UC-NRLF 953 T455 MS 037 OF THE UNIVERSITY CI &rcabtan Litirarp The Dancers BY Edith M. Thomas THE DANCERS THE DANCER S - -- And Other Legends and Lyrics BY EDITH M. /THOMAS LlJ .. BOSTON RICHARD G. BADGER The Gorham Press 1903 Copyright 1902 by Richard G. Badger All Rights Reserved Printed at The Gorbam Press, Boston To the Memory of James Thomas Late of Leon, Nicaragua ivi504:915 Contents The Dancers H The Enchanted Ring 19 The Gray Pacer 27 The Soul of the Violet 31 Is it Spring Again in Ohio 32 Heart-Break in Spring 33 Midnight Bread 34 The Wolves of the Wind 35 The Doves of the Duomo 36 The Blossom Wind - 37 Gray Weather 39 Mirage 4 Nature and Man - 41 When Hope is Done 42 The Life of a Bird - 43 A Light Sleeper 44 No Nests and No Songs 44 The Heritage of Song 45 The Vintage of Sorrow 45 Lex Talionis 4& The Bees in Florida 46 In the Childhood of the May - -47 The Lover s World - ^ A Lone Woman s Watch-Nirht AQ r? / ^ rorbearance ? o The Lining of the Gloves - - 57 How Many a Tear - _ r~> Siege ^ Three Women in War Time - - 55 One Woman s Voice Against War - 56 The Healing Hand ^ Guarding the Pass ?g Lo$t\Qpportunity fi o At a North Window 6s The Guest of a Summer 61 The Perfect Hour 6j Beyond Memory fi* The Evening Road ^ Silent Amyclae fa The Land of Lost Hopes 60 Timon to the Athenians j 2 Where Goest Thou - ~ 73 A Knight Errant of the Soul 74 As I Went Forth - The Deep-Sea Pearl 77 The Diamond 77 Caprice of the Muses 78 Rank-and-File 79 The Flutes of the God 80 The Voice of the Laws 83 A Vision of Brave Men 84 The Compass 86 Voyagers - 88 Palingenesis 90 The Mistakes of a Day 93 Shield Me, Dark Nurse 93 THE DANCERS A Legend Of Saxony I St. Magnus hoary spires loom dark and still On skies where, smoldering, sink the fires of day; And now a hundred uncouth shapes of ill The gloam-enchanted Gothic eaves portray. Dim reverie enfolds both plain and hill; The stream alone in light pursues its way; The first stars tremble in the afterglow, And slender Dian bends a noiseless bow. II St. Magnus ancient heart is all alight, Glad, warm, and glowing, to his inmost shrine; His windows cast a benediction bright On frost-bit turf and legendary pine; His massive doors stand open to the night, And thence is heard the Nowel hymn benign. The priest his thank-uplifting censer swings, And, hid aloft, the choir responsive sings. Ill He for his flock with fervor intercedes; But oft unseemly sounds of mirth, outside, Do jar on pious souls bent o er their beads; And youthful worshippers their thoughts divide Twixt temporal delights and spirit needs. The priest himself no longer will abide The heedless troop that dance and sing without; So sends to bid them cease their revel-rout. IV But Youth and Holiday, conspiring twain! Their heady course they will not intermit, Impelled like the free steed once given rein. Counsel the morning zephyrs as they flit In ceaseless play across the bearded grain! But Youth, when once of grave decorum quit, Stays not his feet, till, of their own accord, Grown folly-tired, they sink upon the sward. V T was so. The ghostly father might upbraid The merry Dancers heeded not at all; But wilder yet the measures that they swayed. Then on St. Magnus self the priest did call; In open door he stood, and thus he prayed: "Oh, grant thy servant that it shall befall To these, who will not hear the word of grace, That they shall dance a twelvemonth in this place! 1 VI The dawn is red upon St. Magnus spires, His chimes ring in the holy Christmas morn, Whilst, thin and light, the smoke from village fires Into the windless sky is slowly borne. Night-fallen snow the turf, the branch, attires In raiment white as wool new-washed and shorn; But in the drifted churchyard there s a spot The silent loom of Heaven hath mantled not. 12 VII They re dancing yet, who danced on yester_eve! They re singing yet, who trilled the careless song! And where they circle (if ye will believe!) No snow hath fallen there, the whole night long! Still hand in hand, the dance they gaily weave; Nor do they heed the gathering anxious throng, The prayers of these, the angry threats of those, Who vainly strive locked fingers to unclose. VIII T is "Margarethe Bertha Marie, child! Come hence; come hence! You break your mother s heart!" But on they dance. Their eyes are bright and wild; Their rosy lips with breathless pleasure part. T is "Rupert Franz! what witchcraft has beguiled? Cease, lest beneath your father s wrath you smart!" Nor ear, nor glance aside, the revelers lend: The day wears late; the nightly shades descend. IX Heigh-ho! Once more peeps out the blushing May, Once more the primrose leans beside the brook; And hither, glad, the swallow wings her way, To haunts that in the autumn she forsook. St. Magnus hoary eaves invite her stay; But now intruders must she chide for look! They re dancing still, who danced on Christmas eve! They re singing still, to suit the dance they weave! "Are ye not hungry? Bread and meat I bring: Eat, children; otherwise ye perish soon." "Are ye not thirsty? Water from the spring I ve brought, to slake your thirst this blazing noon." Good souls ! down on the ground themselves they fling, And weep to see the unregarded boon; The summer days are long and fiercely bright: Sweet Heaven, would that endless were the night! XI And now t is Margarethe! late yestreen Thy sister died, and dying, prayed for thee. They soon will bring her to the churchyard green; Yonder the heaped-up clods thyself may st see." "My Bertha! thou a bride this day hadst been; But now for ay unwedded must thou be!" "My Marie, little one! come, rest thee, sweet!" Meseems, but faster move those choric feet. XII Whoso to Colewiz Town comes pilgrim-wise, Or rider halting but to taste the ale, He must the Dancers see with his own eyes; Then ready credence lends he to the tale How luckless stranger, under twilight skies, Did fall in swoon before St. Magnus pale, Believing that the Willis, circling there, Advanced to close him in their eddying snare. XIII On frost-bit turf and legendary pine Gleams the late moon, and winds are weird and shrill. The fireside gossips know, by many a sign, The winter early comes. So, if ye will, Have store of apples and of spiced sweet wine, For evening cheer, to melt the brumal chill. "Ye shiver?" " Tis that I cannot forget The Dancers. They, alas, are dancing yet!" XIV Then answer makes the goodman to his wife: "But well ye know nor frost nor fire they feel. They (if they living be) lead not the life We daily lead, of mingled woe and weal. They would not shrink, though with the keenest knife One minded so a deadly stroke should deal." Spake then a stranger guest: "I have heard tell How Herebertus can reverse the spell; XV "He, the great bishop dwelling at Cologne, Whom I myself once saw when I was young The mighty Herebertus, he alone Dissolves the charm a wizard wand has flung, Revokes the curse in sudden anger thrown." Thus talk good folk until, with droning tongue, St. Magrfus midnight bell bids all around Sleep well save those who tread enchanted ground. XVI It is the winter, and the little town Once more is buried to its eyes in snow; And still a few last, loitering flakes come down, Albeit, in the western heavens low, A rosy smile redeems the zenith frown. And touched with rose the dreaming faces show Of them who, never worn, retire, advance, Singing the song that times their mazy dance. XVII Yet is St. Magnus* ancient heart alight, Glad, warm, and glowing, to his inmost shrine. For, if God wills it so, this Holy Night There shall be wrought a miracle divine, As those of eld were wrought, in all men s sight. Therefore, devoutly let each one incline; And if there lurk a secret thought of ill, That thought dislodge, and entertain good will. XVIII Down the long aisle he comes, that saintly man From far Cologne, our comfort to restore. His face, attentive, all the people scan That blessing smile, the prophet-looks of yore. Close follows him the priest who laid the ban (Since then advanced in years a double score), With piteous livid cheek and bowed frame God wot his sin hath brought its lustral flame! 16 XIX Not here availeth candle, book, and bell, Or mystic waving, or the muttered verse Which studious brethren of the cloister-cell In rubric down the labored page disperse. For this was not some baleful sorcerer s spell; But piety itself pronounced the curse. How, then, can aught but piety supreme The hapless Dancers from their fate redeem? XX Now hath he crossed the threshold of the door; Now, silently, in hushed, expectant bands, Into the torch-lit dusk the people pour; And round good Herebertus, where he stands, They throng, with wonder ever growing more. He nothing holds in his grave, reverend hands Save the bent staff that shepherds used, of old, To bring the strayed or weakling to the fold. XXI That staff from charm and malison sets free. That staff no greater miracle hath done, In all the ages past, than now ye see. Behold the Dancers! how he smites each one, And, smiting, gently saith, " Absolved be From henceforth, thou my daughter, thou my son!" The song dies out; and slack the dizzy reel, As when, unbanded, turns the spinning-wheel. XXII And now, in many a quavering, smothered call, Tis "Margarethe Bertha Marie, love!" And "Franz, my boy!" The dreamer stands in thrall. Down from the disenchanted boughs above, Dislodged, the feathery snow-wreaths lightly fall, Like shedded plumes. At the cold touch thereof, The dreamer starts into this waking world, And tears, unware, lie on the cheek impearled. XXIII Their year-long dance at last is done. But they, Young creatures all, they can remember naught Save that in Fairyland they were a day; A piper piped, and his sweet tunes they caught. To this, "It bodes no good," the gossips say. But at his word, who such release hath wrought, All hearts uplift, and put away all fears; And the sad priest throws off his load of years. XXIV Now might be seen the Yule fire blazing bright Unfailing oasis in winter s waste; And now, the joyous revel at its height, Beneath the Druid branch the guests have paced. Ere one can think, St. Magnus sounds good night. Good night ! Once more the spiced sweet wine they taste. Then gleams awhile the lantern s wandering spark; It sinks, a homeward star and all is dark. 18 THE ENCHANTED RING A Tale of Halloween I You ask me for a tale of Halloween? Tis well. I lately read a treasure tome Within whose legend-haunted lone demesne The free, wild Fancy finds herself at home. Now, while the night wind wings the starlit dome, And while the dead leaves eerie converse hold, Through the rich Conjurer s Kingdom with me roam; And, wandering there, the story shall be told Of what befell in Leinster in the days of old. II In Leinster in the days of old, I wis, There was no maiden of the countryside But on All Hallows (such a night as this!) In Love s dim chancery her fortune tried. The bursting nut upon the hearth she plied; Or, while a lighted candle she would bear, Gazed in her glass with eyes intent and wide; Or, with weird mutterings, like a witch s prayer, She sowed three rows of nothing on the empty air ! Ill All rites had little Barbara performed, Yet nothing did she see, and nothing hear; Her busy thoughts soon into dreamland swarmed. The rosy apple lay, untasted, near For him who, ere another rounded year, Should taste Love s feast with her. And now the wind (As on this very night) with sighings drear, Spake close beneath her latticed window-blind Such dreamwise things as it hath spoke time out of mind. IV Why moans our little sister? "Rest thee, rest! Fear naught." Soon careful arms have clasp d her round, And a soft cheek against her own is pressed. For thus, since childhood, Barbara hath found In mother-love with sister s love upbound, Swift respite from the terrors of the night. But now, what sleep so restless, yet so sound, That not for touch or tone will take its flight, Or aught at all except the broadcast morning light! V "My precious one, such troubled dreams were thine; Yet, though I strove, I could not waken thee." "Dear mother-sister dearest sister mine Methought an unknown guide did beckon me Far, far from here. My will I could not free; I needs must follow through weald and waste. Outworn I reached a manor fair to see; Outworn, alone, through a long hall I paced, That was with many a speaking, stately portrait graced. VI "Then, stilly as a spirit loosed from earth, I climbed a stair, and to a chamber came, Rich hung with broidered cloths. Upon the hearth Dull embers held a little fitful flame. A sudden trembling ran through all my frame, When, from amidst those silken hangings rare, A voice pronounced: Reveal thy face and name, I conjure thee! At least, some token spare That I may trace thee when thou goest I know not where! VII "It was a grievous and a sinful thing But over me was sovereign, stern command I must obey. Thy gift, the birthday ring, With my own name engraved within the band The ring, alas! I drew it from my hand, And laid it on the marble mantel high. Then died the flame from out the falling brand, Then were the four walls darkling earth and sky; And, once again, till dawn a wanderer was I. VIII "But, Agatha, thou art not vexed at me? Thou dost not mourn the ring? Twas mine last eve, This morning it is gone, as thou canst see!" "Nay, darling, thou no reason hast to grieve: I may nott tell thee why, but I believe That ere another winged year is flown Some brightest threads for thee will Fortune weave." So spake her sister, sage of look and tone, And held the little, fevered hand within her own. 21 IX The Winter long is over in the land, And mellow is the furrowed soil, and quick With hopeful promise to the toiler s hand. He, too, that toils not, leaning on his stick, Is cheered to see the bean-flowers set so thick, And thick the blossoms on the orchard bough. How sweet the air! Hath any soul been sick? Oh, let that soul drink health from beauty now; Stand forth beneath the sky; unknit the careworn brow! X "Say, children, if ye guess, what aileth him The stranger who oft leans beyond the hedge To see our budding roses? Yet so dim His eye, he knows them not from ragged sedge! The black ox s hoof hath trod on him, I pledge My hopes beyond the grave, he seeketh aye For that which flees him to the world s far edge! Come, children, tell me what the gossips say: Your grandsire nothing hears the old at home must stay!" XI Good Agatha replies with playful look: "Let Barbara speak. And if she be the rose (To us the sweetest flower in any nook Or tame or wild that in our Leinster grows) Hath drawn the stranger to our garden-close, With what true eye hath he the best discerned." (A blush-rose, on the moment, springs and blows!) "Ay, sister, grandsire, all that I have learned, I freely tell you; since deceit I always spurned. 22 XII "But twice have I had speech with him no more, First time he asked a rose, and spake me fair, I gave it him, so sad a look he wore; And on he passed, as one who doth not care. Again, as I was searching everywhere My bracelet that had fallen to the ground, He leaped the hedge-row ere I was aware; And he it was that, searching, quickly found My bracelet. Surely, I to courtesy was bound." XIII "Ay, surely, child. Your grandsire taught you that, What said you then?" "I bade him stay and rest; And down upon the old oak bench we sat. He spake of losses how another s quest Twas ever his to aid, for he was blest With wizard sight, save for the thing he sought A thing not lost, since never yet possessed; He had but dreamed of it! I answered naught; But much, in truth, since then of what he said have thought." XIV By this time closed are the ears of age, And lid-fast are the eyes. And now, alone, Spake carelessly good Agatha the sage: "Great prudence, little Barbe, thou hast shown; But I have heard the stranger well is known, That gentle is his birth, and the estate Is broad and fair, which singly he doth own. Tis said his health hath suffered much of late; Wholesome this air; so he prolongs his visit s date." XV Then subtly did fond Agatha contrive: "Thou doest but a charitable deed, If from his soul this withering gloom thou drive. Lightly along the self-same channel lead Thy talk. Say that thou gav st his words good heed; Since back to thee thy bracelet he could bring, Thou would st, once more, consult his wizard rede, For thou hast lost a yet more precious thing Thy sister s gift to thee the name, too, on the ring!" XVI "That dare I not !" broke in the little maid; "For well thou knowest how the ring was lost, And all the tricks at Halloween I played. Alas, those charms were wrought at heavy cost, To be, as I have been, a homeless ghost A shadow of myself of self bereft!" "Then, child, tell only what importeth most A ring of thine was somewhere lost, or left; And thou, once more, art fain to seek his counsel deft." XVII The Rose sends challenge to the flower- world all: What bloom like mine at once both proud and sweet? Unstored do the Rose s burning accents fall Upon the twain within the garden-seat. Yet, what can make the Rose s color fleet From a young maiden s cheek what sudden stress? What words are these a young man may repeat, While light springs up in eyes long lustreless? But come, let us o erhear twere idle, still to guess? 24 XVIII It thus had chanced: when came the moment fit, Full simply little Barbara broached the theme Directed by her sister s subtler wit: Since he had found her bracelet, it would seem A yet more precious loss he might redeem: A ring of hers had vanished left no trace. So great a wizard might some potent scheme Devise, to bring it from its hiding-place." She lightly spake. Intent, her comrade scanned her face. XIX Speak thou the truth, no word from me withhold; Lift up thine eyes, and they the truth shall speak, For it must be that slender ring of gold Bounds the whole world of happiness I seek. Tell me when thou this ring didst lose, and eke All circumstance that did the time attend." Twas then the Rose s color fled her cheek; But since her tongue to guile she could not lend, She told straightforwardly her story to the end. XX "As thou hast spoken truth, and naught beside" He said, "I ll speak the living truth to thee. That night some charms of Halloween I tried, Dared thus to do by a blithe company In mine old hall, far in the West Countree. The charms performed, I thought of them no more; Yet deemed it strange that sleep came not to me; And as the rising wind shook blind and door, I watched with half-shut eyes the firelight on the floor. XXI "Then glidingly, and noiseless as a dream, A figure stoled in white, with floating hair, Touched faintly by the embers fitful gleam, Approached the fireplace and stood wavering there Stood piteously, with tender feet all bare, And tender palms reached out above the coals (As they had borne too long the frosty air). Then, I remembered me the time All Souls, When visions vanish as the hour of midnight tolls ! XXII " Already was the clock upon the stroke, Already had the vision turned to go When, in a voice I scarcely knew, I spoke, Desiring that the presence should bestow Some sign, or constant pledge of truth, to show When daylight should to disbelief incline. The vision faded. On the mantel, lo! This ring I found. And surely, it is thine, And surely, maiden, both the ring and thou art mine!" XXIII Needs not to say what afterwards befell How smiled the mother-sister sage and dear, When came the fine confession, guessed full well ; Or how, before the rounding of the year, She saw through many a rainbow-lighted tear Her darling pace the aisle, a happy bride! Nay ! rather must I counsel all who hear Leave juggling wiles of Hallo-ween untried, Lest no such powers benign your doubtful venture guide! 26 THE GRAY PACER Two neighbor cliffs two Rhenish castles crown; Alike they look upon the rushing stream; Alike they stand to take the tempest s frown; Alike, in sunset s glamour wrapt, they dream. Beneath them, early shut from western beam, Unfathomed by the eagle, lies a dell: St. Clement s spires amidst its quiet gleam; To Rheinstein and to Reichenstein, his bell Hath rung for centuries wedding peal and funeral knell. Yet nearer, as the bird or arrow flies, Are Rheinstein s towers to those of Reichenstein, Than cither s bastions to the church that lies Deep buried in the many-folding chine. So near those windowed towers, by air-drawn line, That when all winds be dumb and skies are gold, A mutual ear may mutual speech divine. Such converse Gerda might with Kuno hold, But Fate had lessoned them to be more wise than bold! To Gerda the Gray Pacer came a gift A birthday gift from Reichenstein he came, A letter round his neck: As true as swift, Hill f ail thee not Fidele is his name. Thus Kuno wrote, fanning more bright the flame Of long-increasing fancies how the steed, Which^ his own hand to one high hest did tame, Should bear her, serve her, though himself, indeed, Might not so much as touch her hand, for utmost need ! And, since that birthday morn, his dear last hope Was stolen hence; for at the trial-tilt, 27 He one had met, with whom he might not cope Dark Kurt, whose hand was ever on the hilt, Prompt still to deeds of violence and guilt, To him the prize, old Sifrid s daughter, passed. Sweet Gerda ! Many tears her blue eyes spilt, Her heart was holden, and its doors were fast; Yet what avails? Her father s will in iron was cast. The bridal day was set too soon arrived! The Castle maidens robed her as they would In veil and vestment by deft hands contrived In gems and laces of the antique mood. In splendor tired yet in their midst she stood Like some fair chosen creature without stain, That, thus bedecked, in early times and rude, Was led unto the altar to be slain, Where the lean priest stood waiting pitiless and fain. And flesh had failed her in that deathly hour, But that, to Mother Mary she had knelt, At dawn of day, to ask her saving power; And, rising up, a nameless cheer had felt, That even yet within her bosom dwelt. Joyous she seemed, whom sorrow late consumed; But, here and there, an eye did sudden melt, Of such as judged to madness she was doomed, Unless, ere long, a broken heart should be entombed! One dartling glance toward the neighboring cliff! For well her heart divined who watched her there; Then spake she gayly, " Twere great favor if Mine own good gray my maiden self might bear Once more to Clement s shrine. They grant her prayer. 28 Into the sell she springs; and all descend By winding, stony way that asks for care. The wedding chimes their downward march attend; And Clement s flower-wreathed altar waits them at the end, The watcher lone, on lonely Reichenstein, By tantalizing glimpses, often barred By jutting crag or by thick-bodied pine, Beheld the wedding guests ride chapelward, And, in their van as one in Heaven starred, Past mortal speech, his love and sorrow moved Life lay before him a fair picture marred; Nor knew he yet, if vengeance most behoved; Or choice of holy wars, or convent shades removed. But as keen thought its many edges turned, Wounding alike (yet wounds no more he fears!) His outward eye a wondrous sight discerned; For, as the bridal train the chapel nears, And all would now alight, the gray horse rears, Strikes with sharp hooves whoe er would stay his course. Streamward he makes, the while his rider hears The welcome call of waters, deep and hoarse, Wooing to death no hand away from her can force! No hand save Heaven s that death can now forestall, But, reared to plunge, the pacer wheels around (As though from far aloft, a master call He he^eds a voice whereof he knows the sound ) , And lo ! with flying feet, with bound on bound, By road no charger s hoof before hath traced, He takes the steep, as it were level ground! 29 To Reichenstein he mounts! "No time to waste!" ( Tis Kuno s voice) "Let down the drawbridge in all haste." Soon, in the Castle s court, Fidele stands, With quivering, foam sprent-flank, with drooping head. Unclasped from his neck are Gerda s hands, And from his back his burden dear is shed. Can ye not guess what tenderest words are said (What love-names, also, for the gallant gray)? But it behooves me to recount, instead, How Kuno orders all in armed array, To meet whatever foes the castle s walls essay. But even as the hurried order goes, A gathering rumor runs about the place, And soon the barred and massive doors unclose, And henchmen four, with slow, regardful pace, Bear hither Sifrid. He, in the mad chase, Unseated from his horse, mid rocks was thrown. But he, while suffering sharpens all his face, Is fain to speak: "My children, I atone: Ye shall each other s be; and both be as mine own!" Thus spake sweet Gerda s father in remorse Nor knew his vow was loosed the while he spake. Though even then, the Kurt an unwept corse Down the swift Rhine his drowned way did take. But, while the new-found joy cures past heartache, The gray approaches, and with neck a-droop (As one but glad or sorry for their sake), Pushes his loving way into the group, While a brave cheer runs round the Castle s yeoman troop ! 30 THE SOUL OF THE VIOLET Whenever, betimes, the warm winds blow And drive underground the lingering snow; Whenever, amid such breathing space, The brown earth raises a wistful face Whenever about the fields I go, The soul of the violet haunts me so! I look there is never a leaf to be seen; In the pleached grass is no thread of green; But I walk as one who would chide his feet Lest they trample the hope of something sweet ! Here can no flower be blooming, I know- Yet the soul of the violet haunts me so ! Again and again that thrilling breath, Fresh as the life that is snatched out of death, Keen as the blow that Love might deal Lest a spirit in trance should outward steal So thrilling that breath, so vital that blow The soul of the violet haunts me so! Is it the blossom that slumbers as yet Under the leaf-mould dank and wet, And visits in dreams the wondering air (Whereof the passing sweetness I share)? Or is it the flower shed long ago? The soul of the violet haunts me so ! 3 1 IS IT SPRING AGAIN IN OHIO Is it Spring again in Ohio? Is the sleep of the Winter over? Far in the heavens, the bluebird, Low in the marshland, the plover, Anear, in the orchard, the redbreast, Wherever one looks, the hover Of wings wherever one listens, The note of the homing rover ! Is it Spring again in Ohio? Is it Spring again in Ohio, And the sleep of the Winter over? Blooms in the woods the wild service? Where Zephyr bendeth above her, Gleams the faint dawn of the wind-flower? Breaks from the turfy cover The tender star of the thistle, The dew-cradling leaf of the clover? Is it Spring again in Ohio? Is it spring again in Ohio, And the sleep of the Winter over? Are these the rare days O my comrade Blithest for homing rover? Once would we forth and follow Far as the cry of the plover By stream, and by greening pasture, By fallow, and breezy cover! Is it Spring again in Ohio? Is it Spring again in Ohio Is the sleep of the Winter over? Say to each wakening beauty, I am, as ever, its lover, Hourly, from far saluting: I, too, were a homing rover, If I, from the sleep of the Winter, All that I loved might recover! Is it Spring again in Ohio? HEART-BREAK IN SPRING When the earliest violets ope On the sunniest southward slope, When the cress and windflower slim Palely light the woodpath dim, When the air is sweet and keen Ere the full-blown flower is seen, When that blithe forerunning air Breathes more hope than thou canst bear, Thou, O buried, broken heart, Into quivering life shall start! Thou shalt ask the flower-loved breeze, " Wherefore waken these and these, Soulless gazers on the light, Wherefore lead these up from night, And not send a thrilling call Waking eyes more sweet than all." 33 MIDNIGHT BREAD Above the canon of the street The gleaming files of Heavens climb: One almost hears his own heart beat So silent and so dead the time! Far, far away the tide has drawn, That, sounding, filled this canon s cleft; The city s myriad soul is gone, And but its empty frame is left. But what is yonder moving line Scarce moving line, in human guise, Near by where Grace Church lifts her sign That fostering care is in the skies? One two the bell-tower now has dealt, Tis late, but later yet shall be Ere this slow moving line shall melt Which nightly Heaven s watchers see. These are my brothers scorned of Fate My brothers of the Empty Hand: Their turn in silence they await, Patient, half-sleeping, as they stand. Into the dark, at length, they fade, Bearing their dole of Midnight Bread; And when the hunger-pang is stayed God knows where each shall lay his head! 34 THE WOLVES OF THE WIND A Burden of the Season Bare are my walls, and low is my roof, Yet, heaven be praised ! they are winter-proof ! Hark, how the wolves of the wind rush by! (Was the sound I heard a human cry?) The fire on my hearth is blazing bright Within is cheer, without is the Night Blanching with fear from earth to sky Hark, how the wolves of the wind rush by ! They are swift, they are fell, and they never tire, But they shun the light of my blazing fire, So blest is my portion, so safe am I. (Was the sound I heard a human cry?) They have broken the leash that held them back, And the whole world dreads the fierce, wild pack! To shelter, to shelter, let all things fly Hark, how the wolves of the wind rush by! Matters not where, the heath, or the town, Whatever they meet they re trampling down: And the vains of the victim they re draining dry! (Was the sound I heard a human cry?) The sound, too plain it rises again, The myriad wailing of outcast men: In the path of the pack they stricken lie Hark, ho\v the wolves of the wind rush by! 35 Who is it knocks at the door of my heart? Open I must, though in terror I start, At the blue-cold lip and the hollow eye. (The sound I heard was a human cry!) Whoever hath shelter, whoever hath store, Slide the bolt of the grudging door; Be the poor with us, lest they should die Hark, how the wolves of the wind rush by ! THE DOVES OF THE DUOMO Said the brooding dove to her mate, "Whenever the great bell tolls (And it tolls both early and late) The good folk pray for their souls." "What matters to thee and to me? We have no souls, men say, (And wiser are men than w r e;) So, therefore, we need not to pray." "Then," said the brooding dove, "Let us pray let us pray for their souls - For the city we so much love Whenever the great bell tolls!" THE BLOSSOM WIND Like a fair pavilion dropped from heaven, Is the wonder of the orchard trees. Like the music heard in dreams of heaven, Is the honey-buried murmur of the bees. Rosy light o erlaps the shadow, Blissful mornings come and go, And the evenings die of beauty, Till the Blossom Wind begins to blow. Somewhere, all unseen, the orchard Spirit Midst the billowy tree-tops dwells apart; But she hears the oriole s silvery fluting, And the bee within the blossom s honeyed heart. And the yeoman trees, to shield her, Trail their snowy branches low, As she leans, to look and listen, When the Blossom Wind begins to blow. At the first, tis but the lightest sighing, Lifting not the downball from the grass; But the Spirit of the place has heard it, And she knows the hour of Beauty soon must pass ! Down a single petal falters, Like the earliest flake of snow On the bough its comrades tremble, As the Blossom Wind begins to blow! 37 Borne along the hollow fragrant tempest, Drifts the orchard Spirit to her doom. Faintly heard, a fairy dirge is chanting, Faintly glimpsed her face amid the eddying bloom. Blown afar the fair pavilion; Then the rain comes soft and slow; Sober green the flower replaces, When the Blossom Wind has ceased to blow. GRAY WEATHER I All the world s in love with May Day- Open, laughing weather; Is there one to praise the gray day Mist-drops in the heather? Said the poet: "Let the world praise only May Day, I am here to praise the gray day! I, mine ear attuning To its faint communing, I, its sun divining, Veiled with mist, yet shining I will praise the gray day." II All the world s in love with roses; Who bestows attention On the bud that ne er uncloses Flower of dim, wild gentian? Said the poet: "Let the world praise only roses, I the bud that ne er uncloses! Though its heart deep-centered Never bee has entered, Fancy, tired of roaming, In its violet gloaming Sinks down and reposes!" 39 Ill All the world pays court to famed ones High in honor seated. Who will praise the great unnamed ones And the brave defeated? Said the poet: "Let the world pay court to famed ones, I will praise the great unnamed ones, Sing their viewless trophies Word their silent strophes I their own true lover; Till the world discover These its great unnamed ones!" MIRAGE Treasure the shadow. Somewhere, firmly based, Arise those turrets that in cloud-land shine; Somewhere, to thirsty toilers of the waste, Yon phantom well-spring is a living sign. Treasure the shadow. Somewhere, past thy sight, Past all men s sight, waits the true heaven at last: Tell them whose fear would put thy hope to flight, There are no shadows save from substance cast. 40 NATURE AND MAN Oh, the glance of the dew! Oh, the flame of the rose springing forth of the thorn ! Oh, the song of the arrow-marked finch singing love in the front of the morn! Who will speak to them all of the rapture they wake in the children of men? Who will so lovingly speak, they will heed, and answer again? The glance of the dew but repeateth the liquid glance of the sky, And the flame of the rose is not brighter, in token, as man passes by, And the song of the finch, though his little heart with ecstasy break, From the answering rapture of man no quickening impulse shall take. O drops of the dew! O pride of the thorn! O singing bird! Is there never a mutual tongue, is there never a common word, Wherein to give thanks, wherein to give praise, from the hearts ye have filled? With the pure distilment of joy which your cup, over brimming, has spilled? If but one moment, in all the swift season giddy with change, We that are God s one creation, yet strangers, might be less strange ! But this is the pain of the pleasure the bitter-sweet which man drains : Unconscious-glad Nature unconscious of man forever re mains! WHEN HOPE IS DONE Who turns away from gazing at the sun Sees its dusk images fill all the air. It is not otherwise when Hope is done: Her darkling phantoms make the heaven of Despair. 42 THE LIFE OF A BIRD Thou art clothed on with plumes, as with leaves, Frond-like, and lighter than air; Thy pinions are arrows in sheaves, That carry thee none knoweth where. Thou fliest, and none gives pursuit, Thy realm both the earth and the sky; Thou hast in thy bosom a flute, The glance of a soul in thine eye. Thou obeyest a sovran power That sets thee on Summer s track; Thou knowest the tide and the hour When to advance, or turn back. Into the world thou art flung, Thou herald of rapture and light. Thou weavest a home for thy young And none but thyself hath the sleight. Out of the world thou art gone, And who shall say where is thy rest? A rapture and light are withdrawn Into some Heaven-side nest. For who of my kind hath beheld Where, stricken, were any of thine? Hast thou not been, from of old, A spirit unscathed and divine? 43 A LIGHT SLEEPER By his lov d nest and hopes, sits fast asleep The sedge-bird in some dewy covert deep; Throw the least pebble there, he quickly wakes Quickly the long bright day s refrain uptakes. So is it with the Muse s slumbering child; His couch is made upon Parnassus wild; If Sleep depart, Song springs within his breast, And wakes the old melodious unrest. "NO NESTS AND NO SONGS" Why are ye silent, ye dryads of thicket and grove? Perchance from the fowler ye hide and brood o er your wrongs. "Nay; careless and songless at close of the season we rove, Mute are we all, after springtime no nests and no songs ! y Wise were ye ever, ye dryads of thicket and grove ! To the fullness of life and its struggle all joyance belongs : And we when no longer we strive, as blithely we strove Is it so with ourselves as with you no nests and no songs? 44 THE HERITAGE OF SONG Children of that great Light which fills the sphere, And of the Goddess with the shaded eyes, Dwelling on scenes long past, and passing dear, Such are the Muses: hence their kingdom lies Neither beneath the noon nor midnight skies; A blended heritage, to them belong The regions where the mistral daybeam dies And cloud- wrought purple pageants richlier throng: Pensive the poet s lot, for twilight broods o er song. THE VINTAGE OF SORROW Yet, know ye not where fire the soil hath charred, One moon shall scarcely fill her golden round. Before the sweet white clover shall have starred With myriad beauty all the chastened ground ! What if the rubric of the sword have sealed A more imperial harvest to yon plain? Each soul hath, also, some such battle-field It hath the vintage, too, of Thrasymene! LEX TALIONIS Say the finny folk who glide in the stream, "We could be happy the whole day long Were it not that in sun or in shadow we dream Of pinions that hover to do us wrong!" Say the people whose pathways are through the sky, "We could sing our songs, we could brood our nests, Were it not we have seen our fellows lie With a strange red plume on their silent breasts!" The fowler mused as he bagged the game, "How careless and free were man s estate Were it not for the fear he scarce can name Were it not for the arrows of lurking Fate!" THE BEES IN FLORIDA To that soft, floral land, where lurks no storm, Where hides the quest of Ponce de Leon, Bring from the north your murmuring, busy swarm No sweets they ll hive where wintry want is none! So with the Muse s child; where pleasures are, Where new delights arise, unnamed, unsought, No song he makes for days and ears afar, But hovers idly in the sunshine of his thought ! IN THE CHILDHOOD OF THE MAY There is joy and there is pain, In the childhood of the May; But so subtly blent the twain, That more one-in-one are they Than the song and its refrain, Or the sun-flecked shadows play ! There is pain and there is joy In the childhood of the May, Pain obscure and pleasure coy: Which is dearer who can say? If the pain we would destroy, Pleasure, also, we must slay ! There is joy and there is pain In the childhood of the May; There are thoughts we cannot chain, Yet they hold ethereal sway; Sunlit gossamer beaded rain Half conceal them, half betray! Dreams once dreamed by girl and boy, Half-remembered dreams are they, Time can never quite destroy. Give them welcome, give them way, Subtle pain and subtler joy, In the childhood of the May ! 47 THE LOVER S WORLD They were all more subtle than I, Who moved in blind rapture among them, "That our notes are new, we deny, A thousand times over we ve sung them, Be it thrush, or linnet, or dove!" "Nay, but ye birds, one and all, Now sing, with a rounded completeness, From matin to vesper call; Where got ye that marvelous sweetness?" "From the voice of the soul of thy love!" They were all more subtle than I, Who knelt in rapt worship before them, "The roses of summers gone by, Didst thou so praise, so adore them, And set them all roses above?" "Nay; but ye are not the same Ye bloom with a beauty supremer; Where got ye that delicate flame, Half veiling your petals?" "O dreamer. From the light of the soul of thy love!" 48 A LONE WOMAN S WATCH-NIGHT All the dull winter day, until its close, With fingers lithe and skilled All day she d toiled to shape the mimic rose, Whose petals, never chilled, Are Beauty s challenge in our wintry clime. Now in her attic nook above the world, While the bright city to its pleasures whirled, By one lone lamp a slender glass she filled, And held it, waiting for the midnight chime, The while she mused with absent eye and ear: There was a joyous time Ah, time, how long, how long gone by ! When in her lather s house, with cups of cheer The laughing guests had sped the parting year . . . And now, from belfry high, The chime rang out against a tingling sky; And while the crystal solitude grew tense, She raised the chalice clear And with mute pledging intimate and dear She drank to those she loved, of sundered lot; She drank to those she loved but who forgot (A memory, Memory s only recompense); She drank to those whose lips in dust are dry, Whose spirits, as she mused, with kindling eye, Seemed leaning from the starlit vague immense, Though veiled to sense! 49 And if, of these one face all peerless shone, One face, long-lost in youth, such spell it wrought Her own grew younger with so dear a thought ! Thus, lonely, yet forever not quite lone Her clear face lit from far within the soul, With Love that temporizeth not with Doubt With memories deathless while the long years roll, She watched the Old Year out. FORBEARANCE He said oft questioned why his wit s keen lance, Strikes right and left, his bosom-friend perchance, While traitor and deserter scathless go "We speak no evil of the dead, you know!" THE LINING OF THE GLOVES Twas in the stately days of yore Of courtly lore and loves, At New Year s tide, Sir Thomas More Received a gift of gloves. No other gloves so fine, I wist, Were sent that New Year s Day! For from each finger-tip to wrist, Well-filled and plump were they. Each glove a purse was filled with gold (With angels from the mint) ; And as each piece from ambush rolled, It shot a laughing glint; As though to say: On New Year s Day, Twixt earnest thought and sport, A client fair her fee would pay For suit well-won at court. A dainty missive, too, there was (Ah, days ofdaintyhood!) "Fair Sir, for favor shown my cause, Have proof of gratitude." The glistening store Sir Thomas scanned, And read the dainty note; Then took his subtle pen in hand, And, smilingly, he wrote: "Lady, upon a New Year s Day, No gift of grace we spurn; But, while your gloves I keep for aye, The lining I return." Thus, in the gracious days of old, They spake in gracious phrase: Twas golden speech from hearts of gold- Ah, bring me back those days! HOW MANY A YEAR How many a year I ve loved thee- How many a year, Whose seasons seemed like one The promissory Spring, With glints of hope, of fear, With faint, fair blossoming, In shadow or in sun. How many a year I ve loved thee, How many a year Of summers all foregone ! For me, may yet be June; And yet, the golden sphere Of the full harvest moon In the sad east may dawn! How many a year I loved thee How many a year! So late to love art thou, Then love me more for this; Beyond the desert drear, Be fount and oasis And nectar-laden bough! 53 SIEGE If I should come knocking, knocking At the door of your little heart, You in soft haste would be locking The portal that kept us apart; And then you would sit at some window, on high, Would smile, from your turret and even defy ! But the Loves to my aid would be flocking Would besiege you on every side; And soon would your turret be rocking, And soon would the portal swing wide; And the Loves, my true liegemen, will hasten to bring The royal sweet captive down to their king. So, instead of such smiling and mocking, There might even be sighs on your part, As on mine if I should come knocking At the door of your little heart ! Why not a truce? Oh! why not then yield, And peace, with a kiss, at the doorway be sealed? 54 THREE WOMEN IN WAR TIME I One said, with a smile on her proud young lips: "I have brothers three; they are far on the sea, For they serve on the decks of the fighting ships ! Is it strange that the war comes home to me?" II "And I, had I father, brothers, or friend, I would give them all at my country s call! My sorrow is, I have none to send, And my share in the glorious war is small!" Ill But the third arose with face aglow: "Mine are a hundred thousand strong, Wherever my countryman meets the foe, And my heart s in the war the whole day long!" 55 ONE WOMAN S VOICE AGAINST WAR I The voice of my sisters I hear ( Oh voice of the summer leaves ! Oh voice of the murmuring waters ! Oh, light if it laughs or it grieves!) They are sending you forth, O men; they are bidding you arm straightway; But they see not, as I can see, men biting the dust in the fray, They see not, as I can see, men pouring the blood of the brave And the craven, at home, survives, while the hero sleeps in his grave! They see not, as I can see that their daughters daugh ters shall wed With the sons of the craven, born of the blood too pale to be shed! They see not, the money-changers unscourged in the temple remain, When those that were fearless to strike the best of the nation are slain; For the veins of a race once shrunken, the hearts of the race beat low, And the valor we worshipped a flame unfed no longer shall glow ! II The voice of my sisters I hear: tt We offer our dearest, our all, Father, and brother, and lover, for country, if need be, to fall! 56 Wha t more can we pledge than we pledge as daughters, as sisters, as wives?" Let the voice of my sisters be mute, for they hold their in violate lives! Not a hair of their heads shall be stirred by the wind of the winnowing shot ; They shall not languish in prison, nor in the dull earth be forgot ! One is the life of each mortal and that is not theirs, which they yield! Let them be hushed to remember the breast of the man is their shield: Not till her life she shall peril on battle s shivering edge, The soul of a woman shall waken, to know how costly the pledge! Ill The voice of my sisters forgive ! Forgive them, ye men who are theirs; For they know not the words they utter, sending ye forth, though with prayers, I have none of my own to send forth; but, for swordmen doomed to the sword, Tears were my daily drink, were the blood of the meanest out-poured! Awake, or asleep, I should see the dark stream with the life taking flight The damp of the death-dew beading the eye without vision or light ! My sisters they see not the sight, or their lips would be holden of speech, And the voice of their hearts, ever sleepless, for "peace," and but peace!" would beseech. 57 THE HEALING HAND As some faint, rosy cloud at even drifts O er lands of death and wild volcanic rifts, She came (the battle past); she bent her head; "Thou art my country s foe, and mine," she said, "But yet my human brother, though at strife; So must I balm thy wounds and give thee back thy life!" So well did she the healing balm outpour She gave him back his life Gave she no more? As some faint, rosy cloud at even blends, Blends with the rosy sea, as it descends, Love touched the heart as Pity bent the head; "Thou art my country s foe not mine!" she softly said. GUARDING THE PASS There, as thou liest, beloved, thy lips at parley with naught, There, as thou liest, beck ning to naught with thy wavering hand, Thine eyes unbeholding or filled but with pageants by fantasy wrought. Thy legions oflife in revolt and fain at a sign to disband, To be gone at a breath, There, as thou liest, I, all the night, like a sentinel stand, Guarding the Pass that leads to the Land of the Shadow of Death ! All the long night, O beloved, I listen and watch in my place; There is none that is with me, not one; but single of hand I must fight; Even the stars that were wont to look down with compas- sioning grace, Now brighten and glow with desire to draw into heaven thy light; And the wind at the casement saith, " Release the loved soul!" I am one against many, alone in the night, Guarding the Pass that leads to the land of the Shadow of Death! 59 LOST OPPORTUNITY "There is a nest of thrushes in the glen; When we come back, we ll see the glad young things," He said. We came not by that way again; And Time and thrushes fare on eager wings ! "Yon rose" she smiled "but no, when we return, Pll pluck it then." Twas on a summer day. The ashes of the rose in Autumn s urn Lie hidden well. We came not back that way. We do not pass the selfsame way again, Or, passing by that way, nothing we find As it before had been; but death, or stain, Hath come upon it, or the wasteful wind. The very earth is envious, and her arms Reach for the beauty that detained our eyes; Yea, it is lost, beyond the aid of charms, If, once within our grasp, we leave the prize. Thou traveller to the unknown Ocean s brink, Through Life s fair fields, say not, "Another day This joy I ll prove:" for never, as I think, Never shall we come back this selfsame way! 60 AT A NORTH WINDOW One morning only of the gradual year The sunshine on her window-ledge may fall; Oh, marvel not her heart is full of fear Lest clouds that morning keep the sun in thrall ! THE GUEST OF A SUMMER I was a poet s guest. He bade me be free with his treasure, With all that made mirth, or gave pleasure, Soothed sorrow, or ministered rest. He bade such as ran at his hest Serve mine, without stinting or measure. Sightly his fair demesne Set well on the verge of the land. And he said: "From this cliff thou mayst lean And hearken the while the gray sea, Pacing all day the bright strand, Makes a lute of each scattered shell. And hereby I cede unto thee This, my cool sylvan cell, All around curtained with green Live green of the evergreen tree; All above, frescoes divine, Shot in the changeable woof Of the magical music-swayed roof. All this, with its service, be thine." 61 I was a simple guest, To think he could make such bequest, Or my hands with his treasure be crowned ! For soon, that the master was one, And the servant another I found, Unfain at my bidding to run. The sea on the shingle did beat No lute-tone I heard in the sound! The wind through the pine tops ran fleet; The stars through the pine-tops did shine; But I saw not the frescoes divine! Wherefore, I now understand None but himself can have seen How fair is the poet s demesne, Set well on the bourne of the land ; And none but himself can have heard The sounds that his spirit have stirred! THE PERFECT HOUR Lo! the fleeting Perfect Hour! Spring and Summer lend their dower; All that either can bestow To her dear adornment go : Therefore is such subtle art Joined with childhood s simple heart. Sweet inheritor of joy Ever beckoning, ever coy! Lo ! the winged Perfect Hour, Poised between the fruit and flower, Sees the cherished apple set Mid the branches dewy-wet Sees the tardy quince-tree last Her shell-tinted flower to cast Sees the down-ball lightly plumed Where the golden disc hath bloomed; While the June-grass breaks in spray, As the soft breeze takes its way, And the ripple of the wheat Rises round her blessing feet. Lo! the fleeting Perfect Hour, Hath from May and June her dower! In the thicket she hath heard Hymeneal pipe of bird, And the dim-voiced woodland dove Hath not hushed her plaint of love. Yet she hears the fledgling throat Utter its first matin note Full of wonder and amaze, Heard no more in riper days. Lo! the affluent Perfect Hour! All things feel her sovran power Swift across the vanward rose Tender flame of crimson blows, That no later bloom may share; Holiest holies centre there; In its heart a censer breathes, In its heart a passion sheathes; Passion into song must flower Sing, all hearts, the Perfect Hour. BEYOND MEMORY Tis not that I forget thee gone from here, All things on earth are speaking still of thee; But thou what sight or sound can bring earth near? Soul of my soul, canst thou remember me? 64 THE EVENING ROAD "Sublustri noctis in umbra" Before me, in the waning light, The Evening Road lay straight and white, Muffled in summer dust. The surging trees rose left and right, Black billows in the gathering night, And whispered the light gust. As the wheel drove with rapid gyre I saw upon the whirling tire A phosphorescent gleam; At the tenth round, I saw expire The firefly s little spark of fire, The night could not redeem. I saw, upon a naked mound Where forest-fire had swept the ground, A tree bare and alone; Tossing his mightless arms around, He stood like some old king discrowned And driven from his throne. I saw, against the haunted sky, A small, belated bird dart by, Far straying from the nest, While in pursuit, with ravin-cry, Night-favored wings did swiftly fly, And ever closelier pressed. I saw, (deserted long agoj A cot with crannied roof sunk low And doors that stood ajar; Beyond, like ghostly taper s glow, Those rifted chambers searching slow, I saw the evening star. I saw but all I saw without Still imaged forth the inner doubt, The dread, the restless goad, The griefs, that in a hovering rout Compass that lonely soul about, Who takes The Evening Road. 66 SILENT AMYCKdE (Virgil, ^Eneid 10, v. 564.) I In Silent Amyclae They fear not the foray invading by night, The lance flashing challenge afar on the height, The vessels of war swift-cleaving the foam, The spy from without, nor the traitor at home; They fear but false rumor and panic alarms, When the fool and the craven would rally to arms, In Silent Amyclas. II In Silent Amyclae They have sworn by the Gods and the Brothers divine Who white through the dust of the battle shine By the Brothers they swear, that who raiseth the cry, "Arm! for the foe is upon us!" shall die Be he priest of the temple, or bondsman, or lord, He dies if he utters the warning abhorred In silent Amyclae! Ill In Silent Amyclae Now Fear is afraid and the voices of Fear Are quiet this many and many a year; No oracle threats, no presage is heard, They scan not the victim nor flight of the bird; No pilgrim may enter with tidings of ill; At the gate the voice of the warder is still In silent Amyclae. 67 IV In Silent Amyclx One midnight the sound of a legion tread ! All hear, but they speak not nor whisper their dread, Alike do they tremble dastard and brave, From the sword and the torch swift runs the red wave- By mornlight a city all voiceless and drear! How art thou undone through thy scorn of all fear, Ah, silent Amyclge! 68 THE LAND OF LOST HOPES "A traveler in this land of lost hopes, where I have wast ed most that is precious in life." (FROM A LETTER) And journeying on, we came to that wide land Where seldom any sought or forced return; For either breaks the trembling bridge that spanned The torrent stream (that country s restless bourn), Or word will come, the friend we used to mourn Dwells there, and if but far enough we roam, We, surely, in good time must tidings learn: At last, in glooming peace, we make our home, And please the alien god with vows and hecatomb. When first we came, we marveled much to see Innumerous paths that wound by dale and hill That here might pause beneath the nooning tree, And there might wander by some pleasant rill; So on through sun and shade they bent until They suddenly to darksome dells would sink; Yet there the pastoral pipes were playing still ! The Shepherd of Lost Hopes by some green brink Poured the sweet stream from which the crowding flock would drink! That Shepnerd takes a tithe from every flock In every land the fairest and the best. He shelters them beneath the hollow rock; He folds the young and wayworn to his breast. But one shall wander east and wander west, Who thus hath lost his white and fairest hope, Yet never meet the darling of his quest, Not though he searched the wood and sunshine slope, Or down those music-haunted depths should dare to grope. Now, harkening to that unseen Melodist, This would we note: how brave so e er the strain, We evermore the close and cadence missed; Nor died in happy languor the refrain, But even as those paths broke off amain, So all at once would cease the lovely sound! Yet, like a lapsing wind, it rose again, Elusive, borne from some remoter ground: Alas ! naught in that land is with fruition crowned. For where the brooding bird sat yestermorn, And her mate fed her, warbling his delight There was at evening-time a cry forlorn, And quivering wings, and unreturning flight ; While fragments, all of shelly blue or white, Were scattered on the ground beneath the nest; Or else, unbrooded, to the chill of night Those orphaned treasures lay, while the soft breast That cherished them was now in piteous crimson dressed, 70 And where the bladed corn, in sunny green, Stood tiptoe waiting for the evening dew, In darkness there was swung a sickle keen, Or else from out the south a hot flame blew, Whereat those tender legions downward drew. And in the orchard, where the willing bough Had lately smiled in flowers, a canker grew. Thus, peerless Summer broke her golden vow; All promise failed all hearts, yet none knew why nor how. The egg unquickened and the futile bloom Are types repeated there forevermore: Unfinished is the fabric in the loom; Unroofed to heaven the palace built in yore, Unmatched the gleaming marbles of its floor. And as wild Nature, and the works of man, So is the man unto his bosom s core: His words die off that with warm speech began, His thoughts defiled away, a visionary clan. And while, elsewhere, may tears be dropped for him, That tears can be, he hath himself forgot, Long feeding on that music, dear and dim, Loosed from the sunken world of dell and grot. He is become enamoured of his lot. And hence, while others follow other clues, One care hath he to reach the tuneful spot Where, freshened by Elysian winds and dews, The Shepherd of Lost Hopes a broken strain renews ! TIMON TO THE ATHENIANS "Bat the roof is so low!" they said. He smiles in return, "Is it so? Well, were it high as tis low (The roof that covers my head), I should look through it still to the sky!" "But the walls," they said with a sigh "The walls of your house are so narrow, Fit only to cage in a sparrow!" "Yet I take, when I list to fly, A thousand-league journey in thought!" "On your table," they said, "there is naught But some bread and wild fruit from the waste." "But how, if the flavor I taste? Do they so whose dainties, far-brought, With the mere seeing can sate?" "But," they said, "here are none to wait To heed and to run, at thy call!" "The master is servant to all, Being slave to the master s estate; If myself I can serve, I am free, Say this to your masters from me." 72 WHERE GOEST THOU I " Where goest thou?" "To help the Weak, who throng My gates and cry continually for aid: Where goest thou?" "To help the unpitied Strong, Whom those that thou wouldst help do overlade. II "Where goest thou?" "To judge the souls that stray; They best can judge who spotless hands can show. "Fall back! The rod of judgment I will sway; They judge of evil best who do and know." Ill "Where goest thou?" "To see the laughing mime; I go for respite sorrow haunts my hearth. And thou?" "To look on pageant grief sublime; Joy dwells with me, and I am cloyed with mirth." IV "Thou ^oest to mold thy life, brave youth? Well, go: But whosoever thou shalt take to friend, And wheresoever thou shalt turn thee know T is Life itself shall mold thee, in the end." 73 A KNIGHT ERRANT OF THE SOUL From many cups have I drunk deep delight, A favored guest where free the revel flowed; But sometime, either at the dead of night, Or when the first faint rose of morning glowed, I heard the Call, howe er so far, so light, That bade me rise and take the lonely road; "Pass on," it sighed "pass on!" Or if with joy, in dreadless arms, I spurred To fields where honor s edge is kept from rust; Or if the beating heart of love I heard, Pillowed upon a breast all warmth, all trust, Mid clash of swords, or throb of hearts, I heard The rising whisper of the Under word; "Pass on," it said "pass on!" Or when before the altar I would lift My prayer for grace which erring men implore (And as their need, so measured is the gift), Ere yet my soul received of heavenly store, Ere yet had holy lips pronounced my shrift, The goading Voice was heard, oft heard before: "Pass on," and still "pass on!" 74 This was the Voice my pleasures loathed to hear; This Voice dispelled my griefs like morning mists; This Voice hath played with hope, and flouted fear, Both won and lost for me in bannered lists. But where my youth would heed with varying cheer, Mine age obeys, yet wooes not, nor resists: "Pass on!" (I hear.) "Pass on!" Of many cups have I drunk deep delight I drank the bead, nor ever touched the lees! And, nearing now the low door hid from sight, I shall not cross the bound by slow degrees; One way of Life, of Death, I deem aright, The Voice supreme with steadfastness decrees: To me it saith, "Pass on!" 75 AS I WENT FORTH As I went forth That morn, they but forgot to show The signal from the great hall door They turned them to their task or play; They but forgot, no more. As I went forth, The lamp within the windowed tower That eve they but forgot to set; Yet wherefore doubt, when well I know (True hearts!) they love me yet? As I go forth, As I go forth upon that road Where none are passed and none are met,- Will it be so! Will they still love, And will they but forget? As we go forth, Such wistful looks we backward throw, To see if yet their signal flies; For thus twill be when we have said The last of all good-bys. THE DEEP-SEA PEARL The love of my life came not As love unto others is cast; For mine was a secret wound But the wound grew a pearl, at last. The divers may come and go, The tides, they arise and fall; The pearl in its shell lies sealed, And the Deep Sea covers all. THE DIAMOND Oh, liken not the diamond to a star, Nor to a dewdrop clear; for, from the one Looks down a soul beloved, though gone afar; And in the other are the tears that run, All silently, for Sorrow s sweet relief; Oh, liken not the diamond to a star, Nor to a dewdrop flickering in the sun The diamond keen knows neither Love nor Grief! 77 CAPRICE OF THE MUSES Of old the Muses sat on high, And heard and judged the songs of men; On one they smiled, who loitered by: Of toiling ten, they slighted ten. "They lightly serve who serve us best, Nor know they how the task was done; We Muses love a soul at rest, But violence and toil we shun." If men say true, the Muses now Have changed their ancient habitude, And would be served with knitted brow, And stress and toil each day renewed. So each one with the other vies, Of those who weave romance or song: "On us, O Muse, bestow the prize, For we have striven well and long!" And yet methinks I hear the hest Come murmuring down from Helicon: "They lightly serve who serve us best, Nor know they how the task was done!" RANK-AND-FILE You might have painted that picture, I might have written that song: Not ours, but another s the triumph, Tis done and well done so long! You might have fought in the vanguard, I might have struck at foul Wrong: What matters whose hand was the foremost? Tis done and well done so long! So long, and into the darkness, With the immemorial throng Foil to the few and the splendid: All s done and well done so long! Yet, as we pass, we will pledge them The bold, and the bright, and the strong (Ours was never black envy): All s done and well done so long! 79 THE FLUTES OF THE GOD Oh that I knew where to find thee, to fall, and encompass thy knees, Thou, as thou art, austere, with thy turrets and dun geoning keys, Thou, with the frondage of oak, that enshadows thy grave, straight brows! I would cling to thy knees till thou wouldst absolve the Corybant s vows, Even his vows, who was mine, ere the voice from the forested hill, With the flutes and the cymbals, he followed, and them he followeth still! He follows, he dreams, with wide eyes all bare of the curtains of sleep; He heeds not the dawn on the height, nor the shadows as upward they creep, If the arrows of winter be forged, or the flame of the summer be fanned! He feels not the thong of the priest, nor the blade in the lean, wild hand; Crimson the thorn-set path where the foot unsandaled hath trod. He stayeth for none he shall meet, he hears but the flutes of the God ! The mother that bore him, the father that guided afield his young feet, Into the wilderness journey, they come to thy desolate seat. At the foot of a fir tree they find him. Trembling, their knees and their speech: 80 "Come tway, thou, our support! Like the vine in the wind we outreach; Prop have we none; we are stripped, we are shaken by every gust; Withers unripencd our fruit, and we stoop to be gathered to dust. Leave thy dark seat by the fir tree, and hear us while yet thou mayst hear! * Their voices die off on the waste, and the sigh of the fir tree comes drear. They wait for the voice in response; he uprcars his thin form from the sod: "What say ye? Who speaketh? I hear I hear but the flutes of the God! * I was the maiden betrothed, and "Surely," they said, "thou shah go, Shalt touch his dead heart into life, and his eyes shall regain their lost glow ! Breathless, I trod the lone ways. Among the mad priests, as he ranged, I beheld whom I loved, but ah! I beheld him how changed, how estranged! I had drawn him apart from their throng, I had whispered the words that are charms, Had touched his dead heart into life, and pillowed hi? head in my arms; But farther and farther aloof, to the notes of wild music he trod. "Who follows?" he cried, "who follows? I hear but the flutes of the God!" 81 Oh that I knew where to find thee! Whether, mid autumn s increase, With the young of the year around thee, thou givest them plenty with peace; Or whether, dark-thoughted, remote through the waste, thy deity roves, And the eyes of thy lions glance fire, in the twilight ot dells and of groves. Bright are their eyes impatient, the blast of the desert their breath; Who crosseth their path, without thee, shall surely be doomed unto death. Yet, mother of gods and of men, of the broods of the earth and the rocks, Thou, Berecynthia, hear! by thy love, by his dark flowing locks, By the smile on his lips, by the dream in his eyes, thou sendest at will, By the soft-drawn sigh while thou watchest his slumber amid the high hill! Thine Atys thou hast, though a sleeper; the care from his forehead is smoothed; But he whom I love never sleeps, and his wild eyes never be soothed! Give him but peace and my arms, and quiet supreme, in the end; Bid some old fir tree his branches above us in shelter extend; Then, the life to the air, the frail substance that held it awhile to the clod: So shall he waken and madden no more to the flutes of the God! 82 THE VOICE OF THE LAWS This from that soul incorrupt whom Athens had doomed to the death, When Crito brought promise of freedom: "Vainly thou spendest thy breath! Dost remember the wild Corybantes? feel they the knife or the rod? Heed they the fierce summer sun, the frost, or winterly flaws? If any entreat them, they answer, We hear but the flutes of the God! "So even am I, O my Crito! Thou pleadest a losing cause! Thy words are but sound without import I hear but the voice of the Laws; And, know thou! the voice of the Laws is to me as the flutes of the God/ Thus spake that soul incorrupt; and wherever, since hemlock was quaffed, A man has stood forth without fear has chosen the dark deep draught Has taken the lone one way, nor the path of dishonor has trod Behold! he, too, hears but the voice of the Laws, the flutes of the God. A VISION OF BRAVE MEN A vision of brave men. From eldest time, Of alien speech, of every race and clime! Their deeds of valor flow and shine, Like wind-blown torches in long line. A vision of brave men. These were, who marched, At great Cambyses hcst, through deserts parched. The driving sands make dark the air, The drifting sands their couch prepare. A vision of brave men. These were, whose swords By gulf and pass repelled the Persian hordes; Nor can the hero sleep for thought Of deeds Miltiades has wrought. A vision of brave men. Toward Palestine These strive, pale faces lit as from the shrine; The cross goes down before their eyes. They sleep, to wake in Paradise. A vision of brave men. The Six who came (Round their strong necks the hempen cord of shame), And of the conqueror lowly craved That their loved city might be saved. A vision of brave men. Closed in by craft, These drink from Mexique waters death s dark draught. In the still Lake they clash and fall Trist Night receives them one and all! A vision of brave men. These follow Him Whose star has led through lands the snow makes dim; With richer drops the snow has blushed Than ever from the grape were crushed ! A vision of brave men. These were, whose hands Were lifted up to smite off servile bands My country! these, the latest birth Of godlike, warring men on earth! A vision of brave men. The shadowy plain Resounds to many a mingled martial strain; And deeds of valor flow and shine, Like wind-blown torches in long line ! These were, whose cause the God of Battles crowned These were on whom incensed Heaven frowned; But all is now by them forgot, Save that in fight they faltered not. < There is one language of the brave," they cry, " If r e fought! Valor lives on, tho* causes die! There is one kindred of the brave, However we fought, twas Life we gave!" THE COMPASS Touch but with gentlest finger the crystal that circles the Mariner s Guide To the East and the West how it drifts, and trembles, and searches on every side! But it comes to its rest, and its light lance poises only one self-same way Since ever a ship spread her marvellous sea-wings, or plunged her swan-breast through the spray For North points the needle! Ye look not alone for the sign of the lode-star; the lode- stone too lendeth cheer; Yet one in the heavens is established forever, and one is compelled through the sphere. What ! and ye chide not the fluttering magnet that seemeth to fly its troth, Yet even now is again recording its fealty s silent oath As North points the needle! Praise ye bestow that, though mobile and frail as tremu lous spheret of dew, It obeys an imperial law that ye know not (yet know that it guideth most true) ; So, are ye content with its fugitive guidance ye, but the winds and waves sport! So, are ye content to sail by your compass, and come in fair hour to your port; For North points the needle! 86 And now, will ye censure, because, of compulsion, the spirit that rules in this breast, To show what a poet must show, was attempered, and touched with a cureless unrest, Swift to be moved with all human mutation, to traverse Passion s whole range? Mood succeeds mood, and humor fleets humor, yet never heart s drift can they change, For North points the needle! Inconstant I were to that Sovereign Bidding (why or whence given unknown) , Failed I to tent the entire round of motive ere sinking back to my own: The error be yours, if ye think my faith erring or deem my allegiance I fly; I follow my law and fulfil it ail duly and look ! when your doubt runneth high North points the needle! VOYAGERS Cras ingens iterabimus tequor Comrades, over the deep without name, Over the deep, unwitting we came! Never one knew from whence he sailed, And the hither shore from his sight was veiled With the surging vapors of sleep; And to-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow, Again we shall sail the great deep. Sweet is the shore where we tarry a day. Let us live as brave men what time we shall stay, The wreath of the poplar thereof be the sign; And weave in the myrtle, all ye who resign Your hearts to some fond one to keep ! But to-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow, Again we shall sail the great deep. Fair was the morn, and the noon, fleeting fast; But the sky of the undertime grew overcast! As the leaf of the poplar, that shakes in the wind, So grief, for a time, may oppress the firm mind, Nor the hero be shamed, though he weep; But to-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow, Again we shall sail the great deep. Ye have wrought as ye wrought, and the day is far spent, Well have ye borne whatever fate sent: Now, wine for the even, and, lying at ease, The glimpse of red sails on Hesperian seas; Then the shadows of night, then a sleep, 88 And to-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow, Again we are on the great deep. Oh, comrades, there be who would tarry to store The treasure they find on this wave-beaten shore; There be who would trace, with a feverish hand, Some name on the scroll of the silvery sand: But the tides, all oblivious, sweep, And to-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow, Again we are on the great deep. To-morrow and after-to-morrow? Who knows What isle or what mainland the sea shall disclose, Or whether, since wanderers, we ever have been, The signal and watch-tower of home we shall win, When, at last, on the strand we shall leap? But to-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow, Again we are on the great deep. PALINGENESIS I dwelt with the God, ere He fashioned the worlds with their heart of fire, Ere the vales sank down at His voice or He spake to the mountains, "Aspire!" Or ever the sea to dark heaven made moan in its hunger for light, Or the four winds were born of the morning and missioned on various flight. In a fold of His garment I slept, without motion, or knowl edge, or skill, While age upon age the thought of creation took shape at His will; Sleeping I lay by the right hand that framed it this wonderful earth Nor heard I the stars of the morning, chanting its anthem of birth. Part had I not in the scheme till He sent me to work on the reef. Nude, in the seafoam, to clothe it with coralline blossom and leaf. Patient I wrought as a weaver that blindly plyeth the loom, Nor knew that the God dwelt with me, there as I wrought in the gloom. Strength had I not till chiefdom supreme of the waters he gave; Joyous I went tumultuous; the billows before me I drave . 90 Myself as a surge of the sea when impelled by the driving. storm; Nor knew that the God dwelt with me, there in leviathan s form. Lightness I had not till, decked with light plumes, he endued me with speed Buoyant the hollow quill as the hollow stem of the reed! And I gathered my food from the ooze, and builded my home, at his word; Nor knew that God dwelt with me clothed in the garb of a bird. I trod not the earth till on plains unmeasured He sent me to rove, To taste of the sweetness of grass and the leaves of the summer grove. For shelter He hollowed the cave; fresh springs in the rock He unsealed; But I knew not the God dwelt with me that ranged as a beast of the field. Foresight I had not, nor memory, nor vision that sweeps in the skies, Till he made me man, and bade me uplift my marvelling eyes! My hands I uplifted my cries grew a prayer on the green turf I knelt. And knew that the God had dwelt with me wherever of old I had dwelt! Wild is the life of the wave, and free is the life of the air, And sweet is the life of the measureless pastures, unbur dened of care; They have all been mine, I upgather them all in the be ing of man, Who knoweth, at last, that the God hath dwelt with him since all life began! My heritage draw I from these I love tho I leave them behind; But shall I not speak for the dumb, and lift up my sight for the blind? I am kin to the least that inhabits the air, the waters, the clod; They wist not what bond is between us, they know not the Indwelling God! For under my hands alone the charactered Past hath he laid, One moment to scan ere it fall like a scroll into ashes and fade! Enough have I read to know and declare my ways he will keep, If onward I go, or again in a fold of his garment I sleep! THE MISTAKES OF A DAY I rode my dearest champion to the ground, I made the smiling traitor mine ally, I gave my faithful love a lethal wound, Truth read I in a wanton-glancing eye. I made a darkness of the noontide sun, I took the swamp-fire for a guiding light: My little day of days is almost done Mine errors rush into the rushing night. SHIELD ME, DARK NURSE Shield me, dark nurse, outworn, defeated, and undone! Shield me from memories sweet or bitter neath the sun; From glance of scorn, for love s long gaze, from pity s tear, Shield me alike from blame, from praise, from hope, from fear! Shield me, dark nurse, with charm and woven pace surround, Shield me from sight, from sound from dream of sight or sound! 93 Mr. Badger s New List GENERAL LITERATURE A BUNCH OF ROPE YARNS, by Stanton H. King, I2mo., $1.25 POETRY .50 .50 .50 .25 .25 .25 25 .00 .00 .00 THE DANCERS, by Edith M. Thomas, 12 mo., . APOLLO AND KEATS, by Clifford Lanier, 12 mo., . THE SONG AT MIDNIGHT, by Mary M. Adams, 12 mo., CUPID is KING, by Roy Farrell Greene, 12 mo., DAYS WE REMEMBER, by Marian Douglas, 12 mo., . ENGLISH LYRICS OF A FINNISH HARP, by H. M. Donnsr, THE WATCHERS OF THE HEARTH, by Benjamin Sledd, . A REED BY THE RIVER, by Virginia Woodward Cloud, . TANGLED IN STARS, by Ethelwyn Wether aid, 12 mo., THOUGHTS ADRIFT, by Hattie Horner Louthan, 12 mo., THE AIR VOYAGER, by William E. Ingersoll, 16 mo., . 0.75 THE GREAT PROCESSION, by Harriet Prescott Spojford, 0.50 PLAYS MAXIMILIAN, by Edgar Lee Masters, 12 mo., . . . 1.5 MOSES, by Charles Hovey Brown, 8 vo., . . . I<2 5 FICTION THE CULT OF THE PURPLE ROSE, A Phase of Harvard Life, by Shirley Ever ton Johnson, 12 mo., 1.25 THE LOST BRIGADE, by Charles W. Hall, 8 vo., . . 1.25 A ROMANCE OF WOLF HOLLOW, by Anna Wolfram, . . i.oo CARAMBA, An Extravagoose, 4to., I.OQ CARITA, by Louis Pendleton, 1 2 mo. , - 7 5 DON Luis s WIFE, by Lillian Hinman Shuey, 12 mo., . 0.7 5 THREADS OF LIFE, by Clara Sherwood Rollins, 16 mo., . o.5 o Richard G. Badger, The Gorham Press, Boston Return to desk from which borrowed. This book is DOT on the last date stamped below. . L.D21 Santo _100m-7/52(A2528sl6)476 Thomas, Ed MB ancers , and lyrics other 953 T455 da M504915 . +- 3 -