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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la methode. 1 2 3 4 5 6 The Woman IN THE Rain AND OTHER POEMS BY ARTHUR STRINGER Al l IlilR OP "THE WIRE TAPPKRS," "PHANTOM WIRES," ETC. BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1907 257233 Copyright, tgoj. By Little, Brown, and Company. All rights reserved Published November, 1907 COLONIAL PRESS SUctrotyped and Prtnttdby C. H. Simondt 4* Ct. BottoH, U. S. A. DEDICATION HA T bird that climbs the cool dim Dawn But loves the air its wild n-iiigs roam ? And yet when all the day is gone But turns its ur -i-y piiiio"s home, And lihen the ycUoi^' t-,i<"\i^Iil fills The lonely stretches of the West, Comes down across the darkened hills, Once more to its remembered resi ? And I icho stnyed, G Fond and True, To seek that glory jui^itive And fleeting music that is You, But echoes of yourself can give As through the waning gold I come To where the Dream and Dreamer meet: Yet should my faltering lips be dumb, I lay these gleanings at your jeeil Prefatory Note " Sappho in Leucadia," in shorter form, was first pub- lished in London, four years ago. In the same year /\.ins- lee's Magazine printed certain parts of the [)lay diah'ng with Sapi)ho"s love for Phaon. Portions of " The Passing of Aphrodite " appeared in the Atlantic Montiily under the title of " Hepha?stus." Likewise some of the shorter poLiiis in this book have been printed in periodicals, and I am indebted to the editors of the following m;.g;i/ines for jHTmission to reissue such verse--: Tb.e Caniulian, Tlie Oxford, The Bookman, The Century. The Smart Set, The American, The Reader, Ainslee's, McClure's, i:very- body's and Harper's. A. S. CONTENTS PAGB Dedication Thk Passing of Aphrodite . . . . i The Modern Speaks 9 Omar Khayvam lo War II On an Old Battleground 12 A Woman Sang 13 NoN Omnis M oriar 18 The Anarchist 18 On a Child's Portrait 19 At the Tragedy 20 The Final Lesson 22 The Old Garden 23 Philosophies 27 The Seek 28 The Song- sparrow in November ... 28 The Woman in the Rain 29 Sleep and Death 35 In the Open 36 White Nights 37 The Wordless Touch 38 The Knight Errant 38 vii CONTENTS Morning in the North - west Beside the Martyrs' Memorial Dreams Thk Daughter of Demeter On the Open Trail Night Travel Under the Stars . Gifts .... Two Captives When Closing Swinburne The Shadowing Gods . Keats .... The Shadow . Unanoixted Altars On a Chopin Nocturne The Wanderers . At the Comedy An Epitaph The Man Who Killed On a Portrait of R. L. S. Northern Pines . On Ri.- reading Hamlet The Singers . Riches .... When the King Comes into His The Skekkks ... Death and a Child Life and Labor . LvoNORs of Lyonesse . In the Temple op Neptune Own CONTENTS IX The Sonata Appassionata Mv Friend, the Enemy The Musician Speaks in Candor Sunset in the Far North A Woman's Hand . The Age of Laughter She Seemed a Wild Bird Labor Destiny . The Keeper . The Two Rooms Memories The Ascent of Man . The Shadowing Past . The Storm The Lure o' Life . A Dialogue in Spring . From the Port's Corner The Fugitive. A Song for the Road Art's Futilities . Remorse .... A Rhymer's Epilogue . Sappho in LeucadIa The Three Voices 88 90 90 90 91 92 93 93 94 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 10.! 108 109 no 112 112 H3 i'5 264 The Woman in the Rain THE PASSING OF APHRODITE (It was Zeus, the father of life, who gave Aphrodite, the most be;iutiful of the goddes?"es, in marriage to his son Hephaestus. Hephaestus, we are told, later found that his wife loved and was loved by his own brother Ares. So the husband, who speaks below, voluntarily surrendered the goddess to this younger and more favored brother.) 'T'HIS is the woman that the dreaming hours Of all the world delivered unto you ! This is the woman — look ! These are the eyes That made the moonlight lean upon the sea And filled the earth with pulsing loveliness And turned the quiet winds of night to winr ! These are the lijis that [)aved the worki with pain And threw a mist about you as you turned Reluctant-eyed away ! This is the breast (While shield and sword and greave lay in the dew) That made all waking life an empty thing Once whisnered of by ghosts in ghostly t^ncs! So take her, Ares ! ... As Demeter mourned 2 THE PASSING OF APHRODITE Through many-fountained Enna, I must grieve A time forlorn, and fare alone, and learn, Some still autumnal twilight by her sea Pale gold with sunhght. to remember not! For as the pine foregoes the pilgrim thrush, 1, sad of heart yet unimpassioned, vield To you this surging bosom soft dreams This body fashioned of ^gean foam Ami langorous moonlight. Yet I give you not Ihe eludnig soul that in her broods and sleeps. And ne'er was mine of old, nor can I^e yours It was not bom of sea and moon with her And tliough it nests within her, no weak hand Of hers shall cage it as it comes and goes, Sorrows and wakens, sleeps and sings again It was not mine to give, nor mine to guard. Thougii ail the stars were ours to sentinel The mght through which it moves, no god or man Could Cham and hold that heart, and call it his And so I give you but the hoUow lute, The lute alone, and not the voices low That sang of old to some forgotten touch. The lamp I give, but not he glimmering flame Some fragile hand withholds, some mystic dusk i^nisles m Love's last naked loneliness. The shell I give you, Ares, not the song Of murmuring winds and waves once haunting it: The cage, but not the wings that come and go THE PASSING OF APHRODITE I give them, Ares, as the passive earth Gives up the dew, the mountain-side the mist ! Farewell, sad face, that gleamed so like a flower Through Paphian groves to me of old, — farewell ! Some fate beyond our dark-robed Three ordaiiied This love should wear the ni irtal rose, and not Our timeless amaranth. 'Twas writ of old, and lay Not once wit) us. As we ourselves have known, And well your sad Dodonian mother found. From deep to deep the sails of destined love Are blown and tossed b} tides no god controls; And at the bud of our too golden life Eats this small canker of mortality. I loved her once, O Ares — I loved her once as waters love the wind; I sought her once as rivers seek the sea ; And her dec[) eyes, so dream-besieged, made dawn And midniglit one. Flesh of my tlesh she was, And we together knew dark days and glad. Then fell the change. Some hand unknown to us Shook one white petal from the perfect flower And all the world grew old. Ah who shall say When Summer dies, or when is blown the rose? Or where the light of some lone torch becomes The twilight and the shadow and the dark? Who, who shall say just when the quiet star 4 THE PASSING OF APHRODITE Out of the golden west is born again Or when the gloaming saddens into night? Twas writ, in truth, of old; the tide of love Has met its turn, the long horizon lures The homing bird, the harb.,r calls tlie sail Home, home to your glad heart she goes, while I 1 are on alone, and only broken dreams AbP e with me! And yet when she and you Shall tread those loneliest paths of mortal love That mount and circle to the uttermost \\Tute solitude of Rapture, and there breathe Some keener air grown over-exquisite, And look through purpling twilight on the world i^ream not my spirit follows nevermore Those glimmering feet that gladly walked with me ^or say my passion by your passion paled. But lower than the god the temple stands. As deeper is the sea than any wave Sweeter the Summer th.m its asphodel, So love far .tronger th. t this woman ,s She from the untiring (Aean took n.. birth -nd from torn waves and fo.wn her first fai^t breath- Chud of unrest and change, still tnrough her sweens Her natal sea's tumultuous waywardness. ^ And .s she comes and goes one little cloud Curl, upward from the altar - but the grove And god endure, and know not change or death! THE PASSING OF APHRODITE Yet she shall nrnve the strange desii s of men; Her mild uuro .il brow shall flash and burn Before the woiid for other eyes than ours! Yea, while you call 1 er yours, a thousand youths Shall live and die for her soft loveliness ! And you shall guard her as the Ocean guard'^ Its shores of tcndcrcst green, till wave by wave The melling hills surrender to the deep, — But she will wliisper through the silences Of night when nothing seems to breathe and move, And back in moonbeams she will come to them Beseechingly, — and they shall be with her, As leaves wilh light, as waters with the Sea! For in her lie dim glories that she dreams Not of, and o'er her rests a floating crown Her Cyprian eyes ne'er saw; and evermore Round her pale face shall pleading faces press; Round lier shall mortal passion beat and ebb; And evermore as waves break white, and foam, And die away on bars of brooding green, Madly shall lives on her soft beauty break! When yours she is, and in ambrosial glooms You secretly would chain her kiss by kiss. Though close you hold her in your hungering arms And with voluptuous pantings you and she Mingle, and seem the insentient moment one, Yet will your groping soul but lean to her Across the dusk, as hill to lonely hill; 6 THE PASSING OF APffHOD/TE And in your warmest raptures you shall learn There .s a c.tadel surrenders not lo every captor of the outer walls- In sorrow you shall learn there is a light Illumines not, a chamber it were best lo leave untrod! Thnt ;i , • ^ Ares, dread the word That Hlenccs th,s timorous nightingale, The touci, that wakens strin-N too fr,,- f hand that cru.hesWth:i;:^^;^^^^ The fragUe wonder and the woven gold ' ^ f'"^''^^' I g-n what you shall lose- r ,r.ak,ng her, I hold her closer still I He sea shall take a deeper sound; "the stars S^anger and more mysten^^ Sh 11 seem; the darkening sky-line of the West For me, the solitary dreamer, now shall ho d Wsa.,,f,cesthatIknewnotof! a17: 7'"';- r'^^"—- mean to me, And. "---hIo,Hiyn.usin,, ever seem 1 as are the dead. \' • But you — si'allh ,ir'J 'T' '"^ ™"'"i"S rose Th, J < l..,rd, the sundered vei The golden w,„g,, „„, . ™I. Solovevourho>,r,brigh,g„d,ere i,i lol, THE PASSING OF APHRODITE A swan that sings its broken life away ! In that brief hour, 'tis writ, you shall hear breathe rmm some enchanted home stranj^e harmonies, Tlnn mourn life's silent throats for evermore, — \ ca, you >hall lind the altar when its fires Turn ashes and the worship vain regret. A mystic law more strong than all delight ,)ain shall each delicious rapture chill, Exacting sternly for each ecstasy; And when her voice enwraps you, and in arms Luxurious your softest langor comes, Faintly torn wings shall flutter for the Sun, ISIadly old dreams shall struggle toward the light. And, drugged with opiate pas>ion, you shall know Dark days and shadowy moods when she may seem To some dusk underworld enchaining you. Yet I shall know her as she was of old, Fashioned of moonlight and illgean foam; Some visionary gleam, some glory strange Shall (lav by day engolden her lost face; The slow attrition of the \ears shall wear No luring charm away, and she sliall live A lonely star, a gust of music sweet, A voice upon the Deep, a mystery ! Bir fi tb.i night, I know, 'he lonely wind Sh ilj Mgli of her, the restless Ocean moan Her nLime with immemorial murmurings, THE PASSING OF APHRODITE The sad and golden sur ^mer moon shall mourn With mc, and through the gi(x,m of ru>th'ng leaves The shaken thnats of nightingales shall bring Her low voice back, the incense of the fields Recall too well the odor of her hair, The white and rose and wonder of the dawn Rebuild in my most secret heart of heart The marble of her body touched with fire! Yet life in time must put away the thing That is no longer life; and as the leaves Of other years are lost, each dream of her Shall die and be entombed; and in the end I (iuictly shall watch where hill and plain Throb through their dome of brooding hyaline, And see, from Athens gold to Indus gray, From Albis down to Ophir, other worlds Awaiting me, and unembittered go, — Go down among the toilers of the Earth And seek the rest, the deeper peace that comes Of vast cnd(tilled through all the years this ageing wine Of song, from Earth's dark ferment of first speech ! i8 NON OA/jV/S MORIAR NON OMNIS MORIAR JX the teeth of the Word that bars my track, In the swirl of the Ebb that sucks me down, In the face of the storm that llings me back On the wrath of a Deep grown mountainous- walled, I, /, tide by tide, and tack by tack, As far as the chains will let me free, — I threading a course unbuoyed and black, And feeling the Night where fanged rocks frown, Ere the last spar fail shall have somehow crawled To that Port whence shone no light for me; Where wrecked, if you will, but unappalled, I shall know I am stronger than my Sea ! THE ANARCHIST p*ROM out her golden palace Fortune thrust A maddened dog, whose mouth foamed white with hate; And loud he howled and gnawed the courtyard dust And giound his teeth upon the iron gate ! ON A CHILD'S PORTRAIT ON A CHILD'S PORTRAIT F\EEP in the fluted hollow of its shells Dimly some echo of the Ocean dwells. Still in Scptemi)cr's fruitage mellow-cnrcd The filtered sweets of golden noons are stored. And shimmering on a blue-bird's migrant wings Some poignant touch of June's lost azure clings. Still in the rustling sheaf to-day nere gleams The lingering gold of April's vanished dreams. Still in the cell of one autumnal bee I find lost Summer in epitome. And all that better life that I would lead, Writ small in this, one childish face, I read. 20 AT THE TRAGEDY AT THE TRAGEDY pROM old Wrona down the years, See, crept thi^ timeless cry Of one great love grown soft with tears And burdened with a sigh. 'Twas all this many a day ago, And dim their W(,r]d is grown; Since then the drifting years like snow 'Twixt Youth and us have blown. And yet you brushed aside a tear. And drew one deeper breath; With pain like to their sorrow, Dear, As sleep is like their death. The music sobbed itself awav. The great dark curtain fell; And touched by ail their foolish play, I saw \uur bosom swell. They, they knew Love — uiough all too late And happier, lo, they sleep. AT THE TRAGEDY 21 Since for no Morrow now they wait, And for no change shall weep. But Life with us, see, runs so thin. Our pale hearts take nor give, And one ^reat love comes seldom in The little lives we live. And through our emptier day weave Old sorrows long gone by, And liave but paltry things to grieve, And none for which to die. So with mock loves and hopes and fears We people our poor days; And freshened at Art's fount of tears. We go our careless ways. We go our careless ways, and yet For some grim Venture yearn ; Then, daring not, with vague regret To opiate tales we turn. For Life ran ruddier then, it seems, \\ hen men could love and die. Than here with us who dream soft dreams. And no stern Fate defy. 22 AT THE TRAGEDY So on you, watching, seemed to weigh Their old dead fears again; And for tlieir grim and foolish jilay You knew a moment's pain ! Yet 'twas not you who leaned above Their stage and shed a tear, At all their woe-entangled love Across each widening year ! 'Turn that Love's gliosl the ages gave To you, and you denied. Tlhit droimcd and turned in its deep grave And asked why it had died I THE FINAL LESSON J IU\E sought beauty through the du<{ of strife, I have sought meaning for the ancient ache. And music in the grinding wheels of life; Long have I sought, and little found as yet Beyond thi-^ truth: that Love alone can make Earth beautiful, and life without regret! THE OLD GARDEN THE OLL GARDEN "Y^HERE the dim paths wii. l and creep Down past dark and ghostly lands Lost this many a year in sleep, Still an ivied sun-dial stands. Still about the moss-grcencd urns Fall the rose-leaves ghostly whiter Still the sunset flames and bums In the basin's ghostly light. Still the Satyr by its rim Holds the marble reed he bore, And the brazen dolphins swim On the fountain's broken floor. Still afar some evening bell Creeps and fails, and sounds rnd dies, Where the ghostly >hado\vs dwell Here beneath the quiet skicF. Here within the lirhenec' walls Sleeps a land forever old. THE OLD GARDEN Where untroubled twilight falls On the casements touched with gold. Here the quiet hours flow, And tlie years take languid breath, Where the grasses only know Dusk and Silence, Sleep and Death. n Yet in some remembered June Wlien the bird-notes ceased to ring Down the eciioiiiLz: afternoon, •Here a woman Used to sing. Once where still the roses climb Round Iier cu>emcnts framed with green, Wrapt in thought, O mai v a time From her window ^: would lean, And when sun and birds were gone, With her cheek still in her hand, Gazed across this shadowy lawn, To a dim-grown valley land, Where a white road twined and curled Thro' black hills that barred the West, And the unknown outer world Filled her with a strange unrest. THE OLD GARDEN Here she wai.Jfred, braoding-eyed, Down each pathway friiiLTod with box, Where the hyacinths still hide, Where still flame t: hull) hocks. And across the whispering grass Where the ring-doves murmured low, Oft her singing heart would pass In that lyric Long Ago. Here tuberose and poppy red Saw her pause with lingering feet, — On the sun-dial lean her head, Crying out that life was sweet, — Asking Time, if Sjiring Ijy Spring, When she walked no longer there Other roses still could swing, Other blosson ; , scent the air ? — Weeping that she needs must leave Warmth and beauty, for the grave — Hush, what ghostly Voices grieve Where the regal lilies -wave ? m Still it sleeps, this lonely place Given o'er to dusk and dreams; 26 THE OLD GARDEN But her sad and tender face Never from the casement gleams. Still the ivied dial shows In its old-time wash of light N londay open like a rose, Though a shadow mark ils flight. Still the blossoms cling and bloom Deej) about her window-square, Still the sunlight floods the room. Still the tuberose scents the air; Still it waits her garden old, Still the waninu sunlight ljurns On the casements tinged with gold, On the green and muffled urns. Still along, the tangled walks. Though she knows them not again, Wait the patient rows of j)hlox. Pipes the Satyr in the rain. Though she comes no more to dream Here where she and Youth were one. Faint and ghostly voices seem Still to frighten back the sun. THE OLD GARDEN 27 IV Can it be that in some gray Twihglit She shall swing the gate? — Where in eager disarray btill her asters brood and wait? Where her wiser poppy knows, And her valiant violets Look and wonder, and the rose Round her darkened window frets? And these things that temporal seem, Rapture, Music, Loveliness, Beauty frail, and passing Gleam, Shall outlive the hearts they press ? Since, we trust, each glory strange, Ei!i !i vague hope Regret once gave, SItall outlive all death and change. As earth's love outlasts the gravel PHlLOSOnilES "y^E know not what doth lie beyond the Door, JUil in captivity behold us grown Enamored of our cell, in scrolling o'er With signs and legends strange each mural stone! 28 THE SEER THE SEEK ^^LONE on his dim heiglits of song and dream He saw the Dawn, and of its coming told; We on his brow beheld the luminous gleam And hearkened idly, for the Night was cold. Then (.iduds sliut out the view, and he was gone; And though the way is long and dark the -Night, And tiiough our dim eyes still await the Dawn, We saw a face that once beheld the Light. THE SONG -SPARROW IN NOVEMBER LOXE, forlorn, ^lown down autumnal hills, Floats sweetly >ulemn, lond and low. One mournful-noted song that fills The twilight, lonely grown with snow. O shower of sound that more than Music seems, O song that some vague sadness of fiirewell Leaves crowned and warn, with tears ! — must all our dreams Of deepest Beauty thus with Sorrow dwell? THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN 29 THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN JN God's uncleansing rain Tt ^its and waits, This huddled licaj) of rags and ashen hopes, This timeless thing of mumbling unconcern, That holds all coffined in its agued bones The embittered lives of men. And quietly As witlured gra-s, in that soft summer rain It waits Ijenealh tlie dripping green of leaves Made light with city lamps. And down the square Some pacing comrade thing, of painted mouth And sodden lace, and foul perfumeries, \\ iil) all her opulent young bosom wet By virginal warm rain, sa\ s three short uords To one she stalks, llien arm in arm thev ^link Out til rough the darkness, to tlieir cruel sleep. But still beneath the odorous drij)ping leaves Waits, sloven-shawled, and gaunt, and gray of lip, Tlii- liimh of old-time hapjiinos that holds, ('I'l-nKling-linihcd, so many ghci-tlv loves. Willi burned out eyes, anil brea;-l> all fallen in. Sepulchral-like, she waits, soliciting With querulous sharp claws she knows not what. 30 THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN But now men pass her by with scarce a coin Ci)nt(,mi)!U()i.is, and still this llcsh and bone, That nnjt. ks what was a woman, must be fed. So in the failing rain she shambles forth On tremulous old feet, and drifts along Those mad-houred gardens of delight that bloom By dusk alone, to valkys -trewn with lamps And houses gay with laughter ami mueh song — And \\iii".os that she, too, was a beauty once And took lier pleasures lightly, and could laugh, And j)ra\ s her midnight sisters, while they have A-plenty still to give unto the poor ! And leers at them, in wisdom all untoothed, Aiid (|uavers forth strange tunes they know not of, And stejis some broken thune, and \vhinii)er< out, Through wheezy sobs, how wild she used to be ! Then forth she creeps into the muffling night, She who oiue in her time most tenderly Cared for her bra-uly, and was loved By men wlio knew not what her laughter meant Nor by what witcheries she ruled their hearts, But round her perfumed langor wasted all Thiir goodly hours and hated while they loved Tliose lip- where lay such anguish-hearted joy. This, this lean leathery tliroat, these draggled whips Of unkemj)! hair, these Hat and wasted Hanks, This withered body fallen into ruin, — THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN All these have strangely moved the hearts of men And wakened hot desires. And young mouths press This flabby throat in houses thronged with light And song and lavender . . . and died of it. And once a sea of waving fire and snow This bosom sighed and rocked with many heads. And llirough her velvet -eiiis .^nce musically The mad life sang, and full of luring warmth Her young lips smiled, and much she knew of love. And this same body, once with wonder clothed, Once swept with passion and with pity crowned, Entrusted once with beauty, that the torch Might pass, a gift not hers, frt)m hand to hand, — This might have watched with unembittered eyes The hour where promise and fultilhaent meet, The dusk where autimin and contentment walk. This flaccid arm, it might have nursed and known (As all the law of all its world ordained) Its consolation and its mystery, Its ultimate surrender and its gift, Its solace for earth's uncompanioned years. Yea, she who once so muc' yet little gave, She might have watched with wide untroubled eyes Her youth's lost beauty creeping through the chain, The golden chain of Birth, to cheat the grave. But she recked not the perilous gates of time, And some stem army, hour by silent hour, To each rose-sheltered battlement lay siege. 32 THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN Like mailed legions throu-^h some vallcv mild And green with milky harvests, crushed and swept Each grim invasion through her soft-veined life (Low-brcatliing winds moved not more dreamily, I)eei)-h(.s)med rivers far less quietly flowed!) Iniplacaijjy a secret warfare raged; Battalions of brave starlet, line hv line, Each day were overcome, each night, renewed. And still again repulsed, and in the end A torn and trampled battleground, a waste, Her ImxIv lay, and she in time forgot Each bugled thrill, each call out-trumpeted From that high citadel where honor dwelt. And with the years she aged, and fell away! And this, soft-hj -d women, is the end \\ licreto vou come, who nurse so carefully Vour Ijodies delicate, and day and mght In milkless-bosomed unconcern of mind Behold your beauty flash through many-tcared Dark cities tongued ith records like to her! O, felt such loins as these the April thrill Imj)erative? Once, was it. in tliis hand The Lord of Life Eternal thrust His torch Of womanhood ? This mockery of blight And hone outworn, — must flesh like unto hers Deriding stand the root of earthly love, THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN 3 And still the tlowtring of life remain? Is this grim tiic gaoler of the years, The guardian of the Dream? earth far-off hope, And warm, wide-bosomed solaee both in one? Is this a woman, — this the wandering fire For which all Ilium fell, and wars were made, And mu-ic fashioned, from the birth of Time? () A[)hr()dite, brooding-eyed, is she \'our daughter? Juno, moonbeam-limbed and mild, What is she now to you ? to Sara stern, To Magdalene made pure with many tears? To hopeless-eyed Lucretia, who could drain Her broken heart of all its tainted blood? To Mary, white of soul, Cornelia chaste. Or Joan the Illumed? Young mothers grown Dusk-lidded with sad pleasures touched of fir , And finding peace where she destruction found, Mu-^t .-he and \ou indissolubly sit Thus bound with iron ties, until the envt ? Must you, until the end, still answer for These faued eyes, so dull and cavernous, And in your breast feel burn her tears unshed, And in your blood feel ache her woes unwept. And out through her still gaze on Edens dim And unattained? Too-happy women, warm With earthly love, with angel honor white. 34 THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN Soft women rose-enwrapt and lily-robcd, Behind each barrier dream thcs.c drunken hands Still leave you naked to the primal night ! Down to the bitter end these bony claws Out to your cradles reach, and strangle hope, And tear each opiate veil, and unavenj^ed Fall grim Ijetween your stoopinj,' Chri>t and ycu I Your stooping Christ ! O Thou W ho luisl been called The savior of the world, must still such things Be borne of love? Must still thus wantonly The golden chain of life be link by unk All broken for ii.^ gold? Mu>t ^till tlie mad, Dark, immemorial earthly rapture bear Its fruit of bitter ashes ? And must love Lead out into the night thus hopeless-eyed This thing that was not Youth, nor volant Death, That is not Grief, nor joyous ever goes, That was not Lcjve, ijut one who Love forsot That was not Life, but one whom Life denied. Glad now it suffers not, with sorrows in Its empty laughter sadder far than tears, And more than pain in it- abysmal breast Each short-lived old irresolute delight ! For round her throb and glow the valiant lamps Of midnight cities she has never known ; Spices of Sodom, and strange musks of Troy, The fumes of Kamac, and the myrrhs of Rome, THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN 35 Cling destined round her tremulous old limbs That once to languid music throbbed amid The sultry nights of laughing Hamadan, The golden glooms of Corinth, dark with sighs That down regretful ages echo still ! For Thais and bold Phryne breathe in her, As[i. ^ia and Delilah, Jezebel And Agrif^pina from her pallid c\r< Look forth with Lydian ni idncss, a \ si; iiears Tlie jjlashing fountains of grey li.ihyion, The breathing music of lost Nineveh, Still steeped in golden ff! ■ -ilight and in sin ! And as she creeps in muniMing unconcern T, -l arrcd and torn With timeless centuries of huddled ^ins, A menace and a taint, deep in her broods Derisively earth's million-hearted ache ! SLEEP AND DEATH 'J^WO sisters they; one wanton, ' :lit of heart, Who takes us to her bre,' >t aiai laugh- i'ood-bye; Oi ' iste as ice, in her wliite room dotii lie, But hinr she loves, she never lets depart ! 36 IN THE OPEN IN THE OPEN J HAVE thrown the throttle open and am tearing down His track; I have thrown it out to full-speed and no hand can hold me back ! 'Tis my arm controls the engine, though Another owns the rail, But for once I'm in the open and the yard-lights pass and pale ! Green lights! Red lights! He has hung His signals out! Caution here! Danger ho! And what's the man about! 'Tis true he ou'ns the Ei!,qine, to do as he has done, But hoii- about the Final Word — when he ends the run? So from siding on to junction-point now I shall have mv day; I have stopped to read no orders but I take the right-of- way. On tile grade I thunder downward, on the curve I race and swing, For my hand is on the throttle and my heart shall have its fling ! IN THE OPE IV 37 Lights lost! Life lost! Flag, O flng the others hack! Switch the wreck! Ditch the wreck! Dare any block His track ? There creeps into the Terminal the man who had his day, But I wonder, O my soul, just what his God will say/ Where a wave awakens and dies, And the whippoorwill mourns to the moon, And a slumberous night-wind sighs. With its passion the Dusk is still, And the tide turns back to the sea; And the Night creeps over the hill, And my heart, my heart to thee 1 WHITE NIGHTS HE sea sobs low on the dune 38 THE WORDLESS TOUCH THE WORDLESS TOUCH 'J^HE sun on autumn hills, a twilit sea, The touch of western gold on paling w;ngs, Soft rain by night, the flute of early birds, ' And wind-tost ch'ldrcn voices, — these to me Wake thoughts that sleep beyond the bourne of words, Yet whisper low: " Whatever Life may be. Mocked as it seemed by vague rememberings, Thou, thou hast lived beiore, and known these things ! " THE KNIGHT ERIvANT P|E rndc at dusk down woodlands strange, Where stiM..! all bathed in fire A great dark Tower whose shadow gloomed The Valley of Desire. Alluring glowed that sun-lit Tower, But dark the way, and long; And where the walls seemed pearl and gold The gates stood doubly strong. THE KNIGHT ERRANT 39 Life lay with all its wrongs to right, And all its deeds undone; Earth held full many a height to storm, But he must take this one. We knew that castle of delight Was death to him who knocks, Where roses screened the granite walls And lilies hid the locks. We told him how ten thousand men Had failed and fallen there. " Her eyes," he sang, " are like the stars; Like ripened wheat her hair ! " We laughed our laugh, for we ourselves Of old had heard these things. But hearkens he to any man, The youth who fights and sings ! He, watching there each casement dark, By dawn and dreary dusk, Lay siege unto those mystic walls Of lily, rose, and musk; And saw by night, from turrets dim, Some duljit)us signal start; — We knew each sign, we who had sought The fortress of her heart — . 40 THE KNIGHT ERRANT In loneliness and gloom and cold His hungry youth went past. " Lo, aU ye tribe of Puny Things, How one great love can last I " The pitying stars shone over him : Still flamed his sword on high. " Her mouth," he sang, " is like the rose, And white her soul, say I ! " But lo, he beat the dark gates down. And there his fortress lay Four lonely walls wherein all life Had fallen to decay. Each old retainer, night by night, In silence crept from her; And one by one her vassals died. For all her musk and myrrh. Starved aspirations, hopes, regrets, From her white body stole, And left her there a woman dead. And with an empty soul. Four waUs, she stood, from whence the last Embattled rose had blown; " I yield," she gasped, with goodly art, " Take all that is your own I " 1 1 THE KNIGHT ERRANT Beside that castle grim he wept We heard him, in our sleep — " Tis not, O God, the life I gave, And the tares that I must reap." " Of battered not of rusting swords Thy knights, I know, are made; — O, 'tis not, God, that in this fight You broke me as a blade ! " " But ah, so empty lies this thing, Why L. rred she not each door And sent me singing through the Dusk Of my grey Dreams once more ! " She laughed her laugh, and swept the blood From off her granite stair, For down the wood a strange youth sang: " Like golden sheaves lier hair ! " The pitying stars shone over him, He shook his sword on high. " Her mouth," he sang in turn, " is red, Bui white her soul, say 1/ '» 42 MORNING IN THE NORTH-WKSr MORNING IN THE NORTH-WEST QREY countries and grim empires pass away, And all the pomp and j^lory of citied towers Goes down to du>t, a> ^■outh itself shall age. But O the si)lendor of this autumn duwn. This passes not away ! This dew-drenched Range, This infinite great width of open space. This cool keen wind that Mows like God's own breath On hTe's once drowsy coal, and thrills the blood, This brooding sea of sun-waslied sohtude, This virginal vast dome of opal air — These, these endure, and greater are than grief ! Still there is strength: and life. Oh, life is good! Still the hori/on lures, the morrow calls, Still hearts adventurous seek outward trails, Still life holds up its tattered hope ! F or here Is goodly air, and God's own greenness spread! Here youth auda( ious fronts the coming dav And age on life ne'er nii.untainou-lv lies! Here are no huddled cities old in sin, Where coil in tangled langors all the pale Envenomed mirths that poisoned men of old, MORNING IN THE NORTH-WEST Where peering out with ever-narrowing eyes Rcf.tilious Ease unwinds its golden scales And slimes with ugliness the thing it eats! Here life takes on a .n;Iorv and a strength Of things still primal, and -.cs plunging on! And what care I of time-encrusted Kunb-^ What care I here for all the ceaseless drip Of tears in countries old in tragedy? What care I here for all Earth's creeds outworn, The dreams outlived, the hopes to ashes turned In that old East so dark with rain and doubt? ' Here life swings glad and free and rude, and I ShaU drink it to the full, and go content! BESIDE THE MARTYRS' MEMORIAL (OXIORD) 'pHEIR sterner Gorl we have long since forgot; \\e creed to shifting creed our ^vondei give. Yet from the ashes of dead faiths that lie On Age we whisper: Theirs the happier lot, Who found this narrower faith, by which to live W ho knew this darker God, for whom to die I 44 DREAMS DREAMS 'T'HROUGH Sleep's blue dome wheel fondly to and fro Ten thousand Dreams, their wings all tinged with gold. Home, home to us they come acnjss the West, A golden Hurry of glad wings — but lo, In the dark pines of Mem'ry where they nest One mocking feather is the most we hold ! THE DAUGHTER OF DEMETER (^ODDESS and Mother, let me smooth your brow And cling about you for a little time With these pale hands, for see, still at the glow Of all this white-houred ncnjn and alien sun I tremble like a new-born nightingale Blown from its nest into bewildering rain ! How shall I tell thee, Mother, of those days My aching eyes saw not this azure sea Of air, unknown in my grey underworld And only whisjjcred of i)y wretched Shades, That pace the Dusk and will not be at peace I THE DAUGHTER OF DE METER 45 Or how I nftcn asked • ("an^t thou, dark heart, Re-dream the mu.-ic of the rain? Canst thou Recall the gold above the black-crowned pines? Canst thou, my heart, remember Home, so far And long fdrh^rn, still think of Sicily? Then didst thou, weeping, call Per-ephone The Manv-Songed, and where tliy lonely voice Once fell all greenness faded and the song Of birds all died, and down from brazen heights A blood-red sun long noon by sullen noon On ashen days and desolation shone; And cattle lowed about the withered springs, And Earth gaped wide, and arid Evening moaned Alojig iier empty rivers for the rain ! The milkless ewe saw not its fallen lamb, The mummied seeds remembered not the Spring, The iH'oken hives stood bleaching in the sun, The unused wine-vats cracked, and overturned The oil-jars lay, and from bald hill to hill The white smoke drifted, and the world seemed dead I Yet thou in anger didst withhold the green, And grim of breast forbade the bursting sap; And dared the darkest sky-line of lone Deeps For tliy lost daughter, and could tind her not ! Then came the Arethusan whisper, and release; The refreshing rains washed down and gushed And sluiced the juicy grasses once again, I t 46 THE DAUGHTER OF DEMETER The wet leaves dripped with laughl.r, bough by bough I he soft invasion of the vernal "reen AnH l^Ii' > ''Vf^ ^'"^ s^'ng through eveiy hiU, And bird by bird the Summer uas n born _ And drooping in thine arms I wakened here! Yet all those twilight days I was content 1 liough silent as a frozen river crept The hours entombed, though far I was from thee And from the Nysian lields of open sun The sound of waters, and the throats of song. Yet when with happier lips I tell thee all Thou must, worn Mother, leave me here alone Where softly as the snow each white liour falls About my musing eyes, and life seems slran-^e And strange the muffled piping of the birds ° ' And strange the drowsy music of the streams, - Ihe whispering pavillions of the pines- And more than strange the immersing wa>h of air That breathes and sways and breaks through all my being, And lulls away, like seas intangible Regrets and tears, and days of heavy gloom. O Mother, all these things are told not of \\here I have been, and on these eyes estranged i^arth s poignant sweetness falls so mvstical Its beauty turns a thing of bitter tears- And even in my gladness I must grieve THE DAUGHTER OF DEMETER 47 For this dark change, where Death has died to me, — For my lost Gloom, where life was Life to me ! Long years from now shall ages yet unborn Watch the returning Spring and strangely yearn! Others shall thrill with joy like unto mine! Vague things shall move them and strange voices steal Through sad, bud-scented April eves to them ! Round them shall fall a glory not of Earth, As now o'er these Sicilian meadows fall Dim memories that come I know not whence! In lands 1 know not of some sorrowing girl Shall faintly breathe " I am Persephone On such a day ! " and through the world shall nm The immemorial rapture and the pang; And pale-eyed ghosts shall creep out to the light And drink tlie sun, like wine, and live once more. The dower of my delight shall make them glad; The tears of my regret shall weigh them down. And men with wondering eyes shall watch the Spring Return, and weep, indeed, these selfsame tears, And laugh with my good laughter, knowing not Whence came their passing bliss so torn with pain ! For good is Enna, and the wide glad Earth, And good the comfortable green of grass And Xysian meadows still so milky pale ! Good seems the dark stet. ! the noonday sun, The nibbling herd that sounds unto my ears 48 THE DAUGHTER OF DEMETEF So like a qu- L aad k down ■ Good seem the 1 . - ,'ars ba ;.ed in light,' ■I hat pillar from rl plai,-, t^i. f,.,,. (,|„^.^__ The quiet homes awiir! oo! ,ir |„ The flashing rivers, and u.e ao..,!, rcmot.-. — The little high white town amon- ,e hil ' All, all are good to look on. and amst dear Tn my remembering eyes. Each crocu.- too, And gold narcissus, gleams mon^,.. ' !, Ui:!ouched of son Av for that i . ,!„ ^i ,^. Impetuous wheel and hoof thre..iK. I n/'the -heat And 'mid these opiate blooms the 1 oui ilorse.i One ^wept down on me, half-lost in pensive dream. And like a fu)ppy in -;ome panting noon, AH droopin-. bore me l.. (he gate^ > Hell — When on my fragile girlh.)od lose i hi . . L As on some seed forlorn Eartir. darkest Jo.wr t Yet thmk not, Mother, this fierce Son of xXi^.it Brought only sorrow with him, for behold, ^ In learning to forbear I learned to love; THE DArCHTER OF >EAfETER And batti jwle on his impasMoncd breast I f<-It rui .rough m vein- nc golden pang Of ie:ir at - m:' n >;"m. 1' ■sagin.i; how tii licfore is vvi'ie is :pc, iicv, 'Ti Is fa hi )ne(i it mu- be ud' .\vc Hqvv < tla^ breast ^ mini . l'---gL: ..rl. I IS an I icrtal. ■ Eai 'la\ ./i: Boui d mr t' Some a i And ( ' \ , I grev lea- I A-atchea 1 liked C( An- mi! I '\\\>\ <\ lie If- fruit , Ut! e live him 1 I' V he mt ' -iirii! )f 1 he int ult itad •n. lifu! uis^ he -ons ' me dis'iain •T-r ti ^ ... of ue'i me uuvm, i da , ath's gloom ini in time ihsence wept, hi.-, pallid shades, mder midday moon 'mid his ghosts, hi more than life, hat flame and war I'rric! steel coi.iiagration of great towers must mean to eyes i)e\vildering as wine. . ;.«ile a n to any maddened end! ■ n, felt small hands when he was standing near, so THE DAUGHTER OF DEMETER And knew his cruel might, yet thriUed to it, And in his very strength took vague deh'ght. Stern were his paths and troubled, yet he stooped Still patient-eyed above my weaknesses Until I saw, in wonder, from the weeds Of lust original the rose of love, And link by link found aU my life enchained! Only at times the music of the Sea Sang in my ears its old insistent note, — Only at times I heard the wash and rush Of waves on open shores and windy cliffs, — Only at times I seemed to see great wings Scaling some crystal stairway to the Sun, And languid eagles shouldering languid clouds! Singing on summer mornings too I heard ; I caught the sound that sweet green waters make, The music — Oh, so delicate I — of leaves And rustling grasses, and the stir of wings About dim gardens. Where shy nightingales Shook their old sorrow over Ida's gloom I into immortality was touched Once more by song and moonlight far away! Beside dim f.res I mused and made my dreams And through soft tears rebuilt some airier life Untouched of time and change, and so forgot My sorrow; and the tir>t of all the gods. With Memory and Aspiration walked ! THE DAUGHTER OF DEMETER For, Mother, see, this dubious death in h'fe Has clothed witii joy and wonder all the world! My ways, of old, were but phantasmal stream And shadowy flower and song that was not song; And wra!)t in white eternities I walked A daughter of the gods, who knew not Death! I was a thing of coldness and disdain, II"lf reading all that lay so sealed in dream, Half losing all that lay so deep in life I Enthroned in astral taciturnities. And looking tranquil-eyed on beauties old, I faced one dull l-"f)rever, strange to Hoi)e, And strange to Sorrow, strange to Tears, Regrets! Joy was not jo} , and living was not life 1 So unreluctantly the long yr irs went, Though I had all that we, the gods, have asked. Drunk with life's wine, I could not sing tli grape, And knew not once, till Ades touched my hand And made me wise, how good the world could be ! Now, now I know the solace and the thrill Of passing Autumns and awakening Springs; I know and love the Darkness, manv voiced, Since Night it was that taught me to he strong, Since doubt it was that schooler! me to be wise! The meaning of all music now 1 know, — The song autumnal sky and twilit seas Would sing so well, if once they found the words — 52 THE DAUGHTER OF DEMETER The sorrow of dear shores grown low and dim To darkh'ng eyes that may not look again, The beauty of the rose enriched by death, The happy lark that hymns amid the yew, The mortal love grown glorious by its grave! For worlds and faces now I see beyond The safl-aisled avenues of evening stars; The Future like an ojjal dawn unUrls To me, and all earth's dreaming Long Ago Lies wide and luring as the open Deep. And so, still half in gloom and half in sun Shall men and women dwell as I have dwelt. Half happy and half sad their da.\ - shall fall, And grief shall learn beside the open grave How beauteous life can be, how deep is Love ! As snow makes soft grim Etna's green, so tears Shall make our laughter sweet; and lovers strange To thee and me, grey Motlier, manv years From now shall feel thi,> thing and dimly know The bitter sweetness of this hour to me, Whom Life has given unto Death, and Death Back unto Life — both ghost and goddess, lo, Who faced these mortal tears to fathom Love ! ON THE OPEN TRAIL ON THE OPEN TRAIL '^HIS narrow world with a low-hung sky Like a little tent around it Too cramped I find for a home of mine, Too puny have I found it ! Since I was ever a vagabond, A vagrant-foot and rover, O give me the width of the skies to roam When my earthly days are over ! — Once more where stars for the milestones stand And the unresting worlds walk my way, — Out, out where a man has elbow room To travel an open highway ! And when the journey is done God grant That one lone Inn I find me, Where 1 may enter and greet — but Her, And close the door behind me ! 54 NIGHT TRAVEL NIGHT TRAVEL Q l^EAR liglits, and far lights, Anfi every light a home! And how they ghidden, sadden us Who late and early roam ! But sad lights and glad lights, liy flash and gleam ue speed Across the darkness to a light V\"e love, and know, and need 1 UNDER THE STARS §0 high above. Sad Heart, our heavens bend, These longing hand, u.iuli not their lowliest star! Yet down [rom those vast imimpassiened ^kies May yearn, from where we dream all sorrou s end May yearn tonight some heart through saddened eyes Unto this world, where we and Sorrow are! GIFTS 55 t GIFTS J THANK Thee, God, for good and bad, For all the tangled skein Of blows that made my manhood glad, And joys that ^ 3re a pain ! Defeat I thank Thee for, and strife, For all Thou didst deny. Since he who lives the lightest life, The darkest death must die. And he wbu doth a star pursue Both home and fire must leave, As he who guards a life or two A death or two must grieve. And he who wins shall lose again, And having lost, shall win, Since they are strong who saw great pain, And wise, who once knew sin I if I / if! 56 TIVO CAPTIVES TWO CAPTIVES j^OURN not for him: he doth no captive dwell Who beats and gnaws the bars that bind him so, W ho, thrice immured, still hates his cage too well. But pity him who no such pangs can know, Who, long-enchained, and grown to love his cell, Should Freedom lean to him, stands loath to go ! WHEN CLOSING SWINBURNE ^HE Greeks of old who sang to flute and lyre Half schooled coy Melody to walk with Speech; Here madly, lo, she yields to his desire, And lovers grown, they mingle each with each ! THE SHADOWING GODS " J SCORN your empty creeds, and bend my knee To none of ail the gods adored of men, — I worship nothing, that I may he free. Ma>hap," said one, " you kneel to Freedom then ! KEATS 57 KEATS ^LL orer-thumbed, dog-eared, and stained with grass, All bleached with sun and time, and eloquent Of afternoons in goldon-houred Romance, You turn them o'er, tiiese comrade books of mine, And idly ask me what I think of Keats. But let me likewise question you round whom The clangor of the Market sweeps and clings : In Summer toward the murmurous close of June Have you e'er walked some dusty meadow path That faced the sun and quivered in the heat, And as you brushed through grass and daisy-drifi, Found glowing on some sun-burnt little knoll One deep, red, over ripe wild strawberry? — The sweetest fruit beneath Canadian skies And in that sun-bleached field the only touch Of lustrous color to redeem the Spring — The flame-red passion of life's opulence Grown over-sweet and soon ordained to death I And have you ever caught up in your hand That swollen globe of soft deliciousness? You notice first the color, richly red; 58 KEATS And then the odor, strangely sweet and sharp, And last of all, you crush its ruddy core Against your lips, till color, taste, and scent Might make your stained mouth stop the murmur: " This The very heart of Summer that I crush ! " — So poignant through its lusciousncss it seems ! Then what's the need, Old Friend, of foolish words: I've shown you now just what I think of Keats. THE SHADOW - QNE soul there is that knows me as I am, Reads each pretence, sees through each futile sham; Goads me with scorning lip, with laughter dry. Yea, dogs me step by step: my better It UNANOINTED ALTARS 59 UNANOINTED ALTARS " r ET it be," said he, " that the hounds shall uin, Let it come that I bow to the curs, And stand a fool in the eyes of the world, But, O never a fool in hers! " It was not for the sake of tlic things they sought, Nor the foolish crowns they cried for. Nor for any of all the ancient gods Their fathers had fought and died for ! It was not, he knew, for the name of the land, Xor the pride of the loins that bore him; Not, not for these difl he die his deaths, And crush to the goals before him ! " Let if be that the ann'eiit jest holds good, Let it ronte that I Ihk,' to the curs, And stand a fool in the cvrs of the world, Bi'l, O never a fool in hers! " So the years that he wrought were empty years, And the laurels he won, their laughter; 6o UNANOINTED ALTARS But other than his were the mouths that pressed This mouth that he hungered after ! Yea, the years that he wrought seemed wasted years, And his goodly strength was broken, And his shrivelled heart lay dry as dust, — But the word was left unspoken ! Yet he stood, at the end, in tlieir n ondering eyes, (For all that he held them curs) Far more of a god titan a fool, indeed, — But a fool to the end in Hers I ON A CHOPIN NOCTURNE J^E desolate and saddened sought the gleam Of that white summit where lone Beauty dwelt. And mid its calm some ghostly marble found, — Yea, in its tranquil snows his broken dream Of Beauty moulded . . . and we watch it melt, As Music, into April showers of sound ! THE WANDERERS 6l THE WANDERERS JJRIFTING from Deep to d;irk-horizoiu-(l Deep, Sea-worn we fare througii unknown islands lone To unimagined mainlands lonelier still. Out past gray headlands, with o'er-wistful eyes We gaze where ruthless waters pale and gloom And tumble restles>ly all touched witli gold Deep through the darkening V\'est, — and talk of Home. Then like the rustling of soft leaves to us, Then like the whispering of evening waves, Across the twilight silences there come, Borne in upon the sea-wind's languid wings, Soft hidden vokes and strange harmonies, Far sounds from hills and shores unknown to us, Low strains that creep and fail like solemn bells Across a windy plainland, cries that lure Us onward and still onward toward the End, Through foam and spindrift to the uttermost Dark undiscovered Couii rv of le Dream, Strange intuitions telling - there lies Some wider world about us than we dream, And wa)nvard memories of how we fared From coasts too far away for fec'.le thought I They come as broken voices blown to us 62 THE WANDERERS From mt a land of twilight too remote And m ifiled in mists to be discerned. One V nd-blovvn echo comes, one teasing strain, And uhile we listen with bewildered ear.-, Thp music mocking dies, the glory fades, The fragile tone dissolves, — and leaves us there Amid the gathering silence and the gloom With some new anguish eating at Dur hearts, And some dark mem'rv washir.g n ilessly Upon the granite bastions ol Regret. What it would whisper now we cannot tell, And so, with sullen oar yet watching eyes, \\V still far(> on past thresholds still unknown, And (juoiion whence we c(,me and whither go; And ere the dawn is gra\- again we quench Doubt's sinking fires and ch-ive the splintered keel Deep through the black waves and go plunging out, Out past the headi.iiids of the open sea. With straining sails and w il' ; more obdurate, On through the dark horizon of unrest, Still onward, ever onward, to the End! AT THE COMEDY AT THE COMEDY J^AST n.ght, in snowy gown and glove, I saw you watch the play Where each mock hero won his love The old unlifelike way. (And O were life their little scene Where love so smoothly ran, Hor>j) different, Dear, this world had been Since this old world began/) For you, who s;'v.- 'hem / n'lv win Both hand anu .^-a, ■( vay, Knew well where dv. , ' -nockery in That foolish little v. . (" // lore were all — if love were ail," The viols sohi>ed and cried, " Then love were best whate'er befall! " Low, low th€ flutes repl, ■ : , And you, last night, did you forget, So far from me, so near? — 64 AT THE COMEDY For watching there your eyes were wet With just an idle tear ! (And down the great dark curtain Jell U pon their foolish play, But you and I knew — OA, too wdll — Lije went another way/) AN EPITAPH Q WOMAN - SOUL, all flower, and flame, and (lew, — Through your white life 1 groped once up to God In happier days: you lie beneath His sod, And iiow through Him alone I grope to you'l THE MAN WHO KILLED THE MAN WHO KILLED I The speaker is Cain, crouched in a grove of matted shadow and sunlight, beside the body of his brother Abel. This body lies close by an overturned jar of oil, at the foot of an altar- cairn of rough and smoke-stained stones. Near it, grains and fruits, brought for sacrificial offering, wither in the hot noonday Cain, in an agony of apprehension that slowly grows to terror, at the sight of the first of the r.->ce of n.an to be overtaken by Death, peers down at the body, while at times his mother, Eve, is heard singing in the dUtance. . . . ''^^HAT pulsing warmth is this that oozes tlirough Your malted hair? What makes so horrible These hands of mine, that fawn upon the throb And gush of rivers which they cannot stanch? What voice was that ? . . . . . . Oh. whenre came all th;.> blood i-* What wild bird screams and calls so loud? . . , O God, What is this wonder creef)ing down his face, His piteous face so white and stained? What wind Is this that sighs so low across the world? Eve is heard singing out 0} the remote distance: 66 THE MAN WHO KILLED The silence went out of the day, The sorrow piisseJ out of the west, For bone of my bone he kiy Warm on my wondering breast t Each valley where Loneliness crept Grew vocal and 'golden and warm. For son of my loins he slept Close in my wondering arm! Speak. . . . Speak! ... ere on this altar-rock I beat My maddened head, or tear this unknown ache Out of my loins, and in relieving gloom Lie at your side ' i5ut no . . . no, not as you, All huddled in .^uch hideous unconcern, Thus ugly, stark, with brutish mouth agaf)e In foul black-blooded slag ! No, not With .si;!;hlloss eyes where glazing terrors seem To (Taw!, with eac h half-nuu id limb inert, Where, for one breath that ended in a >cream, You writhed and twisted with some hellish tiling. You fought and struggled with some Fear unknown, Tlien like a burnt-out faggot drooped away. And moved not in the dust 1 Speak out, swart throat, Speak out again and boast of this ^'rini strength That woke and bore me down ! But cry aloud THE MAN WHO KILLED That all is well with you, that in your time You will remember, will be hot to strike And hold your own ! ... O, Abel, speak! One old-time word of hate is al' I ask. What is the Thing that steals thus over you? Can it indeed he Joy? Or is it Pain? What wreath of heavy Wonder has my hand Crushed on your startled brow? What mystery Is this that I have clothed your body in? I'a>t what unseen Ahy.. have you been tlirust? What a':he is this, uniecn thus fade away and droop. Tides I iiavc seen go out, uid Summer pass Beyond earth's iron ]iiil> . . . yet all again Came batk — there lies the wonder ! — came with y To us again ! Lve in the distance is again heard singing: The silence went out oj the day, TIte sorrow passed out 0} the west. For hour of my bow he lay Warm on my wondering breastt 68 THE MAN WHO KILLED The noon grows old ; the tide Turns back, and loud his lost ewes bleat. . . . But he Wakes not, — he who, one little hour ago, Was livid with a ra<,'e that crushed me down! I feared and hated then his panting might, His man's good sinewy strength. But Oh, I dread Him more, thus meek of hand and humble-eyed, Here where he sprawls dishevelled in the sun, So ominous 1 And his poor gaping mouth Rebuked me not, though with my heel I spurned His parted, lips, that panted, and were still ! Far away Eve sings once more: The birds ill Ih, Daivii may awake, The birds in the Dusk ni^'y depart, For the song on the paths that I take Is sung by my sheltering heart! What new word on ihe lip of wailing Time Is thi> earth hctr-.? How in one little sound Like that he uttered (ould be slouglied away The might that made him wonderful and quick ! What gfKi-like thing pulsed out through this small wound No wider th.m ,i h- i What mystery Ha- crowded tiiroui^'h a gate so small as fhi-? Are you the thing tliat touK'hl and Hung me buck? Are you the voice I heard on morning hills? THE MAN WHO KILLED 69 Are you the warmth I felt on nights of rain, The valiant motion and the flame-like speed That swept like wind and fire through gloomy woods? . . . And this limp hand once dared sheer crag and sea, And cunningly has builded in its time, And yet can shade not from the cruel sun These staring eyes, that watch I know not what! If you are wiser now than I am wise, If out through dark and distant worlds vou look, W'luit are these wordless horrors, what this woe Abysmal, what this black engulfing ^ea, Mirrored in eyes that answer not to mine? Speak tc me once, Stark Terror, for I fear The noise of leaves and grasses wlien I watch Vou lying thus! Until you wake, I dare Not look on God's wide hills of awful light! I fear, from now, the accusing-fingered Hours; I fear the voices fugitive and thin From every calling thicket, and I fear The whispering wo 1 with all its twilight ghosts. Its snakes of vine, its hateful spears of thorn ! O fling close round me, God, Thy moonlight's gloom 1 Thy muffling midnight silences send down And shroud me in grim isolation, drench Me in e at his side 1 watdied. that if he slept He yet with sun and bird might wake again. Bluod-red the morning grew, green waters stirred, THE MAN WHO KILLED The leaves forgot their silence, loud the birds Broke into soii^, and nearby grazed a ewe — Hut tliis dull f,i( e uaslied with pitvint; tears From tangled leaf and grass saw not the light, Nor did he move again ! And then I knew ! Then through my veins a desolation black With horror crept and burned, for I that hour Stood face to face with Death ! Shrilling, my fear In one great cry rang down the very gloom Of Hell's most inchoate murk, and iiungry gulfs Of isolation sucked each echo in, And ail tlie vaulted galleries of Woe Ami nether anguish in tliat hour I knew! From Fden's obdurate \\.\\\< the llaming swords Of angels tla-hed thrice deep, while drunkenly I fell and grovelled, and cried out to Thee, God, in pity yet to veil Thy sun. To still keep (!:irk a little time Thy dawn, And all Thy careless cr.in;: things >trike dumb! 1 evermore must fren/.ied turn and feed On my own fears, some pitiful ct)nteiU Tear from this heart, foreknowing in each bone The End toward which I crumble day by dav, The worm toward whii h I i^pcn hour by hour' Stung iiito thou'^ht 1 -land, and from tliis day The bahn of dreams reniidial tnust seek; For Adam, when he walked the lirst wide night 72 THE MAN WHO KILLED And saw the threading; stars onweaving slow The fringes of Gud's grey infinitudes, Felt not this loneliness of soul that makes Mc marked of men I All time to me the world Shall homeless lie ! Back from those hills where he Now fares a hostage I >hall ever cringe, Since at his twilight bourne of Emptiness He stands to bar my way, to fling me out On desperate life and days with terrors strewn. He died but once, yet I a thousand times In maddened thought must die, and wake, and die; And all the woe of our torn father thrust Once out mU) the night, was naught to mine This reeling hour ! O, blast, God, with Thy bolt This awful air so hushed I cannot breath. ! Deep, deey) in Thine unfathomed solitudi- Hurl me and hide me till the wings of rimo Have withered into dust 1 O, do Thy worst, — God, lash me and drive me like a broken leaf Down Thy dark worlds, confound me as Thou wilt, Rut rend this silence that about me hn ds 1 () calm me with some doom quite ade(|uate! Strike quick, and have it done, for how indc Canst Thou once blight this guilty head with lire, How fiercely crush this hand, that first lured Death Into the world, and brought this timeless ruin THE MAN WHO KILLED To one so warm with movement and with dream? \V h.te sleeper, you who once were strong to act. \V ho found earth beautiful, and joyed in life, V et from thi> day must slowly be demeaned And darkened into dust and l)e for-'ot Can you not wake but once, and pfead for me? tongue so eloquent one day ago And now so silent grown, but' sigh to me That all His dews. His soft assuaging lains May yet from earth's glad grasses wash this blot. As here I u ash jour body with hot tears ! Nay. o'er you keeping wa'tch I draw the scent * Of carnage still unknown, the savor thin t deaths untold, and ulcerous hates unwombed, il-t rapine, war, and conflagrations wide' Hom th,s day down unto the !,,.t slow throb Of mortal time, life shall a burden seem To me, and all my sons in sorrow horn ' Old fears shall whimper in our agei,)g veins Remorse and gloom with me and mine shall' walk. chddzen an.i my children's children sprung rrom these dark loins contaminate all ti.nc \Vith undefined new dreads shall taint.d go Down ashen years unknown, while gazing out \Vith eyes still unconsoled into the West \here swim eve's f.lacid stars, the heirs of strive l or ever shall be mocked with dreams of Peace- 74 THE MAK WHO KILLED And Love, o'er -desperately "Ught, ^hall be As bi 'er a>.,t in 'heir sated mouths T( madden them. And while the\ weep, the swords Of angels golden in the du k. . >" Time Shall guard life's lonely Edens unforgot ; And hating death, man still hy fire and sword Shall die, all torn by predetennuied war! Immitigaljly this old wound sli " ,i( hc Down all the ans, for my sons must hear The curse and brand of Cain, although I fling Hot life's retrieving seed across strange lands, — Though in o'er-passionate dim futile thirst Of days continual, I people 'liick The ages and the lonelie-t fields of earth, — Still shall 1 not atone for this iirst blood ! Who sang so gladly, with a throat so frail 1 Not for his crest, but for the songs we heard, Let us remember then the nightingale ! ON A PORTRAIT OF R. L. S. AS it this dun and sombre-breasted bird NORTHERN PINES NORTHERN PINES J PASS where the pines for Christmas Stand thick in the crowded street, Where the groves of Dream and Silence Are paced by feverish feet. And far thro' the rain and the street-cries My home-sick heart goes forth To the pine-clad hills of childhood, To the dark and tender North. And I see the glooming pine-lands, And I thrill to the Northland cold, Where the sunset falls in silence On the hills of gloom and gold ! And the still du>k woods close roimd me, And 1 know the waiting eves Of my North, as a child's, are tender, As a sorrowing Mother's, wise ! ON RE-READING HAMLET ON RE-READING HAMLET I r\ GOD, if this were al! ! To see tlie naked Right, And then by day and night To crush o'er Circumstance, Despair, and petty Chance, And fight the one good fight! O God, if this were all ! n If this were only all 1 But, ah ! to see, and yet Half fear the waves that fret Beyond the Harbor Bar; To strive not, since the star Lies from us, oh so far; To know, and not forget ! O God, that this is all 1 •I THE SINGERS 77 1 1 THE SINGERS ^^ISTFUL by the door they wait, Tired of all their dusty mart, Dreaming we go desolate Since from them we dwell apart I Wistful in the Nif^ht they cry Through liieir wall'd and cramped abode, While they hear us trooping by With the moonlight on the Road I Mad we arc and glad we are, Housed by all this goodly Home Roofed by sun and wheeling star — With the whole wide world to roam 1 What each jocund day shall give That we take and go content; Singing out the life we live, — And they watch in wonderment. i! And they never once shall know What the solace or the quest, I 1 1 ji 78 THE SINGERS As they see us come and go, Fluting down their lonely West Till they wait as tiiildren wait Kuund our swart and mwstic band And like children, suou ur late. Listening humbly, understand I RICHES ■^^ASTED and all in rags his starved soul went, And, opulently paupered, he grew old And crouched with loaded hands and heart forespent, A beggar, with a million bits of gold I WHEN THE KING COMES INTO HIS OWN 79 WHEN THE KING COMES INTO HIS OWN who knew the True King well, We who lovf'il and served him long, Cleaved to him whale'cr befell — We who wlien tiiey did him wrong Could have faced the Hounds of Hell With a cheer and snatch of song — While re-crowd about his throne Those who serve when all is fair, Knight by knight oft tried and known We shall stand close round him there, When our King comes to his own — Stand with humbled heads and bare, While a great shout — one alone — For the True King rends ihe air. With that cheer shall die the flame. With that day, the tale be told ! Never, Comrade, quite the same Those who come and scrs'e for gold I We went ragged, knew no shame, In those lean, glad days of old ! 8o WHEN THE KING COMES INTO HIS OWN So, all out-at-ellx)\vs, grim, Hand hy hand on swords a-rust (W hile his Kingly eyes are dim And his God, he knows, is just !) We shall sadly kneel to hi i, King and Cause we took on trust — Then past jJain and mountain rim Ride away all stained with dust! THE SEEKERS J^NOCK, and the Door shall open: ah, we knocked And found the unpiteous portals locked. Waiting, we learned us croons to while along Those dreary watches — and ye call it Song! Seek, and thine eyes shall find: Oh, we have sought The Vision of our Dream, yet ' .und it not. We limn its broken shadow, that our heart May half remember — and ye call it /u-t! DEATH AND A CHILD 8l DEATH AND A CHILD '^O us who watched thine earliest days, Who knew so well thy childish ways, Oh strange it seems that Death should turn That gloomy face m gauntly stem Aside to thee, — thou wert so young, And to :hy chil(lhv)od lant^uage clung A touch of that strange s[)irit tongue, That softer language of the skies, God's angels spoke in Paradise. Did Death grow envious that we Should half forget His majesty? Deep did He strike, to make us feel He still expected we should kneel ! We dreamed not He would deign to come And strike such childhood babbling dumb. Such pitiable small talk as thine Had never led us to divine Death hearkened closely to each word Thy brooding mother scarcely heard. Was it her own o'er-wistful gaze First drew Him from His wonted ways To that sad wall of angels' wings 82 DHATH AND A CHILD That guarded thy last slumberings, Where He, half tired of coquetry With th(jse who bowed a wilh'ng knee, No loiiL^cr in mere dalliance smiled, But showed His power, and took a child? • Thy little hand has clutched F hand, And we no longer undcrstant' How once we deemed Deatli >o austere. The old-time face we used to fear Has lost its ancient horror now, Since that inexorable brow Once smiled and bended over thine. Yes, lighter-hearted Proserpine, To us those glooms where thou art gone Can never more be Acheron, Yes, one weak, childish hand has hurled The terrors from that Underworld ! LIFE AND LABOR pjERE on a languid deck how tranquilly we float! Seafaring now seems easy, thanks to — call it coal ! — Who blames us all for idling, on an idle boat? Fools, stand and watch one moment in the stokers' hole! LYONORS OF LYON ESSE LYONORS OF LYONESSE jpROM her dark tower she lightly threw To him three roses red; He spake no word as near he drew, But bowed his troubled head. Two lilies white, for Innocence, Burned on his shield, like flame; He dare not view those ramparts whenv ^ Such sin-dark roses came. For her red mouth was wise with love, No shame her laughter screened, Where, moonlight-bosomed, she above His wall-bound pathway leaned, — Since clad in mail he rode for Christ, And strait the path he trod; Nor scorned he to be sacrificed For his most jealous God. But from her rose-grown tower she came, And laughed into his eyes. He flushed to his pale brow with shame, And spake imto the skies : LYONORS OF LYON ESSE " To Christ this woman yet shall bow, Or be cast down ! " he said. " Yea, where she flaunts her scarlet now, Shall float the Cross instead ! " She laughed where swayed his spear aloft, For she no arms did wear; All her slim body, white and soft, Of steel and mail was bare. Her embattled eyes broke into song; A challenge paled her cheek, For in her weakness she stood strong, He, in liis strength, lay weak. She, in twined gold soft-helmeted, Cuirassed in yielding rose, From her wise pleading mouth of red Let fall sweet words for blows. Oft had he fought in his stem mail, But no such liglit as this; She crc[)t where he stood stunned and pale And his sad mouth did kiss. He said no word, hut on his face Like lire her red lips burned; He said no word, but from that place Broken and bent he turned. LYONORS OF LYONESSE She sa.v him sered and stricken seek His lonelier paths again ; Then two strange tears crept down her cheek, And she was crowned with pain. She sank before him on the ground, And clasped his iron greaves; And wept forlorn where she had frowned, — Her hot tears fell like leaves. " This man took not my wanton kiss, He stooped and shamed me not ! I ne'er have known a man like this, — And such I need, God wot ! " But, trembling, he still sought the way That lightly, once, he trod. And riding whispered : " From this day, I need thy strength, O God ! " But like a little child, she wept; Then laughed, that it was so; And watching long, like one who slept And wakened, saw him go; And saw, with widened eyes, that hour A beauty known not of From lior torn body break and flower. Yet dreamed not it was love. LYONORS OF LYON ESSE But prayed, that night, for his pure soul And thanked her new-found God That he had gone unhurt and whole To that white world he trod. She dreamed not once, how like a sword Still tlirough his visor press'd Her perilous face, how each soft word, Like thorns, still tore his breast. She dreamed not of the fight he fought, — Till lo, he crept again To her with his high vows forgot, — And then she knew his pain ! Then on his fallen sword she wept; From where his arms did cling About her conquering knees, she leapt And cried, " 1 did this thing! " " But ne'er the white steel of your soul Was mine to break or save! From its soiled sheath, unscathed and whole It still shall Hush and wave ! " " For me," she cried, " for God, you must The godly knit^ht remain ! " . . , And through his naked heart she tiirust The sword his hand would stain. LYONORS OF LYONES'^E On his dead mouth she pressed one kiss, And " God, I thank thee! " cried, " For giving me the strength for this; That spotless, see, he died ! " Tb -n on he'- woman's breast she bound His coa^ ')i mail that day. And with grim plume and armet crowned Rode e'er for Christ, men say I IN THE TEMPLE OF NEPTUNE (At Paestum) '^HE old g(xJs wane, and new gods come, And men where Deities once dwelt Bend puzzled knees, and tind them dun h, — These gods to whom their fathers knelt. If in no temples far or near To earth's new-given gods we bow. Let us still kneel to Beauty here, Who bears her god-head on her brow I 88 THE SONATA APP ASSIGN ATA THE SONATA APPASSIONATA JN distant rooms, above sad wind and rain, She, who her grieving heart could utter not, Weighed down with wearied love's too-golden chain, Lines .rom low keys thi.-^ j^lory tear-en wrought; And with bent head I listen, and I know (As he once knew, who through her sj)eaks again) That gladness, at its greatest, walks with woe, That music, at its deepest, dwells with pain ! For luting t;irough Earth's loneliness and gloom, A second ()r[)heus of more frenzied soul, He came to us, who groped as from a tomb For that free air down which his music stole. He, from his more harmonious world of song Crept in to us, wlio dreamed with heavy eyes And heard his lyre, and then eould only long. Half madly for life's unrenumbered skies ! And, like Eurydice, we yearned again To tread some lost and more melodious air, Where ..ncc we too had known that happier strain And once our exiled feet were wont to fare ! THE SONATA APPASSIONATA A gleam of lives more golden but long gone, A thin, strange echo of celestial things. Came to us, and forgotten glories shone From out the tires of Earth's rememberings. Then, then we kneu- our Dusk once had its Dawn And aU those dreams that tease our mortal breast All, all those ways we would, yet could not, reach. All, all our vain desires, our old unrest, In Song he woke, that long had slept in speech! For he had heard those chords Uranian That must divinely madden him who hears; And they on high beheld the god-like pain That mocked his soul, and closed his mortal ears! So thou, sad earthly exile, on low keys. Through wind and rain, in quiet rooms afar, Seeking this immemorial ache to ease And flinging forth against each mortal bar Once more his immemorial harmonies. With hands that are as wings, from star to star Now bcarest me away, past earthly seas To some old Home, where God and Music are ! 90 MY FRIEND, THE ENEMY MY FRIEND, THE ENEMY ^INCE your fierce hate has so befriended me, Who shall o])po.se you, watchful to che end — Since 'twas your covert blade I might not see, Made vigilant this breast I must defend — Still keep my sword from rust and slumber free, And since on blow and parry souls depend Call no soft truce to break my strength, but be, In endless opposition, still my friend ! THE MUSICIAN SPEAKS IN CANDOR J^XOW him, whose art ye fondly blame and j^'-aise. As but a reed, whereon some Hand unknown, God-like, to lute ineloquent, e'er plays The one old ineffectual monotone ! SUNSET IN THE FAR NORTH J^OW in the west the sullen mountains lie, White-fanged and gaunt, against a blood-red sky, Where starved and wolfish, stalked from height to height, Day gnaws upon its last thin rind of Light I A IVOMAX'S HAND A WOMAN'S HAND '^HE dawn grew golden in the east, The dancing and the music ceased; The world, the world of men, awoke, And then the guest who tarried spoke. And as he spoke he took her hand In his — he could not understand! — And held it, tiny, white, and slim. While she in silence gazed at him. " Soft little tender bird-like thing, May time, and toil," he murmured, " bring No line to thee, poor girlish hand ! " — For he could never understind ! — Then she, with one strange wistful look, Drew back the hand he idly took, And. smiling, hid it from his gaze While he bent low, and went his ways. The little hand remained the same Soft bird-like thing, and no toil came 93 A WOMAN'S HAND To take its tenderness away Or steal its beauty day by day. For in the world its only part Was but to press a woman's heart — Oh wayward hand so white and shm! — That ached with all its love for him ! THE AGE OF LAUGHTER i ILL druprged with Song, and gay with Laughter, lo, How round the board they feast, while gaunt-eyed grown Here squats their outcast Fool, and asks how sliow The solemn stars, and questions what is known Beyond the Shadows that affright men so They needs must drink ! And flute and pipe are blown In reassurinc; mirth, and glasses flow, And much Ijravc laughter wakes, and floor and throne Reflect the valiant lamps. . . , And yet they know That out beyond the Door no light is shown, And in the end they one In' one must go Home through the Silence of the Night — alone 1 SHE SEEMED A WILD BIRD SHE SEEMED A WILD BIRD ^HE seemed a wild bird caged on f arth, Who fretted in her prison bars; A voice from heaven's ethereal blue, Still unforgetful of her Luth; And while she gazed out on the stars. She siglied to look where once she Hew, Until her wings at last broke through ! And from my lonelier worla I gaire, And should my wistful eyes once see Some new star drift down heaven's ways, I know she looks once more on me, And by the astral barrier waits Until my angel swing the gates. And earth no longer cages me I LABOR ■y^AR not on him ! — his dread artillery Doth lie in idle arm and rusting tool; And lo he sets his ruthles- legions free Wlien once he lets his sullen anvils cool ! 94 DESTINY DESTINY pj E sat behind his roses and did wake With wanton hands those passions grim That naught but bitter tears and blood can slake, And naught but years can dim. So o'er their wine did Great Ones sit and nod, Ordaining War ... as it befell : Men drunk with dnim and trumpet mouthed of God And reeled down blood-washed roads to Hell ! THE KEEPER "^^IDE is the world and wide its open seas. Yet I who fare from pole to pole lemain A prisoned Hope that paces ill at ease, A captive Fea. that fumbles with its chain. I once for Freedom madly did aspire, And stormed His bars in many a burst of rage : But see, my Keeper with his brands of fire Has cowed me quite . . . and bade me love my cage I THE TWO ROOMS 95 THE TWO ROOMS " (jOOD - BYE, little room," she murmured, When she went, this many a year; " O white little room, forgive me, For my heart was breaking here ! " But still with a poignant sadness The scent of the lilac bloom Blows in at the open window And fills her lonely room. And still she can half remember The imprisoning walls of white, And the hours of her lonely sorrow, And the tears she wept by night. And still through tiie years she wonders At the lilacs white with dusk, Though her chamber is hur^ with scarlet And her pillow is sw^eet with musk. For now she is done with heart-aches, And the midnight finds her glad : But the earlier tear -wet pillow Is the one that least was sad! 96 MEMORIES MEMORIES QUT of the Night we come, and we shall go Back to the Night: and that is all we know \ct chn\varthy, hi,i:h->] u'rited, audacious, pas>ionate man of the sea and lover of women, in the careless prime of his youtiiful strength. Tyrant of Mytilene; lean, calm, dispas- sionate, ambitious; of middle age. The Lesbian poet; a thin, thoughtful, stoical man; an embittered scholar of middle age. plotting against Sappho. An idle and drunken poet of Samnos; fat and ij;arriiloiis. An old ("aptain of the (Uiard of Pittacus; stolid, grisled, brawny. Hoplites, Sailors, a Soothsayer, Lesbian Men and Women. Ii6 Pittacus. Alcaeiis. PhoCHS. Inanlius. Sappho m Leucadia ACT ONE Scene: The n'liite-rockcJ difj of Leitcale, on the Island of Leucadia, overlooking the Ionian Sea. It is a quiet night in early Spring, and the cliff is bathed in the clear, blue-white iiiooiilii^ltt of the Mediler- ranean. On the right stands the Leucadian Temple to Apollo, showing a wall of pale marble toiichrd here and there with gold. On the left is the curving line of the cliff -edge, with the sea beyond. Across the centre distance stret< lies a sluulo'iy line of Lem a- dian suret-a pplc grafted on /luincc-trec^, in full bloom. Under this canopy of pale blossoms, silent and motionless, at first, sit Sappho and I'haon, watching the sea. Nea* by stands a bronze fire-basin, set in a block of marble, the embers within it still gently smouldering. The only sound, as the curtain goes up, is the soft and rhythmical :i'./v/; ,1/ the 7ra-rs on the sea-beach below, which continues in a gentle "7 Il8 SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A und^tone throughout the act. Once the curtain is up the (juiciness is broken by the entrance of two swarthy, slcndcr-hodied boys, who walk slowly across ■ the slage. One youth, trailing a shepherd's crook on his arm, blows a plainlive-notcd air on a seven- piped syrinx. He stops before the dijj-cdge, drops his crook, and peers below. Then he jlings a stone out inlo the sea, wailing for tJie sound of its fall. The second youlh continues to play on his rough wooden flule. The music he makes is the blilhcly sorrowful music of a contented and primitive people. The boys pass on, still playing. Sappho stirs and sighs, and raises her arms to Phaon's shoulders. On her head she wears a rope of violets woven into a chaplcl. Her gown, however, is Grecian in its severity, almost plastic in its loose, full lines and statue-like lack of color Phaon, in contrast to this, is robed in the softest of Tyrian purples above a mild Pha nician azure. Rings of beaten gold, a roughly jewelled knife-belt, and a polished bronze clasp mounted with alternating emeralds and sap- phires, lend to make his figure one of almost Oriental richness. Sappho Oh, Phaon, was the world not made for love On surh a niijht ? The moonheams and the sotmd Of music and the whispering of the waves — SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA They seem a woman's breast that throbs and bums And cries for love ! Phaon This is our last glad night On Leucate. Sappho Then lean to me again And say you love me as no woman, as No goddess clothed in glory, e'er was loved. Kindle and keep me buining like a llame Until I fall into your arms and lie As still as ashes. Kiss me on the mouth And say I am your first love and your last, The only love that all your life lias known. Phaon Moon-white and honey-pale and delicate Your body seems, and yet within it bums A fire more fierce than Etna's. He stoops above her, but she thrusts him back with a sudden jear. Sappho Nay, T know These lips were not the first you crushed and kissed ! 120 SAFFHO IN LEUCADIA Phaon But you — have you ne'er sung of other lips ? Sappho (with the deep voice of utter earnestness and conviction) I have known Love, but never love like this ! I have loved oft and lightly so at last I miglil love you ! These otlicr men were not A god to me ! Tliey were the trodden path. But not the 'lemple! They were but the key And not the chamber ! They were but tlic od And not the guarded lamp, the shallow tarn But not the my^.ic and* impassioned Sea! They were the mallet, not the marbled line, The unconsidered sail, but not the port; They were the llutters of a wing unlledged, The footsteps of a child who scarcely dreamed Of this predestined race with utter Joy! They only served to bring me near to you, And on their weakness raise and throne your strength! She clings to him again, passionately, fiercely. Look, Phaon, in my eyes, and say once more You will not change, that jou will never change! You are a sea-god, not a man, I think, So bronzed and sinewed, so unruled and fierce SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA And jealous of your strength, so made to crush And hold and battle for the thing you love ! Oh, is it true that Aphrodite leaned Across your oar, that night in Mysia, And gave you of Iut ointment v.hereby Youth And Strength and Courage should be ever yours? Are you more beautiful than other men, Or do I dream these god-like graces round About your wilful body? Phaon Beautiful You are, so beautiful must ever be Your dreams; the thouglits in your own heart Are hallowed with its si)irit, as the Sea Leaves brighter color on the stones it laves Sa ppho let men whose years are spent upon tlie Sea Inconstant live ! They know as many lo\es As lands ! O Phaon, love but me, but me ! Phaon One land alone, the gods have now decreed, And but one woman ! Lesbos is the land, And you, you, you, the woman, that I love I 122 SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A Suppho and Lesbos — they shall ever seem The only music made by Irnely waves Sounding on lonely shores ! Sappho I am afraid SoiiHlimcs I am ■-lill haU" al'niid of joy So great as this. W hy should 1 be content Without Erinna, Atthis, Megara, And all my singing children? . . . And you say Uiih:ippy lovers come to this same cliff And leap into the Sea ? Phaon And if they live The fires of love are quenched, 'tis held ; no more They sigh and wait, no more their bodies burn . . . Sa ppho {peering across the rHj], with musing and mournful eyes) And if they die they wait and weep no more ! O Phaon, why should we be talking here Of tears and .-orrow ! Thev ^ccm oul oi tune With languorous nig!n.> like this and love like ours! For I am happy, PI aoii ... All the world Seems over-run with rapture, as with wine. It makes me look and wonder, leaves me thrilled SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 123 Willi wordless yearnini,'-, with some vague content That seems too god like in its unconcern, Too rare, too exquisite, for earthly hearts ! She turns from the Sea to the Temple and the higher slope of the cliff. Now Happiness and Leucate shall mean The same to me. Now ail that life may bring Must seem a broken shadow of this month, This lotos-month of Love, this last soft night Of silence and of moonlight and of You ! She pauses and stirs and sighs, tremulously. What have you done to me ! I live in dreams Yet walk in light. I ache and burn with bliss. I could reach out my arms to all the world And take it to my breast and sing to it, — Yes, -ing with music- that would make it young .\nd leave il glad, as in it.-, (;oIden Age; Sing as the .Sea ha> known no throat to sing. Sing, sing as Night has heard no lover sing ! Phaon But since you came from Lesbos there has been No music ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Sappho No ; nor need of music here ! For lips that press on lips can ne'er lament, And song, Alcaeus says, is born of grief. You, you it was that made the throbbing lyres All vain and empty seem, you, you it was That stilled the singing voices, that du-^k hour Amid tbi- tani^led mastic, when you bore Me up the cliffs in your bron/,ed arms and kissed Me on the mouth, and taught me that our mad, Glad, careless youth was lost, and left our world A world of moving shadows and of dream. And made me love you a- T love you now — O Phuon, tell me you will never change ! Phaon See, slow of speech I am, as all men are Who fare upon the oc-ean and have known Its loncline.-s ! I .-carce can >ay the words That seem to die upon my lips, and yet You know I love you — love you ! Sappho {rapturously) Breathe those words A thousand time s, and still some music new Shall throb and murmur through each utter ig ! SAPPHO IN LI.L CADIA Ye<; vcs; I know how at our feeble lips The wonl^ e'er beat and tlutter and fall back, The wing.-^ of love are held like prisoners! If mortals all were lovers there should be X(> music and no need of music here ! 'I hat much this iioneycd month with you, my own, Has taught me ! Fhaon Have you never dreamed of home And Lesbos? SdppllO Only of those days wlicn you And I were happy there — those golden days Down by the sea, tiiose idle afternoons When you and I and all the world were young, And from the sands we watched the opal sails And waded oiit into the pale green waves, Wet to our golden knees. Then vou would stoop And lift me to the wave-worn galley deck, Lapped by the tre.iiulous low Lesbian surf. And then when evening came, back through green waves We plunged and swam witii laughter, side by side ! Phaon You seemed more wator-nynijjh than woman, more A child of Cyprian foam than mortal flesh ! 126 SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A Sappho And oftf-n, when you pointcti out the path Your outbound sail would take, to Leucate, Past Chios and Nakaria, on and on, Past Myconos and Naxos, cleaving west Through all the flashing Cyclades, and on Still westward, on |)a.-t Ct-cta k)w and dim Aloni,' the southern ^kyhne, and still on Pa-t tluuKicrous Malea, heatiinj; up The blue Icjnian, on, until you saw The tall Leucadian cliffs so white and calm Above the azure water — then I thought You were indeed a god, of wind and >iorm, W ith all yo, -ea-ljronzc and your fearless eyes. Round you . ..onder fell, the wonder of Dark shores I knew not of, and day by clay I watched for your return, and vaguely mourned Kach wind and tide that carried you away! Yes, like a i^od lu seemed in that glad youth Of (In aiiiy hoi ■ and languorous afternoons W hen close beside the murmuring .-ea we w;dked. Then all the odorous summer ocean seemed A pale green field where foam one moment flowered Along the shallows and the golden bars, And then was gone, and cwr came aijain — A thousand blossom-burdened Springs in one. A god you seemed to me, and I was more Than happy, and at little things we laughed ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 12 Phaon And how we plunged and s[)lashed deep in the cool Green waves — hke Telhys and Occanus, \in\ -aiM il ua'-, upon llie iiiUTiiiost La>l gi)Klcii rainparl of tlie wurld ! Siippho (still musingly) . . . yes . . Tlirii would we rest, and muse upon the sands, Heavy with dreams, and touched with some sad peace Born of our very weariness of joy. While drooped the wind and all ih'' >ea i^row still, And unremernhered trailed llie idle oar, And no leat' moved, and hu>he(l were ail ihe birds, And on the >h()als the soft low ripples li^ix.d Themselves to sleejj, and sails sw ng dreamily, And the azure islands floated on the air! Phaon VVas't years ago, or only yesterday? Sappho Then all your body seemed a temple w hite To me, and I a seeker who could find No god beyond the marble, no soft voice 128 SAPPHO IN LEI CADI A Beyond the carven silence — yt t J kiicdtd And asked no more, and knew that I must love ! The \>lnom of youth was on your sunburnt cheek, The >tmims of life sang tlimiigh your violet veins The midnight velvc-t of your tangled hair Lured like a coinuou> And saturate with >un and >ea-air was As Lesbian wine to me, and all your voice A pain that took me back to times unknown. And uhrn y,,u swam bare-shouldered out to sea, Then, then the ephemeral glory of the flesh, Tile my>tic -..ui lu'wilderment of warmth And life amid the coldness of it-^ world Was like a temple with the god restored. It seemed so pitiful, so fragile there, PoiK'd like a >t , ! fni on some tumbHng crest, ("ailing so faintl\- ha. !; across the >torm, That one must love it as a tender llowcr. That one must guani it as a little child. It must have been some spirit of the Se;i Crc pt through our veins in tho>e long afternoons, l or wave bv willful wave strange moods and dreams .Stole over u^ — and then you turned and kissed Me on the mouth ! SAl'l'UU J\ LLH CAUIA Phaon {bending over her) ... As I must ever do — But listen where some restless woman sings ! Out flj the gloom, sojtciicJ by dist >tionless, listening, and slowly a dr'tiiig duud dims the dear blue-white light of the full moon. The Voice sings ^\^^en you lie in \> r sleep, And tlie night is d.irk and still, O that Voice which scem^ to creep From beyond some barrier hill ! O that sound, n.u wind or sc), From no ijir 1 or woodland blown, Bearing you away from me, Crving " One shall go alone ! " — Like a uiio.-t that will not rest, Calli- callinu' u> apart, Where you drea n, Love, on my breast. Where you breathe close on my heart ! i29 O that Cry, bO far and lone, Mourning as the night grows old, 130 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA For the tears as yet unknown, For the parting still untold ! Then for nif^hts you know not of, You who lie so ncir in sleep — Long I watch beside you, Love, Long and bitterly I weep ! Phaon {repeating the words) Long I watch Ijcside you, Love, Lon,!^ and hitli Iv I weep! But yours this music is — it is the song Called " Sleep and Love ! " Sappho I was a dreaming girl When first I wove the fancy into words — I scarcely knew the meaning of the mood I toyed so lightly with ! Phaon To me it seems Too mournful. The night has been slowly turning darker. They stand outlined against the distant sea, still silver-white with the moon. A sense of awe creeps into their voices as they speak. SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A Sappho Yes, to-night it casts a chill Across my spirit. It thrusts upon my- heart Tin- vvci^'hi of all the tears that eyes have wept Hecause of love, since rir>t the world began. Felt you iny body shiver? And a cloud Has crept across the moon ! What makes the night Seem passion-worn and old and touched with calm, So suddenly? Phaon 'Tis nothing but a cloud Across the moon's face. The liquid }ioles oj a nightingale float through the night. Sappho starts up, raptly, listening to the bird. Sappho Listen. . . . Like the plash Of water turned to music still it sounds! A nightingale! It is a nightingale — 'J"o .-wear the world is young again, and love Shall live forever. Oh, my Phaon, come And creep a little closer, while it sings ! She moves slou-lv in the direction oj the sound, Phaon still clinging indolently to her hand as she draws away. 132 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Phaon 'Twill only lure you on, and creep away Between the leaves, and seem an empty Voice Along the echoing hillside. Sappho Come, oh, come! She goes slowly, with intent and upturned face, walking heedless towards th-- sound as l^haon speaks again. It grows si ill darker, and the figures seem almost ghostly in the halj-light. Pluion Then I must burn a signal to my men, I'or I see lights on shore, new lights at sea, And torches moving by the outer cliff. He twists three hand j ids oj dried grass loosely together, and three times burns a signal from the cliff-edge, lighting his hcacoti on (he smouldcriug urn-firc at the atlar. The drilling /hi Die lights up his bronzed fare and figure. . I \ he sl.nnh there, peering out for lui ans^cer- ing signal, Inarelius and a group of armed hopliles enter from the rear. The men carry flaring torches. Their armor sounds noisily through the quietness, SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA and Phaon wheels about n'itlt rescnlment, cyciw^ the intruders almost angrily, but olkern'isc uniuoicd. Jnarchus (with the gruff, deep-chested voice of a grizzled veteran, bluff, matter-of-fact, authoritative) You, there — what man are you ? What fish are you? Phaon First tell me then Inarchus Men, hold your torches close ! They swing about, circling Phaon with light. He starts back in anger as the smoking torches flare in his face. Phaon Suiihl hack ! Stand back there with your stinking brands, Or by the gods, you clear, mellow, unexpected, out oj the gloom. It is a call that is rich and low, alluring and warm. As Phaon hears it he remembers. A change creeps over him; he awakens, as jn>n! a dream, and uncon- sciously dra-d-s back. Then his arm slowly falls, down to his side. Sappho My Phaon, are you coming? I have found The thicket, and the nightingale has sung Of love, love, love to me, until my arms Are aching for you ? Are you coming soon ? Phaon Her voice? {Inarchus wheels about in amazement) Inarchus ^\^lat girl is this that floats between The trees? Phaon It must not be! No, no; not now! . niircliHS W ho i? this virgin lost in tli' moonlight there? — < , How many women woo you, in the year? - 142 SAi'PHO IN mUCAUIA Phaon She must not know! This can twt be to-nighi! It must not be ! Ii tirchus How i.ow? What rr; t not be? Phaon I was a fool ... I cannot fight with you! (> gods of war what v.. ithci-< ks wi ire! — Tiiis tight you hungered lor, a J you >a.;; ! ^e Phaon No; I was Wind; I must not, c, n not, t!„'!u : Oh, more in this tlierc is than iu m kno v; Yet li.Mtn, for beneath the gods T > ak The utter truth ! If 1 have dor auuht wn/ng I shall still answer for it. i!ut ihis girl Omaphale, of her own choosin;.., m do IViy ship her home till one >hort joi.nu s end! It was a youthful folly, a id na .ght i l-t . A wildncs- of the blood, a ' ' ni -s -ho n And set aright. A co:!-t g >hc had ! ,i, And swam out like a iiereid lo mv pro, When we were in the harbor. She would sit /iiTii 1 uc. niA 143 Upn- f 'j;alley"- thwa-t a' d . lyiy laugh \n(i k wit: ' . ' ' 1 by trmi 'h .vould . atch Tor . rcu. 1 iia\ when uc sal Alone upi'ii I. c > and ler dark hair Fi-.l \oi I al^' t her, >! in n the sun, '■• I 'x-\A ijMiFi I, a 1 'jcr 1 \ it -u ily le J • r, . to me: " ^ ' 1!'' At, Of ail urid .\i -cncd she Lay cejM there !»<> v III . /i.t And so? {jrom without) Arp not con ^, Phaon? Coming — yes. Inarchus Ti ou, od youth, have passed a further word ; th me ! Phaon Then quick, what would ynu hear? 144 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Inarchus Put up your sword ! ... I am the instrument And not the State you answer to. These things Must still be told to them who know the Law They shall be told . So late, my Phaon ? Phaon Sappho What keeps you waiting there Phaon 'Tis a crving ewe Strayed from its flock! Quick, closer here. My ship Lies yonder in the bay. At dawn we sail For Lesf,os. There I pledge to meet this charge And show it false, Inarchus {impatiently) How will you show it false? Phaon bringing my accusers and this girl Together, face to face. If she then >ays That I compelled her into crime, I stand Prepared for punishment. Alcaeus then SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 145 Can be disposed of one who crossed his path More times than once. . . . Nay, send these very men Aboard my ship, to guard the homeward course — But as you are a man of justice, breathe No word of this mad charge to . . . (Sappho has entered while he speaks, and stands before the group, for a moment perplexed. Then she holds torch after torch to the immobile faces of tlie hoplites, still puzzled) Sappho But what men Are these? Phaon Fresh seamen, for the ship, I signalled for. Sappho Their faces all look strange. I thought I knew Ka( h man among them, all who used to sing On deck with me the Sailors' Song to Dusk ! They all look hard and cold. . . . And this great cliff Is but the rampart from which cruel Love Thrusts out its lost, as from the frowning walls Of War the dead are flung ! She shudders and shrinks away, then starts, looks upward, and motions, almost imperiously, for the silent Phaon. 146 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA But hark; there flutes And caUs the nightingale again. ... So come. . . . This is our last night, Love, on Leucate ! She links her arm in Phaon's, and they stand listening, With uplijied jaccs su^ept by the dear, blue-white moonlight breaking through sojt cloud-rijls. The foot-soldiers stand motionless, their torches flaring. Curtain SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA I47 ACT TWO An almond and olive grove above the Mgean Sea, near Mytilcne, two weeks later. In the foreground i an open space, soft with turf, shadowed on the right by a row of cypresses, through which the pale marble of a headland Pharos towers and gliiuiucrs. On the left stretches the calm turquoise of the water. Violets can be seen thick along the difl-cdge, and flowers in profusion add to the coloring of the tropical background. It is late afternoon as the curtain goes up, and Alcaeus is discovered striding back and forth, lean and pale and impatient. A moment later Omaphale creeps in, looks about, and turns to Alcaeus with what is half a sob and half a gasp of disappointment. She is a slender, white- faced young girl with tragic and haunted eyes. Omaphale He is not here? Alcaeus Did Zptes of the Guard G' - u the message? 1+8 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Omaphale (still peering about) Yes. ... He is not here I Alcaeus Tlien what we two would speak of must be held In secrecy. OtnapJiale I know ... But where is he? You promised that my Phaon would be here! Alcaeus Your Phaon ! Girl, when was this Phaon yours? Omaphale I loved him, sir ! Alcaeus She loved him ! So, indeed, Have other women done, and little good E'er came of it. If this man could be torn To pieces as Actacon, or as Pentium. A.a. And parcelled out to them lie ( laimed to lov^, Still would there be ^.me woman unpossessed Of this capricious eel, this ferry-man That swims in amorous tears ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Omaphdle But you have said That you would bring him back to me ! Alcaeus I said That if you acted as I may ordain Your lover should one? more be brought to you. Omapliale What is it I must do? Alcaeus If still you wish To wed this Phaon, 'tis within the power Of Pittacus to make you man and wife — If such you ask. Omapliale What must I do? Alcaeus You wish To make him yours, to see him bound to you? Omaphale I care not if he weds me, or he comes And takes me quite imwed ... if only he Will love me ! 149 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Alcaeus Yet if wedded to this man You still may hold him, and you will be his Thiou-h every change of heart, and he must house And clothe and feed you, as the law commands. Oma phale As he may house and i\fd a hungry dog. And love it not ! I care not for the law — If he will love me, that is all I ask. Alcaeus You harp on love as though it were the last And only thing in life ! Omaphale It is — to me ! Alcaeus [aside) It was — to mc. But I am wiser now. Come closer while I six ak — it mus' l)e brief. If still you love thi> man vi,u shall be made His wife. To-night in Mylilene meets The Assembly, And its Council can decree Tha* Phaon marry you, if you but swear That having lured you from your father's home, By force he took you off to sea, and there . . . SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Omaplmle This is not true ! Alcaeus But truth it must be made I Omaphale No, no; I went of my own will ! Alcaeus Then weak You were, and foolish ! Omaphale (sofUy) Yes . . . but happy, too! Alcaeus Why were you happy? Omaphale Was I not with him? Alcaeus Then do as I have said, and you may he Once more with him, Swear that, against your wi He took you out to sea — and in one day All Lesbos will acclaim you as his wife ! 152 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Oma phale And him — what will I be to him ? These words Are not the truth ! Why should I seek to hold His love by lies? Alcaens You knew, and lost, his love — That is the final truth we two must face. But still the man himself comes back to you If you but raise a finger ! Omaphale Lost his love? Alcaetis Then you can keep him close ; then you can guard His coming and his going, and ward off Another woman's witcheries ! Omaphale (wanly) Ward off Another woman's witcheries ! . . , You mean He loves some other woman now? Alcaeus He loves Another woman. SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 15 Omaphale All . . . these long months — Was she with him for ail these endless months? Alcaeus They were together ! Omaphale {bewildered) And I lost his love f Alcaeus {bitterly) Then say the word, and tear him from her arms. And teach him what it is to feel the teeth Of hunger in his heart, to l^now the ache Of empty nights, the dragging day> of pain More desolate than any Ikil, tiie years Embittered, ay, the broken life that crawls And whines for death ! Omaphale You hate this man/ Alcaeus {remembering himself, and reining in his fury) I hold him one who should be envied more Than Pittacus himself ... I hate him not. 154 SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A Omaphale From you he took this woman — 'twas from you! Alcaeus Mine she had never been ! Omapliale {remembering) But now is hist Alcaeus — Until you say the word that brings him back ! Sonic one approaches . . . (^)uick! We must be brief. Will you, before the Council, make this charge ? Omaphale Would I against him make this charge? No; no! I cannot I Oh, T cannot! It would mean His empiy hoily, liis r.nanswering eves, His sullen unconcern, his growing hate For me, his gaoler, and his greater love For that far happier woman still withheld ! 'Tv, null! he like creeping to the tomb of one We lovi (1 and lost, and gnawing on the hones That oni e embraced us ! No ... It shall not be ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 155 Alcaeus The law itself may act ! ... if you will not. Oinaplialc I cannot act against the man I love. Alcaeus Quick, Pittacus approaches; we must not Be seen toijcther. I'urn and walk away Between the olive-trees, and look not back Until you seem alone. And not a word Of what I said until you meet me here At nightfall. Omaphale {Jbewildered and broken) Phaon loves another ! Alcaeus Quick, And think upon these things, until wc meet. As Onhiphale creeps shnc'r ml dtspiritediv awav, PittacHs and Iinircltits, in jidl armor, enter, followed by Phocns, carrying a leathern vine-sack. He is fat and blowsy, and prone to drop of; into sudden sleep. Alcaeus greets the Tyrant and his Body- SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA gHnni, and iii 's beside Pit! iriis. Bnth seem lean HI!:! moody mm prcoi i\ipicd .^itii their oil'h thoughts and ends. Phocus settles himself beside a stunted olive-tree and slumbers. Inarchus 'Tis here between the Pharos and the Sea These women sing ! Pittacus We know they sing, but what ? I narchus By Pluto's bones, 'tif more than I can say! But berc, as you , ^ Pittacus desired, I placed a guard, disguised as shepherd-boys; And honest Phocus as a swine-herd sat Close by and listened, since he has ilie gift Of making song, like good ^Ucaeus here. Alcaeus Now, by Apollo's harp, this is too much ! Pittacus Then tell us what was heard. SAPPHO L\ Ll.iCADIA Imrrhus In the cool of early day Thov come with cithan and harp and lyre .\'id pkclrum, wiili uutlandi-h instruments (Jf .-itring and wood, inlaid with ivory. And some with gold, ..;id squat between this grove And yonder cypresses. PiUacu < ( im palicnlly ) li'il what wa- -aid Betweer hese women? \\ iiat ^oiigs were sung? Imrchus I am a rough man, sir, a son of Wi.r, Unschooled in twiddling thumbs ' n things of gold All ' ivory. 'Twere best a»k i'hocu- here; {He kick-- ' 'or' T to awaken him) His trade is making song! H , ' us, wake. n IOC us iW Bacchus, now, I must ha'. ' had a wink Of sleep! {He yawns and slrcUhes, l-rdly) Inarchus Ffll us what amoroii> lirccd o' song Your r vine-herd ears were fed on yester-ni' .rn ! 158 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Phocus Wluit breed o' song ! Song lit for one that was In truth a swine-herd! Sirs, such sorry stuff That I all but foreswore Euterpe's eaubc And turned to honest labor — for this talk Of Sappho and her school disgorges me ! Alcaens {aside) But, mark you, not of words ! Phocus I could have shown Y'- XT Lesbos, ay, and Athens, what true song And singing is, but paugh ! they'd know it not ! This world of ours j^rows worse, sirs, year by year, And all they take to now is sham and sound ! Pittaciis {to Alcaeus) Oh, muffle somewhat these Mygdonian pipes I Phocus Why, song's not what I well remember it — There was in Samnos, when I was a boy, A lean old goat-herd — what a drunkard, too I SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 159 Alcaeiis {to Pitlaciis) Who died of a grape seed in tiie wind-pipe, sir ! PIlOCllS — Who strung, across a sluirk's-jaw on a ho\ Of cedar dipjjcd in beeswax, five ^hort ^tring^, And twanged them with a little brazen thumb, And made up songs about the early days, When life was worth the living, giving us Most wondrous music — that 1 mind liyht well! Pittaais Rut we arc like all Greece; we still would know Uf Sappho's singing ! PIlOi Its Sappho's singing — paugh 1 The lady, mark you, sir, I much esteem, And hold no quarrel with — 'tis but this stuff Of burning fire and brimstone, and the mouth Of black volcanoes hoiling uj) with lo\(' That -( (irches half of Le^l)Oh ! I could take A s\ rin\ made of willow^ and out-sing This walking cithara, if only men Would come and listen ! {He drinks and settles back, as if making ready to sleep) l6o SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Alcaeus As we do, alas ! PittacHS Enough of this fat wine-sack. ! Let me know VVTiat you have noted ! Imrchus Sir, as I have said, This Sappho that you bade me watch so close Comes forth and talks with them, all draped in flowers, And schools them in the mincing of big words To foolish sounding music ! What might jxiss Between them more I know not. But 'tis here They come and sit and brood above the sea, Like mooning cliff-birds! Pittacus Men and girls alike? Imrchus No; girls alone — grown girls — fine amorous-eyed IH-ep-lMKonii'd women, who should love and mate Wit!) 'ncn like mr. and he ar u- -Mii ; ir To laugh at Solon, and iiuvc LcsIjos feared ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA PUtacus And who shall fear an island full of harps? Inarchns I am a hlulT man, sir, and what it means. This singing of white virgins, I know not ! Hut when I was a youth no girls sat down \\ ith girls, and strummed on wires of twisted gut Alcaeus Mark you his words ! There lies the only way This woman can ix' met and overthrown ! Since Athens crowned her for her singing here They wait upon her like a goddess ! PUtacus True ! And for a crown of oiive! Ve-lerdav My chariot-whccls rang through deserted streets And not a slave-gir) watched me as I went. Hill m the wharv s all Mylilenr cheered; Tiic liartior rm I . (1 with ro ' . .mfi tl ' !il[)s f.:iy in.iilitii (1 under ^ 'los^un).--, and a l>arge < M ill , nil iinnichc ^ , shrill sinKing K'tIs \\\ I t from the Western (^uay, and Ujys swam out l62 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Beyond the Second Bar — all, all to meet Her sail — the sail of Sapyho coming back To Lesbos ! Alcaeus Yet you always scoffed at Song ! Pill'iciis And every \\:\y she turntfi were cric*^ and tears, And every street biie walked was paved with leaves Of oleander I Alcaeus And you scoffed at Song ! PitturKS I knew no need of Sontx. I had my work — My work tliat led me on I)y paths aii>tere And walked beside me with its patient eyes And seemed forever mirthless. Yet when life Grew wise and hard and empty, and the friends Of youth ill fell away, 'twas in this friend, 'Twas in this comrade with the . iiet eves And solemn brow, 1 found my linal peace. Alcaeus And she will come and overthrow that peace With other friends — for she is loved of all Your people, and she sways them at a word 1 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Piltacus Ay, sways them as a wine-vat sways a mob ! Alcaeus But >lill , us you thmitcMcci, at a word The island would take lire and rage and sweep With one unending " Down with Piltacus ! " Pittdciis I have scant fear of that I Much more I fear What tlii> \M)V laiui may fall to! Think of it In hands like Sappho'.^, drugged with sighs and song! As well ask butterflies to fight for us, Ask larks to haul the iron-rimmed wheels of state ! Too well I see it ! This shall be the home Of we.'.kliiigs ; while some sturdier land unknown To us shall cut) roui^h-hcarted men of war. Men strong and ruthle , ravenous, uncouth, To sweep u[M)n us with their hurrying hordes And grind our gentle hands and golden harps Heneatli l)art>arian heels. Wiiu", wine T hate, And Sappho hate — and both shall be put down ! Alcaeus You of To-morrow dream : she sin^';s To-day ! — I thought and sang of both, and neither won 1 164 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Pittacus Ah, yes ! This crown they gave her — was it not Once offered you? Alcaeus r sani; not for the mob ! Tluy howled for love aiul wine and rhajjsody; And to the songs I make must ever cling Some touch of tears and twilight. It may be That I, hke Phocus there, was born before My time. So when I saw that I should stand Against a woman, I withdrew ! Pittacus Withdrew, And lei a Sappho win ! It has been said You loved this woman ? Alcaeus Sir, she has been loved By many, and because of that, perchance, She is as hard to combat as to win ! Pittacus I fear no woman ! Alcaeus Since you fought with none ! Nay, strike not openly, but undermine SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 165 In secrtoy this wall that neither you Nor I can ever scale. Piiacus What mean you? Speak! Alcaeus I mean it has been said this woman's wiles Are strange; ^Iie makes our wives forgit their homes And young girl^ who have ncvrr loved awake And cry for tender v.-ords, and maiden--, too, That kissed o'er close, still seek another's mouth; Half-mad with music, makes our women leave Their waiting lovers and creep after her With pleading eyes, and ( ling abi'ut her neck And rail her Ijeaulil'ul and iia—ioiiate names! And all the world has known thai all her Mings Are drenched in tumult and with rapture washed. Pittacus Nay, start me not to storming on this string That I have thumbed so ol*' n ! She it is WHio leads my men away, and plants their spears In colonnades, where ro>e and meadow-sweet May climb, and little garden-hird.- may chirp! She is the author of our idle days, Our festivals of folly crowned with flowers, Our bacchanalian midnights mad with wine 1 66 SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A And song and reding dance; our lovers pale And silent in the gloom, who neither laugh Nor move where gleam the white of arms And marbled throats and limbs voluptuous! Oft have I stumbled on this (".athus That over-runs with fire, and marked the ways Of those who follow her, llie fearless laugh. The muffled stir of torches through the leaves, The flight, denial, capture, and the faint Last struggles of some lover lost in s:;rhs And swooning untoncern — anri through it all The throbbing of the lyres, tiic drone and beat Of citharas, the broken woodland chants. The midnight sorceries, where they who weave O'cr-sweetened words to music sit and dream By drooping ulc iiidiT> , Hinging lust And enervating |)a^^iol, out across This land of lovers! I'augh, I hate it all ! Alcaeiis Your people sliould bf told, then: " lie: i-^ -ne Who would corrupt thr ro>e of Le>i)ian \. ith, Who leaves a iiii,^'ht upon our homes, a t, iil Upon our island I " PiltncHs Yes; but to what end? SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 167 Alcaeus That where we idle wait the gods may act! Tlie -eed thu> pla'ited quicUy shall grow, Shall spread su>|)ieion, and shall pave the way For grim uprootings. When the time is ripe Proclaim the woman for the thing she is ! Phocus I must have slept a wink, and known it not ! {He rises and quietly drinks as the sound 0} music and chanting voices floats softly up jrom the sea below them) Pittacus Listen, what soimd is that ? Alcaeus It is the song All Lesbos sings at sunset ! Pittacus All Lesbcs sings? Aloiens The Sailors' Hymn to Sunset it is railed ; Fron> every harbor where a tired our drips, S API HO IN LEUCADIA Or rope is tied, or weary anchor \ t' un-ung My Shepherds' Song to She-Goats, wnt by me In pure .Kolic, in Ionic, too. That ripplc-b like a riil ! {lie sighs and sleeps) Pittacus VA hence came this song ? Ah liens It comes from Sap{)h() I I-i~-tcn; next to that They call the Song For Lovi-rs, and its male, The Sailors' Hymn to Sunrise, 'tis most sung. The t'co moi turn toi^'ards the Sea, listening. And wonderful ii i>i' I'rom siiip to .-hip, From cape to nii.>ty ca[)e, from wharf to wharf, From harbor-town to headland and still on To harbor-town it rises, eve by eve. It rnou!il> and swings until a chain of song Round Lesbos iias been woven ! PhocHs stirs and tjw/w ruhhiu;^ his eyes. Then he sho-a-s that he is listening to the speakers preoccupied on the cli/f. SAl'I'HO IN LEUCADIA FiUacus I thought as much I This woman stands a menace and a shame — She must be silenced. Alcaeus Then, before I go, L< t mc one sentence add: 'Twere best to strike At Ikt tliroiigh Phaon — cut the cypress low, And k't the ivy willicr, where it lies. Of Phaon 's deeds you know: should he go down, Her desperate love for him would spell her own Untimely ruin. Let them fall as one ! Piitacus She has her following, such as it is ! W e must strike cautiously. This Phaon boasts That he has talked with goddesses, you say? Alcaeus He is the man who claims Poseidon speaks With iu'm across his gunwale. Still he tells How on a night of storm and rain he found A woman mufiled in a gloomy cloak, Waiting without a word be.-ide his boat — Who made a sign, whereat he rowed her out, Micitocorr resolution test chart (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) A APPLIED IM/IGE Inc 1653 Eas' Mam Street Rochester Ne*» >ork M609 USA (716) 482 - 0.iOO ' Phone 170 SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A Against his will, into the driving spray. And all the while her woman's dreaming eyes Shone out like stars, and through the tempest flashed Her while face like a llame, and filled his heart With fear and wonder. And they reached the land; And she passed silently out through the night, And left no sign or footprint on the sand; And he has claimed she was a goddess. Pittacus {cynically) He May need her help ! Alcaeus We boast no goddesses To fight for us, in either love or war; So we must stand prepared, and wait our hour . . . Pittacus And when the time is ripe . . , Alcaeus The gods may act Where we have been most idle. I must go ! (£.vi7) SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 171 Phocus (peering blearily after Alcaeus) Now, by the horn of Bacchus, liere will be Eryngo-root to spice to-morrow's talk ! {He laughs) But soft — there's one as lean as I am fat. Omaphale creeps in, as he speaks. Her fare is color- less, her hair dishevelled. She is aboitl to speak to Pittaciis, but shrinks aivny, with a gesture oj jear and despair. A look oj hopelessness is on her face, as she advances toward the cliff-edge. Pittaciis {wrapt in thought, unconscious of I nan': us standing so close beside him, in the statue-like im- mobility of the long-trained soldier) The gods may act. . . . And out of hate and love, Entangled and embattled, she may fall, As others fell ! {He sees Omaphale) And there, I take it, walks One (if her Maenad band, chalk-faced and frail Aiui rapt of eye, a Bassarid grown sick Of too much love ! Inarcliiis It is Omaphale ! Pittarus Omaphale ! For something lost she seeks ! 172 SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A Inarchus What seek you, girl ? Omaphale (abstractedly) The Sea ! Inarchus {bluvtly) For Phaon's ship? Omaphale He has b^en taken from me. . . . No, the Sea Is all they left me. . . . 'Tis the only way ! She shudders and drrra.'s hack, as she peers from the verge. But oh. I cannot do it I I am weak! The water is so far ! The wheeling birds Still make me dizzy ! Oh, it is too hard ! She lowers her htnids, looks up at the sky, the cliff, the sea, gazing slowly about her. Then she closes her eyes, and gropes brokenly toward the sea, her hands once more out-stretched. But now, it must be done ! She is on the i hen Inarchus seizes her. She struggles fiercely as he drags her hack. Oh, let me go! I only ask to die — that, that is all ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Phocus The girl would kill herself ! Omapliale {struggling ) I want to die! Pittacus What is this madness, girl ? {She is silent) What is your name? And why should one so young fight bitterly To go to such a death ! Phocus {sadly) She has been crossed In love, as I in Samnos once was crossed ! Omaphale, wild-eyed and dumb, gazes at them, breaks away, but is caught by Inarchus. Inarchus What shall I do with her? Pittacus The girl is weak; She shakes and quivers like a captured bird! 174 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA We may have been too rough ! Some woman's hand Should hold her, and a woman's comrade voice Sliould question with her softly! Tell me, girl, What happened you ? J 'hocus Ho, here are women now ! Quick, call them you. From me they might construe One word as an advance, and hold me to it ! Erinna, Atthis and Mcgara, cro'ujned with flowers, have entered while he speaks. They carry musical instruments. Erinna {dropping her cithara) What has this woman done, to be so held? Inarchus Just what she did I know not, but I think She must be mad, for she would throw herself From off the cliff ! Erinna Why, she is but a girl ! Omaphale turns away, with still another effort to reach the cliff-edge. O Atthis, hasten by the Shepherd's Path, and call To Sappho! Exit Atthis SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A 175 Phocm VVTiy call for Sappho? Erinna Knows she not The most assuaging words, the softest tones, To utter to a heart that sorrows wring ? Phocus Wliat, Sapphic music at a time like this ! The girl wants wine, good wine, to warm her blood And make her spirits dance ! He offers her his wine-flask, hut the girl turns away, still silent. The girl is mad ! He offers it again. There is no question but the girl is mad ! He drinks, deeply, end replaces flask, with lips smacking. Erinna Oh, see if Sappho comes. Megara 'Tis Atthis calls. She answers; yes, 'tis Sappho. 176 SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A AUhis {entering, breathless) She is htre. They step back. Sappho enters with an armjul oj gulden samphire, and a lyre oj silver and gilded cedar- wood. She looks from f-'ce to face. There is a suggestion oj power, oj it ked Was that he love me — and he love-, me not! Pittacus {aside to Inarchiis) Behold where Pliaon comes, mark well each word That passes here between the two ! Enter Phaon, who stands unnoticed on tk tskirts of the preoccupied group. Sa ppho '.'l me The name of him who tm forgotten you ! Omaphale I cannot tell ! Sappho Say where he may be found. 1 82 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Oinaphale shakes her head, obdurately. Sappho still looks at her silent face, in wonder. Then you can hate him not? Vou love him still? Could you not steal unto his couch and plunge A knife into his sleeping heart? And she, The one who came between you — would you kill This cruel woman with her careless smiles? Omaphale I love this man so much that I would die To see him happy ! Sappho But what man is this Wlio merits such mad love" Omaphale {looking away and seeing Phaon, in one in- voluntary scream) Phaon ! Sappho Why Phaon? What is Phaon unto you? Omaphale O Phaon, tell them that you were, you are, The man I loved ... tell them ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 183 Sappho (pointing to Pliaon) Know you this man ? Pittacus Come, answer quickly, child ! Sa ppho Know you this man ? Enter Alcaeus, who u'alches silent and uneasy. Otnaphale He was — no, no ; this means some woe I cannot understand. What makes your face So wliite? You shrink and quiver and your eyes Are like dead women's eyes! This means some harm To him ! No, no, / never knew this man! Pittacus You knew him not? Omaphale {the falsehood only too obvious) No ! No ! I knew him not ! {To Alcaeus) You, you can tell them he is innocent ! She starts towards Phaon with outstretched hands, but is held back by the stolid Inarchus. Alcaeus , The girl is lying. 184 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Sappho Lying ? Alcaeus Yes; she says These words to shield the man. Sappho Whatman? Whatman? PiUacus What man would hide and skulk and wait behind A woman's lie? Alcaeus The man who took this girl And loved her till she grew a weariness To him, the man who bore her off to sea Against her will, and found in other lands Another lover . . . ' Sappho Then his name ! His name ! Alcaeus His name is Phaon. Omaphale No — he took me not Against my will. I loved him, and I went. SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Phaon The woman speaks the truth ! I skulk behind No lies; and you, my sweet .•\lcaeus, you Shall answer for this thing, or — Fittacus Silence ! Sappho {starting back, shaking) So, This is the truth! — And this the nun I sought! Phaon (to Alcaeus) Oh, you, you half-way lover of women, you Shall answer for these lies — you Janus-face ! Omaphale (weeping before Pittactis) We went as lovers, sir, as happy lovers ! Sappho This is the truth, indeed, the woman speaks ! Oh, this is more than I ran hear! Tliry went As lovers, till he looked about and found Another lover from another land ! l86 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Phocus {li'iigging his head) If you would shake the tree, then must you sort The fruit ! Omaphale Will you forgive me, Phaon? Sappho Go — do to your lover! Go, I give him back To you ! Cio there into his arms again ! He waits for you — he is impatient, see I Phaon Stop — this is mockery ! Sappho Sec, I have sung You back upon his breast. Look, I have saved You from the Sea, that you may kiss his mouth ! Yes ! Yes ! I, I have saved you for this man ! Willi words ,'is soft as fir'^t-born love I brought You back to him I Mo-;i bravelv, was it not, Great Pittacus, I coccd and })leaded here, I sounded like a gymnast of the wires, The glory and the wonder of all life ! — But I shall wring your State with no more song, And I shall mouth no more, and plead no more I SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 187 Slie flings her harp flashing and twirling into theMgean. This is the end of love ! This is the end Df faith in man, in life, in every god That mocks your temples ! Plwcus {aside) ^tna, to a turn I Erinna {weeping) O Sappho, come away ! Atthis Oh, come with us I Stipplio Vcs, I will come with you; the ghost of me Will walk and talk with you — l)ut i am dead! This man has killed all life, all love, [a me, All happiness, all music, and all song ! Phu n Nay, hear me, but a word . . . Sappho Wait, I shall sj)eak ! Alcaeus, Phocus, you have wooed me both — l88 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Sought me for many years, and day and night Sighed alter me ! Behold, I am for sale, For sale to him who takes me where I stand ! I, Sappho, Queen of Song, ay, Queen of Love, The Tenth Muse after whom the others walk, Am I not worth the taking, one of you ? Alcaeus {his lean face blanching at her words) And you will hold to this ? Sappho I hold to it ! I hold to anything that crushes him That I have learned to hate! You fear this man? Are both of you afraid? Phocus Now, by the horn Of Bacchus, lady, I did love you well — But weeping for it left me scant o' breath I Phaon, who has snatched out his sword, now turns the more dangerous and determined Alcaeus. Phaon I care not who he is, but l)y the gods Of seamen I will spit the first rash fool Who listens to this woman ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Sappho One of you, Which one of you will take me where I stand? Pliaon Who does so, first must taste this biner steel ! Alcaeus (aside to Phaon) This is no place for brawling ! Phaon {desperately) What, you still Woiild woo your old-time Jove? Alcaeus I stand unarmed — And thank your gods for it ! But neet me here At dawn, and you and I shall fight this out, And I shall kill you ! Phaon Kill me ! I could mow My way through fields of music-tinkler's throa.s, Dig tliroutjh a mountain made of poet's hearts, Ay, swim and bathe in chorus-monger's blood, And face a dithyrambic sea (^f all The lean-gilled singers that have harped through Greece ! 189 190 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Sappho (distraught) Kill him, Alcaeus, for he killed my joy In life; he killed my h(;j)e of happiiitss; He killed my new und lender love ... he killed The careless singing voices of my heart ! . . . Oh, kill him ... kill him ... as he killed my soul ! While u.ind tears her robes, and sinks back exiuiusted jrom her jrcnzy as the curtain jails. Curtain. SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA ACT THREE Scene: the same as in Ad II, early the next morning. Erinm and Atthis, white and worn with watching, face the sea. Erinna See, Atthis, it is morning ! Atthis What a night Of sorrow ! Erinna Like a child she wept and cried For Phaon, and then paced the echoing gloom, And asked if it were cruel thus to kill The man who made her suffer ! Then her wrath Broke forth again, and down on him she called The curses of the gods, then calmer grew, And fell to weeping, Atthis I have sometimes thought Her love was like her music when she sang 192 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA To us at midnight. Tis o'er passionate, And seems as deep as life, as dark as death, And wild beyond all words ! In this our world There arc two k>nds of women : one men seek And desperately love, and mhiu' day leave, Or some day meet their death for; likewise one They seek not drunkenly, and yet when known, They labor for, and cleave to, all their years. And fight back fnjm the world's end to rejoin. The eternal motlier calm of brow, the one, And one, the eternal lover I Erinna Sappho has The strength and fire of each ! I love her so I could not see her faults. Atthis She asks too much. And ever gives too :uch. She is of those WTio threaten when they most alluring seem, Who menace even when they yield the most. \'o!canic ate such women : that same fire Which makes them dangerous and dark and cruel Still leaves them warm and rich and bountiful, And Love creeps closer, presses ever up, Up to the central fires, and mile by mile The soft audacious green of vineyard dares SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Tne dreaming crater. Then the outbreak comes, And througli the red-lipped lava and the ruin 'lae world remembers! Erinna Nay, you do her wrong. She bleeds when she is wounded, but her ways Are soft and gentle. Midnight scarce had gone Ere she grew calm and sought Alcaeus out. And called him from his home, and through the gloom Of his walled garden pleaded that he would Be merciful to Phaon. Atthis He, merciful! Erinna Alcaeus said that honor bade him meet The man who challenged him, yet gave his word, His cryptic word, that Phaon should not die, If she but yielded him the little ring Of beaten gold she wore upon her wrist ! Atthis I fear this self-contained and watchful man. Whose words are but a sheath to hide his thoughts. 194 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Erinna I, too, I fear the outcome of it all ! Atthis If Sappho were but here ! Erinna {looking about) And Phocus, too — He should have come to us, an hour ago ! When once her woman's rai^'e lia> burned away. She will go back to IMiaon, for vucli love As she has known can wither nut and die In one short night. Atthis If only Pittacus Would come to Sappho's aid I Erinna Not Pittacus I Nny. Pittacus is hard and granite cold, His breast is adamant, liis liand is stc'l. And he has dreamed tiiat while this land endures His name and that of Lesbos shall be linked ! He wills that on each temple " Pittacus " Sliall l)c inscribed in letters all of gold; And bitter in his mouth has been the praise SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA i()5 Of S;i[i[)ho; he has grown to hate Iut luinic, Vet fears to ict. But he may make ihi.-. night A pretext . . . See, 'tis Phocus come at last. EtUer Phocus, panting Phocus Ho, what a climh! Had I not stumhU'd on A >n()ring herd-nian with a Nviiie-^ack full Of better life than his, 1 should be prone Beside the City Wall 1 Oh, what a climb ! Erinna But quick, what news? Phocus News? News enough to swamp A galley! Pittacus is on his way; Alcaeus by the herd-path also comf;s, And Mytilene crowds upon the heels Of Sappho, caterwauling ribald song, And growling curses back upon the Guard ! And Phaon, it is said, was put in arms, And then again uas not, and still again 'Tis held he was de{H;rted in the night, And still, once more, again, that Pittacus Has issued mandates there shall be no fight — m i V 11 1'^ . I I » hi i .1 196 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA While others whisper Phaon hurrie= forth To meet Alcaeus and fight out his fight Before 'tis known of! F.rinna {at the sound of singing) Listen .' Hear you not ? — The Sailor's Hymn to Sunrise ? Atthis Yes, I hear ! Phocus But I have further tidings ! First, a sip O' herdsman's comfort ! — Pit tacus, 'tis said, Commands these men must neither meet nor fight. He knows his words are useless — mark you that!' But purposes to wait, and make no move Till this fine-feathered, anchor-fouling, swart, Hot-headed son o' brine called Phaon comes,' As he will surely come, and bleats and vawls' For clash o' swords. Thereat the waitin- Guard Shall clap him into irons; tlie charge to be Attempt at murder on a citizen, The penalty whereof, and mark you this, Is exile ! Erinna Atthis, I must go at once And seek out Sappho: she must know of this! F 1 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Phocus Nay, wait till I unload ! 'Tis whispered round That yester-night the Council secretly Decreed that Phaon and Omaphale Should in the streets be married, publicly I Now, once in Samnos . . . Erinna {to Atthis) Wait on my return ! Exit Erinna Phocus {swelling with importance) And mark you this: the less your Sappho says Concerning what has been, or is to be, The better with you all ! For Pittacus And lean Alcaeus tooth and nail are set On her undoing. Mark you that again I Atthis It shall not be. No; she and happiness Must walk together. She must live to sing And make life beautiful with music still ! Phocus To sing? Ay, there's the long and short of it ! (He drinks from his flagon) 198 SAPPHO JN LEUCADIA What song is there in these besotted days? A life most scandalous, and then a trick O' mouthing vowels, then a wanton youth And green-sick maid or two to syllable Your milk-and-water sorrows, warble out Your lecherous odes, and, ho, you have a poet I A till is A poet who is "at and full of words ! Phociis {swaggering) Now Pittarus Ikis told mc, man to man, When seeking of my counsel, that our tunes Have Urned too amorous, and must be stopped. And I'm behind him in it ! You talk of song. But once in Samnos was a lean old man Who strung across a shark's jaw on a box — Atthis See, see; they come . . . And Sappho is not here! Enter Alcaeus, armed, attended by only a young servant. A ^01 ens He is not here, this man ihal vowed to face A sea of lilied singers. SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA P h oc us Fear you not ! This hot-eyed tunny out of Pluto's ditch Is foaming, lashing, frolliing hitherward Along the Shepherd's Path {The sun rises) . . . And as he sware He breaks upon us with the rising sun. Enter Phaon, jollo-ucd by a hand Jul oj Lesbian sailors; sunburned, graceful, light-hearted /elloius, but now %'jatchful and furtive-eyed. Pliaon At dc.wn it was to be. Well, it is dawn. He whips out his sword, almost gaily, tries its edge on his thumb, and wheels ahoul. Alraeiis, nrn'ous and unstable, not yet sure of his etids, faces his opponent. Alcaeus One word, before this fight begins . . . Phaon \\\m\-\ Words! I want no words! My life t(t-(l ,v is wortli A minnow's ransom ! There's a narrative In naked steel comes nearer to my wish Than words! 200 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Alcaeus But things there are that we must say By word of mouth. Still let judicial steel . . . Phaon {shortly) These words, then, if you must : I have been told We two are destined not to fight this fight; That one who much esteems you will step in And stop this combat, as you stand informed 1 Alcaeus This is not true ! Phaon {determined) Then show it to be false I Quick ! I shall brook no quibble or delay ! Fight! Fight, I charge you! Quick, defend yourself! Alcaeus {aside to servant) The Guard! What keeps the Guard! {To Phaou) But I would know For what we two are fighting here? PJiaon For what ? You know full well — a woman ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 201 Alcaeus Then, we fight For issues closed ! This woman came to me. Pltaon To you ? So soon ? Within a night ? Alcaeus Within A night, since you have said it ! Phaon Liar; still You svvim in lies ! Alcaeus And gave tliis band of gold To be a token — Look well over it ! Phaon looks at the icrist-hnid, incredulous; Alcaeus, thus gaining time, peers out anxiously, awaiting Piltacus and the Guards. Phaon (quivering) Ha! Now; .ves, now we fight ; we doubly need To know which man must die! A\'e doubly need To know how stand the gocb, if (liis be true! No more of empty words ! Come, fight it out ! 202 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Alcaeus, about to expostulate, finds no time for words. Phaon, advancing, compels him to fight. The crowd draws closer, in an irregidar circle, with groans and cheers as the sliort-bladed swords clash and strike. Foot by jcot Alcaeus is forced back. It is obvious that Phaon is drivbig liim toicards the clijj-edge. He is foiled in this by the sudden en- trance of Pittacus, breathless, followed by his Guard. The huge Inarchus strikes down the sword of Alcaeus, who is already cut on the arm. Phaon, seized from behind, still slaslies with his sword. Pittacus What brav/l is this that stains our Lesbian peace? A Voice A fight for a woman ! Another Voice Let them fight it out ! A Citizen 'Twas Phaon forced him to it ! A Sailor Fight it out f SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 203 A Citizen He fell upon him ! A Citizen Ay, he up with sword And at him like a Fury ! Have it out ! A Sailor They fight in honest combat ! Have it out 1 A Citizen Alcaeus was compelled to draw ! A Sailor You lie; He came at dawn to meet this man. Pittacus Be still ! Who sought a Lesbian's life shall pay for it. Guards, j)ut this man in chains, and hold him close. The hflpUtcs seize and manade the .stni(^<^lin!^ Pliaon. The sailors erozcd close, but dare not intcrjcre. Pittacus (aside to Alcaeus) The gods have acted . . . With my second blow We shall be masters ! And this man you hate Will go from Lesbos stained in thought and name. 204 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Alcaeus Omaphale — you hold her close ? PiUacus We hold Her close, assuredly. The girl must stand The coiumn of our acts. 'I'liis Sappho heads An arniv uitliuut arm>, iluit sccrctlv Opposes, tlirealens, thwarts me. Here, to-day, It shall be brought to issue. We shall learn What hand rules Lesbos still — and more there is In this, than but a foolish woman's fall ! Alcaeus Then, I were best away. PiUacus Go, have your wound Attended, for excuse. {Aloud) But, stop; were you Assaulted by this man ? Alcaeus (showing u'onndcd arm) This speaks for me ! Sappho enters, panting, her face pale. She joUowed by Erinna and a group of Lesbians, bearing sickles and grape-knives. SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A 205 PiUacus Assault it was. Sappho {authoritatively. Her gaze has been on Phaon) Why is this man in chains? Pittacus He broke a law of Lesbos. Sappho {tdiintingly) Did he drink A sip of wine? Or sing a happy chord Of shepherd music ? Phocus Shepherd music ! Oh ! Oh ! Shepherd music ! That was good ! 'Twas more Like spouting sulphur crowned with Typhon's fire ! Piitacus (jitdirially, realizing the people before him must be convinced oj the justness of his action) This man defied the State and broke the peace Of Lesbos, and must :-utTcr. I have sought To make this i-hmd one of temperate wavs, And late and early 1 have strained and toiled To reach this end. Its wastrel y - have left Its name a by-word on the lips o recce, 2o6 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA And not until its must-vats are no more, And all its vaults of flagoned indolence Are emptied, and its vineyards are destroyed, And all its simpering harps made into swords, Shall we dare hope to be a State again ! Sappho {dcfianlly) Tiien, it is worse to crush a thousand grapes, O, man of war, than twice a thousand hves? Quick, Phocus, give me of your wine to drink To one who knows his Lesbos ! That puts blood, Good Lesbian blood, in me ! Yet we had thought 'Twas Bacchus who once called this island " home," And ble>sc(l our vines! We thought M(>thymna saw The harp of Orpheus lloat to Lcsi;ian shores, The god's own head washed high upon our sands — And from the dead mouth sounds of music creep And crown our island with its gift of song ! The Lesbians That is the truth ! Shepherds Our Sappho speaks the truth ! Sappho Rail not at wine ! When Athens threatened us, And sentineled our shores, and sail by sail SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 207 Shut off the Sea, and flung our ramparts down And left us huddled close, without defence, And all our cattle died for want of rain, And drougiit drt)ve all our people from the hills, And IA'^1)0: had no water, none t ) lave The dying, none to give unto the sick, And none to mix the waiting lime and sand Whereof to build a wall against the foe — Mark you the tale — 'twas from the sunburnt hills Our fathers tore the alnmdant grapes, and crushed The precious liquor irom them, vat by vat, And mixed their mortar, and threw up their walls And fought the Athenians back into the Sea ! Nay, rail no r ore at wine, chaste Pittacus! The Lesbians And that is truth ! Jtill Sappho speaks the truth ! Pilhicus To-morrow, then, shall turn it to a He ! Sappho My people, listen close ! This man of war, This man who walks in steel and sleeps in stone, While we are ramparted by rustling leaves And love and careless flowers, this same man Who would make fortresses of garden walls. And grape-fields into flashing battlegroimds, 2o8 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Who would turn amphora and urn and bowl To sword and pike and helmet — he would leave Oui towns no longer thronging-masted marts, But tankards ol dissension and of bl,M,d f He would upon the lamb drape lion-skins, And have us known for what we can not be I PiUacus No — have us known not as we now are known I Sappho He to the kilns would fling our carven fauns And to the fire our stately marbles give — Our chisellerl breams that cannot draw a sword, Our Parian mutes that may not hear a pike!— ' And make them into lime for arsenal walls, And school us how to loathe a purpif gi.[ c! U in - W ine ! This isla nd sings on, floats on, ^vine f W .no roof, our homes, and feeds our iumgiy mouths; Our galleys freight it to the thirsty world. It makes the sorrowful no longer sad ; It leaves pain unremem bercd, makes u> seem rhe equal of the gods; the aged, young; T^e sickly, well; the silent, full of song; Tlie parte 1 lover -rieve not k-r his love! It is a secret god who stoops to make Us ricii with music ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 2 PhocHS {a^ide) Now, by the horn, her words At last are wisdom ! PiUacus Stop, enough of this ! Tiiere shall be i d lovers thai no wine- May comfort . j^et the prisoner stand forth. Sappho {desperately — in a mad torrent oj dejiance) And this is wisdom, this the heart and core Of that calm highest fruitage that you flaunt Upon your thought-fed tree of knowledge ! Oh, It maddens me ! These icy grandeurs make Me like a M.cnad, make me storm and rage And wonder how the ruddy blood of life C' ';i(l run so Aow aivJ pale ! You never laugh And never weep, men sa; . . . You never know The meaning and the glory of the mom. The passion and the pathos of the dusk, The rapture and the wonder of all life ! You are a burnt-out kiln, a river-bed Of aching emptiness, a dried-ui) A hearth without a fire, a thing of bones ! You have not found the secret and the sweep Of Music, learned the meaning of the Spring, Or known its soft renewals bom of love 2IO SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA And sorrow ! You have never watched the Sea Without some miser's thought of tax and toll, Nor bent above the crimson of the rose Without some rapine thought of battle-fields! Though you should live till your last hair is white. And 1 and thi^ .>anie man you hold in chains Siiould die tliis moment . . . we have known of life And earth far more than you could ever know ! .1 cry oj approval breaks from the people. Pittaais Enough of this ! Am I a king of sots? Our cities and our veins have come to flow With watory wine instead of good red blood! We are Sidonian idlers of the night Who pay out gold to have our fighting done By soldiers bred abroad. We are a land That women lead, who strum on droning gut And pipe through' foolish IuIks along our fields For years untilled, our roads all left unpaved, Our towns and harbors still unfortified. We sit and loiter by the walls that lean No longer mended, and ungathered wait The olive-crops while broken lutes arc jjatched And some new song is learned. Now it must cease/ Sappho He says, my people, we must sing no more. SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Lesbians And br athe and eat '^'o more ! Phocus (aside) And drink no more? Pittacus I am a patient man, and just, I think. I seek to lind the light, and sometimes learn Through error, and advance through unbelief. In things imperial I have been taught To heed my people's wishes, and to yield — But on one base I stand immovable; And nov/ I charge you \vitli its final truth: The State, thatiearns to art, endures and lives; But one that sits and drones away its nights In wine and amorous dreams, must die oj it/ Phaon Yet here two men would act: and one you hold In chains — and you a lover of the strong ! But let me at him, and I'll leave him there As swine-fa* for your chariot's axletree ! Sappho Yes, one you hold in chains, and say not why ! 212 SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A Pittacus What I have done was done for Lesbos' sake. Sappho (to the people) W ho has done most for Lesbos, Pittacus Or Sappho? The People Sappho ! Sappho ! Sappho Who has taught You to be happy ? The People Sappho it has been ! Sappho WTiat are my sins, then, that you strike at me Thus covertly, and put this man in chains? She steps towards Phaon, who turns away from her, with a gesture of repudiation. Pittacus (seizing his chance) Is this man aught to you ? SAPPHO IN LhUCADIA 213 Sappho {slowly, after a silence) The man is naught to me ! Pitlacus Then what he suffers must be naught to you ! Sappho {(lazed) And what I suffered, tco, is naught to him ! Pittacus (more assured, realizing Sappho^ s bewilderment) Your sins are those of Lesbos, that must cease. Sappho And when two lovers kiss, I am the cause? Pittacus Enough ! I ?ay you are a bh'ght and shame To Lesbos, and this man who Hved so deep Has lived not in the law. Let him stand forth. You are exiled. In seven days a ship Shall leave this harbor, going forth at night ; And under guard you shall go forth with it From Lesbos, and on pain of death return ! Sappho Exiled ! He, Phaon, is exiled from home ! 214 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Pi I lac us The people of this isle shall speak of you As of the dead. Sappho (rebelliously) My people, have you heard? Erinm O Sappho, say no more, lest some new blow Upon you fall ! Sappho Why should I fear a man Who stands in fear of me.? {To Erinm) Now shall I taunt Him till he sends me forth at Phaon's side ! Pittacus {nettled into anger) What man is this who fears you? The people cheer for Sappho, and croud closer, but the hoplites hold them back with drawn swords, circling about their Tyrant. Sappho {heaicdly ) 'Tis a man Named Pittacus, who rules by hate and fear And guile — whose guards, see, even now must hold SAPPHO /V LEU CADI A 215 His subjects back with naked swords ! A king That Athens calls the Fish-\et Fighter since He bore beneath his arm a hidden seine And when he fought with Phryno cast his net About the stronger man, enmeshed his sword, And like a harbor-sweeper, gilled and caught And claimed his sickly conquest. . . . We were free To choose our lovers and our leaders once, And sing when we were happy ! Lesbians, Here is a man that Pittacus has said Shall into exile go I And I have said He is unjustly sent and sliall not go! Which shall it be, my people? There is a cry or two of " Pittacus " jrom the waiting guards, followed by a roar of exultant " Sappho! " " Sappho! " Pittacus pales at the sound, and motions to Inarchus. Pittacus Guards, stand forth ! {Aside to Inarchus) I must act quick, or all can still be lost! This woman is a tigress, lashing bars Her fury yet may break. One whip I have Reserved until the end, one brand of fire To beat her back. You hold in readiness This girl, Omaphale. When I shall give The signal, let her stand before the crowd 1 2l6 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Inarchtts The trull shall b_- produced ! Sappho Behold the king Who casts his people forth without a trial. Pittaciis [wheeling) This woman lies ! No Lesbian has known His wrath without just cause ! Sappho Then tell us why This man in chains is exiled ! Pittacus Since he sought A Lesbian's life. Sappho That worthy Lesbian In turn sought his. Pittacus Enough of this; he forced The fight upon Alcaeus ! SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A 217 Sappho Lies ! All lies ! 'Twas /, / forced this fif^^ht upon them both ! I bent them U> my will; I harried them, And tarust and drove them at each other's throats ' I was the arm behind their lifted sword ; I was the rage behind their cries of hate ! And you, who talk of Justice, you who turn To smite the path, and let the ser[)cnt ,^o, Vou shrink and wait behind your sullen guard, And dare not act ! Pittacus (enraged) Act, act I shalU You hear This woman's words? From her own mouth she stands Accused, arraigned, convicted of her crime ! Sappho Nay, not a woman, but the mangled husk, The trampled marc, of one I PUtacus You are exiled/ A murmur rises from the crowd. 2l8 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Sappho {aside) 'Tip come, Erinna ! He and I shall go Out to the lonely places of the world, And learn to live again. . , . Great Pittacus, I thank you for this banishment ! It means Release, re-birth, to me ! i glory in it I Pittacus Ay, glory in it, for behold, you win ! You override m)- w cjrd, and doubly win ! You said this Phaon here should not be sent From Lesbos. Tnen in Lesbos he remains ! You shall be listened to. . . . Your word is law ! Release this man, her vow leaves innocent. 'Tis she who goes from Lesbos, and at dusk! 'Tis she who now shall watch across the spray The failing lights, the slowly sinking hills, The home that is to her no longer home ! Sappho Alone into the world . . . yet not alone, For wh'-re Love i> shall be no banishment, And where Love waiis and walks no loneliness! Pittacus Entombed and coffined from this day you are, And we shall speak of you as of .he dead ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Sappho Oh. Phaon, did you hear? Time was you turned And fought for me, at words like this ! Phaon Time was I loved you, too ! Sappho Time was you loved me, too ! Phaon You flung that love away ! * Sappho No; no; it seemed Xiit mine . . . and for the moment I was not ^lyself ... it drove me unto madness. Phaon (raging) Drove You unto madness . . . then unto the man You met at midnight in his garden's gloom! Is that not true? Sappho Yes; that is true. SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Phaon You sought The buyer e'en before the price was paid ! Sappho Stop I Phaon Stop ? Why should I stop ? Have you once stopped When passion drove you into other arms? — You palmer-worm that feeds on passion, then Advances in a night to newer fields 1 Sappho ( ... Phaon! Phaon . . . When it took you forth at night To f ■ik Alcaeus, when you whirled your wrath Ah- I me like ri Hail, for having known A girl, and told you not ! Sappho (panting;) This . . . this from you ! I have forgiven much. . . . But now there is A bourne past which I cannot go, a depth To which I dare not stoop ! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 221 Phaon {bitterly) And yet you stooped And crept to your Alcaeus ! Happho Phaoii! Stop! 'Twas love o'' you, 'twas foolish love of you, That look mc to him. Phaon Then must love of him Take you from me ! Sappho I love him not ! Phaon {laughing bitterly) You love Then neither him, nor mo, nor any man To whom you sold your kisses? Sappho Oh . . . Enough! Phaon Enouf];h? More than enough! To me you are A corpse corrupting, sometliing hateful grown, A woman who has passed away — dead, dead To me! 222 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 5a ppho I . . . dead to you ? Pittacus {stepping jorward) And (lead you are To Lesbos and the ])iuj4i that your days iiuvc amiixhed and slavered, like u serpent's trail \ Siippiio turns, in a mounting frenzy, toward the murmur- ing crowd, her speech growing ener more and more impassioned. You Iioar, mv people, you with whom I sang And lived and loved and sorrowed — I shall be But as the dead to you? Erinna (wailing) No; Sappho, no! The crowd take up the cry, until H becomes a roar. They advance on the armrd hoplites, shouting definHce, with cries of " Sappho! " - Sappho! " The guard close in, grim and silent, ready jar the final stand or charge. The Lesbians She shr" not go! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 223 Other Li.oians No, she is one of us ! Other Lcshians Long live the age of love ! The 'bailor.'! ! i tV tight for it! The hoplite^ •nr 'n'rur hark liy tli, jonc 0} !!ir rr.'^-ii, Inar " s stands ready, ai^-aitin^ . i,ign jrom Piltacus. A Sailor The sea 1 Tlie sea for I'itlaiu.-, and all His tribe ! A Lesbian Ay, fling them o'er Uic cliff! A Sailor Put down The Tyrant ! A Lesbian Put an end to tyranny ! Pittacus signals to Inarchus, and the girl Omaphale is dragged forward through the crowd. Site stands SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA there, white and fragile, a slender barrier between the two bands of combatants. Sappho, remembering, becomes almost statuesque in her immobility. Pitta- cus, seizing the moment, leaps fearlessly into the crowd. Pittacus Is this the Kingdom, this the Age of Love You usher in ? Behold this broken girl, A maid deserted for the Queen of Song You clamor of ; a girl unwed and wronged By him, this lla>uing Phaon of the seas. This empty shell, this sabre of a man I . . . Sappho Cease! Pittacus . . . Whom she raged and stormed and plotted for Sappho Cease! Pittacus . . . Whom she honeyed, humored, played you for Cease ! Sappho SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 225 Pittacus . . . Whom she bound and blinded with her love, Whom she has gripf)ed and held from this wronged girl, Whom still she shakes the columns of this State To cling to, since our Council has decreed That Phaon and this girl Omaphale In public shall be wed, as is the law ! Erinna Wait, Sappho — plead with Phaon ; plead with him For but a word, to make this folly clear ! Sii ppho I, plead with Phaon? And relate how I Have loved him hopelessly, and once forgave His wandering, and wooed him back to her, From exile, and would sing their marriage ode. And humbly ask a word on why he cleaves To earlier lovers ? . . . Oh, this is the end ! Sappho's fury now amounts to a white heat as she speaks. It disregards the issue at hand: it disregards the people a-ccaiti)!!^ her icord; it is the last bitter cry 0} a woman broken by fate. I hate this man called Phaon, hate him . . . hate Him as the living hate the thought of Hell ! 226 ' SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA And where he goes, or whom of all his loves He weds ... is naught to me ! Go, marry him, Meek, white-faced child . . . and learn how men are false, And how the world is built on lies . . . and how This thinly called Love is but a iioUow lie, And Hoi)e is but a lie, and Hupjiiness The crowning lie of all your world of lies ! Erinna and Atthis, on either side, support her quivering body. Qirckly the disordered guard re-jorms into a sol^4 line. The people jail hack, murmuring but bewUdered, while Sappho starts up, involuntarily, as Phaon dcd back and turns away with Omaphale at his side. Sappho (weakly) Yet Phaon, it was all for you ... for you ! Oh, do not go without a look, a word ! Pittarus, at this rry oj the humbled and broken woman, is sure oj his victory, and at om e signals to Inarchus a fid his men. Phaon hesitates and turns to Sappho, but the levelled spears of the guard are before him. SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Pittaciis This last word must be mine! It calls the chains To bind this woman, who all time is dead To Lesbos! Guards, surround the prisoner. Sappho, rising and towering above them in her last su- preme outburst oj indignation and passion, ecstatic in her rage. I, dead to Lesbos ! Tyrant, I am one W'luj broods and wanders here as long as waves Wash on your i^iand'^ .-hore ! Drive back the sea, — But dream not you have driven Sa, ,)ho forth To be lorgotten ! Where a lover waits Beside a twilit grove, I shall be there ! I, where he woos a woman, / shall breathe Out through his lips! Yes, where a singing girl Goes with her heavy pitcher to the spring At earliest dawn, I shall beside her walk, And at the well-curb 1 shall wait for her ! When sailors lift their sails, 'tis I shall breathe Across the waves to them ! When man and maid Are joined in one, my voice shall chant their hymn ! And where the olive-pickers in the sun Together sing, I shall be in their midst! And where a net is dipped, ihe beryl waves Shall break in little murmurs with my name ! And where the goat-herd tends his flock, and croons 228 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA The songs that once were mine, and where the men Who shape the timbers in the shipyard's din Make labor glad with music, / shall live ! Vcs, \vhcre a youth still loves, a girl still waits, /, .Sappho, I sluiU not have passed away I Curtain SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 229 ACT FOUR The scene is the same as in Act One, on the cliffs of Leu- cadia. It is one year later, close to the hour of sunset. The rising curtain discloses Erinna and an old Soothsayer, muffled and cloaked. As the curtain goes up he is stooping over the bronze firc-basin set in marble, stained and blackened with smoke. Erinna sits watching. Erinna But are you man or woman ? Soothsayer Neither. Man I used to be ! But much of me has died ! Erinna How long have you been blind? Soothsayer (bitterly) It seems to me That I have been a blind man from my birth. SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Erinna Yet by the drifting flame and flight of birds You have foretold the future, and worked cures Where other charms have failed? Soothsayer Ay, by the flight Of birds, by smoke, by cocks devouring com, By winds, by meteors, by red-hot iron, By divers entrails, and the drip of wax In water, 1 iiave many wonders worked ! He gropes and }eels about tlie altar, nervously. What is it, maiden, that you wish to know? Erinna First tell me, what am I ? Soothsayer {peering into space) I seem to see A thrush tlial i Touches by a nightingale, Yet neither sings. Erinna But once I used to sing. SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Soothsdyer You are a singer, ch ? When I was young I knew a man of Leucas who would take A hollow shin-bone pierced with many vents And play us cunning tunes. In Lesbos, too, I heard a girl called Sappho sing . . . Erinna Heard Sappho ! Soothsayer Ay, the Tentli Muse after whom The older Nine once walked ! Erinna Yes, yes; I know — Sir, it is for a sister that I ask This augiuy. Sooihsayer What has befallen her? t.rinna She is sick In heart Soothsayer Aught else? SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Erinna And most unhappy. Soothsayer Ah, Unhappy ! Has she loved, or has she known A man unworthy her? Erinna Such man she knew ! And now the loneliness of all tht v.orld Weighs on her soul and turns her troubled dreams To olden days and dark imaginings. Soothsayer And now her love is dead? Erinna That would I know. She mourns by day, and never speaks his name. But in the night she weeps and cries to him And through her dreams his name forever sounds. Yet when she wakes her heart seems dead again, And hour by hour she broods beside the sea. Soothsayer Thinks she this lover dead ? SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Erinna He is not dead. Soothsayer How could she know he is not dead? Erinna 233 To Lesbos and made sure he lives. Soothsayer You told her of it ? I sent And when Erinna Then she neither wept Nor laughed nor spake ! Soothsayer She must have suffered deep ! Erinna O tell me how much longer it will last, And what will come of it ! Soothsayer Take then this seed And cast it on the flame. 234 SAFI'HO IN LEUCADIA Erinna What seed is it? Soothsayer Sea-fennel mixed with myrrh. But was it cast? Erinna goes to the altar and casts the seed on the smoid- dering fire. Erinna 'Tis on the flame. Soothsayer The smoke . . . how does it rise? Erinna It rises in a column, thin and straight. Soothsayer And still so rises? Erinna No . . . for now it drifts And wavers, in a broken cloud. Soothsayer Enough ! Now take this sparrow. Hold it in your hand, And face the east Now let the bird go free! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Erinna 235 'Tis free ! 'Tis gone Soothsayer How has it flown? Erinna It flew Beyond the cliffs ! 'Tis lost within the Sea ! What can ^uch things portend? The Soothsayer is silent, wrapt in thought. What do they mean? Soothsayer It means good news, and bad. ... Go you and bring This woman to me ... I must speak with her ! Erinra Then gently, speak to her the darker news; Oh, give her peace — for she has need of it ! Soothsayer (disclosing himsel} as Pinion) This is the hoi"- where life and death divide, Where all iK^ ..vers of the world hold back And wait some new beginning ... or the end! (ExU) 236 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA O Aphrodite, you who leaned across My oar with luminous eyes and filled the gloom With glory, help me, help mc in this hour 1 Sappho < - Vr:. slowly, with Erlnm. Sappho is robed in u'uUf, .nd on her hair i- heavy yozvn ; d-- viold-. >mking Wilcr ' ' p le face. She doe^ lo t /' ::'c rJ,< Phdon— r dreamy go ie is bent . i the '•"'fti. Sa ppi'o What spjI i - tliat? I ttv ugnt I knew each ship Tiuit passes here 1 Erinm 'l is ont tro! . ■ obos come. Sappho From Lesbos! Lesbr, ! O hov trail a thing To face so many seas, t creep > far From home! I wonder f its ti ucrs tl. ill And :u he for Lesbo- now? If through its .eel Some worfHcss angi -h burns, .vuen e'er th • ame Of Lesbos comes to it . . as in my heart Erinna This prophet fares from Lesbos, and would -a- With you alone ! {Exii) An^Hi A LEU CADI A Sa:"-li 'o'u'ly ■•■r> :-:d ..ijiiicy the •■■■■^thsaver, ho rcnii li I'ke sunlight jalh .ear a)ui gold on i L, t: ■<•: ^appho (murmurs) I lis lil from Lesbos fares! J on \ from la. : dcaeus out, A >kcn I '!('. ! Ti 1 th 1 a appho's isle, \nu lall n bv .in Sappho What man are you ? Phaon O-^e M \v.:it and seek you out beyni,_n as of old ! Sappho (still wrapt in thought, wistfully) flow far away those twilight voices are! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Phaon But still they chant your words, and wait for you, And down the solemn Dorian srale the pipes Wander and plead, and note by note still wake With soft ^olian rapture. Still come back Where droning flute and harp shall drowse away This wordless hunger that has paled your face, Where every lover knows your music still, And every meadow keeps your voice alive, Where lonely cliffs reach out their arms for you . . Come back, and be at rest ! Sappho O idand home Where we were happy once ! Phaon And shall again Be happy, where the golden vetch is thick Along the cliffs, and cool the olive-groves, And all the shadowy fir-lands and the hills Lean tender purple to -^Eolia's coast, And all the harbor-lights still wait and watch, Like weary eyes, for you to come again ! Sappho Yes, well I know them where their paths of gold Once lay like wavering music on the sea I 242 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Phaon And there like wine made sweet with honey, life Shall flow rcluctandy ! Sappho O st-a-washed home Where we, so long ago, were happy once ! Phaon I brought a sorrow to that hnme, I know But I have suffered for it, and liave learned How all the y .;lhs of all the oceans lead To you — you — you ! Sappho Oh speak not thus to me It is too late, my Phaon. 'Twas your hand That crushed the silver goblet of my heart. And now the wine is s[)ilt; the page is read, And from the tale the earlier glory gone; The torch has failed amid the falling dusk, The dream has passed, and rapture is a word* Unknown to my sad heart, and music sounds Mournful as evening bells on lonely seas. Phaon Hut Lesbos calls, and still you will not hear; Our home is waiting, and you will not come I SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Sappho Lightly you loved me, Phaon, long ago; And there were other arms unknown to me That folded over you, though none more fond Than mine that fell so wing-lilad That never comes, and men have said there is No sun. — And though I go forth soon no fear Shall cling to me, -int e I a thousand times F.re this have died a little ome glory old engulfed, And left me like a. house untenanted. Phaon No more of this! I need you; stiU turn back With me, and let one riotous flame of bliss Forever burn away these withered griefs, As fire cats ( lean the autumn mountain-side; For all tliis sweet sad-eyed dissuasiveness Endears like dew the Hower of final K e! Si \ SAPPHO IN LEU CADI A Sappho (abstracted) — Yes, I have died ere this a thousand times; For on the du^ky bonk i lands of dream, Across the iwilight of dim sumnuT d.iwns Jiclorc the hooves of |. arl throhlu'd down the wind, And hsteniug t' the birds amid green Ijouglis Where tree and hill and field were touched with fire, — Hearing, yet hearing not, thro' all the thin Near muhitudinous lament of Dawn's Low rustlini; L ive-, stirred by some o[)al wing, — have I >e( •iicd to feel m} >oul come iiome! A I faint and strange oii my half-wakened ears Would fall the flute and pipe of early birds; And strange the odor of the o'tening flowers; And strange the world would iie, and stranger still The (luiet rain along the j/''nipicring grass: And liarii,, sad with : vm-, niumories Of bliss, and beautifm \. iti: •,'a;.^ue regrets, Would take on poignant ' ■ . trange as death 1 Ph'ion What is this dim-eyed madness and dark talk Of death? Hush ! I h avc seen Death pass a hand Along old wounds, and they have ached no more! SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA And with one little word luU pain away, And heal long-wasting tears ! Phaon But these soft lips Were made not for tht touch of mold! Sappho Time was I thought Death stem, and scattered at his door My dearest roses, that his feet might come And softly go ! Phaon This body white was made Not for the grave, - this flashing wonder of The hand for hungry worms ! Sappho Oh, quiet as Soft niin on water shall it seem, and sad Only as life's most dulcet music is, And (lark as but a bride's first dreaded night Is dark — mild, mild as mirrored stars ! But you, Vou will forget mc, Phaon; there the sting! The sorrow of the grave is not its green, SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Nor 3'et the salt tear on its violet; It is the years that bring llie grey neglect, When tangled grasses smooth the lessening mound, When leaf by leaf the tree of sorrow wanes, And on the urn unseen the tarnish comes. And tears are not so bitter as they were I Time sings so lew to our bereaved ear, So softly breathes, that, bud by falling bud, The garden of our Grief all empty lies, And unregretted dips the languid oar Of Charon thro' the gloom, and then is gone ' Phaon Rcd-lipped and breathini; woman, made for love, How can you talk of Death, or dream that one Who ever looked upon you can forget ? Sappho You will forget me, though you would or not 1 Yes, in some other Spring when otiu r lips Let fall my name, you will remember not ! — Yet come and let me look into your eyes, Thus (juietly, as women view the dead, And dream of far-off things ! As in farewell, Still let me feel your hand about my hand I 254 t ■ / ! t I;, I 'J SAFFHO IN LEUCADIA Phaon Your touch bums thro' my blood like fire. You have Not changed. Still must I kiss the heavy rose Of your red mouth 1 Sapplu) No, not till Death has leaned And kissed it white as this white cliff, and robed This body lor its bridegroom 1 Phaon Honey-pale And passion-worn you seem, and I am blind With looking on your beauty. Sappho, come — Come close into my arms. Sappho It is too late; Forth to a sterner lover must I fare ! Pfiaon Mine flamed your first love, and shall glow your last I Sappho Then meet this One, and knowl SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA 2$$ Phaon The hounds of Hell And Aidoneus himself — Sappho Hush! Pinion You I seek ' The cadence of your voice enraptures me, The very Ijrealliing ut your hoxim lurns My blood to swciiiing iivv, and leaves nu iaint With longing, makes me flash and burn with love ! And still you would elude me — but this arm Is strong, and 1 shall know no other god — Sdpplu) Cease ! son of passion ! Phaon Not until these arms, Shall hold and fold about you, not until — Sappho By all the hours you darkened, by the love You crushed and left embittered, hear me speak! 256 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Phaon {bitterly) Thus women change — and in their time forget I Sappho There lies the sorrow — if we fo;dd forget ! For one urief hour you i;ave ine ali the love That women ask, and then with cruel hands Set free the singing voices from the cage, And tore the glory from the waiting rose*, And through life's empty garden till I dreamed And called for Love, and walked unhatislicd. Love! Love! 'Tis we who lose it know it best! By day a fire and wonder, and by night A wheeling star that sinks in Mystery. Love ! Love ! It is the blue of bluest skies ; The farthest green of waters touched with sun I It is the ( ilm of moonlight and of leaves, And yet ilie troubled music of the Sea ! It is the frail original of faith, The timorous thing that seems afraid of light, Yet, loosened, sweeps the world, consuming time And tinsel empin^s, grim with blood and war' It is the VDi. L'l- >s w int anii loiich'm'ss Of hlighteii lands made wonderful with rain! Regret it is, and song, and wistful tears; The rose ujion the tomb of afterthought, The only wine of life, that on the lip SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Of Thirst turns not to ashes ! Change and time And sorrow kneel to it, for at its touch The world is beautiful . . . the world is born/ Phaon Your words were ever tuned to madden men, And I am drunk with these sweet pleadings, soft As voices over many waters blown ! And thus you come to me against your will ! Sappho Hear me, for by those gods you fear the most There is a fire within me burns away All pity, and some Hate, half-caged, may eat Thro' its last bar ! Phaon Not till your mouth's Sad warmth droops unto mine ! Sappho Yours ori'-e T was, And once I watched ynu spurn and tread me down And long amid my perisheti roses lay, Broken with sorrow, but st'll held my peace 1 But now I warn you that the tide has turned ! 2S8 SAPPHO IN LEUCADIA Touch nevermore these hands, for my torn heart Is desperate, and given not to words 1 Quite humble have I been, and duly spake My lips as you once asked that they should speak! But now this empty husk from which you drained Life's darkest wine, shall die in its own way. Yes, yes; as water sighs and whispers through Some hollow-throated urn, so now through me Shall steal contentment. Touch me not ! Stand back Or if you will, locked arm in reckless arm. Come with me, down, down to this crawling Deep I Phaon What madness can this be ? Sappho The ocean waves Are softer with their dead, and autumn winds More kindly are with leaves, than mortal love With women, for it kills and buries not. Phaon You murmur of the dead, when warm and quick You breathe before me, and bewilder thought ! With but the wine-like rapture of your voice You make me desperate ! SAPPHO IN I.BUCADIA Sappho Nay, touch me not ! You shall come \\ ith me, Sajiphi) ! I alone Dare not go hack. 1 cany in my breast The edict of the Council. It commands I bring you safely home, and should I fail A thousand hands would beat me to the sea. But in this breast I bear a second -( roll, A more imperious nics-ai;e, writ and scaled Of Love itself. 1 shall no Ioniser be Denied or trifled with, though I must tear You like a rooted flower frf)m where you wait; Though I must take you, like 1 fluttered bird, And bruise you in the taking ! Come with me 1 Sappho Lay not unholy hands up