THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES The Flcup de Lb AN OATEN FIFE PY- JAMES- P -KENYON. NEW YORK. J. SBLWIN TAIT ANP SONS, IWMPDR SIXTY- FIVE FIFTH AVENUE. * * CorVRIGHT, 1895, BY J. SEUVIM TAIT & SONS, NEW YORK. And whilst his py-bald curre did sleepe, And sheepe-hooke lay him by, On hollow quilles of oten straw He pyped melody. Argentile and Curan. And pyping still he spent the day, So merry as the popingay. Dm Dowsabell. 759430 The Summer's siirf against my feet In leagues of foam-white daisies beat ; A long the bank-side, where I lay, Poured down the golden tides of day ; A vine above me wove its screen Of leafy shadows cool and green, While, faintly as a fairy bell, Upon the murmurous silence fell Tlie babbling of a slender stream In tJte sweet trouble of its dream. Then as the poppied noon did steep The breathing world in fumes of sleep, I shaped with fingers drowsed and slow An oaten pipe whereon to blow. CONTENTS. The Reveler 3 The Racers 5 Garden Ghosts 6 Nocturne 7 Absent 8 The Bridal Morning 9 The Inn 10 The Dawn of Womanhood 1 1 Children of Yesterday 13 Hylas and Hercules 15 A South Wind 18 The Rover 19 A utumn 20 Chanson du Matin 21 The Lost Voyage 22 His Own Received Him Not 23 Come Slowly, Paradise 24 The Human Need 25 A Song of the Wood 26 A Book-Pressed Violet 32 The Blessed Isles 34 iv Contents. To Her Watch 36 Heaven Near 37 I Would My Song Were Like a Star 38 Cupid's Arrows 39 The Captive 41 To a ChOd 43 An Immortelle 44 Salome 47 Arethusa. 49 The Cruise 52 Nameless Graves 53 Rosalind's Song 56 Morning by Ontario 57 An Ocean Burial 58 Sorrow-Blind 60 A Song of May 63 QUATRAINS Moonlight 64 Nature 64 Art 65 On the Cliff 65 A Prophecy 66 A Volume of Verse 66 Carlyle 67 A Modem Joust 67 Truth 68 Carpe Diem 68 Music 69 A Challenge , 69 Contents. v The Cure-Alls 70 Rest-Time 70 Love and Beauty 71 Minstrels of Dawn 71 The Miser Year 72 A Shooting Star 72 The Bedouins of the Skies 73 An Epitaph 73 The Guest 74 Farringford 75 Nature's Renewing 79 Laborare est Orare 81 A Nativity 83 Song of the Vaudois Exiles 85 The Specter 86 An Hour-Glass 88 The Advent ... 90 Love gives its All 91 Her Violin 92 A Colonial Ambuscade 94 A Puzzle 96 Canticle 97 Hygeia 98 Forgiven 99 The Night Angel 100 His Confession .... 102 ZuOTTolfU IO3 A Vanished Face 104 A Vesper Prayer 105 vi Contents. Seaward 106 Easter Morning 108 The Milkmaid no At Sunset in In the Cloister 113 The Dividing of the Ways 117 Sappho 1 19 After a Fragment of Sappho's 121 A City Thoroughfare 122 Pereunt et Imputantur 125 On Judah's Hills 126 Content 127 A Protest 128 Her Coming 130 The Gypsy Queen 132 After the Feast 133 She " O graceful Amaryllis, regard, I pray you, my heart-griev ing pain. I would I could become your buzzing bee, and so enter into your cave, penetrating the ivy and the ferns, with which you are covered in." Theocritus, '' Idyl III." HE shrilled his fife and woke my dream ; I heard his music clear and thin ; And then I found beside the stream The flower-bell that he reveled in. The clouds were floating high and white; A laggard breeze began to play ; Along the bank-side poured the light From out the lavish heart of day. I knew that where the nectar pressed Up from the blossom's perfumed cell, There I should find the tipsy guest, His pining drowned in hydromel. 3 Bn Oaten pipe. O wassailer of the summer's prime ! Gone are the goatherds from the plain ; Across the fields of purple thyme The yellow sunlight streams in vain. Drink to thy lover's memory ; Theocritus is in his grave Beneath the far Sicilian sky, And by the murmuring, sun-kissed wave. an aten pipe. TIME at my elbow plucks me sore ; Yet I'll not slack my pace to hear The one sad word which, o'er and o'er, He whispers in my ear. Upon my hair he dusts his rime ; I shake my head full laughingly, For howsoever fleet be Time, He shall not outstrip me. Bn Oaten pipe. Two moon-white moths are fluttering Athwart the haunted gloom ; I watch them waver, wing to wing, Past many a spectral bloom. No footfall wakes these mossy walks ; The mist's thin streamers trail, From twisted shrubs and writhen stalks, Round all the coppice pale. Low winds amid the leaves complain ; The firefly's wizard spark Makes mimic lightning where yon twain Go wandering down the dark. And still they flutter side by side, As night's chill currents flow, To that lone tryst-place where they died Long centuries ago. * 6 lin Oaten pipe. THE silver shallop of the moon Is havened in the west ; The river trolls a ceaseless tune About her place of rest. Warm sleep hath sealed her gentle eyes, And round her, vestal white, Sweet dreams and winge'd fantasies Are hovering all the night. A wandering air, soft as a kiss, And burdened with perfume, Steals faint with its own stress of bliss Into her virgin room. Be this my wish : bright spirits keep The current of her dreams, And ever o'er her lilied sleep The good stars shed their beams. * an Oaten Pipe. SHE comes not, though I tarry long ; The house is not the same ; And every echoing chamber speaks Her dear familiar name. She is not here, but many a mute And fond remembrancer, Like subtle odors, pure and fine, Breathe memories of her. Bn Oaten pipe. gritlat O DEWV splendor of the morn, Fall lightly on yon vine-wreathed pane ; Thou honey-gatherer, wind thy horn To tell her day has come again. The shadows of the night are fled; The mists are lifted from the lawn ; From peak to peak a shaft is sped Straight from the kindling heart of dawn. O morning, on her sealed eyes Print the sweet magic of thy kiss ; Breathe softly on her where she lies, And wake her to the nearing bliss. an Oaten pipe. aten pipe. Jiau-n of Womanhood. WHAT ! have my rosebud's petals ail Unsealed their musky treasures ? My little maid, grown sweet and tall, Now clasps a woman's pleasures ? Ah, sure it was but yesterday I heard her birdlike singing, And in the fields her childish play Set frolic echoes ringing. Now all the glory of her hair lit golden coils is lying Crown-like above her forehead fair ; Ah, how I loved it flying Like amber spray about her throat, When through the sunny shadows She fairy-like did lightly float Across the daisied meadows, ii an aten pipe. Now little loves on velvet wings, Like bees above a blossom, Hover with timid flutterings About her virgin bosom. Her frock creeps downward to her feet ; Her dreams grow fondly human ; Ah, one more kiss as child, my sweet, Ere 1 confess you woman. 12 Bn Oaten pipe. of For we are but of yesterday, and know nothing, because our days upon earth are a shadow. Job viii. 9. CHIDE not that these poor lips of ours Smile not with yours that are so fair ; When falls the frost the fading flowers Scarce keep their dream of summer air ; Our hearts are chill, our memories sad, Our laughter is no longer gay; The songs we sing are never glad Alas ! we are of yesterday. The skies that o'er us bend their blue Gleam not as did the skies of yore ; The eyes and cheeks of winsome hue, The beauty that our darlings wore, We shall not see on earth again. Our pulses faint, our heads are gray ; You woo us with your joy in vain Alas ! we are of yesterday. Bn Oaten pipe, The hands that once our own did clasp, With twining fingers warm and sweet, Have slipped from out our trembling grasp, And lie where lie the quiet feet That in the old bright days did run To meet ours in love's primrose way ; Now mists o'ercloud the evening sun Alas ! we are of yesterday. O eyes like midnight stars that glow, And lips that still like rosebuds ope, And ye within whose breasts of snow Still carols clear the bird of hope, Your freshness, as of morning, keep ; Gather love's harvest while ye may ; But we, ah, we no longer reap Alas ! we are of yesterday. 'fin Oaten pipe. In sooth the boy was holding over the fountain an urn that might contain a copious draught, hastening to plunge it ; when they all clung to his hand : for love for the Argive boy had encircled the tender hearts of them all : and he fell sheer into the black water, like as when a ruddy star hath fallen from the sky sheer into the sea. . . . The Nymphs indeed holding on their knees the weeping boy, began to console him with gentle words ; whilst the son of Amphitryon, disturbed about the lad, went, with his well-bent bow and arrows after the Scythian fashion, and the club which his right hand ever used to hold. Thrice indeed he shouted Hylas to the full depth of his throat, and thrice, I wot, the boy heard : and a thin voice came from the water ; but though very near he seemed to be afar off. Theocritus, Idyl XIII., translation of J. Banks. DOWN the aisle he singing goes Where the gurgling water flows, Where the swaying rushes are, In his arms the brazen jar. Never yet was boy so fair : Swallow-wort and maiden-hair, Parsley-bloom and green couch-grass, K-iss his white feet as they pass. Bn Oaten pipe. Now he bends above the tide Mirror-clear from side to side, Drops upon his glowing knees, And his own bright image sees. O how placid is the pool ! O how sweet the waters cool ! Ah, how good it were to rest In the fountain's flowing breast, Nevermore to rise and dip With the wandering, brine-blanched ship. Hark ! they call him from the strand ; So he thrusts with eager hand, Through the water-weeds and fern, In the wave his bubbling urn. Lo, before his witched eyes Ivory bosoms flash and rise, Faces sweeter than a dream Smile upon him from the stream, And soft fingers, light as mist, Twine about his yielding wrist. Slowly, slowly downward sink, Lower than the spring's green brink, To the fountain's pebbly bed, Wondering eyes and shining head. 16 Bn Oaten pipe. " Hylas ! Hylas ! " rings the cry Through the woodland mournfully, Ever startling beast and bird, Though no boyish shout be heard Answering him whose weary quest Drives him onward without rest, Upon and down this alien coast, Seeking still the loved and lost. Vain thy search, O hapless one, Sad son of Amphitryon, For the lad shall nevermore Greet thee on a mortal shore. an Oaten Pipe. A ROMPING wind blew from the south, And woke the dreaming wood ; It kissed the rose's crimson mouth ; Rumpled the poppy's hood ; It crisped the waters of the brook ; Loosed pine-scents on the air ; And round her pallid temples shook The dead girl's silken hair. 18 Bn (Paten OVER, ay over, 'tis over, Gone with its dew and its bloom, Gone with the rose and the lover, Gone with its light and perfume. Over, ay, summer is over ; Days for the wooing were brief, Brief for the bird and the lover, Brief for the sun and the leaf. Over, ay over, 'tis over ; Vanished its laughter and song ; Summer departs like a rover ; Ah ! winter shall bide with us long, an (Paten pipe. HER'S is the mellow booming of the flail, The flaming bough, the sunset-crimsoned rill; O'er every field her smoky banners trail ; She sets her ruby sign on every hill. Her garments, drifting o'er the fallen leaves, Are freaked with spurted purple of the vats; And as she glides amid the amber sheaves Her locks flow down in golden cata racts. There melts a honey-murmur on her lips ; Her throat is tanned, her eyes are sunny- clear ; She moves forever in a soft eclipse, The rustic darling of the doting year. 20 Bn aten pipe. Chanson rtu MORNING, morning everywhere ! Morning on the misty wood, Morning on the gleaming flood, Morning on the drowsy street, Morning o'er the meadows sweet ; Skies are fresh and earth is fair ; Morning, morning everywhere ! Music, music everywhere ! Sad the watches of the night; Glad the coming of the light ; Now a thousand voices wake, Now a thousand bosoms shake ; Hope dawns in the eyes of care ; Music, music everywhere ! 21 Hn Oaten pipe. Our of the darkling sunset-sea, Out of the windy sky, My ship comes toiling home to me, Climbing the billows high. She wearily mounts the dim sea-line, Treading the foam-wastes down ; Her breast is blanched with the bitter brine ; The spume is round her blown. In alien deeps she has dipt her spars ; She has swept from strand to strand ; Her crew have ransacked strange bazaars In many a sunburnt land. But well I know, on this evening shore, My ship brings not to me The treasure sought, and nevermore Shall she put out to sea. 22 Bn Oaten pipe. No, not the cross on which He hung, Nor blood that wet each bitter thorn, Nor cruel scourgings of hate's tongue, Nor yet the writhing thief's hot scorn Not these His cup of woe could crown ; But that which crushed His heart with pain Was, that He came unto His own, And to them came, alas ! in vain. Bn Oaten Pipe. (Tome Iou f hj, O DAWN upon me slowly, Paradise ! Come not too suddenly, Lest my just-opened, unaccustomed eyes Smitten with blindness be. To those who from Time's penury and woe Rise to thy heights afar, Down which the floods of glory fall and flow, Too great thy splendors are. So grow upon me slowly ; sweetly break Across death's silent deep, Till to thy morning brightness I shall wake As one from happy sleep. Bn Oaten pipe. (The Yunnan ALONG the snow-fed rivers of the north Ne'er waves a flower, or fern, or fronded palm ; There every frosty stream, and frozen firth, Lies locked in white, unchanging, icy calm. But where the spice-winds fan the orange groves, And trailing vines sway as the waters sway, Is heard the sound of many a voice that loves, Fluting its song through all the happy day. O God, if in Thy heaven, where all is pure, Peace shall infold us like a polar sea, Here in this changeful world let me endure, Where still warm human love can come to me. 25 Sn Oaten pipe. ^ 0tt0 of ih* WooA. O JOY of the life of the wood ! O joy of the swift young blood That throbs in the bough and the bole ! Mount into my shrunken veins, And brim them as brooks by rains, Or as rivers that seaward roll. Let me feel again what the Spring To the heart of the wood may bring, How the April sun and rain Are shed on no leaf in vain, And in every clod doth beat An influence deep and sweet. Let me stand in the vernal air, And the bliss of green things share ; Into the soft dark mold, That wraps them, fold on fold, Let the roots of my being go. Now will I rise and grow, 26 an aten pipe. As rapturously, hour by hour, Grow grass and bud and flower. No touch of the Spring shall I miss ; Me too shall the south-wind kiss, Till my dwindled, pale desires Shall kindle with leaping fires. Here will I lie ; Above me the domed, diaphanous sky, Glimpsed through dark-braided boughs. O delicate-pure are the palmer-like vows Breathed through the glooms Where cloistered blooms Are screened from the fervid day. Thus will I drift away, On tides of fine perfumes, Slow ah, slow As the smooth waves flow, Out to the dim and mysterious deep, To the fathomless ocean of sleep. When Summer's riotous pulses beat, O wood, thou dost quaff the torrid heat, As men the sun-cored wine. Upward each spray of thine 27 an Oaten pipe. Is thrust to catch the sun, as flowers Hold fragrant cups to catch the showers. Blithe are thy sounds that spread Through arches dark o'erhead, Or 'mid grasses cool and long Break into endless song. Here in a sylvan dream Gurgles a slender stream ; Listen ah, listen how it sings, Winding downward from its mossy springs, Tinkling like a crystal bell, As its mimic billows swell, O'er slant pebbles, through lush weeds, Or 'mid dense and glistening bredes Of vines and wood-plants trailing low. Now where stiller waters flow, It scarce murmurs under breath What the bland wind whispereth. Here furred creatures come to drink ; Brown birds haunt beside its brink ; And where fairy bowers hide, Frolic shadows wheel and glide O'er the silver-ridge'd sands. 28 Bn Oaten pipe. There thick ranks of osier wands, Thrilled by Summer's warm desires, Shoot their lithe and graceful spires O'er the tide that purls between ; All day long they yearn and lean, Swaying in the shade or sun, Till the halcyon hours are done. Woodland noises, Meadow voices, Fife of bee and flute of bird, Wafted hither, Echoed thither, Rarer music ne'er was heard. When the filmy moonbeams sift Through the leaves that toss and lift, Wandering lovers sometimes stray By this hushed, sequestered way, While the small voice of the rill Mingles with their dreaming still. Vanished all ! For now the days begin to fade and fall : The birds are winging southward ; on the plain The pallid light lies cold ; as one in pain 29 Sn aten pipe. The stream moans by, and sad the pewee's call. There where the dark wood skirts the meadow-lands, Joyless, with tarnished raiment, stands One wind-swept golden-rod. Upon the cumbered sod The dank leaves lie, And fitfully Through naked trees wail Autumn gusts. The lichen rusts On each stark bole, and day by day, O'er love's forsaken way, Drear in its solitude, The gray clouds droop and brood. Yet when the snow shall choke the heaped dells, And from the keen north swells An icy breath, With threat of famine and frore death, 3 an Oaten pipe. Then like a gracious prophecy, Of prosperous seasons yet to be, Through storm-winds loud and rude Shall breathe the benediction of the wood. 2ln aten pipe. WHO plucked this faded, scentless thing From that moist nook wherein it grew, Kissed by the first mild breath of Spring, And fed by April sun and dew ? Perchance light fingers touched its meek Blue petals, as with loving care It pressed some sick girl's pallid cheek, Or nestled in her silken hair. Perchance in language sweet and strange It spake what words had ne'er expressed- The gentle love that should not change, The hopes that budded in the breast. Where are the hands that placed it here ? Where are the eyes that bent above This yellowing page with many a tear, In memory of the old-time love ? 3 2 Bn aten pipe. Perchance far hence, in alien ways, Her feet may walk because they must ; Or one by one the circling days May glide above her sacred dust. And still the Spring comes as of old, And still the punctual south-winds blow ; In perfumed aisles the buds unfold, And on the wood-banks violets grow. And still the birds flute in the boughs, Still fields are green and violets blue ; And love repeats its world-old vows, And some are false, and some are true. 33 an Oaten pipe. (Thousand Islands.) HERE beneath the violet skies Dream the isles of Paradise ; Where the sapphire waters run, Dimpling in the summer sun, Countless white-winged shallops dance O'er the river's broad expanse. In this lotus-realm of peace Life's sad mysteries find surcease ; Here the heart grows calm again, After tempest, tears and pain, And the soul's o'erclouded cope Gleams with rainbow smiles of hope. Let the frenzied world pass by, Cheat and wrangle, fight and lie ; Here across life's turbid tide Tranquil influences glide From the drowsy hush that broods O'er these charmed solitudes. 34 an Oaten pipe. Not Avilion's meadowed calm Could afford such sovran balm For the eye distempered, blind, And the self-sick, jaundiced mind, As these billowy isles where play Healing breezes day by day. Love the shy forgets to wear His accustomed fillet here, And his eyes with rapture smile O'er each leaf-embowered isle ; He this haunt his own has made, And within the dappled shade, When is stilled the oar's light beat, You may hear his accents sweet, As again the story old Into happy ears is told. O my spirit, long unblest, Fold thy wings, here take thy rest. 35 X-in Oaten pipe. OH happy watch, to lie in her bosom so, Counting the hours in that delicious nest, Hearing her gentle pulses ebb and flow, Rocked by the motions of her dove-white breast Were I thy jewelled self a little space, I scarce should heed how Time, the winged churl, flies ; And when above me bent her radiant face, I'd smile into the heaven of her eyes. XI n Oatcit pipe. How very near my heaven lies ! Who seeks may find the place Within the azure of her eyes, The radiance of her face. And of my perfect happiness, How near the charmed land ! 'Tis there where goes her whispering dress, Where glimmers her white hand. 37 Bn Oaten pipe. I WOULD my song were like a star Hung in the purple depths afar, To lead her eyes, through gates of even, Along the kindling paths of heaven. I would my song were like a rose From whose sweet heart the perfun flows ; Then on her bosom it might lie, And, breathing fragrant music, die an Oaten pipe. PHEBE, wandering in a wood, Chanced to spy Dan Cupid sleeping ; Long the curious maiden stood Tiptoe through the branches peeping. For the youngster's lips she yearned, Till, the branches parting slyly, She to slake her thirst that burned Stooped and kissed the rogue's mouth shyly. Now the boy's eyes open wide, And upon the maid he gazes, Grasps an arrow at his side, And his silver bow upraises. Swift the maiden turns to flee ; Swift the arrow follows after, Wounding in its flight a tree ; Hark ! how rings the maid's clear laugh ter. 39 Bn Oaten pipe. Cupid, with sleep-dazzled eyes, Stares a moment through the bushes Where the laughing maid still flies, Then adown the wood he rushes. Now the shaft o'ertakes the quarry, Now it cleaves poor Phebe's heart : Maidens, ere you wake Love, tarry First to filch his every dart. Bn (Paten pipe. WHITHER fare you, Dimple-cheek, Sad and slow ? Why that pale and pensive face As you go ? In your downcast, wistful eyes Half concealed a shadow lies ; Clouds are in the gusty skies, Trailing low. Leaves are fallen, flowers are dead ; Now the day Clean forgets the smiles it wore When 'twas May ; Why then should your lingering feet Pass where frost and flower meet ? Not a bird-song ripples, Sweet, Down the way. Ah ! 'twas here the gin was set ; Here the dart Pierced thee here the snare was spread By love's art. 41 an Oaten pipe. Like a bird that cannot sing, While it trails a broken wing, Bruise'd, fluttering, captive thing, Droops your heart. And it throbs, and will not rest ; Throbs in vain ; And you come with aching breast, Come again Where love's honeyed words were said, When the sky was blue o'erhead ; Ah, the moments that are fled ! Ah, the pain ! But, O summer's darling, wait ; What though now Birds are mute, and madcap winds Strip each bough ? Hastes this way the budding year When, despite each darkling fear, Hope shall place her chrism, Dear, On your brow. an aten pipe. aten pipe. jeit (Orare. YEA, " work is vvorkship," said that hoary man, Who o'er the wintry sea, from his frore height Of four-score years and six, with ageless sight Watched still the bodeful struggle in the van Of the world's progress; for he did not scan The fray as one who had not tried the fight, But as one who had battled for the right, And freed his own soul from the coward's ban. Yea, work is workship, work that's one with pain; Work born of consecration and of trust ; Bn Oaten Work wrought with bruised hand and weary brain, Consenting to the meager cup and crust : Such work is worship ; 'tis not counted vain ; God marks His toilers by their sweat and dust. 82 an Oaten pipe. & iativittj. HE came when the petals of the rose were blown Down the long aisles of windy woodlands, where The leaves fell thick as raindrops through the air, And half-choked runnels made incessant moan. He came, from Paradise but lately flown, Upon his brow the halo angels wear, And in his eyes the memory of the fair Far scenes of blessedness that they had known. O miracle of life, continued still, Though earth's frail generations wend from sight, 83 Bn Oaten pipe. And nameless shadows of the darkness fill The orbs that turn toward the coming night, Thine is the pledge that morn again shall thrill Our wakened souls with music of the light Bn aten pipe. irf the 9t' O VALLEY as fair as a vision, O river as bright as a dream, fields sweet as meadows Elysian, valley, O meadows, O stream, 1 leave thee to-day and forever, Yea, I pass as a tale that is told, But this flesh from my spirit shall sever Ere my love for thee fails or grows cold. O heights that are clothed with the sunlight, As the hills of our God shine afar, Henceforth thou shalt stand in but one light Shed abroad from a shadowless star ; For lo ! the clear orb of remembrance Through sorrow and time shall not wane, And though tears should obscure thee and distance, 1 shall see thee in memory again. 85 an Oaten pipe. " Be sure your sin will find you out." A";. 32 : zj. THE night is long, the moon is cold, The stars faint in the icy sky, My pulses wane, my heart is old, And yet I should not dare to die. Before me ever stands my sin, A wraith that will not disappear ; Its outstretched hands are pale and thin, And through them sifts the moonlight clear. Once from this ghost I sought to hide Where music clashed and lights did flare, I turned my eyes, lo ! at my side, Chill, mist-like, silent, it was there. Then to the wilderness I fled, In sackcloth wrapped my bitter shame, Poured ashes on my stricken head O God ! it o'er me stood the same. 86 Bn Oaten pipe. Then an unquiet bed in hell At length in sheer despair I made, But while the shadows round me fell, Beside me rose a blacker shade ; Till suddenly the foul eclipse Refused to clothe my spirit stark, And while I shrieked with stiffened lips, From off me rolled the frightened dark. And now I drift about the world ; My eyes are emptied of their tears ; My hopes like chaff are round me whirled ; And all my soul is scourged with fears. The moon sinks low, the night is long ; Beneath a cold and prayerless sky I stand, watched by my spectral wrong, Afraid to live, afraid to die. Bn Oaten pipe. THE tawny sands slip downward in the glass Noiseless and smooth, a pulse whose even flow No boisterous winds can vex howe'er they blow, A tide across whose breast no shadows pass. Lo ! yellow bees that drone in summer grass, A mill whose mossy wheel has ceased to go. A hawk above a woodland sailing slow, A sunny field reaped by a brown-armed lass All these like visions rise upon my soul, Till, wholly meshed in Fancy's sorceries, 88 Bn atcn pipe. While still the grains sift from the crystal bowl, I feel against my brow a phantom breeze, And see o'er gleaming sands the long waves roll, And hear the washings of the orient seas. 89 Bn Oaten pipe. HER footsteps gleam upon the eastern slope, And beds of primrose blush beneath her tread ; Her virgin eyes are luminous with hope, Her dewy locks down ripple from her head; Her feet are bare, her garments smell of myrrh, And all the little flowers lean to her. To greet her coming, lo ! the woods awake With jubilation, and the pasture-lands, Where rove the herds, are strewn with many a flake Of lambent fire, as by invisible hands ; Deep unto deep sends forth its jocund call, The earth is glad, and God is over all. 90 Bn Oaten pipe. ICave <&ivt# itjs gilt. LOVE gives its all nor counts the price, Happy that thus it still may show In an unmeasured sacrifice Its precious overflow. Where eyes are dimmed with lonely tears, Where hearts are bowed with grief and care, Where weakness walks 'mid gloom and fears Love sheds its healing there. Love's hands are strong to lift and save ; Down pain's dark ways Love goes afar ; Love's beacon shines athwart the grave, And kindles like a star. Love scales the height and probes the deep, And when death's shadow o'er us lies, Love's mighty pinions upward sweep To bear us to the skies. 9 1 JBn Oaten Pipe. I WOULD I were her violin, To rest beneath her dimpled chin, To softly kiss her swan-white throat, And breathe my love through every note. When o'er my strings her fingers fair Should lightly wander here and there, The while her flashing bow did press My bosom with its swift caress, Then would I waken into song The rapture that had slumbered long. Mine ear against her swelling breast Should hearken to its sweet unrest, And happy spy ! then should I know How, deep beneath that drifted snow, A blissful tumult in her heart Made all her fluttering pulses start. Then that high calm, that maiden grace, That meekly proud and peerless face, 92 Bn Oaten pipe. That aureole of sun-bright hair, That brow such as the seraphs wear,- No longer these should baffle quite The anxious lover's dazzled sight. Ah, would I were her violin, That thus her secret I might win. 93 Hn Oaten pipe. As townward mistress Betty goes With tossing head and haughty lips, And dainty, outward-pointing toes That spurn the path o'er which she trips, She recks not how yon sleek young blades Begin to ogle, smirk and purr, Nor yet how all the kerchiefed maids Are whispering after her. As Betty goes she walks alone, Her gathered kirtle in her hand ; She curtsies not to any one, She sees no smiles, however bland ; Her bosom, veiled by silken braids, Is sweet as hills that drop with myrrh, While still the sly and tittering maids Stand gazing after her. 94 an Oaten pipe. Ah, Betty goes to meet her fate ! Bold Roger lurks by yonder stile ; She spies him, but alas ! too late ; With him avails no scornful wile. Now all her helpless pride he raids, And traitor longings in her stir, While o'er their shoulders men and maids Make merry after her. Bn Oaten pipe. ^ g usafc. ALA.S I I am a gray-beard ; My years are fifty-three : I'm old and grave, but Bessie ne'er Will sit upon my knee. Yet once this dimpled maiden, With bird-like sounds of glee And sweet proprietary airs, Would perch upon my knee. And oft we've romped together, When summer winds blew free, But evening stars and sleepy eyes Brought Bessie to my knee. But now I cannot coax her ; What can the difference be ? Her gowns are long, she romps no more, Nor sits upon my knee. an Oaten Pipe. SOFT as the dew that falls by night Beneath the moon's entranced light Upon my thirsty heart love fell ; Love slakes my drouth, and all is well. No claustral lily lifteth up More eagerly her virgin cup, To quaff the balm-draught from above, Than I my heart to drink of love. Now all my days are dream-enwreathed And perfume on my dark is breathed ; Joy's buds within my bosom swell ; Sing, O my heart, for all is well. 97 Bn Oaten pipe. O DARKENED eyes above the grass, O have you seen the maiden pass? Her smile is like the morn, they say ; Her forehead fairer than the day. With some who know it not she walks ; By cottage gates she stands and talks ; She flees the palace and the hall, Nor heeds the golden tongues that call. She lives with dawn upon the hills ; She loiters by the sliding rills ; Where berries grow, her lips she stains ; Her cheeks are tanned by winds and rains. From those who seek her, fast she flies, But not to alien suns or skies ; Oft when afar her lovers roam, She bides beneath the vines at home. Few prize the maid, when face to face They see her lusty, full-blown grace ; O fools and blind, alas ! alas ! Say, have you seen the maiden pass ? 98 an Oaten pipe. " Qui sine peccato est vestrum, primus in illam lapidem mittat." " HATH no one cast a stone at thee ? " " Nay, Lord," she humbly said, And from the pavement tearfully She raised her fallen head. With anxious hands her burning face She sought to hide ; her hair, A midnight stream, with careless grace Flowed round her shoulders bare. " Go thou and sin no more." His eyes Like heaven above her bent, And tremulous with awed surprise She from Him slowly went. 99 Bn Oaten pipe. hc flight- ^ngcl. For a Picture. O ANGEL of the dark through vistas dim, O'erhung with purple shadows of the night, Where swarming stars like multitudinous bees Hum round the vast and hollow arch of heaven On tireless pinions thou dost ever sweep, Secure from change. Me time shall surely bear To failing limbs, scant breath, and eyes that peer Through mists that gather in the evening fields But thou shalt ever spread thy flowing robes, Spangled with constellations never quenched, About thy fresh young form, and evermore Thine arms outstretched shall sift from rosy palms 100 Bn Oaten pipe. The dews that slake a million thirsty blooms. When earth to her warm bosom shall receive The mold that once hath wrapt this vital spark As embers hid in ashes on the hearth When reels my forehead dustward, thou shalt be Fair as that hour when first thy gemmy brow Took the cool kisses of the twilight breeze, And all the naked world did welcome thee. Let me grow old and die it shall be well ; Though I forget love's steadfast eyes that burn Like planets in their spheres, and love's sweet lips Whose music jangling voices cannot vex, I shall remember in the scented gloom, Where flowers braid their roots, that thou dost keep Thy flight along the highways of the dusk Forever lovely, and I shall be glad. Bn Oaten pipe. WHAT boots it to give me your hand ? No thrill do I feel ; True, once it was otherwise see, o'er the land The long shadows steal. Ay, once a soft pair of dark eyes Could trouble my rest ; Could wake song or sorrow behold, the light dies From out the dim west. I loved you ; I own it was so ; But all that is dead ; So come, we are lingering late, let us go The twilight has fled. Hn aten pipe. ZtaoTtoiiut. O HEART, lift up a brave song, For it is good to be ; We will not sing a grave-song, Avaunt, mortality ! Far from us be the wormy mold Where Sorrow's footsteps fall ; Far from us be the phantoms cold That through the darkness call. Now let us lift a morning lay ; The sun is in the sky ; The winds of God about us play ; An angel rustles by. And there is dew upon the sward, And flowers are in the grass, And lo ! the glory of the Lord Gleams where his garments pass. Bn atcn pipe. STILL as of old the morning breaks ; The brook delays its mimic flood, And in its soft embrace it takes The ivy-mantled wood. Within the elm the robin sings ; The lilac blooms beside the bars ; And through the shadows evening brings Look down the early stars. And day by day the cheerful sounds Arise of those who sow or reap, Who wake to tread life's common rounds, And turn again to sleep. The seasons come and go apace, And naught is changed mine eyes can see ; But in its grave lies one dear face That was the world to me. 104 Bn aten pipe. FROM all its little bells the brook Shakes out a silver peal, And faintly from the forest nook Their elfin echoes steal. The shadows lengthen on the sward ; The light dies in the west ; Now through the dewy twilight, Lord, Send down the balm of rest. The glimmering kine upon the grass Lie couched in dumb content, And wandering breaths of blossoms pass, In one rich perfume blent ; The braided gnats in sweet accord Wail where the willows weep ; Now through the solemn night, dear Lord, Send down the gift of sleep. an aten pipe. LOVE, our brows are toward the open sea; Our eyes look onward to the nearing strand ; The salt winds on our cheeks blow fresh- eningly, And strange sea-voices haunt the reedy land. 1 know not where thy footsteps fall, nor yet What skies o'erarch thee, but I know full well That thy face, like my own, is seaward set, Drawn thither by the same resistless spell. We shall not fail to stand beside the deep, And though our feet may falter as we go, Still one unerring course we ever keep Toward that long level where the sea- tides flow. 1 06 an Oaten pipe. The evening shades are gathering cool and sweet ; The moving waste awaits us ; O my bride That never wast, set sail ; our hands shall meet When we make harbor on the other side. 107 Bn Oaten pipe. THREE days the harrowed earth had swept Across the star-sown gulfs of space, Since she beside that grave had wept Which hid her first-born's sinless face ; Her heart was dark, her lamp was quenched, Her fluttering hope untimely dead, And night by night her sorrow drenched The fevered pillow at her head. Then as the dark began to wane, And Easter morn within the skies Its rose of promise set again, Sleep fell upon her weary eyes ; And as she slept a vision came ; It smiled, and lightly clasped her hand, And swiftly moved, on feet of flame, Past many a strange and tropic land. Far eastward through the gates of dawn, By paths of pearl, 'mid golden mists, Where strewn o'er many a dewy lawn Burn diamonds and amethysts, 108 Bn Oaten pipe. Straight on into the rising day She followed still her flying dream, To where with festal sounds alway The springs of glory downward stream ; Where throb the songs that never cease, Where dip the laurel and the palm, Where lilies of eternal peace Breathe airs that blow from hills of balm ; Where garmented in praise One stands Than light more radiantly fair, And, joy of joys ! Whose pierced hands Lie on her darling's shining hair. O mother-love ! O pure delight ! O eyes that brim with blissful tears ! Behind her dies the barren night, Behind her sink the widowed years ; She listened, and a dear Voice spake : " Be comforted, thou stricken one, The bruisdd reed I ne'er will break " She woke, and saw the Easter sun. 109 an Oaten Pipe. HER ankles brush the dew-wet grass ; The birds are blithe to see her pass ; Along the daisies, golden-bright, Run little shivers of delight. Her shining pail swings on her arm ; Within her hair the sun lies warm ; No cloud is in the morning skies ; No shadow veils her April eyes; Songs gurgle from her heart and lips, As o'er the field she lightly trips, To where beside the smooth-worn gate Her swollen-uddered cattle wait. Yet ere her task she shall essay, She will not start and turn away If suddenly her cheek be pressed To happy Colin's lusty breast, The while upon her tender mouth He slakes love's oft-recurring drouth. Ah, who would not gray wisdom miss, To feel again the velvet kiss That thrilled the lyric heart of yore ? Who who would not be young once more ? 1 10 Bn Oaten pipe. 3tt Jfunsrt. NOT now, not now, not of this veiled sun Nor tenuous shade, our tremulous love was born, But when the sheer night feathered to ward the morn, And the faint stars, like tapers, one by one Died in the dawn, and the chill night was done. 'Twas when the light wind o'er the breath ing corn Winnowed his vans, and from each gossa- mered thorn Billowed the dew-pearled gonfalons day had won. Then had our love its birth a fluttering thing, That scarce knew if the fire-fledged morn had come, in an Oaten pipe. Or if to swell its moon-white throat and sing, Or bid, 'mid twilight leaves, its voice be dumb. But now day wanes Dear, doth desire take wing ? Doth the grasshopper e'en grow burden some ? 112 Bn Oaten pipe. In tte How wearily the day goes by ! The hateful shadows on the wall Hour after hour unmoving lie ; Outside, I hear the sparrows call. The garden walks, white in the glare, Throb like a pulse beneath the heat ; I see the sun-dial blindly stare ; I count the fountain's steady beat. Along their beds the flowers droop ; All wilted is the trellised vine ; The branches of the ash-tree stoop With dusty berries red as wine. The fly sings in the leaded panes ; And from the echoing chapel steal The livelong day the distant strains Of hymn and chant and organ-peal. "3 an Oaten pipe. I'm tired of the rustling swish Of trailing robes o'er chilly stones ; I wish what is it that I wish ? I know a crypt where mouldy bones Are piled against the vaulted roof ; There a low taper ever smokes ; The jangling bell sounds far aloof, And muffles its unceasing strokes. There there are silence, gloom and rest ; No measured step, no solemn air, No meek cross o'er a rebel breast, No downcast eyes, no muttered prayer. Outside, the blinking waters lie ; Beyond, the great world swings and roars, Where many an infant's tender cry Leaps forth from happy human doors. O flesh, vex not my faltering soul, Nor let my fancy, wandering wide From crucifix and saintly stole, Defile the Bridegroom's virgin bride. 114 Bn atcn pipe. Bride ? ah, I hate this loathsome cell ! I hate yon altar where I kneel, While still with mumbling lips I tell The prayers my heart can never feel. Bride ? still I think on perfumed aisles, On arching boughs, on grass that springs By streams that keep their morning smiles, Where swallows dip their glancing wings ; Where whispers stir the scented dark Of screening leaves, and where the place Grows sweet with violet eyes that mark The truth and beauty in his face. His face whose face ? My hair is wet With fevered drops ; my hands are weak ; I know the signal that is set In crimson on my hollow cheek. And Sister Agnes, with the eyes Like doves' eyes, comes to softly weep ; Upon my brow her cool hand lies ; I close my lids and feign to sleep. "5 an Oaten pipe. For I would be alone to dream ; I love my dreams ; thus I escape These maddening walls that ever gleam, Those sickened blooms, that yellowing grape. The sluggard moments come and pass ; The flickering light fades from the sill; I hear the sounds of evening mass, Of closing doors, and all is still. And o'er the ash-tree hangs a star That trembles through the twilight gray ; 'Tis night ; a watch-dog bays afar ; Dear God, send not another day 1 116 an Oaten pipe. of tint O ANGUISH of parting! here swerve the ways, This path to the. right, and that to the left; We are come at length to our day of days, To our moment of moments, and are be reft. Even so I will hold your hand for a space, Look once again in your truth-clear eyes, Read over the lines of your patient face, That my soul may yet hold you picture- wise. Shall we say it is best that it should be so ? Were Fate not loth, and had we met While the hills were washed with the morning-glow, And all the valleys with balm were wet, We had found our life, then, you and I, Laid hands on the full warm pulse of the years, 117 Hit Oaten fiMpc. Had drained the chalice of blessings dry, Nor e'er set lip to this cruse of tears. Still, who shall deny that this bitter hour, As a blind seed sown in the womb of Time, May bear not yet its consummate flower In another sphere and another clime ? Who knows that our loss is not rarer gain ? That ever like fools we choose the less ? That the core of joy is swathed in pain, And peace in uttermost weariness ? The sun drops low, and the twilight falls ; The mist hangs over the moaning burn Like a frosty breath ; a late bird calls, And above the wood the young stars yearn. Must it be farewell ? yea, it must be so, And we shall fare well, despite grief's threat, For still, wherever our feet may go, Our brows towards the self-same goal are set. 118 Bn atcn pipe. Jfapplw. WHERE is that bay-crowned head supreme in song? The tides that darkle round the Leuca- dian steep Lap her forever into deeper sleep ; About her heart of fire the cool waves long Like cerements have been wound, and voices strong Of winds and waters o'er her pillow keep Their boisterous lullaby. That frenzied leap From the hoar height, when sense of sharp est wrong Ran in her blood like flame the fears that strove Within her stormy soul the lyric tongue Bn Oaten pipe. Whose last high music rang through realms of love, Till hushed by that sea-weird which o'er her flung Its sudden doom, ah, all the dole thereof No equal tears have wept, no lips have sung. 120 Bn Oaten Pipe. of SOFTLY, passer, softly tread, Here lies Timas who is dead ; Ere her bridal robe was made, For the tomb she was arrayed. When she died, with tender care All the virgins dressed their hair, Reaping from each lovely head Curls for strewments o'er her bed. 121 an Oaten pipe. THE flags are hot beneath my feet, And up and down the roaring street, 'Twixt blazing fronts of brick and stone, No gracious breath of air is blown. I hear a wheezy violin Above the vast unceasing din, Where at the corner, with bare head, A beggar sits blind as the dead. There creeps misshapen, pale and lean, A cripple, in whose hands is seen A banner whoso runs may read, That " Levy never fails to lead In clothing and in shoes." Now loud Above the turmoil of the crowd, Straight through the city's throbbing heart, 'Mid knots of vans that swiftly part, Its harsh gong pealing warningly, An ambulance goes dashing by. 122 &n aten pipe. A newsboy shrieks and flaunts his wares ; A truckman on the car-track swears And turns aside his ponderous dray, As the bell clangs to clear the way. There Beauty sweeps by Squalor's side ; There Vice and Fashion proudly ride ; There still within his gilded gates Sits Dives, while gaunt Lazarus waits Outside, with dull and weary eye, For some kind soul to come and buy His shoestrings or his pins. And yet, I know a bank where ferns are wet With morning balm, where mosses grow, And 'mid lush sedges softly flow The netted currents of a stream Snared in its own melodious dream. There glance brave wings ; there many a sound Of silver bugles lightly wound Steals sweetly through the haunted shade Of grassy isle and bosky glade. And there lives faith in all things good ; There whispers stir the solitude 12.1 an Oaten pipe. Like prayers ; and there again grow bright The spirits that were clogged with night. There Care her haggard mask lays by To let young Hope smile in her eye, While every breeze from perfumed fields To Grief a sure nepenthe yields. There let me haste, there let me bide, Drenched with the opulent summer-tide. 124 Bn Oaten Pipe. et FROM sun to sun, on silence-sandled feet The Hours go by, and on each nunlike face Who will may catch a smile than dawn more sweet, Or, leaden-eyed, may miss its fleeting grace. Within her hands each bears a goodly gift, And while she neither proffers nor with holds, She tarries not to urge upon unthrift The precious things she yields to earnest souls. Not one returns ; no backward look is cast ; Once gone, nor call nor prayer can reach them more, Clasped round with shadows of the vanished past, Housed in the dim, cloud-mantled gates of yore. 12 5 Bn aten pipe. ON Judah's hills the shadows lie ; Heaven's frosty diadem Of clustered stars is burning high O'er sleeping Bethlehem. Lo, countless wings flash on the night, And hark ! celestial strains Pour down the glory-circled height, O'er all the slumbering plains. Sing, sing, ye white-robed heralds, sing ! In yonder narrow shed, Straw-pillowed lies your Lord and King Upon his lowly bed. Moriah, lift thy radiant crest ; O Judah, be not dumb ! Messiah nestles on thy breast, The Prince of Peace hath come. 126 an Oaten pipe. Content. A BREATH of flowers, a flawless sky, And tipsy bees carousing nigh ; A vine o'erhead that weaves its screen Of flickering shadows cool and green ; A muffled, silver-tinkling bell Where nibbling sheep climb yonder dell ; A sinuous stream that laughs and bubbles And sings amid its foamy troubles ; A hush of hours that softly steep The conscious world in fumes of sleep Ah, these no anxious thoughts shall give ; To-day it is enough to live. 127 Sn Oaten pipe. WHAT ! old ? Not so ! Who says we're old? Our life still keeps its morning gold; The dew still shines upon the grass Where'er our eager footsteps pass. Young Hope before us waves his wings, Lifts up his voice and bravely sings, While ambushed Joys, with twinkling eyes, Betray us into sweet surprise. No, we're not old ; the lying years Have whispered falsehoods in our ears ; We still are young, and still we keep Our youth's fine wisdom, calm and deep That wisdom which still holds in fee Faith in our own humanity, And faith in God who veils His face, But whose large language still we trace 128 Bn Oaten Pipe. In blooms below and stars above, Whose burden was and still is love. Old ? Fie ! Go to ! Let Gaffer Time On other's temples sow his rime, But howe'er wags his churlish tongue, Our own hearts tell us we are young. 129 Bn Oaten Pipe. !&tv Naming. THE DAWN. Now moves the night before me, and the mist Slips from the valley, by the south-wind kissed. THE MEADOW. Soon will her light feet o'er my bosom pass, And daisies star her foot-prints in the grass. THE BROOK. And I shall see her smile, as her sweet face Lingers above me for a little space. THE BIRD. My blithest notes I'll flute into her ear, And her dear spirit shall lean out to hear. 130 an aten pipe. THE ROSE. My petals she shall touch with her soft lips, While maiden joy thrills to her finger-tips. THE LOVER. O Love, I wait and watch the new day break ; The dews are drying, and the winds awake ; Thou art my morning; let thy sovran light Strike on my soul and scatter all my night. an Oaten pipe. I know her where she goes in crimson hood, And motley robe that sets the leaves astir ; Her truant hair, strayed from its silken snood, The frost has lightly tipped with minever. The gypsy blood glows in her sun-browned cheek ; Her rounded arms with liberal fruits are heaped ; Her wine-dark eyes, athwart the shifting reek Of burning weeds, behold the fields new- reaped. Too brief the days of her mild empery, Yet such the ample largess of her grace That in the wintry heart of memory Shall still abide the sunshine of her face. 132 Bn aten pipe. the THE music dies, and one by one the guests Rise and depart; the merriment is done ; Hushed are the mingled voices, songs and jests ; From the spent glass the noiseless sands are run. Into the dark the feasters turn and go, Some with brave smiles, and some with heavy eyes ; The drooping flowers are pale, the lights burn low, And silence on the empty chambers lies. The last " good-night " is said ; closed is the door; Then slowly, down the blossom-littered floor, The weary master casts a wistful eye, Peopling the gloom with ghostly company. '33 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L,9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 THE LIBRARY UMVESSiTY OF CALIleKNlA LOS ANGBLES PS 2161 K3o UCLA-Young Research Library PS2164 .K3o L 009 548 191 7 AA 001221727 9