHERS. Move through the bowering hops, O lovers,— Wander down to the golden West,— But two stand mute in the shade that covers Your love and youth from their souls opprest. A little shame on their spirits stealing,— % A little pride that is loth to sue,— A little struggle with soften'd feeling,- And a world of fatherly care for you. One says : " To this same running water, May be. Neighbour, your claim is best." And one—" Your son has kissed my daughter : l^et the matters between us rest." (45) 1^ I CALL the old time back : I bring my lay In tender memory of the summer day When, where our native river lapsed away, We dreamed it over, while the thrushes made Songs of iheir own, and the great pine trees laid On warm noonlights the masses of their shade. And she was with us, living o'er again Her life in ours, despite of years and pain, — The Autumn's brightness after latter rain. Beautiful in her holy peace as one Who stands, at evening, when the work is done. Glorified in the setting of the sun ! Her memory makes our common landscape seem Fairer than any of which painters dream ; Lights the brown hills and sings in every stream ; - For she whose speech was always truth's pure gold Heard, not unpleased, its simple legends told, And loved with us the beautiful and old. I .•! ; i i ■;f MABEL MARTIJSr. A HARVEST IDYL. BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. TTT i «{ V I If iiiif i ll'ili PART 1. T//£ RIVER VALLEY. MABEL MARTIN. Across the level tableland, A grassy, rarely trodden way, With thinnest skirt of birchen spray And stunted growth of cedar, leads To where you see the dull plain fall Sheer off, steep-slanted, ploughed by all The seasons rainfalls. On its brink The over-leaning harebells swing. With roots half bare the pine-trees cling And, through the shadow looking west, You see the wavering river flow Along a vale, that far below (48) Mattel Martin, Holds to the sun, the sheltering hills, And glimmering water-line between, Broad fields of corn and meadows green, And fruit-bent orchards grouped around The low brown roofs and painted eaves. And chimney-tops half hid in leaves. No warmer valley hides behind Yon wind-scourged sand-dunes, cold and bleak No fairer river comes to seek The wave-sung welcome of the sea, Or mark the northmost border line Of sun-loved growths of nut and vine. 49 Here, ground-fast in their native fields, Untempted by the city's gain. The quiet farmer folk remain Who bear the pleasant name of Friends, And keep their fathers' gentle ways And simple speech of Bible days ; i < In whose neat homesteads wom^.n holds With modest ease her equal place. And wears upon her tranquil face TT i f i |9 Mah/ Margin. The look of one who, merging not Her self-hood in another's will, Is love's and duty's handmaid still. Pass with me down the path that winds Through birches to the open land, Where, close upon the river strand You mark a cellar, vine o'erruri, Above whose wall of loosened stones The sumach lifts its reddening cones. And the black nightshade's berries shine. And broad, unsightly burdocks fold The household ruin, centur}^-old. ft I :-! ; Here, in the dim colonial time Of sterner lives and gloomier faith, A woman lived, tradition saith. Who wrought her neighbors foul annoy. And witched and plagued the country-side, Till at the hangman's hand she died. Sit with me while the westering day Falls slantwise down the quiet vale, And, haply, ere yon loitering sail. f]fr 1 Mabel Martin. That rounds the upper headland, falls Below Deer Island's pines, or sees Behind it Hawkswood's belt of trees Rise black against the sinking sun, My idyl of its days of old. The valley's legend shall be told. 51 ■! 1 ! '■Eli lit -illiili ■ 1 tj llilillllllliil PART II. 7'//E HUSKING. It was the pleasant harvest-time, When cellar-bins are closely stowed, And garrets bend beneath their load, And the old swallow-haunted barns, — Brown-gabled, long, and full of seams Through which the moted sunlight streams. And winds blow freshly in, to shake The red plumes of the roosted cocks. And the loose hay-mow's scented locks,' — Are filled with summer's ripened stores. Its odorous grass and barley sheaves. From their low scaftblds to their eaves. On Esek Harden's oaken floor. With many an autumn threshing worn, Lay the heaped ears of unhusked corn. (52) Mabel Martin. % And thither came young men and maids, Beneath a moon that, large and low, Lit that sweet eve of long ago. They took their places ; some by chance. And others by a merry voice Or sweet smile guided to their choice. How pleasantly the rising moon, Between the shadow of the mows. Looked on them through the great elm-boughs I On sturdy boyhood, sun-embrowned. On girlhood with its solid curves Of healthful strength and painless nerves ! And jests went round, and laughs that made The house-dog answer with his howl, And kept astir the barn-yard fowl ; And quaint old songs their fathers sung In Derby dales and Yorkshire moors, Ere Norman William trod their shores ; And tales, whose merry license shook The fat sides of the Saxon thane. Forgetful of the hovering Dane,— IS I 'II U'i' W " i1 ■ * II 1 1 i p i'!M 54 Mabel Martin. Rude plays to Celt and Cimbri known, The charms and riddles that beguiled On Oxus' banks the young world's child, That primal picture-speech wherein Have youth and maid the story told, So new in each, so dateless old, Recalling pastoral Ruth in her Who waited, blushing and demure, The red-ear's kiss of forfeiture. i \ 1 I i j ' II 1 1 V lii PART III. THE WITCirs DAUGHTER. But Still the sweetest voice was mute That river-valley ever heard From lips of maid or throat of bird ; For Mabel Martin sat apart, And let the hay-mow's shado\y fall Upon the loveliest face of all. She sat apart, as one forbid, Who knew that none would condescencT To own the Witch-wife's child a friend. The seasons scarce had gone their round, Since curious thousands thronged to see Her mother at the gallows-tree ; And mocked the prison-palsied limbs That faltered on the fatal stairs, And"_wan lip trembling with its prayers t (55) . it )-:' r — ILL_I '(11 li i ','»-■ i 1 56 1 A £^\\i /-I n £»r»+-i/-M Mabel Martin. M ^1! Or, when they saw the mother die, Dreamed of the daughter's agony. They went up to their homes that day, As men and Christians justified : Cjod willed it, and the wretch had died Dear God and Father of us all. Forgive our faith in cruel lies, — Forgive the blindness thac denies ! Forgive thy creature when he takes. For the all-perfect love thou art, Some grim creation of his heart. Cast down our idols, overturn Our bloody altars ; let us see Thyself in thy humanity ! Young Mabel from her mother's grave Crept to her desolate hearth-stone, ind wrestled with her fate alone ; With love, and anger, and despair. The phantoms of disordered sense. The awful doubts of Providence ! Mabel Martin. O, dreary broke the winter days, And dreary fell the winter nights When, one by one, the neighboring lights Went out, and human sounds grew still, And all the phantom-peopled dark Closed round her hearth-fire's dying spark. And summer days were sad and long. And sad the uncompanioned eves, And sadder sunset-tinted leaves, And Indian Summer's airs of balm ; She scarcely felt the soft caress, The beauty died of loneliness ! The school-boys jeered her as they passed, And, when she sought the 'ouse of prayer. Her mother's curse pursued her there. 57 And still o'er many a neighboring door She saw the horseshoe's curved charm, 1^0 guard against her mother's harm : That mother, poor and sick and lame, Who daily, by the old arm-chair, Folded her withered hands in prayer ;- I,r,rf 58 Mabel Martin. Who turned, in Salem's dreary jail, ' Her worn old Bible o'er and o'er, When her dim eyes could read no more I Sore tried and pained, the poor girl kept Her faith, and trusted that her way. So dark, would somewhere meet the day. And still her weary wheel went rouud Day after day, with no relief : Small leisure have the poor for grief. Ill PART IV. THE CHAMPION.^ So in the shadow Mabel sits ; Untouched by mirth she sees and hears, Her smile is sadder than her tears. But cruel eyes have found her out, And cruel lips repeat her name, And taunt her with her mother's shame. She answered not with railing words, But drew her apron o'er her face, And, sobbing, glided from the place. And only pausing at the door. Her sad eyes met the troubled gaze Of one who, in her better days, Had been her warm and steady friend, Ere yet her mother's doom had made Even Esek Harden half afraid. 4 (59) l/;r 60 Mabel Martin. He felt that mute appeal of tears, And, starting, with an angry frown, Hushed all the wicked murmurs down, *' Good neighbors mine," he sternly said, " This passes harmless mirth or jest ; I brook no insult to my guest. " She is indeed her mothers child ; But God's sweet pity ministers Unto no whiter soul than hers. " Let Goody Martin rest in peace ; I never knew her harm a fly, And witch or not, God knows — not I. •' I know who swore her life away ; And as God lives, I'd not condemn An Indian dog on word of them." The broadest lands in all the town. The skill to guide, the power to awe. Were Harden's ; and his word was law. None dared withstand him to his face. But one sly maiden spake aside : " The little witch is evil-evcd I Mahcl Martm. '' Her mother only killed a cow, Or witched a cliurn or dairy-pan ; But she, forsooth, must charm a man !" 6i 1^ l< ¥ /. M '''l"'\i:* T"^ PART V. IN THE SHADOW. Poor Mabel, homeward turning, passed The nameless terrors of the wood. And saw, as if a ghost pursued. Her shadow gliding in the moon ; The soft breath of the west-wind gave A chill as from her mother's grave. How dreary seemed the silent house ! Wide in the moonbeam's ghastly glare Its windows had a tiead man's stare ! And, like a gaunt and spectral hand. The tremulous shadow of a birch Reached out and touched the door's low porch, As if to lift its latch : hard by, A sudden warning call she heard. The night-cry of a boding bird. (62) Mabel Martin. She leaned against the door \ her face, So fair, so young, so full of pain, White in the moonlight's silver rain. The river, on its pebbled rim. Made music such as childhood knew ; The door-yard tree was whispered through By voices such as childhood's ear Had heard in moonlight's long ago ; And through the willow-boughs below She saw the rippled waters shine ; Beyond, in waves of shade and light, ,- The hills rolled ofif into the night. She saw and heard, but over all A sense of some transforming spell. The shadow of her sick lieart fell. And still across the wooded space The harvest lights of Harden shone. And song and jest and laugh went on. 63 And he, so gentle, true, and strong. Of men the bravest and the best, Had he, too, scorned her with the rest ? iiiii 64 Mabel Martin. She strove to drown her sense of wrong, And, in her old and simple way, To teach her bitter heart to pray. Poor child I the prayer, begun in faith, Grew to a low, despairing cry Of utter misery : " Let me die ! "Oh ! take me from the scornful eyes, And hide where the cruel speech And mocking finger may not reach ! " I dare not breathe my mother's name : A daughter's right I dare not crave To weep above her unblest grave ! " Let me not live until my heart, With few to pity, and with none To love me, hardens into stone. *' O God ! have mercy on thy child, Whose faith in thee grows weak and small^ And take me ere I lose it all 1" A shadow on the moonlight fell, And murmuring wind and wave became • A voice whose burden was her name. , / PART VI. THE BETROTHAL. Had then God heard her ? Had he sent His angel down ? In flesh and l)lood, Before her Esek Harden stood ! He laid his hand upon her arm : " Dear Mabel, this no more shall be ; Who scoffs at you must scoff at me. " You know rough Esek Harden well ; And if he seems no suitor gay, And if his hair is touched with gray, " The maiden grown shall never find His heart less warm than when she smiled, Upon his knees, a little child !" Her tears of grief were tears of joy, As, folded in his strong embrace, She looked in Esek Harden's face, (65) Mabel Martin. " O, truest friend of all !" she said, " God bless you for your kindly thought, And make me worthy of my lot !" He led her forth, and, blent in one, Beside their happy pathway ran The shadows of the maid and man. He led her through his dewy fields. To where the swinging lanterns glowed. And through the doors the huskers showed. " Good friends and neighbors !" Esek said, " Fm weary of this lonely life \ In Mabel see my chosen wife ! " She greets you kindly, one and all ; The past is past, and all offence Falls harmless from her innocence. " Henceforth she stands no more alone ; You know what Esek Harden is \ — He brooks no wrong to him or his. " Now let the merriest tales be told, And let the sweetest songs be sung That ever made the old heart young ! ill ill V Mabel Martin. " For now the lost has found a home ; And a lone heart shall brighter burn, As all the household joys return !" O, pleasantly the harvest-moon, Between the shadow of the mows. Looked on them through the great elm-boughs ! On Mabel's curls of golden hair. On Esek's shaggy strength it fell ; And the wind wb-'^pered, " It is well !" 67 MASQUE OF PAKDOEA AND OTIIEK POEMS. BY HENRY WADSWORTH LOiNGFELLOW. If I u ; h THE MASQUE OF PANDORA. THE WORKSHOP OF HEPH.KSTUS. HEPH/ESTUs, standing before the statue of Pandora, Not flishioned out of gold, like Hera's throne. Nor forged of iron like the thunderbolts Of Zeus omnipotent, or other works Wrought by my hands at Lemnos or Olympus, But moulded in soft clay, that unresisting Yields itself to the touch, this lovely form Before me stands perfect in every part. Not Aphrodite's self appeared more fair, When first upwafted by caressing winds She came to high Olympus, and the gods Paid homage to her beauty. Thus her hair AVas cinctured ; thus her floating drapery Was like a cloud about her, and her face Was radiant with the sunshine and the sea. ( 7^ ) 72 The Mas(]iic of Pandora. THE VOICE OF ZEUS. Is thy work done, Hephosstus ? HEPH^.STUS. It is finished ! THE VOICE Not finished till I breathe the breath of life Into her nostrils, and she moves and speaks. HEPH/ESTUS. . Will she become immortal like ourselves ? THE VOICE. The form that thou hast fashioned out of clay Is of the earth and mortal ; but the spirit, The life, the exhalation of my breath, Is of diviner essence and immortal. The Gods shall shower on her their benefactions, She shall possess all gifts ; the gift of song, The gift of e' 'vence, the gift of beauty, The fascination and the nameless charm That shall lead all men captive. HEPH.ESTUS. Wherefore ? wherefore ? The Workshop of Hcphastiis. , 73 A wind shakes the house 1 hear the rushing of a mighty wind Through all tlie halls and chambers of my house ! Her parted lips inhale it, and her bosom Heaves with the inspiration. As a reed Beside a river in the rippling current Bends to and fro, she bows or lifts her head. She gazes round about as if amazed ; She is aHve ; she breathes^ but yet she speaks not I Pandora descends from the pedestal. CHORUS OF THE GRACES. AGLAIA. In the workshop of Hephccslnis "What is this I see ? Have the Gods to four increased us Who were only three ? Beautiful in form and feature, Lovely as the day. Can there be so fair a creature t P'ormed of common clay ? THALIA, () sweet, pale face ! O lovely eyes of azure, Clear as the waters of a brook that run 74 The Masque of Pandora. Limpid and laughing in the summer sun ! O golden hair that like a miser's treasure In its abundance overflows the measure ! O graceful form, that cloudlike floatest on With the soft, undulating gait of one Who moveth as if motion were a pleasure ! By what name shall I call thee ? Nymph or Muse, Callirrhoe or Urania ? Some sweet name Whose every syllable is a caress Would best befit thee ; but I cannot choose, Nor do I care to choose ; for still the same, Nameless or named, will be thy loveliness. EUPHROSYNE. Dowered with all celestial gifts. Skilled in every art That ennobles and uplifts And delights the heart. Fair on earth shall be thy fame As 'y face is fair, And Pandora be the name Thou henceforth shall bear. use, e, II. OLYMPUS. HERMES, putting on his sandals. Much must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods, And I, who p.m their herald, most of all. No rest have I, nor respite. I no sooner Unclasp the winged sandals from my feet, Than I again must clasp them, and depart Upon some foolish errand. But to-day The errand is not foolish. Never yet With greater joy did I obey the summons That sends me earthward. I will fly so swiftly That my caduceus in the whistling air Shall make a sound like the Pandaean pipes, Cheating the shepherds ; for to-day I go, Commissioned by high-thundering Zeus, to lead A maiden to Prometheus, in his tower. And by my cunning arguments persuade him To marry her. What mischief lies concealed In this design I know not \ but I know (75) The Masque of Pandora. Who thinks of marrying hath already taken One step upon the road to penitence. Such embassies delight me. Forth I launch On the sustaining air, nor fear to fall Like Icarus, nor swerve aside like him Who drove amiss Hyperion's fiery steeds. I sink, I fly ! The yielding element Folds itself round about me like an arm, And holds me as a mother holds her child. III. TOWER OF PROMETHUS ON MOUNT CAUCASUS. PROMETHEUS. I hear the trumpet of Alectryon Proclaim the dawn. The stars begin to fade, And all the heavens are full of prophecies And evil auguries. Blood-red last night I saw great Kronos rise ; the crescent moon Sank through the mist, as if it were the scythe His parricidal hand had flung far down The western steeps. O ye Immortal Gods, What evil are ye plotting and contriving ^ HERMES and PANDORA at the threshold. PANDORA. I cannot cross the threshold. An unseen And icy hand repels me. These blank walls Oppress me with their weight ! (77) h ii^ i'r '• '■\<.': ii^ui 78 T/ie Masque of Pandora. PROMETHEUS. Powerful ye are, But not omnipotent. Ye c?'inot fight Against Necessity. The Fates control you, As they do us, and so far we are equals I PANDORA. Motionless, passionless, companionless, He sits there muttering in his beard. His voice Is like a river flowing underground ! HERiMES. Prometheus, hail ! PROMETHEUS. Who calls me ? HERMES. It is I. Dost thou now know me ? PROMETHEUS. By thy winged cap And winged heels I know thee. Thou art Hermes, Captain of thieves ! Hast thou again been stealing Tower of Prometheus on Mount Caucasus. The heifers of Admetus in the sweet Meadows of asphodel ? or Hera's girdle ? Or the earth-shaking trident of Poseidon ? HERMES. And thou, Prometheus : say, hast thou again Been stealing fire from Helios' chariot-wheels To light thy furnaces ? PROMETHEUS* ^Vhy comest thou hither So early in the dawn ? 79 HERMES The Immortal Gods Know naught of late or early. Zeus himself The omnipotent hath sent me. PROMETHEUS. HERMES. To bring this maiden to thee. PROMETHEUS. For what purpose ? I mistrust The Gods and all their gifts If they have sent her It is for no good purpose. so The Masque of Pandora. HERMES. What disaster Could she bring on thy house, who is a woman ? PROMETHEUS. The gods are not my friends, nor am I theirs. Whatever comes from them, though in a shape As beautiful as this, is evil only. Who art thou ? » PANDORA. One who, though to the unknown, Yet knoweth thee. PROMETHEUS. How should'st thou know me, woman ? PANDORA. Who knoweth not Prometheus the humane ? PROMETHEUS. Prometheus the unfortunate ; to whom Both Gods and men have shown themselves ungrateful. When every spark was quenched on every hearth Throughout the earth, I brought to man the fire And all its ministrations. My reward Hath been the rock and vulture. m Tower of Prometheus on Mount Caucasus. 8i HERMES. But the Gods At last relent and pardon. PROMETHEUS. They relent not ; They pardon not ; they are implacable, Revengeful, unforgiving ! HERMES. As a pledge Of reconciliation they have sent to thee This divine being, to be thy companion, And bring unto thy melancholy house The sunshine and fragrance of her youth. PROMETHEUS. I need them not. I have within myself All that my heart desires ; the ideal beauty Which the creative faculty of mind Fashions and follows in a thousand shapes More lovely than the real. My own thoughts Are my companions ; my designs and labors And aspirations are my only friends. 82 The Masque of Pandora, HERMES. Decide not rashly. The decision made Can never be recalled. The (]ods implore not, Plead not, solicit not ; they only offer Choice and occasion, which once being passed Return no more. Dost thou accept the gift ? PROMETHEUS. No gift of theirs, in whatsoever shape It comes to me, with whatsoever charm To fascinate my sense, will I receive. Leave me. PANDORA. Let us go hence. I will not stay. HERMES. We leave thee to thy vacant drea.ms, and all The silence and the solitude of thought, The endless bitterness of unbelief. The loneliness of existence without love. CHORUS OF THE FATES. CLOTHO. How the Titan, the defiant. The self-centred, self-reliant, Tower of Prometheus on Mount Caucasus. 8; Wrapped in visions cind illusions, Robs himself of life's best gifts ! Till by all the storm-winds shaken, By the blast of fate o'ertaken, Hopeless, helpless, and forsaken. In the mists of his confusions To the reefs of doom he drifts ! LACHES IS. Sorely tried and sorely tempted, From no agonies exempted, In the penance of his trial. And the discipline of pain ; Often by illusions cheated. Often baftled and defeated In the tasks to be completed. He, by toil and self-denial. To the highest shall attain. ATROPOS. Tempt no more the noble schemer ; Bear unto some idle dreamer This new toy and fascination. This new dalliance and delight ! To the garden where reposes 84 The Masqiu of Pand/'^'a. *^ »*'« w '■ ' ll' 1 %'■ - :: 1 w B9h ^ ll HMB vj Epimetheus crowned with roses, To the doer that never closes Upon pleasure and temptation, Bring this vision of the night ! H ■ If ! ij„, (s h IV. THE AIR. HERMES, returning to Olympus. As lowly as the tower that he inhabits, As firm and cold as are the crags about him, Prometheus stands. The thunderbolts of Zeus Alone can move him ; but the tender heart Of Epimetheus, burning at white heat, Hammers and flames like all his brother's forges ! Now as an arrow from Hyperion's bow. My errand done, I fly, I float, I soar Into the air returning to Olympus. joy of motion ! O delight to cleave The infinite realms of space, tiie liquid ether, Through the warm sunshine and the cooling cloud Myself as light as sunbeam or as cloud ! With one touch of my swift and winged feet, 1 spurn the solid earth, and leave it rocking As rocks the bough from which a bird tnkes wing. (85) V. THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS. EPIMETHEUS. Beautiful apparition ! go not hence ! Surely thou art a Goddess, for thy voice Is a celestial melody, and thy form Self-poised as if it floated on the air ! TANDORA. No Goddess am I, nor of heavenly birth, But a mere woman fashioned out of clay And mortal as the rest. EPIMETHEUS. Thy face is fair ; There is a wonder in thine azure eyes That fascinates me. Thy whole presence seems A soft desire, a breathing thought of love. Say, would thy star like Merope's grow dim If thou shouldst wed beneath thee ? (86) The House of Epivietheus. 87 PANDORA. Ask me not ; I cannot answer tbee. I only know The Gods have sent me hither. EPIMETHEUS. I believe, And thus believing am most fortunate. It was not Hermes led the here, but Eros, And swifter than his arrows Avere thine eyes In wounding me. There was no moment's space Between my seeing thee and loving thee. O, what a tell-tale face thou hast ! Again I see the wonder in thy tender eyes. PANDORA. They do but answer to the love in thine, Yet secretly I wonder thou shouldst love me. Thou knowest me not. EPIxMETHEUS. Perhaps I know thee better Than had I known thee longer. Yet it seems That I have always known thee, and but now Have found thee. Ah, I have been waiting long. 88 The Masque of Pandora. PANDORA. How beautiful is this house ! The atmosphere Breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers Seem full of welcomes. EPIMETHEUS. They not only seem, But truly are. This dwelling and its master Belong to thee. PANDORA. Here let me stay forever ! There is a spell upon me. EPIMETHEUS. Thou thyself Art the enchantress, and I feel thy power Envelop me, and wrap my soul and sense In an Elysian dream. * PANDORA. O, let me stay. How beautiful are all things round about me, Multiplied by the mirrors on the walls ! What treasures hast thou here ! Yon oaken chest, Carven with figures and embossed v/ith gold. Is wonderful to look upon ! What choice And precious things dost thou keep hidden in it ? The House of EpimetJmis. 89 ;elf ; Stay. EPIMETHEUS.. I know not. 'Tis a mystery. PANDORA. Hast thou never Lifted the lid ? EPIMETHEUS. The oracle forbids. Safely concealed there from all mortal eyes Forever sleeps the secret of the Gods. Seek not to know what t ley have hidden from thee, Till they themselves reveal it. PANDORA. EPIMETHEUS. As thou wilt. Let us go forth from this mysterious place. The garden walks are pleasant at this hour ; The nightingales among the sheltering boughs Of populous and many-nested trees Shall teach me how to v^oe thee, and shall tell me By what resistless charms or incantations They won their mates. PANDORA. Thou dost not need a teacher. Thy go out. 90 The Masque of Pandora. CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES. What the Immortals Confide to thy keeping, Tell unto no man Waking or sleeping, Closed be thy portals To friend as to foeman. Silence conceals it ; The word that is spoken Betrays and reveals it ; By breath or by token The charm may be broken. With shafts of their splendors The Gods unforgiving Pursue the offenders, The dead and the living ! Fortune forsakes them, jXor earth shall abide them, Nor Tartarus hide them ; Swift wrath overtakes them ! With useless endeavor, Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling The House of Epimdhats. His stone up the mountain ! Immersed in the fountain, Tantalus tastes not The water that wastes not ! Through ages increasing The pangs that afflict him, With motion unceasing The wheel of Ixion Shall torture its victim ! 91 "^^^ W I?- VI. IN THE GARDEN. KPIMF/rHKUS. Yon snow-white cloud that sails sublime in ether Is but the sovereign Zeus, who like a swan I'lies to fair-ankled Leda ! i\ Hi r li PANDORA. Or perchance Ixion's cloud, the shadowy shape of Hera, That boro the Centaurs. Kl'IMKTHKUS. The divine and human. CHORUS OF lURDS. Gently swaying to and fro, Rocked by all the winds that blow, Bright Ivith sunshine from above Dark with shadow from below, Beak to beak and breast to breast In the cradle of their nest, Lie the Hedglings of our love. (92) /// the Gankii. ' 93 KCHO. Love I love ! KPIMETHEUS. Hark \ listen .' Hear liow sweetly overhead The feathered flute-players pipe their songs of lovt And echo answers, love and only love. CHORUS OF BIRDS. P>ery flutter of the wing, Every note of song we sing. Every murmur, every tone, Is of love and love alone. ECHO. Love alone ! ki'imf:theu.s. AVho would not love, if loving she might be Changed like Callisto to a star in heaven ? PANDORA. Ah, who would love, if loving she might be Like Semele consumed and burnt to ashes ? Kl I.MKJHKUS. ^^'hence knovvest thou these stories ? The Masque of Pandora. PANDORA. Hermes taught me ; told me all the history of the ( iods. CHORUS OF REEDS. Evermore a sound shall be In the reeds of Arcady, Evermore a low lament Of unrest and discontent, As the story is retold Of the nymph so coy and cold, Who with frightened feet outran The»,f)ursuing ste[)S of Pan. EPIMETHEUS. pipe of Pan out of these reeds is made, when he plays upon it to the shepherds pity him, so mournful is the sound, lou not coy and cold as Syrinx was. PANDORA. thou as Pan be rude and mannerless. PROMETHEUS, Ivit/lOUt. Epimetheus ! EPIMETHEUS. ris my brother's voice. In the Garden. A'sound unwelcome and inopportune As was the braying' of Silenus' ass, Heard in Cybele's garden. PANDORA. Let me go. I would not be found here. I would not see him. {She escapes among the trees. CHORUS OF r)RYAJ)E.S. Haste and hide thee, Ere too late, In these thickets intricate ; Lest Prometheus See and chide thee, Lest some hurt Or harm betide thee, Haste and hide thee : PROMETHEUS entering. AVho was it fled from here ? I saw a shape Flitting among the trees. 95 EPIMETHEUS. It was Pandora IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V / {•/ O ,<" m. "9.^ I t-?/ o^ I 'nfl^ 'OT"^ 96 The Masque oj Pandora. PJiOMETHKUS. O Epimetheus ! Is it then in vain That I have warned thee ? Let me now implore. Thou harborest in thine house a dangerous guest. EPIMETHEUS. Whom the Gods love they honour with such guests. PROMETHEUS. Whom the (iods would destroy they first make mad. EPIMK'rHKUS. Shall 1 refuse the gifts they send to me ? PROMETHEUS. Reject all gifts that come from higher powers. epimf:theus. « Such gifts as this are not to be rejected. PROMETHEUS. Make not thyself the slave of any woman. EPIMETHEUS. Make not thyself the judge of any man. //; the Garden. 97 PROMETHKUS 1 judge thee not ; for thou art more than man ; Thou art decended from Titanic race, And hast a Titan's strength, and faculties That make thee godUke ; and thou sittest here Like Heracles spinning Omphale's flax. And ])eaten with her sandals. KI'IMETHEUS. O my brother ! Thou drivest me to madness with thy taunts. PROMKTHEUS. And me thou drivest to madness with tliy follies. Come with me to my tower on Caucasus \ See there my forges in the roaring caverns, Beneficent to man, and taste the joy That springs from labor. Read with me the stars, And learn the virtues that lie liidden in plants, And all things that are useful. EPTMETHEUS. my brother ! 1 am not as thou art. Thou dost inherit Our father's strength, and I our mother's weakness The softness of the Oceanides, The yielding nature that cnnnot resist. 98 The Masqi/c of Pandora. PROMETHEUS. Because thou wilt not. EPIMETHEUS. Nay ; because I cannot. PROMETHETTS. Assert thyself; rise up to thy full height ; Shake from thy soul these dreams effeminate, These passions born of indolence and ease. Resolve, and thou art free. But breathe the air Of mountains, and their unapproachable summits Will lift thee to the level of tliemselves. EPIMETHEUS. The roar of forests and of waterfalls, The rushing of a mighty v/ind, with loud And undistinguishable voices calling, Are in my ear I PROMETHEUS. O, listen and obey. EPIMETHEUS. Thou leadest me as a child. 1 follow thee. They go out. /// tJic Garden. 99 CHORUS OF OREADKS. Centuries old are the mountains ; Their foreheads wrinkled and rifted Helios crowns by day, Palid Selene by night ; From their bosoms uptossed The snows are driven and drifted, Like Tithonus' beard Streaming dishevelled and white. Thunder and tempest of wind Their trumpets blow in the vastness ; Phantoms of mist and rain, Cloud and the shadow of cloud. Pass and repass by the gates Of their inaccessible fastness ; Ever unmoved they stand, Solemn, eternal, and proud. VOICES OF THE WATERS. Flooded by rain and anow In their inexhausdble sources, Swollen by affluent streams Hurrj'ing onward and hurled Headlong over the crags, The impetuous water-courses, Rush and roar and plunge roo ' The Masque of Paiidoia. Down to the netlicrniost world. Say, have the solid rocks Into streams of silver been melted, Flowing over the plains, Spreading to lakes in the fields ? (Jr have the mountains, the giants. The ice-helmed, the forest-belted. Scattered their arms abroad ; Flung in the meadows their shields ? VOICES OF THE WIND High on their turretted clifts That bolts of thunder have shattered, Storm-winds muster and blow Trumpets of terrible breath ; Then from the gateways rush, And before them routed and scattered i)ullen the cloud-rack flies, Pale with the pallor of death. Onward the hurricane rides. And flee for shelter the shepherds ; White are the frightened leaves. Harvests with terror are white ; Panic seizes the herds. And even the lions and leopards. Prowling no longer for prey, Crouch in their caverns with fright. /;/ the Garden. lOI VOICKS OK IHK FOR'ST. ( kiarding the mountains around Majestic the forests are standing, J^right are their crested helms, 1 )ark is their armor of leaves ; Filled with the breath of freedom Kach bosom subsiding, expanding, Now like the ocean sinks, Now like the ocean upheaves. Planted firm on the rock. With foreheads firm and defiant, Loud they shout to the winds. Loud to the tempest they call ; Naught but Olympian thunders. That blasted Titan and Giant, " I'hem can uproot and overthrow. Shaking the earth with their fall. CHORUS OF ORKADES. These are the Voices Three Of winds and forests and fountains Voices of earth and air, Murmur and rushing of streams. Making together one sound. The mysterious voice of the mountains, 102 ^ The Mait/iw of Pandora. Waking the sluggard that sleeps. Waking the dreamer of dreams, These are the Voices Three, That speak of endless endeavor, Speak of endurance and strength. Triumph and fulness of fame, Sounding about the world, An inspiration forever. Stirring the hearts of men. Shaping their end and their aim. VII. • THE HOL'SK OF KPJMK'rHKUS. I'ANIJORA. Left to myself I wander as I will, And as my fancy leads me, through this house, Nor could I ask a dwelling more complete Were I indeed the Goddess that he deems me. No mansion of Olympus, framed to be 'i'he habitation of the Immortal Oods, Can be more beautiful. And this is mine And more than this, the love vvherewith he crowns me. » As if impelled by powers invisible And irresistible, my steps return Into this spacious hall. All corridors And passages lead hither, and all doors But open into it. Yon mysterious chest Attracts and fascinates me. Would I knew What there lies hidden ! But the oracle Forbids. Ah me ! The secret then is safe. ( >o3) ir^'i 104 llic Afasipie of Pandora. So would it be if it were in my keeping. A crowd of shadowy faces from the mirrors That line these walls are watching me. I dare not Lift up the lid. A hundred times the act Would be repeated, and the secret seen By twice a hundred incorporeal eyes. Slic lualks to tilt other side of the hall. My feet are weary, wandering to and fro, My eyes with seeing and my heart with waiting. I will lie here and rest till he returns, Who is my dawn, my day, my Helios. 'Throws herself upon a couch and falls asleep. ♦ ZEPHVRUS. Come from thy caverns dark and deep, O son of Krebus and Night ; All sense of hearing and of sight Enfold in the serene delight And quietude of sleep 1 Set all thy silent sentinels To bar and guard the Ivory Gate, And keep the evil dreams of fate And falsehood and infernal hate Imprisoned in their cells. The House of Epimetheus. But ojien wide the gate of Horn, Whence, beautiful as planets, rise The dreams of truth, with starry eyes, And all the wondrous prophecies And visions of the morn. 105 LHORUS OK DREAMS FROM iHK IVORY GATK, Ye sentinels of sleep, It is in vain ye keep Your drowsy watch before the Ivory Gate ; Though closed the ')ortal seems, The airy feet of dreams Ye cannot thus in walls incarcerate. We phantoms are and dreams Born by ''\artarean streams, As ministers of the infernal powers ; O son of Erebus And Night, behold ! we thus Elude your watchful wardens on the towers I From gloom) Tartarus The Fates have summoned us To whisper in her ear, who lies asleep, A tale to fan the fire Of her insane desire To know a secret that the Gods would keep. J oft The Masque of Pandora. This passion, in their ire, The Gods themselves inspire, To vex mankind with evils manifold, So that disease and pain O'er the whole earth may reign, And nevermore return the Age of Gold. PANDORA, waking. A voice said in my sleep : " Do not delay : Do not delay ; the golden moments tly ! The oracle hath forbidden ; yet not thee Doth it forbid, but J^pimetheus only !" 1 am alone. These faces in the mirrors Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself ; They cannot help nor hinder. No one sees me, Have the all-seeing Gods, who, knowing good And knowing evil, have created me Such as I am, and filled me with desire Of knowing good and evil like themselves. She approaches fhe chest. I hesitate no longer. Weal or woe, Or life or death, the moment shall decide. She lifts the lid. A dense mist rises from the chest, and Jills the room. Pandora falls senseless on the floor. Storm without. The House of Epimdhetis. 107 « llORUS OV DRKANfS FROM THK CATE OF HORN. Ves, the moment shall decide ! It already hath decided ; And the secret once confided To the keeping of the Titan Now is Hying far and wide, Wliispered, told on every side, To disquiet and to frighten. Fever of the heart and brain. Sorrow, pestilence, and pain. Moans of anguish, maniac laughter, All the evils that hereafter Shall afflict and vex mankind, All into the air have risen From the chambers of their prison ; Only Hope remains behind. chest, and . Storm VIII. ■ IN THE GARDEN. EPIMETHEUS. The storm is past, but it hath left behind it Ruin and desolation. All the walks Are strewn with shattered boughs ; the birds are silent, The flowers, downtrodden by the wind, lie dead ; The swollen rivulet sobs with 'iecret pain : The melancholy reeds whisper together As if some dreadful deed had been committed They dare not name, and all the air is heavy ^Vith an unspoken sorrow ! Premonitions, Eoreshadowings of some terrible disaster Oppress my heart. Ye Gods, avert the omen 1 PANDORA, coming from the house. O Epimetheus, I no longer dare To lift mine eyes to thine, nor hear thy voice, Being no longer worthy of thy love. (io8) /// ///." Garden. ■ EPIMETHEUS. ^Vhat hast thou done ? . PANDORA. Forgive me not, but kill nie. EPr.METHEUS. What hast thiu done? PANDORA. ' ' J pra}' for death, not pardon. EPIMETHEUS. What hast thou done ? PANDOK \. / ^ dare not speak of it. EPIMETHEUS. ' Thy pallor and thy silence terrify me ! ' PANDORA. I have brought wrath and ruin on thy house ' My heart hath braved the oracle that guarded 109 The fatal recret fr om us, and my hand Lifted the lid of the mysterious chest 1 lO The Alasqiw of Pandora. El'IMETHEUS. Then all is lost ! I am indeed undone. PANDORA. 1 pray for punishment, and not for pardon. EPIMETHEUS. Mine is the fau)t, not thine. On me shall fall The vengeance of the Gods, for I betrayed Their secret when, in evil hour, 1 said * It was a secret.; when, in evil hour, I left thee here alone to this temptation. Why did I leave thee ? ^ PANDORA. \Vhy didst thou return ? Eternal absence would have been to me The greatest punishment. To be left alone And face to face with my own crime, had been Just retribution. Upon me, ye (iods, Let all your vengeance fall ! EPIMETHEUS. On thee and me. I do not love thee less for what is done. And cannot be undone. Thy very weakness ' /// the Garden. II I Hath brought thee nearer to me, and henceforth My love will have a sense of pity in it, Making it less a worship than before. PANDORA. Pity me not ; pity is degradation. Love me and kill me. EPIMETHEUS, Beautiful Pandora Thou art a Goddess still ! PANDORA. I am a woman ; And the insurgent demon in my nature, That made me brave the oracle, revolts At pity and compassion. Let me die ; What else remains for me ? me. KPIMETHEtlS. Youth, hope, and love : To build a new life on a ruined life, To make the future fairer than the past, And make the past appear a troubled dream. Even now in passing through the garden walks Upon the ground I saw a fallen nest iii.:l 2 I The Mas