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The author has caught the true spirit of his theme, and we shall expect that, as the deeper merits of his production become recognized, other and larger editions will be required to meet the demand for it. — The Churchman (New York). The dramatic power is impressive ; life among the Norsemen is vividly ^kXvx^A. — Providence Jourttal. Mr. Houghton's sympathetic study of Norse legends bears fruit nn a very sincere and beautiful rendering of this tragic story of love, constancy, ai»d death. There is no richer mine of poetry than that from which he has drawn the materials of his poem. His verse is simple, natural, and strong. — Christian Union. The great beauty of this poem, its wealth of attractiveness. — The American (Philadelphia). A narrative poem of great beauty; full of music and poetic imagery. — Cincinnati Commercial. *#* For sale by Booksellers ; or sent^ post-paid^ on receipt of price by the Publishers, HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, BOSTON, MASS. <^ mm NIA AND OTHE^^oAf^ GEORGE HOUSTON BOSTON HOUGHTON, MIFFIJN AND COMPANY New York: II East Seventeenth Street 1882 mmmm ■■■Vli mm Copyright, 1882, By GEO. W. W. HOUGHTON. A/i rights reserved. N)5 The Riverside Press, Cambridge: Stereotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. ,^ary ^Ae^■•5h Archibald Memorial wmm CONTENTS. PART FIRST. Niagara 7 PART SECOND. Pen Pictures: Sandy Hook 3» The Shepherdess 32 The Harper 33 Battle of the Ford 34 Dead Cedars 35 Columbus 3" The Mummy and the Rose 37 Maid Marie 3° The Manor Lord 39 The Three Poplars 40 The Dream of the Stork 43 PART THIRD. Songs and Ballads : The Tzigans' Pot S3 Longing 55 Yesterday 5^ ^Av l.*^^ Vi CONTENTS. Wynhilda ' . 58 Anniversary Hymn 60 Scarred .61 Daisies 62 The Nest in the Haw 63 Good Morrow 64 The Red Rider 66 Song : the Carpenter 68 The Handsel Ring 70 PART FOURTH. Drift from York Harbor, Maine: Alongshore 75 The Gateway 86 The Sea-shore 88 The Reaper 90 Four-leaf Clover 92 The Big Bell 94 The Summer Storm 96 Evening 98 The Black Boars 100 The Witch of York 105 PART FIFTH. Ketill the Sagaman : Introduction to " Six Flights OF THE Dragons." I. The Winter Court at Nidaros . . . .111 II. The Sagaman 116 III. The School of the Priests 121 IV. The Saga of the West 128 PART FIRST. NIAGARA. I. INTRODUCTION. Formed when the oceans were fashioned, when all the world was a workshop ; Loud roared the furnace fires, and tall leapt the smoke from volcanoes. Scooped were round bowls for lakes, and grooves for the sliding of rivers. Whilst, with a cunning hand, the mountains were linked together. Then through the day-dawn, lurid with cloud, and rent by forked lightning. Stricken by earthquake beneath, above by the rat- tle of thunder. Sudden the clamor was pierced by a voice, deep- lunged and portentous, — Thine, O Niagara, crying : " Now is creation com- pleted ! " 8 NIAGARA. II. Millions of cup-like blossoms, brimming with dew and with rain-drops, Mingle their tributes together to form one slow- trickling brooklet j Thousands of brooklets and rills, leaping down from their homes in the uplands, Grow to a smooth blue river, serene, and flowing in silence. Hundreds of smooth blue rivers, flashing afar o'er the prairies, Darkening 'neath forests of pine, deep drowning the reeds in the marshes. Cleaving with noiseless sledge the rocks red-crusted with copper. Circle at last to one common goal, the Mighty Sea- Water. Lo ! to the northward outlying, wide glimmers the stretch of the Great-Lake, White-capped and sprinkled with foam, that tum- bles its bellowing breakers Landward on beaches of sand, and in hiding-holes hollow with thunder, Landward where plovers frequent, with the wolf and the westerine: bison. NIAGARA. 9 Four such Sea-Waters as this, j? chain of green laiul-bounden oceans, Pour into one their tides, ever yearning to greet the Atlantic, Press to one narrow sluice, and proffering their tribute of silver, Cry as they come : *' Receive us, Niagara, Father of Waters ! " Such is the Iroquois god, the symbol of might and of plenty. Shrine of the untutored brave, subdued by an un- fathomed longing, Seeking in water and wind, still seeking in star- glow and lightning. Something to kneel to, something to pray to, some- thing to worship. Here, when the world was wreathed with the scar- let and gold of October, Here, from far-scattered camps, came the mocca- sined tribes of the red-man. Left in their tents their bows, forgot their brawls and dissensions, Ringed thee with peaceful fires, and over their cal- umets pondered ; 10 NIAGARA, Chose from their fairest virgins the fairest and purest among them, Hollowed a birchen canoe, and fashioned a seat for the virgin, Clothed her in white, and set her adrift to whirl to thy bosom, Saying : " Receive this our vow, Niagara, Father of Waters 1 " III. THE PILGRIM. Pilgrim I too once came, to tender my token of homage, I too once stood on thy wooded banks, my heart filled with wonder, I too would render some gift, some tribute of song and of harp-strings. But 'neath the roll of thy wheels, my shepherd's flute was o'ermastered. Calling, thou seemest to murmur : " Come, and I will instruct thee 1 " Willing I ran, like a palmer of old, with his pike- staff and wallet, NIAGARA. II Wiring I lingered long, to go but to turn on the morrow, Coming again and again, — yet only to doubt the more deeply Idol I found thee, unfeeling, challenging man but to mock him, Whispering to one that is weak of voids that are vast and almighty. Hinting of things heaven-high to one not winged like an eagle. Telling of changeless parts to a leaflet that reddens to perish ; Ever, as nearer I fared, the mightier, less merciful found thee. Till, after listening long, I faltered, forlorn and dis- heartened ; Wearied of ceaseless strife, and yearned for some peaceful seclusion. Where to the chorusing throng both ear and eye might be shuttered ; Hated the turmoil of life, where sounds that are sweetest are strangled, And into discord clash those martial measures, that struggling, 12 N: AGAR A. Should through the din of the dismallest fight, with quavering echoes, Nerve the warrior anew, and fire his soul with de- votion. Turning toward far-off fields, I fled, till stopping to listen. Only dull undertones told that still thou wert call- ing and calling ; Wept, and wished it mid-winter, that mufided in snows of December, All the world might be smothered in silence utterly soundless ; Wished like a Druid to hie to some mountain-top shorn and unsheltered. Where, in their wildest flights, the riotous winds might be stifled. Finding no hollow reed through which to pipe their bravuras, Finding no trembling twig on which to twang their lamentings Then, as I crost a meadow-land, dight with mallow and daisies. Heard the low bumble of bees, and the delicate footsteps of robins NIAGARA. 13 That o'er the crispy leaves of the scrub-oak coverts went hopping, Suddenly — who shall explain it ? — faith returned to my bosom ; Suddenly hope revived, the fog from the fens was uplifted. Lost was the din of life that stormed and roared in the roadways, Calm were the grassy fields, a lullaby purred through the willows, And overhead the night was illumined with flicker- ing beacons. IV. Often, in later years, allured by thy strange fascina- tion, Often again I have come, with feet that would not turn backward. Often knelt at thy feet, and sought with a lover's persistence. Whether, beneath thy dolorous fugue, one promise was whispered. H NJAGAKA. Hope there was none for me ; august was the deep diapason, But 't was the moan of the sea, the growl of the forest unfeeling, Threat of the sulphurous skies, that when they are fevered and angry Volley the world with flame and curse mankind with their laughter. V. THE UPPER RAPIDS. Still, with the wonder of boyhood, I follow the race of thy Rapids, Sirens that dance, and allure to destruction, — now lurking in shadows, Skirting the level stillness of pools and the treach- erous shallows. Smiling and dimple - mouthed, coquetting, — now modest, now forward ; Tenderly chanting, and such the thrall of the weird incantation. Thirst it awakes in each listener's soul, a feverish longing. NIAGARA. IS Thoughts all-absorbent, a torment that stings and ever increases, Burning ambition to push bare-breast to thy peril- ous bosom. Thus, in some midnight obscure, bent down by the storm of temptation (So hath the wind, in the beechen wood, confided the story), Pine-trees, thrusting their way and trampling down one another, Curious, lean and listen, replying in sobs and in whispers ; Till of the secret possessed, which brings sure blight to the hearer (So hath the wind, in the beechen wood, confided the story), Faltering, they stagger brinkward, — clutch at the roots of the grasses. Cry, — a pitiful cry of remorse, — and plunge down in the darkness. Art thou all-merciless then, — a fiend, ever fierce for new victims ? Was then the red-man right (as yet it liveth in legend), i6 NIAGARA. That, ere each twelvemonth circles, still to thy shrine is allotted Blood of one human heart, as sacrifice due and demanded ? Butterflies have I followed, that leaving the red-top and clover. Thinking a wind-harp thy voice, thy froth the fresh whiteness of daisies, Ventured too close, grew giddy, and catching cold drops on their pinions, Balanced — but vainly, — and falling, their scarlet was blotted forever. VI. THE CATARACT. Still to thy Fall I come near, as unto earth's grand- est cathedral, Forehead uncovered, hands down, with feet that falter beneath me ; Hearing afar, o'er the rustling grass and the rush of the river, Chorus triumphant, thy trumpet voice, and I trem ble with weakness. NIAGARA. i; Tall above tower and tree looms thy steeple builded of sunshine, Mystical steeple, white like a cloud, upyearning toward heaven, Till into cloud-land it drifts, uprolling in hill-tops and headlands. Catches the glory of sunset, then pales into rose- tint and purple. Slowly, through gothic aisles, I creep to the steps of thine altar, Halfway forgetting thy presence, though still with each step I draw nearer. Halfway forgetting thy voice, so far it sends fancy awandering, Till, with a sudden ascent, full-face thou standest before me. Who, upon tiptoes straining, shall snare the fleet course of the comet ! Who in bright pigments shall match the luminous sun-god at mid-day ! Who shall dare picture in words the turbulent wrath of the tempest ! Seeing, I can but stand still, with finger on lip, and keep silent. ^s^ 18 H% -— ^liri' y- \NIAGARA, VII. fco-l drifting toward us approaches a curious tangle of something ! White and untillered it floats, bewitching the sight, and appearing Like to a birchen canoe, a virgin crouched pallid within it. Hastening with martyr zeal to solve the unriddled hereafter ! Slower and smoother her flight, until on the preci- pice pausing, Just for the space of a breath the dread of the change seems to thrill her ; Crossing herself, and seeming to shudder, she lifts eyes to heaven, — Sudden a mist upwhirls — I see not — but know all is over. Stoop and explore the void where this vision of fancy hath vanished ! Torrents of green and blue drench down the dizzy escarpment, NIAGARA. 19 Fall \n\o scattered flakes, and merge into fury of snow-squalls ; Crisp like glaciers they shatter, then smoke in the whirl of the vortex. Stoop and look down ! and read, if you can, the terrible riddle ! Nay ! the secret of death by death's eyes alone can be fathomed ; But o'er the mystery finished is fluttered the curtain Most Holy, And on this curtain is set the sign of redemption — a rainbow ! Symbol of hope is this, or merely man's hopeful invention ? Thou hast no answer to that, beyond this dull un- dertone moaning : " Man of all animate things the noblest, most meanly ignoble. Smiling only to tempt, and spoiling whate'er he embraces ! " Is then thy bow we clasp'd as pledge of a promise unfailing. Naught but a sun-dog ferocious, that mouthing the mariner's noonday, \ 20 NIAGARA. Kisses with lying lips the soft-sleeping clouds of midsummer, Only to taunt him, lulled by the calm, with an am- bushed tornado ? Faith in thee have I none ! I lift spent eyes, and despairing, Set my teeth in defiance. Fate, then, the father of all things ! I but a victim moth, to be snatched by a merciless current. Dragged by cold eddies down, to be lost and for- gotten forever ! Why then this pilgrimage here ? God knows no willful self-seeking Lent us this restless life ; and no faint-heart or re- bellion Gives us this fear to lie down, and rest in the slum- berous dreamland ! — Answer, if answer thou hast ! Answer, Niagara ! answer ! Weary with waiting, we climb to the hill-tops near- est to heaven. Find only floating fogs, and air too meagre to nourish ; NIAGARA. 21 ing clouds of , with an am- lent eyes, and the father of i a merciless lost and for- d knows no t-heart or re- in the slum- 2r, Niagara ! 1-tops near- meagre to Seeking the depths of the sea, we drop our plum- mets and feel them, Draw them in empty, or yellowed with clay, that melts and tells nothing ; Forests we thread, wide prairies unfenced, and drenched morasses. Strike, with the fervor of youth, to the heart of the tenantless deserts. Turn every boulder, still hoping to find beneath them some prophet, — Find only thistles unsunn'd, green sloth, and pas- sionless creatures. Youth flitted by us, we faint, then sink in the ruts of our fathers ; Shift as we may with the old beliefs, and beat on our bosoms ; Seek less and hunger less keenly, still sorrow for self and for others, Striving, by travail and tears, life's deeper meaning to strangle ; Drag from sunset to sunset, too fainting to fear for the morrow. Suffer, complain of our loads, but catch at their withes as they leave us, ( 22 NIAGARA. Letting the song-birds escape, perceiving not till they 've fluttered, — Bitterly weeping then, as we watch them die in the distance. Struggling, we snatch at straws ; call out, expecting no answer ; Pray, but without any faith ; grow laggard and laugh at our anguish ; Sin, and with wine-cup deadened, scoff at the dread of hereafter, — And, because all seems lost, besiege Death's door" way with gladness. Better w-e. had not been, for what is the goal of such striving ? Bubbles that glitter perchance, to burst in thin air as they glitter ! Comets that cleave the night, to leave the night but the darker ! Smudge that bursts into flame, but only in smoke to be smothered ! Out of the gifts of our spring, that only is beautiful counted Which with the day-dawn breaks bud, and dies ere the dew-drops have left it ; reiving not till NIAGARA. 23 Smiles there no healihfuller clime, where forms that are fair never perish, But in a life-giving ether grow fairer with ripening seasons ? Iroquois god, I adore thee, because thou art lasting and mighty. Turn and gaze at thee, going, as on an all-marvel- ous vision. Dread thee, thou art so serene, — but hate thee with hatred most bitter, Taunter of all who dabble thy foam, and think to discover. VIII. THE GORGE. 'Neath the abyss lies the Valley, a valley of dark- ness, — a hades. Where the spent stream, as it strives, seeks only an end to its anguish ; Who shall its fastnesses fathom, or tell what wrecks they envelop ? Here 'neath the tides of time, life's remnants await resurrection. h 24 NIAGARA. Deep is the way, and weary the way, while lofty above it Frowns, upon either hand, a cliff sheer-shouldered or beetling, Holding in durance forever the course of the will- broken exile, Blighting all hope of return, should it pant for the flowering pastures. But from the brinks lean down a few slender birches and cedars. Dazed by the depth and the gloom of the channel resounding beneath them ; Here campanulas, too, which lurk wherever is dan- ger, Stoop with a smile of hope, reflecting the blue of the heavens. Fleeter still flies the flood, up-heaping its scum at the centre. Dragging the tides from the shores to leave them a hand-breadth the lower \ While, like a serpent of yellow, the spume crooks down to the Whirlpool, Trails with a zigzagging motion down to the hide- ous Whirlpool. NIAGARA. 25 IX. I THE WHIRLrOOL. ficre is the end of all things, of all things another beginning. Here the long valley crooks, and the flight of the river is broken ; Round is the cavernous pool, and in at one side leaps the river. Headlong it plunges, despairing, and beats on the bars of its prison ; Beats, and runs wildly from wall to wall, then strives to recover, Beats on another still, and around the circle is carried, Jostled from shoulder to shoulder, till losing its galloping motion. Dizzily round it swirls, and is dragged toward the hideous Whirlpool. Lofty the rock-walls loom, the narrow outlet con- cealing, Loftier still stoop pines, that shut out the pity of sunlight j 26 NIAGARA. I Whilst above both a shadow, as if from the wings of a vulture, Sheds over all below a pall more spectral than midnight. Up from the seething witch-pot arises a sulphurous vapor, Smoke-clouds slow-winged drift hither and hence, revealing, now hiding ; Whilst from the hollow depths, that hiss from some under-world fervor. Bubble, in torrents black, the refuse of wreck and corruption. Round sweeps the horrible maelstrom, and into the w^hirl of its vortex Circle a broken boat, an oar-blade, things without number ; Striving, they shove one another, and seem to hurry, impatient To measure the shadowy will-be, and seek from their torment a respite. Logs that have leapt the Falls and swum unseen 'neath the current, Here are restored again, and weird is their resur- rection ; NIAGARA. 27 'Cs a sulphurous - of wreck and [ere like straws they are snapt, and grinding like millstones together, Chafing and splintering their mates, they wade in their deepening ruins ; 'ill, without hope, on tiptoe they rise, lips shriv- eled and speechless, seeing sure fate before them that tightens its toils to encnare them ; [ollow the hell-hole gapes, and ravenously it re- ceives them, — ill that is left is a sigh, and the echoes of that are soon strangled. X. 3wum unseen CONCLUSION. This then, can this be the end ? and death but a blotting forever ? Turning, a bird was beside me, and striking a deli- cate measure. Clearly it whistled, — a herald-like strain, th- 1 chal- lenged a hearer. Sung — 't was a broken song, — and stopping, far distant it fluttered. 28 NIAGARA. " Seek within ! " was its message, " without is oi reflection ; Sinless are nature's forms, and therefore utter] soulless j Sin may debase thee, make thee the servant Fate and of Nature, — But to thy height arise, and thou art of all thing] creator. " That alone is august which is gazed upon by the] noble. That alone is gladsome which eyes full of gladness] discover ; Night-time is but a name for the darkness man nurtures within him. Storm but a symbol of sin in a soul that is stained and unshriven. " Act but thine own true part, as He who created hath purposed. Then are the waters thine, the winds, all forces of nature ; Thine too the seasons, their fruits, which they red- den but to surrender, Thine too the years, and thine all time, — ever- lasting and fearless ! " ?e, "without is onlj d therefore iitterlvl lee the servant ^ art of all thinm o"! jazecl upon by the Js full of gladness^ le darkness man! Lil that is stained PART SECOND. PEN PICTURES. He who created ids, all forces of which they red- time, — ever- SANDY HOOK. White sand and cedars ; cedars, sand ; Light-houses here and there ; a strand Strewn o'er with driftwood ; tangled weeds ; A squad of fish-hawks poised above The nets, too anxious-eyed to move ; Flame-flowering cactus ; winged seeds, That on a sea of sunshine lie Unfanned, save by some butterfly ; A sun now reddening toward the west ; — And under and through all one hears That mellow voice, old as the years, The waves' low monotone of unrest. So wanes the summer afternoon In drowsy stillness, and the moon Appears ; when sudden, round about The wind-cocks wheel, — hoarse fog-horns shout A warning, and in gathering gloom Against the sea's white anger loom Tall shapes of wreckers, torch in hand. Rattling their life-boats down the sand ! [Main Light, July, 1879. 32 THE SHEPHExriESS. THE SHEPHERDESS. And'n'' °f ''"''''" 'S^'"^' =^ yellow sky • And on ,ts top, as on a buttress hi.h ^ ' A shape, a moving form f^^. ■ ' With hands UDlift^r.7 ;• ""^ '° "=k uplifted leading home the flock. ' As on the living picture wends its wav A silhouette upon the fading day ^' The iigure stops, and one b^ one aright "'^ ''-' '-^ 'y' ^"^ <^oL:;;To, Sight o"w:trfa:thrtrrh^ ^;^;e is left, and ^^^^IZS"^:^^ ''^°- Then purple twilight covers up thetd. Edinburgh, Scotland. THE HARPER. 31 THE HARPER. No wonder, harp, thou likest well to lie [Thus nestled to her bosom ; — so would I ! No wonder thy soft, rapturous undertone, When her flushed cheek creeps nearer to thine own ! No wonder her white buskin and lithe thigh Thrill thee from head to heel with half-drawn sigh; And that whene'er her hands caress thy breast, Thou sendest forth a shudder of unrest ! No wonder that whene'er thou leanest nearer, Thou singest ever louder, ever clearer, — Now laughing, while a smile lights up her lips, Now weeping, while a tear-drop from her slips ; And then, from very ecstasy, again Breakest to laughter — half delight, half pain, Which ripples to each listener and awakes That boyhood glee that Time too soon o'ertakes, — Lut then, like all our glee, before it flies Strikes on the thorn beneath the rose, and dies. No wonder, passionate harp, thou lov'st to lie Half buried on her bosom ; — so would I ! 3 34 BATTLE OF THE FORD. BATTLE OF THE FORD. [Impression left after listening to story narrated by a French cavalry officer.] " Far off the eye could catch the sea aglimmer Against the west, — now but a shimmer, — And tremulous, with each wink its line grew dim- mer ; " Till now a massed-up blur alone remains. Stabbed through by lightning ; pommel and reins Blooded with sword-thrusts and long trickling stains. " Keen was the crackle of the steady thunder, Shriller the screaming shot, and under My horse's hoofs they tore the world asunder. " The lightnings keen ! but just above the bridge Flamed a live furnace, and the ridge Of tents ran fire, even to the river's edge. " Its current, curdled, dammed the purple tide With wrecks -, the torrent, stupefied. Shrank from the heroes who down-dropping died. wmftstmsmmm^ssmam rated by a French DEAD CEDARS. 35 Night was disguised, an unsunned monster day ; And daybreak, coming, snatched the gray Smoke muftle, and close hid her face away." Tours, France. DEAD CEDARS. By noonday, stranded skeletons they seem, Of behemoths borne from some far, tropic stream, In some bright-blossoming period of old ; By moonlight, spectres, with long ghostly hands. Trenching a magic circle in the sands, Lest stumbling footstep fire the night with gold. 36 COLUMBUS, COLUMBUS. [For title-page of Irving's " Columbus."] He failed. He reached to grasp Hesperides, To track the footsteps of the sun, that flies Toward some far-western couch, and watch it rise, — But fell on unknown sand-reefs, chains, disease. He won. With splendid daring, from the seas' Hard, niggard fist he plucked the prize, And gave a virgin world to Europe's eyes, Where gold-dust choked the streams, and spice the breeze. He failed fulfillment of the task he planned. And dropped a weary head on empty hand. Unconscious of the vaster deed he 'd done ; But royal legacy to Ferdinand He left : a key to doorways gilt with sun, — And proudest title of "World-father" won ! THE MUMMY AND THE ROSE, 17 JS."J t /lies ^» disease, t/ie seas' ■s, ^ spice WiQ ed, THE MUMMY AND THE ROSE. (On picture by F. S. Church, representing a mummy's head contrasted with a rose in bloom.J Grim contrast ! 'Gainst a background weird as night, A mummy's head, with smirking jaws apart. And cerements of coarse linen clasping tight Its snaky locks, that seem to writhe and dart. Lefore it, smiling, flushed with recent flight (For Morning wore it near her throbbing heart), Each crumpled petal dewy yet, and bright, A half-blown rose ! — Thy pulses well may start I Profane, almost, the fancy thus confessed : This fragile thing, like gauntlet girt with lace. Flung in the withered cheek of Time, — sad jest ; And sorrier still, that this lean, lecherous face So close to blushing innocence should slip, — Dead Past and Maiden Present lip to lip ! 3« M^ilD MARIE. MAID MARIE. Soft sunset kissed the castle court, And kissed the curtains where she lay; Listless she looked, while white as milk Her doves came hovering o'er the bay; On mantel, bench, and bed they sat, On cornice-mold and carved stairway, And cooing sadly, waited still ; — Done was the sweet June day. Treading their perch with restless feet, Sore grieved each feathered carrier grew ; Then came the whir of their countless wings (Save one that to her bosom drew). While through the lattice and low porch. Afar into the heavens blue, Where past the clouds a pathway led, Bearing her soul they flew. BBWM—WIW THE MANOR LORD. 39 THE MANOR LORD. Beside the landsman knelt a dame, And slowly pushed the pages o'er ; Still by the hearthfire's spending flame She waited, while a hollow roar Came from the chimney, and the breath Of twice seven hounds upon the floor ; And save the old man's labored moan, The nijrht had no sound more. The fire flickered ; with a start The master hound upflung his head ; Sudden he whined, when with one spring Each hunter bounded from his bed, — And through rent blind and bolted door All voiceless every creature fled ; The blinking watcher closed her book : " Amen, our lord is dead ! " f^m wmi 40 TI/£ THREE POPLARS. THE THREE POPLARS. A PICTURE FROM NORMANDY. Three of them — lithe Lombard poplars — Stand half wading in the brook, And stoop to hold it like a mirror, O'er which they lean and look. Lonely, maybe — not unlikely ! Level is that Norman reach ; Full three good leagues it w^tward stretches, Then dips into sand-beach.- Far to southward, far to northward, Shine the grain-fields, gold and green. That pant beneath the summer noonday ; The Vire road shines between. Poppies, red like living embers. Burn among the ripened wheat ; And butterflies, above the corn-flowers. Like sparks fly, vivid, fleet. THE THREE POPLARS, Far to eastward, the horizon Lifts into a ridge of blue — There lie the hills, and just below them A minster looms up too. Now the noon, with poppies drunken, Down its heavy head hath laid ; Barley reapers, prone, are napping Beneath their sheaves new-made. And the three trees, dozing, dreaming, Taste again Italian skies. Flooding the land so full of sunlight That every shadow dies. Suddenly there com. 5 a whisper That the sea, portentous, sends ; The stillness all at once grows solemn — A hush of death descends. Dim upon the far horizon, Lo, the wheat-fields shimmer white ; They lift and drop, they flash and darken. Like billowy seas of light. Vineyards sway, and bean and hop-fields Kneel before some unseen power ; 41 42 THE THREE POPLARS. A horseman, posting do .vn the highway, Builds up a dusty tower. Swift, across the meadows sweeping, Nears the tide and neareth still ; It smites the brook, and breaks its mirror. It is the wind's fierce will ! Just behind, rain chariots follow. Heavy-wheeled they rush and roll, Approaching ever nearer, nearer, — Fear lends the trees a soul. Wheat, down-thrown, is trampled under As though smitten by a flail ; And wild, with slim white arms embracing. The poplars turn death-pale. THE DREAM OF THE STORK, 43 ) THE DREAM OF THE STORK. [While visiting Strasbourg I occupied a sky-parlor in a hotel, where my nearest neighbor was a stork, domiciled on one of the chimneys of the opposite house. During the day it occa- sionally dropped into the streets and court-yards, but with the coming of twilight it could always be seen outlined against the western sky, — a spectral shape, poised with one leg upon the house-top, and with head depressed, as if wrapt in con- templation. The dream of this weird bird, as nearly as I could make it out, was something as follows.] " Warder of Zimmerman's house " the goodfolk of Strasbourg have clept me. Eldest of all their storks, I restfully drowse on my roof-tree, Folded about by twilight, with all the heavens en- shrouded, Save to the uttermost west, where a luminous rib- bon still lingers. And as I drowse and dream, the dusky present for- getting, 44 THE DREAM OF THE STORK, Lo 1 the gates of the past swing open on whispering hinges, While, like a wrack of wind-scud, swift on the heels of each other Flying out of the gloom, across the low, lurid hori- zon, Struggle in weird procession the ghosts of my for- mer companions ! Memnon of Thebes I see, saluting the daydawn with music. Calling with magic voice to Ra, far-throned on the mountains. Saying : " Arise, All-father ! Behold how parched are our pastures ! Thrill with thy passionate kiss the proud Abyssin- ian snow-tops ! Quicken with wonder of life the wombs of the fountains, long barren. Breathe on the shrunken breasts of the cataracts, — breathe, and restore them ! Ra, have pity upon us, and seeing our grief and repentance. Lift to our thirsting lips the bowl of thine infinite bounty ! " THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 45 Laughter of waves I hear, as Memnon's prayer being ended, Caught by a thousand tongues the echoing answer returneth ; Plash of the fish I hear, as the tide grows clearer and colder ! Winnow of flickering wings, the rustle of reed and of bulrush. Breezes stirring the palms, the behemoth plunging and trampling. Ripple of rising waves and gossip of murmuring voices Whispering each to the other, " Is not the Ibis be- hindhand ? All things else being ready, wherefore comes not the Ibis ? " Then as they speak he comes, the herald of bloom and of harvest. White as the lilies that fringe the banks of the fast- swelling river ; Sailing with princely air, among the lotus he set- tles, Pushing aside the lilies ; and now with one shout of laughter. Leap with a joyous .bound the plumed and gallop- ing billows 46 THE DREAM OF THE STORK. Over the shrinking dykes ; and wide through the meadows unclouded Runs the rich bounty of Zefa, and long-rainless meadows are watered. Cheops I see, and Cephrenes, their shoulders crimsoned with sun-burst, Drifts from a by-gone age left beached on the sand- driven present. Looming serene, unaltered, above the surge of the ages. Needle-like shafts I see, writ o'er by Time's finger untiring, Signs from that halcyon age whereby my soul was once nurtured. Which, having served its time, to newer forms was transmitted. Nobler or grosser, happy or hard, as Ra in his wisdom Found for the ultimate good, that the world might work its redemption. Smilest thou in thy dreams ? May thy sleep, my brother, be restful j 'Neath these bird feathers of mine, like thee a spirit I cherish, THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 47 Kindled by Helios' torch, that hath neither end nor beginning, Being a part of that presence, the same All-father, All-mother, — Being a part of the God that hath neither end nor beginning. Lo ! my spirit, like thine, once lodged in a man- child's bosom, Slowly grew with his growth, was filled with hunger and yearning. Stricken by human sorrow, striving, oft foiled and oft fretted ; Till to full manhood I grew, a bearded and priestly Egyptian, Who, 'tween the pilons of Thebes, the brazen sis- trum resounding, Or through its populous courtways bearing my scrolls of papyrus. Walked and was voiceless as now, perceiving all things, but in silence. Trust it not to thy tongue, but this is my day- dream mysterious. Hence seek I lofty sites, that offer the broadest horizons ; mmm 48 T//E DREAM OF THE STORK, Hence do I sit in stillness, pursuing the old medi- tations, Loving the warmth of thy chimney that tells of a home and a fireside, Loving thy bells, thy streets, the rumble of traffic and fashion ; Yet ever lonely, estranged, and longing to doff these disguises. Summon my human voice, for ages tongue-tied and silent. And in my panther robe, slow-paced, fork-bearded, and kindly. Drop to thy latticed porch, — and drawing thy children about me. Cull from my curious lore replies to their questions untiring. Hence, with the waning sun and the earliest chal- lenge of winter, Longing I southward look and restlessly rustle my pinions. Drawn toward my haunts of old, though fireless long, and forsaken. Drawn toward familiar skies and toward the tombs of my fathers. Where, in the starless depths of a nether and honeycombed city, THE DREAM OF THE STORK. 49 Sealed in its painted cradle and wrapt in its herbs and fine linen, Lies, long tenantkss, cold, the cage that once pris- oned my spirit. ions Hence, with the morrow morn, ere the minster bells have awakened, Leagues away will I be, perceiving upon the horizon, Dimly, the film of blue that tells of the Mediterra- nean ; And when thy babes from their nests slip forth to the wind-shaken casement. Barren my nest will be, and sadly through slumber- ing Strasbourg Lip unto lip will reecho the tidings of deep lamen- tation : " Lo ! the storks have flown southward ! Empty their nests on our roof-trees ! Bitter the air hath grown ; our summer hath with them flown southward ! Lo ! the north is obscured, and Winter, unstalling his legions, Wreath'd by his stallions' breath and smoke of his axle-trees flaming. Leaps to their front, scythe-charioted, and rides to besiege us." 50 THE DREAM OF THE STORK. Lock then thy casements, and feed fresh logs to thy hungering chimneys ; Now is love's harvest to homes where closer the hearts cling together. Live then from day to day remembering that I, who forget not, Wearing beneath my wings reward both for good and for evil, Will, if thy scroll be stainless, flutter again to thy roof-tree, Bringing, at each return, from hand of Hathor the Golden, Meed beyond earthly price, the gifts of love and contentment 1 r ' )gs to T the lat I, good o thy »r the ! and PART THIRD. SONGS AND BALLADS. t THE TZIGANS' POT. I. I AM the Tzigans' pot ; I have come from a far-away no-man's-land, Hung heavy in many a swarthy hand, The homeless mate of a hearthless race, Who, as they wander from place to place, Still cling to their Tzigans* pot. II. I am the Tzigans' pot ; When daylight fades into dusk and damp, I help the womenfolk che^r the camp With my brushwood fire, whose friendly glow Soon brightens the boughs and the faces below That circle the bubbling pot. III. I am the Tzigans' pot ; That many a boisterous noon hath known, When bitter the sleety blasts have blown, 54 THE TZIGANS' POT. When frosty feet have crept close to mine, And children's voices, chilled to a whine, Have blest the warm Tzigans' pot. IV. I am a Tzigans' pot, And dreary daybreaks remember too, When mouths were many and leeks were few ; But never, while 1 'd a gourdful still. Was any who hungered refused his fill By the rover, the Tzigans' pot. i LONGING. 55 LONGING. I HEAR in the twitter of birds her song, I hear her step in the rustling grass, ' Her laugh on the evening breeze, — and I long To see my Margaret pass. I see her eyes in the sparkling dew, Her hair in the tasseled corn, soft fanned, Her form in the drifting cloud, — and I long To hold my Margaret's hand. I feel her pulse in the river's flow. In the summer rain, that drips and drips, Her breath on the perfumed breeze, — and I long To taste my Margaret's lips I I 56 YESTERDAY. YESTERDAY. While King Karl at midnight feasted, Sudden, springing from his chair, With clenched hand he smote his forehead, Wailing, " Lost ! beyond repair ! " "Nay, my lord," his courtiers answered, " Do but name your royal will. Serried spears and flashing banners Shall command the Meuse stand still ! " I " Nay again ! " the pale king stammered, While still clanged the cloister bell, ' Lost, beyond all snares most cunning ! Hear'st thou not its good-bye knell ? " All my bow-men and my stallions, All my fleet of beaked ships, Powerless are to fetch or find it When, as now, the treasure slips ; YESTERDA Y. 57 " All the marble in my quarries, All my barley, sack on sack, All my crowns of crusted jewels Cannot buy the bounty back ! " r 58 WYNHILDA. WYNHILDA. I. " Thou shalt not whimper, daughter mine ! No selfish season this for sighs ! There are kine to milk, and paths to be digged, And the hind — hear how it grieves and cries ! Fresh snow on the roof-tree lieth thick, Still heavy the drifts weigh down the skies ; This be a day to do and dare, — Then up, Wynhilda, — dry thine eyes ! '* II. " It 's not from the handwork I hold back, It 's not for frost I fret and weep ; My fingers are willing, — but faith grows faint, — O prithee, mother, let me sleep ! " Pi' III. " Weak words, thy words, Wynhilda mine ! These days, bear-fierce, must hearts be dead ; Though Edwald sleep face-down to-night, And firebrand show his bosom red WYNHILDA. 59 With axe and war-bill, vain be tears ! This morn 's no morn to hang the head ; Our clansmen's woe is our common woe, — And death were his proudest marriage-bed ! " IV. " Nay, stay thy chiding, mother mine ! I Ve flown this night to the field, rock-girt ; I weep, but not for Edwald slain, — A caitiff he skulked, alone unhurt I '* ';■ 6o ANNIVERSARY HYMN. ANNIVERSARY HYMN. There have been nobler days, my friends, And ruddier skies than ours, When men wrought deeds, but God the ends, And faiths grew into powers. There have been loftier stations too, When youths wore souls of men. Because they had great deeds to do, — Greatness was goodness then. And prouder destinies have been. When truth was saved from harm, Smitten, the miracles of sin By man's God-muscled arm. Yet epochs, stations, destinies Are not mere births of time ; Sublimely do what in us lies : This is to be sublime ! SCARRED. 6i SCARRED. Far nobler the sword that is nicked and worn, Far fairer the flag that is grimy and torn, Than when, to the battle, fresh they were borne. He was tried and found true ; he stood the test ; 'Neath whirlwinds of doubt, when all the rest Crouched down and submitted, he fought best. There are wounds on his breast that can never be healed, There are gashes that bleed, and may not be sealed. But wounded and gashed, he won the field. And others may dream in their easy-chairs, And point their white hands to the scars he bears. But the palm and the laurel are his — not theirs ! 62 DAISIES. DAISIES. Beautiful daisies ! Sitting and smiling along the rough ledges, And under the frown of the hawthorn hedges. Beautiful daisies ! Asking no favor except for room, A bit of a foot-hold, to be and to bloom. Beautiful daisies ! Swinging a censer whose breaths arise, A pure adoration up to the skies. u Beautiful daisies ! Seeking no praises, but living to bloom, And gladden the breezes with sweet perfume. THE NEST IN THE HA W. 63 THE NEST IN THE HAW. I. A HAW, with branches of bloom j And a bird on the topmost, Sitting and swinging, And merrily singing, — O'er all the sunshiny meadow Her glad music flinging. II. A brook is under the haw, With pads and white blossoms ; And eddying, curling, It gives them a twirling. And half drowns the tender white lilies With foaming and whirling. III. But out of the brook there slides A serpent gold-crested ; Star-bright are his eyes. But his lips are lies, — He spoils the nest of the redbreast, And wounded she flies. 64 GOOD-MORROW! \ 1 GOOD-MORROW ! Sunbeams, laughing, kiss the windows, Murmuring, " Open, little eyes ! The fields are filled with flowers and birds, The sky with butterflies ! " Rain-drops patter on the windows, Saying, " Sleep a little more ; The flowers are wet, the birds are hid. And rain beats on the door." Snow-flakes light upon the windows. Flying slow and silently, Just lisping, " Hush ! don't waken them Till we have heaped up high." Hailstones rattle on the windows. Crying, " Keep the children in ! For Day and Darkness are at war ; Wait until Day shall win I " »■■) % GOOD-MORROW! $1 Apple-blossoms on the windows With their dainty fingers tap : " Now all who love the world, awake ! The world wakes from its nap." is. 66 THE RED RIDER. THE RED RIDER. They fetched the fierce pretender A captive to King Thorald's hall, And king and all his courtier train Were merrymaking at his fall. 1 i* " How now, ye spurred Red Rider ! Where now thine iron-pointed pen, That wrote such royal promises To tempt my swords and serving men I " Write now thy name, Red Rider, Upon the face of this fair wall, That these my guests may drink thy health, Whene'er they gather in my hall." Then straightway to the dais The knight approached with kingly stride, And from its scabbard snatched the blade That sparkled by King Thorald's side. None stirred ; death-still the chamber ; Till leapt a shriek from every part, THE KED RIDER. 67 As to the hilt the stranger thrust The dagger, nigh his own hot heart. And smearing then his finger From off the dripping, gory thing, He scrawled across the marble wall Tnese words of scarlet : " Eckhart, King." 'T was written, and close wrapping His soldier's cloak about his face, He tottered to his brother's throne, — Then fell — and fear fell on the place. And prone were all the people, While shrill the queen and jester cried ; — For claimant-king, king-claimant, both. That fatal festal niirht had died. de, 6S SONG: THE CARPENTER. SONG : THE CARPENTER. I. I 'm sad, I 'm sad, for the joy I had Is wrecked like a craft in mid-sea ; It 's strange, but suddenly youth's fond hope Seems lost forever to me. t Oho ! how slow the shavings go ; But let me do what I can, — For man, for man was meant for labor, And labor was meant for man. II. I 'm glad, I 'm glad, for the grief I had Has blown like a cloud away ; My heart, my plane, let us laugh together, For night has bloomed into day. Hi, hi ! how spry the shavings fly ! I '11 work as well as I can, — For man, for man was meant for labor, And labor was meant for man. ' SONG: THE CARPENTER. 69 III. O, weary the hour that ushers toil, And heavy the moan of the plane, When labor is not the labor of love, And can be never again. ope Oho ! how slow the shavings go ; But let us do what we can, — For man, for man was meant for labor, And labor was meant for man. IV. But light is endeavor that hath a heart ; O. sweet those sunshiny days, When every bird-call carols of hope. And joy speaks a thousand ways. Hi, hi ! how spry the shavings fly ! I '11 work as well as I can, — For man, for man was meant for labor, And labor was meant for man. ;o THE HANDSEL RING. THE HANDSEL RING. [Introductory song to second edition of "The Legend of St. Olaf's Kirk."] " Here, O lily-white lady mine, Here by thy warrior sire's own shrine, Handsel 1 thee by this golden sign. This sunshiny thing." Weeping she reached her hand so slim. Smiled, though her eyes were wet and dim, Saying : " I swear, by Heaven, by him, And by this handsel ring ! " But as she bended her eyes abashed. Out of his fingers the jewel flashed. On the gray flags of the kirk it clashed. That treacherous thing ; Clashed, and bounded, and circled, and sped, Till through a crevice it flamed and fled, — Down in the tomb of the knightly dead Darted the handsel ring. 1 d of St. T//E HANDSEL RING. 71 " Matters not, darling ! Ere day be o'er, Goldsmiths shall forge for thy hands a score ; Let not thy heart be harried and sore For a little thing ! " " Nay ! but behold what broodeth there ! See the cold sheen of his silvery hair ! Look how his eyeballs roll and stare. Seeking thy handsel ring ! " n. " I see nothing, my precious, my own ! 'T is a black vision that sorrow hath sown ; Haste, let us hence, for dark it hath grown, And moths are on wing." " Nay, but his shrunken fist, behold. Looses his lance-hilt and scatters the mold ! What is that his long fingers hold ? Christ ! 't is our handsel ring ! " ed, And when the bridegroom bends over her. Neither the lips nor the eyelids stir ; Naught to her, now, but music and myrrh. Needless his handsel x'va^. PART FOURTH. DRIFT FROM YORK-HARBOR, MAINE. ALONGSHORE. On Maine's rough coast-line, where its rocky front Frowns most forbiddingly, with sudden break A small, blue river pours into the sea, And widening forms a harbor, pent but safe ; Behind which, half concealed by buttonwoods, The church-spire of Old- York lifts to the winds Its weather-cock. Below this spire, a town, Where, truant from the city dials, come The lazy hours to lose themselves in dreams ■ And sweet forgetfulness of summer heat ; An idle sort of place, where all day long It seems like evening with the day's work done, Where men haste not, because there is no haste. And toil but little, for they 've little need ; A restful corner, where the August breeze, From softly listening, finger on the lip. At length from listlessness falls fast asleep, Till there is no sound heard save, now and then, Low thunder of a wagon on the bridge, Mary Mellish Archibald Memorial St t 76 ALONGSHORE. Some shrill cicada from his citadel Beneath a thistle, challenging the noon, The whet of scythe and heavy hoist of sail, The dip of unseen oars, monotonous. And softly breathing waves that doze below. Too weak to more than turn themselves, comj3lain. And doze again. Here I 've a summer love To loiter, these small noisds in my ears. And with far-looking eyes to drink the blue Of the near mountain, and turn back the leaves Of legends and dim-lettered histories From older days, when York was still a maid. And wore her virgin name. Sweet word it was ; The red-man gave it her, — his chieftain's name, Whom first the crooning west wind had baptized, And still all nature knows her by that name. Melodious with the murmur of sea waves And waving boughs, — for often in the night I 've heard the lonesome winds and hemlock-trees Calling together : " Ag-a-men-ti-cus ! " While the round mountain, where the legends say Still sleeps the chieftain, glowed with changing lights, As if the ghosts of long-departed tribes ALONGSHORE. 77 Waved torches o'er their sachem's sacred dust. I love to stray along the straggling town, To peer into its cottages, low church. And jail long tenantless ; and lift the latch That now alone suffices to defend The block-house, once the town's frail lease of hope In days of discord. Following then the road, I wander beachward past the fishers' huts. With figure-head or horse-shoe on each door, Where men mend sails, and files of garrulous geese Discuss the turn of tides or weather signs. And solemnly file on. Here, from this knoll, The stretch of the blue ocean breaks in view, Flecked only by white sails, a tiny spire White like a sail, but still, — Boone Island Light ; And southward, like shy clouds that may dissolve, The Isles of Shoals, far glimmering. Now the road. With weakening steps, forgets to further stray, And slumbers by the quiet of the route. Leaving the outer world a wilderness, — Forgets, or was it memory of the deed 78 ALONGSHORE, Once clone here, that with milkweed choked the way ? Dlanchln^ the lips of the adventurer, Who cried : " Here and no further will I fare ! " Look down, and on the bed-rock you will see Dull streaks of crimson lichens ; on this spot — 'Twas long ago, but still the tale is new. For blood-spots never lose their horror — dropt York's first pale minister, a goodly man. Whom ill a town could spare at any time. Still less in those dark days. Here with one sigh He died, a hatchet buried in his brain. Filled but a moment earlier with sweet thoughts ; And here the murderer left his victim stript, And glorying in his shame ran to the church. Decked in the pastoral garb, and at its door Taunted the worshipers, as in twos and threes They came by foot or horseback. Lying here. No curse was read upon the open lips. But in this trickling autograph of blood The town-folk, outraged, traced the red-man's doom. A half mile further on, by slender path That twists and turns among a stunted Of teasels and snarl-rooted junipers, ALONGSHORE. 79 )f Striving to hide the leanness of the land, We toil at length by an ascending grade To greener heights, where mid the lichened rocks, And dimples of the down by thistles hedged, The sheep find pasturage. Here on a knoll That southward slopes, close walled about by elms And chestnuts, warding off the winter winds, A farmstead nestles, with its clustering group Of barns, snug sheep-cotes, and wide, fertile fields Of ripening grain. I love this old, red house, Where many a summer night I 've lain at ease Behind that upper window looking east. And many a midnight willed to ward off sleep. Preferring the sweet melody of the waves. More restful. Naked is the building's face With not a vine upon it, but hard by Stand lilac bushes, where the birds weave nests, And from them carol when the day is new, Saying, " Good-morrow ! " — then a tall, drest elm. That guards the grindstone's place and helps to sift The glare and fervor from the midday sun, When from the meadow comes the gh'stening scythe To cool its brilliance with a watery edge. And tease the ear of the o'erheated day 8o ALONGSHORE. With its keen rasp, far sounding. Here too stands The well-sweep, leaning to look down and greet, Within the hollow depth, a nether world And nether well-sweep. Just behind the house Hides an old orchard, where the pear-trees drop Delicious windfalls ; many an early morn I 've hastened there to find them, pushed apart The rank grass pearled with dew-drops, and peered down To catch their yellowing glimmer. There too smiles A garden, fragrant with sweet-smelling herbs, Where savory camomile and southernwood Weave spells that bring the blush of childhood back ; Where bloom bright four-o'clocks and bouncing- bets, With hollyhocks upon whose pink-white breasts The bees cling pendant, drunk with over-feast ; Where dying peonies, wading ankle-deep In their own life-blood, totter to their doom ; And fiery sunflowers lord it over all, Staring a gorgeous stare. Further behind Stand rocks precipitous, where last at night ■;''ifl^v-.-.HkiafSM ALONGSHORE. 8l The sunshine lingers, but no herbnge finds, For winds, those gypsy campers, trample it. Stealing the very sand ; while high o'er all Looms a dumb-beacon, landmark miles around. And when the night-winds, hid among the trees, Hold their tribunals and bewail their woes, It groans " Amen ! " in mournful unison. Here, when red sundowns set the west aflame, The view is glorious. Far off to the north The jealous land, with every wane of tide, Sends out into the surf a long, slim arm. And rolls and measures in its hollow hand A rocky isle, — the Nubble, it is called, — Glad landfall unto many a hungry eye. That in those early days, before a sail E'er whitened York's small harbor, strained to catch Some token of the new, half-doubted world. Next, circling like a sickle, toward us bends A yellow beach, the Long Sands ; then, blnck rocks, Among which, like the gloomy lurking-place Of some sea creature, darkens a huge cave, In whose recesses, when the tide-waves flux, A hollow murmur echoes, heard far off. With sighs and breathings, strange, unspeakable. That deepen as the night-hush settles down, — A swashing, as of some unwholesome beast 8c • • ALONGSHORE. Tufning its clumsy shape from side to sidj, — A crushing, as of monster jaws that craunch The ribs of mammals. Nearer still, more rocks, Piled orderless, among which stand exposed The remnants of a vessel that the sea, To prove the valor of its strong right hand. Once tossed and wedged there. 'T was a furious night ! I slept in my snug chamber ; waked, and heard The rain upon my window, dashed in sheets, With blasts that shook the roof-tree, and huge seas That seemed to rock the ven,' hill itself Under the house. I felt a growing dread ; Then heard tlie men-folk stirring, and leapt up To seek companionship. We heaped the hearth With logs (though 't was not winter), gathering near, And telling tales of nights like unto this, And what dread sights they soiiietimes left to shock The waking daybreak, — tales of fate and woe, — Of fisliing-smacks blown from far-distant ports, That meeting in the darkness kissed and sank ; Of snow-winged ships that smiting on the reef Clinked mast and spar as brittle stems of ice, :h rocks, I, 1 furious lie arc! :ts, luge seas Dt up hearth nrathering to shock woe, — :)orts, sank ; reef ice, ALOXGSIh And like a frost-scene meUed irKtji^|yirf ;," " Of funneled frii^ates, all their bravcrN ^horn, - Drifting unruddered over rainy seas ; Of two-score monsters in one long-boat crammed, With fevered lips still telling the red suns, And feeding on their decrease, till but one. With wolfish eyes, remained to tell of it ; And of a spectre bark with sails full set Which swept before an autumn equinox. Presaging that dull day when every house W^as filled with lamentation. Talkinsf thus, Of this, and that, and all things harrowing. And closing, with each finish of a tale. The circuit of our belt about the hearth, Sudden, — while every eye was round and fixed Upon the speaker, — sudden at the blind Came knockings, — and we started to our feet. Clutching each other, till the unlatched door daped open, and three haggard, wild eyed men In staggered, begging in the name of Christ: " A draught of liquor, brothers, and a bed ! For we be dying ! " Thereupon the first, Falling across the threshold, choked the way; And tliey who to the doorposts feebly clung, ■ 84 ALONGSHORE. Like spectres eyed us. From that wreck they came, — All that the waves had spared, — and when day dawned The shore with their companions was far strewn. Thus to the stranger, loitering from the town Or rowing roundabout, looks Norwood Farm. So looks the nook in which I love to hide, Forgetful of life's dull routine of cares. Forgetful that life other duty holds Than to lie down in the cool shade of trees. To drink the air and light, as flowers do, And rest completely. Here with half-shut eyes I 've dreamt light day-dreams, letting fancy fly Whither it would, so it flew not too far. To make return wing-weary. Some I 've held As keepsakes, that they might revive again The pictured dreams ; but as I read them now, I find, like pebbles picked at break of day From sliining beac!ies, most have lost their charm With their lost sunglow. Such from Norwood's Knoll The scenes on which its beacon daily frowns ; And all about, on every side save one — ALONGSHORE. 85 ;ck they hen day trewn. town rm. The narrow neck that links it with the world — A tide of sunshine breaks with waves of warmth On piebald hill-slopes sprinkled with ripe crops, Tossing the billowy fields o£ aftermath, And wreathes with trophies of the vine and oak This titan form, o'er which the summer flings A leopard's hide, that from its shoulder trails Down-sweeping to the carpet of the sea, — A sea white-capped, like ermine-mantled throne, On which this bold peninsula sits — king ! ;es, it eyes cy fly held in H now, :iir charm od's Knoll wns \ If ; Ti 1-^ '1^1 i 86 77/£: GATEWAY. THE GATEWAY. A VACATION EPISODE. We crossed the pasture-land together, I knew that now my time drew near, And hastened, longing for the moment, Yel: lingering, holding back in fear. I wished the sunshine would not flicker Across the river in my eyes ; Then hers she shaded with her bonnet — How could I talk through that disguise ! I wished the catbird would not whistle, I paused till he grew tired and still ; And then the frogs took up the music, And lambs came bleating from the hill. Now all was silent ; in the stubble The crickets even held their peace ; But yet I waited, wishing only That all the crickets would not cease. THE GATEWAY. Sj I saw the gateway as we neared it, I shaped my mouth and formed the word, When from her bonnet, bent demurely, A little laugh I thought I heard. A ploughboy passing, smiled and nodded, I bit my lip and blushed for shame ; Then stooped to pick a blood-red berry, — 'T was sour, and speechless I became. I leaned upon the bars ; she fluttered A farewell signal back to me ; I turned, I staggered from the roadway, — Gray fog came drifting from the sea. rilE SEA-SHOKE. THT^: SEA-SHORE. To sit on the sand and read fine tales, To follow the slant of the whitened sails, And the clouds, to the south of the harbor's mouth, That shift and drift like a shoal of whales. To watch the waves as they kiss the land, To catch their foam in one's hollow hand, To hold it and feel the cool drops steal Through all one's being as through dry sand. To laugh with the boys who know nothing of care. To drift with their skiffs, nobody knows where, Till, drunken with day-dreams, life's mystery seems Dissolved in the wine of the slumberous air. The breeze is soft as the breath of a fan, But it faints on cheeks that are thin and wan, — Too thin for the heart's rill ever to fill. Too pale for the sunshine ever to tan. THE SEA-SHORE. 89 Land, ocean, and air — the sun declines, And twilight, with soft pink fingers, twines A woof of the three, till one can scarce see The bound 'tween things earthly and things divine. Ye fairy ships, and ye ships of air, That trail with my thoughts beyond life's care, — With canvas like milk, and sheets of silk, Stoop down, and I '11 sail with thee anywhere ! jrous air. 90 THE REAPER. THE REAPER. The wheat-stalks are heavy and white, They slant beside the wall, And lean against each other, Lest they should faint and fall. Beneath them the poppies crouch. Knee-deep in their crimson bloom. And partridge and shuffling woodchuck Glide shyly into the gloom. mong them the brown bee strays. Oft stops to feed his fill. And bears his burden of sweetness Homeward over the hill. And over them, to and fro. The yellow butterfly wheels, Then, catching a flash of sunshine, Wafts it across the fields. The reaper leans on his scythe, And watches the river flow, THE REAPER. He watches a boat on its bosom, And the rowers as they row. His hopes are part of its freight, Ana, gazing with misty eyes, A tempest of sudden ruin Drives through the darkened skies. For the reaping time has come. And waiting the reapei stands, But the running river snatches The harvest from his hands. 91 92 FOUR- LEAF CLOVER FOUR-LEAF CLOVER. " If one find a four-leaf clover " (She said, sitting on the grass), " He can wish whate'er he likes to, — And that wish shall come to pass." " Do you say so ? " Then down kneeling 'Mong the sorrel and cropt grass, Looked I for a four-leaf clover And my wish to come to pass. Long I searched among the sorrel, Close beside me she searched too ; Now and then some commonplaces Broke the silence, — but it grew. For my heart was full of yearning, And my mouth of eager words. But I dared not give them utterance, — So I hearkened to the birds ; And kept looking, looking, looking. While beside me she looked too, - FOUR-LEAF CLOVER. Two bent figures in the twiliglit, Green hills paling into blue. 93 " Ha ! I have one ! " « Yes, and wished for ? " — " You ! and shall it be ? " I cried. Eyes cast down, she asked demurely, " Hath the clover not replied ? " IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 ' Uk 1 22, .^ Ilia U III 1.6 6" - ^ . I. THE WINTER COURT AT NIDAROS. Long were the night-times on that slip of shore, Hedged in on one hand by the snow-capped hills, And to the westward by the main, upheaved And hillocky, that walled them from the world. Now Magnus, clept the Proper, best of men, On shoulders broad bore up the royal red In streeted Nidaros, — a peaceful man, More proud to be a father than a king ; jAnd he, content to see his people glad. With rubicund, round face — a smiling sun, — Made them the more so. 112 KETILL THE SAG AM AX. Yet would seasons fall When even pampered sloth grew wearisome ; When for long time the north-glow's dream of day, By snow-wrack fenced and ever thickening fog, Left heaven free race-course for the hurricane , When from the smoking surface of the sea The gypsy lanterns of the moor-ild fled, And flickering went out ; and tardily The moonless nights dragged into sunless days, — Each night so like its males in heaviness And each succeeding day so like the night, That to the yawning world of Nidaros The slowly trickling sand-glass on the shelf Seemed clos 3 shelf e black bat of Tempests of passion in her eyes, — who sprang With easy stride across that steed untamed, The roaring North-Wind, fretting his white flanks With bony thigh, and heel, and willowy scourge, — And dropt into their midst. Unwelcome guest. She pushed unbidden to their banquet-hall ; And, planted ghostlike at the upper board, A hollow-eyed and scowling seneschal, Sucked the light breath of wick and smoking brand, Unspiced the dishes, turned to dissonance The flourish of the trumpet that foretold Each change of platter ; and from every mouth, Though full-fed and with laughter puckered, stole All mirth and mask of it. s as this, he court, — amp-fire, d, d and barked e hills. w charged ne, unkempt. But ever then Ere hate of fellowship and hate of all Had time to mutter into voiced complaint And thrust its clamor to the royal ear, Would Magnus read it ambushed in the eye And torpid tongue, and ready-witted speed Slim pages to each chamber of his house. Proclaiming, " Vesper being rung this night. We will to guest-hall, and the skald shall sound The masterful exploits of Harold's days ; " Or " Lady Valborg's lips, by song-craft stirred, 8 ^ 114 KETILL TflE SAG AM AN. Have to her harp a tender ballad taught ; " Or " He of Flanders with his juj^^ijlery Shall play the herbrest and astound our ears;" Or " With us lodge we a far-traveled guest, Late from our neighbor isle of Angle-Land, Whose tales of the last tournay, warming us, Shall deck with summer-glow our dingy walls, Shall filch from each all thought of present ill, Kindle the tinder of each ashen cheek, And with a youngling's ardor kiss away The frown from every forehead." « Then post-haste Throughout the skali, honeycombed and vast, — Itself a petty realm, shorn from the rest By stress of weather, — with light pattering feet And tongues untethered would the pages flit, Coursing the windy flights and passage-ways, Pushing unheralded in every room, E'en ladies' bower, their tossing yellow hair; And summer would steal back to darkened eyes, And yawns and sighs to ready laughter yield. Thus, one mid-winter time, when sleet and frost Beleaguering the palace-prison walls, So closely sat that few had ventured forth . » v; 7 )ur ears ; guest, -Land, iiiiig us, gy walls, )resent ill, ay hen post-haste and vast, — rest ering feet iges Hit, je-ways, )w hair ; ened eyes, er yield. KETILL THE SAG AM AN. lis For a full sennight, ran the welcome word. Promptly the meal was served, the vesper chimed, The praying priest cut short of his "Amen," And the long guest-hall thronged to furthest bench By all the household, ringed in babbling groups About the bonfires, roaring down their midst. Knight, squire, ahd house-carle sat as equals here : Some backward swaying, propt upon one arm. Scanning the pictured carpets on the walls ; Some burying pale cheeks between both fists To follow those that gamed ; still more with bairn Or goodwife at their sides, or favorite hound ; While some, bow-backed, unruffled hugged their knees. And leaned to listen for the twentieth time To some spent tale. And though impatient all. Each suddenly found much that must be said, — For time being afield, like pack unleashed All sped to join the chase, tongues running wild ; And whether rat or roebuck were the quest Mattered but little. t and frost forth Garrulous the hour Ere from the threshold of the royal rooms Swept in the court and courtiers j whereupon ii6 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. With much ado of bench and buskined foot, Crushing sweet odor from the cedar sprays, All else arose ; and the high-constable With stafT of office overtopped the din, Sounding the salutation : " Hail, all hail ! Hail to King ^lagnus ! and our new-come guest! " Whereto, with mighty echo, as of billows That storm a rock-walled shore, adown the hall Resounded the fair words of welcome : " Hail I Hail to King Magnus ! and our new-come guest I " II. THE SAGAMAN. " Who, comrade, is the stranger that we greet ? " One to another whispered, " and wherefrom, This unkind month (*the howler'), hath he come, Dropt like a troll-stone ? " " Ketill, I am told, The golden-tongued, who, but a twelfth-night since. Trusting himself to horse the hoary sea That, raging, to the low clouds flung its froth. Left Floki's Isle with letters for this court ; KETILL THE SAG A MAX. 117 And in the whirlwind of the stormy sky Caught helpless by the hollow-handed gale, Flew whistling through the gloom of unseen snows, Helped by the hands that would unsaddle him, Till (praised be Rana !) though by wind and wave Shorn to the quick, until unkeeled he drave With strained and naked mast, he nathless made Our stormy Nidarness, and weathering that. Now houses with us." " To this westerling Is Nidaros a stranger ? " " Aye, my friend ; But not so Ketill to our Nidaros, For every kaupskip flying from the west Hath sung his praises ; and now well, now ill, Oft harassed us with snatches of his lore. Which echoing hither in such broken strain. Yet tuneful still, to Lady Valborg's ears. Have by her mouth been cunningly recast In moving ballad and glad roundelay." '' Of lineage is he ? " " That he is, forsooth ! ' Ii8 KETILL THE SAGA MAN, His veins still tingling with that noble strain, The blood of Snorri, Vinhmd's princeliest gift To Iceland. Knowst thou not the story old Of how the virgin West-world, being won, Conceived, and to our stalwart race bequeathed A man-child as its heir, — one Snorri ? Nay? The more, then, wilt thou relish Ketill's words ; For this, saith gossip, is the saga store The King will sue for." Whereupon a pause, And there was stillness in the place of din, — Save, shrill without, the whistle of wild winds. Dashes of sleet, and pound of pebbly hail ; While, warm within, the crackle of fat brands Widening their summer circle on the floor. Brake in between the drench and cheery cry Of mungat bubbling in oft-emptied bowls. High on the dais, ringed by twinkling wicks. Sat Magnus, with Queen Thora by his side ; At right of whom was Hakon, Norway's heir, And Hilda, the pale princess ; to the left. Sir Axel Thordson, chiefest of the knights. Smiling response to many a friendly beck. With close beside him — trothed, and hair in snood, KETILL THE SAG A MAN. I IQ And yet uncloudud by her hovering doom — The Lady Valborg, loveliest of the court And most beloved. " Comrades," quoth the King, " All hail to gentle Ketill, newly come From our far sister state of Floki's Isle, Where in the stead of Ari, lately dead, He filleth worthily the abbot's see. And if it be his pleasure, we, ere morn, Will quaff his spicy saga of the west, That wonder-land of Leif the Fortunate, Whereof our Lady Valborg oft hath sung, Painting the place a flowery paradise, — Where eager sunshine, not content with one, Smiled and caressed all seasons, each in turn. But doubtless, with her tinkling woman's tongue. Oft chiming woe so it doth lovely seem. She hath but rung the pleasant harmonies. And left all wild or jangling tones untouched. " To-night we would live o'er the troublous past. And be a part of it, courting the shade As well as sun-glow ; and full well we know — O modest master of the saga school — That mead-cup here to-night hath kissed no mouth 120 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. So fit to fling aside the veil as thine, — Thy voice a clarion that all ears commands, Thy thoughts brave watchwords, worthy to be nicked Along our tables and by all men known. *' Then show us, Ketill, how through lifting fog First iJiarni saw a new-born world leap up From the white breakers ; with thy ready lips Relate the lucky flight that gave to Leif An entrance to the gates unlocked before ! Tell us how Thorwald, his first brother, fared ; And Thorstein, with sweet Gudrid, after-wed To Yarl Karlsefne ; and in course recall Those two most sombre flights yet further on, Led by that wolfish woman, born to taunt And chasten Erik for his youthful sin, Lustful Freydisa ! Fear not, modest guest. To weary us, for long ere thou wert come We learned the witchcraft of thine eloouence. We wait thy pleasure, and are thiut ^o please ! ' KETILL THE SAG A MAN. 121 III. THE SCHOOL OF THE PRIESTS. ** All hail ! O Norway's king, and mine as well 1 And hail ! thy lady queen, thy kin, thy kith, Thy knights and ladies, and thy gentlemen ! But standing forth in this fair company. Where every one is friend, and every friend O'errates the prowess of my priestly tongue, My words sound hollow in the lofty hall, And glndlier would I listen than relate. Yet I am thine till thou art tired of me. And lot me but a week of nights like this, And ere the yule-logs feeding these long hearths Make summer out of season, and gay groups Of jeweled dancers jingling o'er thy floors Usher more blithe amusement, — I will strive To fittingly unearth the buried past. To lend to it such color as I may ; And, as I may, to picture slowly forth In red and azure (as your ladies do. Pricking brave scenes upon their sampler webs). Half-glimpses from those fateful voyages six Of skipper Biarni and the dragon flock That, following him, sought nest-room for their broods. 122 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. " But ye must fillip me whene'er your eyes Grow heavy or my discourse dull ; for I, Long loving the old road, grass-grown, though trod By many a stately ghost, may soon outpace Your patience, ambling thoughtlessly along, Nor note your lagging steps, till glancing hack I find myself companionless, and ye Asleep among the hedges. *' Iceland's past Hath been my dream -coast, o'er whose breezy cliffs, — Like seabird glorying in a world-wide fief, Its will the only pilot of its course, — Have I sailed up and down the misty shore. Hovering whene'er I would, or hastening by ; And toward the daydawn climbing, have I lived That happier existence, all unvext By the dull nowadays, which bairns oft know, Ere the blue sky where late they trimmed for flight Hath faded from their eyes. " Seeking for text I do but stoop and loose one unbound leaf From Iceland's storied scrolls. These, legend- wise. KETILL THE SAGA MAN. 123 All lived from lip to lip till Saemund came, Yclept the ' Learned,' who with wizard hand Nibbing a gray-goose pinion, gave, and said : * Thou Ketill, of the many beardless boys That call me master, art my most-beloved, Whose presence near at hand hath made me glad E'en when I looked not on thee, and whose eyes, Flashing with youth and smiling in my own Whene'er I smiled, have made mine own grow young. To thee, then, I assign the hardest task ; To thee, high-born, of lordly heritage. And, likelier yet, of gentle breeding too, — A listener worthy of the subtlest tongue, Thyself apt-spoken and of dextrous quill, Precise in small things, patient in them all — (Your pardon, such were Saemund's words to me), — To thee, whom I will seal my son and heir, To thee I set apart the proudest task. Come, Ketill, wed thy young wit unto mine, And fill an old man's cup ! My work thou kenst ; Draw closely to my side till thou canst feel The flutter of my pulse and read my thoughts ; And even as thou readest, teach thy quill To tell them to the parchment. Toiling thus, 124 KETILL THE SAG AM AN, !H i As west winds full of music, from the hills Break up the banks of sea-fog, we will lift The curtain of forgetfulness, rebuild The crumbling ramparts of our Iceland's past ; And peopling these with men and womenfolk. Will pulse our current through their palsied veins And breathe into their nostrils, — till aroused, Heroes shall leap from their long dreamless sleep, And flinging up the face-bar of their helms Speak and instruct us ! ' " Well content was I, Loving my priestly master, whose pale face Shines ever yet before me ; and forthwith. With echoing feet we through the cloisters fared, Mingling our shadows with the streaked shade That on the grassy close the columns cast, — And calling down the swallows, curve on curve Cutting the square of blue that smiled above. Then pushing wide the panel of a door. That hoarsely on its brazen hinges cried. We wended way into the scrivener's hall, High-roofed, and with a holy stillness filled ; Where 'neath the softened light of pictured panes We labored pleasantly, day out, day in, To give tongues to the parchments. KETILL THE SAG A MAN, 125 " But before My band was weary or my goose-quills spent, More bowed was Saemund : and bis manly voice, That erst was clear and mellow in its ring, Grew thin and treble. Oft he stopt for words, Or still repeated them, — the thought he tracked Flying before him like a hunted thing. That sails a little space and soft alights. But when you come, again lifts whirring wings. And one gray afternoon, as the great bell Boomed forth the vesper and the hour of rest, Lo ! in the middle of a phrase, my pen Still thrilling with his speech, he paused and ceased ;. And when, after a space, I eyed askance. Thinking to find him buried in his books, Silent he sat, with chin upon his breast As though he slept. " But to that sudden sleep, Alas ! my friends, no waking was foredoomed ; And when the tumult of the hour was past. And groping through the cloisters I crept back To the low desk, I found the room grown vast, I heard the west wind weeping at the eaves, And felt the wings of death still winnowing The night-air ; and upon my knees I breathed 126 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. A broken prayer, and sobbed there in the dark. Then rising, to the blinking wax I gave A spark of life ; and struggling with my grief, Shore off the chapter where my hand had dropt, With the one word, then taken first to heart, A simple ' Finis.' " Pitiful it was To see the task thus broken in its midst. But well I wist that he would have replied. In that all-brave, all-hopeful strain of his : * Nay, boy, not pitiful, else all were so In this world's field. The cause it is that counts, And not one standard-bearer less or more. Our ripest work must hereto come at last. For none, however painfully he strive, Hath ever yet been able at the end To smile and say, Now is my work complete, And I full satisfied ! But well it is If one as he lies down to sleep can sigh : Unfinished still the journey, still afar The height toward which I toil ; but God be praised For giving me the strength thus much to gain ! ' " So Saemund's book was closed ; and though full fain, KETILL THE SAG AM AN. I could not for a twelve-month find the heart To loose the hasp that bound it, and turn o'er The painted pages. 127 (( me moons after that Came to me learned Ari, Saemund's friend, Versed in the mystery of the Roman rune, With this upon his lips : ' His wish would be, Who from his labor lieth now at rest. That we who loved him lift and carry on The load he late let fall. Sole heir art thou To his rich lore, and ere some new mischance Shall whirl and scatter to the windy night The leaves of Saemund's knowledge, let us speed To lock their wealth in worthy cabinets.' "Thus, the new abbot aiding, — who, alas ! Hath lately followed Saemund to his rest, — The treasure grew, the famed Landnama-Book, From sun to sun still rounding into form As others to it leave their fresh bequests ; Which to the gaze of Northmen yet to come Will track the footprints of our centuried past, And where they last would challenge, find them friends And old-time fullness of their new-formed faiths." 128 KETILL THE SAGAMAIsT. IV. THE SAGA OF THE WEST. " Such were the tasks wherehi my youth was schooled. But what I now will tell is still unwrit, The precious heirloom of our olden house, Through three half-centuries from mouth to mouth Of first-born unto first in turn bequeathed, Until to me it latest falls : — a tale That is no romaunt, gran dam-rhymed, to make A child big-mouthed, — no skaldic trick of tongue To tickle a yarl's pride and tempt from him A singing purse ; but history's own shield, Dinted and scored with many a speaking rune, — Left by my father Ranglat unto me. And by his mother Steinunn unto him, And by her father Snorri unto her. And by his sire Karlsefne unto him. Who left its story woven on his walls In pictured groups and runic characters. And carven on the shoulders of his bench, That none might lose or twist it. KETILL THE SAG AM AN. 129 youth was ise, h to mouth led, o make of tongue lim d, rune, — " Thus it lived. But Yarl Karlsefne told it not as I, Who like a prattling parrot do but play The mouthpiece to resound another's strain, For he was one of the brave skipper band, Whereof I speak, who in his dragon sailed To people Vinland, and in chiefest deeds Was one of the chief doers. " Drink with me, My friends, to his fair name, my kinsman proud, This Thorfinn, clept Karlsefne or ' The Manly,' — This worthy Thorfinn, Iceland's merchant prince, And hero of all heroes in my tale. My Vinland Saga." Tall, and still afoot. Bent Ketill, as a house-carle brimmed his cup ; Puffed the light foam aside to wet his lips, — Tilted and drained it. ch. Then once more the King : " First at thy ease be cushioned, guest of ours ! Behold thy hearers ! — even Valborg here. Whose comfort most we reck of, next to thine. Hoping that she may second thee in song. til i 130 KETILL THE SAG AM AN. Lieth like nestled kitten 'neath the arm Of Axel, her betrothed. Rest thou at ease ! For making thee our guest, our house is thine, Our arms, our underlings, our friends thy friends, - Our foes thy foes, if thou wilt father them, — Thine whate'er cheer the famished wolf of Time Hath in our cellars left unbroken still, And every wish of thine, our wish and will." THE END. Beyond each hill-top others rise^ Like ladder-rungs^ toward loftier skies : Each halt is but a breathing space For stirrup-cup and fresher pace ; Till who dare say, ere night descend, There can be, ever, such thing as End / MODERN CLASSICS. The convenient little volumes published under this title are in the best sense c/iissu; though all of theni arc modern. They include selections from the works of the most eminent writers of England and America, and translations of several masterpieces by Continental authors. These selections are not what are generally known as "ele- gant extracts," detached paragraphs which are peculiarly quot- able ; but they consist, in most cases, of entire poems, essays, sketches, and stories. The authors are not only shown at their best, but so fully as to give an adequate idea of their various styles, modes of thought, and distinguishing traits. In several instances the selections from an author are ac- companied by a biographical or critical essay from another writer, — an arrangement which cannot fail to lend additional interest both to the essay and to the selections. The choice character of the selections in these volumes makes them pe- culiarly desirable for household libraries, and their small size fits them admirably to put in one's pocket for reading on a journey. The series contains thirty-two little volumes, care- fully printed, very tastefully bound, and in many cases illus- trated. Circulars of the " Modern Classics," naming the contents and the authors, will be sent to any address, on application, by the Publishers, HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, BOSTON, MASS.