PS 3537 H96 15 1907 MAIN IRLF GIFT OF YYV OSI Idle Rhymes From Oregon By C. H. Sholes \ ^ - - Photo by R. L. Glisan, Mazama Outing, Mount Shasta, 1904. Elevation 8600 feet. WHITE-BARK PINE Where mountain thunders shatter solitude, Mid lightnings and the avalanche, thy home ; The hurricanes thy comrades ; by cloud-foam, Enshrouding snow and ice long months immewed ; Till Summer, stirring after long prelude, Dissolves thy wintry bonds, and from the Dome Above thy gnarled and hoary trunk forth roam The floods to sing thy harsh vicissitude. On thee wild storms have carved in graphic runes A thousand years of history : how rent, yet healed, Thou still deftest Death, all-conquering tree ! Whose shining aureole ceaseless importunes Calm gravitation s awful stress to yield Thy anguished strain for immortality. ByC. H. SHOLES DONE INTO PRINT BY THE ROYCROFTERS AT THEIR SHOP WHICH IS IN EAST AURORA, ERIE COUNTY, NEW YORK - Copyright by C. H. Sholes 1907 5 < o7 Idle Rhymes From Oregon This edition, printed from types, is limited to Two Hundred copies. Contents / A Mountain Walk 8 July Song of Mount Hood 12 Home From Alaska 13 Chilcoot Pass 14 The White-Bark Pine 16 The Water Ouzel 18 On Summit of Mount Shasta 20 Nesika Klatawa Sahale 21 Sunset Storm on Mount Hood 23 The Storm-Cloud 24 Love s Alternate 26 St. Peter s Dome 28 QUATRAINS: Mount Hood 31 October Days 31 Unrest 31 Self-Denial 31 Query 31 A Cloud-Birth 32 Fate 32 Heroism 32 "The Sweet Unrest of Spring " 32 Columbia Gorge 32 The Message 33 Spring In Iowa 33 A Wild Anemone 33 The Poet s Heart 33 383363 HILDREN of Mist-land are these, Dim pictures of idyllic hours; As transient as leaves on the trees, As sunshine in Oregon showers. From land of the domes and the spires O er-shadowing turbulent streams, Where forests use needles for lyres, And poets find orphics in dreams. Here Nature, supreme in her graces, Surpasses the poet s best line, While days and the nights commonplaces Interpret man s visions divine. A Mountain Walk* ;IS DONE! Proud thought for one whose weary feet Attest the long and toilsome road. I greet Thee, Friend, whose rare and radiant health Made glorious that August day, whose wealth Of wit, keen argument, and charm of voice Made miles mere sport of limbs, and lungs rejoice To climb hot dusty hills, whence far outlook Gave rich reward to toil. Our souls partook Of nature s lavishness, and felt instilled Primeval strength, like sweet wild wine distilled In chalices of flower and fruit and tree. To you, brave Heart, the enterprise; to me Companion s part, to guide and choose the way, To help where little help was needed^-make the day For you more fair; to fetch the beaded cup Or ruder vessel filled with sparkling brew From singing brook or spring that bubbled up, And hand it, clear, delicious, cool, to you; Or, holding hand, restrain thee, soaring Sprite! From taxing strength to dance o er mountain height. How well, discoursing of some great emprize, Your voice I hear, and see your radiant eyes; Remember how my sad, maturer fears Oft sought to rein the visions of your years. A vain attempt ! for you were wedded strong To thoughts that bore your trenchant words along; In vain! for you had optimistic youth, And in opinion s warfare optimism s Truth! * Reprinted from " Mazama : A Record of Mountaineering in the Pacific Northwest," by permission of publishers. (8) In our exalted mood how nature, cold To languid eyes, her wondrous wealth unroll d: A stretch of tangled growthgreen, red and brown; Some vagrant willows tossing catkins down; The barberry tree; wild grape of Oregon; Hemlock and maple, whose lusty roots like Harpagon Clutched fallen monarchs of the ancient wood And sucked their substance up devouring brood! Thus fastening life on death. Then steeply ran The road to high plateau, a level span Mid park of giant pines whose yellow bark The morning sun transmutes to gold. No cark Or care could wrinkle here. Like page it seemed Of heraldry: On emerald field gold gleamed; Athwart the bosom of the sun-drenched land A bosky canyon trailed its sable band; And countless needles lace-like tracery Wrought on filmy clouds or sapphire sky, While Mount Kaniksu couchant brooded o er This coat-of-arms the clustering ranges bore. Such riant growth of flower, fruit and shrubbery As fringed our path must tribute pay ere we Could haste to journey s end. Why haste? A day Like this might never dawn again; here lay For one brief hour the burdens of our life As journey we toward mountain peak. Let strife And toil and trouble stand abashed before Our spirits calm, as threshold of God s door Is crossed, His temple s glory seen. No tasks So light as those our mother Nature asks; And so with never-wearied step and searching gaze (9) You turn aside to pluck a rose, or raise A gorgeous lily droop d in midday heat And crush the tender harebell neath your feet! On marge of stream where moistened soil gave birth In rank profusion to wild fruits of earth, One found it pleasant cheer (who will, contemn,) To pluck pink salmon-berry, leaving stem "To nod like cowl d monk s head" ( twas your conceit), While you were off to bring me royal treat Of strawberries wild, served daintily in hand A service such as king could not command. Thus loit ring, pausing oft in shade of fir (Whose lyric soul responds to faintest stir Of winds), we traveled many a mile. Our noonday camp Whereto came wearier friends who scorned to tramp Gave needful rest. The way resumed, we mount By easy steps to heights whose hours we count As days in lowlands where the sluggish tides Remorseless power engulfs what swiftly glides From mountain peak to sea, borne down by stream Whose source is in the glacier: type supreme Of nature s law that deathless plies eterne To raze a mountain or rear the fragile fern. Anon, tree-barren brownish hills, whose grand And flowing curves seemed carved by artist s hand, Or, reared like mighty crypts, support on high Great dome of cloud and architrave of sky. From east to west has rolled the silent sun, Fair type of range our earnest thoughts have run; Now evening twilight deepens forest gloom, (10) Adds pungency to wild wood s rare perfume And whilst it dims, accents the glowing words That nature writes in mystic, rhythmic chords. As grandeurs thus unfold wild wind-swept peak Where winter s storms their wrathless vengeance wreak, Gloom-shrouded canyon, distant height cloud-plumed Less need to talk. Yon shifting clouds, illumed, Enshroud the wooded range that girds the lake Where we, encamped, shall idle respite take From speech and walk, and lying round the fire Dream o er the joys the day has brought, respire The tonic air, then sleep in cedared tent, Or neath a canopy of fir through which besprent The stars look down, to list to loon s weird cry So desolate, such haunting wail as twould defy The world to purge the infinite main Wherein it poured its life s exquisite pain. (ii) July Song of Mount Hood EHOLD ! I am clothed in garments of glory, My graceful cloud-banners flung out to the breeze; Fierce sunbeams wrinkle my forehead hoary, e thunders the avalanche down to my knees. My torrents and glaciers, unfettered for gain, Expending their strength in joyous turmoil, Resistlessly flow, and disperse in moraine My cloud-piercing cliffs, and my grandeurs despoil. Unheard by the ear of the indolent throng, Triumphant and wild in their midsummer glee, My rivers and canyons, in tumult of sorfg, Are singing a rondeau of clouds and the sea. Above my white apex the infinite deep; Submerging my feet vast forest of pine, The chant of whose organ is sweeter than sleep, The spice of whose breath is richer than wine. So mild are the days when I slumber and brood An infant could sleep in the sun on my breast; But Titan am I when aroused, so beware of my mood When gales and the snow sweep over my crest. (12) Home From Alaska - WEARIED of that somber land, and throng Of worshippers of gold its Arctic shores upon, I sought surcease at sea the sea s wild song A bugle-blast for mist-blown hills of Oregon. Where Lynn Canal s wild surges swelled and roared And shook the stars from startled dawn, I watched with longing heart our progress toward The fragrant mist-blown hills of Oregon. Triumphant ocean s melancholy sweep, Long nights, and days cold, drear and wan, Vexed sore the anxious heart, till thought did leap Wild miles to muse on mist-blown hills of Oregon. The desolate reefs of barren gleaming rock Whereon the ceaseless billows roll and fawn, Flung transient clouds of mist that seemed to mock My flight to distant mist-blown realms of Oregon. Gray stormy days at sea, and then I rose Neath higher sun and balmier skies, to don, Where harbor-thronged Willamette flows, My mist-blown cloak in fir-crowned Oregon. (13) Chilcoot Pass ER headlands bleak and in the narrow canyon A strange foreboding hung; The south wind crooned, and from the peak of Gagnon No bright snow-banner swung. The south-born mists in-drifted from the ocean, And with the mountain s breath Commingling, by a swift and fierce emotion Presaged the gloom of death. All night the soft snow-flowers falling Clothed deep the mountain slopes; A calm that in those passes seemed appalling Gloom-tinged the toilers hopes. When bright the morning sun broke o er the mountains, The boom of avalanche And bell-sweet tones of myriad cliff-born fountains Made bronze-faced miners blanch; For Death rode on the pregnant air that morning, And startled looks were cast, As Nature s birth-pangs whispered warning To doomed men as they passed. (14) But stronger love of home and greed for gold Than warning words of guides; Not of the danger recks or young or old, So long as Want abides. Down frowning walls, its yeasty mass up-boiling, The Chilcoot terror fell, And sent a hundred men from hopeful toiling To agonies of hell. Like thwarted surges soundless depths returning, Their footsteps fall no more; Rough hands from struggling, hearts from yearning, They slumber on Time s shore. (15) White-Bark Pine* ( Translation from ancient hieroglyphs.) HERE God s stern thunders shatter solitude, With lightnings and the avalanche, thy home. The crippling Winds, hurled downward from the Dome Where throned in naked space among her brood Of shivering stars White Death her ancient feud Maintains against encroaching Life, gloam Sullenly down on thee, rifting the cloud-foam, Uncurb d in drear rock-wild infinitude. Now grapple with the bellowing blast, great Bole! Storm-racked and bleached by thousand snows, sun- healed, Rune-carved, and writhing in gnarled agony To lift the quenchless green of thine aureole, Death thou defiest. Tortured, thou wilt not yield Thy anguished strain for immortality. * Reprinted from " Mazama : A Record of Mountaineering in the Pacific Northwest," by permission of the publishers. (16) The Water-Ouzel BLISSFUL Sprite! enrapt of solitude, Elusive as the light, effect or cause Art thou of charms which make all human laws And ties less dear to me than wildest wood? Shy songster of the canyon s misty mood, Where sun and shade keep tryst with spray and pool, Where fragrant winds dip in and shift and brool, And filter sunshine on thy tender brood, Wouldst thou could put some magic in my blood To make me throb and thrill and sing like thee, Out-rivalling e en thy stream s impetuous flood, Thou Joy incarnate, woodland ecstasy!^ What thou hast give me, O marvellous bird, To sing my joys and sorrows in one word. (18) Photo by Gertrude Metcalfe, Mazama Outing, Mount Baker, 1906. THE WATER-OUZEL To secure so fine a picture of the Ouzel in his native haunts is an achievement worth mentioning. The result exhibits that rare coincidence which might be striven for a thousand times without success. The bird has just alighted witness the numerous ripples in the water and his whole being is so alert with doubt, suspicion and curiosity regarding the intruder, that one can almost see his wings quiver with indecision. A quarter of a second sooner or later, and the film would have spelled failure. On Summit of Mount Shasta >ERENE on Shasta s utmost spire I stood, With joy of conquest filled; its western flanks Obscured by thunder-clouds, whose darkening ranks Fprose and swelled, a threat-intoning brood; The lightning glowing red (like opal fire-imbrued Within its matrix rough) burst thro* their liquid banks, Then downward rushed a silver-plumed phalanx Cool streams to bless the parched and waiting wood. "The mind of God as perfume" fragrant breath Of lofty heights swept by and canceled Death. So deep was life, so wide the human span, All things I either felt or saw or heard; The universe seemed uttered in one word, And Time itself shrank back from mortal man. (20) Nesika Klatawa Sahale ETWEEN Gibraltar s cliffs and flowery vales Lies wondrous land of snow-girt hills, Whence waters rush in thousand rills, And trees are twisted sore by mountain gales. Vast fields of spotless snow like ermine furs Thrown over shoulders of a king; While here and there, to make them cling, The jagged aiguilles bind them on the spurs. In cold gray dawn the mountain s shrouded height Looms mystically in half-eclipse, A heaven-born apocalypse To those who slowly climb by stars dim light. Gigantic spire and stately minaret Rise round its shattered rim, Remote and grand as Seraphim When hurtling storms its towers of granite fret, But now the mountain smiles, as rising sun In gallant mood enwreathes Each rugged cliff; anon, it breathes, And on its mighty breast the avalanches run. (21) The dying glacier, leaving furrow wide and deep, Pours its torrents icy cold And the tumbling seracs hold Death and terror in their fitful summer sleep. A river s mighty canyon lies below, Carved out like sculptured flight of song, While toward the heights its babbling tongue Flings joyously its murmurs soft and low. At last, exultant, gazing rapture-bound From azure-piercing mountain peak, Too awed and over-joyed to speak, The weary climbers pause amid the vast profound. (, 22 ) Sunset Storm on Mount Hood ; ARK mystery looms upon thy radiant height; Storm-burdened clouds grope round in sullen mood; Their swirling masses gloam with unheard brood Of winds that shriek and shrill and flare the light Of passing day, and bear on eagle-flight The pageant grand. Where erstwhile calmly stood Thy peak in July majesty sun-wooed, Now stalks the shuddering gloom of Arctic night. Thy rosy flush departs ; gray ashen Death Falls on thy breast, then reaches for thy crown, While round thy crags the lightning leaps fire-shod. Enrapt, in solemn hush one scarce draws breath, But gazes hungry-eyed upon the vision lown As thou art ambushed in the heart of God. (23) The Storm Cloud i SWIRLING storm-cloud, a symbol thou art (Shattered and frayed on the mountains above) : Of my torn and tempestuous heart, Torn by insatiable longing for love. O heart-storm-cloud of helpless despair, Why with such pain dost burden my breast? Thrall unto death, and haunted by care, Following blindly my quest. O storm-cloud courted by lightning and wind, Why to my anguishing heart dost thou come Wild with the freedom of love that is blind, Shouting your joy to a soul that is dumb? O storm-cloud careering twixt heaven and earth, Wild as the seas are, freer than death, What has my heart to exchange for your mirth Heart full of lullabies wasting its breath. O storm-cloud submissive, bathed by the sun, Robing the mountains in splendor and gleam, Out of the sunbeams thy fabric is spun, To vanish like joys, as swift as a dream. (24) O storm-cloud tattered like scarred battle-flag, Marching in columns and drenching the land, Heaving huge masses in rage at the crag, Self-love is a fruit turns ash in the hand. O storm-cloud gleaming, cloud of the night, Piercing the gloom with your heart s wild fire, How little I fear you, I laugh at your might, Fire of your heart is less fierce than desire. Soon you will give to the sands all your treasure, Vanishing cloud, O cloud fleet flying: I only can give without stint, without measure, Only love is exhaustless, love only undying. (25) Love s Alternate F you were sunset beauty, And I were evening song, We d voyage in a dory Across the ocean hoary, Seizing the shores for duty And taking the tides along, If you were sunset beauty, And I were evening song. If I were what the clouds are, And you were queen of rain, You d be what sails to ships are, Withold me where sweet lips are, To sprinkle where the crowds are And lavish on the plain, If I were what the clouds are, And you were queen of rain. If I were artist-gifted, And Love were beaten gold, Our love would strengthen daily, We d gather flowers gaily, While self-denial lifted The pain of growing old, If I were artist-gifted, And Love were beaten gold. (26) If you were queen of mountains, And I were lord of day, I d kiss you every morning, Caress you past all scorning Despite the laughing fountains, And melt your icy way, If you were queen of mountains, And I were lord of day. If I were howling ocean, And you the fruitful shore, I d pass the fragrant islands To woo your lofty highlands, And teach you by devotion To love my lusty roar, If I were howling ocean, And you the fruitful shore. (27) St. Peter s Dome HOSE fancy first thy majesty essayed, O mighty Dome ? Who first foundations laid To rear that soul-exalting fane? Did master- hand Of Michael Angelo first build thy grand Proportions, carved from storied hills of Rome Where Tiber s yellow flood rolls to the sea? Or was this greater temple reared in Western land By Nature s primal force, wrought free From granite peak that lifts its rough-hewn wall ( Deep-worn by nursling streams that fret and brawl ) Beside Columbia s roaring gorge, to shine Eternal monument of Angelo s design? Where can the eye gaze on thy counterpart, O unsuspected archetype of Art? From thee we learn what Nature s law commands: How day by day and year by year her hands Have shaped to noble form her concept vast Foreseen in rock-ribbed mountain, sculpture-cast; With equal ease disposed that huge entablature, And wrought its matchless frieze in miniature, Or raised those slender spires on dizzy height With baffling skill, as seeming airy-light Upon that massive bulk as tufts of fern That fringe a garden wall. Yet when Oblivion stern Shall raze the Artist s work, this grander Dome Will rear its lichened walls to lure the eagle home. (28) Copyright 1903. Riser Photo Co., Portland, Oregon ST. PETER S DOME ( Columbia River. Elevation 3700 feet ) Quatrains Mount Hood A thousand times I Ve watched thy sunset glow, Calm, cold, impassive, thou immortal pile: Who holds thee mute knows not thy morning smile, Nor ever heard thy streams unceasing flow. October Days Now lure the mountains where they rise sublime, Uniting purple heights with cloud-embattled skies ; While languorous days of August s smoky rime Give way to sun-bright days of Paradise. Unrest I long for the mountains again, O friend, With desire that causes the heart bitter pain; And thousand times daily my thoughts thither bend, For joy seemeth nearer on peak than on plain. Self-Denial Amid the fields of plenty, lo, he stands, A starving terror in strong masque of clay ; No law but duty lifts restraining hands, And death implored rejects a willing prey. He who has plumbed the depths of that dim and fearful sea Which sobs and moans around the small white sphere of Known, Has measured life, caused death to crook his hingeless knee, And God himself to stir upon his changeless throne. (31) A Cloud-Birth The elfish wind careered in wailing volumes From moon-bright earth into the dizzy skyland, And skyward flung, mong misty moonbeam columns, Enough earth-griefs to make a cloud-land island. Fate What griefs and conflicts sore my life hath known Would serve immortal Shakespeare s august line, If them across his heart-strings stead of mine The fateful winds of destiny had blown. Heroism Between the heights of loss and gain The willing slave plods on, unheeding Those hungry twins, sweet Joy and Pain, Until the tortured heart is bleeding. " The Sweet Unrest of Spring " Till thee I met, O Friend, there was no sun, The mountains hid behind the awful dark; But now the joyous tides of Spring do run, And everywhere I hear the meadow lark. Columbia Gorge Where swift Columbia s flowing thunder Rolls glacier-laden peaks between, It cleft the jeweled range asunder, And healed the wound with slopes of green. (32) The Message I blessed the winged messenger who brought me such a treasure, With his grimy little hands and spattered coat ; And of course it mattered nothing, so royal was my pleasure, Whether he was worth a million or a groat. Spring In Iowa On a wind-swept hill the crocus, early waking up, Tosses back the snow-drift with its saffron-painted cup; Thro* the welkin runs a quiver, as a tone had touched a string Swiftly follow wind and rain and sunshine lo! the Spring. A Wild Anemone For thee, rare Friend of mine, I plucked this wild anemone Near where the mountain s crown melts in forest green. It none hath kissed save whom the silent peak hath seen Kiss it thyself, dear Poet mine, and give it immortality. The Poet s Heart The wild vanilla leaf, which truant boys Bring home and peddle through the town, Must first be bruised to shed its fragance round; And so the poet s heart, whose griefs and joys Are all within its deepest cloister found, Must feel the thorn ere song can wreathe his crown. (33) So here endeth Idle Rhymes From Oregon as written by C. H. Sholes, and done into Booklet form by The Roycrofters at their Shop, which is in East Aurora, New York, in the Year Nineteen Hundred and Seven 383363 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY