BrD Ani BY Son iKark Croum Iroabmag dampattg, fork Copyrighted, 1902, Copyrighted, 1905, DON" MARK LEMON. All Rights Reserved. As one who for a season has been confined In some dense city, at whose brazen gate Delight, and Love and Beauty rarely wait, And song breathes never on the smoky wind, At last, rejoicing, leaves those scenes behind Of cheerless trade and commerce, and, elate, Hies him toward the country's green estate With willing heart and newly sweetened mind: So leaves the Bard the dusty paths of prose And hastes to his beloved Muse again ; Leaves unmelodious writings to compose Songs liquid sweet as springs Pierian; And as he sings of summer and the rose Joy holds the Poet's hand and guides his pen ! CONTENTS. PAGE A Little People 297 A Lying Press 245 A Memory 358 A Moral Tale 241 A New Pleasure 302 A Prayer 236 A Prelude 323 A Statistical Poem 340 Adeline 300 Alice 258 An Evil Book 321 Big Game 339 Call Him a Poet 213 Can This Be Home, Sweet Home? 355 Clara O'Dee 306 Columbia 335 Drifting 233 Duty 251 Enough! Strike Deep and Let Me Go 343 Eros Seeking 203 Fancy's Bark 356 Fate 267 Florence 138 Fortune Sick 379 Four Books . . 224 iv Contents. PAGE Gladness 367 Gone is a Strenuous Spirit 315 Gone, One More Faithful Friend 311 Hannah Moore 240 Hate 243 Her Beauty is a Climbing Rose 342 Her Fortune 271 Her Step is Music 227 Honor 200 How soon a Nation can Forget, O Lord 277 Hypocrisy 221 Dreamt the Stars are Characters 257 Know, I Know 281 Know Where the Sunbeams Go 361 Like to Think This Best of Worlds 247 Love My Country Not the Less 329 Loved You for Your Beauty First 285 Saw Her Lovely Face But Once 388 Think: I Know 330 Thought to Write My Name in Gold 249 I Would Not Hurt Her Little Hand 286 If 327 If Genius were but Catching 296 If Half the Riches Spent on War 351 If She Should Die To-Night 266 Ignorance 313 In These, Our Times 209 lone 4 Isabel 172 Keats 170 Kiss Me, Dear, and Let's Forget 290 Lake Tahoe 322 Laughology 204 Lenore 354 Liberty Lives : Her Soldier is Dead 368 Life's Failures 281 Lines 294 Live On, Old Tree 206 Love , . . . 369 Contents v PAGE Love's Pyrography 2;">6 Luther at Wartburg 248 Make Room for Youth 217 Mammon 346 Marriage 348 May Such Books Perish 243 Motley 201 My Heart is with My Bees To-Day 269 My Life was a Round of Golden Days 314 My Love a Constant Beauty is 223 My Love is Full of Pretty Ways 264 My Sweet Thoughts are My Daughters 307 My Queen 370 Not Always 287 Nothing Comes of It 279 Now Morn upon the Rosy Hills 288 O Darken the Window 220 O Don thy Kerchief 338 O For a Sparklins: Bowl of Laughter 246 O Ghost, I Have Thee Now 295 O God, if Ever We Had Cause for Fear 215 O Lass of the Land of the Listed Lance 229 O Poet, Build for Me a Splendid Home 202 O Poet, Open Wide the Gate of Dreams 318 O Set a Window 205 O She is a Poem 299 O She is Fair to Look Upon 387 O Sing Me a Song of My Native Land 331 O Take that Picture from the Wall 214 O That Good Ink 245 O Thou Who Art Divinely Gifted 234 O When Shall Dawn that Splendid Day?.. 237 Ode to Liberty Bell 238 Ode to the Airship 353 Of Many Fools, I Loathe the Most 289 Old Dan Miller 261 One of the Millions 381 Out of My Brain the Music Has Fled 304 Over the Hills to the Poorhouse 374 vi Contents. PAGE Palmistry 284 Phoebe 319 Pluck and Luck 231 Put Money in Your Purse 177 Rhyme 360 Rosabell 115 Rosa Lee 198 Scandal 360 Shall Lovers Dwell Apart? 270 She Has Her Faults Like Other Maids 312 She Wears a Starry Crown of Deeds 342 So Deep in Love Am 1 210 Somewhere 390 Take Back These Honeyed Songs 250 Take Down Those Gifts " 227 The Billionaire 251 The Book of Yosemite 211 The Column 218 The Divorcee Dinner 291 The Hours 278 The Human Tongue 230 The Land of Washington 363 The Loving Couple 332 The Moral Poet 255 The Old Folks Are Growing Old, Old 362 The Other Half 337 The Pen 295 The Poet 226 The Poet is a Deity 264 The Poets' Queen 392 The Present 268 The Prophet 272 The Rose That Bloomed in Eden 310 The Song That Lives for Aye 328 The Spirit of War 207 The Storm 283 The Two Voices 222 The Wheel of Child Labor 235 There Are More Ways of Pleasing God than One.. 305 They're Training Boys to Murder 197 Contents. vii PAGE Tired 298 'Tis Better Far 216 To Trade 309 Truth 359 Two Friends 276 Viola War 324 War .375 What Dreams Unto the Rich Will Come 376 What Though the Garden of the Muses Yield? 317 When Beauty Builds Beneath the Stars 354 When I Consider 324 Where is My Little Girl To-Night? 389 Why? 378 Will He, Nill He 326 Woman 335 Your Beauty Left Me Marveling 306 OF THE (' UNIVERSITY OF *Lir' 1ONE, AND OTHER POEMS. THE POETS' QUEEN. She sprung from Beauty's immemorial line, And was herself the fairest of her race; And ever to her stately dwelling place The minstrels came, like palmers to a shrine. Where Hesper is the evening star in June, Westward she dwelt amid an island estate; There Neptune's steed champed at her sea-girt gate And regal palms shook to the silver moon. Beneath her latticed casement, sweet with balm, The narcissus and the rose first heaved the sod, And Love the poets sung awaked a God Amid her garden of perpetual palm. 2 lone, Her beauty was of earth as roses are Mortal, but nothing that might lead astray : The glory of her eyes held sovereign sway, But blasted none, like some bright, evil star. A splendid pride was softened in her mien- She bended as the stately lily bends When silver dew upon the field descends, And bows that flower low, but not to stain. Her eyes were bright as stars set for a sign In heaven, and in her soft-clustering hair The Spirit and the Love that made her fair Had left the fragrance of its breath divine. Forever open and forever bright, Her sculptured gates looked out upon the sea; Fit entrance to her halls where Poetry Dwelt like a Presence all compact of light. Queen of the Poets and Olympus' Nine, Oft would she walk at twilight's pensive close Where silver fountains like young palms uprose, And hark unto bright ^Bolus in the pine. Or with the morn, soft-op'ning as the rose, And with the rose's vermeil flush and light, She took her harp and bid adieu to night, While chord by chord the stars sunk to repose. And Other Poems. But, lo ! long seasons she has been at rest, And no more shall inspire the minstrel brood, And given are her isles to solitude Like a dead Orion within the west. 4 lone, IONE. PART I. Through the red and three-forkt levin Flaming o'er the troubled heaven, Cold and pallid, like a spirit, Looks the moon upon the deep. There a merchant bark is riding That the hand of Death is guiding, And her timbers are colliding With the jagged rocks that leap Like Destruction from the waters, Like a demon sent to reap All the vessel hath in keep. HarTc ! It is the sailors calling, Calling down the winds appalling Where the lightning points Disaster Riding on the blast o'erhead! Hark! The sheathed mast is riven, Goring at the cruel heaven, And the merchant bark is driven And Other Poems. Where Destruction lifts its head, And her splitted timbers tremble For that setting deep and dread To the stormy ocean's bed ! Hark! The blow hath been delivered, And the oaken bark is shivered; Every ebb gives up a spirit, Every flow a 'human core ! O'er the rocks the lightning burneih, (Whence a corpse alone returneth!) And each ruffian billow spurneth Some dead body to the shore; Heaps its dea_d- along the surf-line And retreats amain for more, Lashed into a maddened roar. From the rocks a bell is tolling, But the hour is past controlling, Death has taken up the hour-glass And each life he calls his own. No, not all ! one soul is clinging To that bell the winds are ringing, And the distant shore is bringing Help to him and him alone: He hath met with Death and wrestled And 'tis Death that's overthrown On the bell's foundation stone. lone, He, among an hundred blasted, Lives, whose life hath still forecasted Sorrow for the gentle lone Dreaming by the troubled deep. Him the Destinies of sorrow Bear from forth the tempest's horror That upon the bitter morrow He shall make fair lone weep, Take the sunlight from her waking, Take the love-light from her sleep, And make way for Death to reap. Him they bear unto the landing: Bruised and faint, but still commanding, He demands of those around him Where the lady lone dwells : "I have letters I must give her, And a message to deliver Be it o'er yon raging river Like a gulf between two hells, Be it where yon bell is ringing, I will hasten where she dwells While the love I bear impels." "If ye seek the lady lone Ye must pass the river Lion, Ye must face a death by waters, Face the Death within his home. And Other Poems. By the lightning that is streaming Ye can see the castle gleaming Where the lady now is dreaming, Couched within the marble dome; But ye better seek the Lorelei With her golden hair and comb Than seek lone o'er the foam." But the stranger passes the Lion For the love of gentle lone, For the love he bears the maiden As a father bears his child; Passes o'er the river Lion For the love of gentle lone, Though the wave is not yet dry on His gray hair and forehead mild : Passes to the massive portals Where sweet lone is exiled, With a dream of hope beguiled. "Lo, a face is at the portals Be it ghost's or be it mortal's, It shall never have admittance!" Cries the Master of the grange. "By the lightning that is leaning From the skies, we know its meaning, And the harvest it is gleaning, 8 lone, And the love it would exchange!; Know a fiend stands at the portals And its presence nothing strange In this night when Hell hath range. "Back, ye foul and evil spirit, To the doom that thou inherit ; Back, ye fiend, unto thy torments While the lightning points the way ! Back, ye fiend, for here is sleeping One whom angels have in keeping, And upon whose head are heaping Blessings for which angels pray. Ye have followed Fear too closely And ye cannot now betray Though thy head be old and gray." "I am human, not a spirit/' Thus the Stranger; "if ye fear it, Bring the maiden from her chamber Whom you love and I adore: She will greet me at the portal As a friend and as a mortal, N"or her gentle spirit startle Though the lightning plays me o'er. I adore her as a kinsman, Nor her father loves her more; Open then thy heart and door. And Other Poems. l 'I am human., not a spirit: Were I such I would inherit But the blasts that breathe from Tophet, Not the blasts of nature too. By this coldness that congeals me, By this faintness that o'ersteals me, By each frailty that reveals me, Judge me man and judge me true ; One that nature touches wholly And hath touched with loss anew Of a noble ship and crew. "Ye can see the lightning flashing, Ye can hear the wild waves dashing, But ye cannot know the sorrow That it brings to other men! Ye can hear the rolling thunder, And the shock the deep leaps under, But the heavens do not plunder Thee in darkness stygian, Tor the forked tongues of lightning Leap into thy maddened ken O'er the grave of ship and men !" "Enter in, and speak my pardon; I have been too harsh a warden." Here the Master, hasting forward, Takes the Stranger by the hand. io lone, "Enter in, now I recall thee; By the hearth I will install thee, And no evil shall befall thee That my power can withstand. Enter in : hast thou a message From my Lady's native land, From Hispania's far-off strand ?" "I have letters for the maiden, And a message that is laden With the sighings of a father Dying in a prison hole. I, that fain would die to gladden This sweet maiden, come to sadden Her bright spirit yea, to madden And convulse her gentle soul ! I, that hoped to bear Joy's message, Come with Horror's fearful scroll, Which myself I must unroll!" "Christ, have mercy!" cries the Master: "What unmerciful disaster Hangs above this gentle spirit Whom the angels all adore? Hath all prayer been unavailing? Is the love of heaven failing, That the good are left bewailing And Other Poems. n For a light that is no more? If this be the free-heart's portion, What then is the guilty' s store ? Christ, have mercy, I implore !" "Judge not Heaven in the hour Of the wrong, but when God's power Hath brought light from out of darkness, Out of evil hath brought good. Judge it not at all were wiser, Since we cannot be adviser To our Lord and our Chastiser Though we have all sin withstood." Thus the Stranger softly answers With the lips of ripe manhood, And his words are understood. "Yet inform me," thus the Master, "Of this sorrow and disaster What was it befell the father? What must now befall his child? Christ, her noble father dying In the gaol where he is lying ! 'Tis a time for work, not sighing, To be cunning and not wild; 'Tis a time to turn to Heaven, That its love be reconciled, Not to doubt and be exiled." 12 lone, "In Hispania thus 'tis stated Lived a noble who was hated By the father of sweet lone For his evil life and heart: He was foul past all detraction, Cruel as death in his exaction, False in faith and false in faction, Schooled in evil as an art: One who bore* a name of honor But in honor bore no part Formed without a blush or heart. "Long he lived, but one dark morning, Seemingly without forewarning, He was murdered in a meadow Eastward bounded by the sea. There was gladness in each village, For he nevermore would pillage Labor of its honest tillage, Of the fruits of husbandry: And 'tis said that morn the oxen Knelt upon the stormy lea Dumbly thankful they were free. "On that fearful Sabbath dawning While the tyrant's grave was yawning lone walked across the meadow All alone in confidence. And Other Poems. 13 Sudden at her feet upstarted Him she loved, and wildly darted From her presence with distorted Pale and bloody countenance! This she told unto her father In a secret conference, Sick at heart with love's suspense. "Deeply was the father troubled, But his fearfulness was doubled When 'twas bruited that a murder Was enacted with the dawn; But his silence was unbroken, And he gave his friends no token Of the things his child had spoken Or the face she looked upon. Much he loved the youth suspected Trusted him, to him was drawn As a father to a son. "Then the father rose in sorrow And upon the bitter morrow Gave his child into thy keeping Till the ax of justice fell : But the youth was unsuspected, And the guilty undetected, And the very crime neglected, 14 lone, Till it reached the Cardinal ; Then the sleeping law awakened And all Eome stands sentinel O'er an innocent man's cell! "Lo, behold ! look where 'tis written How the hand of Eome hath smitten Tone's father for the murder That sweet Zone's lover did! Hasten then and waken lone She must pass the river Lion Though the tears be yet not dry on Her warm cheek and drowsy lid: She must hasten to her father Witnessing what hath been hid, As her father here hath bid. "Better that her lover perish Than the father she should cherish; Better perish a false lover Than an aged, guiltless sire. Yet, in spite of Tone's admission, And the father's deep suspicion, And the youth's unkind position, Were I Rome I would enquire Deeper than these circumstances, Though enough they seem and dire To commit the youth to fire. And Other Poems. 15 "For I think the youth is gentle And this death was accidental, Though no man's above suspicion Till the Tempter hath been bound I" Now the Stranger ceasing slowly Kneels the Master meek and lowly Like a pious man and holy Kneels upon the flinty ground, And to God commends his spirit And of heaven's love profound Asks that patience may abound. Now, uprising, leads the Stranger, Who hath faced a sea of danger, To a high and spacious chamber Ever ready for a guest. "Rest ye here until the breaking Of the dawn, and loner's waking, Then, in this deep undertaking, We will act as ye think best Though there's one way, one way only, Which is God's way manifest, And that way ye did suggest." Now a sleep falls on the Stranger, Sleep too deep for dreams of danger, And the Master seeks the chamber Where sweet lone lies at rest. 1 6 lone, At the threshold dim delays he, And no call or speech essays he, But in love and silence prays he That the heavens guard his guest, Guard the pure and gracious lady In the name of Christ, the Best, And all spirits pure and blest. Deep she sleepeth though the lightning O'er the moated grange is brightening, Deep she sleepeth though the thunder Rolls above her bosom bare. From her dream she doth not borrow Sadness for the dawning morrow One she is that hath known sorrow But hath never known despair; One that hopeth ere the evil, Hopeth after it doth snare; Born to suffer, schooled to bear. In the footsteps of bright Pleasure Sorrow follows with full measure Drinking deep the wine of gladness We must drink the dregs at last; So unto this maiden dreaming, With the lightning o'er her gleaming, And her virgin fancy teeming And Other Poems. 17 With, the memories of the past, Sorrow comes like some foul spirit Borne before the midnight blast, Treading Pleasure's steps full fast. Sorrow comes to wake the Sleeper And be made her silent keeper, Like a guard placed o'er the guilty, Like a watch placed o'er the doomed. From her prison it shall be given Her to still espy in heaven Gladness from her presence driven, But her spirit shall be entombed, And the past can be remembered But, ah nevermore resumed ! Like a vestment long consumed. One she is that hath known sorrow But from certain griefs we borrow Kindly hope that leads and cheers us Till our griefs no more annoy: So with lone to her gladness She has borrowed hope's sweet madness And the present has lost its sadness In the future's promised joy. But, alas! the hour is coming That forever will destroy Hope, the dearest of employ. i8 lone, Tenderly, with maiden yearning, Every thought of evil spurning Still she loves the noble Bertrand Who, indeed, is innocent; And through all her separation Still her heart with sweet elation Beats her lover's vindication, Deep and true and eloquent: Still she trusteth in his honor With a faith all confident, And her faith is not misspent. Now she dreams of when they parted, She all faith, he broken-hearted ; She, the weaker, raised by patience, He, the stronger, bowed by woe: And her gentle heart is beating As it did at that last meeting, When her lover brought his greeting And she told him she must go Go across the frowning mountains, For what cause she must not know Since her father willed it so. "By that God that bends above thee," Low he answered, "I do love thee, And my love shall teach me patience, And my patience make thee mine. And Other Poems. 19 Since it must be, I'll not grieve thee With my sorrow, but will leave thee Till that day when I receive thee From thy father, to inshrine Thee within my distant castle, Where the climbing ivy vine Roots itself in limpid Rhine." Then he kist her hands and vestment, And one moment in caressment Touched her hair and added gently, "Heart of heart, till then farewell !" So these hapless lovers parted, Trembling, if not broken hearted, All their plans and gladness thwarted By that vision that befell lone walking through the meadows Rapt in love's all-dreamy spell That had seen, but seen not well. Now she dreams of that sweet meeting In the future and its greeting When her lover, vindicated, Shall again look on her face, Kiss her hands and flowing vestment, Touch her hair in sweet caressment, And one moment in redressment 20 lone, Hold her in his pure embrace, Saying, "Love, the time was dreary, Yet Timers footsteps I'd retrace To live o'er this moment's grace." And all love and faith she calleth From her sleep "Whate'er befalleth, I will never leave thee, Bertrand, Surely, never leave thee more! I believed thee, Bertrand, ever; I will doubt thy honor never; Nor my father now can sever Thee from me, though him I adore ! I will follow where thou leadest, Though the lightning hurtles o'er And the deep beneath doth roar I" At the threshold kneels the Master, Like a form in alabaster, Like a cold and marble figure In the attitude of prayer; But a living heart is beating In his bosom, still repeating, "Christ have mercy !" and entreating Him to hearken and to spare Spare the gentle lady lone, In His mercy and His care, Of a woe too great to bear. And Other Poems. 21 But the silence being broken By these words in deep sleep spoken, To his feet the Master rises, Troubled, like a father moved. "She is with him in her dreaming, With her Love ! her mind is scheming Of a better day, and teeming With his innocence approved ! All her being bends toward him, All her thoughts are interwoved With this Bertrand whom she loved ! "This is wormwood to the bitter ! Gall to wormwood ! 'twill unfit her For all hope and consolation, For all trust in heaven's grace! With his love she is infected Deeper than my mind suspected, Deeper than her heart reflected, Mirrored in her gentle face: He is dearer than her father, Dearer than her whole dear race, Since she loves him in disgrace ! "Christ, prepare her for the morning By prophetic dreams of warning, In a dream prepare her spirit For the bitter waking time!" 22 lone, But all night she dreams of gladness, Of sweet music charming sadness, And of laughter without madness, And of wedding hells that chime; And she dreams not she is dreaming, As she smells the dewy thyme In her own warm native clime. Now the Stranger hath uprisen, And the castle seems a prison To his eager restless spirit, Still impatient to be gone. "Haste," he whispers to the Master, "Break to her this sad disaster, Though thy story must o'ercast her And make midnight of the dawn: We have little time to linger, But by noon must be withdrawn, Though we've much to think upon. 3 "I will join you," thus the other, "On this journey, as thy brother In the cause of gentle lone, As thy friend in every need. Have ye patience, for 'tis better That I school her ere the letter Is surrendered that must fetter And Other Poems. 23 Her to sorrow cruel indeed I will school her gentle spirit, Calm her heart that fain must bleed, Then leave her alone to read. "All alone, for it is better That alone she read this letter Which was written by her father In an hour of deep distress: And I'll also be attorney To prepare her for this journey, For this unexpected journey To her fa-ther, comfortless. Stay ye here, and pray the heavens Smile upon my cause and bless What we ask with all success/' lone, at her casement standing, Hears a footstep on the landing, Hears the Master whom she honors Hasting to her chamber door. At the threshold now she meets him, And with subdued welcome greets him Humble welcome and entreats him Enter in her greeting o'er. To her window now she leads him, Looking out upon the shore She shall look on but twice more. 24 lone, "Look," she saith, "a hope hath perished, One, perhaps, that still is cherished." Here she points unto a vessel Wrecked upon the stormy reef. "Yea, dear lady," thus the Master, "Now ye look on stern disaster ; But unkinder, deeper, vaster, Than the sea is human grief ! Yet the tempest troubled ocean. Is but as a whirling leaf Unto Him who gives relief! "Let it teach thy gentle spirit That thyself must pain inherit, Since these lives were not exempted That the storm hath overthrown: And, if thou hast ere known sorrow, From this wreck the lesson borrow Schooling thee through pain and horror That thyself art not alone In thy grief, but others suffer, At their hearts a weight of stone, Heavier with every groan." "I perceive it," saith the maiden, "And my heart is heavy laden; Yea, that sorrow is most common, This indeed I understood/' And Other Poems. 25 "So the heavens have ordained it," Thus the Master, "Yet have strained it Through God's mercy, and have rained it On our spirits for our good, For 'tis sorrow more than gladness Teaches men a brotherhood Closer than the ties of blood." Now the Master, turning slowly From the casement, utters lowly, "lone, since thou hast known sorrow, Thou may knowest how to bear; To be patient, not contending With thy soul, nor apprehending That the evil is past mending, Or is reason for despair; To abide in faith and meeknesi, As becoming in an heir To yon Heaven's love and cart. "Knowing those that lose not Heaven Lose but that which hath been given For a few brief fleeting seasons, 'And that Death eventually takes." Here the Master meekly ceases, But no hope his bosom eases, And his fearfulness increases, 26 lone, For a pallid dread awakes In the face of gentle lone, 'And her startled bosom quakes !As the blood her brow forsakes. Pale she looks upon her teacher, Whose gray lifted eyes beseech her To have patience, hope and courage 'Gainst the sorrow that has come : Pale she looks upon the ocean, On the wreck in restless motion, And a sad and stern prenotion Leaves her fearful spirit dumb: Pale as cold forsaken marble Has fair lone now become 'Gainst a time of martyrdom. "Courage, lone ; half our sorrow From our fearful hearts we borrow; Courage, lone, for the noble Need fear nothing but their fear ! ? Tis not death that now assails thee In this hour when gladness fails thee, And a bitter duty hails thee, In which thou must persevere; But that error is triumphant Over him thou dost revere With a daughter's heart sincere.* And Other Poems. 27 Now the Master, meek and lowly, Tells the Stranger's story wholly, And to lone, pale and trembling, Gives the letter he hath by; And from fearful apprehension, From a sad and stern presension, lone passes cold with tension To the truth without a cry ; Learns her father's cruel position, Which, to mend, her Love must die, And in cold obstruction lie. "I am ready ; thus bespeak me To this friend that fain would seek me/' Answers lone, and the Master With these words his leave doth take. Now pale lone reads the letter, Reads the loving, pleading letter From her father, which must fetter Bands that angels cannot break, Fetter bands about her spirit, For her aged father's sake, That love's angels cannot break. Now upon her knees she bendetH, Asking that her breathings endeth, Craving that which every spirit Hath once craved of heaven death! 28 lone, That one prayer that ceasas never, But forever and forever, Though a thousand creeds dissever, Rises upward without death; Prayer of all and prayer for all time While this mortal frame holds breath, The eternal prayer for death ! Now she rises from her kneeling, Shame's hot blush upon her stealing, Saying, "Father, forgive me, I must live to rescue thee ! Unto me alone is given, By that mercy lodged in heaven, Power to make these great odds even And to work thy liberty ; I alone can charm back honor On thy gray hairs, and to me Hath been given life's one key! "But, Bertrand, my lover, It is I that must discover That wild vision of the meadow Point thee out to death and shame ! Thou, that used to love and prize me,- And thy love did still suffice me, Now must evermore despise me And Other Poems. 29 And adjudge me not the same; Thou must think me false, inconstant, When I publicly exclaim 'Gainst thy ever-gracious name ! " 'Twas not thee I saw that morning But a vision of forewarning; With thine own blood thou wast dabbled, Blood that I myself must spill ! Not thee, Bertrand, but a vision, And I merit all derision That, in trembling indecision, And in weakness of the will, I made known unto another That I saw thee near that hill Where assassins had wrought ill ! "Yet, Love, in my unfitness, I must be my father's witness, Swear I saw thee, Love, that morning Where the murdered man was found ! So it seemed yet 'twas but seeming, But the folly of my dreaming Of a dream past all redeeming, Or a vision to confound ! I must swear to an appearance And leave Heaven to expound That 'twas such to all around ! 30 lone, "Would to God I then had perished, Or thy love I ne'er had cherished ! Would thy hand had gathered flowers For my grave, not for my breast ! Would that lilies sprang above me That thou, Bertrand, still would love me. With that early love still love me, While I lie at perfect rest ! 0, that I had died in summer And thy gentle step had prest To my grave among the blest !" With these mournful words she ceases, But no tear her sorrow eases ; 'Gainst the wall she leans her forhead, Silent as a thing that's dead. All her life before her rises, All its joy and sweet surprises, All its grief and sacrifices, All, before her soul is spread: All its shadow, all its beauty, Pain that lingered, joys that fled, Doubts that grieved, hope that misled. Meantdme hath the Master carried To that Stranger who hath tarried In his chamber, Tone's message And delivered it twice o'er. And Other Poems. 31 "If ye've gold, prepare to spend it," Thus the Stranger, "or to lend it ; Or, if ye cannot extend it, Friends must stead thee from their store ; For the sea. hath stol'n my fortune On the reef beyond the shore, And the sea doth not restore." " 'Tis my time for exercising Friendship's bounty, and devising Means of travel/' thus the Master, "And my fortune is not mean. This much will I lend to heaven, For to me much hath been given ; More than I can e'er make even Many times I have foreseen. Be not fearful for this journey We shall sail 'Hispania's Queeri.' Ere the noonday sun is seen." So 'tis wished, so prosecuted, So the journey instituted; Home sails lone to her father, Leaving joy and youth behind ! Homeward journeys with the Master And the Stranger; fast and faster Sailing on toward disaster, 32 lone, In the sails a mighty wind ! Home by Lisbon and Gibraltar, lone sails with fearful mind, Led by Fortune false and blind ! PAKT II. In yon prison cell is lying, Of dishonor slowly dying, One whose name erewhile was noble And thrice honored by the State. Stone, beneath, above, around him, Rears its columns to confound him Where an evil time hath bound him, Looking on with brow of hate. All his honors have passed from him, All his friends have proved ingrate Save the few that strive and wait. He is stript of Fortune's lending, Naked with the blast contending ; On his white hairs shame hath fallen, Shame his neighbors' eyes have seen. Age, that should have been a blessing, Filled with honor's dear caressing, Hath been cursed beyond redressing, And Other Poems. 33 Made ignoble, harsh, and mean: And he breathes the air of dungeons Who should breathe the pure serene Of the meadows lush and green. This is lone's father, dying In the cell where he is lying, Calling on his God to witness That his soul is innocent: And his mighty heart is broken, And his painful words are spoken In such whispers as betoken That his life is almost spent. Him the law is sacrificing As a guilty instrument In what seemed a foul event. Veiled corruption hath pursued him For a season and subdued him To the law's blind inquisition, To dishonor, grief, and shame. By a friend he still mistrusted One that for his life hath lusted I- Charge of murder hath been thrusted Secretly upon his name, And the law hath sate in judgment And on him affixed the blame Who is guiltless of the same. 34 lone, Yet one hope there is remaining, One dear hope his life sustaining, And that hope is that his daughter Will renew his liberty. She was witness to a vision, To a true, if damned vision, Which must change the law's decision, Change the law^s corrupt decree : She will publish that young Bertrand Slew the Noble by the sea, And her father shall go free. Now the old man falters lowly To the stones, "The Lord is holy; He will set me free in two worlds In this one and in His own: He will send my daughter to me That those foemen who pursue me And seek falsely to undo me Shall be wholly overthrown: In her hands He will lodge comfort That shall presently atone For this prison house of stone. "Is there storm upon the water That ye hear not of my daughter ?" Now he whispers to his gaoler Who hath brought him bitter food. And Other Poems. 35 "Thou hast more need of devotion Than of question, for the ocean From its center is in motion !" Thus the gaoler in wild mood : "Trouble heaven with thy questions And not feeling flesh and blood: Die, and ask it of hell's brood !" "0, my God," the old man falters, "Prison walls all nature alters, Till the stones rise up against me That are laden with my tears ! And my daughter will forsake me Hasten but to overtake me Ere I pass away and make me Cause for mockery and jeers! All hath altered; e'en the heavens Send a priest that doubts and sneers And heaps curses on my ears!" "Hush, ye fool !" the gaoler mutters, " 'Tis thy madness now that utters 'Gainst the holy church such treason As may some time cost thee dear. See! the holy father's hasting Unto thee the Lord is chast'ing, And in treason thou art wasting 36 lone, Breath thou needst to set thee clear. Fear the Lord and shut thy mouth then ! Would that mouth were a third ear That it could not speak, but hear !" Now a cowled form enters slowly Like a pious priest and holy, But 'fore such a damned spirit Cain had blushed and cried out "shame !" 'Tis no priest, but the betrayer Of the pris'ner, and inveigher 'Gainst his honor; 'tis the slayer Of the Noble: and his aim Is to feed an ancient hatred 'Gainst the prisoner's fair name Overtopping his in fame. Once he sought a high position Which might tempt a duke's ambition, But the prisoner outplanned him By his native strength of mind : Crost in hope he sought to smother All his hatred for the other, Who had loved him as a brother, Sought to make the victor blind Till he found him in his power, Then he purposed to be kind, Kind as racks that rend and bind! And Other Poems. 37 As he enters like a presence Of some higher, purer essence, From the dungeon hastes the gaoler And his footsteps die away. "Prisoner," he saith slowly, "Thou art stained, the Church is holy, She is proud and thou art lowly, Wilt thou longer then delay? Wilt thou keep confession waiting Till the Church shall cease to pray For thy soul in its dismay? "Rome awaits but thy repentance And confession, then her sentence Shall be lifted from thy spirit And thy soul need fear no ills. But, fool ! beware Rome's turning, Fear the hour of her spurning, She is patient with all yearning, Patient as her seven hills, But her patience hath an ending As the patience of the hills, And this ending is what kills. "Kills the soul that would find heaven, As the crooked bolts of levin Kill the body and consume it : Such hath Rome the power to do! 38 lone, Better thou wert not created Than thy soul for aye be hated, Cursed and excommunicated By the mother Church and true ! Rome stands waiting; in her bosom There is lightning and is dew ! Which, prisoner, choose you?" "Cease thy counsel and chastising," Thus the prisoner, uprising; "I am greater than thy orders, A free soul is more than Rome! By that God that watches o'er me I am guiltless! then restore me To that peace from whence they tore me, To the quietness of my home: Every stone knows I am guiltless That upholds this prison dome! Then restore me to my home. "Yet, holy father, listen And that Rome herself did christen Me in youth is not more certain Than these things whereof I'll speak: Certain as my own baptism, Certain as thy Catholicism, Certain as the holy chrism, And Other Poems. 39 Are these things whereof I'll speak. But draw nearer, holy father, For my voice is strangely weak ; Draw ye nearer, cheek to cheek." Nearer draws the false Corambis, Nearer draws the cowled Corambis, To the other saying sternly, "Truth is coming ; let it come ! Blessed, if, ere my departure, I can free thee from this torture, From this almost hopeless torture Which has made thy spirit dumb; Blessed, if my lips can ease thee Ere thy body shall succumb To its fearful martyrdom." "There is storm upon the water And ye may not see my daughter," Thus true prisoner, "for lone May be lost upon the sea: Should this be, then I must borrow From her death eternal sorrow, For I fear upon the morrow That my life shall cease to be, And should lone die before me Who will speak a word for me? Who will set my good name free? 4O lone, "Who? unless before I perish I should publish what I cherish As a secret of my daughter's, Which her love forbid rne tell. Who? unless thyself will hear me, And, in living after, clear me That the world shall still revere me And not deem my soul in hell; That my good name shall live after And my spirit's passing bell Be not honor's fearful knell." "Speak," Corambis answers lowly, "I will serve thee, serve thee wholly; Pour into my ear thy secret, From my lips shall comfort fall. What is this thou hast kept hidden, And thy daughter hath forbidden By her voiceless love forbidden Ye to tell in part or all ? Dost thou know who slew the Noble By that meadow's flinty wall, While the devil stood in call?" "Yea ! and I have kept it hidden As my daughter's love hath bidden, Thinking that the law would free me And the guilty not be found; And Other Poems. 41 But the hope hath passed probation And hath failed: so Rome's legation Shall undo my condemnation And the guilty shall be bound. I will suffer shame no longer, Nor through idle hope compound With an evil most profound. "Draw ye nearer: I'll discover In what manner lone's lover On the morning of the murder By my child herself was seen." This he docs, moreover saying, "Bertrand's guilty of the slaying, Guilty of that Lord's betraying, And, priest, my hands are clean; He is guilty; let him answer; I no longer choose to screen Him from law, or come between." "Ha!" Corambis cries, uprising, "Thou deservest canonizing For thy friendship and thy patience, And I love thee for the same. Come, rejoice ! for if thou perish Both thy name and bones I'll cherish, So thou needst not leave this garish 42 lone, Day of life with fear of shame; Thou shalt leave a voice behind thee To cry honor on thy name And give thee enduring fame." But behind his cowl he mutters, "This is truth the old man utters, And I'll publish it for profit Should he die with it unsaid, For, by heaven ! but this morning I received a hint of warning From Montero curse his scorning! Laying this murder on my head, And, unless his eyes be hoodwinked And his cunning thoughts misled, I'll be numbered with the dead." Now he adds, aloud and cheerful, "Prisoner, be thou not fearful, I release thee and absolve thee From all past and future crime ; And I'll do as ye have bidden Publish what thou still hast hidden, Which concealment should be chidden,- Give thee whole unto the time : I will live to shield thy honor, Lift thy name from scandal's slime, And make it again sublime." And Other Poems. 43 With these mocking words he hurries From the cell. The prisoner buries His white hairs within his mantle Moaning that his days are o'er; And, upon the stones reclining, Sees in thought the bright sun shining On his home,, and sweet buds twining 'Round the lattice by the door; Stands again upon the threshold, In his ears the distant roar Of the surf upon the shore. Up the sunny path advances lone with her tender glances, Singing of the vales of Flora Sweet in old Provengal lay : After her, from field and bower Washed at morn in golden shower, Every April wakened flower Bends the beauty of its spray, And its fragrance wafts toward her As if she were gentle May Moving on her gracious way. From this reverie awaking, All his heart with sorrow aching, Now the father in the darkness Stretches out his yearning arms : 44 lone, "0, my God, thou'll not bereave me Of my child, nor she deceive me And in this cold dungeon leave me Where no sunlight shines or warms ! She was ever true and tender And once more within these arms I shall fold her, safe from storms! "No, ah no; she's gone forever, Gone forever and forever, Lost upon the troubled waters As these long delays attest! And my arms shall ne'er enfold her, Never, nevermore enfold her, Nor my eyes again behold her; She is gone where none molest! I have outlived truth and honor, And my child I loved the best Is before me gone to rest!" "No, my father, thou'rt mistaken I'm not dead nor thou forsaken ; I am living, I, thy daughter, Living, and have brought thee peace! So, dear father, be not daunted, By no spirit art thou haunted, Nor this dungeon is enchanted, And Other Poems. 45 I am real and bring release: Lo, I touch thy hand, my father! Let thy doubts and. tremblings cease, I, thy daughter, come with peace." As the silence now is broken By these tender words outspoken, To his feet the father rises With a startled, broken cry. In his arms he clasps his daughter, Clasps his faithful, gentle daughter, Dearer than he ever thought her, Bright as love may glorify; Clasps her to his straining bosom, Saying, "Lord, now let me die While my daughter is still by!" "Dear, my father, on the morrow Thou shalt bid farewell to sorrow, Yet not bid farewell, father, Or to life or liberty. Thou art talked of now in heaven By good angels that are given Power such as oft hath riven Gates of brass and set men free: Seraphs are this night impatient For the gracious morn to be When from hence they shall lea.4 ttiee," 46 lone, "0, my child, thou little knowest How I'm numbered with the lowest, How my works are all forgotten, And my patience made my shame: Little knowest how detraction Hath set in with harsh exaction, How the forked tongue of faction Hath envenomed my good name; Little knowest how I'm fallen, Fallen without guilt or blame, Fallen and who shall reclaim!" "Yet, my father, I can reason Of the cure, if not the treason Of the remedy I've knowledge Though not knowledge of the wrong. Yet I partly am acquainted With thy fall : my heart hath fainted Many times since it hath painted Thee so deeply grieved and long. 0, believe me, I have sounded All the fearful depth of wrong Since I came these stones among." "0, sweet lone, kneel ye by me And with comfort fortify me: I will thank the stones beneath me thou talk of being free. And Other Poems. 47 Shall I see the sun in heaven Once again ere I am given Unto death? Shall shame be dr'vea From my sight, rebuked by thee ? Shall they clothe me with that honor, With that former dignity Which fell off with liberty?" "Dear, my father, do not tremble Thinkest thou I would dissemble? Thou shalt see and seeing answer 'It is good good as can be '* I have come upon this journey As thy witness and attorney, (Heaven be my own attorney!) And I bring thee liberty: Surely, father, they'll believe me, Though, indeed, I'm kin to thee, And, believing, set thee free." Thus they whisper, one the other, Never dreaming that another, That Corambis at the threshold Listens to their every word; Never dreaming that their meeting, That their happy, sacred greeting, That their very pulses' beating, 48 lone, By a foe is overheard: Thinking that the heavens only Know how deeply they are stirred, Not a foe by hatred spurred. Now, beside the pallet kneeling, lone, with her soft hand stealing Through her father's, whispers lowly Words of love and comfort sweet. Of her journey o'er the ocean, Of her spirit's deep emotion, Of her hopes and her devotion, Whispers lowly at his feet; But, as yet, speaks not of Bertrand, In whose cause she shall entreat With a woman's fervid heat. To her words her father listens, And each sunken eye now glistens With the kindling light of gladness, Hope, and waking ecstasy. O'er her face he still is bending, His cold breath and her warm blending, Trusting still, still apprehending, That her love shall set him free; Hanging on her words intently As if they were that decree Giving him his liberty. And Other Poems. 49 Thus conversing, lone slowly Leads to that which claims her wholly To the vision of the meadow And her lover's part therein: Saying, "Father, for that vision Which must change the law's decision, Why, indeed, 'twas but a vision, To remembered dreams akin; But a dream except in outcome, Such as idle fancies spin Or in fear have origin. "Once before at early morning, Suddenly, and without warning, I perceived the noble Bertrand Struggling in the very ground; But when I had wildly hurried To the spot where he seemed buried, Upward to his shoulders buried, 'Twas an idle dream I found, For it faded as a vision, And I fell into a swound With accustomed sights around." To his feet her father staggers As if she had spoken daggers; To his feet he feebly rises From his face a brightness fled, 50 lone, Like when some rude spirit dashes Waters on bright fire that Hashes And one moment all is ashes, Cold and still and dull and dead. For a while he feebly swayeth, Then, with one hand to his head, Sinks upon his narrow bed. lone, to her feet uprising, Marks this change past all disguising, Comprehends the fearful reason And continues, wrung with pain: "Father, dost thou fear this vision Will make light the other vision, That the law in its decision Will receive me with disdain Will adjudge that I am troubled By some sickness of the brain And my testimony vain?" "Thou hast said : I'm ruined forever," Thus the prisoner, "and never Shall I look upon the morrow Or go forth to liberty ! There is naught but death remaining Since my good name's past regaining, And my freedom past attaining; And Other Poems. 51 Naught but death as ye may see! Thou'll be judged an idle dreamer In the currents of decree, And thou canst not set me free !" "Yea, my father; and I tremble, For my soul dare not dissemble Hiding from the law this vision That the other be not vain. It were murder to conceal it, For thou knowest not to reveal it, But within my heart to seal it, Would give credit to my brain, And that vision of the meadow Then would seem a flawless chain, Not an idle dream profane." Now the father knows temptation: (Let his wrong be palliation!) lone must conceal that vision Of her lover in the ground. "I have suffered for this other," Thinks the prisoner; "a brother Not more freely nay, a mother Not more freely had been bound: Let him, then, in like repay me, In like suffering compound For this deep and grievous wound. 5* lone, "lone," thus begins the father, "There's a third way" "Yea, I rather Choose the third way," answers lone, "And perchance 'twill set thee free. There's a third way and a better, Not set down within thy letter, And, for which, I am the debtor To mine own anxiety; And that third way is, my father, That I take the guilt on me Of that murder by the sea. "Swear that I myself committed This strange murder and outwitted One that sought to wrong my honor As I crost that meadow wide: Swear that on that fatal morning, Dastardly, and without warning, This dead Lord all honor scorning Sought to shame me and my pride, And I plucked his weapon from him Thrusting it into his side So he sinned and so he died!" At this plan so unexpected, Deeply is the heart affected Of that father whose intention Was to wrong a guiltless man. And Other Poems. 53 Shame comes o'er him and amazement, Shame at his own heart's debasement, And amazement, deep amazement, At his daughter's daring plan. With dim eyes he looks toward her, But he scarcely now can scan Her fair features, cold and wan. "Yea," continues lone lowly, "This is best and almost holy, For that Lord has left no kindred And we cannot harm his name. Herein thou wilt be acquitted, Nor shall Bert rand be committed, While, for me, I but outwitted One that sought to work my shame, And what law will hold me guilty, Or what tribunal will blame That I struck what would defame?" Down upon his pallet sinking, Now the father takes to thinking, With a mind subdued by sickness, Of his daughter's daring plan. It were possible in reason, And, though false, it were not treason; It might free him for a season, 54 To his life might add a span; And the heavens would o'erlook it Since 'twould lift a thrice-false ban And set free a guiltless man. Meanwhile lingers that foul traitor Named Corambis: violater Of a privacy that's sacred And betrayer of his friends! In the darkness he is slinking And his evil mind is thinking Of that daughter's plan, and linking Thought to thought as serves his ends; And he swears that Tone's purpose Shall be crost, for it offends And endangers his own. ends. "Who/- 5 he schemes, "will think this maiden Slew that mighty Lord of Vedin? I, with all my strength and cunning, Barely 'scaped Death's fellowship. Should she then this plan discover And be doubted, all is over, For that vision of her lover Will lose credit with one slip; And, naught being sure, Montero May in time my secret strip Naked as confession's lip." And Other Poems. 55 "Nay, my child, we must not borrow Earthly joy to Heaven's sorrow; Speak the truth as thou hast found it, Leave the shaping to the Lord: For although a plan bring gladness It may yet be near to madness, For hath God not willed that sadness Shall be ours, though 'tis hard? And in serving joy though pleasant We may therein cross the Lord, Should we aught of truth discard." "0, my father, thou art nearer Than the heavens, and art dearer, And I know of heaven, nothing, But much of this love within! Do not fail me through thy reasons Truth hath manifold, love, all seasons; And a gentle spirit's treasons Oft are higher laws 'gainst sin : By this heart that feels there's heaven, I do feel this deed's akin To that heaven, and not sin!" Thus these two resume communion, But their minds are at disunion: lone pleads the cause of feeling And her father that of truth. 56 lone, For a while they are divided, And the question undecided Which shall be the one that's guided By the other age or youth; Yet not long, for gentle lone Wins her father o'er to ruth, O'er to mercy if not truth. Wins him o'er and wins his blessing By her mild words and caressing, Wins him to support her purpose Half in reason, half without. Smooths his forehead now and leaves him As a dreamless sleep receives him, Sleep wherein no sorrow grieves him, Free as infancy from doubt: Leaves him and retires slowly Shadowed by a form devout That doth darkly leer and flout! PAET III. By yon sea a youth is riding And, with rein and knee, is guiding 'Gainst the tide his mettled stallion, Fearful of the spumous wave. And Other Poems. 57 In the rider's face is seated Strength and courage undefeated And a heart that ne'er retreated From his eyes, warm, deep, and grave: Gold-brown hair around his temple Frames a forehead pure and brave, Such as is not passion's slave. This is Bertrand, Tone's lover, O'er whom evil fate shall hover, Though the airs be tempered for him By the purple fires of love. Of his lady love's returning He hath heard, and now is yearning All his heart within him burning But to touch that lady's glove ; But to touch the- flowing vestment Of fair lone, far above Every painting of a love. But his lady love is hidden From his sight, though he hath ridden To her garden gate and lingered Full an hour by his heart. She is nowhere to be greeted, And he feels that he is cheated, Feels his love has been mistreated lone, By her keeping thus apart: Yet he thinks upon her sorrows, And her sorrows now exhort Him to patience 'spite his smart. Now a while he idly listens To the surf that falls and glistens, Lapping at his stallion's forefeet Firmly planted in the sand: Now he turns about and passes From the sea the sunlight glasses To the banks of waving grasses, Thence to firm, dry, level land. He will post unto his lady And beside her wicket stand With young flowers in his hand. But, behold ! a hedge is parted To his right, and tender hearted, Trembling lone stands before him, Seen too plainly to retire. Instantly the hot blood rushes Through the rider's heart and flushes To has brow ; his right hand crushes In its grasp the whip of briar. Swift he wheels his mettled stallion And with heart and brain on fire Comes to her in sweet attire. And Other Poems. 59 For a moment lone glances, Trembling, backwards; then advances, Giving one white hand to Bertrand, Saying lowly, "Is it thou?" To his lips the lover presses That white hand he now possesses, And with welcome words addresses lone 'neath a branching bough; And he marks that she who left him But a maiden with sweet brow Is a ripened woman now. "Dearest lady, let my gladness, Let my deep and new-found gladness Be thy welcome not my speeches, But the formal part of me. Losing thee, I lost that even One as dear as life and heaven, Yet to me that hour was given Thy most gracious memory: This Fve cherished next thy presence As the dearest thing to me But how very far from thee !" "Next to my dear father's greeting Thine is dearest, and this meeting I shall cherish/' answers lone; "Unexpected, yet most dear. 60 lone, But, Bertrand, I am grieving For my father, deeply grieving ! For, although not past reprieving, He's past much I greatly fear; Past all joy though not past honor, Past the old accustomed cheer, Past all faith in friends sincere! "True, he hath in thee and others Friendship closer than a brother's, But the faith is dark within him That did once so brightly burn! And I'm told he speaks unkindly Of his dearest friends, and blindly Judges all ; but ah not blindly Should they judge him in return: He hath suffered through misjudgment, Suffered more than we can learn, And his suffering makes him stern." "0, dear lady, though unkindly He hath judged his friends and blindly ,- I amongst them, yet our pardon Like a suitor seeks him out. Thou hast said: He is mistaken In our love and not forsaken, Nor are the roots of friendship shaken, And Other Poems. 61 And 'tis suffering makes him doubt; But his suffering and his sorrow, Not our action from without, Nor his own heart, true, devout. "Yet ye spoke of his reprieving As a thing not past achieving Has the guilty been discovered? Have they found some certain clue? Tell me, can ye loose this fetter That hath made the law his debtor? 0, so be it; this were better Than a blessed dream come true. 'Twere another bond 'twixt gladness And my heart, if it be true, And such bonds are very few !" "It is true that I can free him," Answers lone: "Thou shalt see him In his garden ere the Sabbath, For I surely do not err. On this very day I'm bidden To make known what I've kept hidden Let my silence be not chidden And set free the prisoner. What I'll publish shall find credence And to me the law'll defer, Which should greatly please thee, sir." 62 lone, "Had I but one prayer with Heaven I would pray that this be given, Granted for thy sake, dear lady, Since 'tis very dear to thee. May I greet thee in that garden, When thy father hath his pardon, Or acquittal, and his warden Shall his own kind daughter be; May I greet thee there, sweet lone, In that hour thy father's free There to tell my love to thee?" On the ground her sweet eyes bending, Her full heart with love contending, lone one fair hand surrenders And surrenders it entire; For a moment gives it wholly Into Bertrand's hand, then slowly Turns away, and sweet and lowly Passes through the hedge of brier; Sweet and pallid passes homeward, While with heart and brain on fire Bertrand watches her retire. Ardently the youth regards her, With the eyes of love regards her Till she's lost beyond the meadow, Then he dreams of her fair form. And Other Poems. 63 But, alas! the air is broken By such sounds as now betoken Some near horseman, and a spoken Harsh command breaks up the charm: 'Tis Corambis, who, dismounting From his steed that took alarm, Grasps the lover by the arm. "Ha, good Bertrand, thou'rt a lover And a dreamer, I discover, For thy horse stands idly pawing Whilst thou gaze on empty air. Thou'rt a lover by thine action, By this look of deep abstraction, And the thin air hath attraction But to those in Beauty's snare. .Come, attend me; I have matter, Matter worthy deepest care As ye'll presently declare!" "True, Corambis, I'm a lover," Answers Bertrand, "yet discover What deep matter brings thee hither Surely at thy leisure's cost. Yet thou canst not bring me sadness, For I've ventured faith and gladness, Hope and peace, love deep as madness, 64 lone, On one heart, and that's not lost; And though earths four corners crumble Nothing, I may say, is lost Till this heart I love is lost!" "Hast thou ventured on a maiden All thy wealth ? As well have laden Jewels on the backs of dolphins Swimming in the open sea ! Yea, good Bertrand, thou'rt mistaken In these hopes as yet unshaken, And thou. shalt full soon awaken To learn how it is with thee; Learn thy judgment has been sleeping, Not that sharp-toothed enemy Woman's foul inconstancy! "Yet to each man under heaven Comes that hour when 'tis given Either to forget some woman Or to throw away his soul I" Thus Corambis to the lover Speaks as one who can discover Treason black as clouds that hover O'er the pit of sin and dole; But the other is not fearful, Standing near Love's perfect goal With a faith divine and whole. And Other Poems. 65 "No, Corarabis, thou'rt mistaken And my love is still unshaken," Answers Bertrand ; "yet thou errest Through thy brain, not through thy heart. Wish me well, yet by some action Other than to voice detraction 'Gainst this lady, whose infraction Is a dream upon thy part. As thou lovest me, speak no further, For ye speak in such a sort As will draw on rude retort!" "Let it come," replies the other; "Though I love thee as a brother Better that I lose thy friendship Than that thou become a fool ! For to lose thee through just reason Is to lose thee but a season, Since I'll win thee back when treason Proves my words were just and cool ; But thou'rt lost to me forever When thou'rt made this woman's tool For I cannot love a fool! "Lend thine ear and I will shake thee To the center, and awake thee From this sleep wherein fair lone Would betray thee with a kiss. 66 lone, Mark me, and, when I've concluded, Judge not me that have intruded Here upon thy dreams secluded But my message judge ye this; Which, if doubted, go disprove me, And not linger here to hiss One who showed thee an abyss." "Speak right on," jeplies the lover, "And I'll mark all ye discover, For, in friendship, I do lend thee Both mine ears yet not my heart. I reserve all but my hearing In this cause, and nothing fearing, In my faith still persevering, I shall doubt all ye impart. Speak right on, to ease thy conscience Freely mayest thou exhort, But thou canst not make me start." "Where wast thou that fatal morning When some foe all honor scorning Slew the noble Lord of Vedin? Tell me this, my steadfast friend." Thus Corambis, drawing nearer, Questions Bertrand, and austerer Grow his features and severer And Other Poems. 67 Flows his question to its end. "Wast thou passing through that meadow Where Lord Vedin did contend With that foe we'd apprehend?" "No, Corambis, I was riding Southward where the sea is chiding, Half a league beyond that meadow Which Lord Vedin crost to die." "Canst thou prove it to Eome's legation To thine honor's vindication?" Thus with seeming agitation Asks Corambis in reply: "Canst thou prove it by some witness Meet within a judge's eye Both to swear and testify?" "No, Corambis, I've no witness; But why question my unfitness To make good mine own assertions As if honor hung thereon? If in secret thou dost reason That I did this deed of treason, Know thy words are out of season And thy doubts are folly's spawn : And thou must for why, Corambis, Dost thou look so strangely on As if faith in me were gone?" 68 lone, "No, by heaven, let me perish ! When thy truth I cease to cherish!" Cries Corambis: "Thou dost wrong me With these very doubts of thine. Judge me not so rude beseech thee As to think I would impeach thee; I am here, good friend, to teach thee Of another's charge not mine, Of that charge that tender lone With some damnable design Brings against thee : this, in fine ! "Learn, good Bertrand, that fair lone, Ere thy kisses shall be dry on Her white hand, will rise in judgment And impeach thee with this deed. Swear that as she walked in study On that morn with face all bloody And apparel cut and muddy, Thou wast fleeing o'er that mead: Swear enough to draw damnation Down upon thee who must bleed That her father may be freed !" At these words the lover blanches, Grasping hard the hanging branches In whose shade fair lone granted Sweet assurance of her truth. And Other Poems. 69 But his heart is soon collected Which so deeply was affected, And each rising doubt rejected As unworthy love and youth: From his heart, with faith all glowing, Now he plucks the serpent's tooth; Yet ere long 'twill work him ruth ! "Take this dream back to thy chalice/' Thus he speaks, "and, without malice, Drown it in some cooler claret Than begot it in thy brain. Yet I thank thee for thy trouble; And, since vain, my thanks are double; Vain I say vain as a bubble In that wine cup thou didst drain! For this lady would not wrong me Nor a moment cause me pain Though it prove her father's gain." "Go thy way, then," thus the other, " 'From the smoke into the smother/ I have warned thee, but my warning Is to thee a drunken dream. Let the quicksands close above thee Where this maiden's hand will shove thee, While thy friend who'd save and love thee 70 lone, Turns away in sad extreme: Shut thine eyes and call it honor, Stop thine ears and calPt esteem Woman nerver yet did scheme !" Deeply Bertrand is astonished That his doubts are thus admonished, That his friend remains so steadfast Where all seems of folly born. Can it be that lone imposes Such a price for love's sweet roses ? Doth she hope that for love's roses He will wear this crown of thorn? Must he suffer and be silent Or expect his lady's scorn Ere the breaking of the morn? "Had her own sweet lips but tasked me I had borne what she had asked me/' Thus he thinks in pain and silence; Then aloud unto his friend : "How came ye to know what's hidden That thon hast so harshly chidden? Say, Corambis, wast thou bidden Thus to speak, yet not offend? Did my lady send thee hither With thds message ye extend, Or is't thine unto the end?" And Other Poems. 71 "Wilt thou hear Death's raven croaking," Thus Corambis, "and, fast cloaking Up thy head, swear 'tis the turtle Bringing thee the olive bloom? "Tis my message and each letter Makes thee my eternal debtor, And than scorn it thou hadst better Go alive into thy tomb! Hadst thou eyes r-ot shut and blinded Thou wouldst hide thee with the gloom, And not wait the whirlwind's doom ! "More than this I'll not reveal thee, Yet I promise to conceal thee There where thou may'st hear this maiden Charging thee with that foul deed. Then, indeed, thou shalt awaken Knowing that thou art forsaken, Yet, ere thou art overtaken, May fly hence with instant speed; I've a vessel in the harbor Which I'll lend thee in thy need If thou'll only turn and heed. "0 that I could but persuade him To fly hence ere they degrade him," Now in silence thinks Corambis, "Then his guilt would seem confest. 72 lone, Should he flee it would awaken Suspicions not to be shaken, And as soon as overtaken He would suffer death at best: So should I be safe in future, For this crime, 'tis manifest, Still upon his head would rest." "Thanks, Corambis, for thy kindness Shown me in my seeming blindness," Thus young Bertrand calmly answers, "But thou canst not serve me, sir. True it is thou'd not deceive me, True this lady would not grieve me, But not true, good friend, believe me, That mistakes do not occur ! Therefore I'll continue steadfast And believe though ye demur That thou art mistaken, sir." With these words this best of lovers His accustomed calm recovers, And, into his saddle springing, Questions, "Whither goest to-day?*' But Corambis, deeply sighing, Looks aside without replying, So the lover, gratifying And Other Poems. 73 His own fancy, turns away. Horse and rider soon are hidden 'Mong the trees that yet display No green shoots or bloomy spray. Meanwhile lone, with the Master And that Captain whom disaster Touched so deeply, stood conversing Close beneath a sandy mound, lone hath made known that vision Which might mar the law's decision, To these friends made known that vision Of her lover in the ground; But hath told her plan of action Which will free her father bound Nor her guiltless Love confound. Modestly, without distraction, She made known her plan of action How she purposes to publish That she slew the murdered lord. For a while both friends objected To this plan that lone selected, Fearing it would be suspected And all things made doubly hard ; Then they bowed to her decision, Taken from their better ward By her pleas and their regard. 74 lone, Thus essentially won over Still to shield sweet Tone's lover, Now the Master and the Captain Take their leave and go their way. lone marks their steps retreating Mingling with her heart's loud beating, And those footsteps seem repeating, "All is well: fear no dismay!" And her heart takes up the burden When the footsteps die away "All is well : fear no dismay !" Now upon the gray sand kneeling, O'er her brow a warm blush stealing, lone thinks upon her lover And upon the coining years. No prophetic sorrow chills her, But the golden sunlight fills her With a gentle calm, now thrills her Till she's flattered unto tears. She is happy, very happy, And she almost dreams she hears That far music of the spheres! But, alas! the charm is broken By a greeting sternly spoken, And Corambis bends o'er lone And her features coldly scan. And Other Poems. 75 Rising up the maiden faces This rude traitor, and some paces Draweth backwards, as she places Little trust in voice or man. She knows both, yet guesses neither, For Corambis 'tis his plan Seems disguised another man. "My fair maiden, do not wonder How that name thou goest under," Thus Corambis, "grew familiar To these stranger lips of mine; Marvel not that I'm acquainted With thy thoughts so deeply tainted, Nor be awed when I have painted Every hope and fear of thine; But put all such wonder from thee And attend my every sign For I come with warning fine ! "In this land thou hast a lover And thou couldst a tale discover Which might bring this lover sorrow But would set thy father free. This I know, and know, moreover, That ye think to shield this lover, Yet in that same hour recover 76 lone, Thy good father's liberty : Thou dost purpose through a falsehood- Setting by thy modesty To corrupt the law's decree! "But beware, for if thou swearest To this falsehood as thou darest, I'll impeach thy testimony And thou'll lose thy foolish pains! Take not on thyself, false maiden, That strange murder of Lord Vedin, Or ere night thou shalt be laden With a perjurer's close chains; And, once swearing false, the judges Still will doubt thee : so remains Thy good father in his chains ! "But bear witness to that vision Which shall change the law's decision, To that vision of young Bertrand On the morn when Vedin fell. Swear thou saw him pale and bloody, With his vestment cut and muddy, As thou walked in early study In the field where Vedin fell. While, as for that other vision Where this youth seemed in a well, 'Tis a dream ye must not tell. And Other Poems. 77 "Thus I charge thee, and my power Next the King's is chief this hour, And herefrom thy only safety And thy only hope shall spring! Therefore scheme not to deny me Or by silence to defy me, Nor with riches seek to buy me Or my heart attempt to wring; Thou canst move a dead man sooner Than this spirit which I bring, Long since past all altering." Like to one entranced or dreaming, lone marks the gray eyes gleaming In the brow of false Corambis, Nor could speak though she should try. So the dove amid the grasses Marks the snake's eye as it glasses, With a charm mesmeric glasses, And can neither move nor cry ; But with lone 'tis amazement More than some mesmeric eye That enchains her dumbly by. Having done all in his power To corrupt love's sweetest hour, Now Corambis leaves the maiden And triumphant goes his way. 78 lone, Down upon the gray sands falling Hapless lone still recalling That strange warning and appalling Hides her face from the bright day, And her blanched lips are silent, And her hands, though joined are they, Are not joined to plead or pray. Thus some moments she continues, All the strength gone from her sinews, Overcome in heart and body Though her mind is active still. But once more the sound comes stealing O'er her ear of far bells pealing, And she rises up, revealing In her face the griefs that kill Pale despair and tearless sorrow, And a noble, tender will Helpless in the hour of ill. To the west she turns and passes Through the tall and clinging grasses, Staggering like one in sickness, Falling thrice upon her knee. Up the wind deep bells are swinging And her call to court are ringing; Deep-mouthed bells that now are bringing And Other Poems. 79 Judge and clerk to hear her plea: 'Tis the hour for testimony And pale lone holds the key To her father's liberty ! "I am coming, father, coming; Be thou patient; I am coming!" Now she cries and onward hastens To the tower of her trial. At the gates of alabaster Pale yet firm she greets the Master, But speaks not of that disaster Agonizing her the while. This she locks within her bosom And moves up the marble aisle Deep into the prison pile. To a chamber where tall torches Dimly light the hanging arches lone comes, but here the Master Cannot enter so returns, lone comes: a clerk perceives her And with formal hand receives her; To that spot he guides and leaves her Where the brightest taper burns, And each eye is on the maiden And the dullest eye discerns That her heart with sorrow yearns. 8o lone, Pale she looks, and yet not daunted, Though by evil spirits haunted, Pale and sad; yet in her bearing Strength there is and much of pride. But that strength comes near to failing And her pride seems unavailing As into the judgment railing Comes her father with his guide: Pity melts her gentle bosom, And she now can scarcely tide Tears that down her cheeks would glide. She would weep ! but ah for weeping Time and place are out of keeping, So her pride congeals the waters That arise unto her eye. She would weep ! but now the dial Points the hour for the trial, And she must not weep the while But be calm and testify ; She may weep when all is over And no judge or jury by, But till then her eyes be dry! On her right a clerk now rising His commission exercising Swears her in to be a witness And, so swearing, bids her speak': And Other Poems. 81 Speak the truth unbiased by feeling, Nothing adding, naught concealing, Speak the truth of every dealing For whose facts the law shall seek. This he formally commands her, And sweet lone grows faint and weak With sick heart and blanched cheek ! Faint she grows and near to falling With an agony appalling, Thrice essaying and thrice failing To find speech to testify: But she thinks upon the morrow And her father freed from sorrow, And from such full thought doth borrow Strength and courage to reply To bear witness 'gainst young Bertrand, And one moment gratify Her wronged sire ere he die! Word by word her lips discover That last vision of her lover, But no vision lone calls it Nor casts doubt upon its truth. Shade by shade, as she confesses 'Gainst her guiltless Love confesses! In the chamber's far recesses 82 lone, Grows the image of that youth, Grows the image of young Bertrand, In his features naught uncouth Deep amazement mixed with ruth. "Tis a vision to the maiden, Fraught with shame, with horror laden; Such an insubstantial vision As she witnessed twice before. Yet she gives the court no token, Or by whispered word or spoken, That its privacy is broken And a wraith stands at the door; But her pale, thin lips continue In their charge as heretofore, While a cold dew bathes her o'er. On the wraith her fixed eyes bending, Through a time that seems unending, Still her lips beat out the story Of that vision of the mead. Still she speaks, and still that spirit Standing in the door, or near it, Listens to her speech, to hear it With a heart that still can bleed. With a human heart and breaking Still the lover gives her heed As her fatal words proceed ! And Other Poems. 83 But an end comes to the story Of her Love all pale and gory Fleeing on that fatal morning From the mead where Vedin fell ; Yet pale lone is not seated, Though her tale is now completed ; Still she stands, all power fleeted 'Gainst that vision to rebel, For the countenance of Bertrand Draws her like a mystic spell Which she has no strength to quell. Still into the shadows peering, Nothing hoping, all things fearing, lone stands, and while thus standing Comes the judge's formal strain : "That this honored court's decision By no insubstantial vision, By no idle, gross misprision, Be corrupted and made vain, Let the witness testifying Answer and so we constrain This one question, then refrain. "Has this witness ere been haunted, Like unto a soul enchanted, By some insubstantial vision Such as judgment puts to flight? 84 lone, Has she seen in earth or heaven With the morn or noon or even, Or in waters under heaven, Any visionary sight? Has the presence of this Bertrand Haunted her by day or night While the youth was absent quite ?" Deep into the shadows peering, Nothing hoping, all things fearing, lone stands, and slowly, lowly, Comes her answer, fraught with pain "No, my lord, I ne'er was haunted, By no empty presence haunted ; Nor, like some rapt soul enchanted. Have I looked on visions vain. Nay, my lord, so rest my spirit, Never yet did vision chain Mine eyesight, or vex my brain !" Thus pale lone, falsely swearing, Answers, while her eyes are staring Hard against the face of Bertrand, That a vision seems to be. But yet Tone's not enchanted, Nor the secret chamber haunted It is Bertrand pale and daunted And Other Poems. 85 Standing there so silently ! By an accident he entered At the door, to hear and see -What he vowed could never be! Now, as lone ceases speaking Still her eyes those shadows seeking, On her right a clerk uprises And calls on her father's name. Twice the summons is repeated, Twice the prisoner is greeted, But the old man still is seated, Deaf, it seems, or lost in shame ; Still is seated, and no motion Stirs his aged, weary frame, Lighted up by fitful flame. "Cease thy summons; he is stricken Whom ye think by words to quicken !" Thus a dark robed priest makes answer, Standing in the fitful light. "Lo, behold, his heart was broken Ere the witness yet had spoken ; Yea, he died ere yet one token Eeached thine ears to set him right ! He is gone where is no error And now walks in Honor's sight With meek spirits and upright!" 86 lone, "Dead!" the judge repeateth slowly, "Dead!" the walls re-echo lowly; "Dead!" and with one cry to heaven lone sinks on dusty stone ! "Dead!" a hollow sigh replieth Prom cold lips that none descrieth,