viV-2. Digitized by tine Internet Arcinive in 2007 witin funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.arcliive.org/details/ernestpoemsOOmcgarich POEMS. BY ERNEST McGAFFEY. NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY .... 1896. Copyright, 1895, By Dodd, cMEijD tAND Company. • • : !••? . • John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U. S. A. 3Inscriieti TO MRS. G. H. NELSON, FROM HER AFFECTIONATE NEPHEW, ^■5142ii CONTENTS. # Page And even I 1 1 The Crow's Wing 13 Brothers and Sisters 15 Flight 16 At the Wayside Inn 18 Vae Victis 21 A Dancer 23 A Song of Death 25 Tulips 27 On Summer Nights 29 Lilies 31 The Cry of the Toilers 32 Cow-Bells 35 J ack-o '-Dreams 37 The Locust 39 Dreams 41 Songs Unsung 43 3 ©ttttlOOtfil. Page My Mother Earth 47 October 51 On the Hills 53 A Song of the Dust 54 A California Idyl 56 The Catbird's Whistle 58 En Silhouette 60 A March Sunset 61 Hickory Lilies 62 The Amateur Photographer 63 Violets 66 An Indian Summer Day (>^ Isis .68 The Meadow-Lark 71 Song 73 In the Heart of the Hickory Tree .... 74 Defiance 1^ Poeta Nascitur, non Fit . 78 Threnody 80 ©SEarp anU SStoof* The King's Love and Hate 83 The Message of the Town 84 "L' Allegro" 86 4 Page The Prompter . 2>7 Apple-Blossoms 89 The Wraith of Lochbury 90 The Sphinx 91 He Travels the Fastest who Travels Alone . 94 An Old Daguerreotype . 96 A Prodigal 98 Accursed 102 Ishmael 103 Magdalen 105 Re-incarnation 107 The Lost Souls 108 Sunset 109 Lilith no Sonnet to Music in Midnight at Sea . . . . , 112 The Spinning Dervish 113 The Men of the Shovel and Pick . . . . 115 Ecce Signum 118 The Bar Sinister 1 19 The Prodigals 124 Dear Heart, Sweet Heart 126 The Christian 128 As for Me, I have a Friend 130 In Passing 132 5 Page The Sea 137 Derelict 138 An Etching 142 Drowned 144 The Mermaid's Song 146 False Chords 148 The Seventh Daughter 150 White Caps 152 The Flying Dutchman 154 Colombo 158 Polperro 163 Haud a Wee my Willie 166 Off Pelican Point 168 Off Georges Banks 171 Adrift 173 The Northwest Passage 174 A Bottle 175 pi^ Chapter* The Burning of the Ships 179 My Lady of Lilies 184 Kismet 187 De mi Amigo 189 6 Page By our ain Fireside 192 In a Missouri Orchard 194 A Sandal-Wood Fan 196 I Fear no Power a Woman Wields. . . . 198 In Absence 199 Poppies . 203 I am thy Knight 205 Retrospection 207 At the Play 212 If 214 Her Room . 216 The Gray-Eyed Lady 221 Tantalus 222 One Woman 223 It 's a Long Lane that has no Turning . . 225 The Prairie 229 An Indian Bow 232 A Tarahumari Runner 233 Little Big Horn 235 Arizona 238 The Sun-Dance of the Sioux 239 A Prairie Minuet 243 Overland 244 7 Page Nez Percys 245 A Prairie Picture 250 Red Cloud 252 Geronimo 257 Indian Burial 259 A Mountain Trail by Moonlight .... 261 The Navajo 263 A Song of the Sunset Land 266 SONGS AND LYRICS. SONGS AND LYRICS. AND EVEN I. The lark lies dead upon the plain, The wood-bird sits with folded wing, Leaps in my breast the old refrain, Still must I sing, still must I sing. Nay I not because Parnassian height Seems nearer now or less sublime, — High, high indeed, his muse's flight That soars beyond the lapse of time, - But that my songs, when I have passed The shore-line of the Stygian Sea, May be in some man's heart at last What other songs have been to me. II No highet' bope; I hold than this. That onej may say when I am dead, ^* He reckons not of death's cold kiss ; His song shall answer in his stead." And thus a changeless trust I keep My guiding star in stormy years, Or when I wake or when I sleep, That bids me through all doubts and fears To stake my soul upon the die. And write some lines that will not rust, — A great heart-hunger not to lie Forgotten when my bones are dust. 12 THE CROW'S WING. Curving sweep of a burnished wing Black as the gloom of a winter night, Strong in a sense of hardy flight Over the woods and the mountain height, Winds and the white moon following. What though the lightning's fancies played Hide and seek in the darkling skies. Thou on the storm's broad breast didst rise, Sailing on as an arrow flies Loosed at a foeman's ambuscade. What though the hail made fierce attack Beating down on thine ebon wings, Rain that chills and the sleet that stings, ■ Naught to thee were these buff'etings Borne along in the tempest-wrack. 13 Holding still to thine airy path Silent, stern as the seal of fate, Thou hast learned an to watch and wait, Morn break soon or the stars rise late, Come what may for the aftermath. Send my soul on a sable wing Death, when the darkness falls on me; Let me wander by land and sea Free as the crow's flight, yea, as free. Winds and the white moon following. 14 BROTHERS AND SISTERS. Brothers I have by the score, A million, yea, and more ; Men who are striving 'mid sun and rain Resolute comrades on hill and plain, Draw^ers of water and hewers of wood Bound in a common brotherhood, With the hearts and hands to dare and do Life's fiery furnace passing through, Oh 1 brothers, I pray for you. And sisters have I, yea, more Than sand-grains by the shore ; Women who work, and who know not peace Sighing in vain for the soul's release ; Sisters of trouble, in poverty's van Toil-worn faces I sadly scan. They come and go and are lost to view And death shall linger and fate pursue, Oh I sisters, I weep for you. 15 FLIGHT. A HICKORY tree in the valley grew ; The snows and sun and the spring rains found it, And shrill-voiced winds from the northward blew, And the dews in the night-time fell around it. Deep into the earth its fibres crept And pierced the flint in the depths down under, Till the lightning out from the cloud-ways leapt And the hickory fell, and was split asunder. And there by its side the shadowy marsh A crane's nest held by the curving river, Where the tall grass mingled, coarse and harsh, With reed-beds broad and the sedge a-quiver. i6 And the tree and the egg and the stone lay there But shreds and shards at the dim earth's portal, As common things that could never dare The higher realm of the far immortal. But an Indian wrenched from the tree a shaft And struck a flint from the rock-ribbed ledges, And a crane's quill picked from a tangled raft Of reeds and weeds by the brown marsh- edges. And the arrow sped from his twanging bow Till the lone blue vault of the sky was riven. And that which was humblest here below, Now at the last was the nearest heaven. n AT THE WAYSIDE INN. Mine host of the wayside inn, We seldom see him there ; But the waiter, tall and thin, With his puritanic air, He comes, and brings us wine, Then leaves us there alone, — She with the vintage brought from Rhine, I with the juice of Rhone. Oh, girl with the golden hair And eyes of iris blue. Has Troy's own Helen fair Changed places, then, with you ? No face of woman yet To me so much hath been. And I with you all else forget Here at the wayside inn. i8 And the cuckoo clock on high Keeps up its race with time, And still, as the moments fly Drones out with mellow chime. '' Cuckoo," as the quarter falls It sounds in plaintive tone ; ^* Cuckoo," at the half it loudly calls Then leaves us there alone. Oh, girl with the golden hair And the red rose at your breast, You are fair, mayhap too fair, But, bah ! you are like the rest. And why should I to-night These vain romances spin, That still with the curling smoke take flight Up from the wayside inn ? And the wine in the glasses glows As slow and slow we sip, While the heart of the red, red rose Has kissed at last her lip. And the flame on the hearth-stone sinks As the embers turn to gray, And the bead on the bubbling grape-juice blinks Just once and melts away. 19 Oh, girl with the golden hair, Know this before we part : I share and do not share I give, yet keep my heart ; For pride will stand all test, And you no word shall win From the careless wight who loved you best There at the wayside inn. 20 V^ VICTIS. I SING the woe of the conquered, a winding- sheet for the slain, Oblivion's gulf for those who fell, who strug- gled and strove in vain. As of old, mid the plaudits of thousands, may the victor in triumph stand. While the blood of the vanquished trickles down and reddens the yielding sand. For the living the martial music, and the clus- tering laurel wreath ; Let the dead rust on forgotten, as a sword in a rusty sheath. On the face of youth and health and strength should the blessing of sunshine fall ; A single shadow may well suffice the face that turns to the wall. And he who has taken a mortal hurt in the strenuous battle of life, Let him creep away from the dust and din, from the arduous toil and strife, Let him go as a wounded animal goes, alone, and with glazing eye. To the depths of the silent fastnesses, in silence there to die. For the prow of the ship rides high and free that baffles the savage gales. And the wind and rain is a requiem for the wreck of the ship that fails. 22 A DANCER. In the lamplight's glare she stood, — The dancer, the octoroon, — On a space of polished wood With glittering sand-grains strewn ; And a rapid, rhythmic tune From the strings of a mandolin Leaped up through the air in viewless flight and passed in a strident din. Her eyes like a fawn's were dark, But her hair was black as night, And a diamond's bluish spark From its masses darted bright. While around her figure slight Clung a web of lace she wore, In curving lines of unhidden grace as she paused on the sanded floor. Then the clashing music sprang From the frets of the mandolin, While the shadowy arches rang With insistent echoes thin, And there, as the spiders spin Dim threads in a ring complete, A labyrinthine wheel she wove with the touch of her flying feet. To the right she swayed, — to the left, Then swung in a circle round, Fast weaving a changing weft To the changing music's sound, As light as a leaf unbound From the grasp of its parent tree, That falls and dips with the thistledown afloat on a windy sea. And wilder the music spell Swept on in jarring sound, — Advanced and rose and fell, By gathering echoes crowned ; And the lights whirled round and round O'er the woman dancing there. With her Circe grace and passionate face and a diamond in her hair. 24 A SONG OF DEATH. As a bird to its nest, a man to his home, a child to its mother, I, who have tossed on the sea of life as a leaf on a wind-swept heath. Turn from the hearts of those I love, — from sister, father, and brother, — Turn with a smile on my lips and come, to meet and greet thee, Death. Thou art the key to the vast unknown ; with thee are the dark abysses That stretch between grasses and stars, and divide us from those we love. Welcome art thou to the broken-hearted, — thine icy kisses Are a message of hope, as in olden days was the olive branch borne by the dove. 25 As the germ to the sprout, to the tree and the leaf, so change is common And the dead leaf lives in the spring-time grass, and nothing really dies. Shall blades of grass be immortal, and never a man or v^oman? We are all a part of nature still, and nature never lies. Hail, silence, and open the prison doors that herald the soul's release I Farew^ell ? 'T is a beautiful vi^ord, to be uttered with even breath. Wrap me and fold me in dreams when my spirit shall know surcease. I live and am happy, and as I live I fear not thee, O Death. 26 TULIPS. Filmy as foam and as frail as a blade Of Autumn-tinged grass, so they came to her sight, Red, red and yellow, with varying shade Yellow and red, with a blending of white, — Tulips, whose petal-tips twisted and turned, Tulips, that reddened and smouldered and burned. Flowers whose cups held the sunlight inurned* Never a blossom as piquant as she. Search where you will and as long as you may. Why 'does she come at this late day to me To mould me as mouldeth a potter his clay ? I, who have recked not of clouds overcast I, who have baffled and banished the past, To be conquered and tamed by a woman at last ! 27 How do they seem in their beauty to her? As tulips — or germs of the Infinite plan } Shall a flower's dumb petal in wakening stir, And never the heart of a woman or man? Tulips, all dashed with the dew and the rain, Tulips, that glow with their passionate stain, As heart of my heart and with pain as my pain. 28 ON SUMMER NIGHTS, On summer nights the yellow stars Shine through the watches held on high, Suspended from the countless spars Of cloud-fleets anchored in the sky ; And wafted past upon the breeze Slow winding down from distant heights There comes the roll of far-off seas On summer nights. On summer nights the signal stars Flash o'er a wide, wild waste of seas, The signal lights of ruddy Mars, Orion, and the Pleiades ; And down the winds a murmur sweeps Like whir of wings in circling flights. The ebb and flow of mystic deeps On summer nights. 29 On summer nights the steadfast stars Swing from the masts of shadow ships That lie within the harbor bars Where the long sea-roll curls and dips ; And still there comes in divers keys Down drifting from those beacon lights The spectral wash of far-off seas On summer nights. 30 LILIES. Teach me but half thy purity And I will rest content, Just half the spell of white-winged peace Which, to thy petals lent, Makes all that 's pure and passionless In one deep stillness blent. From liquid depths that give me back The shadows from below, I see thy forms, all statuesque. Wreathed in the river's flow That sends their still reflection up As white as driven snow. Ah I what am I to such as these, — Sad lilies, tall and fair ; That stand as pale and motionless Amid the summer air. As though a sculptor's marble flowers Were but unfolded there? 31 THE CRY OF THE TOILERS. Far to the clouds ascending, Over the darkness trending, Wailing and never ending Floats up a fated cry : *' Fixed in poverty's niches. In hovels, dens, and ditches, Starved in the midst of riches We die, we die, we die/' Those who have mirth and madness Mock at the wraith of sadness, Joy shall be theirs, and gladness Skies that are blue and fair ; These shall with thirst be burning Prone on the world's wheel turning By the steep hillsides learning The lesson of despair. 32 Little their time for sleeping, Sowing but never reaping, Ever the vigil keeping Watchfully, night and day ; Strong in their dull persistence, Breasting the weave's resistance Just for a bare existence, — So runs their world away. Still do theirjiearts aspire Yearning for something higher, As from their souls the fire Of hapless craving springs ; Scourged by the thongs and lashes Bleeding from cruel gashes. Crucified — upward flashes This cry of theirs that rings, High in the heavens o'er us. Resonant and sonorous. Blending its mighty chorus With drifting wind and rain ; Like to a vague outreaching Despairing, yet beseeching, The cry of a full heart teaching Its longing and its pain. 3 33 Sorrow their lips unsealing Famine and woe revealing, Into the midnight pealing Echoes the shuddering cry : ** We whom a stern fate tosses Lone, on a sea of losses, Christ of the thorns and crosses We die, we die, we die." 34 COW-BELLS. I MIND me well, as a barefoot lad When the toil of the day was over, How I dropped the bars by the barnyard path And walked to the dewy clover, While far away rose the sound of bells Faint as the murmur of sea-worn shells, '* Tin, tin, tin," came the echoes thin, And then as they drifted nearer, ** Ting, along, ling," would the chorus ring Through the distance clear and clearer. And by the ford where the gray mill loomed I drove them down to the edges, And the great round moon peeped over a cloud As they stood knee-deep in sedges ; And the bells kept time in a rude refrain Like rain-drops dashed on a window-pane, *' Clink, clank, clink," as they bent to drink Where the spray from the dam came foam- ing. And '' Clink, clink, clank," as they climbed the bank In the starlit, shadowy gloaming. 35 And on through the pastures back we came Where the cricket's rasping shrillness Sprang up from the roots of the ribbon grass And dinned in the twilight stillness ; But the jangling cow-bells drowned his cry With discords harsh as they hurried by, ** Cling, clang, clong,"as they swayed along With the bats and the night-hawks o'er them, And ** Cling, clang, clang,'' how the music rang As they surged by the bars before them. And there as I raised the rough-hewn poles And pushed them into their sockets. And lazily sat on the old rail fence With hands thrust deep in my pockets, I listened still for a straying note. And whiles from the dusk would softly float, ** Co-link," and then through the maze again In the hush of the summer weather, ** Co-lank " — 't was all, and in God's far hall The star-choirs sang together. 36 JACK-O'-DREAMS. You see me on the crowded street In some fair woman's face One moment, then I vanish fleet And leave behind no trace ; You find me in the flush of youth, I fill the niche of age, And all well-known am I forsooth To sinner, saint, and sage. I haunt the stars in blackest night, I come in noontide's gaze. And scourge along in endless flight The caravan of days. Nor cowl nor cloister shuts me out In beauty's arms am I, And I am with your hope and doubt Your laughter and your sigh. 37 The wind's wild wings shall waft me down As long as winds do blow ; Spring's green is mine, and Autumn's brown And Summer's orchard snow. And wraith-like in its robes of mist My flitting form will be, Where cold foam-serpents writhe and twist In Winter, by the sea. Nay : I will pierce where spirits stand Beyond the soul's eclipse, As swift as when from loosened hand The carrier pigeon slips ; My shadow stays, though evermore Mine other self it seems ; You follow, but I go before For I am Jack-o'-Dreams. 38 THE LOCUST. A SOMBRE-HUED locust was singing to me — Seventeen years, seventeen years, Up on a branch of the mulberry tree (Seventeen years and years). The Summer was steeped in the languor of June And sun-dial shadows were creeping to noon As the locust spun out his monotonous tune — Of seventeen, seventeen years. And how long ago did I hear it before ? Seventeen years, seventeen years. Just the same echo its resonance bore (Seventeen years and years). Dead ashes of days, how they taste on the lips. How air-castles topple and how the time slips! Say, friend, did you hail them, my long-van- ished ships. Those seventeen, seventeen years > 39 Sing on through the summer, O locust, with glee, — Seventeen years, seventeen years. The leaf is yet green on the mulberry tree (Seventeen years and years). Since last you were here, I am cynical grown, I 've seen the June leaves by December wind strown. The world is Medusa, and turns men to stone In seventeen, seventeen years. 40 DREAMS. Over the long, rich, billowy grass, up and down are the footsteps flying Of viewless winds that pass and leave no token of their flight ; With never a tree to mar the stretch of the prairie around me lying, A dark green sea, whose rolling waves the sun has tipped with light. The iron-weed sways on the wind-swept ridge, the wild rose blooms in the hollow, A hawk wheels round in circling sweep through trackless paths on high, And over the grass the breezes go, and the tremulous echoes follow Filling the crginnies of eddying winds from earth to sky. 41 Horizon-ward and far to the west, like the smoke of a distant steamer, Mounting slowly up the skies, on the steps of a hidden stair, Vague, so vague, as vague and dim as the dream of an idle dreamer A curling cloud-wraith, spiral formed, is rising through the air. Sun and wind, and the far-off sky ; the sun that shines and the wind that passes ; The life that is, and beyond the clouds the life that is to be — Dreams, all dreams, that come and go, as the wind's light footprints over the grasses What is my life but a drop of rain that falls in a shoreless sea ? 42 SONGS UNSUNG. Sweet the song of the thrush at dawning, When the grass lies wet with spangled dew ; Sweet the sound of the brook's low whisper Mid reeds and rushes wandering through ; Clear and pure is the west wind's murmur That croons in the branches all day long ; But the songs unsung are the sweetest music And the dreams that die are the soul of song. The fairest hope is the one which faded, The brightest leaf is the leaf that fell ; The song that leaped from the lips of sirens Dies away in an old sea-shell. Far to the heights of viewless fancy The soul's swift flight like a swallow goes, For the note unheard is the bird's best carol And the bud unblown is the reddest rose. 43 Deepest thoughts are the ones unspoken, That only the heart sense, listening, hears ; Most great joys bring a touch of silence Greatest grief is in unshed tears. What we hear is the fleeting echo. A song dies out, but a dream lives on ; The rose-red tints of the rarest morning Are lingering yet in a distant dawn. Somewhere, dim in the days to follow And far away in the life to be. Passing sweet, is a song of gladness, — The spirit-chant of the soul set free. Chords untouched are the ones we wait for — That never rise from the harp unstrung : We turn our steps to the years beyond us, And listen still for the songs unsung. 44 OUTDOORS. MY MOTHER EARTH. I. Into the silence of thy temples green To thy dear arms, O mother earth I come When sore distressed from life's perplexing ills, And steep my soul in thy all-healing strength. As wounded denizens of wood and field Seek thy most quiet and secluded depths. So I, when racked by lingering heart-aches go Into those wide and leafy halls of thine And give myself to solitude and thee. I am a worshipper at thy fair shrines mother mine ; in Nature's ritual Thy forms are to me as an open book. 1 read thy future, present, and thy past By many a curious and half-hidden sign And trace thy wanderings throughout the years With knowledge quaffed at thy perennial founts. And most I love the dim autumnal woods ; Dear friends, tho' silent, the companion trees, That whisper as I pass, and scatter down Leaf benedictions on my leaf-strewn path, — Old oaks, colossal^ that like sowers stand 47 Amid the acorns scattered on the ground ; Maples, whose garments of sun-tinted flame Seem gorgeous banners in October's van ; And pines, like fingers that point up to heaven, That distant land beyond the purple clouds. I know the windings of down-flowing streams The mossy logs that stretch from bank to bank And shallows carpeted with pebbles bright, Where bubbles in the sunlight flash and gleam ; I know the texture of the gray squirrel's nest The drumming of the partridge, and the cry That comes when darting o'er the ripples past The lone kingfisher speeds his sudden flight. Trust me to know the secrets of thy house. Dear mother earth 1 in thy deep niches placed The primrose waves, and slender violets Smile dewily to greet the south wind's kiss. Am I not known to all thy family ? And may I not in thy most inner dells Find the quick welcome of thy sympathy ? My mother earth, mine ancient mother earth, Dear is to me thy wintry garb of gray Dear the green splendor of thy April crown, Sweet the soft whispers of thy summer breeze And doubly dear thy rich October dreams. 48 II. The sunshine on the tree-trunks comes to weave Strange draperies of rare and antique lace In web-like lines slow filtered through the leaves ; Cloud-land peeps down from blue, serenest skies. The earth's heart beats from slow pulsating breast, And freshest greenwood odors fill the air With incense from a hidden censer swung. There 's not a vein upon the tiniest leaf Nor cobweb silvered by the glistening dews Nor bird-wing brushing through the forest aisles. But what I see and feel its influence. Why, all the paintings that were ever praised And all the music struck from vibrant strings Are but a faint reflection of the woods, The mimicry of art at Nature's feet. In the deep silence of autumnal shades Old sorrows die, new memories spring up, Hope, like a torch, illuminates the road. And all our former burdens fall away. 4 49 Vistas and valleys of rich-colored woods Wave high above the sylvan thickets dense ; And there, when straying footsteps lightly fall Shy wood-birds flit, across the space between, And timid rabbits lift expectant ears. O mother earth, my constant love for thee, Born of the very earliest of my thoughts, Holds in its scope no taint of worldly things. Thy changing moods are but the different lights Of constancy that lives forevermore ; For all things else are frail as ropes of sand Beside the truth and beauty of thy face. mother earth, thy leaves and trees and streams The large content that fills thy sleeping woods Thy calm repose, and heart-consoling balm Are more than all religions are to me ; And almost half a Druid now am I As in thy arms, on mossy couch outstretched, Forsaking trouble to the wayward winds, 1 give my soul to spirit hands unseen And drift away to dreamland through thy gates. 50- OCTOBER. A MAZE of leaves in a rich mosaic, Brown and yellow and flaming red, Where the winds go by in the depths archaic And bright through the branches overhead Like a fair white hand at a window shutter The sunlight under the leaf-shades peeps, Now here, now there, with its changing flutter. While below the old earth sleeps and sleeps. A fringe of gray and a sweep of yellow Crimson streaks and a belt of brown, Mingled in with the sunshine mellow And sun-tinged leaves soft floating down ; White the gleam of the shining pebbles And green the moss on the banks beside. As down the shallows the buoyant bubbles Into the cool wood shadows glide. 51 Deep in the heart of the woods lies glowing The gathered life of a thousand noons, And echoes faint through the trees are blowing As mystic ^Eolus plays his tunes, And the passing step of the wind god rouses The dreaming leaves as he hurries by, While the sunshine droops and the still air drowses Under the purpling autumn sky. Fleecy clouds by the wind swept over. And a vague, faint scent all sharp and sweet, Like the mingled smell of thyme and clover Bruised by the summer's flying feet ; Ashes, fires, and dying embers, A waste of gold and a vault of flame, And the frail gray ghosts of the lost Septembers Vanishing, fading, past reclaim. 52 ON THE HILLS The tangled grass is at her feet The blue sky distant stands, And shadows on its marge repeat The spell of weaving hands. Wide vaults of freest space beyond To her clear eyes are shown, And where the breeze has waved its wand Light thistle-downs up-blown. A hawk in widening circle sails Above the far-off trees. And motionless amid the swales The cattle stand at ease. She marks the yellow stubbles shorn As on her way she takes ; And shore-lines of September corn On which the sunlight breaks. The day her forehead kisses fair The wind her long locks thrills ; Diana of the ruddy hair Tall-striding o'er the hills. 53 A SONG OF THE DUST. A SONG of the good gray dust That lay in the winding road, Till caught by a sudden gust It sprang from its dry abode, And over the hills was sowed On the leaves and ribbon-grass, On the gilded wheat, and the shady sheet Of the swamp-pool, smooth as glass. A song of the good gray dust That falls on flower and thorn, That powders the sumach's rust And whitens the bladed corn ; That drops in the ways forlorn Or rests on the blossoms white. As a wayward touch that has taught thus much Of the wind's aeolian flight. 54 A song of the good gray dust That tinges the wayside leaf, '' That hangs in a tawny crust On the farmer's home-bound sheaf, That swings for a moment brief On the barley's bearded sheen, Till the creaking peals of the wagon-wheels Shall scatter it down between. A song of the good gray dust Ground out from the trampled clod, And into the highway thrust Where the lone wayfarers plod ; Yet still, by the grace of God, Shall it feel the cooling rain And shall know the bliss of the wind's light kiss That stoops to the country lane. S5 A CALIFORNIA IDYL. A ROAD-RUNNER dodged in the chaparral As a coin will slip from the hand of a wizard A black wasp droned by his sun-baked cell, While flat on a stone lay a Nile-green lizard, And a wolf in the rift of a sycamore Sat gray as a monk at the mission door. A sage-hen scratched 'mong the cactus spike And high in the sky was the noon sun's glamour, While steady as ever rose anvil-strike Came the rat-tat-tat of a yellow-hammer, And a shy quail lowered his crested head To the dust-lined sweep of a dry creek's bed. And out of the earth a tarantula crept On his hairy legs to the road's white level, With eyes where a demon's malice slept And the general air of an unchained devil, While a rattlesnake by the dusty trail Lay coiled in a mat of mottled scale. 56 Then the gray wolf sprang on the sage-hen there, And the lizard snapped at the wasp and caught him, While the spider fled to his sheltering lair As though a shadowy foeman sought him, And the road-runner slipped from the wayside brake And struck his beak through the rattlesnake. 57 THE CATBIRD'S WHISTLE. An old bridge stood with dust thick strewn, Where through a crooked country lane A brook flowed down, and out again Slow gurgling past with quiet croon ; While sunshine kissed the cool gray stones And chequered every leaf and spray. And shallows sang, in treble tones, Where pebbles in mosaic lay. And softly, from the deepest shade, A catbird's whistle low and clear Crept out as though the sound was made For only Nature's listening ear ; Like dripping water falling slow Round mossy rocks in music rare. So, mellowed by the summer glow The catbird's whistle echoed there. S8 Far up along the short green sward The white sheep nibbled at the grass, And lightly, as the winds did pass Would come the catbird's minor chord, - A call that made all others mute. Soft thrilling thro' the drowsy air ; As some lost note from Orpheus' lute So came the catbird's whistle there. 59 EN SILHOUETTE. The blot on the spider's murky web, The sombre shade where the ripples ebb, And the darkness through the trees, But never a shadow that falls so far As when o'er the ruddy western bar The sunset sails by the first gray star Into the twilight seas. The tawny leaves that are floating down The trailing vines that are crisp and brown As grass on the darkling leas ; A lone harp strung in the swarthy reeds That sounds its chords as the north wind leads Where the dusky water slow recedes Into the twilight seas. The hills in the distance, black as jet, A burned-out sun that is sinking yet, The sigh of a restless breeze — And who shall mourn for the days now sped, The after-glow of a summer dead. Long since with the far-down shadows fled, Into the twilight seas ? 60 A MARCH SUNSET. Faint clouds that form a snowy ledge, And through the space that twilight fills The gray half-moon with battered edge Sailing athwart the sunken hills. And in the west a ragged glint Of sunset splendor sends its flash Where night and day, like steel to flint, All suddenly together clash. And down the chill wind's rustling flight From out a waste of desert sky Sinks, bubbling into vasty night, A wandering curlew's cry. 6i HICKORY LILIES. Lo I where the gray of early March Lies frost-like on the grasses green, And by the roadway many an arch Of tangled branch and vine is seen, Weird flowers upon old Winter's tomb The waxen hickory lilies bloom. Soft, sensuous petals pale as death With drooping edges half uncurled Unwavering in the wind's cool breath That drifts across the upper world ; Strange forest-buds that gleam overhead Their creamy pallor splotched with red. The mist from out the marsh, below Spreads filmy wings and glides away ; Burns in the east a ruddier glow, While high above the hillside clay All wet with dew, the dawn's perfume The waxen hickory lilies bloom. 62 THE AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHER. There was a wandering scientist went by, And gleaned odd bits of Nature with his lens, — Far woods dark outlined on an April sky And stately cat-tails by the reedy fens ; And streams that trickled through the nar- row glens That in the northern wildernesses lie. Here lay a stretch of sleeping water, there The sunset's rose, its petals curling down ; And sometimes rock-ribbed cliffs rose gaunt and bare. With massive broken pillars rough and brown Where the dim twilight in her nun-like gown Came stealing in upon the drowsy air. And these were all dream-glances, till the sun Flashed in upon his camera, and set A vision of a vision, from a net 63 Of sunlit strands all in an instant spun, And thus at length the subtle toil was done : Frail frost-work, mocking Nature, black as jet. But oh I vv^hen through their transformation came These sombre plates, how wonderful were wrought Deep pools that darkened in a woodland frame, And rippling currents that the light had caught. With leaf flotillas on their windings brought Crisp-curled mementos of the sunlight's flame. And glimpses of the stars and gnarly trees ; The moon's slow splendor and the hopeful grass ; And winy tints of August where the lees Of summer sank, like bubbles in a glass, And clouds high castled in a snowy mass Over a voiceless waste of azure seas. The color was not there, for those who sought The color of the senses ; but the wise, By keen imagination erstwhile taught Saw all the wealth of Nature's myriad dyes, 64 And gazing still, with introspective eyes, Found tints that those not dreamers held for naught. The music was not there, — the first faint notes That morning brings when dawn-announcing birds Pipe warily from half-unwilling throats ; Nor yet was there the lowing of the herds ; Nor came across the water spoken words From the still figures in the dusky boats. And yet 'twas all so vivid, fresh, and strong, The feeling of the music, that it seemed To move with you as move the winds along, To ripple up wherever water gleamed, And soothed you with its fancies as you dreamed Until the very silence seemed a song, And all the shores of summer's sunlit deeps Seemed etched against the blue-horizoned days, And broad reflections of the cloudy steeps Swept idly down across the meadow ways : For this was Nature, seen as through a haze As when one dreams of pictures while he sleeps. S 6s VIOLETS. The fields are wrapped in mantles white Of glittering, drifted snow, The earth's quick summer pulse is gone Yet, beating dim and slow, Her muffled throbs come welling up From distant depths below. It cannot be the days are dead Though frozen are the streams ; For in the sun's dull winter light A promised summer gleams, And what are winter's wraiths at last But ghosts of summer dreams ? Dream on, dream on, dear mother earth Till April's fire shall glow ! Still in my heart thy spring-tide swells In endless ebb and flow ; I see as with prophetic eyes The violets in the snow. 66 AN INDIAN SUMMER DAY. I SAW the East's pale cheek blush rosy red When from his royal palace in the sky, The sun-god, clothed in crimson splendor, came And lit the torch of day with sudden flame, While morning on white wings flew swiftly by Bringing a message that the night was dead. High noon, and not a murmur in the streams ; And silence fills the hazy autumn air ; Sun-painted leaves drift slowly to the ground Amid a quiet, soft and yet profound And lie in russet windrows scattered there, — All Nature in a misty slumber dreams. And then upon the close of dying day Softly and silently as falling snow. The twilight comes in dusky folds and rings And over all a darkling shadow flings ; High overhead a star begins to glow And cow-bells tinkle faintly, far away. 67 ISIS. I AM whatever is ; for day by day I sparkle in each flower's richest hue, And with a lavish hand I scatter dew When twilight comes in mantle dim and gray. My spirit shines in every faithful star ; My voice is heard in all the winds that pass ; My name is written on each blade of grass And in all climes my leafy castles are. Earth, sea, and sky, and what are they but me ? Each cloud-capped mountain or each grain of sand } I paint the shells on an untrodden strand Where whispers low the long-sought Northern sea. I am whatever has been ; In the dust Of shattered empires and of levelled thrones My presence stands, — ay, even mid the bones Of coffined kings, and in their armor rust. 68 Where the unnumbered dead are^ there am I. Where ivy creeps along the churchyard mould ; I gleam in the pale moonlight shining cold On ghostly stones where tears are never dry. I am the voice of centuries ; my hand Holds life and death, all mystery, all fate ; My secrets told to only those who wait My domain infinite o'er sea and land. I am whatever shall be ; though the night Be changed to day, though stars their courses fail, My giant forces like great vessels sail Unharmed, impregnable, in conscious might. In the long years that shall hereafter come I will be found by forest field and stream Still reigning o'er the universe supreme, Forever speaking, yet forever dumb. All darkly, darkly, in the gloom I hide And oh I so brightly in the sunbeams shine, All changes and all great emotions mine And in my strength and beauty calmly bide. 69 The veil that hides my face has ever cast A dazzling shadov^ on the path of years, The hope and dread with mingled joy and tears Of those who solve my mystery at last. Peace, restless heart : 't is not for mortal breath To breathe the ether of the inner skies, And no man's hand can lift the veil that lies Between the tragedies of life and death. 70 THE MEADOW-LARK. A SEA of grass on either side The prairie stretches far and wide, Its undulating line of blades Reflects the noontide lights and shades, And brings before me one by one The pictures wrought by wind and sun. And silence reigns, save for the breeze And muffled hum of droning bees. Till in the summer hush I hear A prairie signal sweet and clear, In mournful, piercing notes that mark The whistle of the meadow-lark. Like one wild cry for loved and lost From some lone spirit tempest-tossed. It wails across the waving grass. And, blending with the winds that pass, It scatters echoes at my feet So full of pain, so deadly sweet. 71 Oh 1 heart of hearts, could my unrest Find such a song within my breast, My passionate and yearning cry Would echo on from sea to sky, Along the path of future years, And touch the listening world to tears. 72 SONG. The deft Musician's fingers Lo ! they lie crossed and numb, And the soul of the violin is dead And the magic strings are dumb. Closed is the old piano And chordless its amber keys, As the vanished tidal murmurs Of prehistoric seas. The singer's voice is silent That once was sweet and strong, They faded out like a wild-bird's note. The singer and his song. The maestro's touch dies with him ; 'T is gone for good or ill ; And the singer's lips no echoes leave To linger with us still. And only the runes of Nature Abide with us for long, And only the Vind and ripples Sing the eternal song. 73 IN THE HEART OF THE HICKORY TREE. There is never a blossom of Spring alive There is never a bud, he said ; The cruel snows through the branches drive And the leaves and grass are dead ; But the pulse of the world beat on below In spite of the North wind's dree, And a bead of sap lay all aglow In the heart of the hickory tree. There is never a rose to bloom, he cried. Nor the ghost of a lily tall, Nor a morning-glory streaked and pied To smile from the garden wall ; But a seed that slept in the frosty earth Held colors all fair to see, And the bead of sap bubbled up with mirth In the heart of the hickory tree. 74 There is never a stalk of green, I wis, Again to himself he said. No primrose pale for the winds to kiss — He sighed, and he shook his head ; Yet the snows were only the late-month rains. And March came following free, And the sap oozed down through the hidden veins In the heart of the hickory tree. There is never a bird in the thickets now, Nor a ripple upon the creek, Nor a leaf, he said, on the apple-bough However I wait or seek ; But a violet under the frozen clay Dreamed on of the days to be. And a bud was born that very morn In the heart of the hickory tree. 75 DEFIANCE. I QUESTION whether 't is worth the trouble The toil and travail, the sin and pain ; For who that blows but a painted bubble Shall grasp it to him and call it gain } And the life you live, be it high or humble, Is quickly under the grasses hid As into a narrow niche you tumble, And the clods fall thick on your coffin-lid. The light of love and the spark of passion Shall flame on the lips and die away, The lips once red that are now turned ashen And sunk so soon into yesterday ; I lift my voice in a measured scorning Against the Gods that they raise on high. And dawn bring dusk, and the night bring morning I care not whether I live or die. 76 I knew the touch of a child's soft finger But lost its clasp when I loved her best I marked in June where the young birds linger But the snow soon covered an empty nest ; And I tell you spite of your strong endeavor The vision melts and the fabric fails, While all that we are is passing ever Like dead leaves whirled in the Autumn gales. I turn my face to the glass of Nature And dip my feet in her streams again, And verse myself in her nomenclature Reading her heart as the hearts of men ; And I know she leads where the Gods must follow The seas survive though the creeds will pass, And the words of man seem poor and hollow To a grain of sand or a blade of grass. A few score years, and the race is ended And we from the world are outward thrust, And each with his mother-earth is blended Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. Save here and there where the high soul sunders A dread command while the rest stand dumb. And daring the strength of Jove's own thunders Steals fire from heaven for those to come. 77 POETA NASCITUR, NON FIT. And dost thou think to tempt the muse By such vain arts as lovers use ? And w^ilt thou bring her learned thought In cunning form of rhythm wrought ? And wilt thou mould in rigid rules Cold fables from the classic schools } Do all of this, and then how long Will sound the echo of thy song ? No longer than shall tremble in A cracked and shattered violin Some chord-wave loosened by the bow That fades in briefest tremolo. Why 1 teach the lark to sing by note, And Pan to play his reeds by rote. But never hope Parnassian height By Art's mere imitative flight. 78 Nay I dive thou deep in Nature's heart, And tear her leaves and grass apart ; Wander thou forth in sun and rain To tread the paths of joy and pain ; Live, toil, and strive, and keenly scan The mystery of thy fellow-man ; And, most of all, know thou the spell Of Love's high heaven and dungeoned hell,- And then, if on thy natal morn A singer's soul was in thee born. Perchance the anguish may be thine To touch the lips of song divine. 79 THRENODY. The roving hawk will find his mate And stars companions be, But I, — I only stand and wait, — There. is no mate for me. The stranger rivers meeting blend And journey to the sea ; I have, mayhap, a single friend But none who watch for me. Nor woman's kiss hath bound me fast Nor creed hath bent my knee ; The fields, and blue skies overcast, — These are enough for me. Alone, unsolved, I bide my time Till death shall set me free, A man whose lips were steeped in rhyme, - Oh, dreamers, pray for me ! 80 WARP AND WOOF. THE KING'S LOVE AND HATE. t ** Oh ! King," a courtier cried, As low obeisance made he, ** Whom hatest thou the most ? " The King replied, '* Those who already have betrayed me." **This question then I bring. Whom lov'st thou most, I pray thee ? " '* With my best love I love " So said the King — '* Those who hereafter will betray me." 83 THE MESSAGE OF THE TOWN. Look up to the stony arches Where art and mammon meet, There 's a sound where Traffic marches A call in the City street, For a voice is ever ringing *^ Gird up your loins and flee I will harden your heart or break it If you will abide with me/' Go forth with a noble yearning, Give heed to the griefs of men, And the years will find you turning To that mocking voice again, Which ever recurrent whispers Like the chant of the restless sea ** I will harden your heart or break it If you will abide with me."" 84 No time for the touch of gladness Nor yet for the boon of tears, We toss in a cloud of madness Whirled round by the whirling years And an echo lingers always From which we are never free ** I will harden your heart or break it If you will abide with me." Aye I carve it in iron letters High over your widest gate, Since we all must wear the fetters Who seek the appointed fate, And the winds shall bring the message Through all of the days that be ** I will harden your heart or break it If you will abide with me." 8s ** L'ALLEGRO." A RED light on the Tiber came From scarlet banners waved on high ; A city wrapped in smoke and flame, With blazing columns lit the sky. Above the tramp of rushing feet, And o'er the conflagration's din^ Arose, in measure sharp and sweet, The music of a violin. S6 THE PROMPTER. From underneath the stage's floor A man steps upward through a door, Leaving behind the shrilling din Of cello tuned, and violin. And hears across the building vast One far, faint flute-note ripple past. Within the wings he takes his stand His well-thumbed book in lean right hand, And pieces out from page to page The fool's broad jest or tyrant's rage, The lover's lisp, the lady's sigh And headlong warrior's battle-cry. Not his to mouth the motley lines A man of gestures, and of signs ; Of humble port and modest mien With presence hardly felt or seen, And yet whose long forefinger gives The cue to him who dies or lives. 87 Not his to mark the long-drawn pause, The silence — and the wild applause When nature, through the actor's art Smiles in on each awakened heart, For though all others have their share None heeds the patient prompter there. I cry you mercy ; by God's rood. When death has stripped them, prone and nude, When each to heaven turns his brow This prompter shall not rate as now, But as a man, among the men, Be reckoned with the faithful then. SS APPLE-BLOSSOMS. Not apple-blossoms for the old home's sake ; The hill-side farm, the orchard vistas fair, Youth, hope, and mother, all my treasures there Not apple-blossoms, lest my heart should break. 89 THE WRAITH OF LOCHBURY. Gray battlements of ancient stone, With clinging ivy overgrown, And granite towers rising free Above the night-imprisoned sea. Announced in stern and rugged mien The feudal castle of Mac Lean. And up and down the gloomy shore A spectral steed his rider bore, As through the night, with haunting cry, A wailing horseman galloped by Along the lonely ocean sands, And beat his breast with fleshless hands. Far, far away, 'neath Spanish skies, A Scottish chieftain dying lies. And with his glazing eyes he sees His castle walls, while on the breeze He hears a wailing, moaning cry. And phantom hoof-beats gallop by. 90 THE SPHINX. Couched in the dull Egyptian sands, dumb, and yet with a voice pathetic That seems to come from the stony lips, that ever seems to say : *' I am a part of the old-world life, of a buried age prophetic. I am a rock that the waves of time will never wear away. ** Out of the bygone years I gaze, desertward, and my meditation Sees a fold of the tawny sands, where once was a palace tall ; And I hear the heart of the great world beat, in swinging, slow pulsation ; The great world's heart that throbs the same though Pharaohs rise and fall. 91 ** Kings and queens and the nations all, fading out in the dust together, And centuries long that vanished in ' to-mor- row' and 'to-day' : For each gray age has floated past as light as an ibis feather, Since I was hewn, and left alone, in these sad wastes to stay. ^* And in the visions that come to me thro' the curtains rent asunder That hide the years — I have heard a sound, all rhythmical and vast ; The mail-clad tread of mighty hosts — like a measured roll of thunder, The tramp of the Caesar's legions, the Romans marching past. **This, all this, I see and hear, in the sun and moon and night winds blowing. In sunset fire, and in the moon, the sheen of whose silver disc. Is scattering down the cold white rays on Nilus softly flowing. And searching out the pictured scenes on ruin and obelisk. 92 *' Come what come may, or sun or storm, the river's calm or the desert's bleakness And still I couch in the shifting sands and watch the years alone, Holding within my giant grasp the strength of art and the sculptor's weakness, The man who died — the thought that lived in everlasting stone." 93 HE TRAVELS THE FASTEST WHO TRAVELS ALONE. The stirrup-cup 's drained and the messenger flown — He travels the fastest who travels alone. A shout of *' God speed you," the gleam of a spur And the hearth-flame behind sinks away in a blur. A form in the darkness that fades on the sight And the clatter of hoofs as he rides through the night. Not a star overhead, nor a neighboring lamp Save the fire-fly's glimmer in marsh-vistas damp, Or a spark where the horse-shoe strikes sharp on a stone. He travels the fastest who travels alone. And onward and onward each long mile is passed With the echo of horses' hoofs following fast, 94 Till the gray light of dawn o'er the highway he sees And a crowd and a scaffold loom black through the trees. When with foam from the charger white- flecking his sleeve He spurs him still faster, wild crying, *' Re- prieve 1 " And death like a feather now backward is blown He travels the fastest who travels alone. 95 AN OLD DAGUERREOTYPE. Two clear, grave eyes, that wondering look From some forgotten long ago ; A childish face that cannot know The secrets hidden in the book Of future years, The care and toil, the busy strife, The joys that jewel every life, The tears. From that lost time — from childhood-land ■ The wistful, speaking, hazel eyes Look out as on unclouded skies ; Where glowing hopes rise hand in hand, And sunshine streams Along the path of breaking day, While all the shadows fade away, Like dreams. 96 Thus kept by art's all-saving grace Peeps from a distant hazy nook Of time gone by this sunny look Upon a young, untroubled face, That holds within The boyish eyes, those limpid springs- No taint of earth or earthly things. No sin. 97 A PRODIGAL. I HAVE marked the gleam of the ploughshare And known of the sweat of toil, Where the breath from the horses' nostrils puffed And the inky curve of soil, Rolled away in undulations As a black-snake leaves his coil. When the axe in the timber sounded And the wedge and the frizzled maul, Had found the heart of many an oak And many a hickory tall ; Where branching woodland giants crashed Down thundering to their fall. I have watched the paling starlight As a sign of the task begun, And my feet were wet by the midnight dews And my brow by the midday sun. Till the harvest moon in the southern skies Made shift for a day's work done. 98 I have sat in the herder's saddle In the sleet and the blinding rain, And heard the roll of hurrying hoofs Beat time on a hollow plain, And whoso works with a strenuous hand Has labored not in vain. And at last in a towered city Scarce more than a boy I stood^ Where the smoke hung over the steeples Like the folds of a witch's hood ; And life was a sea before me Where those survived who could. iBut I breasted the coming billows And swept their crests aside, And never a sea or dark or deep Could drown me in its tide ; And held my peace and made no moan Where some, I think, had died. And each for himself I found it However you stay or seek, And bitter the strife as in olden days When Greek met face to Greek ; And whatever it meant for the strongest God pity the young and weak. 99 Yet ever a will sustained me When even Love did fail, And made my soul as strong as though I had looked on the Holy Grail, And the deadliest arrow Fate could launch Fell blunted from its mail. And always an eagle-spirit That walls could not confine, And the bane of the three temptations Of woman, song, and wine. And the husks of a keen repentance The bed with the sodden swine. And or ever a God seemed distant ^ In my direst hour of need. Or the woman's hand I leaned upon Had pierced like the broken reed, Or I passed with lip still thirsting From the cup of an empty creed. Then I turned to the one true solace On life's wide battlefield, A pride as the pride of Lucifer's Which dared but did not yield — And whoso has it at its best Lacks neither sword nor shield. lOO And each to his own accounting I stand prepared for mine, When death shall call for volunteers To step from the foremost line ; And none will go more hopefully Nor with lighter heart than mine. And he who shrinks 'neath the lash of Fate I hold is a base-born clod, And my steps bend not to a Father's house Nor yet to the house of God, For the strength of pride doth still abide ' To spurn the chastening rod. lOI ACCURSED. From zone to zone^ from east to west In all the lands of sun and snow, My weary footsteps to and fro Through laggard centuries have pressed, And evermore by land and sea A haunting vision follows me. By night and day. Upon the cloud-arched stage of Time The curtain'd years roll to the skies ; And there before my dazzled eyes A thorn-crowned Presence stands sublime. I hear a voice — I hear it now — In ringing accents, " Tarry thou Until I come !" 102 ISHMAEL. Upon my vow I stand or fall, Lo I here am I alone, My hand against the hands of all And theirs against my own ; My roof the stars, my bed the sod, The desert-home for me, No hope nor fear of man or God So be it, let it be. My hairy sandals on my feet, My dagger in my hand. With shaggy courser eagle-fleet To skim the level sand. The quiver o'er my shoulder hung The bow across it bent. My gage against the whole world flung And so I rest content. 103 I know not, I, the touch of grief, Of pity or of tears ; Nor heed as much as falling leaf The passing of the years ; Long since Death sealed my early vow And often shall again, Time stamps no Cain-mark on my brow For these vile sons of men. Cold in the cloudless sky above Float the eternal stars, And cold my breath to thoughts of love But 'neath my battle-scars Leaps the red blood in warmth elate To meet my hated foe, As forth I rush to seek my fate With dagger and with bow. The blood of man has stained my hands My heart has turned to stone. I roam a scourge along the sands, A king without a throne. The very lion shuns my path, And legends utter when I raised my voice in first-time wrath Against the sons of men. 104 MAGDALEN. Had she sold herself for lucre, were it but by the laws of man She had reigned it proudly and royally and had never known the ban, For the world can bend and stoop and cringe to a married courtesan. The doors of the temples shut her out that welcome the righteous in And she sits by a homeless hearth and waits with ghosts of might-have-been, And the Pharisees in the market-place will tell you of her sin. And still where the earth's broad highways trend she weaves her lingering spell As a spider weaves his filmy web and lurks in an inner cell And her feet go down to death they say, and her steps take hold on hell. But choose from a thousand maxims wise, fine-sifted through wisdom's sieve And never a one will teach mankind the sound of the word '^forgive," Yet this for her arts and her blandishments ~ how else is she to live ? And there's never a man shall raise his voice to speak for Magdalen, And never a woman will take her hand nor teach her hope again ; Who recks of the Man of Calvary when the church has said "Amen"? 1 06 RE-INCARNATION. A CHILD, he played as other children do, Mourned not the old, nor reckoned of the new. A man, he strove with dogma and with creed To solve the problem of the spirit's need. Then old age came, and made him as a child, With earth and God and all things reconciled. 107 THE LOST SOULS. In vast mid-space, upon a cloudy steep The lost souls gathered, as apart from all Where looking downward they could see the .pall Of floating smoke o'er Satan's donjon keep, And gazing upward through an azure deep They marked the outlines of the jasper wall That circled Eden, and the towers tall Where golden chimes sank fitfully to sleep. These were the souls who, living, loved and lost. But after life had sought and claimed their own And fled with them in starry realms to dwell. And side by side along the heights they crossed 'Mid the white lilies of the moon outblown Not needing Heaven and not fearing Hell. 1 08 SUNSET. A river's shores — the current's sweep be- tween Flecked with dead leaves ; while here and there a stone Rears its rude bulk against the ripples thrown ; In shadowy stretch of undulating green The broad banks lie, and further on the sheen Of purple thickets fleetingly is shown ; And o'er the placid waters brooding lone Twilight and Darkness, weird twin-sisters lean. And one still pool as slow the day declines, Holds close the sunset's glory in its deeps In colors that no mortal tongue could name ; And now as night comes etched in dusky lines Low in the limpid water fitful sleeps One last red gleam that shimmers like a flame. 109 LILITH. I, WANDERING in a certain waste alone In lands deserted, where no wild bird called, Before the desolation stood appalled That stretched away in dreary monotone ; The wind went muttering like a withered crone And stunted trees in grayish moss were shawled, A marshy mist, slow moving, upward crawled And sullen nature brooded, turned to stone. But on a sudden by a swampy space In weaving lines of breezy disarray, A host of saffron lilies thronged the air, And I bethought me of a woman's face As fair, as sweet, as languorous as they, The sunlight on her tangled yellow hair. no SONNET TO MUSIC. I ASK not meat, a little bread will do And cup of water dipped from some clear stream Where lazily the ripples croon and dream Adown the shining cresses slipping through ; No more than this, for when Pan comes to woo The silence with his pipings, then I seem To lose myself in rapture, as I deem Were lost, long since, Ulysses and his crew ; For as the western winds go rustling by O'er treetops tall and rushes sere and bent And herd-boy brown with willow-whistle dry Shrills out his tunes through the lone meadow sent Then fill mine eyes to blindness there for I — Give me but music and I rest content. Ill MIDNIGHT AT SEA. Tall rise the mighty masts, while ashen sails, Distended by the fast increasing breeze Throw ghostly shades upon the heaving seas ; The glittering moon alternate shines and pales And fraught with ancient echoes of the gales The cordage sighs, like wind-swept forest trees ; And then with one long swerve the vessel frees Her form from all the shadows, as she scales A giant steep, while down the moonlight pours ; And on and on the myriad billows roll In endless race across the pulsing deeps, Until at last where far Australia sleeps, Each wave falls headlong on the sandy shores Like a spent runner sinking at the goal. 112 THE SPINNING DERVISH. He wears a turban round his head And on his feet are pointed shoes, While from his waist a skirt outspread Such as the tawny Arabs use Describes a circle from his hips And rustles like a lady's fan^ His teeth gleam whitely 'twixt his lips — The silent Oriental man. Then slow he turns from left to right His arms outstretched, long, lean and browned By suns that on Sahara smite. And round and round and round and round He moves in circles slow unfurled From where his journey first began, Like dust upon the desert whirled The silent Oriental man. t 8 113 Round, round and round, my eyes grow dim ; His whirling figure seems to change. The very earth goes round with him Forsooth I but this is passing strange, A broken glimpse of twisting heels And ornaments of beaten brass, I catch, as round the Dervish reels While one by one the minutes pass. The half-hour wanes ; and on he spins With hands uplifted, clenched and still, A mighty maze of outs and ins Impelled by weird fanatic will. In cloudless skies the far sun burns And shadows lengthen by a span. While round and round and round he turns The silent Oriental man. So are we all from God's right hand Sent spinning into boundless space, And when upright we cannot stand Death comes and thus we lose our place. Spin, spin, ye mortals, I can smile. Remembering this primeval plan Watching with steady gaze meanwhile The silent Oriental man. t • 114 THE MEN OF THE SHOVEL AND PICK. The last tie was laid on the highway of steel And fastened the last shining rail ; The long parallels stretched away to the west On a road-bed of gravel and shale ; And round by a curve was an onlooking crowd, Where an arm was uplifted to strike, While glistened below in the sun's dying rays, The head of a solid gold spike. There was sparkle of wine as they drove the spike home And eloquence thrilling to feel ; The hand-clasp of continents almost it seemed This masculine gripping of steel ; But over it all swept a whirling of wraiths As of snow-flakes foregathering thick, Dim forms of forgotten ones, brawny, un- couth, The men of the shovel and pick. "5 Red-shirted, shag-bearded, and hairy of chest As Hercules rugged and strong, They loomed like the heroes tense-muscled and stark That up from Mythology throng, And all else faded out as the mist does at dawn While the clouds lifted, fold upon fold. And tinged by the sunset, and framed in its rays A vision of battle unrolled. For I saw a wide desert of alkali gray Where the dews never gladdened the plain. Where no plant save the cactus uplifted its leaves And no drop ever fell of the rain ; Yet here were these men in the pitiless sun, In the stifling and dust-laden air. With their shovels and picks that were bran- dished on high By knotted arms, sunburned and bare. And I saw them again in the cold autumn rain When the merciless desert was passed, Saw them face the sharp sleet and enveloping snows In the storm-wake down-following fast ; ii6 But they faltered not, failed not, nor looked they behind As those who grow weary and sore, For each man was a knight and the weapons he had Were the shovel and pick that he bore. And I saw them once more, when their eyes had beheld The Pacific's blue density roll. And their lips were unclosed with the eagerness then Of a runner who bends to the goal ; And from out of the ages an echo uprose Far-reaching and drifted to me, A shout from the dust, call it dust if you will, Of ^* Thalassa, Thalassa, the sea 1 1" So I give not a thought to the spike of pure gold That finished the highway of steel. Since the noblest is highest, not metal but men, And stamped with humanity's seal ; And larger they loom, and still faster they come As the snow-flakes foregathering thick. While I feel as I gaze that the last shall be first, These men of the shovel and pick. 117 ECCE SIGNUM. The wealth of Croesus one had gained, One told his ancient line ; Another honors high attained — They died, and made no sign. One yielded life his friend to save, A beggar one did dine ; One sang a song to free the slave — They died, but made the sign. Oh, thou whose memory is the cross, And crown of thorns divine ; Dear Christ, let me not know that loss To die, and make no sign. ii8 THE BAR SINISTER. There was a cruel king in olden times Long, long ago, and like a subtle web, His castle lay with drawbridge and with moat, Portcullises, and sombre donjon keep ; And he, like some mailed spider, kept aloof Till strangers came, wayfarers passing by, And then he lured them to his inner halls And kept them close in stern captivity. So once there came a knight of goodly port A youthful knight, and singing as he rode, And past the gloomy castle would have spurred, Had not the king, Ah I cunning were his ways, Sent forth a seneschal in armor dressed Of inlaid gold, who bade the knight to pause, Until the message from the castle gates Had been delivered and an answer given. 119 And thus began the wily seneschal ^* My king doth send his greeting, and he says, ^* That so ye come within his castle walls # '* And enter in his service, so ye shall ** Be leader of his knights, and glory reap " Such as no leader yet of high renown, '^ Hath ever topp'd ; not Lion-Heart himself, **The black-faced Richard, shall be peer of thine." I And said the listening knight with mien un- moved ** I enter not within thy liege's walls." Then back returned the stately seneschal And after him came out a wrinkled sage. Some dark magician of those feudal days — And heaped were both his palms with jewels rare, Lone diamonds that held the steely flash Of winter moonlight on a naked sword, Emeralds as green as dense, unsounded seas. And redder than the stain of roses bruised Yea ! ruddier than January's sun. Rubies he held, and sapphires too were there That paled and gleamed alternate to the sight. And quoth the ancient one, " Behold I bring *' All these and more, with countless hoards of gold ** For thee intact, an thou wilt come with me ** To serve my king, who waits thy gracious word/' And said the listening knight in cold disdain *^ I enter not within thy liege's walls.'' Then to the castle, lingering went the sage While back returned to greet the waiting knight, A woman of such presence that she seemed Akin to that famed Helen of the Greeks, Whom nations battled for in days agone ; For tall was she, and graceful as an elm And robed in white, with lilies at her throat, Wind-blown her hair, that like a torrent fell Full to her feet, a cataract of bronze ; And in her eyes the lights and shadows changed Of languor and of quick intelligence. While every feature was all womanly And beautiful beyond perfection's charm. Her arms were bare, and smooth as ivory While at her side she placed a silver harp, And over all its strings her fingers ran As light as thought, and following music came Like running water, blent with plaintive winds ; And sweet it was, and powerful and strange, As when one rises from a bed of boughs. And stands at midnight under solemn stars Listening alone, and hears the breezes thrill With nameless chords the silence of the trees ; And when she sang the passion of her voice Rang clear and high, then melted into tears. And thus she gave her message to the knight *^ If in thy gramercy thou seest fit **To serve my liege, my father, and our land ** Lo 1 I am thine, and king thou 'It be in time *' With all the store of treasure promised thee, *^ And high renown, as said the seneschal ; ** Wealth, glory, love, all, all is offered thee." And said the listening knight with scornful smile *' I enter not within thy liege's walls." 122 And slowly back, the princess castlewards Her steps retraced, and brought his answer there ; Whereat the king's grim forehead wrinkled deep The while he gave the mandate ** Let him pass." But at the dawn, the curious seneschal Upon the highway, where the knight had paused, Did early search, and where the cavalier Had made dismount to tighten saddle girths, He found a sign that blanched his swarthy cheek, The print of cloven hoofs upon the sands. 123 THE PRODIGALS. When the roses of summer were budding and blooming And the yellow wheat bent 'neath its burden of gold, The Prodigal Son came, world-weary and tattered, To the home where his footsteps had echoed of old. And they clung to his garments with tears and caresses, Till the cup of his welcome ran over with And the flowers of love and forgiveness were woven In a blossoming crown for the Prodigal Boy. 124 When the icicles hung from the eaves and the branches^ And the winter winds moaned round the dwellings of men, Forsaken and homeless, the Prodigal Daughter Crept back to the home of her girlhood But they turned her away in the storm and the darkness To the icy-cold winds with their chill, piercing breath. And the pitiless curses that followed her footsteps Were fierce as the tempest and cruel as death ! 125 DEAR HEART, SWEET HEART. Dear heart, sweet heart, your baby hands Have touched and passed this floating world, Have loosed their hold on life's frail strands And now upon your breast lie furled Twin blossoms of eternal peace, Like lilies on untroubled streams. When the rude winds have made surcease And summer's glory drifts and dreams. Dear heart, sweet heart, your waxen lips Shall never touch my cheek again, For they are steeped in an eclipse Which lies beyond my mortal ken ; And that great sphinx of death who keeps His silent vigil over all. Has left your face as one who sleeps — Save for the bosom's rise and fall. 126 Dear heart, sweet heart, your tender eyes With all their depths of wondering. Are closed for aye ; as droops and dies The first sweet violet bank of spring ; And their far look of thought unthought Shall never come again, or be. Since this remorseless change was wrought, That closed the gates 'twixt thee and me. Dear heart, sweet heart, the lonely way Seems doubly steep since you are gone, The dawn has faded out of day, The rose has faded out of dawn ; And I, alas, must needs go down My hand unclasped by any child. To wear the Cross without the crown And walk through life unreconciled. Dear heart, sweet heart, 'mid hopes and fears I bend and kiss you, thus, and thus ; Mine eyes are dim with brimming tears My lips with grief are tremulous ; My baby boy — that you should die And out into the darkness go, Beyond my broken-hearted cry, I loved you so, I loved you so. 127 THE CHRISTIAN. There was a tawny woman of the sands Lithe-limbed and rounded, and who moved at ease With sinuous grace as some wild leopardess On desert wilds ; and black her piercing eyes As the great vulture's of the snowy peaks, Who all day long hung pendent in the clouds And watched the lazy caravans pace by. And whiles there came a traveller in those ways And sat him down beside the desert well. Ate the dry dates and cooled his parching lips And told strange tales of a mysterious God Who ruled the world, and taught the willing stars. To whirl submissive in their orbits round ; And sang his praises with inspiring voice Till in the breast of this lone creature leaped A pulsing flame of hope that flickered up As dawn's faint tapers light unwilling skies. 128 Over her troubled fancy then there came A vague outreaching of awakened life, And filled with helpful longing for her kind, She left the green oasis of her youth And traversed many a mile of burning sands, Until the gates of pagan cities loomed Before her pathway menacing and barCo And entering in, with rapt, transfigured face, She spent her days and sacrificed her nights Until at length, the pagan language learned, With eager lips she told the Christian creed. The love of God, the spotless life of Christ, Faith, hope, and charity, and tenderness. And when the pagans made a holiday They gave her to the lions for her pains. 129 AS FOR ME, I HAVE A FRIEND. Let the sower scatter seed Where the crumbling furrows blend ; Let the churchman praise his creed The beginning and the end ; As for me, I have a friend. Does the sun forget to shine And the wind blow sere and chill ? Does the cluster leave the vine, And the ice begird the rill ? I shall rest contented still. Must the rose be stripped of leaf When the waning June has passed ? Shall an autumn voice its grief In the lorn November blast > What of that, a friend will last. 130 Why should I, then, make complaint To the days that round me roll ? She my missal is, and saint. Clad in womanhood's white stole, She, the keeper of my soul. Not love's chalice to my lips, Not that bitter draught she brings. Which as Hybla's honey drips And like bosomed asp-worm stings, No 1 she tells of happier things. Simple friendship. Just that much To enfold me as a strand Of her hair might ; and the touch Of a gracious, welcoming hand That I grasp, and understand. Let death ope or lock his gate Let the lilies break or bend, And the iron will of fate Sorrows now or fortune send, As for me, I have a friend. 131 IN PASSING. Through halls whose carven panels held A host of cherubim, Up stairways wide I wandered on Through curtained vistas dim, And ever as my footsteps came By alcove, hall and stair, A myriad mirrors started up And caught my shadow there. Sometimes my profile paled and sank A smile upon my lips. Sometimes a blur my features were Swift darkening to eclipse ; But following as these figures fled Faint ghosts of grayish gleams — I walked beside, as one who walks Companioned in his dreams. 132 Oh I winding years that round my path Like mirrors flash and pass, Once, always, do you hold for me The wraith within the glass ; Some night or day, some star or sun (As what should say, ** Beware !'') Reveals in your dead seasons' flight My shadow passing there. 133 FOAM-WRAITHS AND DRIFTWOOD. THE SEA. Like some lone, wild creature that paces all day, Back and forth behind bars in its dumb, strong wish to be free. So paces forever all haggard and gray. On its earth-bound shores, the mysterious soul of the sea. All through the night, when silvery moon and stars Gleam from their heights above, on the restless waters below, And all day long, still beating against its bars, Surges the might of the Ocean in endless ebb and flow. Ebb and flow, in a mournful ceaseless pacing, Shaking its barriers firm, with tireless, tremulous hands. And its steps in sadness tracing and slowly retracing On prison floors of pallid and shifting sands. 137 DERELICT. Unheeded from the main-top mast Her fluttering pennon sweeps ; The anchor from the cat-head hangs No hand the tiller keeps ; No sailors man her creaking yards No storms her ways restrict, As on through wastes of billowy seas She wanders, derelict. Her skipper is old Boreas Her master is the sea ; No shout across the plunging waves May reach to such as she ; And woe to that unhappy wretch Who signals her to save, For she is naught but passionless And passive as the grave. 138 For her the vast and briny deep That still unceasing rolls, The veering change of time and tide The tropics, and the poles ; What recks she now of welcoming port Or voyage yet to be ? What boots the cry of "• Ship ahoy'' To vagrants of the sea ? Alike to her the seasons pass With sunlight or with snow^ Alike to her are dusk and dawn, And refluent ebb and flow. Of rain or shine she recketh not Nor scent of pine or palm, And one to her the miracles Of hurricane and calm. No hope is centred in her fate No souls upon her sail, Companioned only by the winds That through her rigging trail, For her no hands are clasped in prayer Nor anxious eyes bedimmed. As black against the moon's bright disc Her sombre spars are limned. 139 But light and shade shall still be hers The white wake off to lee — Pale starlight, and a myriad stars Night-etched upon the sea, And in her shrouds the wind will sing And sea-birds round her play, As dumbly on her questless quest She follows day by day. And they who for her cargo seek Will track the seas in vain ; Will plough the wave, but never reap, A harvest from the main ; For her tall masts the lookout keen In vain the skies will scan. Abandoned — she shall know no more The tyranny of man. But with the wind and wave and foam In freedom will she toss, And spread her canvas to the breeze As some great albatross ; And proudly shall her dark prow dip As courtiers bend the knee To greet their sovereign, as she greets, Her sovereign lord, the sea. 140 And thus a wraith, a mote, a speck, In watery solitudes, She sails, and hears the siren song Of ocean's circe-moods ; For neither home nor harbor bound Naught shall her course restrict. While, like men's souls in worlds to come She wanders, derelict. 141 AN ETCHING. I STOOD Upon a stretch of sandy shore, Around me hung the shadows of the night, The rising tide came creeping o'er the beach. Far out along the mighty ocean fell The garments of the dusk, fold after fold, And through the ebon barriers on high The stars looked down upon a sleeping world ,• Fresh from the waves a rich sea-incense came Salt-sweet and pure, and drifted idly past. To wander in the midst of distant woods. Where violets and sweet wood-flowers grew. Then from the darkling seas the moon rose up. Up from unsounded depths and lay across The black expanse of waters like a shield ; And suddenly upon its pallid sheen A ship was etched, in clear-cut, stately lines, And seemed to hang, a picture in the sky. 142 With sails all spread, with pennant far out- stretched, Spars, masts and rigging, all in form exact. Held for a moment in a silver disc Etched by the wayward touch of flitting chance. So for an instant did I see it thus And then it vanished, quickly as a dream, Dropped from its shining frame to nothingness From shadows born to shadow-land returned. So men are etched upon the glass of fate ; So gleams and vanishes the ship of life. 143 DROWNED. Far in the folds of the pitiless deeps Where dense blue waters in silence go Back and forth as the tide-wave sweeps In the dusky vaults of the sea below, With his hair blown out in streaming strands And the film of death on his strange set eyes, A bit of plank in his tight-clenched hands, A sailor stretched in his slumber lies. Never a prayer or a burial hymn For one whose grave is the restless deep, Where waves roll on through the arches dim And shadows over the billows creep Back and forth in a ceaseless race. As ebbs and flows the wandering tide, The pallid stare of a fixed, white face. And nerveless arms that are flung aside. 144 And never a sound can reach him there From the blue sea's breast or its outmost rim, A sweetheart's cry or a mother's prayer Never can touch or awaken him ; And Gabriel's trump on the last dark day, Will call in vain from its briny bed. The sailor's soul, for it rests for aye With the uncalled souls mid the Ocean's dead. 10 145 THE MERMAID'S SONG. In ocean reefs my home lies hid, And dark sea shadows o'er me Wind in and out the waves amid Or stand in gloom before me : Till, drifting down upon the deep Comes day, a message bringing That wakes the billows from their sleep And sets the shells to singing. I know the inner haunts of caves That line the rocky reaches, I know the secrets of the waves That break on lonely beaches ; I hear the waters come and go As far the ocean ranges. And listen to the ebb and flow That mark the pale moon's changes. 146 For me the rocks where sea-weed clings Like winding wreaths of laurel, Where spectral music rolls and rings Through shining groves of coral, For me the spell of weaving hands For me the meadows vernal, Where mermaids dance in mystic bands To ocean's chant eternal. 147 FALSE CHORDS. I LISTEN, but I listen all in vain, Amid the jangle of be-ribboned lyres (The which our modern poets strum upon.) For some heart-note, some echo of great thoughts To thrill me and uplift me like the breath Of sudden brine from out old ocean's breast, Fresh-dashing in my face a kiss of dawn. But so it is, that all I hear — good God, Is art, art, art, and sickly plaintive runes Of flowers, birds, and lovelorn serenades, In cunning form, fine moulded for the ear. Frail word-mosaics of these lesser days ; Or failing that, there comes a mystic chant Of dense, dull verse, whose secret lies gloom. Swathed like a mummy in his cerements. 148 And these are nothing but false chords, 1 know ; For true-born singers smite Apollo's harp With something of the spirit of a god, And give their very life-blood to the song. Oh, muse of mine, let not my lyre sound To such vain pipings ; grant its varied moods A touch of tears — a voice of nature's own As lucid, and as free and undefiled ; And give it steel, and iron, like the strength Of clashing sabres and of bayonets And black-mouthed cannon, wreathed in thun- der clouds. Whose music rolls a menace o'er the skies Where earth is shaking to the tread of Mars. 149 THE SEVENTH DAUGHTER. The seventh daughter paced the shore Nor star nor moon was there in heaven, But boom of breakers and the roar Of thunder, and the lightning's levin, The sea leaped up and landw^ard bore And she was last was born of seven. The dank grass bent beneath the blast And far and near were whitecaps flying, And storm-blown sea-birds as they passed Discordant through the night were crying. And on the reefs with broken mast A shattered ship, broached-to, was lying. Now bring the spell of weaving hands Of weaving hands and woven paces, Of magic, and air-plaited strands Of wimpled locks round elvish faces, While down along the dripping sands The white-maned surf-host romps and races. A rocket lights the sullen skies With one red flash of flame-elation, And slowly o'er the billows dies A cannon's dull reverberation, With never ending fall and rise Of w^ave on w^ave in swift rotation. They lash the women to the spars The rough reef grinds, the good ship lunges, Above the bars and round the bars The ocean gathers, rises, plunges. And through the crushed and splintered scars The green brine soaks as into sponges. Go get you gone of seventh birth Your arts and spells no respite gave them. Nor prayers indeed were aught of worth Since that the deep-sea forces crave them, And naught of all that rests on earth Or sits above has power to save them. The seventh daughter paced the shore The dawn had come, the storm was riven, Six sisters had she now no more Six souls had passed to hell or heaven, The sea was level as a floor And she was last was born of seven. 151 WHITE CAPS. Over the cool green wall of waves advancing Glistens a crested line of feathery foam, Till along the beach the billows scatter, glanc- ing A mist of spray as over the waters comb ; Then fades the white-capped crest all slowly sinking Where silent, shadowy sands are ever drinking, drinking. Into the sunlight's gleam a gray gull flashes Into the salt-sea air on buoyant wing. High above where the prisoned sea incessant dashes — Poises just for an instant, wavering, Veers to the right, and then its vague flight shifting. Falls to the waves, and with the waves goes drifting, drifting. 152 Over the sea^ miles out, a ship is riding. Threading the ocean paths with oaken keel, And under her bow the baffled waves are sliding As over her sails the rising breezes steal, And in her wake a foamy track is lying As northward far she sails still flying, flying. And in my heart and soul a voice is ringing Like Circe's voice, and saying unto me, I am a voice immortal ever singing The glory and the sorrow of the sea ; Whose waves like human feet press on forever, Whose soul like human souls is happy never, never. ^S3 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. Where the tide crept up in a stealthy way By the reefs and hollows of Table Bay, The dwellings rude of the Dutchmen lay. And the night approached with a sign of storm For the winds blew cold and the winds blew warm, And cloud-rack high in the skies would form. And far to the right in the lone cape's lee A vessel surged in the wallowing sea. And the white-caps gleamed and the winds rose free. 'T was the brig that carried the Holland mails Through the summer's calm or the winter gales And her pennant streamed o'er her tawny sails. A giant she was in a giant's grip For the dark seas clung to the struggling ship And the salt brine down from the shrouds did drip. '54 And her sails were wet with the glancing spray, As she rose through the gathering darkness g^ay, And her bow was headed for Table Bay. But the sea beat back with a sodden force The Dutchman's ship in its wandering course, And the thunder's mockery bellowed hoarse. And a woman waited beside a tree In the moan of the winds and the branches dree. For a letter to come that night by sea. Then shouted the mate to the skipper there **Turn back," so sounded his trumpet's blare, *' Or our seams will split and our masts stand bare." But Vanderdecken drew his blade And the steely sheen that its flashing made Struck light from the all-surrounding shade, And his anger stood in his bristling hair, While his furious sword-stroke smote the air, As he stood alone in defiance there. And he swore to weather the stubborn gale With its rattling volleys of icy hail, If it stripped from the masts each tattered sail. 155 And to beat around for that very bay, And where was the one who could say him nay — *' By God ! if he sailed till the judgment day." Then the mist grew dense and the lightning flashed And a red bolt down on the tree-top crashed Where a woman stood by the shore, sea-lashed. And the thunder tolled in the blackening clouds And the waves swept by in hurrying crowds, And a wan light paled in the creaking shrouds. While a scream came by from the far-off shore, That was hushed and drowned by the mad waves' roar, And the vessel passed and was seen no more. And now on that self-same fateful night If the seas be calm and the skies are bright, The ocean giveth a mystic sight. For a shadow-ship in a shadow-frame Looms out at twelve through the moonlight's flame Passing as suddenly as it came. And a whisper thrills through the salt-sweet breeze, While a heart-throb stirs in the moving seas, And the tide fast out to the ocean flees. And a fine wind stirs in the tree-top high That ghostly stands in the starlit sky, And a sound wells up like a woman's sigh. But when on that night the clouds turn black And the huge waves follow the storm-king's track And the skies are heavy with tempest-wrack, Why then is seen, as a spectre gray Mid the shimmering mist and lightning-play A vessel headed for Table Bay. And the ship, like a lover, keeps her troth To her skipper's pledge — 'twas a pledge for both — And the wild winds echo the Dutchman's oath. And a wraith waits there by the haunted tree While the storm wails on, and the wind blows free. For a letter which comes not in from sea. 157 COLOMBO. One day in August, fourteen ninety-two, So long ago in an old port of Spain, Where reared the skies an arc of deepest blue And summer's glories had begun to wane, In Ferdinand and Isabella's reign Three ships sailed out upon a fateful quest, Borne far across upon a watery plain By blandest winds against their rigging pressed, The creaking spars outspread, and prows toward the west. And Palos in the distance faded out The moss-grown quay, the grayish olive trees. And changing groups that slowly moved about Seen dimly o'er the track of sprayey seas. While churches, masts, and towers, even these At length were gone and only echoing bells Borne faintly on the pinions of the breeze. Came stealing softly o'er the heaving swells And fell upon their hearts like sound of ghostly knells. 158 And all before was a lone waste immense Far seas unsounded and as yet unsailed, And shrouded in a mystery as dense As fabled Isis in her temple veiled, Yet fared they forth by storm and wave assailed While stretched the glistening canvas as they passed, And up aloft the listless pennants trailed, When dreamy calm the deep green waters glassed And wiiite, still clouds above in the clear heavens massed. Gone was the sailor's song and cheery smile As steadily they drifted day by day, For journeying on, each home-dividing mile Seemed as a hand that put them far away ; For superstition held them in its sway ; And ignorance, and passion, but the man Whose granite will was mightier than they Still held his carved, black bowsprit in the van And under stars and sun the restless surge would scan. For he was oak and iron, and he stood Among them like a lion while his air Had all the stern, unbending hardihood Of those who have done battle with despair ; 159 Long had he known of penury and care, Neglect and disappointment and disdain Yet kept the courage that could do and dare, And dauntless here through tempest, wind and rain Bore westward with his sullen crews across the main. And as they sailed sharp cloud peaks were un- furled In airy space where swam the dying sun, And seemed reflections of their promised world As rose the flame tipped summits, one by one, And then would fall the twilight's mantle dun With twinkling stars and weirdest moonlight glow, Where broken clouds along the skies would run And night-winds through the straining ropes would blow While lapped and lapped again the waters far below. And gleamed the myriad foam-streaks in their wake Pale, feathery spume, by w^andering sea-birds crossed, i6o That melted as would melt a fragile flake, Of winter snows when in an eddy tossed, And sometimes level seas by sunlight glossed Basked idly where the idle vessels lay Within an ocean-desert's vagueness lost, While westward still stood out the vasty gray That changed not, save for weary change of night and day. But on a sudden instant to their sight The western world, a mystery no more. In emerald tints of freshest verdure bright Rose through the mist, the long, long-looked for shore ; Past the hoarse tumult of the breakers' roar Where tufted palms shot upward from the grass Casting their shade the shell-strewn beaches o'er While glittered fiery sands like burnished brass. With swinging flowery vines by pool and dank morass. I sing the gallant spirit of the man Colombo, he of Genoa, who drave His carved and blackened bowsprit in the van Of that wild journey o'er the trackless wave, II i6i To find a continent or fill a grave, Under the shadows of the western skies ; Who all his years to one grand purpose gave, And looking out from his high soul's surmise Saw with a prophet's gaze though through a dreamer's eyes. 162 POLPERRO. f PoLPERRO — it lies where the Cornish Cliffs whiten Sheer heights that flash up in the light of the sun, And below each grave peak that looms huge as a Titan The tides and the tidal sweep shimmering run, The tides and the tidal sweep, green, briny water That pours over sands where the singing shells be, The gray, pallid sands that turn hotter and hotter In the grasp of the sun by the shores of the sea. Oh I sun, there are depths where thy lambent rays never Strike, quiver or bask over lustreless sands, 163 Where the light and the shade shall not meet, shall not sever As the yearning of hearts or unclasping of hands ; Where the gulf-stream glides onward through emerald crystal And ripple there is none to ruffle the deep, Where not even the wail of the storm-laden mistral Disturbs the repose of the waters that sleep. And forever and ever the lone sail shall glisten And forever the fishers go down to the sea, And the drear nights shall come when the fisher-wives listen (The light on the sill and the wind in the tree.) The light on the sill and the stars in the hazes That leadenly drift in the lowering skies, While the salt spray that beats on each pale face that gazes Sharp, stingingly sharp through the wind- spaces flies. 164 And or ever or never the fisher finds haven And the tear will be dried by the kiss on the lips, The ripe, ruddy lips where the prayer-words were graven In the darkness and storm for the weather- worn ships ; And a child will croon low where a south wind shall blow you A sweet breath of daisies from far inland lea, And a long shred of sunlight shall smilingly throw you A kiss from the sea. i6S HAUD A WEE MY WILLIE. Light o' heart and careless hand Siller nane nor yet o' land Save the wee bit beach o' sand Haud a wee my Willie. Wha shall tak' his empty seat In the life-boat, thro' the weet, When the ragin' billows beat, Haud a wee my Willie. Never he did danger shirk Light o' day or glowVin' mirk, Bared his breast to face the work, Haud a wee my Willie. Foremost hand to launch the boat Knotted kerchief at his throat, Whis'lin' like the plover's note, Haud a wee my Willie. i66 Fathoms deep he 's lyin' now Sea-weed matted on his brow, Where the winds the waters plough, Haud a wee my Willie. Nane to heed o' joy or bliss Nane to ken nor yet to miss, Mither's warnin' — sweetheart's kiss, Haud a wee my Willie. 167 OFF PELICAN POINT. Straight out from the rocky headland, I swim in the soft moonshine, The air is heavy with shadows The shadows are drenched in brine, And the salt-sweet savor and flavor Thrills keen through my veins like wine. The chant of the shoreward breakers Beats up to the cliffs above, As restless in rhyme and rhythm As the tide it whispers of. And the sea-weed folds me and holds me Like the arms of her I love. The stark waves break at my shoulder The spray is tart on my lips, A long swell looms in the foreground Then back to the rearward slips, And the echoings hollow follow Where the great sea rolls and dips. 1 68 Low plaints of the pulsing water Faint chords from the under sea, Cool winds through the strands of starlight That glitter away to lee, And the twilight ringing and singing ' Are the sounds that come to me. The track of the floating moonlight Half beckoning lures me on, As though it led to the harbor Where the home-bound souls have gone, And its ghostly glimmer and shimmer As a dead man's face is wan. I lie on the sad sea's bosom Or with swift stroke cleaving pass. Where foam-crests tipped by the star-shine Stand high in a fluffy mass, And the billows down under sunder Over depths as green as glass: With stars in the skies to lend me Far glints from a world divine, I toss as a careless swimmer And the deep-sea joys are mine. Forgetting to borrow sorrow Throat-deep in the buoyant brine. » 169 The boom of the surf behind me And the crag's sharp lines above, Fade out and in God's wide heaven Peace broods as a nesting dove, And the waters fold me and hold me Like the arms of her I love. 170 OFF GEORGES BANKS. Off Georges Banks the sun went down In crimson splendor gleaming, As. past the bar a vessel sailed With graceful pennant streaming ; And in her wake across the blue A stormy petrel flew. Then from their ambush crept the winds To wake each sleeping billow ; And in their grasp the strong masts shook Like slender twigs of willow, And struck by whips of foaming spray The good ship bore away. Through darkling clouds the lightning clove A jagged path asunder ; And in the gloomy vaults o'erhead Deep rolled the sullen thunder ; While high above unnumbered graves Up leaped the hungry waves. 171 Gray rose the dawn ; and dreamily, As though 'twixt sleep and waking ; Low lapped the waves, as on the rocks Their long, green lines were breaking ; And in the changing sky afar, Paled out a single star. Then seaward from the lonely reefs The sun came up all slowly, His first beams touched a white, white face, Among the seaweed lowly, A dead face lashed to floating planks Drowned there — off Georges Banks. 172 ADRIFT. A FRAIL, rude raft^ wave-tossed on midnight • seas ; Three shadow-spars across the moon's gold glow — A ragged shape that rose from bended knees And cried ^* Sail ho l" 173 THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE. I. Where Arctic currents curl and flash And death prowls over wastes of snow, Where giant icebergs sway and crash Into the chilling depths below, The Northwest passage spectral stands And beckons men to Polar lands. H. A ruined hut, an empty chest ; A blackened remnant of a sail ; — A tattered record tells the rest While northern winds in dirges wail ; And from the icebergs cold tears drip Upon a crushed and rotting ship. 174 A BOTTLE. I. In a cabin locker for many a year A bottle lay ; And whether the weather was fair and clear Or whether the Ocean was rough and gray, The bottle had nothing to care or fear ; Yet the ship was an iron oaken mass And the other was nothing but brittle glass — A bottle. II. Where the billows rose highest the storm-king flew Over the sea ; And the waters foamed and the wild winds blew, While the mad waves tossed in a whirling glee. And all that was left of a ship and crew Came, bringing its message with silent lips Of the perils of those who go down in ships — A bottle. 175 MY CHAPTER. THE BURNING OF THE SHIPS. I. Where pillars stood with roses garlanded And rhythmic music, rising, rose and fell, And many faces turned enquiring gaze A man and woman met. Like ship to ship That crash together and recoil and drift In watery wastes and darkness, so their souls Felt the rebound ; and lifting up their eyes Overshadowed like a hand with wonderment, Each looked across, and in their thoughts arose The inward spoken question, *' Who art thou ?" Then hand met hand and evermore the sense Grew, as a rose of that companionship Which flaunts the petal while it hides the thorn ; For fate, which found them in that one first glance. Held them apart, and, like the Barmecide Brought nothing and yet bade them eat and drink ; And heart to heart came following afterwards As bud will follow blossom. 179 This is true — Each man and woman has a counterpart, A twin-born soul which wanders up and down Seeking its mate ; and whether such have been As comrades in another world than this, I know not ; ask the Sibyl, but I know These two were for each other. So days went by to blend with starry nights And midnights paled and trembled into dawn, And gathering fast with still intensity As snows come crowding to an avalanche, So all their hopes came silently and sure To touch, and cross, and mingle, and be one. There may be much in silence ; most of all The silence of strong natures ; as an oak Half century old will breathless stand and wait Through listless summer days, nor move a leaf Until the storm awakes it, when it flings Rough branches to the winds and every root And limb and fibre quivers in the gale. So was it with these two. No word of love Had left their lips, and comrades they had seemed By many a stretch of sombre woods and sere, i8o By many a mile of wave-encircled sands, By many a field of swallow-haunted grass ; And they had walked the city streets and ways And made no sign, and heard no warning voice. II. There was a night, I think a night of nights, Dim lit with little stars, there was no moon, Wild winds across the darkness, and a note Of Neptune's horn beside the lonely sea ; And these twain passed together, and the flight Of breezes riotous and whirling leaves Went northward high above them, and a glint Of cloudy starlight flecked the distant sky. And somewhere in the lapses of the storm, Somewhere within the hollows of the dusk A sudden silence blossomed, and these two Solving the riddle of their lives at last Turned, with a wordless message on the lips. And like to those who have been parted long Clung fast to one another and were glad. There was no speech nor promises nor tears But soul to soul their higher being met As current meets with current where a stream Gains in its height and steadily flows on. Nor was there doubt nor lesser sense of fear, And star by star the constellations came To sleep along the waters ; and the leaves, The dry, dead leaves that lay across their path Rustled and stirred, and overhead the trees Made mighty moan because it came to pass. And yet, and yet if custom had her say Or sterner still that harsh dame Precedent, Doubt not these two did wrongly ; for the world Sees, spectacled with envy and distrust, And ever looking downward ; But indeed. Love's light keeps bright the windows of the soul And these knew neither evil nor dismay, Because, forsooth, a law ruled so and so A custom this, a principle thus much, But simply said, ^* Thy hand and mine inwove There is not that which comes 'twixt me and thee." I question not of usage nor of creed. And care not, lacking that subservience Which doffs the hat to mediocrity And worships still the outward shell of things ; 182 For there are times and trials when the mind Can reckon not by means of rule and rote, But with its present doubts enstranded round Must cut the gordian knot and doubt no more. And so they made their compact and were wise, And burned the ships behind them as they passed Like those old hardy Norsemen when they came To shores unconquered, and thus new and strange. And hand in hand they wandered on and on And heart with heart they vanished from my sight. And soul to soul I doubt not now they stand Upon the heights that further inland lie. Those happier heights, free-stretching and remote Where bloom the lilies of the dawn and shine Midsummer suns on grassy slopes and green. 183 MY LADY OF LILIES. She with her serious moods, and her moods fantastic, Whimsical, various, sad and glad, a woman, in just a word, Now with a tender tone and again with a tone sarcastic By passion and impulse swayed as the deep sea depths are stirred, But I love her, and under her touch my soul grows plastic And just to think of her stills my heart and my eyes are blurred. For God's best work after all at the best was woman Judge her and test her and note her faults, no doubt you can, But indeed, as the world's page reads she is yet more human Loving and faithful and more forgiving than lesser man, 184 And ever since Adam the natures of men were common, Mere quartz, where as veined and virgin gold her finer nature ran. Oh ! Lady of Lilies, and mine by the one word spoken Mine when the gathering snowflakes fall or when roses bloom, Mine by the fiat of fate and the silence broken Mine through the days, or nights that the northern lights illume, I wear the thorns, I kiss the flowers, and accept the token And her face is the one bright thread in my life's dull loom. The seasons come and they go with the dead leaves falling The springtide sinks in the summer, the blossom forsakes the bee. And autumn comes with a purple wand the woods enthralling Till the winds from the north find harbor by the shores of a wintry sea, But season and season and change on change one voice is calling And an echo catches it up and brings it back to me. 185 I go my way and the way is steep, the way is lonely But the breeze blows fresh and the long long miles can never tire, And the erstwhile shadows that rose, in the dust are lying pronely While my hands are stretched to her in a keen, untold desire, Oh 1 Lady of mine, my own, whose love re- deems me only, Passionate, pure as the coldest star, and with heart of fire. , i86 KISMET. I TOSSED her picture on the coals Against the black-log glowing red, And snaky flames, Medusa-like Coiled and uncoiled about her head, And lo 1 the insensate card-board lived The fire had set its spirit free, And lovingly her fair v^hite arms Rose up to clasp and cling to me. And when the picture blackened lay, Upon its film a profile true, Unrolled in hazy silhouette Then darted up the chimney's flue, And where above the ashes gray A blue flame-bubble seemed to float, I straightway saw her face again A bunch of violets at her throat. 187 Oh I nevermore may I be freed From this her presence ; 't is too late. ** Bismillah I " so the Moslem cries And I the Christian, echo ^* Fate I '' I raze her image from my heart I put away her voice — and she — Comes back to where our pathways met And walks the journey's end with me. iSS DE MI AMIGO. For you the fig and olive shine The green leaf spreads and waters run, With scarlet banners of the vine And gleam of lizard in the sun, For me the leafless tree and black, The iron w^eight of winter's ire, And some cold meteor's baleful track That sails beyond a wake of fire. To you shall come the glint of seas Blue-dappled in the glance of dawn, With threads of many a languid breeze Through warp and woof of leaf-looms drawn, To me Decembers steely mail That armors all the lakes and streams, And far-off skies that are as pale As some dead spring time's crocus gleams. 189 What I will you tempt me with the thought Of living summer, I who stand Where every sunbeam glistens taut Ice-girdled in this northern land ? Nor leaf, nor bud, nor blossom's glow Hath 'scaped the storm king s icy clutch, To lend above the barren snow Some hope or hint of April's touch. Your phrase of soft Castilian sung Shall lull me not to dreamful sleep The hammer-stroke of Saxon tongue Alone can pass the guard I keep ; The caballero's old guitar In southern clime sounds sweet and low, But Hengist's song was aye for war — The bill, the axe, the bended bow. I yield the charm of gentler speech For most melodious interlude, Yet harsher accents still may teach A nobler meaning, grant it rude ; For who that hears a bugle call Shall tell of music more divine ; A Circe's voice, enchanting all. Made heroes level with the swine. 190 And for the light of tropic noon, The shrill cicala in the grass, The full, slow splendor of the moon, Where nights like slippered shadows pass, I send you word of frozen lanes Where clear is etched the horseshoe dint. And frost-lace on the window-panes And fields as hard as mountain flint. Yet for your friendship and its sign — The message sent — I hold them dear In sun and snow, in rain or shine, Or whether skies be dark or clear. And somewhere out from fancy sprung I keep, though wide our paths apart A Saxon word upon my tongue. Its Spanish echo in my heart. 191 BY OUR AIN FIRESIDE. 'Tis we twain, 'tis we twain By our ain fireside ; Adown the window glides the rain The embers in the ashes hide, 'Tis we twain, we twain, By our ain fireside. I know not why it seems to be So much to watch the coals with thee, So much to sit here hand in hand Near smoke-wreath dim and smouldering brand 'T is we twain. By our ain fireside. 'Tis we twain, 'tis we twain By our ain fireside ; Swart shadows flit across the pane And you and I in silence bide ; 'Tis we twain, we twain. By our ain fireside. 192 To-night this hearth-glow leaping thus Shall make a merry jest for us, For who so far apart as we ? And yet — repeat it after me, 'T is we twain, By our ain fireside. 'T is we twain, 't is we twain By our ain fireside ; I smile on you, and mocking feign That you my sweetheart are or bride, 'Tis we twain, we twain, By our ain fireside. 13 193 IN A MISSOURI ORCHARD. This is the path and this the tree Whose blossoms drink the air of May, And there the self-same meadowy sea In undulations rolls away ; And here an ancient granite stone Is in the grasses sinking low, No changes now to me are shown Save that one haunting change alone — I miss the face I used to know. I see as through* a mist of tears The summer of a golden past. And dark across the day appears The shadow that old time has cast ; Yet, hark 1 the same blithe cricket sings Down in the leaf-beds hiding low, I hear the brush of passing wings And sounds of once familiar things But miss the voice I used to know. 194 The breeze upon the languorous air Lifts the lithe branches one by one, And I and silence, silent share The glowing semi-southern sun, I see the green Missouri hills I feel the blossoms round me blow, And all my heart with longing fills As memory through my being thrills A hand-clasp that I used to know. The house upon the rise that sweeps A curve of emerald to the west, Is still the same, and dumbly keeps Its place like some deserted nest. Oh 1 hopes, that down the long days fled Oh I blossoms with your hearts of snow. Oh I death when all save me are dead, Would fate had taken me instead. And not the one I used to know. 195 A SANDAL-WOOD FAN. The fan of silk and sandal-wood That lay within her shapely hand, Moved light as any cloud-film could That idly sails o'er sea and land, While some faint breath from foreign strand Rose, languorous, as it curved and swayed, Spiced scents of burning Samarcand Telling of tropic sun and shade. The roses at her supple throat Were opening to their coming close With those deep tinges which denote The coloring of that reddest rose The Jacqueminot — while still her fan, That subtle, sensuous sandal-wood, Had drugged me with its drowsy mood Like poppy-juice of Turkestan. Her lips, her eyes, her tawny hair, Her dress of wavering velvet sheen With its pale tints of olive-green, Grew on me like a vision fair ; 196 And moved the fan as if it seemed To lull me, as I lulling dreamed, While all the air was heavy there With drifting fumes of odorous spice Which locked my senses in a vise. The actor strutting on the stage I saw^ no more — the mimic play Had faded as a moonbeam may Writ on a river's liquid page ; I saw the face of Helen then, I heard the voice of Circe sweep Across a stilled, enchanted deep, Enchaining there the hearts of men, Who had no more its charm withstood Than I the fragrant sandal-wood. And ever as she moved her wrist (A censer, scattering sandal-balm) I saw far shores by warm waves kissed. And sculptured profiles of the palm, And in my heart forebodings came, A chill — a hope — a doubt — a flame — While drooped a rose's flowering hood Under the pungent sandal-wood. 197 I FEAR NO POWER A WOMAN WIELDS. I FEAR no power a woman wields While I can have the woods and fields, With comradeship alone of gun Gray marsh-wastes and the burning sun. For aye the heart's most poignant pain Will wear away 'neath hail and rain, And rush of winds through branches bare With something still to do and dare. The lonely watch beside the shore The wild-fowl's cry, the sweep of oar. And paths of virgin sky to scan Untrod, and so uncursed by man. Gramercy, for thy haunting face, Thy charm of voice and lissome grace, I fear no power a woman wields While I can have the woods and fields. 198 IN ABSENCE. God's life, but I have missed you ; in my sleep My dreamless sleep, stone-silent and profound, I think I must have stretched my hands to you Because my waking hours do glean so much Here, there, and everywhere that tells of you. They say that 'twixt a man and woman lives No friendship such as that of man for man. ** They say " — who says ? the lying multitude, False prophets these, the followers of '* they say" And worthy not your credence, No I nor that Of any man's or woman's since the flood. I call you comrade in my thoughts of you Though you a woman be and I a man, Since by the test of true companionship You are as meet to be my friend sincere. As woman is to woman, man to man ; Have we said aught of love, unless to scoff At arch Dan Cupid, that unlucky boy Who hides his bow and arrows when we pass ? Nay ! faith, for us we '11 have no more of love Saving the love of steadfast comradeship. 199 A rose began our friendship ; may a rose Its emblem be, omitting not the thorn ; Green leaf, our hope — and in the deepening glow Of ruddy petals be its fervor based, While for the thorns, let such the record be Of all my imperfection and default ; And if in time the trust that now endures Be scattered to the seven winds tfiat blow. The life die out, as petals fade and die — Even in that, our friendship is the rose. I sometimes liken you unto a rose A yellow rose, to suit your matchless hair, A rose to match your sweetness and your thorns. II. If you were here to walk with me to-night The rock-built terrace where the sands below Dip and re-dip their curves within the waves — If you were here to name with me the stars Or catch a glimpse of some illusive spar Limning its blackness on the silver moon — I had been happy, or at least content. And reckoned not of time as one who sees Unwilling days on drowsy wing float past ; 200 But you are gone, and this untiring town That walks its bounds as tigers do a cage Is dull indeed, for that you are away. You say my friendship is but for a day, I '11 grant you that an you will name to-day, I '11 call no imprecations on my head With jargon of the sun and moon and skies — As warrant of my own fidelity. But simply say, '* To-day I am your friend To-morrow, maybe not, and yesterday — Lies buried in the sunless crypt of time." Just for a day my faithfulness shall last. That day, to-day, and none more loyal friend Shall dream of you, nor wish for your return ; And if to-morrow brings a change to us. Some blighting of the rose of which I spoke — Some winter chill across the flowers of June — Think of me only as a man who kept From sun till sun his promises to you. Give me my dues ; that much, I '11 take no less For resolute am I to have mine own. And if I fail, I fail you, what of that ? And if you fail, you fail me, that is all ; There is no more, regret is folly's garb An act once done, the fact alone remains. 201 Yet here upon the mantel of my room Your picture waits, and what with sudden rain Against the window, and my loneliness — Approaching night, and something undefined, I seem as restless as the restless wind ; And some strange power doth impel me now To rise from irksome chair and unread book, And say, as one who speaks with heart at lip ** I am an hungered for your face again/' POPPIES. Oh, blood-red torches of the slumbrous glow Light thou my steps to Lethe's dreamy main ; And daze my senses that I may not know The old dull throb of longing and of pain ; Grant me a respite from the light of day From suns that shine and pallid rains that weep, Touch but my arm and lead me far away And seal my eyelids with a kiss of sleep. Oh ! subtle, flowery magic ; in my stress Of direst need, I call alone on thee, Since slumber's still, maternal tenderness More than all else is merciful to me ; Send thou thy angels of the mournful eyes With rustling wings that through the dark- ness sweep To streak with dusk the erstwhile reddening skies, That I may find oblivion in sleep. 203 Bring down the draught that to my trembling lips Sends peace and rest, while all the outer world Is steeped and shadowed in a wide eclipse Where night's black banners are on high unfurled ; Bring woven paces and the waving hands ; And blot the stars from Heaven's cloudy steep ; From out the mystic glass let fall the sands And since I cannot die, then let me sleep. 204 I AM THY KNIGHT. I AM thy knight, and thou hast sent me forth To battle with the demon of despair, To conquer self, and from its ashes bring The phoenix of my boyhood's fervid dreams ; To live the long, long years and make my life Like to the sower as he passes by Scattering the grain on rock and fertile field To reap or lose as fate shall will it so. No favor hast thou sent, as those of old Wore lovingly and closely on their hearts When they went forth to far-off Palestine, But simply for thy word that it is best, And for the trust and message sent by thee, Do I go on to conquer in the fight Of man the brute against the man divine. Count me no idle dreamer — most of all I pray you not on some high pedestal Entrench my nature ; I am but a man Who loves and hates, is merry and is sad, 205 Has known of gladness and has tasted woe, And holds no higher honor to himself Than truest love to all things true and good And pity infinite for suffering. Here is my hand — and to the world my scorn ; For as I journey onward in my quest I shall not falter, even where I fail ; But having from the strength of thy rare soul Caught some reflection of a light divine. Full-armed am I, and resolute as death To face the utmost rigor of my fate ; To cleave to hope, to hope for happiness To be my better self as best I can, And so through all the lapses of gray time, To be a man because I am thy knight. 206 RETROSPECTION. The woman tempted me, and I did fall, From the resolve to keep my heart intact — Sheer from the heights that cautious pride had reared, Like Lucifer, from heaven down to hell, From independence to captivity. The woman tempted me ; by not so much Of face and figure, as by complement Of all that was most sweet and womanly ; A spirit tuned to high and pure intent. Clear eyes which seemed when looking into mine. Gray depths that harbored her unsullied thought ; By not so much of figure or of face — For who that loves shall say, ^* Why thus and so My true love is, more fair than others are," Drawing her picture as a painter does. With all the cunning patience of his art? 207 Why this were simply puerile and vain And insincere, for he whose heart is smote By this great agony can only say, ** I love her '' ; meaning she is beautiful, Noble and true, the sum of all desire Which makes of man a being more than man, Better or worse as he himself decrees. Somewhere in men's best efforts will be found The saving grace of woman's influence. And love, that in these garish later days Is jeered at by the clay-souled common minds, Still shines as bright, still vivifies the earth, As Hesperus in far-off summer skies Lights darkened paths for the blind sons of men. The woman tempted me; by not a word Nor yet a look, but as a flower might By purity, unspotted of the world ; For who that wanders down the thorny ways Past sterile wastes and on through barren roads, But pauses where a lone field-blossom lifts Its dewy fragrant petals to the sun. 208 I cannot sigh for what is past and gone, As clouds that flee across the flying moon, For I am one who recks not of regret, Save as a spur to urge to nobler deeds ; And life is brief, I find the sunshine best Youth and outdoors, not cloisters and old age, And key my heart-strings to that concert pitch Which vibrates to the happier side of things. They say that life is solemn ; make it so ; Go banish laughter from the swaying crowds, Bring sackcloth, ashes, gather dead-sea fruit And flagellate the soul with doubtfulness ; But will you check the music of the streams Hush the glad burst of blackbird melody In maple branches swinging with the winds ; Wilt blot the sunlight, hold the nimble grass Down to the sod, or darken autumn leaves ? The woman tempted me ; an old refrain But most persistent, what am I to do. Fly, fight or die, or yield as cowards will ? My hands are tied, my very lips are sealed. . I am as one who sees a thorny rose And in his fancy wears it on his breast Yet in reality sees fancy fade. This is the seed of cynicism's root, 14 209 When that a man can say, *^ I love/' and does not dare For honor's sake to break the silences That fill the lapses of companionship. *^ I dare do all that may become a man," So runs the precept, lighting as a lamp The stormy seas that I must needs traverse ; I dare do much, so honor stands untouched Cut any Gordian knot, aye I even death's — Rather than be a burden to my kind — But like an Arab who has broken bread And taken salt from out a stranger's palm And ever afterwards remains his friend. So L who take her friendship and her trust With every welcoming pressure of her hand Dare not do more than may become a man. Religion, creeds, the dogmas or the church. Prayer, customs, proverbs, rules and what you will And after all I hold it to be truth, That man himself regenerates himself Building anew the spirit's crumbling cell. The woman tempted me ; but I have risen Level with my temptation, stronger far 2IO Than in that time before temptation came ; For what we meet and overcome does make Our strength tenfold, our caution none the less. The woman tempted me ; I bless the day The hour and moment, proving as they do That I at last have something in myself As worthy of her confidence in me. And for the dream that lessened, for the hope That was a dream, I happiest am in this That time works many marvels, even I Once grasped a fact that first was but a dream. AT THE PLAY. All the stage was alight, And the play — Just a comedy slight With a touch of strained pathos dragged in by the way ; I remember that night And the day that came after, a fair April day. Yet how crude it all seemed. Commonplace — As the dark villain schemed With a forced leer of hate in his imbecile face, And you sat there and dreamed Like a picture framed softly in ribbon and lace. I had hate in my heart Then for you. Though I held it apart And leaned over and smiled as most lovers would do, But I knew that no art Could teach such a woman as you to be true. 212 What of that, let it go ; And again When I think of it so, I am cold and more cynical even than when You whispered to know, If I thought that most women were truer than men ? And I say to you yet 'T was a play, When we smilingly met. And exchanged all our letters the following day, And we had no regret That the next gusts of March did not whistle away. No regret ; yet despite All disdain ; In the same play to-night Where the dark villain schemes and the fond lovers feign, Something blurs on my sight, And the wraith that I see is the ghost of love slain. 213 IF. If, when her eyes meet mine my eyes are sealed By the last twilight that shall ever fall, With life and hope forever past recall And all their longings by death's love-kiss healed, Perhaps forgiveness, like some lily fair, May bloom for him who sleeps so soundly there. If, under shadows that could never cease, I was at rest, forevermore at rest — A knot of wildwood flowers on my breast, If placed there by her hand might send me peace — A violet cluster, taking from the skies The summer depths of her sad, violet eyes. If in the silence of that last long sleep, She could but read the mystery and see. That she alone was all life held for me, Mayhap across her heart one pang would sweep, 214 To think that even death could make no less The soul's dim sense of utter loneliness. And if at last we wandering shall meet In heavenly fields of asphodel above, Will the remembrance of our buried love Make the white paths of paradise less sweet — If in the byways of that far-off land Our journeys cross, by some lone stream, and we together stand ? 215 HER ROOM. *^ This was her room," my smiling hostess said '^ And pleasant dreams ; " I thank you for the wish. The clock strikes twelve, the curtains rustle slow And candles on the mantel stare at me, While light and shade, and something else un- seen Blend eerily with midnight and myself. Her room? My room 1 for did I not once share These niches and these draperies with her thoughts ? And doubtless she will recollect me still ; Times change, days die, the seasons come and go And many a web of winding circumstance Will round her far-off pathway weave its thread, 216 But she remembers me, for true it is A woman may forget all other things, But not the memory of a man she loved. The genius of her nature still abides In these four walls, for I will say of her She had the natural, artistic touch, That makes the most of what is beautiful ; Here is a wing of some sea-faring bird Which curves in outward line of seeming flight, Here is a rose — rough-sketched, but bearing yet The out-door feeling in its leaf and thorn, While higher up, an Indian arrow hangs An emblem of the wild barbarian's art. This is her room — and in this oaken chair Her arms have rested many a sombre night When the red moon sank slowly down the w^est And Jupiter in stellar radiance Burned like a beacon in the darkling skies ; Here is a mirror whose quaint carven frame Must oft have held her figure and her face ; Oh I happy glass to thus enfold her there The dainty image of her dainty self, As summer pools will hold a lily's form In shadow. 217 Upon this pillow she has pressed her cheek The pale, pale cheek, and closed her deep- fringed eyes, Turned the smooth keys of Sleep's Pandora box And drifted up to dim unconsciousness ; By this wide window she has marked the dawn Gild ruddily yon church's dagger-spire. And where that grass-plat nestles by the gate Watched morning-glories open to the sun. What is this woman to me ? Let me think ; Not what she was, not as an idol now, (The feet of clay and forehead as of brass,) But is she part of me, a permanence, A lasting recollection to be faced — A joy or woe^ what says the sibyl, Thought.'* And now to lend my musing wider scope And partly for the sake of argument, I 11 boast that I am not a common man ; I grant my circle of environment With its dull round of crude necessities, But after all, my spirit looks aloft, I am a dreamer — none the less a man. 218 And so when that I loved her, I contend It came not in an ordinary sense, But gathered all my nature in its grasp To give her strength, and truth and tender- ness : And what she might have been was dear to me A thousandfold, for men who, like myself, Are blessed or cursed with natures like to fire, Know in a way to duller souls denied The keen extremes of happiness and pain. I 'd have a woman true ; and for the rest I M have her true whatever else she was, Not aspen-like to waver in the wind, But like to her who in the olden days Said, wondering, ^' What is it to be false?" And I would have her strong in that rare strength Which rather than it fails unflinching dares The cord, the rack, the dungeon and the stake. I 'd have the man the same — there is no love Which from the man a lesser meed demands Than what is asked of woman ; each to each For their great trust should be responsible. 219 Where is the woman that my fancy saw I This perfect one, did ever she exist ? So much she had of what was credible And if sincere, then womanly indeed ; Why I see, she failed in her own estimate And failing thus, how failed she then in mine I This is her room ; the old illusion fades (" And pleasant dreams,'' my hostess' voice again,) Yes, pleasant dreams, I \e worked the prob- lem out^ She had her goodly qualities I know, But lacked the major chords of womanhood And seemed all minor, being now to me An artificial woman I once loved. 220 THE GRAY-EYED LADY. She stood beside a lichened stone The gray-eyed lady, all alone, And over her the starlight shone. And all her wealth of wondrous hair Was black against the winding stair, Yea ! she was something more than fair. Upon the mystery of her dress Above a shadow-curve's caress Lay the wan moonshine, motionless. Around her wrists curled shining strands Of silver, while like welded bands, Linked the lithe ivory of her hands. Her face was white as are the dead, The riddle at the last was read, And what she said I leave unsaid. And when she vanished from my sight Came wraiths of days in phantom flight, These faded, and the rest was night. TANTALUS. Fame ? Why a fig for fame — he had marked its flight, a will-o-the-wisp, When the sweet spring grass rose fresh and strongs and when autumn leaves grew crisp. Gold ? T was the basest of all base metals yet ; better iron and steel ; And he flung his sovereigns into the dust and ground them under heel. Love ? And by love's deep craving alone (God pity him) he was curst, As a lion that digs in the desert, and digging, dies of thirst. For luminous — starlike — framed on high^ a star that could never fall, Was the face of the woman he loved — and who loved him, that was all. ONE WOMAN. She is a woman — subtle as her sex, And most elusive when she seems fast bound In reverie ; I cannot make her out, For as a flower, opening to its close So is she changeless in unending change. Her voice says " Nay I " her non-committal eyes Veil with long lashes depths most eloquent. And but for one rebellious dimple's crease A smiling sign that softens else-stern lips — I would despair where highest I had hoped And rail at women for untruthfulness. What is it all ? a lifted arching lid A look distrait, annntonation clear, A tapping of a little restless foot Then silence and attention ; and again A firm, sure hand-clasp that makes full amends For what had brought me heart-ache just be- fore. 223 I love her and I love her not, for love Such as I keep I cannot frame in words Or at the most but brokenly, and so I love her more in thought and less in speech, And love her not since time is still too brief To compass what my heart-strings sing of her ; And what she says I say to her is true, And what she does I do maintain is just For might makes right and I her captive stand, And stubborn clank my fine-spun iron chains. She came into my life as comes at sea To some lone shipwrecked mariner, intent, A far gray sail that puts aside the mist Spanning the distance with a bow of hope. And so, and so — I love her ; grant it trite The love of man for woman ; grant it false In instances unnumbered — and at last I read no peace beyond the stars on high I find no promise in the sunlight's kiss. And know no recompense that seems to me As just to wait — her hand h*eld close in mine — Beside the one, one woman that I love. 224 IT'S A LONG LANE THAT HAS NO TURNING. The highway crosses the distant hills Low to the west where the sun lies burning, Sweetheart — Though the hour is late, And many miles before me wait, It's a long lane that has no turning. I study the mile-stones while I pass, As a boy at books his lessons learning. Sweetheart — The end is far away. And yet an echo seems to say, It 's a long lane that has no turning. Your face flashed up as the sun went down. The sweet, pale lips, and the sad eyes yearn- ing- Sweetheart — I pray thee shed no tears, For we shall meet beyond the years. It 's a long lane that has no turning. IS 225 9i IN THE SUNSET LANDS. n THE PRAIRIE. Where the wild flowers, wind-shaken, their heads are tossing In this lone western land, on prairies rolling and vast Here, where the whispers of solitude ever are crossing Here, if nowhere else, there is peace at last. Rest for the heart and brain, for the soul, world-weary, In the strength and might and the beauty of trackless prairie. In this far land is no taint of civilization. No stain of smoke — the heavens above are clear as glass — With never a sign or faintest trace of any nation. Naught but a waving, boundless world of grass 229 Where over the shadows the sunshine shifts and lingers, And the weeds bend low at the touch of the wind's light fingers. No voice save the voice of Nature, yet all- pervading ; Rich in its own strange music, the sweetest ever sung With earth and sky and the taintless breeze the echoes shading, And all the billowy prairie overhung With a nameless sense of loneliness and wild- ness. That thrills with its life and color the summer mildness. Miles upon miles of grassy swells, sown thick with flowers In yellow and purple lines, in clusters flam- ing red. Tinted with Nature's brushes and watered by the showers On the slopes, and over the hollows spread ; On every hill their gorgeous banners showing. And far across the prairie in vivid colors glowing. 230 Here indeed is the keen, strong wine of free- dom tasted ; A draught once drank, it is never forgotten again. Where never a man's heart wears away, by sorrow wasted. For Nature's moods are kinder than those of men ; This is the land whose healing touch is sure and painless — This is the land that God smiles on — the prairie, pure and stainless. 231 AN INDIAN BOW. This curved, smooth length was erst a harp From whence the twanging echoes leaped, Its feathered shafts with crooked grooves In many a foeman's blood were steeped, The buffalo-sinew stretched across Sang sharply once in savage hands, Resounding in the slothful wind That drifts across the prairie-lands. But now, like some cowed rattlesnake All venomless, with wrenched-out fangs, Upon the wall of this my home The wild Comanche's weapon hangs. The buffalo-sinew stretched across Strikes discords in unskilful hands, Unlike the old-time resonance That buzzed across the prairie-lands. 232 A TARAHUMARI RUNNER. Thick, rawhide sandals on his feet, A bronze-red figure full of grace, Inured alike to cold and heat, He stands, the flower of his race : Broad in the chest, with lower limb Symmetrical and hard and slim. With breech-clout steeped in sombre dyes Folded securely round his thighs ; And loosely on his massive breast A necklace rude of shells is hung — By some clifl'-dwelling maiden strung And by his coarse, black hair caressed, His hair, from whence his dark eyes glow: The runner, Candelario. Far in a savage vastness wild He makes his home the cliffs among, Where chaos lies in fragments piled And chides the thunders muttering tongue, 233 Where the red lightning's fingers reach All sudden through the storm-cloud's breach ; And where the hurricane's fell wrath Through mountain timber sweeps its path ; And here upon the deer's faint trail He follows on from day to day From ruddy dawn to evening gray O'er cliff and chasm, sand and shale Till with his knife he slays the roe : The runner, Candelario. A hundred miles a day to him Is nothing — as with dog-trot pace He takes departure stanch and grim, Nor stops nor falters in the race — A primal athlete he, who goes Where the swift torrent downward flows ; Across the steeps in level flight, Adown the glens and up the height — The weary wolf will seek repose, And deer shall in their covert bed Lie down and rest, while overhead The crow his flagging wings must close, Yet onward speeds yon speck below : The runner, Candelario. 234 LITTLE BIG HORN. Beside the lone river, That idly lay dreaming, Flashed sudden the gleaming Of sabre and gun In the light of the sun As over the hillside the soldiers came streaming. One peal of the bugle In stillness unbroken That sounded a token Of soul-stirring strife. Savage war to the knife, Then silence that seemed like defiance un- spoken. But out of an ambush Came warriors riding, Swift ponies bestriding, Shook rattles and shells. With a discord of yells. That fired the hearts of their comrades in hiding. 235 Then fierce on the wigwams The soldiers descended, And madly were blended, The red man and white, In a hand-to-hand fight, With the Indian village assailed and defended. And there through the passage Of battle-torn spaces. From dark lurking-places. With blood-curdling cry And their knives held on high. Rushed Amazon women with wild, painted faces. Then swung the keen sabres And flashed the sure rifles Their message that stifles The shout in red throats. While the reckless blue-coats Laughed on mid the fray as men laugh over trifles. Grim cavalry troopers Unshorn and unshaven, And never a craven In ambuscade caught. How like demons they fought Round the knoll on the prairie that marked their last haven. 236 But the Sioux circled nearer The shrill war-whoop crying, And death-hail was flying, Yet still they fought on Till the last shot was gone. And all that remained were the dead and the dying. A song for their death, and No black plumes of sorrow, This recompense borrow, Like heroes they died Man to man — side by side. We lost them to-day, we shall meet them to- morrow. And on the lone river, Has faded the seeming Of bright armor gleaming, But there by the shore With the ghosts of No-more The shades of the dead through the ages lie dreaming. 237 ARIZONA. A THOUSAND long-horned cattle grazed Upon a boundless field, And, with a shading hand upraised His bearded face to shield, A swarthy herder's watchful eyes Saw distant shadows fall and rise. A clash of hoofs stampeded there Beat fast a loud tattoo, And whizzing keenly through the air A feathered arrow flew 1 — A gray mustang with streaming mane Dashed riderless across the plain. 238 THE SUN-DANCE OF THE SIOUX. The shroud of a dim, white cloud Lifted a vapory spire, And aloft in the sky the sun Burned like a world on fire ; And the warriors one by one There in the wilderness lone, Chanted in jarring tone, And muttered the medicine-man As the dance of the sun began. And high in their centre stood A sapling of iron-wood. And there the dancers massed And backward and sideways passed, While through each muscular breast A strip of hide was strung That taut from the upright pole Was stretched, as back they hung; And grim in the cruel test They danced on the sterile knoll. While chanted the medicine-man As the blood-drops downward ran. 239 And back and forth they went In the throes of that awful dance, Now straight as a seasoned lance And now in a crescent bent ; While a rhythmic time they beat With the stamp of their moccasined feet, And out from the pole they swung At the ends of the raw-hide reins, While ruddy and spreading stains From the gaping wounds were wrung. Fierce were their sloe-black eyes And never a brave would faint. Resonant rose their cries Demons in garish paint ; And earthward the sunlight poured As the flash of a mighty sword, While round in a circle still Upheld by the stoic will. In the grasp of the raw-hide strips With foam on their parted lips. And their breasts pierced through and through Leaped the warriors of the Sioux. And the sun sank, and was gone ; And the stars came out above While night drew softly on The darkness, like a glove ; 240 And still their shrill cries rang Harsh and more savage grown, As upward and out they sprang Weird forms in the midnight shown ■ Till the opaline moon had paled And the light of the stars had failed. Then rose the sun again On that circle of tameless men On wigwam and on chief. On the grass and shimmering leaf, On the cluster of watchful squaws And the dogs with wolfish jaws. While dull in a ceaseless drone The voice of the medicine-man, In its guttural undertone Of strident echo ran. And there at the turn of noon With deep, despairing yell, Headlong in sudden swoon Three of the warriors fell ; But the rest danced on and on And tense in their breasts were drawn The stiffening strips of hide. As they circled side by side. i6 241 And there as the slow day waned All weak from the dire test, With the veins in each brawny chest Of their glowing globules drained, They sank on the beaten ground, In their gory harness bound, In the glare of the dying sun Each brave with his bosom cleft. Staggering one by one Till one alone was left. And he, on the trampled sod One moment in silence stood, Then broke from the torturing wood And like to a demi-god He towered above the rest With his torn and bleeding breast, And downward plunged the sun And the dance of the Sioux was done. 242 A PRAIRIE MINUET. Slow bobbing, bobbing to and fro With awkward steps across the grasS;, In solemn lines they come and go And like to dancers change and pass. Their ceiling is the deep blue sky, The ball-room floor, the level plains ; Their music, winds that hurry by This minuet of sand-hill cranes. 243 OVERLAND. A TREELESS strctch of grassy plains, Blue-bordered by the summer sky ; Where past our swaying, creaking stage, The buffaloes go thundering by. And antelope in scattered bands Feed in the breezy prairie-lands. Far down the west a speck appears, That falls and rises, on and on. An instant to the vision clear, A moment more, and it is gone — And then it dashes into sight. Swift as an eagle's downward flight. A ring of hoofs, a flying steed, A shout — a face — a waving hand — A flake of foam upon the grass That melts — and then alone we stand. As now a speck against the gray, The pony-rider fades away. 244 NEZ PERCYS. Through the defile lay the tents to the north- ward Past the gaunt spurs of the beetling Sierras, Plain was the trail, but aloft in the mountains Crouched the Nez Percys, and watched o'er the valley ; Scanning the pathway with eyes that were eager Shifting their rifles and waiting in patience, Knowing that still to the south lay their quarry Twenty grim troopers cut off from their comrades. Faded a day and a night and a dawning Lengthened the days, but the Indians waited Chewing dried flesh of the deer to sustain them, Reaching with hollowing palm for the water Trickling from snow-covered summits un- trodden ; 245 Smiling but seldom, and then with a wrinkle Of leathery cheeks as they thought of the troopers ; Baleful black eyes that were lighted with vengeance Hair like the raven's wing sweeping their shoulders Cats of the mountain, crouched low in their hiding, Patient as death, and as stern and relentless. Miles to the south was the camp of the twenty, Men of wild lives, but the hearts in their bosoms When but the breath of the battle came o'er them Rose up to meet it like steel to a magnet ; Knowing no fear and familiar with danger Skilled in the use of the sabre and rifle, Sitting like centaurs their Indian ponies, Soldiers, as brown as the grasses of Autumn. Gray rose the moon o'er the towering mountains Tipping each peak with a frost-work of silver, 246 Gray were the ashes where camp-fires smoul- dered Sparkless as dust in the middle of summer, Gray as a ghost was the stream that ran by them There, as they mounted their ponies and started, Gray and serene were the stars that hung over Jewels of night undissolved in the darkness. Threading their way to the pass through the uplands Certain of peril and ready to meet it, Silent as spectres they rode in the moonlight. Moonlight and starlight a-shine on their weapons — Till at the turn of a bend in the valley Where the broad gate of the hills had been opened. Right at the mouth of the canyon they halted. Halted to tighten the girths onh the ponies Halted to wipe the night-dews from their rifles, Stayed for one hand-clasp, one word from their leader. Then light of heart they sprang into the saddle, 247 spurred for the pass one by one, all defiant Reckless and heedless of God, man or devil. Each after each o'er the flint and the granite Clattered the hoofs of the galloping ponies. Nothing beside stirred the stillness around them Till near the centre, all sudden and awful There at its narrowest, hell broke the silence ; One sheet of flame like the lightning, zig- zagging. Leaped from the cliffs, and the sharp-snarling echoes Blended with yells that the chosen of Hades Might well have envied, could they have but listened ; Then came the answering shouts from the stragglers Posted along the huge rocks of the canyon, High rose the shrill whoops of triumph and slaughter Clear shone the moon with a cloudless re- splendence, Ghastly and clear on that fated inferno, While from the jaws of the gorge disappearing Scattering sparks from his iron-shod pony. Passed like a wraith into midnight translated Silently still, only one of the twenty. 248 Red rose the dawn on the jagged Sierras Sweet sang the birds, and the morning grass glistened When from the south, to the tents at the northward Rode the lone leader, the last of the twenty ; Limp hung his arm, and his stirrup was shivered, Blood on his face and his forehead and fingers, Slow lagged his pony, and still like a soldier Upright and firmly he sat in the saddle. Weakened from wounds so that speech almost failed him. Swift rushed his comrades to seize him and aid him. While from their lips came the cry '* And the others ? " Then with a gesture of infinite meaning He of the lion-heart, telling the story, Turned his thumb down, with the brown hand extended, (Strange, was it not, that death-sign of the Roman — ) Smiled in their faces and whispered '' Nez Perce/' 249 A PRAIRIE PICTURE. A LIGHT shines out in the dark northwest Like a star in a cloudy frame ; It wavers, and then from the prairie's breast Springs up a sea of flame, That full of a fierce desire, Pours down in a tide of fire. With strength that scorns all bond or shackle Free as the wind it rolls and leaps. And the tall dry grasses roar and crackle As over the fire sweeps ; And the gloomy, far-off sky Lights up as it gallops by. Into the air it darts and flashes Sending upward a blood-red glow, And driving ahead the white-hot ashes As thick as drifting snow ; And its fiery, scorching breath Is as pitiless as death. 250 Far in its wake lie embers gleaming, Sparkling up as the night-winds blow, And miles away is a red flood streaming With naught to mark its flow, Save a scarlet fringe of light On the curtains of the night. 251 RED CLOUD. In the land of the Sioux the first grass was up- springing, And new on the tepees the fresh skins were lain ; The bleak winter months had gone overland, bringing Far down in their wake, the last dashings of rain ; The beaver peeped out of the valley morasses And slow on the timber his gnawings begun ; The tethered-out horses were cropping the grasses And the Indian boys wandered wild in the sun. Wandered wild in the sun with their bows and full quivers Over prairie lands wide in the far-away west. By the hills and the woods and the reed-girdled rivers Where never the foot of a white man had pressed ; 252 And down by the village the squaws gathered fuel , Where little papooses in nakedness ran, While prone on his blanket, with face cold and cruel, Lay silently smoking, — the medicine-man. Ten braves were away to the land of the stranger Whose homes lay afar in America's Alps, Away on a foray of desperate danger For plunder and glory, for horses and scalps. Lithe, sinewy warriors, with peril acquainted Thin-lipped and slow-spoken — long-haired — heavy-browed. All eager for battle — beweaponed and painted. And the chief of the band was the sombre *' Red Cloud." Red Cloud I His high cheek bones set off his grim forehead And the light in his eyes like an eagle's was fierce, And merciless, too, as the crotalus horrid When he coils with his poison-fangs ready to pierce ; 253 A tower of strength and a deer for swift run- ning With limbs as of iron and sinuous grace, No wolf was more tireless, no fox matched his cunning Red Cloud, the great chief of the mighty Sioux race. To the land of the Blackfeet once more they had ridden Their ancient, inveterate, bloodthirsty foes ; At night in the saddle, by day ^they were hidden Nor stirred on their quest till the silver moon rose ; So noiseless they moved while they sped o'er the prairie That they seemed but as shadows where shadow shapes meet. For the listening silence no echo could carry From the soft-muffled hoofs of the war- ponies fleet. Ten braves and the chief gone for booty and pillage So mused through his smoking the medicine- man, • 254 The pick of the tribe and the pride of the vil- lage And choicest of all of the warrior clan ; Twenty moons now had waned, yet no sign had been given The grasses grew longer, the trees were in leaf. Twenty times through the heavens the moon- man had driven Where then were the warriors, where was the chief } And as he sat scowling, foreboding disaster, With wrinkled-up forehead, the medicine- man. Came the quick clash of hoofs, beating faster and faster As the roll of a drum — rat-a-plan, rat-a- plan — And there in their midst as his brave courser staggered With foam-whitened nostrils and fell like a stone. With the battle light still in his eyes deep and haggard Red Cloud, the Sioux chief, stood among them alone. 255 And then, as the women began their shrill wailing For the souls of the braves to the Great Spirit fled, The keen, savage protest, and all unavailing That marks the rude grief for barbarian dead. Then down from his shoulder ten Blackfeet scalps throwing He said with a look as of Lucifer proud : **Ten braves I took with me when spring grass was growing, Ten chiefs have come back by the side of Red Cloud/' 256 GERONIMO. Beside that tent and under guard In majesty alone he stands As some chained eagle, broken-winged With eyes that gleam like smouldering brands ; A savage-face, streaked o'er with paint, And coal-black hair in unkempt mane, Thin, cruel lips, set rigidly — A red Apache Tamerlane. As restless as the desert winds, Yet here he stands like carven stone, His raven locks by breezes moved And backward o'er his shoulders blown ; Silent, yet watchful as he waits Robed in his strange, barbaric guise. While here and there go searchingly The cat-like wanderings of his eyes. The eagle feather on his head Is dull with many a bloody stain, 17 257 While darkly on his lowering brow Forever rests the mark of Cain ; Have you but seen a tiger caged And sullen through his barriers glare ? Mark well his human prototype, The fierce Apache fettered there. 258 INDIAN BURIAL. A RUDE, high scaffold builded here Where the wild prairie rolls away — Stands desolate in twilight gray Surmounted by a single spear ; This is the Blackfoot chieftain's bier, Thus rests at length his pulseless clay, Watched by the shaded eyes of day And skulking wolves that linger near. And creakingly the rough poles shake When the winds drift by grasses tall, And sifting shreds of moonlight fall On the carved death-mask, flake by flake ; Dawns come and go, and sunsets break Wave after wave o'er night's dark pair, Nor heeds nor recks he of it all Nay, who will speak that he may wake ? His trusty weapons round him lain, He sleeps upon this wind-swept bed 259 In blankets wrapped from foot to head And under him his best horse slain — And dreams, until the cry amain Through the long silence far hath sped, And then he wakes who now lies dead, Else the Great Spirit calls in vain. 260 A MOUNTAIN TRAIL BY MOON- LIGHT. The moon-flood in the solitude Streamed through the timber gray and cold, And soft the night-wind's interlude Came past the brook, which sinuous rolled Down the old mountain like a snake ; And all night long, with steadfast glow, The stars in heaven lay awake To watch the listless earth below. And stealthily mid slumbrous air, O'er sharp pine needles strewn with cones, The dusk went tip-toe, here and there And whispered in mysterious tones. While sweeping through the vistas round A soft-voiced zephyr seemed to bring. Fine chords of crisp, uncanny sound That almost made the silence sing. 261 Each tree was tranced in perfect calm Dumb worshippers at Druid shrines, While nature's censer scattered balm, Fresh incense from the living pines ; Each peak a statue stood, at rest, Transfigured by the ghostly moon. The wild-bird lay within his nest And all the world was in a swoon. Above a mass of jagged rock That stamped a shadow on the sky, A hemlock, smote by lightning shock. Dead, blanched and grim, rose far on high ; And suddenly across the spell Where midnight in this vastness dreamed, Like some dread echo out of hell Deep in the woods a panther screamed. 262 THE NAVAJO. , Straight as a shaft of mountain ash A copper-hued American ; And round his loins was bound a sash The raiment of barbaric man ; And bright across his sunken cheeks Were painted two broad scarlet streaks, That heightened with their garish dyes The midnight blackness of his eyes. The buckskin moccasins he wore With gaudy beads were thick inlaid, And in his hand a wand he bore Most curiously carved and made, And on his wrist two bells he kept That tinkled as he lightly stepped, The talisman by which his spells Lured serpents from their rocky cells. Wide stretched the waste of desert lands Beside him there ; a waveless shore, 263 Of burnished and of treeless sands Like to some buried ocean's floor. Where all year long the ruddy sun A woof and warp of flame-thread spun, And where the cactus reared its spike And each parched season seemed alike. And while the bells did music make, Before him, and with neck upraised And cold eyes fixed, a rattlesnake, Turned in its coil as if half dazed ; And moved the charmer to and fro While undulated, smooth and slow. As fast he paced with arms outspread — The dull ophidian's flattened head. Gray-mottled was the reptile's skin Beneath the sun's rays glistening ; And ourved and crinkled out and in The dusky coil's compacted ring ; And fast and faster swept the chime Of tinkling bells in rhythmic time. The while the snake's keen vision dire Lost something of its steely ire. And then the savage stooped to take Up from the twisting spiral fold, 264 The sinuous body of the snake, When instantly its eyes so cold Flashed lightning ; in that flash it sprang Upon him ; from its hollow fang Swift through his veins the venom leaped And all his soul in death was steeped. 26s A SONG OF THE SUNSET LAND. In the far-off hills of the sunset land ; In the land where the long grass bends and quivers, Where the ghosts of night and morning stand By the gleams and dreams of the lonely rivers, There the brown sedge waving, stoops and shivers At the water's edge in the sunset land. Through the trackless paths of the sunset land ; Where the silence broods under far skies rounded And the days slip by like grains of sand, There the song unsung and the chord un- sounded Seem like a part of the desert, bounded By the wild gray wastes of the sunset land. 266 On the snow-clad peaks of the sunset land ; As they rise in the clouds so near to heaven In shadowy vastness, stern and grand ; There gaunt old pines by the lightning riven, Moan in the winds through their branches driven, On the crags and cliffs of the sunset land. Mid the rolling plains of the sunset land, Where the echoes drift on the tufted heather In the wake of breezes sweet and bland ; There the shadows go in a troop together Across the haze of the fair June weather In the grassy dells of the sunset land. By the wand'ring streams of the sunset land, Where the ripples rise mid the tall reeds bending And float away to an unknown strand ; There the shade and the sunlight slow de- scending Fall where the voice of the waters blending Sings of the sunset land. 267 vi 1 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRAR BERKELEY THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW Books not returned on time are subject to a fine of 50c per volume after the third day overdue, increasing to $1.00 per volume after the sixth day. Books not in demand may be renewed if application is made before expiration of loan period. fcJA6 .^_l$^!K / r. H M ^5 CO '^^H^d UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY '"'"'"^^ti.^y^ ^ li^ii^^ ~ J ^^ L