959 C559 IC-NRLF 115 Ell o e i E y j i!5RARV I BB PUBLISHER S NOTE. THE Yale Series of Younger Poets is designed to afford a publishing medium for the work of young men and women who have not yet secured a wide public recognition. It will include only such verse as seems to give the fairest promise for the future of American poetry, to the development of which it is hoped that the Series may prove a stimulus. Communications concerning manuscripts should be addressed to the Editor, Professor Charlton M. Lewis, 425 St. Ronan Street, New- Haven, Connecticut. VOLUMES ISSUED, OR PLANNED FOR EARLY PUBLICATION. I. THE TEMPERING. By Howard Buck. II. FORGOTTEN SHRINES. By John Chipman Farrar. III. FOUR GARDENS. By David Osborne Hamilton. IV. SPIRES AND POPLARS. By Alfred Raymond Bellinger. V. THE WHITE GOD AND OTHER POEMS. By Thomas Calde- cot Chubb. VI. WHERE LILITH DANCES. By Darl Macleod Boyle. The White God and Other Poems THOMAS CALDECOT CHUBB n NEW HAVEN YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON HUMPHREY MILFORD . OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS MDCCCCXX rt COPYRIGHT, 192O, BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS THE author makes grateful acknowledgment to the Horae Scholasticae, the New Republic, the S-for-N, the Yale Literary Magazine, and the YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS for per mission to reprint here such poems as have already appeared in their pages. 646522 TO MY MOTHER. TABLE OF CONTENTS. LYRICS AND SHORTER PIECES. Song 13 Colchis H Clytemnestra . . . . . . . 16 Our Ship . . . . . . 18 The Olympia . . . . . 19 Ultima Thule . . . . . . 21 Challenge . . . ... 24 Lost Love . . . . 25 A Meeting I. The Man Recalls . *. . . . 26 II. And She 27 Reminiscence . . . . 28 Merlin . . . . ... 29 The House of God . . .... 3 1 Repristination . . . . 33 "Arma Virumque " . ... . .34 "Ancient to Othello" . . . . . . 35 Violinists . . . V. . . 3^ A Chinese Painting 37 The White Road . .... 38 Song for Sainte-Anne des Monts .... 40 Forest Clearing . . . .. . 4 1 The Metropolis . . . ... 4 2 Windy Night . . . . . -44 The Wind . . . . ... 45 Song . . . . . . . . 46 September Song . . . . 47 On a Gloomy Day . . . . . 48 Prelude . . . ... . . 49 Pastoral 50 Swimming at Night ...... 5 1 Winter Sea 5 2 Sonnet -- 53 To a Platonist 54 Peace: A Memory . . . . . 55 Peace . . . , . . . fi After Combat . . . . . . ry NARRATIVE. The White God . . . . ... 59 10 LYRICS AND SHORTER PIECES. SONG. I THOUGHT of song as a trivial thing, A toy for my hand, A glittering pendant of tinsel, A handful of sand, But lo ! I have striven to sing and song is a terrible brand ! I dreamed of song as a pleasaunce To lighten the hour, A catch of the leaves refrain, And earthly dower, , . , , Behold! The heavens fall down and the sky is cracked by its power! I longed for song as a stream That would splash for me, A ripple adown the hillside, A melody, And now it is one" with the river and the river has flowed to the sea ! The mountains arise at its sounding, The sky is dark d with rain, And the lands that were sunk in the ocean Stand up again, But the heart of the singer is broken for song is more bitter than pain ! COLCHIS. (An Argonaut Speaks.) YES ! I can remember the hopeless seas, Our dripping oars that beat to foam, The tortuous blue Symplegades, And our distant pale home ; The fog that crawled in from the gray Uafeeling s^ejep ef some Dacian bay; And Aeolus shrieking over all ; ^-This like a ghost, I recall! With night f.fter starless night of pain, And day after drizzling day of rain ; And terrible conflict where the rocks Lifted like Titans against the sky To shatter us, and appalling shocks As our helpless keel grated by; Tugging that reddened our horny hands, Sweat that blurred the hills into bands Of color ! We must have quarreled too, For I can hear loud jangling words, Strident as hovering harsh sea birds And our fingers were bleeding and blue ! The promontory at length we cleared ; The loud gale left us ; north we steered, Northward then eastward into a haze Coppery in the sun s quenched blaze; And so we drifted for many days Days that were worse than the strangling night, For the fog oozed a venomous blight, And the creaking strakes grew spongy-green, And the scum of the sea had an oily sheen. Then just at dawn the navarch died. I remember we cast him overside, Spinning him out with a lifeless swing ; There was one white flash of his livid face. Then plop ! died the ugly waves in a ring, With not a ripple to mark the place ! H And after, for three days white and blank, We pitched and rolled like a rotting plank. Till all my senses swooned away. . . . In a dazzling flash came return of day ! And I heard Jason laugh and shout. Then a trample of feet and a clattering rout Of triumph paeans and windy hymns. Today my memory breaks or dims To recollect that exultant hour When I saw the sunlight redly poured, And the land before like a sparkling sword, And the toppled hills, and one marble tower Of Colchis afar ! And I know, from then We lashed at our sweeps with more strength than men, And the waves streamed past us in hissing fire, And our galley moved to the chant of a choir ! O the strange craft that seemed as friends In our wildered relief that the voyage ends ! And the weird dusk folk that blackened the shore ! And the cry of welcome, a hideous roar ! That we loved as we did this ominous place, And the sinister cliffs of the awful haven ! Why even Medea s evil face Seemed richly and cleanly graven ! CLYTEMNESTRA. HELEN, HELEN! seemeth thou rt too fair; Seemeth thou art too fair, too beautiful, My little sister! Now the gusts blow free Thy loose robes, and I think thou art too fair, Too fair, too sadly fair. Each balanced line Sweeps in a modulated symmetry, Each thin fold of thy dress, each sculptured limb But O what sculpture hath the dangerous fire And fervor ! Seemeth men crowd round and blood Heats for thy touch, and thy fair face so cool And warm and glorious. Seemeth strong men rise, Made passionate and noble, and despairing And treacherous yea ! these things, these shall be In multitudinous men ! And seemeth towers Burn like brave beacons red against the sea. And thou dost weep, and thou dost then forget The little laughing things thou say st to me. And thou dost sudden grow noble and sudden grow Haughty and far and full of proud desires That none may know and live. And thou dost stand Later, the withering South Wind in thy hair Still bright with one bright poppy, and dost see Paris lurch down, and lustful Menelaus Reclaim thee with a leer ; and thou dost turn To him, and all the shrivelling years grow blank, And thou dost pale beside him, and dost forget The sunlight on our faces, and these flags Rippled by the gusts as we walk hand in hand Today, my little sister, ere the world Drags in upon us. And then thou dost die, Unmindful of thy beauty, and these things, Unmindful of thy life and love and me. . . . " . . . O Helen, Helen, Helen ! thou rt too fair, Walking beside the lake with me today. Beauty is God, the poets sing. I sing That too much beauty, too much God is death. And death is pain, and soul-obliteration. 16 Pity is me ! Thou rt beautiful, and I Who walk beside, foreknow the ruining hand ; Foreknow that thou and earth and god are death ! And death is earth and thee, O Helen, Helen !" OUR SHIP. FAIREST spruce for the hull, Shaven and planed, We fashioned her beautiful Evenly grained ; Pine for the spiry mast; Sputtering oak Heaped for the forge s blast ; Our sledges spoke ! Staunchly we built her proud, Shapely and swift; Her bow the waves would crowd, Frothing to lift. Bull s hide we scraped and sheared, Bull s thews we trimmed Little the gale she feared, Powerfully limbed. Last on her gashing prow, Brazen and dire, Hammered a beak; and now Trued it with fire. Then down the blazing ways Into the sea, Launched her with all our praise Wonderfully. Fitted her out with men, King s sons and tall ; Loud was the song that then Rose from us all. Into the western mist, Wake fire to burn, Sailed she. . . . Some yet persist She will return ! 18 THE OLYMPIA. AL through the rusting shipyards the bated whisper runs Wars and rumors of fighting, battles, and men, and guns; From the creaking rudders below them to the weathered masts of the ships, There s a thrill and a new-born ardor, and a talk of war on their lips. The sound of the chattering hammers the city echoes awoke: In the stir of the dreadnaughts fitting out, the old Olympia spoke "Well I remember that evening the time I headed the line The moon was under a jagged cloud, and the air was chilly and fine. Onward we swept through the mine-fields with never a lan tern to burn, And never a sound, a whisper, save the murmur around our stern. A reckless battery saw us and loudly it voiced its ire: Mind ye how sharply I silenced it in a storm of shot and fire. "Well I remember the morning. Unrippled the streaky bay; The graceful palms by the water lifted against the day; The yellow banner of Philip challenged the yellow sun; Till I ah how I remember fired my warning gun. "All through the placid morning, over Manila Bay My spinning shells went screeching up, onward upon their way. The thin white splashes slopped upward, as the shattering hail beat down. A ceaseless roar the hills awoke over the drowsy town. Their ships and the forts gave answer, but little I recked their guns Who fires the truest never is hurt; nor firing oftenest runs. My guns belched noisy anger and their clamor was not in vain : For they sent the fleet of the Spanish King under the Spanish Main." 19 The hammers ended their tapping; the whistles called off the men; And as the dreadnaughts swept to sea, I heard her speaking again T is hard for the aged and rusty when war sweeps over the land! T is hard, when others are fighting, for one who has battled to stand! My eight inch guns are useless, but I pray that I still may go, If not to another Manila Bay, to a splendid grave below/" 20 ULTIMA THULE. THE sun, a carmine dagger, wounded the eastern mist ; The sea, an implacable mirror, glittered with amethyst; And red dawn raced out fiercely over the restless sweep, As a keel, a stern war-keel moved out to the burnished deep ! Purple her sails they were woven out of the glory of dream Threaded with light; and their pattern aflame with irradiant gleam. Her oars they shone of silver. Her wake was a boiling gold. And she surged toward the high loud ocean, where a leaden ground-swell rolled. And what seeks she ? In the distance, some white and fabulous land? Curving palms on the hillside*? Amber wonderful sand*? Where does she go*? To cities splendid with regal worth, Starred with topaz towers hewn from a lavish earth*? Palaces crumbling and draughty, where only a poppy blows, Sleepy, nodding, immortal, tinted of flaming rose, Where day is a fiery halo, and night is a clear blue wine, Fragrant, intoxicating, sparkling, crystalline*? Shall the Indian shore allure her, the temples of dusky kings, Marble fretted with silver, as a white peacock s wings *? Or the slow melodious whisper of a breeze near Pacific isles, Where the bay is rippled with laughter, the shore is lovely with smiles*? Now as she clears the headland ; now as she stands to sea ; Speak, O voices prophetic ! Where shall her questing be *? For one pale moment she fluttered, sails of shivering light, Dead on the anxious ocean, dead but gorgeously bright ; Then on the helmsman s face there showed a glance such as sea-hawks wear The peering eyes, the flinchless gaze, the smile of the hearts who dare ; 21 And he leaned on the glinting oar that guided the straining keel, And the craft leaped madly forward to fly as the gray tern wheel. North ! North into the whirlwind ! North to the mocking gale! Toward the lash of the driven snowflakes where the scourged sea-dogs quail ! Saw he no ruby towers *? Longed not for softer land *? Aye ! But a tenser power gripped and directed his hand ! Only a rocky island, drenched in the wildering maze, Gray through the wreathing blindness, gray in the ghastly haze! Iron, frigid, vacant under the frozen sky; Where the souls of men become faded, their bodies shrivel and die! Not for a princely people ! Mad Cimmerian tribes, Eyeless, unhuman, horrid, meet him with loathsome gibes ; Not for its argent waters ! Gray and unlovely the waves, Heaving sullen and formless over the formless graves Of the men who have striven and lost, of Viking souls who have dared, Comets snatched by the hungry void whose brilliance no longer flared ! This is the land he sought: not for the treasure t would bring ! The helmsman was of toughening bronze, and wealth is a chilly thing. But rather to go where others have not, to conquer where all have lost, To battle the frenzied hurricane while Hope is a naked ghost. Such is the power that drives him into the torturing gale; This is the rugged goal, this the desired Grail ! . . . 22 So the bright ship moves onward. The tarnished water gleams. Over the vasty somber space, a liquid sunlight streams. And all the sea is a molten glow in the imagery of her dreams. CHALLENGE. A DIZZY battalion of bronze leaves Flickered from the branches that brush the eaves ; While the black wind that hurried after Reeled with an idiot s empty laughter. . . . And I who stood in the square below Swayed with each eddy to and fro Like a quivering mast in the hurricane, Till my face was blue with cold and rain. At last I coughed and rasped my throat To shatter forth a trumpet note: "Come, friends of mine, the bellowing gale Has ripped the clouds as it tatters a sail. See ! In the west a sword of blue Pierces their chilliness through and through, And the sun will burst in a yellow haze To dazzle the hillsides and amaze. Swift ! Harness your mount ! We shall ride, ride, ride Over the saffron countryside. There are serpents yet to be taught our fear, And each of us couches a magic spear. On ! youth is ours and hearts of flame That leap at the sound of a warrior s name ; So let us leave our Camelot As Gawaine or Sir Launcelot, Or Geraint for his entrancing Queen. Over the moor and behind that screen Of enchanted forest we shall find Adventure on each flaw of the wind A dragon with his blackening breath, A giant with the arm of death, A dark knight, glowering by the moat Of the keep where he s hidden, lonely there, A damozel with amber hair That twists like a vine about her throat. Come ! ride on the gale with me, my friend ; We shall find romance at our gallop s end !" ". . . Ah yes, I ve mounted my horse!" he cries, "But the dust o the road swirls up in my eyes !" 24 LOST LOVE. VT o ! I have not seen her again ! . . . After that week of sleet and rain, You remember, one evening the sun broke through A rift of the clouds too dripping blue, And shivered its gold from a hundred spires, Where the west was smoky and hot with fires ! That night a something in me shattered, I know not why ! and nothing mattered Save that I fling from my cage and go! Anywhere, anyhow ! So to and fro I clashed the flags with my stupid pacing, And sent the hot blood through me racing; Until a new surge flooded in, And I turned toward the town with a heart of sin. And there I walked, insane, unknowing Whither my crazy course was going ; Brushing the people with tired faces, Leaving the wind in its giddy races ; With only that sense of a terrible need To chasten my heart in a burst of speed ! How long I strode thus I cannot tell, When suddenly (O a silver bell Rings me back in memory!) I saw her pass me wonderfully. An amethyst brooch caught the color of night, And her dress was satin and faced with white. I remember this ; and remember too That her delicate look sent a shiver through My madness. Then she was lost in the crowd ! Gloom drooped upon me as a shroud, And I turned to my lifeless room in pain ! . . . No ! I have not seen her again ! . . . A MEETING. I. The Man Recalls i T was a bleak day, raw and dun ! Grim sun-dogs mocked the hazy sun ! . . . We met in secret on the hill, Beneath that withered gaunt ash tree Whose branches like dulled ebony Whipped overhead against the sky And, witch-like, creaked most crazily. We met in secret; none were nigh To see us toss aloft and spill The heady wine of youth. (Alas That these white hours should ever pass So bitterly, burning on the brain Only a memory of pain To rankle!) There we had our fill Of earthly love, cheek close to cheek . . . And many hours passed until The twilight west began to streak With fire. Then she rose and smiled, And left me as softly as she came ; And all the sunlight seemed to flame From the jade-clasped circlet round her hair, And her glowing cheeks, ah goddess-fair ! As she turned with a nod that spoke me clear "Tomorrow night I shall be here!" And then just her presence me beguiled*? As she flaunted from sight behind the trees, I felt a tremor ; and my knees Grew weak. A queer revulsion jarred on My senses. I could never pardon Myself for silly things I d done : O there s no respite to be won From this ! The trees seemed hideous hags, Disfigured by the touch of sin ; The scraggly thorns they wandered in, 26 Sharp venomous scorpions, stinging back; The rocks, gnarled withering dragons black And scorched. O now the world drags, drags ! And still above the hilltops dun, Grim sun-dogs mock the hazy sun ! II. And She 1. And if he does not come again ! After all I He will, that s plain ; For hear! The bird-note on the bough; And the clouds have ceased their spatter of rain ! As if man could belie, there is Nature s vow ! 2. Such chance ! We might never have met at all ! If I hadn t walked beyond the wall That, moss-chinked, crosses the pastury hill, A ruinous thing just a month ago! Just a month ago ! and the very hour He happened to choose our road to pass. I remember a wind shook beads from the grass ; And through ragged clouds, sunlight gan to fill The whitening sky, though day ended slow ! And yet some still grumble there is no Power Will see not the sun behind clouds that lower, Will count not clear days, only shower on shower That April bestows on the opening leaves. And I might have missed him ! Well, one believes! REMINISCENCE. So ! Tonight the city is spread like a dream beneath me, Or a dusky etching traced by the master s hand ! And the wind in the elms has a sleepy song to bequeath me, But it blows from the land ! It blows from the land, and I am a-weary of cities, Weary, too, of the sunset tossed from their spires, And their rigid outlines their ardors, their scorns, their pities And the smoke in sooty gyres. Their gold is too burnished for me, and each window flaming Is a vague opal set on a lifeless breast. I have seen opals with fire beyond my naming, Where the surf froths gold in the west! Nay, but yonder those languid colorous clouds are turning Idly, like dreaming barques on an enchanted mere, And all the western towers seem to be burning W T armly and clear ; And this is beauty you cry. . . . Ah, remember those places Where the gray beach shows the dimmed end of the land; And the phosphorescent wash of each wave as it races Up on the gleaming sand ; And the moonlit sails . . . And still you laugh and deride me, For drowsing here in the twilight so indolently. Oh ! Though the dark elms were wonderful gods beside me, Could I forget the sea*? 28 MERLIN. A LONELY man, his head among the stars Walks on the clean sand white beside the sea,- Merlin, the lonely man of Camelot, Who left King Arthur and the tournaments And decorous garlands and the sight of man Dear to him, yea ! the knights and pageantry To walk beside the waves that curl in foam And sparkling splendor round him. This because His vague mysterious power alchemy Of mind, by which to purest testable gold The baser man he strove to elevate Through curious kabala, muttered words And formulae, and fiery distillation Of the elixirs red and white (for this The allegorists hold to be the sum And substance of the prime materia, Soul-purifier, leaving earth to rest As t was) him lifted flaming far and far Through unimagined distances of thought And dream, by pathways metaphysical To God s own face. And he had seen the face Of glorious God. And God had looked upon His eyes. So now he walks beside the sea Alone. And nightly chants he : "I have seen The Moon, and far beyond her. I have seen The ringed planets curve around the Sun, And the great Sun himself, and far beyond Strewn stars and stars and filmy nebulae. Past them across the night, too, have I seen And known that unapproachable face of God. And now I walk alone lest man should see Divinity reflected from mine eyes Which I am granted only to behold." 29 Thus Merlin. And the waves around his feet Break in a fiery phosphorescence, while The stars above are flaked in fire around, And the moon floats among them like a barge Of whitest silver on the unrippled mere. THE HOUSE OF GOD. THE organ groans laboriously. A hymn But half supported by the listlessness Of many weary voices dwines away Into the slow dusk shadows. Overhead The carven cherubs, nodding sleepily, Smile, half disdainful ; while the misty light, Twisted and shattered by religious panes, Transmutes the aisles to dusty labyrinths. Silence a drowsy murmur then a man Pale, bleached, and hazy, steps before the seats, Compelling sleep in drowsy monotones, The while he queries vaguely : "Where is God ?" I softly yawn. . . . Where am I ? . . . Like a dim Unhappy dream that dawn turns fugitive, The arches fade to nothing. Far away I see the purple gleam of hills and hills Dipping and curving, graceful, to the sea, Which like a cerule mirror of the sky Shows painted clouds and sunset and pure gold. Now from the west a cool breeze lightly fans, Whispering songs. Across the silver shield, Bright ever widening ripples leap away And all the sea flames points of dancing fire. Twilight is come. Upon the cheek of dusk The lovely blushes pale and disappear, Mantling no more her beauty infinite. The crumpled clouds assume a bluer shade Against the lessening orange of the west, While night flings free her robe of amethyst, Moon-clasped o er the sea. Now the first star Glints softly as I worship silently. . . . Where is it ? . . . Was I dreaming ? . . . With a weight The intolerable dullness crushes me. Again, again I see the faded light And feel the grotesque faces looking down 31 And laughing mirthlessly. . . . Still the parched voice, Oppressed by its own impotence drones on And heavily : "This is God s house !" it says. REPRISTINATION. THESE are not God, these spired mounds of stone, The grinning gargoyles with their hideous faces, The clangorous bells that heavily intone Funereal chiming sacramental places Cold as the moon ! An altar richly carved With dead dusk saints the murmurous drone of prayer Atmosphere still, with incense-wreathing scarved Dream music but no Deity is there ! No Deity is there. He rather lingers In the fresh breeze that cools a lover s cheek, Or lays at midnight graceful silver fingers Of moonlight on the ripples of a creek, Or shouts His chilling loneliness long, long . In the weird cadence of a madman s song ! 33 "ARMA VIRUMQUE " COUCHED with Lavinia, close beside the hills That are to cradle his empire, grimly waits Aeneas ; and he hears the braggart Fates Clamoring : "Lo ! our prophecy fulfills In this scrawn man, this woman of these hills. From out their loins shall come a race of men, Brazen in war!" Lavinia flushing thrills, Snuggling close; then laughs and flushes again; But he looks widely southward, and he seems To see great towers piling by the sea, And a pale queen beneath them. Now he dreams Another empire. He sighs irritably: "O I had loved you, proud undestined home !" But the wind laughs and whips dry leaves toward Rome! 34 "ANCIENT TO OTHELLO." I AGO being tortured (runs the tale Left incomplete by Shakespeare) nearly dead In silence, lifted sudden his proud head, Hair streaming loose, tall cheeks aghast and pale, Eyes bloodshot. With voice still a sound to quail His tormentor Cassio, terribly he said: "Draw close around me, ere my senses fail, To learn for what my venomy shaft was sped !" They closed around him. He brushed back his hair From brow with painful hand. Then slow he moved His ironic lips, half rose confronting there The gloating faces, swift to be reproved ! Then : "Grammercy for this reprieve " he cried "To die in peace!" With this last jest he died. 35 VIOLINISTS. HE steps before us all. His fingers seem Flames, and most supernaturally white In the glared brilliance of great chandeliers, Glassy, ornate, that swing above his head. A pause . . . the while he seems to sway and sway Like a bright flower. . . . Suddenly he stands Erect; and all the air is tide that flows Rhythmically to the surging of his song. . . . Poor crazy fiddler, starven, whom the wind, Whimpers around in that gaunt alleyway, Draggled and cold, how would thy shrivelled heart Expand for but one glimmering of that flame! A CHINESE PAINTING. THE old moon s paling lantern wavers low Above the shadow-forests ; where the trees, Forming a ghostly frieze Of lifted spears against the vacant sky, Stir restlessly and faintly to the slow Unquiet shiver of the tremulous breeze. And O, how ill at ease The dim place is ! For there among the shades Of leafy vagueness I can see deep eyes Burning as molten planets with far glow, An ancient dragon, twisted, scaly, wise, Coiled round a treasure, scorning earthly blades. I draw my sword like some old mandarin, Fearsomely creeping out against the foe. And as I rush to strike, my heart within Chills. He claws snarling. . . . Suddenly the thin Veil is torn back; and I, half sadly, know That this is but a dream of what has been A cracked old dragon painted long ago. 37 THE WHITE ROAD. ON ! Let us take the white road That swerves toward the sea! The white road that swerves in dust. Like a serpent, toward the sea! I. And one of us saw a peaked roof, And left the cavalcade Jaunting along through the hills, For the hand of his maid. Pale ramblers wreathed in the sunlight, Blown petals drifted the wind, And the door was deep and dusk, He left us riding blind ! II. And one of us looked on combat, A king s plume dusty and frayed; He left us jogging easily, And the sunlight hardened his blade. The trumpets were silver challenges, The ensigns were crimsoned true, But we, we rode in laughter Toward the sea that was bronze and blue. III. And one of us knew a mart, And the droning clamor of trade, Spread silks for the queen of a Caliph, Amphorae curiously made. Gold, gold was strewn on the benches, Bezant, shekel, doubloon ! And he left us ambling, ambling Toward the sea that is chill as the moon. 38 IV. But some of us rode on Toward the sea that was carven jade, Toward the spires and peaks of the haven, Most splendidly arrayed ; And spires and peaks were phantoms, The sea was a waste of sand; Our eyes were mocked with a madness, Terribly, scornfully grand ! On! let us take the white road That swerves toward the sea! The white road that swerves in dust, Like a serpent, toward the sea! But 0, turn from the white road, Ere it drop in chill to the sea! 39 SONG FOR SAINTE-ANNE DES MONTS. (Grande Riviere.) OH ! Are the Gaspe woodlands still odorous at night ? And does the river wheel between most vaguely bright*? Perhaps a salmon flashes from the moonlit pool, Shimmering below the Northern Light and cool, cool, cool. In summer, at daybreak, there is a pleasant song The stream hums softly as it flows along Through many a foam-white eddy and foam-white fall Down to the great sea, that knows it all. In summer, in summer, when the splash of rain Wakes the tranquil clearness into life again; And the stream slips round each elbow under dripping leaves, O happy is the lilt of the song it weaves ! I have dreamed of it in grandeur Have you seen the moon Bulge behind the whipping trees in early June? Where the river hurries neath them in blue and gold, And the rich sky is white with stars and very cold. Or at sunrise, at sunrise, when all the East is wine, Ruddy for a king s cup, or pavonine With many, many colors like gorgeous cloth; And the little clouds are fringes, or spicy froth. Have you seen it then ? The dawn gusts have crinkled its blue, And the leaves that overhang it have opals of dew, And the day is filled with color like a clear, clear dream, And the river is a bright sword with faery gleam. Oh! Are the Gaspe woodlands still odorous at night*? And does the river wheel between most vaguely bright*? And do the birches shift to a sylvan tune*? And the windy pine branches lace the lantern moon ? 40 FOREST CLEARING. HARD by the stream, where two hills crouched and bent Close to each other, whispering evil things, Leaves shifting on them like the flutter of wings The little road turned rudely down and went Sharp to the left, a tortuous descent Past a stripped pine, the windy sentinel Menacing one bare arm and guarding well This naked outpost, shivering and rent. And there the forest broke. A bleak hut stood Like a squat toad upon the gusty plain, Fringed by the stark gaunt striplings of the wood, Whereon adventurous the tawny grain Pushed up. And there the snarled scrub shrank and ran, As though this were the vanguard of strong man. THE METROPOLIS. THE way grew steeper. I uprose Past ragged cliff and eager vine That robed the tenuous incline With deepest color. Now the close Of day empurpled each ravine; While all the hills were giants old That seemed asleep. Above, the sheen Of deepening sky impelled me on To climb where I had never gone Before. Then sudden, swift and cold, I felt a wind around me pressed, And saw the vistas fall away In tumbled rout. And now the crest Of all was mine . . . and over there, With gorgeous touch, an idling ray Made splendid in night s rippling cloak The dingy mist, the city smoke. The breeze grew drowsy as a prayer Scarce formed on lips. The distance flamed Irradiant glory, deep, unnamed, A most majestic, silent dream; And yonder streaked against the sky, Far off the lights began to gleam. So all was lovely here; and I Could pause to view it and to muse : How new the city was ! Its press, Its crying noise, all undefined, Had vanished. Now, a pale recluse, It blazed against the night, enshrined In visions I could never guess That it had known. The lights entwined Their earthlier beauty with the stars The Bear, the Hunter, angry Mars In wavering points of lucent fire, Now lower there, now higher, higher; 42 Until it all grew pale and pale Before the Moon s invading wave, Indignant prow and rounding sail That slashed the clouds, triumphant, brave! And then I turned around and went Adown the twisted path I came, While the proud chilly barque out sent White halos of transparent flame, And the great city burned the sky, A dream of color, gloriously ! 43 WINDY NIGHT. GREAT crying gusts and each cloud was a banner, Harsh bronze, cold silver, smirched with dripping blue, Fantastic torn, wind-streaming in the manner That furious standards blaze above the head Of battle. Now a hurricane shook through The tortured branches. All the earth was dead Around save I. No ! There the dry leaves crackled ! And Was it Death himself? I trembled, mad A crag-tall figure moved. His laughter cackled, Crazy with echoes. There ! Look there ! He strode, Trampling the pines beneath him as I had Thin brittle grass. The forest was his road, Down which he trampled, insolent, rash, swaying The crushed chill slopes with his affronting feet ; Then paused awhile the wide-mouthed gale was baying! To blow his purpled fingers. Bah ! The cold Was fierce that night ! A senseless whirl of sleet Maddened his pathway. Terrible and old His weathered face, storm-creased ! He stopped, and flinging His bulk against a mountain, clamored loud To all the blasts : who answered, hoarse, unringing While the soiled night raged horrid with their shout; Then he crashed on, erect, gigantic, proud, And the swirled vapors hid him in their rout ! Gone*? Was he gone? The rent clouds raced insanely; Foul dusk boiled up, all turbulent with fear And wildered breath. Yet cold revulsion vainly Strove at my heart. For suddenly too soon For dread the frayed mists vanished. White and clear Above the ragged pines was blazed the moon ! 44 THE WIND. THE wind is full of poetry. At night It whispers songs around the drooping eaves. Sometimes it ripples softly through the leaves, Making low music, delicate and light, Drifting the clouds and turning to a bright And starry dream the sky. It richly weaves A colored fable no one e er believes, Winging its fancy to a lyric height. I have desired to sing as does the wind, Murmuring placidly among the trees, And see its sights. For it has oft reclined In breathless Eastern cities, where the breeze Comes as a smile of God from gentle seas, Refreshing with its touch the feverous mind. SONG. I. I SHOULD like to think of life as the coming of quiet, O, a growing awhile, then rest and ardor together, A strolling afar from the tide and its choppy riot, In a glory of April weather ! II. I should like to turn from the surf and its spume that hisses, Finding life and splendor and love in the sleepy hills Where the sun-slopes are crammed with bright bluebells, where wonderfully kisses The breeze with a calmness that thrills ! III. But the sea is stronger than all. On a noisy lee shore My heart must watch the foam pile. Life must be for me As a salty blast of wind by the stormy seashore, As a frenzy of waves from the sea ! SEPTEMBER SONG. COME with me ! The autumnal moon is flooding Dead rose petals with silver tonight. Come from within ! This is not the time to be brooding By the hearth s tremulous light. The marge of the pond in June there were lilies drifting- Is darkened by the gusty breeze ; This is the miraculous time of the season s shifting, When the leaves turn flame on the trees. Come ! And leave your songs and your dusty fancies To crumble. The clouds are calling you. Haste along ! What need, O friend, for the glamour of old romances Now, when the night is a song*? 47 ON A GLOOMY DAY. AID April s opening buds were slashed with rain ; And April s hopeful flowers were harried back ; And the bursting dogwood dared not show, Only the poplars with their woe, And the willows with their pain ! And April s glorious singers stifled their breath ; And April s shower of odes were uncomposed ; And the lyric of streamlets could not be, Only the ocean s threnody, And the loud waves promise of death ! PRELUDE. COME with the quivers of light To waken the soul of day ! Come, come away ! Dawn is softly stirring under the flaming hills, Night is wearily nodding over the paling hills, And the stars have fled away. Whisper a song of morning To startle the fleeing night ! For the wan blue clouds are blowing And the sky is bright. Sing, sing, sing ! Sing with the voice of the years : The red sun creeps o er the hilltop to scatter your hopeless fears ! 49 PASTORAL. ETEN ! Listen ! There from that blossomy spray a-glisten With crowded yellow forsythia flowers, A spurt of singing throbs out, overpowers The sloth of my heart ! From that thicket of brambles dart A flutter of sparrows, dipping by ! And up in the clearness of clear blue sky Three hoarse old crows flap, high ! SWIMMING AT NIGHT. JUST a race in the dusk around the hill, Past two tall pines that fringe the moon, A crackle of stones then a tang of still Bay-pungent air. And the cool beach glows, White as the stars, beneath my feet, And reflects in light on the long lagoon. I walk to the rim of the burnished sheet, The water s touch is a goddess hand Then the splashy wavelets leap in rows As I swim away from the darkening land ! WINTER SEA. WHO hath not heard the sea on windy nights Mournfully sob a sullen threnody Around the coast ? Who hath not heard it moan ? Its ceaseless waves that sweep before the gale Hammer the cliffs in sorrow pitiless While dusk November holds the iron shore In grasp tyrannic 4 ? Yond the sea gulls shriek And in their strident cries I seem to hear Barbaric voices wailing through the gloom, Mourning the ages : old Icelandic ghosts That weep wild sagas in the thralling mist Of Leif the Lucky s war keels long ago. SONNET. THE lucent walls of Rome, bards oft have praised, Thronging bronze-towered on the sacred hills ; And in some hearts surpassing rapture thrills At Nineveh s old wonder. Men have raised Vast rhythmic songs to Athens temple, blazed Sun-golden, as a coronal, above Her poetry and splendor . . . By a love Of these sure beauties, man shall be appraised. But O, the silver foam about the prows Of Tyrian ships that float before the breeze Past Sicily and onward, over seas Turquoise and lovely, which their oars arouse To opalescent glitter, as they drowse At sunset through the gates of Hercules. 53 TO A PLATONIST. I KNOW you love to wander far from things, By soul-paths out beyond the flaming orbs Of heaven. Yes, I know pure thought absorbs Your splendor. And you laugh, come face to face With God, at earth exultantly, and race, Wheeling on fiery wings. But oh, oh ! walk with me at eventide Down the dimmed street ; look wonderfully with me Upon the people s faces. You will see Man grown resplendent, glorious, divine, Man s work that sheds the sunlight like soft wine, And holy God beside! 54 PEACE: A MEMORY. IT seems so long ; t was but three years ago Three fleeting years of sunshine and of rain When it had not begun ; nor all the pain And hate had come. The world that now we know Was yet unborn. The mornings come and go, The air today is just as soft as then <~ That spring three years ago. But ne er again Will be so bright the summer s hallowed glow. And yet, perhaps, when all the strife is o er, o Such of us then as still survive may drift Into those idle ways we knew before The bloody years. If this be so some shift Of unseen wind, I pray, shall stir and lift The mist and give us memory of war ! June, 1917. 55 /** PEACE. (June 28, 1919.) THERE was a drawn, mad silence in the room Where grouped forms moved as shadows quietly Pale as the fog that slides in from the sea At dawn. The air was sodden of a tomb And dull. A sable judge invoking doom Upon the culprit (So he seemed that sate On the proud dais of the victorious state) Murmured, and two ghosts signed, and fled in gloom. . . . And there were other things unseen. Vague rows Of naked graves that stretched across the lands, White torn homes, and dream-shattered hopeless hands, Starting blind eyes that groped and could not see, And reaching ghastly arms to part the foes A mute bare cross upon Gethsemane. AFTER COMBAT. HARK ! Yonder elm-tree seems to pulse with singing That fire has hardly spared. Hark ! Do I hear The mavis-note in that seared bracken ringing, No trace of fear 4 ? The rank grass strives to hide the hideous scourings Of blundering man. The e er-immortal earth Re-flowers to life despite unlovely lowerings In clearer birth. Was it a dream so little seems regretted, While more, more gorgeousness comes on us soon That I saw spearmen, last night ! silhouetted Against the moon*? 57 THE WHITE GOD. THE WHITE GOD. (Quetzalco-atl.) THE great prince Montezuma, swerving back From a victorious raid on Yucatan, (In this his serpent standards had advanced To Nicaragua lake) was troubled. He Had heard rude murmurs fanning from the coast, And whispers of rebellion bruited far, And word of mad forewarnings wafted far, On every gust that blew from Mexico. So as he passed through Xoloc, hastening To Tenochtitlan of the many roofs, His glistening city, all his mind was stirred With turbulent brooding ; and he looked not out Upon his dusky subjects, gathering With flowers and luting to adorn his path Of triumph to the capitol. Within His gold-encrusted palanquin he sat, Despondent, irritable, while his ears Rang with this gloomy clamor : all has gone ! And as the crowds cheered closer, he recoiled And sank against the cushions, crass and dull And heavy, and his vision seemed to blur Into a streak of unreality That confused all things vaguely, as in dream. Then first the sunlit towers became a haze, Shimmering and dizzy; then the hopeless throng, A sea that hammered one black cliff, insane, Surging against its feet in spume, and broken, Hurrying back in nebulous cascades On which the sunlight flashed and turned to red. Until at last new waves of huger bulk Rose from the East and battered hard and long, And battered hard and troubled loud and boiled, Fuming around the cliff which shivered, rent, And tottered, and then fell. And all the rocks Fell with it; and the sloping mountainside. 6l Then Montezuma woke and saw he moved Adown the flinty causeway to the isles Of his great templed city. And the crowds Yet seethed around him, gliding ever near, Hovering close in garlanded canoes To fling bright roses at his feet, and cry "Live emperor ! Live conqueror !" So he, Exalted by their rapture, proud arose And shook his green plumes lightly overhead This sweep of luxuriant color, and he spoke : "My children, thunderous deeds shall come of you !" Then he passed on to enter gloriously, And laughed and babbled with his retinue, And laughed and jested more a man than king, Until one cry disturbed them all, bayed out: "The White God shall return/" The king rebuked That ominous echo, in the council hall, Thereafter. And proclaimed it death to him If any found who shouted. Yet the wail, Mocking and mocking, troubled still and leered, Reverberant. That night a comet flared Over Quetzalco-atl s shrine. The hills Shook dully : while a flaming blazed the East Whither he sailed in old time. And that cry : "The White God shall return/" And Montezuma Was cowed by that incessant hovering wail Of the end of things ; and knew not what to do. Until Cacama came to him the same Whom he had lifted to the eagle throne Of white Tezcuco and he said : "My lord, These prophecies have raised great stir against you, And against me as friend to you. For all Whom fear has ever silenced, now damned curs ! Scheme to make head against you. Cempoalla, Cholula, Puebla these will cast aside 62 Their watery bond and weld by insurrection Sure faith with the Tlascalans. And perchance My brother will move southward to assault Tezcuco, hoping in the ruin of all To gain himself a princedom. O these times ! When all we cherish shivers on the brink Of an unbottomed cavern ! Aye, my lord ! Coyotes yelp around. I hear, I hear Their coward challenge slink among the hills, And see their green eyes glowing in the dusk, And feel their breathing. Snatch a brand, my lord, Sputtering from the fire and scare them back, Ere they gorge upon our carrion !" And the king: "Cacama, I did well to give you rule. Now teach me, from your inspiration, how May this loud storm be driven from the sea?" And Prince Cacama: "I but spoke in haste, Admonishing you to fright them, petulantly. Then would they herd for safety. O my king, Let me recount a dream. It seems therein I read a parable. Last night it was And still is clear as glory yes, last night I saw a cypress clinging to the verge Of a tall precipice that overawed The Chalcan lake. And as I looked, a gale, A wet tornado gathering from the Gulf Stormed menacing upon the chiselled crests Of other hills, and muttered threateningly. Then thunder clattered hoarsely like the wheels Of ponderous chariots. Lightning ripped and tore The blue banked clouds. But still the cypress stood Its leaves a-quiver only these no more. At last the wind coursed outward from the vale, Tear-glistening. The thunder droned away. The white swords flashed more vaguely. And again The earth knew peace. It was more dear, thrice dear For all the turmoil. After, I awoke; 63 And heard the dread cry clamor through your halls: The White God shall return. Quetzalco-atl Tramps in the fateful East! And I arose And came to you. Dire prince, these times of ours Are grievous. And you ask me how shall you Withstand their onset*? Sire, yon tree is there, Sky-tracing, lovely-shadowed. You must stand Unmoved, as it stood, with its leaves a-quiver; And this great storm will clatter into distance ; The earth know peace again. We do not deal With men, with men alone " Again the king Broke in to query : "This same tree of yours, How shall it guide me"? Do you mean I stand Aloof, unmindful that the broils of men Topple my empire ? Do I read you well ? Or how? Or what?" Cacama swift replied: "Its leaves a-quiver, wise my lord, I said. On this may hang your acts." And turned away, And left King Montezuma on his throne, Perplexed and pondering, and he sat that way, Perplexed and pondering, till the sun dropped down, And a young moon climbed brightly overhead. Not overlong thereafter he convoked A ponderous council Prince Cacama first, And Cuitlahua, his own warlike brother, And Nezahual-pilli, a priest of the gods. And all the while, wave-slashing, on there drove Ten caravels across the Cuban seas Toward Cozumel. For Alvarado he Later called Tonatiuh by the men Of Aztlan, for his god-surpassing frame And lustrous hair had hurried back before Grijalva, bearing rumors of a land Of gold, perchance great fabled El Dorado. 6 4 And later when Grijalva came he spoke Of the great Mayan strongholds, and the gold Curiously worked, and showed them pendant stones Of intricate setting. And he said : "My lord," This to Velasquez, Cuba s governor, Iron of brow, who swayed the vice-regal rod As though it were a sceptre : leering man "My lord, beyond this land they pointed north And westward, while they cowered shiveringly, And paled if these men ever pale and howled: Colhua! O Colhua! like the wind Restively chafing all the topmost trees, Cypress or cedar ; after that no more Would speak as though it were a sacrilege To speak at all. And then we onward moved Through the snarled primal forest, while the scrub Grew barbed and menacing. Great tortuous groves Of ceiba, labyrinthine, tangled us. And there were flowers unknown and glorious. And then we splashed through marshes simmering, And crossed black serpent streams that interwound Among the slimy roots malarial ; Near other forest cities. Ever all Colhua! O Colhua! cried, and north And westward pointed till at length we came To a last river deeper than the rest, Too deep to ford, sea-moving, languorous. Here all the banks were oozy, overhung With dripping vines, entangled, poisonous. And cross it thick impregnable undergrowth Twisted and thorny barred our strong advance. All, all was evil ! And behind the brush More evil yet I saw the glint of spears, The shift of plumes that rippled in the gusts, The brassy ensigns. And my guides slunk back Into the shadows close around the camp, And quivered terror-palsied, and breathed out : Colhua! O Colhua! and (methought) Fearfully : Montezuma ! hoarse with dread ; Then pointed north and westward to the host That held the farther shore, and huddled in Around us. So the night was passed in fear ! "And when the dawn, bespangled, tremulous, Shone on the trailing branches, tremulous, To wake the captains, lo! the host was gone, And all the gaudy jungle hushed. A burst Of windy exultation shattered through Our drawn blanched ranks, while our swords flashed and blazoned Pale lightnings in the sunlight, and outrang In surgent thunder, iron, clamorous. And now I was uncertain where to turn. Three hundred men I landed with. But some Were dead beside the shore, and some were dying, And others feverous. And yet that dream The fitful wind had blown me and the gold, And the far whispers of a jewelled city Beyond perchance great fabled El Dorado! Scarce knew I where to turn? By faith! I knew That night! For Captain Alva, foraging In the jungle, chanced upon a feathery band Of Mexicans, accoutred all for war. He fell upon them sharply, imprisoning Their leader, a plumed cacique, him haling in To me. We could not speak his barbarous tongue ; But we had with us one rescued before By Alvarado who had lain among The Mayans, a prisoner for twenty years. He was a Spaniard ; and he yet recalled Brokenly the speech, Castilian, of his birth. Through him we talked. The chief was loath to tell Of his dark business and the empery Of that proud king he served. But having learned From the poor Spaniard torturing would avail Little against his slavish loyalty We tried persuasion, told him of our king Past the engirdling sea, and urged that he 66 Would tell us of his lord, that we might go Spain-wards to bear the brother monarch tiding Of this rich Western king. "The Mexican Grew flame-eyed, pointing astounded at the sea, And cried : Quetzalco-atl ! Dost thou come After these years ? And pressed in adoration, Telling us all. Of Montezuma, lord Of a sea-stretching empire, and the cities Servile to him, and princes : young Cacama, Scarce less to him, who served him faithfully. And how one city, ringed by snowy hills Down which the blue streams filtered wanderingly, A coronal of marble, Tenochtitlan, Was proud beyond all cities, and absorbed The whole realm s glory; silver from the veins Of dusky caverns, opals, amethysts, Gold from the spattering streams, and luxury. How from a western ocean was borne up Spice from the invisible isles behind the mist; Tamarinds from the tropics, from the Gulf Fishes all-golden for the Emperor s fare. And how Tlascala stood alone against The conquests of this king, fierce proud republic Girdled by him, unbowed, within her mountain Like a dun rattlesnake hissing, coiled to strike, And venomous. For Montezuma s armies Were many-numbered as the sanguine flowers That make his vale a troublous mere of blood Armored and gaudy, showering with arrows And spears the whole broad country and the gods Of who opposed them, till Tlascala sole Defied. And that the gods of Aztlan were Blood-terrible and ravenous, who all clamored Intolerably for death and sacrifice And rutilant altars, charred with misery : Save one Quetzalco-atl he had passed Across our sea, but one day would return, White visaged ; and how we must be the sons Of this god. And perchance our king was he. And then he said the nearest vassal city, The river washed, Tobasco, heard report Of warriors moving and our sun-bright trappings And thundery missiles. She was fitting out Imperial expedition myriad strong To oppose our progress, to subdue and drag Our captains to the altars to allay The terrible portents which the Lord of War In wrath had hurled on Aztlan, while he shook The heart of Montezuma with his ire. (For ghastly stars had blazed across the night, Firing the streaky heavens, and those mounds Wherein the dead were buried, gaped anew, Hell-yawning, and discharged the fleshless ghosts On palsied Tenochtitlan, bellowing With fear and frenzy as the inhabitants read God s supernatural scrawl upon the clouds, Presaging ruin!) And they deemed, he said, The fiery Tobascans, that suddenly To seize and slay us all in sacrifice Might regain favor with the god. They lay Nearly a sea league onward and were drawn Into array of combat. Did we move Forward on this their hope was set destruction Would blaze upon us from an ambuscade. "How might our hundreds plunge against that throng, My lord Velasquez? What could I do else Than this I did? For summoning a council Of Alva, Alvarado and the rest, I made them known of all, acquainting them With this I tell you. We deliberated Gravely without decision. Till there came Returning scouts, who told us on a rise, Wooded, beyond the river, there were thrown Multitudes ranged in combatant align; And that they skirmished with an outpost, where 68 One Spaniard, being wounded, sickened, died Horribly with fierce torture on his face Blue-black with poison. After this no doubt Remained in us. We hastened to withdraw, Embarqued anew, and set our prows toward Cuba." "O for a heart of flame !" Velasquez cried. And then no more, but held him silently From vehement outburst, chewing at his fingers Savagely. Till at length the powder flared With sudden explosion. And the governor s soul Raged most insanely. And he stood erect While tremulous lightning flickered from his eyes, And a gale shuddered the tempestuous hills Less harshly than his voice. "Grijalva, I Entrusted much to you. And you slink back, Dishonored and a coward ! O fool, fool ! With victory half-compassed to retreat Stupidly. Coward ! I have wasted much On friends. Perchance in this a venturous foe Will serve me better. Take the faint-heart off, Soldiers, to prison. Summon me Cortez, That fortunate ruffian valorous at best !" And as they passed they almost hear him murmur "Gold !" like a dream, and start within himself Too nervously. And twitch his yellow thumbs, And again murmur "Gold !" That night Cortez Came stealthily to him; and he addressed The rebel : "Cortez, you have been my foe Irreconcilable through many years, Seditious, slanderous, I will speak you frank Treasonable to Spain, disloyal to Her king ; but above all things valorous ! A thunder-brand in Cuba, devastating; Hateful as the dun wolf that wantonly 69 Raids the weak foothill outposts, pitiless ; But beyond all men ! ever valorous ! Touching rebellion, I forgive you that. Little I need forgive, since you have been Untrammelled by my enmity ; and touching Your Catalina there I could not yield, For honor you have married her, so I Am free to act: I give forgiveness too. For this return : that you equip a fleet, I sharing in the maintenance, and profit To carry war against the western empire Of Aztlan that Grijalva has found out!" And Cortez answering: "Forgiveness keep For those who crave forgiveness. Yet you speak Fairly for you, Velasquez. So I yield To you in courtesy. This night I ride To my plantations, mustering my men For conquest. Swift returning I shall come With warriors and gold to bear you out In this tremendous enterprise of iron !" Then strode away. And in the quivering light Velasquez sat as in a sun-spilled cave, Mountainous with gold, and all the dusk swirled round His senses, spattered golden where the stars Were gold upon the deepness of the night. Then two days after, Cortez hurried back With warriors and gold and the small haven St. lago, cutting back among the hills, Grew glistening with life. Its hollowed cup Filled to the brim with life adventurers, Gold questers from the island San Domingo, Slavers and soldiers, ruffians of fortune, Brigands and pompous priests ; for this high mission Was a crusade, and many a sorry native, Benighted in idolatry and evil And desperate worship, would be won to light And to the Cross. The expedition gained In prestige and glory. And the caravels, 70 Cloud-stately, moored beneath the enclosing hills, Chafed at their cables, tugging to be free. But all the while Cortez more haughty seemed, As might become a princeling. And Velasquez Grew restless and uneasy. So the foes Of the new captain, sensing cautiously A chance for treachery, whispered in the night Persuasive words ; said Cortez would be king In Mexico. Or if not king, would rob Velasquez of his primacy. Already They could confide the leader imperious grew, And insolent, and despising of the power Of Cuba s governor. These whispers crept Envenomed to Velasquez credulous ear ; Then in a flaw of anger he cried out Against the adventurer. And these enemies, Stealthy, of Cortez played upon the fury, And pressed him to remove the proud command, Giving the fleet to them. But fortunately Young Lares and Duero, councilors Of state, discovered this new mad decision. They hurried to Cortez, and bade him fly. And he, the brave, despised not listening ; Nor obdurate was, but thought of Mexico. So secretly, ere dawn, he hoisted sail Darkly above the phosphorescent bay. And at the sunrise bellowed a farewell To Velasquez and turned seaward suddenly. And so it came, wave-slashing, that there drove Ten caravels across the Cuban sea Toward Cozumel. And at this time the king Convoked his council Prince Cacama first, And Cuitlahua, his own warlike brother, And Nezahual-pilli, a priest of the gods. 71 And when they came, he breathed them the ill-ease That festered in his soul the hideous dream, Bat-winged, that flittered duskly through the night Down all the timorous archways of his mind; And, more than all, that quaver of despair : "The White God shall return/" and cried to them Distractedly : "I know not what to do. Gladly I would forget, most gladly would I clatter away in a burst of ridicule These nightmares. But my hour for mirth has passed. Ironically the favor of our gods Leaving a blasted trail too like the passage Of an outrageous army sweeps along To lure another victim with its hope, And then to blot him most destructively, That promise of hope consumed. I m like a hawk Half wounded by a shaft s inaccuracy, Who flutters on awhile, at last droops down, Wracked by more torment than the torturing arrow s- His little hurt become the death of all ! O misery, misery ! Cacama, you have been A comforter and prop to my misgivings Ere now. Read you my heart *? What shall I do ?" And young Cacama : "Lord, you haste to move With ill control, perchance to your undoing, In what is but an apprehended dream ! Sorrow enough in life. Make not you dreams Uncomfortable pain, that are the solace Alike of challenging youth and testy age. Make not of dreams ! Pour not so glorious strength In maddening the disconsolate heart of yours Too sorely. You will drive it fierce to bay ; And then the whole will crumble ! I who bore First whisperings of turmoil, beg you wait ! Wait, and then wait, my lord !" But Montezuma Smiled at his prayer, and thus indulgently : "Ha ! Youth can live on this ! and breathe, and thrive; Drink, draw repose, and surer manlier strength. 72 You have said well not wisely. Look ! Awhile, (And you have said!) first whispering of upheaval You carried me. I troubled, and you came. And now you tell me peace. No ! I must hold First words the more inspired. Cuitlahua, What say you to my dreams ?" His brother replied: "I only hold a sword in my right hand. I only wear a buckler on my arm. If there be need of else, why, turn from me ! Seek you some shrewd adviser. Yet, my lord, Why race Time toward the future to confront The impending pain of years *? You hold a sword, Wind-sharp to strike ! And if a man oppose, Then let him feel its blade, and if a god, Fear not to try him too. Stand easily, Until the hour shall challenge. Then, my king, Strike hard, strike swift, and I will strike for you !" Him Montezuma: "Counsel much the same Flares from your laudable fire. But, O my brother, This heart misgives me. Nezahual-pilli, Read you the terrible auguries of heaven And bear right witness of the future. I Misdoubt my hopes. Say what the gods have scrawled In skyey script, imblazoned mong the stars !" (And Cuitlahua unto Prince Cacama, Aside : "In verity, now shall we hear A welter of disaster ; for these priests, If they be versed as this knave surely is In priestly ways, have learned to make of fear Their heritage of weal." And Prince Cacama, Likewise aside: "So is it, as you say.") And Nezahual-pilli the while was still, Eyes rolled to heaven, with dumb lips and blank 73 Expressionless ghastly visage, in a trance Thence subject to the subtlest influence Of inspired word. At length he dashed aside His stupor though in a coma strangely still And spurned his tragic silence and cried out With frenzy god-impassioned into song: "Not in a wattled and dreamy barque, So have the gods cried (Hark! O hark!) Drifting the quiet indolent seas ; Not on the pale, pale Western breeze Wafted, with prayers and the favor of man, Quetzalco-atl s voyage began Sunward across the seas ! "There! Do you hear them*? The hissing of snakes! Silence ! O silence ! The stillness breaks As man, the fool, drives forth in rage His saviour god. Lo ! the heritage Shall be reeling woe when the god returns ; For his wrath is a sputtering brand that burns, The god man drove forth in rage ! "Bearing a gift of reason he came Over the hills with an aureole of flame, And wheat in his hand, and twisted gold, And a touch of fire to charm the cold From man. Scourged forth his flight begins In a poisonous craft of serpent-skins, He that brought wheat and gold ! "O fools ! Stark fools ! with your lashes hot Flaying and driving you knew not what! With a sword in your hands and chill blue steel In your senseless hearts ! Will you never feel The presence of God *? Too late ! He comes, Murderous to the throb of drums, The god you have shown with steel !" 74 Swift, like a sob outwept, his clamorous song Subsided, and a quietude suddenly Surged in for few white moments ; till the priest Aroused from his dazed silence, thundering: "Yes ! By the gods ! T is so ! Quetzalco-atl Departs in rage. In rage he shall return Shortly. And give this empire to the sword Of his pale children. On the eastern sea Their ships are pressing boldly even now ! The end has come. Your empire falls in dust, And rust shall rivel all those palaces Of yours, O king!" Then with a convulsive moan, He sank upon the floor, and wept, and wept. After that wail of anguish, Montezuma Blanched for a moment as the priest had done, Blanched, looking vacantly about the room Wherein the council sat. But suddenly His color blazed back. Then, wheeling to his brother, He said : "And I shall need your sword some day !" Then faltered (while he looked upon the priest) Then laughed, and to Cacama laughingly: "Poor superstitious! These be prophecies? I like your counsel better." And no more. Off Yucatan that night there fluttered in A wildered ship, storm-draggled, wearily; And after her nine others. And they dropped Most wearily their anchors, and drew in Like sleeping swans, close to the Mexican shore. 75 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA