^^ilP^*^^ 
 
 
 iM«ii»i»iis 
 
LONESOME BAR 
 
LONESOME BAR 
 
 A Romance of the Lost 
 
 AND OTHER POEAIS 
 
 By TOM McINNES 
 
 II' 
 
 SECOXD EDITION 
 
 ■::''.'::.'•:■ 
 
 Desbarats & Co., Montreal, Canada 
 1909 
 

 Entered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year 1909, 
 
 by Tom McIxxes, 
 
 at the Department of Agriculture. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 AN INKLING 9 
 
 FEY II 
 
 LONESOME BAR . . . . . -I? 
 
 THE WRONG WAY 37 
 
 THE RIME OF JACQUES VALBEAU ... 43 
 
 ON BEACON HILL 65 
 
 THE CHILCOOT PASS 73 
 
 UNDERGROUND 8 1 
 
 THE MOONLIT WHEAT 9 1 
 
 THE JEWEL THAT CAME 94 
 
 IN A NORTHERN LANE 95 
 
 NOCTURNE 97 
 
 FAREWELL lOO 
 
 THE ARBOR ARABESQUE lOI 
 
 THE WANTON YACHT . . . . • I07 
 
 IDLEWILD 109 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE 112 
 
 IN THE NIGHT IMPALPABLE . . . -113 
 
 OCTOBER 116 
 
 COQUITLAM 117 
 
 THE VETERAN II8 
 
 THAT OTHER ONE 119 
 
 MOTHER 122 
 
 HARD TIMES NO MORE 1 23 
 
 [7] 
 
 iw204050 
 
CONTENTS — (continued) 
 
 THE DREAM OF 
 
 THE 
 
 DEEP 
 
 
 
 
 • 125 
 
 ILLUMINED 
 
 
 
 
 127 
 
 THE WAY OF BEAUTY 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 132 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 133 
 
 IN ERRANTRY . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 136 
 
 TO WALT WHITMAN 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 137 
 
 THE SEER 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 140 
 
 NIRVANA . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 141 
 
 THE CLUE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 142 
 
 CONTENT , 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 143 
 
 THE TOMB 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 144 
 
 THE DAMOZEL OF DOOM 
 
 
 
 
 
 145 
 
 THE VALLEYS OF RELIEF 
 
 
 
 
 
 159 
 
 CACTUS 
 
 
 
 
 
 171 
 
 FORTY 
 
 
 
 
 
 178 
 
 LONE WOLF LAMENT 
 
 
 
 
 
 180 
 
 CHINATOWN CHANT . 
 
 
 
 
 
 183 
 
 LAUGHTER 
 
 
 
 
 
 186 
 
 YOLANA 
 
 
 
 
 
 190 
 
 IN AMBER LANDS 
 
 
 
 
 
 193 
 
 THE LAST SONG 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 199 
 
 [8] 
 
AN INKLING 
 
 THRO' my uncertain heart a moody tide 
 Of mere emotion evermore doth steal, 
 Fleckt with shining passions that appeal 
 For solace that is evermore denied. 
 But as the waters that elusive glide 
 
 Thro' lonely forests doubtful yet reveal 
 Some Ocean faith — so unafraid I feel 
 To test with Death this heart unsatisfied. 
 
 And from that tide thro' late haphazard years 
 
 I've gather'd crystall'd words sometimes — like these; 
 Things marvell'd out from many memories; — 
 
 Uncanny songs, wherein withal one hears 
 Some overtone of happier melodies, 
 
 Or rhythm falling from enchanted spheres. 
 
 [9] 
 
FEY 
 
 I. 
 T TP from a sea that was Celtic, 
 ^ On a midsummer night of old, 
 A fsLivy rose in the moonlight 
 
 Where the swooning waters roll'd 
 To a crag that was crown 'd with a castle, 
 
 Irregular, round and high — 
 The castle bold, embattled, 
 
 Of days gone by. 
 
 II. 
 
 And a piper paced the ramparts 
 
 In his own clan-tartan clad, 
 With the ancient arms accoutred 
 
 That his father's father had ; 
 And the pipes that he play'd were chanting 
 
 Of valor and Highland pride — 
 To the tune of them kings had conquer M, 
 
 And heroes died. 
 
 III. 
 Tho' only a lad come twenty, 
 
 He could hold with any man. 
 And well was he taught in the music, 
 
 And well could he lead his clan ; 
 And the gallant air he was playing 
 
 He play'd as never before — 
 Then he ceased and drew from its scabbard 
 
 His bright claymore. 
 
 [iij 
 
IV. 
 And he waved it aloft, exulting 
 
 In the promise of coming years, 
 And feats of arms and glory 
 
 Got from the shock of spears ; 
 Ah ! the glint of that Jewell' d claymore 
 
 That his father's father had— 
 'Twill be handled with honor surely 
 
 By that gay lad ! 
 
 V. 
 
 But O, my Bonnie, my Bonnie ! 
 
 What sound is this in thine ears, 
 That no man nor maid in the castle 
 
 Nor drousing warder hears ? 
 What music around thee is rising ? 
 
 What orient notes unknown ? 
 O out on the sea what is singing 
 
 By the lone — b}^ the lone ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 In a maze he listen' d unmoving 
 
 Thro' the long sweet summer-night 
 To the song of the water- kelpie, 
 
 Till the moon sank out of sight ; 
 And the kitchen maids of the castle 
 
 Found him, at break of day. 
 As they thought, on the ramparts, drunken 
 
 He was fey — he w^as fey ! 
 
 [12] 
 
VII. 
 
 And the thrall of a lordly atabition, 
 
 And the combat for lands and gold, 
 And titles and trinkets of honor, 
 
 And things that are bought and sold, 
 O thereafter he held them so lightly ! 
 
 But a^-e as he went on his wa}^ 
 Of a song he would be singing : 
 
 He was fey — he was fey ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The chieftain of all most gentle, 
 
 Most ready with loyal sword. 
 But not in the years did he prosper, 
 
 And he fail'd of the World's reward ; 
 His king gave his lands to a stranger, 
 
 And his lady was faithless, they say ; 
 And he died in a battle, forgotten — 
 
 Well-a-da}' — well-a-day ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Comes something akin to a feeling 
 
 That no language of men can define, 
 Not to one in a million revealing 
 
 Its meaning by symbol or sign. 
 But told of in Sagas and olden 
 
 Legends of longing and weir — 
 A sound in a silence too golden 
 
 For many to hear. 
 
 [13] 
 
X. 
 
 Moments remote, unimagin'd, 
 
 That come and go in a breath, 
 Thro' the light of long days uneventful, 
 
 In the pallor of imminent death ; 
 In the fire of some red revolution, 
 
 Perchance in the tapers' shine 
 On some extravagant altar, — 
 
 Some say in wine. 
 
 XI. 
 
 No, matter, if only — if only 
 
 That sound from the silence it brings ; 
 That ray from the occult reunion 
 
 Found in the finish of things ; 
 Unfitted thereafter, exalted. 
 
 Uncaring, thej^ pass among men, 
 And the World, as they knew it, is never 
 
 The same again. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Once, in the dull way of mortals. 
 
 As I lay in a stupor, I felt. 
 As I fancied, the palpable portals 
 
 Of darkness commingle and melt 
 Away into somnolent gardens, 
 
 Hidden forever from day : 
 Ah ! from them I never would waken, 
 
 Could I stay — could I stay ! 
 
 [14] 
 
XIII. 
 
 Could I dream within arbors Lethean, 
 
 Where the poppies that nod in the night 
 Have yielded at last to the perfume 
 
 Of roses enchantingl}^ white ; 
 Where Morphia lies, and her lore is 
 
 Reveal' d, and her secrets are told 
 In fragments of fathomless stories 
 
 Forgotten of old ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 O souls made fit for the losing 
 
 Of all that the World implies, 
 Yet who tread not the pathway of heroes, 
 
 Nor of saints that agonize. 
 What vision is this that you treasure 
 
 Like children, until you are gray ? 
 Elusive, alluring forever, — 
 
 You are fey — you are fey ! 
 
 [15] 
 
LONESOME BAR 
 
 I. 
 
 OUT of the North there rang a cry of Gold ! 
 And all the spacious regions of the West, 
 From rugged Caribou to where the crest 
 Of Mexican Sierras mark the old 
 Franciscan frontiers, caught the regal sound, 
 And echo'd and re-echo' d it, till round 
 The eager World the rumor of it roU'd : 
 How Eldorado once again was found 
 Where stretch Canadian plains, forlorn and rude, 
 Hard upon the iron-temper' d Arctic solitude. 
 
 II. 
 Then woke the vanguard of adventurers, 
 Who fret their souls against the trammel' d ways 
 And measur'd hours of these exacting days ; 
 They heard the call — the pirate call that stirs 
 To reach for eas}" gold in regions new ; 
 That once from lazy Latin cities drew 
 Pizarro and his pious plunderers. 
 And, later, many a buccaneering crew 
 To sail their curly ships across the foam 
 And loot the Spanish galleons upon the run for home. 
 
 III. 
 
 So rake the annals of the knave Romance — 
 The breed will not die out ! The fatal stars 
 
 [17] 
 
That sway the line of loose Irregulars 
 Forevermore 'gainst hazard circumstance, 
 Illumin'd thro' those triple golden years 
 A trail of splendid hopes and ghastly fears, 
 Where only now Aurora gleams askance 
 On the twinkling frosted bones of pioneers ; 
 But it 's oh ! for savage lands alight with spoil — 
 For ventures grim and treasure-trove on a stark, 
 unheard-of soil ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And I went with the crowd who took the trail 
 Over the icy Chilcoot ; side by side 
 Who tugg'd and toil'd and topp'd the White Divide, 
 Rafted it to Tagish, and set sail 
 Down the rapid Yukon long before 
 The main rush reach' d the mines. 'Twas no more 
 To me than some new game of head-and-tail 
 To gamble on ; but we drank deep, and swore, 
 Around uproarious camp-fires, that we'd find 
 Our fortunes on the Klondike creeks or leave our 
 bones behind. 
 
 V. 
 
 But there was a hoodoo on me from the first ; 
 Tho' everywhere I saw the yellow glance 
 Of other's gold, I seem'd to stand no chance 
 I^ocating claims ; the hot, mosquito-curst 
 And scurvy days went empty-handed by, 
 No matter what I'd do or where I'd try ; 
 
 [.8] 
 
And every day in passing seem'd the worst, 
 Until the last day faded from the sky, 
 And the long, inexorable Night had come, — 
 Inlocked with cold, and weird stars, and dumb as a 
 corpse is dumb. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I work'd a while that Winter on a lay ; 
 Sixty below, and sleeping in snow-bank' d tents, — 
 Say, that was the hardpan of experience ! 
 Just earning enough to live, and make a play 
 On some infernal card that never won ; 
 Or easy by some dance-hall beauty done 
 For all the dust I had — you know the way : 
 Snow-blind once, once frozen to the bone. 
 While mushing with the mails between the creeks ; 
 Then typhoid laid me on my back delirious for weeks. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The river-ice was breaking in the Spring 
 When first I heard them tell of Lonesome Bar, — 
 A haggard region hidden in the far 
 Blank reaches of the North past reckoning. 
 But the Sun was warm again, 'twas afternoon. 
 And I was lounging in the Log Saloon, 
 Ready to turn my hand to anything, 
 When in two strangers came with a tale that soon 
 Drew round the restless crowd, forever fond 
 Of newer strikes, and farther fields, and the luck of 
 things beyond. 
 
 [19] 
 
VIII. 
 
 And well within an hour the rush began, 
 
 For the strangers spoke of fortunes in a day ; 
 
 Careless show'd us nuggets that would weigh 
 
 A pound or more, and told how every man 
 
 At Lonesome Bar had sacks of them. Stampede ! 
 
 Already the sleds are out, and the huskies lead. 
 
 Uneasy at their traces in the van, 
 
 And yelping 'gainst the time the packers need : 
 
 Stampede ! Stampede ! All hangs on the moment's 
 
 haste, — 
 And it's every man and dog for himself on the endless 
 
 Arctic waste ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 But the fever shook me still in every bone ; 
 Times I'd feel my legs bend under me, 
 And every sinew loosen utterly ; 
 And so I fell behind. Yet all alone 
 I mush'd along for a month as best I could, 
 And every mile I made was to the good, 
 For the trail of those ahead in the bleak unknown 
 I'd savvy enough to keep. At last I stood 
 One day on a rocky bluff, outworn and weak, 
 And saw beneath me Lonesome Bar, at the bend of 
 Boulder Creek. 
 
 X. 
 
 Ah ! well I mind the evening that I came ! 
 The month was June, nigh ripen'd to July, 
 
 [20] 
 
And the hour was midnight, yet the Western sky 
 
 From the horizontal Sun was all aflame, 
 
 When with my empty pack I sauntered down 
 
 The one long tented street that made the town. 
 
 Hungry and sick — sick of a losing game, 
 
 And broke for the price of a whiskey-straight to 
 
 drown 
 The ragged thoughts a-limping thro' my brain — 
 Till I saw a crowd and went beside to hear what news 
 again. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And there was a gaunt old ruffian, shaggy-brow' d, 
 Who on a barrel, as far as I could tell. 
 Ranted in drunken ecstasy of Hell ! 
 They suited well his theme — that Klondike crowd : 
 Men dogg'd by shadows of despair and crime. 
 With women reckless of all aftertime ; 
 Miners, traders, villains unavow'd. 
 And nondescript of every race and clime ; 
 With the red police of Canada beside — 
 For they keep tab on everything clear down to the 
 Arctic tide. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But Hell ! What use had I for Hell that night ? 
 And sullen I turn'd away, when I felt a whack 
 From a heavy open hand upon my back, 
 And, turning quick, my doubtful eyes caught sight 
 Of a college chum of mine — one Julien Roy — 
 Whom I'd not seen for years. Christ ! 'twas joy 
 
 [21] 
 
To see the face of him again, and, quite 
 In his old way, to hear him say, " Old boy ! 
 You're down on your luck I see ! Come on up town, 
 Where we can talk and have something to eat, and 
 something to wash it down ! ' ' 
 
 XIII. 
 
 'Twas like the sudden shining of the Sun ! 
 The flowers forgotten of old fellowship 
 Went all abloom again, — there seem'd to slip 
 A weight of wasted years and deeds ill-done 
 Plumb down and out of my life, with chance to try 
 The upward trail again, where he and I 
 Could venture yet the highest to be won, 
 Could let the very thought of failure die, 
 And weave into our lives, from ravell'd ways, 
 That cord of gold we talk'd about in the far-off college 
 days. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 For Julien w^as a gentleman all through ; 
 He stak'd me then, when I had not a cent, 
 Braced me up and shared with me his tent, 
 And help'd in every way a friend could do. 
 As to the fortune that is ours to-day, 
 I stumbled on it in the chancy way 
 That all things come to me ; I cut in two 
 The likeliest claim I found, ask'd Jule to stay, 
 And work it with me, share and share alike, — 
 And in a month at Lonesome Bar 'twas rank'd the 
 richest strike. 
 
 [22] 
 
XV. 
 
 One day I left him working on the claim, 
 I had to buy supplies down at the Bar, 
 When passing by the dance-hall Alcazar, 
 Topmost on its board I read a name, 
 '' Beulah, the Singing Girl " ! The lesser lights, 
 The Dogans, with Obesity in tights. 
 And the boneless Acrobat — same old game — 
 'Twas not for them I stay'd, nor clownish sights, 
 But I wanted to hear a song — a song to make 
 The feel of younger days come back until my heart 
 should ache. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Something went wrong with me that night, I know ; 
 And yet 'fore God I would not set it right 
 For all the North and all its gold in sight ! 
 White she was all over, like the snow 
 That on the glacier in the moonlight lies, 
 And lissome as a panther when it spies 
 Its quarry where the forest branches low ; 
 But the luring of her deep-illumin'd eyes. 
 And voice voluptuous with all desire, 
 And somewhat else beyond all that fair set my soul 
 on fire. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 For Beulah sang a ballad to me then, 
 Of perilous tune, so put to velvet rime, 
 *Twas sure the kind that sirens in old time 
 Sang from the weedy rocks to sailor-men ; 
 
 [23] 
 
And all the while her eyes shone splendidly 
 At something far too fine for us to see ; 
 But oh ! at the ending of the ballad, when 
 Those eyes sank down to rest alone on me, 
 Full well for one such glance of hers I knew 
 I'd tip my hat to her command for all that a man 
 may do. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And so enamor'd on the instant grown, 
 I sprang to meet her when the song was done ; 
 She met me wondrous kind ; then one by one 
 The others drew aside, while we, alone, 
 Crush' d from the moments, in our eagerness, 
 A wine of man}^ years, as one would press 
 Sudden the ripen' d grapes. Ah ! we had known, 
 In some strange way that I'm too old to guess, 
 A dream of life between, I know not how, 
 That link'd her alien s oul to mine with a dream out- 
 lasting vow ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 You know how goes the custom of the Camp ; 
 
 How swift the wooing where the pace is set 
 
 To live all in the hour — and then forget ! 
 
 The midnight moon shone pale, like an onyx lamp 
 
 Hung in the amber twilight of the sky, 
 
 When we went forth together, she and I, 
 
 And open'd yellow wine, whose yellow stamp 
 
 Won high approval from the rascals dry 
 
 [24] 
 
Who pledg'd us o'er and o'er, upon the chance 
 To waste in regions barbarous that vintage of old 
 France. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The first ones of the North still tell of it : 
 
 That was the night the Lucky Swede made bold 
 
 To bid for Beulah all her weight in gold ; 
 
 And when, from mere caprice, my side she quit, 
 
 And challenged him to make the offer good, 
 
 With iron pans and a beam and a chunk of wood 
 
 A rough-and-ready balance soon was fit. 
 
 And the Swede brought up his gold where Beulah 
 
 stood , 
 And 'gainst her weight upon the other scale 
 He piled his buckskin-sacks, while I — saw red, but 
 
 watch' d the sale. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 In all my life I never felt so broke ; 
 But when the balance quiver' d evenly, 
 She threw a kiss to him — and came to me, 
 And my heart went all a-tremble as she spoke : 
 " Ole, you're a sport alright — for a Swede ! 
 But I think this Sourdough here's the man I need ; 
 I only play'd to leave him for a joke ; 
 Let's call it off — and the drinks on me ! Agreed ? '* 
 Since then for me there's been no other girl — 
 And all the boys shook hands on it, and things began 
 to whirl. 
 
 [25] 
 
XXII. 
 
 And it's something worth, even in memory, 
 To linger thro' those ample hours again. 
 It ma}^ not be the same with other men. 
 But clear on the topmost waves of revelry 
 The soul of me was lifted cool and clean, 
 Silent — to feel the surge of what had been : 
 Content — to weigh the evil yet to be : — 
 Then Beulah's arms closed warm and white between, 
 And I let go of all in her embrace, 
 And for a time escaped from Time and the latitudes 
 of Space. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 And the last was a sense of sound — a tremulo. 
 So vagrant, sweet and low, 'twas like the thin, 
 Continual twinkling tune of a mandolin 
 To mellow-toned guitars in Mexico, 
 Where lovers pace the plaza by the sea ; 
 Where the deep Pacific phosphorescently 
 Goes rolling smoothly 'neath the Moon, as tho' 
 The influence of her yellow witchery 
 Thro' all the sparkling waters off the Main 
 Had sunken, sunken, drunken down like limitless 
 champagne. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Slowly I woke. The last of the stars had fled : 
 Only beside me Beulah murmur' d " Stay ! " 
 And kiss'd me, sleepy-eyed. But early day 
 
 [26] 
 
Chills all of that somehow ; I turned instead. 
 Thinking to leave her dreaming, I confess ; 
 Yet even in that graj' light her loveliness, 
 And certain drowsy dulcet words she said, 
 Charm' d m}- heart to hers in a last caress — 
 Chained if you like, and clinch' d with a parting smile — 
 What then? In the round of the World I've found 
 naught else so well worth while. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Far up a valley, where the summer-rills 
 Long ages thro' the glacial-drift have roU'd, 
 I work'd in gravel studded thick with gold 
 For days and days on the double-shift that kills. 
 Yet oft, to hear the echoes ring and stir 
 
 • That vacant valley like a dulcimer, 
 I flung her name against the naked hills, 
 And crimson' d all the air with thoughts of her ; 
 While 'mong the fair returning stars I'd see 
 
 Pale phantoms of her chill, sweet face receding 
 endlessly, 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Till I could stand the pull of it no more ; 
 
 I, who as a fool knew ever>" phase 
 
 Of woman's lighter love, and love's light ways, 
 
 Had felt no passion like to this before. 
 
 As the lost drunkard's longing at its worst, 
 
 And keen as the craving of the opium-curst, 
 
 Was the elemental lust that overbore 
 
 [27] 
 
My very body till it gasp'd athirst, 
 As one in some fierce desert dying dreams 
 Of snowy peaks and valleys green with unavailing 
 streams. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 And Julien, good old Julien, knowing all, 
 Pretended not to know, but said he guess' d 
 That I had overwork' d myself, and best 
 Lay off a spell in town. Then I let fall 
 My useless tools, and w^ash'd and got in trim 
 For the long ten miles ahead. The trail was slim. 
 And crawl' d at times 'gainst some sheer granite wall, 
 Or lost itself 'mong boulders huge and grim ; 
 But dreaming of her I pick'd a buoyant way, 
 Descending easy to the Bar at ending of the day. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 That region was abandon' d years ago. 
 And Lonesome Bar is to the wild again. 
 Yet still it haunts me as I saw it then : — 
 Far up in the banner' d West a crimson glow. 
 And a silver crescent on its edge aslant, 
 With jewell'd Venus sinking jubilant 
 Thro' opal spaces of the vault below ; 
 Then goblin rocks and waterfalls and scant 
 Green tamarac around the white marquee 
 Where Beulah lodg'd — and there was ending of the 
 trail for me. 
 
 [28] 
 
XXIX. 
 
 Ending of the trail — for she was there ! 
 Sylph-like I saw her figure thro' the haze 
 Made of the t'^dlight and the camp-fire blaze ; 
 And the piney odors passing thro' the air 
 So pure I took for random kisses blown 
 From her red mouth to mine, while yet unknown 
 My whereabouts ; then wholly unaware 
 I stole upon her standing there alone, 
 And sudden she was mine without appeal, 
 And lip to lip wdthin my arms made all my fancies 
 real. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Shall I forget the words she said to me ? 
 Nay, I believ'd them — I believe them yet ! 
 She told me how she dream' d that we had met 
 Where dreams are true ; and then how endlessly, 
 Like some lost dove, she roamed this evil world 
 Seeking for me ; how now her wings were furl'd, 
 And I should bide with her, till I should see 
 This whitest secret in her soul impearl'd ; 
 And her songs were all for me, I heard her say, — 
 For me, for me and only me, forever and a day ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Then pass'd the last good hours I ever knew ; 
 
 I lit m}^ pipe, sat on a log, and look'd 
 
 At her and her neat hands that neatly cook'd 
 
 A supper hot and homely — just for two ; 
 
 [29] 
 
And out in God's sweet air, beside the fire, 
 Where comrade ways but strengthen' d lyove's desire, 
 We made it up to marry then for true, 
 And I thought how all my life I'd never tire 
 Of loving her, her eyes, her voice, her form, 
 Her charm of something unreveal'd forever young 
 and warm. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 But at last, as night drew on, she rose and said : 
 "I'd talk with you till dawn, dear, if talk 
 Could hold my audience or charm the clock, 
 But I musn't miss my turn, so come ahead ! " 
 Down at the theatre the crowd was thin, 
 Perhaps two score, no more, as we went in ; 
 But the manager was hanging out his red 
 Big-letter' d signal-lantern to begin, 
 When from the street, crescendo, came a roar, 
 Nearer and still nearer, till it reach' d the dance-hall 
 door. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Beulah stood ready on the stage, and the black 
 Professor at the crack' d piano play'd 
 His overture twice through, but no one stay'd. 
 So I joined in where all were crowding back 
 To where the row was on. "Speech, Mac, speech ! ' ' 
 They cried, as up the aisle they rush'd to reach 
 Where Beulah stood, confused. "It's Hellfire 
 Mac!" 
 
 [30] 
 
I whisper' d her, " and he's drunk and wants to 
 
 preach ! ' ' 
 " What ! why sure — whoever he is — come dear, 
 That lets me off for a while, you know ; come on — 
 
 come on in here ! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And laughing softly she drew me aside 
 Into a rough alcove, her dressing-room, 
 Curtain' d from the stage, and half in gloom, 
 When at a sound her eyes ' gan staring wide, 
 And she clutch' d my arm. Twas not the pious 
 
 drone, 
 But a fearsome something in the undertone 
 Of the ruin'd Calvinist, whose soul espied 
 Damnation toppling from the great White Throne 
 Upon the woeful habiters of Earth, 
 That somehow check'd the crowd that night, and 
 
 still' d its shallow^ mirth. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 And Beulah, more than all like one enthrall' d. 
 Smother' d a moan, and dumbly motioning 
 For me to follow, crept into the wing 
 Close up to him. Bearded, gray and bald, 
 With eyes sunk gleaming under beetling shag. 
 And face rough-chisel' d like a granite crag, 
 He tower' d above us all ; but so appall' d 
 
 [31] 
 
He seem'd that scarce his drunken tongue could 
 
 drag 
 Meet words to match his ghastly fantasies, 
 Yet I remember some in Gaelic accents drawn like 
 
 these : 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 "Last night, my friens, she dreampt she was a snake, 
 Prodigious as wass nefer seen before : 
 Ha, ta Mac an Diaoul ! — ta Peishta-Mor I 
 For when she moved she made ta mountains quake, 
 And all ta waters of ta oceans roll 
 In frightnet waves from Pole to frozen Pole ; 
 While efermore her starving body'd ache 
 So bitterly ta pain she couldna thole, 
 But twistit round and round, till she was curl'd 
 In endless coils of blastit flesh about ta blastit World. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " For in those days she was ta only thing ; 
 There wass no man nor woman left at all ; 
 No fish to swim, no beast to run or crawl, 
 No bird nor butterfly to spread its wing ; 
 Around ta World herself wass all alone, 
 For all that efer lived to her had grown ; 
 And Winter, that would nefermore be Spring, 
 Now glowert silent ofer every zone : 
 Then liftit she her head into ta sky 
 To spit ta last great blasphemy into God's face — 
 and die. 
 
 [32] 
 
XXXVIII. 
 
 " But oh ! ta silence of ta endless sky — 
 And oh ! ta blackness of ta endless Night I 
 Where all ta stars can nefer make it light — 
 Where in ta empty, like a Defil's e3'e, 
 Ta eerie Sun, grown small and smooth and cold, 
 Stared down upon her doom ordain' d of old I 
 And she torment — and she couldna tell forwhy — 
 With agonies in ever>' quaking fold, 
 Where only flowit poison streams for blood : 
 And still she hiss'd and spit and curst — and still there 
 wass no God I 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 * ' But at ta last she felt ta power to make 
 
 Ta great escape, and finish all her hurt ; 
 
 Ta Spirit moved her, and her body girt 
 
 Its straining coils until ta World she brake 
 
 To splinter' d rocks that ground and crash' d and 
 
 roar'd, 
 While all ta inner fires reek'd up and pour'd 
 In fury round ta universal Snake — 
 Consuming in ta vengeance of ta Lord ! " 
 We never heard the meaning of his dream. 
 For sudden thro' the building rang a wild hysteric 
 
 scream. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And Beulah springing frenzied to the stage, 
 And the old man halting face to face with her, 
 
 [33] 
 
Too swift and strange for any the^fr 
 Follow'd a scene whose measure none could gauge, 
 Only we felt its mad reality. 
 
 ' * That man's my father — keep him back from me ! " 
 I heard her cry, while horror blent with rage 
 Upon the other's face. " A fient I see ! 
 A damit fient of Hell, who stole my name ! 
 Beulah, ta harlot, come again to cross my face with 
 shame ! " 
 
 XI,I. 
 
 I saw the old man grip and throttle her ; 
 I saw her choking, and her white hand dart 
 Down to the knife that flashed — and found his heart ! 
 I saw him reel and fall — I saw the blur 
 Of blood that gush'd upon her heaving breast 
 Out of his own ! Ah ! God, how quick the rest ! 
 Ere I or any one of us could stir, 
 Full to the hilt that fatal knife she press' d 
 Into her side, that ran and reek'd with red, 
 As she fell dead upon the stage where lay her father 
 dead. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Moments there are that gleam beyond all Time ! 
 Blown from enormous Years ! O name that seems 
 To hearken back thro' vague primeval dreams ! 
 O maid remember' d from the young, sublime, 
 Untrammel'd days when God foregathered us ! 
 My woman still — grown strangely perilous ! 
 All in a moment marr'd with scarlet crime, 
 
 [34] 
 
And lost before mine ej'es incredulous ! 
 My woman still — tho' I go babbling dazed 
 At thought of her and her father damn'd, and a Hell 
 of things gone crazed I 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 How since that hour again and )^et again 
 I've pla3''d the fool with Death ! Go let him take 
 What shape he please, I'll meet him wide awake, 
 And keep a date with him — no matter when ! 
 Mad, I tell 3^ou — mad, I've laughed to hear 
 In Wintertime the mad gray-wolves draw near 
 And circle round me, all unarm' d — and then. 
 Snapping their teeth, slink back and howl with fear : 
 God knows of what ! So queer it seem'd, almost 
 I think the}' saw beside me there old Hellfire's 
 drunken ghost ! 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Lonesome Bar I Too far — too far and old 
 The hollow sound of it now comes to me 
 To quicken this sick heart that crazil}^ 
 Goes lurching on to everlasting cold ! 
 Fill up my glass I What game have I to pla}" 
 But drink into this drear, indifferent day, 
 Some brief delirium, wherein to hold 
 A phantom floating goldenl}- away 
 Beyond the zenith of my soul, as bright 
 Aurora with her dreamlight haunts the hopeless Arctic 
 night ! 
 
 [35] 
 
THE WRONG WAY 
 
 I. 
 
 T WOKE to find me lying in 
 -^ A lonely desert place, 
 Where ever-shifting silver sands 
 
 Caress' d my hands and face ; 
 Of hill or tree or human thing 
 
 I saw no sign or trace. 
 
 II. 
 
 But the lovely dreams that children dream 
 
 Were never half so fair : 
 Oh to that lone awakening 
 
 I can no thing compare ! 
 I laugh' d for mere delight to breathe 
 
 The moving golden air. 
 
 III. 
 I kiss'd my naked arms, my heart 
 
 With subtle rapture beat 
 When shapely hands, blue-vein'd and wan, 
 
 I laid upon my feet : 
 The trickling sands upon them seem'd 
 
 Like waters cool and sweet. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And loosely I was clad in white, 
 
 With a girdle at my waist ; 
 And from my soul seem'd every stain 
 
 [37] 
 
Of care and pain effaced : 
 A nodding wreath of popp}^ flowers 
 Upon my brow w^as placed. 
 
 V. 
 
 And long I look'd in silence o'er 
 
 The silvery expanse ; 
 Anon with music's soft employ 
 
 I did my joy enhance : 
 No siren e'er had sweeter voice 
 
 To give it utterance. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But that — ah that would not suffice- 
 The more I sang the more 
 
 Methought the sands alluringly 
 Did beckon me explore 
 
 What splendid city lay beyond — 
 What foam-besprent sea-shore ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then up I rose and sought the West, 
 Wherein the Sun declin'd ; 
 
 And light and merrily I flew, 
 While ever blew behind, 
 
 Outspreading wide my yellow hair, 
 A perfume-laden wind. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 On and on and ever on. 
 With white, untiring feet ; 
 
 [38] 
 
And over sands interm'nable 
 Ne'er fled gazelle so fleet 
 
 To find what faery thing might be 
 Where sky and desert meet. 
 
 IX. 
 
 How many a sore and stricken heart 
 Might then have envied me 
 
 That soothing, virgin desert land ! — 
 So lonely and so free ! 
 
 Seclusion sweet commingled all 
 With sunlit liberty. 
 
 X. 
 
 And soon with scarce a motion of 
 
 My own I smiled to find 
 How all unstriving I did fly : — 
 
 Then reckless I resign 'd 
 My body as a burden blithe 
 
 Unto the eager wind. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And on and on and ever on 
 
 I held my steady way ; 
 And felt the passion of that flight 
 
 No distance might allay ; 
 Not e'en the stars' sweet benison 
 
 At ending of the day. 
 
 (39] 
 
XII. 
 
 But with amaze I saw at last 
 How huge the Sun did shine ; 
 
 And this also I marvell'd o'er — 
 It did no more decline, 
 
 But red and eerie linger 'd on 
 The far horizon line. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Yet on and on and ever on 
 
 The silver sands I spurn' d, 
 Till in the nearing Western sky 
 
 My ghastly eye discern 'd 
 What awful flames w^ere writhing where 
 
 The seeming Sun had burn'd. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And from those flames there rear'd aloft 
 Envenom' d smoke and fume ; 
 
 Riven by many a fiery streak 
 The pitchy reek did loom 
 
 Prodigious thro' the night that lour'd 
 Above that Pit of Doom. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Then went the sands to ashes gray 
 That smoulder' d 'neath my feet ; 
 
 The wind, a tempest horrible, 
 Now baffled all retreat ; 
 
 [40] 
 
And soon upon my blanched face 
 I felt the searing heat. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The wreath of scarlet popp}-- flowers 
 
 Fell withering and dead ; 
 The scars upon my burning brow 
 
 Were scarlet now instead ; 
 My girdle to a serpent turn'd, 
 
 With fang'd and fiery head. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And all my hair, now raven-black, 
 And monstrous over-grown, 
 
 That sheer against the falling night 
 With drear affright had flown, 
 
 Around me in all strangling shapes 
 Of Horror now was blown. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Till came the end where seems no end,- 
 My body sway'd and whirl' d 
 
 Frantic on the lurid edge 
 
 Where Hell doth hedge the World ;- 
 
 Then down the scarlet Pit of Doom, 
 Shrieking to God, was hurl'd ! 
 
 [41] 
 
THE RIME OF JACQUES VALBEAU 
 
 I. 
 
 One August afternoon I saw, 
 Somewhere back of Ottawa, 
 
 Among the oldest hills, 
 A 3^oung and most alluring squaw, 
 Togg'd in a buckskin petticoat, 
 
 With buckskin fringe and frills : 
 Catamount-claws were at her throat, 
 
 Fixt on a catgut string. 
 With copper beads and color' d quills, — 
 
 O she was the dreamliest thing ! 
 Clean and cool as the dews that cling 
 To the tiger-lilies on those hills 
 
 Thro' the golden August dawns ; 
 For the rest — the sunlight gleam' d 
 On breasts and arms and legs that seem'd 
 Moulded brownly out of bronze : 
 Shapely, slender, debonaire. 
 From her coils of blue-black hair 
 To her dainty mocassins : 
 And I met her, for my sins. 
 Somewhere back of Ottawa, 
 
 Among the oldest hills. 
 
 II. 
 
 Long ago in the earlies 
 
 A Frenchman lived in France ; 
 
 Gaunt he was like an eagle, 
 
 [43] 
 
With an evil eagle glance : 
 
 One eye was black and one was blue, 
 
 And the black one look'd straight into you, 
 
 While the blue one leer'd askance, 
 
 Most sinfully in Paris. 
 But it was wiser not to try 
 
 To hinder him or harass. 
 But quietly to pass him by, 
 
 In the sinful streets of Paris ; 
 For his arm was strong, and his sword was long, 
 
 And when he made sword-plays, 
 'Twas hard to look him the eye, 
 
 Because he look'd two ways ; 
 The black one look'd straight into you. 
 And the blue one where he'd pink you through, 
 And that was a trick entirely new 
 
 To people then in Paris. 
 O he had small fears of the musketeers 
 
 Or the macaroons of Paris ! 
 And he had his time, and he made most free. 
 And he lived in great ribalderie, 
 
 In the sinful streets of Paris ; 
 But at last those evil eyes in his head 
 On whom thej^ fell, or so 'tis said, 
 
 Brought such annoy and harass. 
 That when King Louis heard of it, 
 
 He order' d him from Paris : 
 Yes ; not for the evil life he led, 
 
 Nor the ways that he walk'd unfit, 
 
 [44J 
 
But for those two evil eyes in his head, 
 They press'd him out of Paris. 
 
 III. 
 
 'Twas long ago in the earlies, 
 
 And he thought to take a chance 
 
 For fortune in the fur-trade, 
 
 So he sail'd away from France, 
 
 In a crooked ship, with a crooked deck, 
 
 That sprang a leak and went to wreck 
 
 Five hundred miles from our Quebec, 
 
 At the mouth of our Saint Lawrence. 
 How then he fared I do not know, 
 'Twas long ago, but this is so. 
 That up the river, paddling slow, 
 Half-star\''d, at length he reach' d Quebec, 
 And told his tale of dismal wreck, — 
 His name was Jacques Valbeau. 
 Now in those daj^s in our Quebec 
 
 Nigh all the folk were pious. 
 And when they saw his one black eye, 
 
 With the blue one on the bias, 
 They cross' d themselves, and wish'd the rogue 
 
 Had drown' d 'tween there and Paris. 
 Yet money is made in the fur-trade. 
 
 When others hunt the fur. 
 And some thought best that they should test 
 
 This lank adventurer ; 
 And so they offer 'd to subscribe 
 
 [45] 
 
Enough to outfit and equip 
 Jacques Valbeau for a hunting trip 
 
 With some of the Huron tribe. 
 Thus did he go, this Jacques Valbeau, 
 And for many days he studied the ways 
 
 And the words of the Huron tribe. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yes ; money is made in the fur-trade 
 
 When others hunt the fur. 
 But brandy to the Indians 
 
 If you want the best of fur. 
 And everything else they have to show ; 
 'Tis a law you know, and Jacques Valbeau 
 
 Was its discoverer. 
 So for many days he studied the waj^s 
 
 And words of every tribe. 
 Of money had he not a sou markee, 
 
 But he carried a bottled bribe, [some, 
 
 And the Moon turn'd round, and he prosper' d 
 
 With beaver- skins and such, 
 That he got for his brandy, and then for rum, 
 
 And the gin of the heretic Dutch. 
 But me it would take too long to describe 
 How things went bad in every tribe 
 
 Which the Church had held in check ; 
 But sure there was trouble plenty too much 
 
 In our dear old Quebec. 
 So the Bishop and the Governor, 
 
 [46] 
 
Who sometimes did agree, 
 They met and talk'd the matter o'er, 
 
 And settled finally 
 That they would have this Jacques Valbeau 
 
 And hang him by the neck 
 Up on the windy citadel 
 
 Of our dear old Quebec. 
 But so it is, and so it is, 
 
 And one can never tell, 
 For in the Garden Ursuline 
 That evil-eyed Valbeau had seen 
 An Indian girl turned seventeen, 
 
 A sweet young sauvagesse, 
 Left with the Lady Prioress 
 To learn to sew, and cook nice food. 
 And tell her beads, and to confess, 
 
 And otherwise be good. 
 But Jacques Valbeau, that Jacques Valbeau, 
 
 He signaird her so well 
 In forest ways she understood, 
 
 That just at vesper-bell 
 Of that same evening long ago 
 She slipt away into the wood : — 
 
 O wicked Jacques Valbeau ! 
 
 V. 
 
 So Jacques took to the wilderness, 
 
 The first coureur-de-bois, 
 And with him went that Indian girl, 
 
 [47] 
 
Whose convent-name was lyOttila — 
 
 With the accent on the " aw." 
 I have heard her other name, but now 
 
 I will not try to tell it, 
 Because I can't, and 'cause there are 
 
 No letters that will spell it. 
 But oh 'twas the good, good time they had 
 
 Thro' the woods in the summer weather ! 
 Hunting and fishing and trading in furs, 
 
 And they were so rich together, 
 Until one night as they lay asleep. 
 Where the moss was growing thick and deep, 
 
 'Gainst the trunk of a fallen tree, 
 The Iroquois Indians silently 
 
 Began to creep and creep 
 In a closing circle where they lay. 
 Till scarce they were more than three yards away. 
 Then a twig did snap with a warning crack ; 
 Upsprang that valiant rover, Jacques, 
 All in an instant wide awake. 
 And three of those Iroquois heads did break 
 
 Before they had him down. Alack ! 
 They tied his hands behind his back 
 
 And fixt him to a stake ; 
 And his bottles of Jamaica rum 
 
 They drank till they were drunk. 
 And while the squaws began to plunk 
 With rattly sticks on the big tum-tum 
 (That's a sort of Indian drum), 
 
 [48] 
 
The braves did time and music make 
 
 With yells and grunts and squawks, 
 And danced around him at that stake, 
 With painted cheek and horrible head, 
 And pine-knot torches burning red, 
 
 And ugly tomahawks ; 
 And told him how his scalp they'd take, 
 And otherwise keep him awake 
 Until the blessed day should break. 
 
 Then cut him into blocks. 
 And finally his body bake. 
 When sure that it no more could ache. 
 And eat his heart when he was dead. 
 Of these details, perhaps, I've said 
 
 Too much — the subject shocks. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But so it is, and so it is, 
 
 And one can never tell ; 
 For on Valbeau the flesh did sizz, 
 
 And he began to j^ell. 
 When the Devil, moving mightil}^ 
 
 Somewhere down in Hell, 
 Did cause a terrible earthquake, 
 And all of Canada did shake 
 From Ottawa to Rimouski. 
 (This happen' d in sixteen sixt3'-three, 
 And it's all set out in history.) 
 But Jacques Valbeau stood swarthily, 
 
 [49] 
 
And desperate at the stake, 
 And called the Devil to his aid, 
 While all the Indians, dismaj^'d, 
 Took to their naked knees and pray'd. 
 And the ground kept heaving heavily. 
 Yes, all took to their knees and pray'd, 
 But Lottila, the little squaw, 
 Who, with no thought but her lover's life, 
 Cut thro' his thongs with a scalping-knife, 
 While the ground kept heaving heavily. 
 And then was that great bargain made 
 As Jacques Vilbeau stood swarthily ; 
 He call'd the Devil to his aid, 
 And the Devil, moving mightily 
 
 Somewhere down in Hell, 
 Roar'd reply, so I am told, 
 That Jacques Valbeau, the overbold, 
 
 And Lottila as well. 
 If they would do his will alway. 
 Should laugh at Time and never grow old, 
 And none should hinder them or check, i 
 
 Whether at work or whether at play, | 
 
 Free to come and free to go I 
 
 Thro' all the Province of Quebec j 
 
 And the borders of Ontario — i 
 
 Down to the Judgment Day ! h 
 
 [50] 
 
 I 
 
VII. 
 
 Then Jacques Valbeau and Lottila, 
 So the Iroquois declare 
 (And I have cause to think 'tis true), 
 While others crouch' d all in despair, 
 Followed a ball of fire that ran 
 Down to the river near St. Anne, 
 
 Till it stopt by a big canoe ; 
 And Lottila she fainted there, 
 
 And fell in that big canoe. 
 And Jacques, half dead, he fell there too. 
 Then it rose of itself in the spectral air, 
 
 And far out of sight it flew. 
 How long it was they never knew. 
 It may have been days, but Jacques came to. 
 And found they were still in the big canoe. 
 Hovering over a landscape fair, 
 
 Late in the afternoon. 
 And it floated aimless, here and there. 
 But Jacques Valbeau had ready wit. 
 And he sat and consider' d the matter a bit, 
 
 Till with a paddle soon 
 He caught the trick of sailing it, 
 Slowly at first and cautiousl}', 
 But at last he sail'd as joyously 
 
 As any bird on the wing ; 
 While Lottila woke up to sing 
 
 To the end of the afternoon. 
 Then a down-worn mountain they did see, 
 
 [50 
 
From whose green covering 
 The granite ribs sagg'd outwardly ; 
 It seem'd some monstrous ancient thing 
 
 Crouching wearily. 
 But on its summit they did light, 
 And make their camp there for the night 
 In later days, upon that site. 
 
 But low^er down the hill, 
 Jacques built a cabin large and strong. 
 And near to it a whiskey-still 
 
 To make the whiskey-blanc. 
 And more I'd like to tell to you 
 Of how he did the Devil's will 
 
 In that bewitch' d canoe. 
 But the tale of it would be too long, 
 
 O much too long, indeed ! 
 Yet in parish-records you may read 
 How, with a drunken shanty-crew. 
 They saw him pass in that canoe, 
 Piercing the clouds with awful speed, — 
 
 I^et that be a lesson to you ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 So thus that August afternoon, 
 
 Among those haunted hills, 
 I met that young bedevill'd squaw, 
 The luring, lissome Lottila, 
 
 Minding her whiskey-stills. 
 And truly I was glad I met her, 
 
 [52] 
 
Yet I am shy, and sometimes nervous, 
 
 And I wonder' d what excuse would serve us 
 
 To know each other better ; 
 But lifting my hat to the brown young maid, 
 She smiled straight at me, unafraid, 
 
 And presently began 
 To speak wdth pretty words that ran 
 Thro' English, French and Indian, — 
 
 It was a lovel}^ jargon ; 
 But she said no word of Jacques Valbeau, 
 Who with the Devil, long ago, 
 Made such a splendid bargain ; 
 So how was I to know ? 
 Now it's sometimes sweet to be indiscreet. 
 As for me I am never wise ; 
 So we sat us down on the warm, dry sod, 
 'Mid brown grass and golden rod. 
 
 Watching the butterflies. 
 And she talk'd and talk'd, as I held her hand, 
 And when I could not understand 
 I look'd dowm deep into her eyes. 
 Perhaps the thing sounds silly, 
 But think of the picture that she made. 
 
 Array' d like a tiger-Hly : 
 Her bod}^ brown and quivering 
 In that revealing petticoat. 
 With catamount-claws at her fine throat 
 
 Fixt on a catgut string ; 
 And the copper beads and color' d quills, 
 
 [53] 
 
Just that and her dainty mocassins, — 
 
 O she was the dreamliest thing ! 
 And I met her, for my sins, 
 Somewhere back of Ottawa, 
 
 Among the oldest hills. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The sun was slipping down the sky, 
 
 Close to the green horizon. 
 When sudden I saw the fairiest sight 
 
 That ever I set my eyes on : 
 A yellow canoe, with three of a crew. 
 
 Almost too fast to follow, 
 Straight out of the sky to the hilltop nigh, 
 
 Came skimming along like a swallow. 
 And then to the cabin, right below, 
 It slid with a motion easy and slow, 
 And a man stept out — already you know 
 'Twas Jacques Valbeau — 'twas Jacques Valbeau ! 
 
 Gaunt he was like an eagle, 
 
 With an evil eagle glance ; 
 His black eye look'd me through and through. 
 
 And his blue one leer'd askance ; 
 The front of his head had been tomahaw'd. 
 
 But part way down his back 
 His hair was flowing coarse and black, 
 
 Like the tail of a horse that is dockt ; 
 But he had a very engaging smile. 
 
 And I liked the way that he talked. 
 
 [54] 
 
He was straight as an arrow when he walk'd, 
 
 And, after a little while, 
 I thought him a handsome man — almost, 
 And really quite a delightful host. 
 He introduced the other two 
 Who rode with him in the big canoe. 
 One was a fat little countr>^ girl, 
 With carrot}^ hair in a towsell'd curl. 
 Her dolly eyes had tears at the rim, 
 And her face was pale as milk that is skim. 
 
 And she was a sad little girl. 
 The other guest was a shantj^man, 
 
 Half drunk by the looks of him ; 
 But the shantj-man was an Irishman, 
 
 And that is enough for him. 
 Then Lottila and the country girl 
 
 Left us and went to the upper 
 Cabin above the w^hiskey-still, 
 
 To set the table for supper, 
 While we sat down in the red sunlight, 
 
 And listened to Jacques Valbeau 
 
 As he told prodigious stories 
 
 Of two hundred years ago, 
 Of all the old coureurs-de-bois 
 
 Dead so long ago, — 
 
 We still there in the red sunlight. 
 
 And they all underground. 
 Then I heard a sound, and I look'd around, 
 
 Then up where Lottila 
 
 [55] 
 
Was ringing a queer little oblong bell — 
 
 (Maybe 'twas just a cowbell, 
 Tho' I think 'twas silver, so clear and sweet 
 
 The silver tone of it fell) — 
 And gladly we follow' d Valbeau to the upper 
 Cabin where we were to have our supper. 
 For me, I was more than ready to eat. 
 
 And the supper was a dream. 
 We'd buttermilk and new potat, 
 And a roasted chicken, great and fat. 
 
 With cauliflower in cream, 
 And a glass or two of whiskey-blanc, 
 Just to help the meal along, 
 And another glass, and after that 
 
 Tabac de habitant. 
 
 X. 
 
 Upon my soul, I never knew 
 Just when we enter' d the big canoe, 
 The same as one can never keep 
 The moment clear one falls asleep. 
 But so it was until I found 
 We were no more upon the ground. 
 Now I at times am extremely nervous, 
 As I said before, and when I found 
 How that bewitch' d canoe did swerve us 
 Up and away from the solid ground. 
 With the hills a-sinking all around, 
 And we once more in the copper glim 
 
 [56] 
 
Of the Sun we lost somewhile before, 
 
 Oh then, indeed, I thought small blame 
 
 To the frighten" d girl with the towsell'd curl, 
 
 And dolly eyes with tears at the rim, 
 
 And face all pale as milk that is skim — 
 
 I'll bet that my own was the same I 
 But the shantyman was too drunk, I think. 
 To know where we were — it's a beastly shame 
 
 The wa}^ those Irish drink. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Now remember aviation 
 
 Differs quite from navigation, 
 
 For always in the water 
 
 Of the river that 3'ou ride in, 
 
 Or be it smooth or ripply, 
 
 A canoe is verj' tippl}', 
 
 And steadily you kneel. 
 
 But through the air you glide in 
 
 A fashion that you feel 
 
 It's a medium to confide in, 
 
 And you needn't keep a keel, — 
 
 That much I saw at a glance. 
 And tho' I'm not sufficiently wise 
 To make it clear, you can't capsize 
 
 So long as you properly balance, 
 
 Or rise b3' levitation. 
 
 Now, that's why aviation 
 
 Differs quite from navigation, 
 
 [57] 
 
And I had begun to feel easy again, 
 
 And read}^ to take a chance, 
 When all of a sudden it started to rain 
 Right over our heads, and there was a growl 
 
 Of thunder far down in the West. 
 Then the Sun went out, and the wind 'gan howl. 
 And a storm came bounding along on the crest 
 Of the massy clouds, grown sulphurous. 
 And there was the blue zig-zag and flash 
 Of lightning, follow' d bj^ instant crash 
 
 Of the thunder nearing us. 
 With that Valbeau began to sing, 
 While Lottila did sway and swing 
 
 Her brown arms perilous : 
 Gai faluroyi faliirette^ 
 
 Gai fahiroji donde ! 
 I did the same but tremblingly, 
 And the Indian girl did grin with glee 
 
 To see how the white girl shrunk, [knee. 
 
 With her face in her hands and her head on my 
 
 But the shantyman still lay drunk, 
 
 So how could I put her away ? 
 
 It was all so characteristic ! 
 Gai faluro7i falurette^ 
 
 Gai faluron donde ! 
 Now, it's all very fine to sing that way 
 
 When everything else is right, 
 But w^e sailed straight into a loaded cloud. 
 
 So villanous anarchistic 
 
 [58] 
 
 ^m: w 1L% '^- tt^.' 
 
It bang'd like tons of dynamite : — 
 
 For a time I was blind with the awful light, 
 
 And deaf with the awful roar ; 
 I felt we were blown clean out of sight, 
 
 And then I felt we had sunk 
 To the bottomless pit for evermore ; 
 
 But the shantj-man still lay drunk. 
 It makes me shiver to think of it now, 
 But after a bit I rallied somehow. 
 Valbeau was laughing at the bow. 
 
 And he bent far back to speak : 
 " Hola, monsieur : comment ga va ? " 
 To keep my face with Lottila. 
 
 I managed just to stammer : 
 " Bully, Valbeau — c'est magnifique ! 
 
 But go where the clouds are calmer ! " 
 
 XII. 
 
 We were up in a cool, sweet air, 
 
 Under a wonderful sky, 
 Velvety dark and richh- sown 
 With wonderful stars from zone to zone. 
 
 And all of them seem'd so nigh, 
 But a little more, and we would play 
 Xear the opal arch of the Milky Way, 
 
 With the yellow Moon near by. 
 Then over the rim we look'd far down 
 
 Where the World had vanished in ire, 
 Where fold on fold of the black clouds roU'd, 
 
 [59] 
 
Roaring and fearful with fire, 
 And we rose from that Devil's crucible, 
 Like souls that are rising released from Hell, 
 
 To regions of glory and gold. 
 
 Higher and higher and higher ! 
 
 And the air grew thin and cold : 
 
 But higher and higher and higher 
 
 I urged Valbeau to explore 
 Nearer and nearer that border of gold 
 
 And limit where mortals expire : 
 
 Higher and higher and higher ! 
 While a million millions miles to the fore, 
 I watch' d the glint of a Jewell' d door 
 
 In the Gardens of Desire : 
 
 Higher and higher and higher ! 
 Till I was dazed and my breath was gone. 
 
 And I could see no more. 
 
 xiir. 
 When I came to myself we were sailing down, 
 
 And circling like a feather 
 In a slow^ descending spiral flight 
 
 Thro' mellow moonlit weather : 
 And the country girl croon' d with delight, 
 
 And claspt her hands together. 
 But still her head droop' d on my knee 
 
 As she claspt her hands together, 
 And so close were we that none could see 
 
 As I fool'd with a carroty curl : 
 
 [6oJ 
 
 Ife. to. 
 
Alas ! I admit my conduct was raw, 
 For my heart was all to Lottilla, 
 
 But I kissed the other girl. 
 Xow it's a great mistake, when up in the skies, 
 
 To kiss the other girl. 
 Just for a pair of dolly eyes. 
 
 Or a cute little carroty curl : 
 Yet not the slightest harm was meant, 
 With me it's a matter of temperament ; 
 
 But the shantyman w^oke up I 
 
 Oh, blast that Irish pup ! 
 He woke and caught us in the act, 
 Just at the moment our lips had smackt, 
 And he went for me, hell-bent ; 
 Let out from his ugly throat a yell. 
 Told Lottilla just what he saw, 
 
 And — before I had time to explain. 
 
 Or argue against the fact — 
 
 That fact so apparently plain — 
 They both made at me so savage I fell 
 
 Without a chance to prepare I 
 And I fell, and I fell, and I fell— my Lord ! 
 It's the awfulest feel to fall overboard 
 
 From a canoe away up in the air ; 
 It's really too swift to describe or tell. 
 But first you feel you're out of it, 
 
 And then 3'ou feel a thump. 
 And after that you're generally 
 
 A most unlovely lump. 
 But in my case 'twas different. 
 My body was caught by a wind-current, 
 
 [61] 
 
And it drove me sideways on, 
 With a muffled whack, 'gainst a big haystack, 
 And I tumbled it over and lay on my back 
 
 Unconscious till the dawn, 
 
 And so flat, flat, flat, 
 That when I arose in misery, 
 
 A long time after that, 
 'Twas hard to remember where I was at, 
 
 And I sigh'd lugubriously. 
 With my body so stiff and my head so sore. 
 It couldn't have hurt me any more 
 If I'd been out all night on a spree — 
 
 Gee ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Now let me end, O bulbous friend ! 
 
 This rime ere I begin to 
 Tell other things irrelevant 
 Of venturings extravagant 
 
 And mystery and sin too : 
 For I've had my time in ever}^ clime 
 
 The Lord has led me into : — 
 But give me August, after all, 
 If I be free to roam and loll 
 Among those tiger-lily hills 
 
 Back of Ottawa. 
 I am ready to risk whatever befal 
 To meet once more that little squaw. 
 The luring lissome Lotilla, 
 
 Minding her whiskey-stills ; 
 To listen again to her pretty patois, 
 [62] 
 
And hold her hand and hear her sing 
 Among those tiger-lily hills, 
 
 For she was the dreamliest thing ! 
 Gai faluron falurette, — 
 
 I think I hear her yet, 
 Out there, in her buckskin petticoat, 
 With catamount-claws at her fine throat, 
 
 Fixt on a catgut string ; 
 And the copper beads and color' d quills, 
 
 And dainty mocassins, — 
 The girl who met me, for m}- sins. 
 Somewhere back of Ottawa, 
 The wanton town of Ottawa, 
 
 Among the oldest hills. 
 
 Gai faluron fahirette, 
 Gai faluron donde ! 
 
 [63] 
 
ON BEACON HILI,, 
 British Columbia 
 
 I. 
 
 Prone on a grassy knoll where runs the sea 
 In from the North Pacific, deep and blue, 
 Whose tide-ript waters many a centur}' 
 But parted for the painted war-canoe, 
 Till Juan de Fuca and his swarthy crew 
 Sail'd on a treasure cruise to regions cold, 
 Idle I dream' d a summer evening through, 
 Watching the ruddy Western Sun enfold 
 The snowy-peak' d Olympians in transient gold. 
 
 II. 
 Our air hath yet some tang of Spanish days, 
 Some glow of stories fading from the past 
 Of pioneers, and wreckt and curious strays 
 From distant lands along this coast up-cast. 
 Since brave Vancouver, from his eager mast, 
 Beheld the island of his lasting fame. 
 And, veering to its pleasant shore, made fast 
 To raise our flag in George's royal name, 
 While group' d around his brawny tars gave loud acclaim, 
 
 III. 
 Across the rocky harbor-mouth still fall 
 Echoes to tell of England's easy crown, 
 And timely bugles from the barracks call 
 A challenge to the careless little town 
 
 [65] 
 
That lies like a pretty maid in tatter' d gown 
 'Mid tangled gardens, tempting one to halt 
 Where gnarled oaks, with ivy overgrown, 
 Are all accord with her one charming fault — 
 So drousy nigh the hidden guns of Hsquimalt. 
 
 IV. 
 And nonchalant lay I that afternoon, 
 The air a scent of w41d white-clover bore. 
 And I could hear the tumult and the tune 
 Of tumbling waves along the pebbled shore ; 
 Such gipsy joys to me were even more 
 Than chase of gold or fame ; but yet withal 
 I felt the first fine tremor o'er and o'er 
 Of some vast traffic without interval 
 To traverse soon these waterways imperial. 
 
 V. 
 
 Where now some tug-boat leaves a smoky trail 
 To pencil on the air a coiling blot 
 Athwart the lighthouse, or the infrequent sail 
 Of some slow lumber-bark, or vagrant yacht, — 
 Where glides some British cruiser, grimly wrought 
 Beside the schooners from the Arctic seas, — 
 To largely feed the crowded world methought 
 Here soon shall pass great annual argosies 
 Full-freighted wdth the yield of prairie granaries. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And musing thus upon that gentle mound, 
 Far down the reach of waters to the right 
 
 [66] 
 
 iririt 1? iir» 
 
I saw an Empress liner inward bound, 
 Speeding thro' the Narrows, trim and white, 
 And ever}' moment growing on my sight. 
 Like something clear unfolding in a dream ; 
 Her very motion was a clean delight, 
 That woke the sapphire sea to curl and cream 
 Smoothly off her curving prow and snowy beam. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And easily as up the Straits she roU'd, 
 My fancy rambled over her to see. 
 Bulging richly 'gainst her steel}- hold, 
 Bales of flossy silk stow'd solidly 
 With matted rice and tons of fragrant tea ; 
 Or else, her quainter cargo fain to scan, 
 Wee China toys in silver filagree, 
 And cunning ivories of old Japan, 
 Pack'd with iris- woven rugs from Ispahan. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 All hail to her ! the white forerunner sent 
 From out the lavish West to rouse the old 
 Lethargic portals of the Orient, 
 Till all its stolid inhabitants be told 
 Of quick new modes of life, and manifold 
 Swift engines of exchange, and how by these 
 To run their times within a finer mould, 
 And from the rut of Chinese centuries 
 To reach for wider joys and soother luxuries. 
 
 [67] 
 
IX 
 
 O sure it is no small thing to be said 
 That under us the East and West have met I 
 And our red route shall yet be perfected 
 Around the World, and our old flag shall yet 
 Much vantage o'er its younger rivals get, 
 Whether it wave from Windsor's kingh' pile, 
 Or on the fartherst verge of Empire set, 
 'Bove fearless towns, whose heart-strings all the while 
 Shall thrill to every chord from their old Mother-isle 
 
 X. 
 
 We feel the centre now, where'er we stand. 
 And touch community in everything, 
 Since Science, with her patient, subtle hand, 
 Hath snar'd the Globe as in a witch's ring, 
 And set all elements a-quivering 
 To our desire. What mar\'els more she'll show — 
 What new delights from Nature conjuring — 
 Small wit have I to guess, but this I know. 
 That more and more the scattered World as one must grow. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then closer blend for empire — that is power : 
 No thing of worth e'er came of feebleness, 
 And union is the genius of the hour. 
 The virtues that by master-craft and stress 
 Wrought hugely on primeval palaces. 
 And 'stonish'd Egypt and great Babylon 
 With monuments of admirable excess, 
 
 [68] 
 
 4. IT n 
 
 •IR'^1^'^ 
 
Seem once again from out Oblivion drawn 
 To lighten o'er the Earth in unexampl'd dawn. 
 
 XII. 
 
 We front the threshold of a giant age, 
 Foremost still, but others follow fast ; 
 We ma}' not trust o'ermuch the written page, 
 Or measure with the measures of the past. 
 For all our millions, and our regions vast. 
 And arm'd array, in boastful numbers told, 
 To keep the treasures that our sires amass' d, 
 Hath need of statesmen lion-like to hold, 
 And still forestall the changing times, alert and bold. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The impulse of a thousand centuries 
 Strikes upward now in our united race, 
 Not for a Roman triumph, but to ease 
 The intercourse of nations, and to place 
 The social fabric on a happier base ; 
 The very enginry of war abhorr'd, 
 So soon as may, is bended to erase 
 The stain and bloody ravage of the sword ; 
 The vanquish' d now are all to equal right restor'd. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But cry contempt upon that sickly creed 
 That would not fire a shot to save its own, 
 Whose piety per\'erse doth only feed 
 The hope of leaner nations, bolder grown. 
 To tread the path that we have hewn alone : 
 
 [69] 
 
'Twas not for them we found that path so hard — 
 'Twas not for them the Earth so thick was sown 
 With British dead ! Xay, rather let us guard 
 The barest rock that flies our flag at all hazard. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And e'en for the sake of rich and plenteous peace, 
 Let mastery in arms be honor' d still ! 
 So onl}' shall the fear of foemen cease. 
 For this is naked truth, say what they will, 
 That when a people lose the power to kill 
 They count for naught among the sons of men ; 
 Nor tongue, nor pen, nor art, nor workmen's skill 
 Can save their homes from alien ravish then, 
 Or lift their fallen capitols to place again. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Then give us rifles — rifles everywhere — 
 Ready rifles, tipt with bayonets I 
 And men of iron to lead, who little care 
 For parlor tactics or for social sets ; 
 Red captains worthy of their epaulets ; 
 Not rich men's sons to make a passing show, 
 Lace-loving fops or wooden martinets. 
 But clear-eyed stalwarts o'er the ranks, who know 
 How best to train a naval gun or trap a foe. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And tho' the burden and the fret of life 
 Still wear upon us with unequal weight, 
 We'll ne'er give way to fratricidal strife. 
 
 i 
 
 [70] 
 
 m n w^m^w m. 
 
We are a people strong to tolerate, 
 Till form'd opinion tranquilly abate 
 The jagg'd abuses of an earlier age, 
 Rather than, impatient, emulate 
 Those hapless nations that in sudden rage 
 Of revolution wreck their ancient heritage. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Our Saxon temper, that 'gainst Church and Crown, 
 And tyrant Castles of the feudal plan, 
 Made stead}^ way until it wore them down. 
 And straiten'd all their maxims till they ran 
 Current for the right of every man 
 Freely to change his state and circumstance, 
 Is virile yet unbrokenly to span 
 What gulf ahead, what unforeseen mischance, 
 Would threat the front of our magnificent advance. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And we have those whose dreams of betterment 
 Outrun their fleeting day ; whose hearts ideal 
 Beat evermore against discouragement, 
 In high endeavor not to cease till all 
 The bars to opportunity shall fall 
 Within the Union of the British bred ; 
 Nor rest content until the mutual 
 Machinery of State be perfected, 
 So that no least of all our brethren go unfed. 
 
 XX. 
 
 I never saw Britannia carved in stone. 
 Or figured out in bronze, but loyally 
 
 [71] 
 
I've thought what merit shall be all her own 
 In that great Brotherhood that's yet to be — 
 The diamond Empire of Futurity — 
 Whose equal citizens, all thron'd elate, 
 And treading each a sovran destin}-, 
 Shall count it 3'et their pride and best estate 
 To steadil}' for commonwealth co-operate. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Who'd be the bard of that triumphant time? 
 Who hath the pen of promise, and the skill, 
 To tell its periods in exultant rhyme ? 
 For I am but a dreamer on a hill, 
 And prone withal fantastic hours to fill 
 With fancies running wild of thought, or gloat 
 Eerie on the rising Moon, until 
 Betimes I hear her dim harmonic note — 
 Boding of forbidden things and themes remote. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 But so a passing ship — a bugle call — 
 Did tempt me to essay a song of State 
 Beyond the range of my poor art, as all 
 You rank'd Olympians, that loom serrate 
 Against the azure upper air, are great 
 O'er this low hill. To them young Morning throws 
 His golden first largesse — there, lingering late, 
 Rose-mantled Eve her deep allegiance shows. 
 Glorious 'mid unconquer'd peaks and virgin snows. 
 
 [72] 
 
 ■**. »«■»■'«• isr'M* 
 
THE CHILCOOT PASS 
 
 Far up the Chilcoot Heights ! The solid snow, 
 Avalanch'd from Titan peaks that rise 
 In stony isolation 'gainst the skies, 
 Hath whelm' d all in soundless overthrow ; 
 And almost now the white and crusted mass 
 Hath choked the glacier's ghastly blue crevasse 
 That cleaves to everlasting cold below : 
 The wintry day declines ; and down the Pass, 
 Where Time hath fallen, desolate, asleep, 
 To mark the flight of Arctic hours gigantic shadows creep. 
 
 II. 
 But see ! Upon that perilous meagre trail, 
 There winding upward to a dazzling crest, 
 A miner inward-bound on Fortune's quest ! 
 And tho' the sunlight's slanting weak and pale, 
 Tho' in the livid clouds a tempest lours, 
 And far above him j^et the Summit towers, 
 He sees therein no sight to make him quail ; — 
 'Gainst any steep he'd pit his stubborn powers ; 
 He goes, as dauntless men have gone of old. 
 To play with Death in a land unknown for a stake of love 
 and gold. 
 
 III. 
 Steady he's toil'd for hours ; at last he makes 
 A moment's pause to shift his heavy pack. 
 
 [73] 
 
The twisted straps chafe sore upon his back, 
 x\nd with hard travel all his bod}" aches. 
 But now it is he notes with some dismay 
 What little measure's left him of the day, 
 And how the air's ablur with thin white flakes ; 
 Yet up the Pass he takes one quick surv^ey, 
 Then griml}" on he goes with hastening stride, 
 For he must be over the Summit by night — he will sleep on 
 the other side. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Let others lag ; he'll on with the first of the rush I 
 Down rivers roaring into deserts bleak, 
 He'll pioneer his way to the richest creek — 
 He'll cut and thaw the frozen earth — he'll crush 
 Its hoarded treasure out — and he'll call his claim 
 " The Little Annie I " For him that simple name 
 Lights up a dream of home returning flush 
 With store of yellow gold and golden fame ; 
 Bringing back the happy da^'s once more 
 To a little girl left lonely on the lone Lake Erie shore. 
 
 The gloom is deepening where the sunlight was ; 
 
 The flakes are falling faster now around ; 
 
 Far off he hears a shrill, foreboding sound, 
 
 And at its challenge makes another pause. 
 
 Awhile irresolute, w4th anxious eye 
 
 He gazes at the menace of the sky. 
 
 And from its hue reluctant warning draws : 
 
 I 
 
 [74] 
 
 ir it * *■ 
 
The storm is nigh — he little dreams how nigh — 
 When cursing his labor lost he turns to go 
 )own again for shelter to the cabin far below. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Save your curses, man ! You walk o'erbold ! 
 You go too slow and sullen down that path ! 
 You may live and brave the coming wrath 
 In those tumultuous clouds above you roll'd ! 
 Save your curses, man ! — for now you'll need 
 Every breath your body has for speed ; 
 E'en now the air is struck with deathlier cold ; 
 E'en now the foremost furious winds are freed ; 
 Look ! — look above you there at last, 
 ^nd see the Heavens whirling downward, vague and white 
 and vast I 
 
 VII. 
 
 So — he knows I — too late, alas, he knows 
 His fierce pursuers, and with desperate leap 
 Goes plunging madly down the uncertain steep — 
 Down for his life ! Frantic now, he throws 
 His dragging pack away — his senses swim 
 With swift descent — the storm's o'ertaking him — 
 The drift in stinging clouds around him blows 
 To make him gasp and choke — his eyes grow dim — 
 Unto his ver>^ bones the cold he feels ; — 
 But down and down that fatal Pass, tho' dazed he leaps 
 and reels ! 
 
 [75] 
 
VIII. 
 
 Far up the Chilcoot Heights ! The storm is on : 
 He's struggling still, but now he's lost the trail, 
 And all his sturdy muscles flag and fail, 
 'Mid swirling snow, to shapes fantastic drawn 
 That pass like endless fleeing ghosts ; and each, 
 In passing, seems to hiss at him and reach 
 Long throttling fingers out ; sight is gone, 
 For his eyes see only white ; hark ! the screech 
 Of Artie winds swift leaping from the sky 
 Down like the souls of famish'd wolves — " Oh Annie, lass ! 
 — good-bye ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 " For now I'm play'd right out — I'm freezing fast — 
 I'm on the spot where I'll forever lie. 
 Just when I thought my chance had come — good-bye ! 
 Good- bye ! my life is over now and past ! 
 And it's been no use, tho' I've tried everywhere 
 To do the best I could, and do it square, 
 God's kept his grudge against me to the last. 
 And I've stood it now so long, I hardly care ! 
 Let Him finish me up, right here, if he likes, and hurl 
 What's left of me to Hell !— But you !— O Annie— my 
 orphan girl ! ' ' 
 
 X. 
 
 White, white, white — all 'round 'tis white — 
 Blind white and cold ; — unheard is hurl'd 
 His last appeal 'gainst this relentless World : 
 
 I 
 
 [76] 
 
 m m it i^ 
 
No rescue now may come — no swift respite : 
 The minutes of his life are almost o'er. 
 He knows it well ; — see, he moves no more ! 
 Body and soul can make no further fight, 
 Bewilder' d in the blizzard's maddening roar ; 
 But he's facing it — he's standing rigid there — 
 )efying Heaven's utmost wrath in reason-rack' d despair ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Blow, then, damn you — blow ! You've taken all ! 
 You — whatever Thing you are that hears — 
 You've never once let up on me for years ! 
 You've stript me stark and bare as a wooden doll ! 
 And there's not a rag of comfort left ! You've blown 
 Every joy and every hope I've known 
 Roughly from my Hfe ! And when I fall, 
 You'll howl above me, dying here alone ! 
 Pile on — pile on, with 3-our blasted, strangling snow ! 
 Jou can take no more but my life now ! Blow ! God damn 
 you — blow ! ' ' 
 
 XII. 
 
 White, white, white, — unceasing white ! 
 
 See I he totters, yielding to his doom — 
 
 The snow hath ready made his shroud and tomb : 
 
 But what is that ? There breaks a sudden light 
 
 That startles him to last delirious cries ; — 
 
 Pinnacled athwart the awful skies. 
 
 Behold a treasure-lode, uncovered bright 
 
 In transient glor^^ to his dying ej-es ! 
 
 [77] 
 
On a towering peak the sunset clouds unroll' d, 
 And he's gasping at the cruel splendor — ''Gold — gold — 
 gold!" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Far up the Chilcoot Heights ! A prostrate form, 
 Half -buried now and motionless, doth lie 
 All free of pain — and, happily, to die. 
 Listen ! He's muttering thro' the passing storm : 
 " Home again, Annie — home again ! 
 God ! but it's restful — after that rattling train ! 
 It's all so still and sunny here — and so warm ! 
 How was it I came so soon ? I can't explain — 
 Only I know I'm home ; and oh ! it seems 
 Too good to be true ! Doesn't it, lass? And it's finer than 
 all my dreams ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " You've grown so pretty since I've been away — 
 So tall and pretty — I almost seem to see 
 Your mother smiling there again at me, 
 Just like she look'd upon her wedding-day ! — 
 A year before they laid her 'neath the grass. 
 And left me only you, my little lass ! 
 Come closer to me — things grow dull and gray ; — 
 My eyes were hurt in a blizzard on the Pass 
 The year I went away and left you, Pet ! 
 What's making it dark so early, Annie ? Surely it's not 
 night yet? 
 
 [78] 
 
 w ^ 
 
XV. 
 
 " Oh ! well — no matter ! Whatever time it be, 
 I' am one of the lucky ones, I've made my pile, 
 And I'm going to take it easy for awhile. 
 No more work or worry now for me ; 
 I've lots of gold — as yellow as your curls ; 
 And I'll dress 3^ou fine again like the other girls. 
 And get you everything you want — you'll see ! 
 A ring like mother had — and a collar of pearls ; — 
 And I'll buy — I'll buy the old home back — that 
 
 they sold ! 
 But it's made your daddy old, dear — it's made him feel 
 
 so old I 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Yes, I hear 3'ou laughing at me now ! 
 But oh ! it's good to hear you laugh again ! 
 To have 3^ou near and have you laugh — and then, 
 I must look kind of funny, I'll allow ; 
 These clothes of mine are all so patch' d and queer! 
 But I'll have better ones to-morrow^ dear ; — 
 And I know you love your old dad, anyhow ! 
 I feel so tired, I think I'll sleep just here : — 
 Kiss me, Annie ! — there — good night, my lass ! " 
 God rest the souls of the dead who lie on the Heights of the 
 Chilcoot Pass ! 
 
 [79] 
 
WW'W m n 
 
UNDERGROUND 
 
 O 
 
 I. 
 
 N a queer, queer journe}^ 
 
 I heard the queerest sound, — 
 'Twas the Devil with a ban jo 
 
 In a cavern underground, 
 Where the merr}', merr}^ skeletons 
 Were waltzing round and round, 
 While the clicking of their bones kept time. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thro' a low, iron door, 
 
 With a huge iron bar, 
 A door perchance some careless 
 
 Imp had left ajar, 
 I crept behind a column cut 
 
 All out of Iceland spar. 
 And the carven angles twinkled frostily- 
 
 III. 
 
 I was frighten 'd of the Devil, 
 And I wouldn't look at him, 
 
 But I watch' d a thousand goblins 
 From nook and cranny dim 
 
 A- glowering on the skeletons, 
 And ever>^ goblin grim 
 And ugly as an old gargoyle. 
 
 [8i] 
 
IV. 
 
 And bogles pla3^'d on fiddles 
 
 To help the banjo out, 
 For 'twas nothing but the music 
 
 Kept alive that crazy rout ; 
 But the big green toads could 
 
 Onl}^ hop about 
 To the rumbling of the bass bassoon. 
 
 V. 
 
 Behind the Iceland column 
 
 I watch' d them on the sly, 
 Above them arch'd the cavern 
 
 With its roof miles high. 
 All ribb'd with blue rock-crystal, shining 
 
 Bluer than the sky, 
 And studded with enormous stalactites. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But the lovely floor below, 
 
 With its level crystalline 
 Splendid surface spreading 
 
 Radiantly green ! — 
 As if a lone, impearled lake 
 
 Of waters subterrene 
 Had frozen to a flawless emerald ! 
 
 [82] 
 
 WWW m iTm^'m^W'-m^w' 
 
VII. 
 
 And down, down, down, 
 
 Its moveless depths were clear ; 
 
 And down, down, down, 
 In wonder I did peer 
 
 At lost and lovel}' imagery 
 Beneath me far and near, — 
 Silent there and white forevermore. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But from the sunken beauty 
 
 Of that white imagery 
 Lissome shadows loosen'd, 
 
 Flame-like and fitfull}^ 
 That form'd anon to spheres serene 
 
 And mounted airily, 
 And broke in golden bubbles thro' the floor. 
 
 IX. 
 
 There, bubble-like, they vanish' d 
 
 Amid the whirling crew, 
 Yet left a radiance trailing 
 
 Slowly out of view. 
 That sometimes o'er the skeletons 
 
 Such carnal glamor threw. 
 It flatter' d them to human shape again. 
 
 [83] 
 
X. 
 
 How long I watch' d I know not ; 
 
 The weird hours went on, 
 I^ost hours that bring the midnight 
 
 No nearer to the dawn, 
 When suddenly I felt a clutch. 
 
 And swiftly I was drawn 
 From out behind that carven block of spar. 
 
 XI. 
 
 My soul ! — a skeleton ! — 
 
 A rattling little thing, 
 Twined itself about me 
 
 As close as it could cling ! 
 And in its arms with horror I 
 
 Perforce 'gan circling, 
 Compel!' d by that fantastic orchestra. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Onward swept the waltzers 
 
 To the wicked tunes they play'd. 
 
 And soon we were amongst them. 
 And my rattling partner sway'd 
 
 When'er the golden bubbles broke, 
 And trailing lights array' d 
 Elusively around its naked bones. 
 
 [84] 
 
 »• W'^W^ir"' 
 
XIII. 
 
 A minute or an hour, — 
 
 Or maj'be half a night, — 
 No matter, for at last 
 
 I was over all my fright, 
 And the music rippled through me till 
 
 I shivered with delight. 
 Fascinated like the fat green toads. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And by-and-by I noticed 
 
 How 'mid that grisly swarm 
 My clinging little partner 
 
 'Gan strangely to transform, — 
 I saw the bones as thro' a mist 
 
 Of something pink and warm. 
 That quiver' d and grew firm from top to toe. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Bright copper-color' d hair 
 
 Soon round her head did curl, 
 Her mouth grew sweet with tints 
 
 Of coral and of pearl, 
 And she looked on me with eyes that seem'd 
 
 Of lambent chrysober^'l, 
 While her body fair as alabaster shone. 
 
 [85] 
 
XVI. 
 
 A witch she was so lovely, 
 To all else I was blind, 
 
 And the Devil and the Goblins 
 And the Rout we left behind. 
 
 In our wild waltz whirling on 
 The cool sweet wind 
 Of the lone lorn caverns underground. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Like rose-leaves strewn 
 
 Upon a crystal tide, 
 Like thistle-down blown 
 
 By Zephyrs far and wide, 
 We swept in aimless ecstasy, 
 
 Silent side by side. 
 Careening thro' those caverns underground. 
 
 i 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A minute or an hour, — 
 Or maybe half a night, — 
 
 No way have I to measure 
 The madness of that flight. 
 
 For the loosen 'd zone of witchery 
 Made drunk with sheer delight. 
 Till we sank in happy stupor to the floor. 
 
 [86] 
 
 ^ m 
 
XIX. 
 
 Nearby there was a grotto 
 
 That open'd chapel- wise, 
 As from a rich cathedral 
 
 In sacrilegious guise ; 
 On the high Masonic altar were 
 
 Three crj'stal chalices, 
 And they held the sweetest poisons Hell can brew 
 
 XX. 
 
 One was a liquor golden 
 
 That sparkled like the dew, 
 One was a wine that trembled, 
 
 And blood-red was its hue, 
 But the last Lethean elixir 
 
 Was dark as night, shot through 
 With glimmerings of green and violet. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Then rose the witch and mutter' d, 
 
 " Quick, for the hour is late ! 
 Quick ere the music ceases 
 
 And the locks of the dungeons grate 
 O'er the host of haunted skeletons 
 
 That here brief revel make ! 
 Come free me by this altar's alchemy ! " 
 
 [87] 
 
XXII. 
 
 " Drink thou the golden liquor 
 That lights yon Jewell' d rim, — 
 
 That sparkles fair as sunshine 
 On curls of seraphim ! 
 
 Drink for the love I gave thee ! 
 Or drink for a devil's whim ! 
 But pledge me to the time that yet shall be ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 ' ' But the gloomy elixir 
 
 Give me, that I may sleep 
 With the white wraiths that slumber 
 
 In the dim green deep ! 
 Where the silence of the under- world 
 
 Shall wrap me round and keep 
 My soul untouch' d by any dreams of day ! " 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 I drank the cup of sunshine, 
 She drank the cup of night, 
 
 But the red we spill 'd between us 
 For sacrifice and plight 
 
 Of passion that must centre in 
 The sphereless Infinite 
 Ere her sweet life shall mix with mine asrain. 
 
 [88] 
 
 ¥11^'% M' 
 
XXV. 
 
 A moment all her beauty 
 Was lighten 'd as with fire, 
 
 Her fair voluptuous bodj^ 
 
 With its trailing, loose attire, 
 
 And her eyes to mine did glow as in 
 A sunset of desire, — 
 Then prone she fell upon the chapel floor. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And the white flesh wasted from her 
 
 As she was falling dead, 
 Her verj' bones had crumbled, 
 
 Ere one farewell I said, — 
 From sight of that dire sorcery 
 
 In wild disma}^ I fled. 
 Seeking madly for the low iron door. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Behind the Iceland column 
 
 I found it still ajar, — 
 Thro' galleries of darkness 
 
 I travell'd swift and far. 
 Until I reach' d the upper- world 
 
 And saw the morning star 
 Paling o'er a meadow by the sea. 
 
 [89] 
 
I 
 
 XJkuiy^,^.. 
 
 V. W !• 11 W'fc'-fc 
 
THE MOONLIT WHEAT 
 
 I. 
 
 OLOVE of mine ! amid the moonlit wheat 
 Of harvest-fields how fair — how lily-sweet ! 
 I saw thee stand and signal me alone 
 To that untrodden vale that was thine own 
 
 On that last night of all that we did meet, — 
 O love of mine amid the moonlit wheat ! 
 
 II. 
 
 No thing within that region was astir ; 
 
 Entranc'd I saw it all as if it were 
 The scener>^ of a dream wrought to express 
 The longing of my heart, thy loveliness. 
 
 And that unseen romance whose theatre 
 Must be in regions where no thing's astir. 
 
 III. 
 Quaint and low, like some remote bassoon. 
 
 Across the marsh there came a muffled croon, 
 And all alone one melancholy frog, 
 Squat on the butt of a sunken cedar log, 
 
 Solemnly did serenade the Moon : — 
 In tone so low and quaint — like the quaint bassoon. 
 
 IV. 
 
 While in an elm-tree an oriole 
 
 Trill'd out a rural evensong that stole 
 
 [91] 
 
In drowsy cadence from the upper air ; — \ 
 
 Love of mine ! in Eden unaware ^ 
 Some angel slept to let our spirits stroll, 
 
 While o'er us sang that golden oriole. 
 
 V. 
 
 And far above the starlit skies unroll' d 
 
 A spell of silence, and of things untold, 
 That seal'd our lips ; the warm ripe wheat, caress' d 
 By Zephyrs scented from the sultry West, 
 
 Went rippling like a sea of palHd gold, — 
 Under those starlit skies, so wide unroll' d. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But when I loos' d thy locks of yellow hair 
 To curl and shimmer in the cooling air, 
 Past coy denial, and virginal disguise, 
 
 1 read the unutter'd secret in thine eyes 
 Of all thou wouldst surrender to me there, — 
 
 The while I loos' d thy locks of yellow hair. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And Time went by — and Time was naught to us : — 
 
 Only our wistful hearts grew tremulous 
 To hear the Zephyrs in sweet union sigh. 
 While slowly in the fulness of the sky 
 
 The lucent Moon herself sank amorous : — 
 And Time went by — and Time was naught to us. 
 
 [92] 
 
 l-?t'U^IM 
 
 m "te'l* »■ i« * M., . * 'l»'*"m»' Te 
 
VIII. 
 
 Alas ! how now the serpent years unfold 
 
 Sharp treacheries, and pangs unknown of old ! 
 
 Yet once to have had thee mine — once to have felt 
 
 In th}' caresses all my being melt 
 To passion's last felicity, — I hold 
 
 Worth every pang these serpent years unfold. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And oft I loose the gates of Memory 
 To seek amid the uncertain scenery, 
 
 O Love of mine ! some vision of thee, pale 
 
 Within the silence of a moonlit vale [see, — 
 
 Where none may follow, and where none may 
 
 Beyond the darkling gates of Memory. 
 
 I am thy lover still, O Love of mine ! 
 
 My heart shall never lose the fire of thine ; 
 And tho' I bide in loneliness and pain, 
 My soul shall hold her peace, and not complain, 
 
 Trusting somehow, somewhere, these arms shall 
 twine 
 Round thy sweet self again, O Love of mine ! 
 
 (93] 
 
THE JEWEL THAT CAME 
 
 ONCE an artless maiden, 
 Fair and sweet, 
 Knelt too low, they say, 
 
 At an idol's feet, — 
 Just the usual idol 
 
 Made of the usual clay, 
 That went to dust entirely 
 In the usual way. 
 
 II. 
 
 Alas and alas for a maiden 
 
 Put to scorn ! 
 All soil'd with the dust of her idol, 
 
 And left forlorn ! 
 But in the dust she found 
 
 A jewel one day — 
 A jewel of wondrous beauty, 
 
 So they say. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then she sang : ' ' Now little I care 
 For the World so cruel ; — 
 
 O what were the World to me 
 Without my jewel ! 
 
 For this — ah this is the heart 
 Of my idol of clay ! 
 
 And I'll keep it and love it forever- 
 Whatever they say ! 
 
 [94] 
 
 wwrn^ 
 
 ^^te'iirw-^^^it-^'fr'te-'ife-^ii' 
 
IN A NORTHERN LANK 
 
 TRENE, I saw thee 
 ^ Once in the wane 
 Of twilight in June 
 
 In a Northern lane, 
 Whose borders were bower' d 
 In maples, and flower' d 
 
 With lilacs new-open' d by rain. 
 
 Instant an ardor 
 
 Too sweet to restrain, 
 Too wildly entrancing 
 
 For words to explain, 
 Was born of that meeting, 
 All silent, ungreeting, 
 
 But thrilling my every vein. 
 
 Forlorn then I falter' d, 
 
 I look'd on thee fain. 
 As one who might venture 
 
 Thy favor to gain 
 There and then — only 
 The charm of thy lonely 
 
 Beaut}' bid me refrain. 
 
 Sylph of the Summer, 
 
 In Summer's domain, 
 That mortal like me 
 
 [95] 
 
May never attain, 
 As a star unabiding 
 I follow' d tliee — gliding 
 
 By me in dainty disdain. 
 
 Now amorous Night 
 
 In passion and pain 
 Yields me thy vision 
 
 Again and again — 
 In dreams that enthral me 
 I follow and call thee — 
 
 Irene, shall it all be in vain ? 
 
 [96] 
 
 ^!iP^PS!P!M 
 
 mnt^ •%;" B- It i. *. 
 
 »"T»'W 
 
NOCTURNE 
 
 ' 'T^WAS in a garden of the rich 
 J- Where all were guests to roam 
 Down terraced lawns amid the gloam 
 Of a night in June. 
 
 II. 
 
 Gallants gay, with ladies dight 
 In silk attire, were there ; 
 But alien fine and debonaire 
 Stood one alone. 
 
 III. 
 
 And of that throng I knew not which 
 Could claim such cousin fair ; — 
 Akin she seem'd to the merest air 
 Of a night in June. 
 
 IV. 
 
 An orchid born of the young moonlight 
 That trails thro' tropic bowers ; 
 I found her 'mong those Northern flowers 
 So all alone, 
 
 [97] 
 
Till our hostess, with a smile, 
 Came and led me to 
 
 That orchid-maid — and then all through 
 That night in June 
 
 VI. 
 
 There came none other to my sight ; 
 The orbed orange glow 
 Of lanterns lit a path to go 
 Off alone 
 
 VII. 
 
 Where bronzed Mexicans the while 
 On mandolins did play 
 lyove-tunes of Spain that seem'd to say 
 That night in June : 
 
 VIII. 
 
 '' O Senorita of DeHght ! 
 Lo, the hour of bliss ! 
 lyO, the years have bloomed for this — 
 This alone ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 ' ' No carven Saint in marble niche 
 That pilgrims kneel before ; — 
 No dream of Eldorado's shore 
 On nights in June 
 
 I 
 
 [98] 
 
 te^-fc^* t .. 
 
X. 
 
 Can lure across the tossing seas 
 With promise more divine 
 Than can the beauty that is thine- 
 Thine alone. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Lo, this garden of the rich 
 Made wide for us, and free ! 
 With all the crescent witchery 
 
 Of a night in June ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 * And lo, the overarching trees 
 That cover us from sight ! 
 O Senorita of Delight ! 
 
 Here — alone ! ' ' 
 
 [99] 
 
FAREWELL 
 
 I WILL not seek thee for mine own, 
 I would not mar thy fate ; 
 I will not breathe one vain regret 
 That we have met too late. 
 
 II. 
 
 I will not venture now to hope 
 
 Thy path may inten\ane 
 By sweet, unseen and secret ways 
 
 In happier days with mine. 
 
 III. 
 But, Lady, I would have thee know 
 
 This once ere we do part 
 Since first I met thee thou hast been 
 
 An idol in my heart, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Before whose solitary shrine, 
 
 When Night o'ercometh me, 
 My soul yet keeps one crimson gleam 
 
 To dream and dream of thee. 
 
 V. 
 
 To dream what now thou may'st not hear, 
 
 What now I may not tell ; — 
 Ah, Lady mine, those dreams are past 
 
 With this — my last farewell ! 
 
 [loo] 
 
 ffl 
 
 1t-*'»"ii 
 
THE ARBOR ARABESQUE 
 
 J^T^WAS in an arbor arabesque 
 
 -L Where tangling vines did screen 
 From watchful e^'es, I met thee first, 
 O wan and witching, passion-curst 
 Irene ! 
 
 II. 
 Thy kinsmen kept thee from the World, 
 
 Cold as a cloister' d maid, 
 Destin'd for gold and high degree, 
 And deem'd their iron will by thee 
 Obey'd. 
 
 III. 
 A flower to bloom in stately halls. 
 
 Ancestral and alone, 
 They thought thee all too chill and pure 
 To break the seal of love's allure 
 Unknown. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Ah, witching one ! I pledge thee still 
 
 For the ruddy w^anton tide 
 That flush' d the virgin veins in thee 
 With young desire that would not be 
 Denied ! 
 
 [lOlJ 
 
That welcom'd me in the wandering days 
 
 When once, b}^ starr}^ chance, 
 I found thee in that Northern wold 
 Reading an Orient rime of old 
 Romance ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oblivious to all else beside, 
 
 Thine eyes were dreaming o'er 
 A quaintly picturM open book 
 Of tales once told to Lalla Rookh 
 Before 
 
 VII. 
 
 Her minstrel lover left her side, 
 In humble guise grown dear, 
 To claim her where his palace tower' d 
 Within the vale of rose-embower' d 
 Kashmir. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But what to me that day w^ere all 
 
 The songs of minstrelsy ? — 
 Of maids who sigh'd and knights who dared 
 In ancient days ? — I only cared 
 To see 
 
 L102J 
 
 »ipnpi9i9P9 
 
 ''MVI^iTW!fyX^^jSfy} Vy XL-''~'S'^!9Bf'/ 
 
 ■j&"fe^'ifr^^it*#^^fc"i!"lfc^*Ti'*W^r*^ 
 
IX. 
 
 Thy silken hammock swinging low, 
 
 In crimson tangles wrought ; — 
 Thy body curving light and free 
 Within its yielding tracery ; — 
 Methought 
 
 X. 
 
 No houri-haunted bower upbuilt 
 
 By dreaming Saracene 
 E'er greater beauty did enshrine, 
 Or loveliness surpassing thine, 
 Irene ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Long 'neath the vine-clad arch I stay'd 
 
 Of that sweet solitude ; 
 Scarce breathing,— so I found thee fair, 
 I would not then retreat, nor dare 
 Intrude. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Where slept thy haughty kinsman then. 
 
 The while I watch' d unseen. 
 The tang of those love-tales inspire 
 Thy willing body as with fire, 
 Irene ? 
 
 [103] 
 
XIII. 
 
 No rumor of the World was there ; 
 
 But round us seem'd to float 
 A low ^olian undertone 
 From gloom of royal gardens blown 
 Remote. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And when at last I ventur'd in, 
 
 What words I found to say 
 I know not now — I only know 
 Thine eyes grew soft, thy voice sank low. 
 That day. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Yet how for me thy love did swift 
 
 As some wild rose unfold 
 Under the Sun of Summer-time, — 
 Ah, this maj^ not in idle rime 
 Be told ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But there were days — sweet stolen days — 
 
 Ere dawn'd the wretched morn 
 That saw that arbor desolate. 
 And thee consign'd to gilded fate, — 
 Forlorn. 
 
 [104] 
 
XVII. 
 
 That banish' d me to roam, Irene, 
 
 Upon this barren shore ; 
 Thou hast thy gold and high degree — 
 I go my way and hear of thee 
 No more. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Yet still in memory thou are mine, — 
 
 Still one Midsummer night 
 For me is glimmering in the past 
 With the passion of its last 
 Delight. 
 
 xvix. 
 
 When the elfiin zephyrs follow'd thee. 
 And their balmy breath did steep 
 
 All the dusk and sultry air 
 
 That waver' d softly round us there 
 With sleep. 
 
 XX. 
 
 For on that night — that only night — 
 
 When thou wast mine, Irene ! 
 When thou did'st lavish all thy charms 
 On me, and tremble in my arms, 
 And lean 
 
 [105] 
 
 \ 
 
XXI. 
 
 Back in glad abandon to 
 
 My passionate embrace, 
 Love leapt to flame that all th}^ tears 
 Could not then quench, — nor after years 
 Efface. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Out of the arbor arabesque, 
 
 In the deep Midsummer night, 
 I saw thee pass, and it seem'd the gleam 
 Of a falling star, — and it seem'd a dream 
 In flight. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 O wan Irene, so far from me ! 
 I know not where thou art ; 
 But I love thee, and I'll love thee till 
 Death's final hand shall touch and still 
 My heart ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Nay, through the night of the afterdeath, 
 
 And the ghastly vast ravine, 
 'Gainst all obstructions of the dead 
 I'll win some way to thee, dream-led, 
 Irene ! 
 
 [io6] 
 
THE WANTON YACHT 
 
 /^VER the sea at sunset 
 ^-^ I heard sweet music ring, 
 And I saw a white j^acht sailing, 
 And I heard a fair crew sing : 
 
 Bravehearts ! Sweethearts ! 
 
 We sail the Wanton Yacht ; 
 And anj^where and everywhere 
 That's far away and faint and fair 
 Is the goal of the Wanton Yacht ; 
 Yo ho ! 
 For the goal of the Wanton Yacht ! 
 
 ir. 
 And long I stay'd to hear 
 
 Their songs that came to me 
 Out of the deepening twilight, 
 
 Over the purple sea : 
 
 Bravehearts ! Sweethearts ! 
 
 We sail the Wanton Yacht, 
 Free as the wave and the careless breeze. 
 With only our hearts, Sweethearts, to please, 
 On the deck of the Wanton Yacht, 
 Yo ho ! 
 For the deck of the Wanton Yacht ! 
 
 [107] 
 
III. 
 
 Till the blue of the Summer night 
 
 Grew dark like a sapphire stone, 
 And the Yacht was hid from my sight, 
 
 As I sang by the sea alone : 
 
 Bravehearts ! Sweethearts ! 
 
 Sail on in the Wanton Yacht ! 
 And would that I w^ere with you this night !- 
 With youth and love and the loose delight 
 Of life on the Wanton Yacht — 
 Yo ho ! 
 For life on the Wanton Yacht ! 
 
 [io8] 
 
I D L E W I L D 
 
 ONCE in the land of the Maple, 
 In the midmost Autumn time, 
 The mellow, waning, yellow, 
 
 Indian-summer time, 
 With the maid Estelle I stray' d 
 To gather leaves in a lonely glade 
 Afar in the forest of Idlewild — 
 Forgotten Idlewild. 
 
 II. 
 
 And we linger' d there, for we sought 
 
 The choicest of the leaves ; 
 'Twas hard to choose, and we could not 
 
 Decide on the loveliest leaves ; 
 But all that d^'ing Indian day. 
 While it waned and waned away. 
 
 How they floated round us, glinting 
 In the amber light, and tinting 
 All the aisles of Idlewild ! 
 All the aisles and hidden places 
 Where the forest interlaces 
 
 O'er the paths in Idlewild ! 
 
 How they vanish' d, strangely hinting 
 Of the silent other spaces 
 
 More remote in Idlewild ! 
 
 [109] 
 
Fell or vanish' d, ever hinting 
 Of the secret that effaces 
 All the joy of Idlewild ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Till the Gates of the West were open'd — 
 O the Gates of the West are wide ! 
 
 And the amber light sank down and flow'd 
 Away in a w4ne-red tide ; — 
 
 Away thro' the forest of Idlewild 
 In a wine-red, weird tide. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But the leaves drank deep till they drain' d 
 The wine-light out of the West ; — 
 
 The last of the wine, till it stain' d 
 
 Their hearts with the hues of the West,- 
 With the hectic hues of the West. 
 
 V. 
 
 Ah now in the land of the Maple, 
 
 In the midmost Autumn time, 
 The mellow, waning, j-ellow, 
 
 Indian-summer time, 
 Disconsolate I roam 
 
 Afar within the aisled, 
 Olden, silent, golden 
 
 Forest of Idlewild, — 
 Forest of lonely memories only, — 
 
 Silent and golden- aisled. 
 
 [no] 
 
VI. 
 
 But I find therein no solace save 
 
 At a spot made holy with tears ; 
 At a spot where the ancient branches wave 
 O'er the palest dead that ever they gave 
 
 To that forest made holy with tears. 
 And the hours pass there unheeded by 
 As I dream o'er the remnant leaves that lie 
 Strewn from the dim receding 5'ears 
 Deep on her grave. 
 
 VII. 
 
 O Estelle beloved I 
 
 Maid of my heart's one dream ! 
 Thy vision thro' far Elysian 
 
 Vistas I see in my dream ; — 
 Vistas that loom thro' the ultimate West, 
 Wherein thy soul hath sank to rest ; — 
 
 O richer than life in a dream sublime, 
 
 Beyond the tremor and touch of Time ! 
 
 [Ill] 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 A STAR-EYED captive, in a lonely tower, 
 -^-^ Look' d o' er a lake outspread in sullen gloom, 
 
 Illumin'd with infrequent lily bloom. 
 There wayward Zephyrs sounded hour by hour 
 Upon a harp whose pure .Eolian power 
 
 Beguil'd him, as he paced his haunted room, 
 To songs ne'er heard before — voicing a doom 
 That from the very Heavens seemed to lour. 
 
 He sang the songs of Death till Death, his theme. 
 Engulf d him in that Night of Mystery 
 \\Tierein so often he had peer'd to see 
 
 The trail of vanished Love— the Elysian gleam 
 Upleading to a starry destiny — 
 
 Twinkling from the very gates of Dream. 
 
 [112] 
 
 (^■' 1\ M 
 
IX THE NIGHT IMPALPABLE 
 
 I. 
 T HEARD the tolling of a bell 
 ^ Thro' a night impalpable, 
 d stunn'd and stricken downward into nether space I fell ; 
 To a sphere 
 Most curst and drear, 
 And for the damn'd ordained, 
 lere feeble in the raj'less air they bide as souls enchain' d. 
 
 II. 
 Onh' unavailing 
 Vacant spectres round me paling, 
 Thro' the dismal gloom ab^'smal 
 Gape and grin upon me, railing 
 With a sound of silly laughter. 
 For they greet me all with laughter, 
 t oh ! they vanish wailing from the Echoes that come after- 
 From things that rise enormously 
 Out of Nothing — seizing me 
 In a slow unfolding Horror of Infinity ; 
 Yet within the awful coil 
 Something still survives to foil 
 The Horror ere it quite attains 
 To my soul — and then it wanes 
 ;o Nothingness again — and still one hope remains ; 
 ^Vhen the Horror shudders down one starry Hope remains 
 To piece the evil darkness thro' and loosen all my chains. 
 
 [■13] 
 
III. 
 
 Athwart the gloom 
 In pale magnificence uploom 
 Titanic walls ; 
 And lo ! my doom is riven by a radiance from those walls ;- 
 By the ruby-tinted hue 
 Of a radiance rolling through 
 A lone heart-shapen window carven high upon those walls. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then down the far-enrythm'd deep 
 Sounds of passing sweetness sweep 
 That lull me into dreaming and the semblance of a sleep. 
 Etherial 
 I hear a call 
 In the tranced interval 
 Cleaving thro' Oblivion and lifting from its thrall ; 
 And I reach the lustrous edge 
 Of that lonely window-ledge 
 To peer among the marvels of the rising carnival. 
 
 V. 
 
 But ah ! despite 
 Satanic splendors opening in the heart of endless night — 
 Despite the masque and pageantry, 
 And music string' d in wizardry 
 
 Of ways and modes unknown — 
 Down the ruby-corridor' d, 
 Ebon- vault' d, ebon-floor' d, 
 
 ["4] 
 
 « n *, 
 
Halls of Eblis unexplor'd, 
 
 I strive alone to see 
 The eidolon of one ador'd 
 Whose call uplifted me : 
 And those chasmal, lost, fantasmal 
 
 Halls of Eblis unexplor'd 
 Yield to me at length the sight 
 Of One apparell'd all in white, 
 rhro' the wide Pavilion gliding with the wine of red delight :- 
 One apparell'd as a woman — 
 Yearning to me as a woman — 
 With the love I dream' d of 
 
 Once — when human. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then elate 
 
 I cling and w^ait 
 For the ransom necromantic yet to free me from this fate 
 
 But alas ! the incense curling 
 
 From before her keeps unfurling 
 Dim narcotic veils between us till I swoon intoxicate : 
 
 From the luring and the lumen 
 
 Of her beauty, more than human, 
 Backward thro' the demon deep I swoon intoxicate — 
 
 Beyond recall I swoon and fall 
 Into the black Oblivion that now devoureth all. 
 
 [115] 
 
OCTOBER 
 
 TT7HKN I was a little fellow, long ago, 
 ^ ^ The season of all seasons seemed to me 
 The Summer's afterglow and fantasy — 
 
 The red October of Ontario : 
 
 To ramble unrestrain'd where maples grow 
 Thick-set with butternut and hickory, 
 And be the while companion' d airily 
 
 B}^ elfin things a child alone may know ! 
 
 And how with mugs of cider, sweet and mellow, 
 And block and hammer for the gather' d store 
 Of toothsome nuts, we'd lie around before 
 
 The fire at nights, and hear the old folks tell o' 
 Red Indians and bears, and the Yankee w^ar — 
 
 lyong ago, when I was a little fellow ! 
 
 [ii6] 
 
 i' i\ ^ 
 
C O Q U I T L A M 
 
 HOW oft I'd steal away, in hot July, 
 At early dawn, thro' dell and over hill, 
 To hear at last Coquitlam's purring rill 1— 
 To whip the riffles with some gaudy fly. 
 And tempt the leaping trout, alert and shy ! 
 Munching a bit of chocolate to still 
 My hunger, as the day grew long, until 
 The Sun was shining low upon the sky. 
 
 Then, proudly, with the fish that I had caught. 
 Go trudging home for many a wear}' mile, 
 Full certain of a mother's welcome smile. 
 
 And that she'd choose the best that I had got, 
 And bid me tell her all about it, while 
 
 'Twas cook'd up for my supper smoking hot. 
 
 [117] 
 
THE VETERAN 
 
 ONE good old friend I had in boyhood's days, 
 Who far and wide about the World had been- 
 Had battles fought, and sieged cities seen, 
 And met adventure in a thousand waj^s, 
 That oft he told to me, in homely phrase, 
 
 Haphazard, like his careless heart, but clean : 
 It seem'd to ease the pains that rack'd him keen 
 To be the hero of m}' childish plaj'S. 
 
 And when they put the old man in his grave, 
 I mind I stood beside — but did not see : 
 For thro' a blur of tears there came to me 
 
 A vision as of sunlight, and a brave 
 Awaken 'd soul outsailing cheerily — 
 
 Uplift upon a wondrous azure wave. 
 
 [ii8] 
 
 & i\ » 
 
 iar. m te:. 
 
THAT OTHER ONE. 
 
 T USED to go to Sunday-school 
 
 -^ When I was a little boy ; 
 
 I said m}' catechism pat 
 
 About the wrath to come — and that 
 
 And holy kinds of joy ; 
 For my pretty teacher told me sure 
 
 If I didn't learn it well 
 God some day would stick me down 
 
 In a red-hot hole in Hell. 
 
 II. 
 
 I used to think if God were dead 
 
 How glad the World would be ! 
 How all the solemn angels, up 
 Where gold counts less than a buttercup 
 
 Beside the Jaspar Sea, 
 Would quit their endless psalm-singing 
 
 And chuck their harps awaj' ! — 
 And never a lonesome cherub would cry 
 
 Upon God's funeral day ! 
 
 III. 
 
 I felt there was some Other One, 
 Who'd watch and keep it right 
 For all the living things that are 
 From the grass and the flowers to the farthest star,- 
 
 [119] 
 
Just Whom I knew not quite ; 
 But someone like my Grandmother, 
 
 Too kind to give a rip 
 Whether I went to Sunday-school 
 
 Or off on a fishing trip. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Who'd leave the Gates of Hell unlocked 
 
 So the devils could all crawl out ; 
 And the burning ghosts and the goblins too- 
 I oftened wonder' d what they'd do 
 
 If they could look about 
 And see the trees and the Sun again, 
 
 And feel the wind go by, — 
 I used to think those aching things 
 
 Would be so glad they'd cry.^ 
 
 V. 
 
 Some One who'd fix old Eden up 
 
 For us as good as new ; 
 And never would be jealous of 
 Our silly souls if we should love 
 
 A Golden Calf or two ; 
 And there wouldn't be any Forbidden Tree ; 
 
 But if anything went wrong 
 We'd fight it out among ourselves 
 
 Till we learned to get along. 
 
 [120] 
 
 ^ a t 
 
VI. 
 
 " When I was a child I thought as a child " 
 
 E'en so, good Father Paul ! 
 But more and more it seems to me 
 That some of the things that children see 
 
 Are the truest, after all. 
 And e'en as a baby infidel 
 
 This pearl of faith I won, 
 And still I rest content therewith — 
 
 God is that Other One. 
 
 [121] 
 
MOTHER 
 
 THERE'S a voice that I have heard 
 Along the Way of Life, 
 A voice that soundeth only 
 
 When my soul is worn with strife, 
 When I fall in utter weakness 
 On the stony endless steep, 
 Someone comes and whispers to me 
 "Sleep, child, sleep!" 
 
 II. 
 'Tis the Mother of us all 
 
 That crooneth to me then, 
 Soothing me with visions 
 
 And dreams bej'ond m}- ken, 
 With a song I do not understand, 
 
 Whose words I cannot keep. 
 Only the burden of her song — 
 
 "Sleep, child, sleep !" 
 
 III. 
 O Mother — holy Mother ! 
 
 O Mother of my soul ! 
 Should day departing leave me 
 
 Afar off from my goal. 
 Let me fall as a weakling back 
 
 To thy bosom, dim and deep ! 
 And o'er my failure whisper only 
 
 "Sleep, child— sleep !" 
 
 [122] 
 
 r'"feVf'a 
 
HARD TIMES NO MORE 
 
 ^npHE desert trail hath ended in 
 -*- A garden way at last : 
 The burden of the iron years 
 
 Of wandering is past : 
 Dear Heart ! the verj^ children cry, 
 
 Good-bye, Hard Times, good-bye ! 
 
 Hard Times come again no more ! 
 Hard Times come again no more ! 
 O happy children of the King ! 
 Hear them sing, sing, sing — 
 
 Hard Times come again no more ! 
 
 How little in the Wilderness 
 
 The great relief is guess' d ! 
 Where seek the weary multitude 
 
 Continually for rest ! 
 And dream not how it draweth nigh — 
 
 Good-bye, Hard Times, good-bj^e ! 
 
 Hard Times come again no more ! 
 Hard Times come again no more ! 
 O happy children of the King ! 
 Hear them sing, sing, sing, 
 
 Hard Times come again no more ! 
 
 [123] 
 
The things that seem'd as shadows once 
 
 Alone are real here : 
 The glories of the Promised Land 
 
 Shine out before us, dear ! 
 And we shall enter, you and I, — 
 
 Good-bye, Hard Times, good-bye ! 
 
 Hard Times come again no more ! 
 Hard Times come again no more ! 
 O happy children of the King ! 
 Hear them sing, sing, sing, 
 
 Hard Times come again no more ! 
 
 [124] 
 
THE DREAM OF THE DEEP 
 
 ' ' We wake and find ourselves on a stair ; there are stairs 
 below us which we seem to have ascended ; there are stairs 
 above us, many a one, which go upward and out of sight." 
 
 — Emerson. 
 I. 
 
 LO, the Deep hath dream' d a dream 
 Of omen sibylline ! 
 An endless flow of endless dust 
 Wherein unnumber'd gods are thrust, 
 Who writhe unseen. 
 II. 
 And blind and dumb they be therein 
 
 And find nor rest nor ease ; 
 From stupor rous'd by quenchless lust 
 For that — they know not what — that dust 
 Can ne'er appease. 
 
 HI. 
 
 And writhing so, they wreak the dust 
 
 To shapes of flor and faun, 
 That rise and fall and rise anew. 
 Crumbling, aye, as the gods reel through, 
 
 Until — anon — 
 
 rv. 
 
 A few see thro' the murky reek 
 
 What spirall'd pathway looms 
 
 In Titan reaches, coil on coil ; — 
 
 [125] 
 
Ah ! the wise gods know 'tis bitter with toil 
 And link'd with tombs ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Yet the air grows clear as they climb, and keen 
 
 With perfume of numberless flowers ; 
 With passion of pleasure and poison of pain, 
 And tang of things tasted again and again 
 Thro' the endless hours. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But ever they feel one soundless urge 
 
 Ominous under all. 
 As wrought from the primal uncontent 
 Of some abysmal banishment 
 
 Beyond recall. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Nor purple bowers of idleness, 
 
 Nor all the feasts of Time, 
 Can free the gods of their grim unrest. 
 Nor lure them from the awful quest 
 
 Whereon they climb. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The ages pass, and they find no end, 
 
 And vain it all doth seem ; 
 Yet still the}^ toil for a topmost stair 
 Whereon to wake — somehow — somewhere — 
 Beyond the dream. 
 
 [126] 
 
 Sr'lfc M"ifc''a 
 
ILLUMINED 
 
 T WOKE in the Land of Night, 
 
 -*- With a dream of Day at my heart ; 
 
 Its golden outlines vanish' d, 
 
 But its charm would not depart ; 
 Like music still remaining, 
 
 But its meaning — no man can say 
 In the Land of Night where the^^ know not 
 
 Of Day, nor the things of Day. 
 
 II. 
 I dwelt in the chiefest city 
 
 Of all the Land of Night ; 
 Where the fires burn ever brighter 
 
 That give the people light ; 
 Where the sky above is darken' d. 
 
 And never a Star is seen, 
 And they think it but children's fancy 
 
 That ever a Star hath been. 
 
 III. 
 
 But out from that citj^ early 
 
 I fled b}' a doubtful waj^ ; 
 And faltering oft and lonely 
 
 I sought my dream of Day ; 
 Till I came at last to a Mountain 
 
 That rose exceeding high, 
 
 [127] 
 
And I thought I saw on its summit 
 A glint as of dawn from the sky. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Twas midway on that Mountain 
 
 That I found an altar-stone, 
 Deep-cut with runes forgotten, 
 
 And symbols little known ; 
 And scarce could I read the meaning 
 
 Of the legends carven there, 
 But I lay me out on that altar, 
 
 Breathing an ancient prayer : 
 
 V. 
 
 '' By the God of the timeless Sky, 
 
 Saint of the Altar, say 
 What gift hast thou for me ? 
 
 For I have dream' d of Day : 
 But I seek nor gift nor power, 
 
 1 pray for naught but light ; 
 And only for light to lead me 
 
 Out of the Land of Night ! " 
 
 VI. 
 
 Long I lay on that altar, 
 
 Up-gazing fearfully 
 Thro' the awful cold and darkness 
 
 That now encompass' d me ; 
 Till it seem'd as I were lying drown' d 
 
 Under a lifeless sea. 
 
 [128J 
 
 i''v>"i'a^ *. <» 
 
VII. 
 
 There shone as a pale blue Star, 
 
 Intangible — serene — 
 And I saw a spark from it fall 
 
 As it were a crystal keen ; 
 And it flash' d as it fell and pierc'd 
 
 M3" temples white and cold ; 
 Then round that altar-stone once more 
 
 The awful darkness roU'd. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But there was a light on m^^ brow, 
 
 And a calm that steel' d me through. 
 And I was strong with a strength 
 
 That never before I knew ; 
 With a strength for the trackless heights, 
 
 And scorn of the World below — 
 But I rose not up from that altar-stone, 
 
 I would not leave it so. 
 
 IX. 
 
 O Saint of the Altar, say 
 
 How may this light redeem ? 
 For tho' on my brow^ like a jew^el 
 
 Its Star hath left a gleam, 
 O Saint, 'tis a light too cold and cruel 
 
 To be the light of my dream !" 
 
 [129] 
 
X. 
 
 Anon 'twas a crimson Star 
 
 That over the Altar shone, 
 And there sank as a rose of flame 
 
 To my heart ere the Star was gone ; 
 And out from the flames thereof 
 
 A subtle fragrance then 
 Went stealing down the mountain-side 
 
 O'er the lowly ways of men. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Star was gone, but it brought 
 
 To light in its crimson glow 
 The lovely things forgotten 
 
 I dream' d of long ago ; 
 And gladly then I had given 
 
 My life to all below ; 
 Yet I rose not up from that altar-stone, 
 
 I would not leave it so. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And at last was a golden Star ; 
 
 But I scarce know how nor where ; 
 For it melted all around me, 
 
 And the other Stars were there ; 
 And all in one blissful moment 
 
 The light of Day had come ; — 
 Then I reel'd away from that altar-stone, 
 
 Old, and blind, and dumb. 
 
 [130] 
 
XIII. 
 
 I dwell again in the city, 
 
 I seek no more for light ; 
 But I go on a mission of silence 
 
 To those who would leave the Night 
 And for this — and this thing only, 
 
 Thro' the evil streets I stray ; 
 I who am free to the timeless Sky 
 
 Illumin'd forever with Day. 
 
 [131] 
 
THK WAY OF BEAUTY 
 
 TT7H0 brings a thought of self to Beauty's shrine, 
 ^^ Or jealous envy, by so much the less 
 
 Shall feel within his soul her deep impress — 
 Shall thrill at quaffing of her mj^stic wine. 
 For Beauty hath no care for thine or mine, 
 
 But wasteth wide in wanton loveliness ; 
 
 And only thus, in self-forgetfulness. 
 Shall any share with her the life divine. 
 
 O happy he w^hose heart doth full respond 
 
 To wandering Beauty's spell — wherever wrought ! 
 He hath a pleasure finer than all thought 
 
 That instant as the touch of fairy wand 
 
 Makes rich the World for him, whate'er his lot, — 
 
 E'en tho' perchance a homeless vagabond. 
 
 [132] 
 
THE BUTTERFLY 
 
 immertime, and a wasted shroud, and the sunlight glancing through 
 And the stir of a creeping thing withal ; 
 Thinking to crawl, — 
 It flew. 
 
 s if a yellow pansy from its stem had loos' d and flown, 
 Up it flutter' d, scarce aware, 
 Thro' crj'stal air 
 Unknown. 
 
 3 find the narrow world that was now blossom 'd endless wide : 
 And sailing on its saffron wings. 
 Soon wondrous things 
 It spied. 
 
 rv. 
 round were honied feasts all set in the hearts of a thousand flowers ; 
 And merry mates to while away 
 In wanton play 
 The hours. 
 
 'ith them it drifted, wing aslant, on veering winds at ease, 
 Or ventur'd cool luxurious flights 
 To the cur^-ing heights 
 Of trees. 
 
 [133] 
 
Or lone amid the pink delicious petals of a rose 
 Anon 'twould linger somnolent 
 In the rapt content 
 WTiich knows 
 
 VII. 
 
 No end to leaves, no end to flowers, and the sweet grass under all : 
 Then revel again with its airy clan 
 Till night began 
 To fall. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 'Twould cling in careless slumber then to the nearest scented brake, 
 Or as the dusky hours wore on 
 Perchance anon 
 
 'Twould wake 
 
 IX, 
 
 With star-enamor'd kinsmen to explore a mystic noon, 
 Winging a far, entranced flight 
 In the lost light 
 
 Of the Moon. 
 
 To settle at length awearied in some lily-chalice pale 
 Nor waken till full-breasted Morn 
 Rose breathing warm 
 And hale. 
 
 So passed for it the easy hours ; but Summer waned at last, 
 And its flower-body fell away 
 As a husk one day 
 Offcast. 
 
 [134] 
 
2t sureb 
 
 as before it knew a joyous wakening, 
 So on some new and far-away 
 Exultant day 
 
 In Spring 
 
 QOther form shall build itself from out the formless Deep 
 For outer life befitting well 
 The thing that fell 
 Asleep. 
 
 XR- 
 
 Dr in the loom of things to be the meanest life hath place 
 To mark the way that it shall go, — 
 By patterns slow 
 To trace 
 
 s long ascent thro' Dust and Death to God's infinity 
 And evermore the seed unseen 
 Of what hath been 
 Shall be. 
 
 [135] 
 
IN ERRANTRY 
 
 BECAUSE I'm drunken with unknown nectars, 
 From ways made over-strait I turn ; in sooth 
 My heart is only half inclin'd to truth 
 Of learned scrolls and saintly calendars : 
 Bald Science misses, and Religion mars 
 
 What I have found, tho' blundering and uncouth, 
 For I was wronged with Wonder in mj- youth, 
 And dazed with visions of forbidden Stars. 
 
 I was a minstrel boy in errantry 
 
 Along the mossy ways of old Romance 
 In chase of Beauty whose elusive glance, 
 
 Thro' hapless ventures lured me brokenly : 
 
 But now from her I've had such sweet suff ranee 
 
 That this dour World shall never sober me. 
 
 [136] 
 
TO WALT WHITMAN 
 
 HELLO there, Walt ! 
 Out of sight on the old Highway 
 [ hear your song : 
 
 [ hear the words that you have said for me : 
 [, a sayer of words, sing out hello to you : 
 ^nd you are not so very far ahead but you will hear my 
 . words also. 
 
 II. 
 Words, Walt, words ! 
 ^our words, anybody's words, and the words of the rolling 
 
 Worlds ! 
 But under all the one Word never utter' d. 
 
 III. 
 
 Comrade mine ! 
 
 Accepting all, eager for all, taking no denial ! 
 Love shines in you, through you, from 3^ou, 
 Splendid as the Sun ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 eagle-eyed ! O Titan-heart ! 
 
 1 look with you to the heights of old philosophies : 
 Looking above and be3^ond them, shouting ahoy 
 
 To w^onders w^eaving out of Wonder endless in the still 
 Eterne. 
 
 [137] 
 
V. 
 
 But mostly, Walt, 
 
 I watch you saunter down with huge rejoicing tread 
 
 Tramping America : 
 
 Mixing wath crowded Manahatta : 
 
 Swinging an axe in the Oregon forests : 
 
 Bellowing songs to the Sea. 
 
 VI. 
 
 For all your rant and brag about your States — who cares ? 
 
 But the coming of the lilacs, 
 
 And the call of mating birds, 
 
 And the smell of June, wath its berries. 
 
 And the feel of the harv^est air. 
 
 And supple-bodied youth, and clean red blood, and the ripe 
 
 w^hite quiver of the grown girl's breast. 
 And all the easy common joys of Life to be had for the 
 
 asking. 
 The beautiful, bountiful flow of things in every land — 
 
 simple, copious, unrestrain'd forever, 
 The sky and the stars and the winds of God, and the lovel}' 
 
 faces behind the masque of Death, — 
 For chanting these my hat goes off to you, . 
 Old stalwart out of daj^s primeval, 
 Earth-born and generous I 
 
 VII. 
 
 Down South : 
 
 And the tide is coming in : 
 
 I watch you fishing from the edge of the old dock : 
 
 And a nigger sitting by you in the sunshine : 
 
 [13S] 
 
listen to j^our lazy chat : 
 
 areless there, happy, smoking a corn-cob pipe ; 
 lowing blue incense into the round blue sky : 
 ailing it all divine. 
 
 VIII. 
 I but the Ocean play'd great tunes for you in octaves run 
 
 too deep 
 or 3'our tin-ear' d contempories to hear ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 tell you, Walt, 
 
 'his World lies sick for want of men like you : 
 
 [ore glorious vagabonds and clean barbarians : 
 
 [onarchs of Life in the making : 
 
 ^^ho find the tracks of God on all sides round, 
 
 .nd understanding not at all yet laugh content, 
 
 onfident as any babe that sees itself 
 
 [irror'd in its mother's eyes. 
 
 X. 
 
 fere's to you, Walt ! 
 
 'o you and all good tramps of Adam following ! 
 
 ree, fresh, savage ! 
 
 Lfoot on the open Road ! 
 
 'aking the trail of the great Companions. 
 
 XI. 
 
 'omrades, ever comrades ! 
 Vhat other words to say ! 
 'omrades, ever comrades, 
 )n the old Highway ! 
 
 [139] 
 
THE SEER 
 
 TF I have seen the Gods — the primal Three 
 -^ Who play a game that hath no goal in view- 
 
 Who make, destro}', and evermore renew 
 Within the bubble Space all things that be — 
 Why should I halt and labor soberly, 
 
 Or care to have men find my vision true ? 
 
 Enough, deart Heart, if I impart to you 
 The vast assurance that it gives to me ! 
 
 Their muddy brains would make it all a lie, 
 Tho' with most golden words I told it o'er ; 
 So much I've seen that I must see yet more 
 
 While Time still gives occasion. Then to die, 
 Let loose, and on my single way explore 
 
 The unimagin'd orbits of the Sky ! 
 
 [140] 
 
NIRVANA 
 
 DOWN the ages comes a sound grown dark 
 With unremember'd meaning. Many heard 
 Fall from the lips of One ilium' d a word 
 Whose doubtful gospel seem'd to quench all spark 
 Of separate love and joy, with promise stark, 
 If from their patient hearts still undeterr'd 
 They rooted all desire — the boon conferr'd 
 Should be to pass from Life without a mark. 
 
 Old devotees, dream on ! Old scholars nod 
 Over the meaning of the Indian sage ! 
 But I, awakening in a later age, 
 
 Choose not the deserts where His saints have trod, 
 Nor cleave to ancient rites or holy page ; 
 
 Singing on my careless w^ay to God. 
 
 [141] 
 
THE CLUE 
 
 npO make the great escape — to issue hence — 
 -^ To live no more, nor dream among the Dead - 
 Nor be with endless change discomforted — 
 
 Think not 3'ou need all Time's experience 
 
 To ponder on some granite eminence. 
 Enough in any life to find this thread, 
 And loosel}^ by its blended strands be led : 
 
 Unmeasur'd Eove and sheer Indifference. 
 
 Beloved ! would you have me wait for 3'ou — 
 Your fellow-pilgrim on the formless Way — 
 And waiting seek some form of words to say — 
 
 Some novel phrase to make old precepts new 
 And draw you swiftly nearer to me ? Nay, 
 
 Mere words have worth no more — you have the Clue ! 
 
 [142] 
 
 A » 
 
 te liis M. 
 
CONTEXT 
 
 BUT God stays — tho' all else fail and fall ! 
 He seems somtimes a Playfellow of mine 
 Who winks at me and laughs — sometimes a fine 
 Red Flame to gloriously destroy : a Call 
 To bring green Worlds again : immemoral 
 A Mood that wakes in me : an Anodyne 
 To soothe me unto Death : a Sound divine : 
 A dim enamour' d Silence under all. 
 
 Amid the jar of things, and in wrong ways, 
 I hurt myself continually, and yet 
 Withal I stand, and with fix'd eyes forget 
 
 The bitter unfulfilment of my days, 
 
 And feel my way to Him, content to let 
 
 All else between my fingers slip — God stays ! 
 
 [143] 
 
THE TOMB 
 
 A ND he is dead at last ! O long ago — 
 -^^ So long ago it is since yesterday ! 
 
 The World hath sunken round me, old and gray, 
 To sound of endless litanies of woe : — 
 Dear God, if I could know — could only know 
 Be3^ond the creeds and feeble prayers they sa}^ 
 That I might find him yet in some sure way — 
 How I would laugh against this Tomb below ! 
 
 I've lost the meaning of the words he said 
 To ease my heart before he pass'd from me : 
 I walk the ruin'd Earth in agony, 
 
 And cry unto the Waste uncomforted : 
 Across the blacken' d skies I start to see 
 
 His name writ flaminglj^ — but he is dead ! 
 
 [144] 
 
 ^ v^ Mi 
 
 r k. 
 
A tale no man hath told before — 
 A way no man hath known. 
 
 [145] 
 
THE DAMOZEL OF DOOM 
 Part I. 
 
 I. 
 
 LIKE as a dream it came to me 
 < In the lapse of a lonely year ; 
 In the shade of night I saw the shade 
 
 Of a shrouded maid appear ; 
 And drawing nigh it leaned o'er me, 
 And whisper' d in my ear : 
 
 II. 
 
 *' Cold— cold ! 
 I come from the ghastly cold ! 
 Where the dead are ever dying 
 
 Alone in the ghastly cold !" 
 
 III. 
 And then, as if an agony 
 
 Constrain' d that gruesome haze, 
 Its words come forth in hollow sighs, 
 
 The while its eyes did blaze 
 Pale lightnings to my own, now fix'd 
 
 In helpless dire amaze : 
 
 IV. 
 " I am a starveling out of Hell, 
 A wraith of the restless dead, 
 
 [147] 
 
And whence the damn'd lie damn'd the most 
 
 My riven ghost hath fled 
 For lust of the radiant life in thee, 
 
 And the fume of thy heart so red !" 
 
 V. 
 
 ' ' I lust for thy blood and the life of thy blood 
 
 But I love thy soul as well, 
 For the flame of it lit my own anew, 
 
 This thing is true I tell ; 
 And the beating of th}^ heart it was 
 
 That loos' d me out of Hell." 
 
 VI. 
 
 ' ' For out of the sleep I cannot sleep 
 
 Thy soul was rous'd again ; 
 And thy body was wrought to the same fair mould 
 
 As when of old 'twas lain 
 Within the dust away from me — 
 
 The body that I had slain." 
 
 VII. 
 
 " O black the night that swallow' d me 
 
 When out of the World I fell ! 
 Out of the World, and deep entomb' d, 
 
 I found me doom'd to dwell 
 Where time is still and Horror stares 
 
 On each — immovable." 
 
 [148] 
 
VIII. 
 
 "Cold— cold! 
 Alone in the ghastly cold ! 
 Where the dead are ever dying 
 
 Alone in the ghastly cold ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Nay, listen ! I heard like far-off sounds 
 Sway down thro' the lees of crime ; 
 
 And golden was their echoing, 
 They seem'd to ring a chime 
 
 Of words I said — of love I felt — 
 Long since — in the other time." 
 
 X. 
 
 ' ' And echoing they took a shape, 
 
 And circled round and round 
 As airy, elemental elves, 
 
 Then joined themselves and wound 
 In wreathing ether over me. 
 
 And with a crystal sound 
 
 XI. 
 
 " The circle touch' d complete and flash' d. 
 
 And vanish' d suddenly ; 
 And Time began again — I found 
 
 Myself unbound and free — 
 Free of the silent Horror there 
 
 That stared and stared at me." 
 
 [149] 
 
XII. 
 
 " And I was in the outer night, 
 And I sought and found thee here ; 
 
 I saw thy body from afar 
 As a living star appear, 
 
 And fain to drink and slumber in 
 Its crimson atmosphere — " 
 
 XIII. 
 
 No other word came audible, 
 
 The shade 'gan withering. 
 As to my cold and shuddering side 
 
 It vainly tried to cling ; 
 Then drifted slow away from me, 
 
 A wasting, wistful thing. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Until in the eerie light at last 
 
 I saw it fade and seem 
 To sink as it were thro' an ancient grave, 
 
 And sinking it gave a scream ; 
 And I awoke and tried to think 
 
 'Twas but a passing dream. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Cold— cold ! 
 And are the dead so cold ? 
 And are they ever dying 
 
 Alone in the ghastly cold ? 
 
 [150] 
 
Part II. 
 
 That dream came not again to me, 
 
 Nor any dream at all ; 
 But well I knew, as the days went past, 
 
 There held me fast in thrall 
 A something of that shrouded thing 
 
 That wrapped me like a pall. 
 
 II. 
 An aura drear that sever' d me 
 
 From men and the ways of men ; 
 As some great evil I had done 
 
 My friends did shun me then ; 
 I felt accurst, and kept apart, 
 
 And sought them not again. 
 
 III. 
 But O how chill the World did grow ! 
 
 And the Sun, as a thing unreal. 
 Did glare and glare thro' the vacant day 
 
 And never a raj^ I'd feel 
 To warm my blood, the light fell thin 
 
 And gray as spectral steel. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A pale disease took hold on me, 
 
 And when the night would come 
 I had no rest, but sleepless lay 
 
 [151] 
 
As stark as clay, and numb ; 
 And could not stir till dawn would break 
 Nor gasp, for I was dumb. 
 
 V. 
 
 And yet were times all faintly tinged 
 
 With a glimmering ecstasy ; 
 Moments that linger'd in their flight 
 
 Trailing a light to me 
 Elusive and wan as the phosphor foam 
 
 That floats on the midnight sea. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And out of my stricken body then 
 My soul would seem to creep, 
 
 And over a sheer unfathom'd brink 
 Of silence sink asleep. 
 
 Beyond the shadow and sound of dreams. 
 And deeper than Earth is deep. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet ever from those slumber spells. 
 That seem'd like years, I'd start 
 
 Sudden awake, bewilder 'd by 
 A presence nigh my heart, 
 
 As if a soul had stirr'd in me 
 That of me was no part. 
 
 [152] 
 
VIII. 
 
 And so three seasons pass'd away, 
 
 And the early Summer came ; 
 And still that weird fantasy 
 
 Enshrouded me the same ; 
 But now it seem'd as luminous 
 
 With some alchemic flame. 
 
 IX. 
 
 At length in a garden wide and old, 
 
 A garden all my own, 
 One afternoon I lay at ease 
 
 Under the trees alone, 
 While the fragrant day fell off in the West 
 
 Like a Titan rose o'erblown. 
 
 X. 
 
 And lying there I dream' d once more, 
 And it seemed that a scarlet bird 
 
 Flew out of my heart with a joyous cry, 
 To the topmost sky, and I heard 
 
 Her song come echoing down to me, 
 Yearning word on word : 
 
 XI. 
 
 * ' Slow — slow ! 
 O moments — O ages slow ! 
 But love shall be my own again — 
 
 Be it moments or ages slow ! ' ' 
 
 [153] 
 
Part III. 
 
 I waken' d in the twilight with 
 
 A fever at my brain ; 
 All my veins were running fire 
 
 With blind desire and pain 
 Of something that three seasons long 
 
 Within my heart had lain. 
 
 II. 
 
 So cruel that first I heeded not 
 
 A faint, alluring tune, 
 Trilling round me everywhere 
 
 In the jewell'd air of June, 
 As far and wide o'er the darkling sky 
 
 The crystal stars were strewn. 
 
 III. 
 Till over the rim of the World uprose 
 
 The slow round Moon, 
 And a voice from the inner garden came 
 
 That breath' d my name, and soon 
 Floated full out on the waving air 
 
 Trolling a golden croon : 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' ' Low — low ! 
 The Moon lies low ! 
 O Love ! my Love — come love me 
 
 While the Moon lies low ! ' ' 
 
 [154] 
 
To the inner garden fast I sped 
 Till I came to the inmost tree ; 
 
 the peace of a thousand years I'd give 
 Again to live and see 
 
 The pallid maid of the white, white arms 
 Who there awaited me ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 But I have not the words to tell 
 
 The mar\'el of that tr>'st ; 
 Yet 'twas no phantom I did woo — 
 
 A virgin true I kiss'd, 
 With lips full red, and eyes agloom 
 
 With peerless amethj'st, 
 
 VII. 
 
 And body lined and shapen to 
 The last of love's delight ; 
 
 1 heard her whisper : "I am thine, 
 And thou art mine, to-night ! " 
 
 And she loos' d the silver zone that bound 
 Her garments blue and white. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ' * Low" — low ! 
 The Moon lies low ! 
 And my love is mine to love me 
 
 While the Moon lies low ! " 
 
 [155] 
 
Part IV. 
 
 ' * O my beautiful — 103- bright ! 
 Sweetheart in the cool dim night ! 
 Calling thro' the starlit silence 
 Low mv name ! 
 
 II. 
 
 ' ' With that sound there comes to me 
 A feeling lit with memory 
 
 Of regions lost and times o'erlaid, 
 And love forgot. 
 
 III. 
 
 *' Take me, O dream-laden bride ! 
 To the rapture of th}^ side, 
 In this bower of unrevealing 
 Velvet gloom. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ''lyong, my beautiful, I've waited 
 For this charmed night — this fated 
 Hour that yields thee up to me 
 From years unknown. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Now shall be unveil' d to me 
 All th3^ maiden sj^metr}-, 
 
 Seen like naked moonlit marble, 
 Pure and pale. 
 
 [156] 
 
VI. 
 " Till no more thou canst reveal me 
 Of thy beauty, and I feel thee 
 As a flower whose touch instilleth 
 Chill delight. 
 
 VII. 
 
 * ' My Sultana ! in thine eyes 
 Let me gaze, where passion lies 
 
 Slumbering still within their sultry 
 Purple deep ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 '* Till within my arms at last 
 In love's embrace I hold thee fast — 
 Till beneath my own I feel 
 
 Thy heaving heart ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 ' ' While I gather — while I crush — 
 All the fruits of love — the lush 
 Delirium that dwelleth 'tween 
 The lips of pain. 
 
 X. 
 
 * ' O long — O last supreme caress ! 
 O ultimate deliciousness ! 
 O slowly sinking, satiate, 
 Erotic swoon ! 
 
 [157] 
 
V^-V -^i 
 
 XI. 
 
 ''Swoon, my beautiful — my bright ! 
 Dream far down in the violet night ! 
 Down — far down, where reigns the dim 
 Lethean sleep ! 
 
 Part V. 
 
 I. 
 
 My heart is a dry and wither' d thing ; 
 
 And I that am young am old 
 With brooding in the silentness 
 
 On that caress and fold 
 Of white, white arms in the Summer night ; 
 
 But the end is still untold. 
 
 II. 
 Nor shall be — for the end is not ! 
 
 My soul, 'tween hopes and fears. 
 For the pallid maid awaits and yearns. 
 
 Her memory burns and sears : 
 But I it was who let her pass 
 
 To the peace of a thousand years. 
 
 III. 
 
 Slow — slow ! 
 O moments — O ages slow ! 
 But love shall be my own again — 
 
 Be it moments or ages slow ! 
 
 [158] 
 
For there be wondrous valleys hid 
 Thro' Hell's infernal zone. 
 
 [159] 
 
THE VALLEYS OF RELIEF 
 
 OVER a bleak and barren plain 
 Where flowers never bloom — 
 Where never slant the gold sun-bars, 
 
 Nor any stars illume 
 The dim and sullen atmosphere 
 There brooding o'er its doom — 
 
 II. 
 Alone there went an aged man, 
 
 Who bent and cower' d low. 
 As if across that hopeless waste 
 
 In fearful haste to go, 
 But could not, for his palsied legs 
 
 That painful dragg'd, and slow. 
 
 III. 
 For age not come of mortal years 
 
 Had over him unroll' d ; 
 Like wither' d leaves on winter trees 
 
 Dull memories and cold 
 Still rustled dryly at his heart — 
 
 But old— old— old ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And, tremulous, full oft he turn'd 
 
 His haggard ashen face. 
 Expectant aye whence he had fled 
 
 [i6i] 
 
 »P!??W 
 
To loom in dread menace 
 A stealthy Horror, that e'en now 
 Crept after him apace. 
 
 V. 
 
 And long he fared with labor' d steps, 
 
 And many moaning sighs, 
 Till sudden changed the scene for him- 
 
 He paused in grim surmise, 
 And gazed, with feeble hand uplift 
 
 Unto his bleared eyes. 
 
 VI. 
 
 For on that plain, whose barrenness 
 
 No future may redeem. 
 Now with emotion manifold 
 
 His eyes behold a stream 
 Of solemn waters rolling with 
 
 Unbroken ebon gleam. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Behind the haunted desert lay, 
 
 Before a mystery, — 
 What hazard there of better plight, 
 
 What dark respite may be. 
 Not knowing yet he ventures on. 
 
 Round glancing fearfully. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Yet when he reach' d the reedy shore 
 To brave the river's brink, 
 
 [162] 
 
Despair almost like peace he felt 
 
 The while he knelt to drink, 
 Thinking in those deep waters there 
 How easeful he might sink. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But as he bent to take the draught 
 
 He spied a nearing light ; 
 And down the river slowl}^ drew 
 
 A lone canoe in sight, 
 Wan as a crescent newly born 
 
 Upon the verge of Night. 
 
 X. 
 
 At that his eyes were steadfast set 
 
 Upon its glimmering rim ; 
 Above the current visible 
 
 The dainty shell did swim, 
 Until it gleam' d upon the tide 
 
 All fair abreast of him. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then forth the old man stretch' d his arms, 
 With mutter' d prayer and hoarse ; 
 
 As if that vessel frail could hear, 
 It 'gan to veer, perforce 
 
 Obedient to his one appeal. 
 And shoreward bent its course. 
 
 [163] 
 
XII. 
 
 A moment more upon that shore 
 
 And he has parted thence ; 
 He feels the soothing waters roll, 
 
 Relieving soul and sense 
 From every grief by reason of 
 
 Its slumberous influence. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 With closed eyes he lieth there, 
 
 And one by one is shorn 
 Of every thought with sorrow fraught, 
 
 Till he hath naught to mourn ; 
 And far upon the bosom of 
 
 That river he is borne. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 His age doth gradual dissolve ; 
 
 He is no more uncouth ; 
 He feels within an elixir 
 
 As if it were in sooth 
 The blooming of some pale, delicious 
 
 Afterflower of youth. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And now he's 'ware of warbling sounds, 
 
 Faint echoing and blurr'd ; 
 And now of one more clear and strong ; 
 
 A wondrous song he heard ; 
 It seem'd the happy dreaming of 
 
 Some lone entranced bird. 
 
 [164] 
 
XVI. 
 
 A slow and golden slumber song, 
 Whose languid numbers gloze, — 
 
 A witchery of sylables 
 In woven spells to close 
 
 Sad eyes to long forgetfulness, 
 And marble-like repose. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 At length the bird's sweet arias 
 
 In fluted notes subside ; 
 He thinks how near its covert he 
 
 Would peaceful!}' abide ; 
 Then once again his eyes unclose 
 
 Upon the river's tide. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Around him fell a warm twilight, 
 The waters now were blue ; 
 
 Far-off appear' d on either hand 
 A terraced strand in view, 
 
 Upleading to such gardens as 
 No mortal ever knew. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And while he gazed that wan canoe 
 
 Unerringl}^ did steer. 
 As 'twere a thing of destiny, 
 
 And presentl}' drew near 
 A gentle shore outjetting to 
 
 A mottled marble pier. 
 
 [165] 
 
 BM B B UU 
 
XX. 
 
 And mooring there he stept ashore, 
 
 Still joyously intent 
 On seeking for that singing-bird, 
 
 And garden-ward he went, 
 Strolling thro' the solitudes 
 
 In fearless wonderment. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 'Mid spaces smooth and wide between 
 Where grow gigantic trees, 
 
 Whose branches ever quiver in 
 The faint continual breeze. 
 
 And tangle up the placid sky 
 With shifting traceries. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Yet many steps he had not gone 
 Ere strewn upon the ground, 
 
 Or gleaming from recesses dim, 
 Or near to him, he found 
 
 Abandon' d bodies beautiful 
 In charmed slumber bound. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Comely youths and maidens in 
 
 Secluded dells alone, 
 Or else in easy groups reclin'd, 
 
 With arms entwin'd — all prone 
 lyike fallen statues carven out 
 
 Of pallid Parian stone. 
 
 [i66] 
 
XXIV. 
 
 And some were e'en more fair to see 
 And shone translucent white ; 
 
 They seem'd as waning to a sheen 
 Of pure serene starlight ; 
 
 And even as he gazed one slowly 
 Faded from his sight. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Awhile he marvell'd tranquilly, 
 And then his eyes did stray 
 
 To where an ancient man appear 'd, 
 With flowing beard and gray, 
 
 Who musingly toward him bent 
 His solitary- way. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But as he came his footsteps scarce 
 
 The silences bestirr'd ; 
 He seem'd so rapt with reverent awe, 
 
 He neither saw or heard 
 For holy thoughts that compass' d him, 
 
 He pass'd without a word. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 And gravely thro' the mighty glades 
 
 Upon his way he kept. 
 That ancient lone somnambulist. 
 
 Who nothing wist except 
 The reveries beguiling him 
 
 Where all the others slept. 
 
 [167] 
 
XXVIII. 
 
 Then had he mind to follow on 
 
 The Elder for a guide, 
 Ere yet the forestry between 
 
 Should weave a screen to hide 
 His all-unheeding Druid form 
 
 Which on ahead did glide. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And long thro' aisled vistas that 
 
 Bewildering intervene 
 He follow' d on till he espied 
 
 A vast hillside all green, 
 With sloping lawns and fountains deckt. 
 
 And high whereon is seen 
 
 XXX. 
 
 A wondrous gleaming palace built 
 
 Of alabaster stone. 
 With many a niche and window set 
 
 And minaret far flown 
 'Bove golden domes outswelling like 
 
 Fantastic fruit o'ergrown. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And in its centre wide beneath 
 
 An ever-open door 
 Gives promise of all pleasantness. 
 
 With rich recess and store 
 Of priceless treasures taken from 
 
 The palaces of yore. 
 
 [1 68] 
 
XXXII. 
 
 Yet that so easy seeming hill 
 
 Soon fills him with amaze, 
 Now near, now far, the palace gleams, 
 
 Like one he seems who plays 
 With quick reverse of optic glass, 
 
 Until at length he strays. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Unto a fountain playing in 
 
 A single column cool. 
 Whose showering waters musical 
 
 With diamonds bejewel 
 The silver' d air returning to 
 
 Their slumber in the pool. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And by that fountain's grassy marge 
 One peerless maid doth lie, 
 
 Uncompanion'd as a star, 
 Her beauties far outvie 
 
 All others in those gardens seen, — 
 He will not pass her by. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Her face, half- pillow' d on her arm, 
 
 Is to his own upturn' d 
 So tenderly, that it did seem 
 
 She in her dream discern' d 
 His coming, and tho' bound in sleep, 
 
 Still for that coming yearn' d. 
 
 [169] 
 
XXXVI. 
 
 His last desire finds body here 
 The while he bends to kiss 
 
 Her lips that open like a flower— 
 What dulcet hour is this ! 
 
 And half she wakens in his arms 
 While he doth swoon for bliss, 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 There hath he fallen by her side, 
 
 All outer life is spent, 
 Unto that pale encircled sleep 
 
 He yields in deep content ; 
 Thro' ages long to pass away 
 
 In utter vanishment. 
 
 [170] 
 
CACTUS 
 
 I'VE wandered over Western plains where naught 
 Of moving life will choose itself a home, 
 Save creatures of grotesque or hateful breed, 
 Rattlesnakes and hairy tarantulas, 
 And red-rock lizards, with their kindred huge, 
 The gila-monsters, whose envenom' d breath 
 Shrivels the crawUng centipede, they say, 
 And curls in death the silent scorpion 
 E'er he can sting, yet passes o'er unharm'd 
 The horned toads that slumber 'mid the sands 
 There glimmering hot beneath the rainless skies. 
 
 And yet upon those plains so desolate 
 No spear of grass for any season comes. 
 Where e'en the arid sage-brush ventures not, 
 Those plants uncouth I've seen that clearly show 
 Nor stem nor leaf, but structur'd all in one, 
 Perennial grow in rooted shapes perverse 
 As ever Dante dreamed or Dore drew. 
 
 Some tall as palms rear cloven pinnacles 
 Proudly through the torrid atmosphere ; 
 And some like mimic reptiles spread and sprawl 
 Their prickly arms along the parched ground. 
 Some squat and round, and deckt with hoary hair, 
 Dwell hermit-like among the sunset rocks, 
 Or lean above the canyon's beetling verge. 
 Where down — sheer down a thousand feet below — 
 The twilight green is fleckt with pallid foam 
 
 [171] 
 
 •s 4- -r 
 
Flung from the rapid Rio as it rolls 
 'Tween walls immemorably old. 
 
 And succulent they seem, j-et arm'd around 
 With myriad thorns like bayonets at the charge, 
 Lest any luckless beast upon these wilds 
 From them should seek precarious sustenance. 
 And some do keep within themselves a cool 
 Sweet reservoir of w^aters, gathered up 
 In those brief seasons when relenting skies 
 Resolve at last the roaring thunder-clouds 
 In sudden, unrestrained relief to rain. 
 
 But for them all there comes a time of bloom, 
 
 When their distorted bodies wake and thrill, 
 
 And feel within themselves a revelling 
 
 Of splendid passion, culminate at last 
 
 In wealth of gorgeous blossoms. Nonchalant 
 
 They dance and flirt with every passing breeze, 
 
 And riot 'mid the spiny bayonets 
 
 Like odalisques, luxuriant to fill 
 
 With orient odor and high carnival 
 
 Those waste and unaccustom'd solitudes. 
 
 Some lift a scarlet glory to the sun, 
 While all day long their golden stamens swell 
 With velvet pollen, drifting o'er their mate 
 Until her last desire be satisfied. 
 
 Some, virgin-like, await the veiled hours 
 Of one long-chosen eve, when pure and pale 
 
 [1-2] 
 
With perfect rapture thej- at length unfold 
 Their loveliness beneath the Southern stars, 
 And all exhaust in one voluptuous night 
 The yearned-for bliss, perchance, of patient 3'ears. 
 
 E'en so, those quenchless, isolated sparks 
 Of that recurrent fire that men call Life 
 In such odd guise do there express themselves. 
 With virtues individual and rare. 
 
 In all that valiant fibre what's involved ? 
 God knows ! But surely Character, whose vim 
 Will hold thro' every shape that bodies it 
 In striving up the stony tracts of Time. 
 
 Let that be as it will ! But I have known 
 Some fellows of my own so gifted with 
 A like persistent faith they would extract 
 From circumstance to wither other hearts 
 A very elixir of faith and hope. 
 
 And thus I call to mind an old-time friend : 
 
 A granite Presbyterian he was, 
 
 Of thorny doctrine and contracted creed. 
 
 Whose soul as in a desert pitiless 
 
 Dwelt far removed from pleasant ways of men. 
 
 Despair' d for deeds that he had never done, 
 
 And fear'd all things beneath the brassy skies 
 
 Foredoom' d unto inevitable Hell. 
 
 Yet there were times — we ne'er could tell for why 
 
 [173] 
 
When o'er his dour old face would fall a glint 
 Of sunny humor and of transient peace, 
 As if his straiten 'd soul, in very stress 
 Of its own native sweetness, had put forth 
 Some fair quaint flower to bloom incongruous 
 Upon the barren branches of his faith. 
 E'en such a time it seem'd to me when once 
 In San Francisco, years ago, I stroll' d 
 With him along the water-front and saw 
 A drunken sailor on a sudden halt 
 Before a wounded cur that yelping lay 
 Upon the road. No passer-by took heed, 
 But, muttering words of maudlin sympathy, 
 The sailor stoop'd unsteadily and caught 
 The mongrel creature in his arms. At once 
 It stopt its cries, and, in brute gratitude, 
 'Gan lick the fellow's foolish bearded face. 
 While he, flinging a customary curse or two 
 Upon the jeering urchins of the street, 
 Stagger' d from the street with his new charge : 
 A homeless, worthless pair, whether they sought 
 The refuge of some dingy lodging-house. 
 Or forecastle of some tramp merchantman, 
 Or tarry little schooner on the bay. 
 
 But my dour friend look'd after, as in doubt. 
 Bewilder' d to approve that nondescript 
 Haphazard deed whose vagrant influence 
 Yet warm'd his aged heart like rare good wine : 
 
 [174] 
 
Then, smiling, murmur' d slowly to himself : 
 "Ah, Tam — I'm maybe thinkin', lad, that j^on 
 Poor vagabond Samaritan and a' 
 Wee feckless dogs and daft-like sailormen 
 Maun no stop aye in Hell — nor no for long ! ' ' 
 And tho' he said no more I felt the glow 
 Of white compassion that encompass' d him ; 
 A radiance straight from some eternal shrine 
 Beyond the bounds of aught his creed confess' d. 
 
 I had another friend of different sort : 
 
 Gentle-born and led in luxury 
 
 Thro' childhood's days, life open'd fair until 
 
 Death robb'd him of the friends he needed most, 
 
 And faithless guardians left him penniless. 
 
 Yet early for himself an en\'ied place 
 
 Above the shrewd competing throng he gain'd 
 
 On one great city's mart, where sweeps the tide 
 
 And traffic of her richest merchandise. 
 
 And if he dream' d of riches then his dreams 
 
 Were founded well. But other things he dream' d. 
 
 For in his blood was more than bargaining. 
 
 And he had soul too great to hold himself 
 
 Penurious on the road to mean success. 
 
 The days went by. And so it was that in 
 
 That rosy-\'ision'd time — the June of youth — 
 
 When all things beckon' d him, he thought he found 
 
 One woman's face more fair than all his dreams — 
 
 One woman's heart beyond the price of gold. 
 
 [175] 
 
 MHmwWiawiB 
 
Alas ! When to another's arms she went, 
 
 Loveless 'mid all lovely circumstance, 
 
 The star that lit the perfect way for him 
 
 Went darkly out, and from the waste of years 
 
 His promis'd happiness forever pass'd. 
 
 Like as a momentary bright mirage 
 
 Pictur'd on an endless wilderness. 
 
 And tho' he went undaunted through all lands. 
 
 Grappling with a perverse destiny, 
 
 Everywhere the way to him was barr'd, 
 
 And everywhere he found a harder lot : 
 
 It seem'd as Fate a single vengeance wreak' d 
 
 On him for follies of a score of lives. 
 
 Yet when he came amongst us in the West, 
 
 Altho' his shaggy hair was streakt with gray, 
 
 He spoke Hke some fresh- hearted, plucky boy. 
 
 Ready for new adventure anywhere. 
 
 A surly, thwarted, hopeless set we were, 
 
 Stranded in that barren mining-camp, 
 
 But soon for him we found a welcome place, 
 
 Won over by the wholesome, cheery way. 
 
 He settled down to that rough life of ours. 
 
 He work'd with me a wasted season through 
 
 Upon the poorest claim of one poor creek, 
 
 With temper cool and even all the while. 
 
 And when I had no heart to sing he'd sing 
 
 And twang on his old banjo by the fire 
 
 To drive away the loneliness of night ; 
 
 He had the knack somehow to make me feel 
 
 [176] 
 
That any luck was good enough for us, 
 That with it all a man could be a man, 
 And come up smiling from the hardest blow 
 That Fate knew how to give. Poor old Jack ! 
 We loved him for his sunny, careless ways, 
 And there was no better fellow in the West I 
 The fever 'twas that took him off at last, 
 And in the shifting sands we buried him. 
 We roU'd a boulder there to mark his grave. 
 And on it scrawl' d his name and when he died, 
 But made no show of ser^-ice over him, 
 For there was no man of us could say a word. 
 Yet when the rest had gone I linger' d still. 
 And sat upon that old, striated stone 
 To stare in stolid mood against the West, 
 Wherein the ruddy Sun had sunken low : — 
 Sat brooding on the tangle of our lives, 
 That seem so gone awry and objectless, 
 Till out of the wreck of unrelated things 
 One of the moments came that come to me 
 Drifting loose from Time, and wonderful 
 With alien fragrance and Elysian airs, 
 While absently I mutter' d words of him, 
 Witless for all I know — but no one knows : 
 " His drowsy spirit dreams of me,'' I said, 
 " Among the outer glades of Paradise ! " 
 And I arose, yet ere I went awa}-, 
 Upon that grave, for lack of better thing, 
 I planted cactus for a covering. 
 
 [177] 
 
 ^mmm 
 
FORTY 
 
 OILLY, I seem this late October day 
 -L' To hear the toll of some dull-throated bell ! 
 They're calling time on me, and the game's to play 
 But what the hell, Bill— what the hell ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Let me alone awhile ! I want to staj^ 
 
 Unanxious for an hour o'er what's ahead : 
 
 I'll make no vow at forty ; this birthday 
 We'll give to memories of the Past instead. 
 
 III. 
 Turn back thirty years ! Sit down and try 
 
 To call the times we had, the things we said, 
 The fresh sweet taste of life so long gone by, 
 
 When you and I and Dick, and others dead, 
 
 IV. 
 Made great romance beneath a Western sky, 
 
 Living thro' all the Seasons presently : 
 Then was no Past, and for the Future — why 
 
 That was a treasure-cave of things to be. 
 
 Now j^ou have won a name and places high, 
 And little Dick has grown so great and gray 
 
 The luckier ones are seen no more, while I 
 Go wandering an unprofitable way. 
 
 [178] 
 
VI, 
 
 Last year, at Ottawa, I mind Noel, 
 
 After each stor}' that you told, would say, 
 
 Sipping old brandy in that bum hotel, 
 
 " La \'ie est triste, mon brave — soyons gai ! " 
 
 VII. 
 
 And that's a song for all, when all is said : 
 
 Billy, I'd like to be in some cafe 
 With some of those choice fellows that you've led 
 
 And put a purple finish to this day. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Tho' I'm no inky pessimist, nor bred. 
 
 When I am hurt, to howl against the sky, 
 
 Yet there be times I turn a troubled head. 
 And for one hour of rich abandon sigh. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But let it go ! To all I've had to say 
 
 Hear that dull-throated bell make one reply ! 
 
 Half-time is call'd for me, and the game's to play. 
 And still I've made no score — no score — 3-et I 
 
 X. 
 
 Have many dreams like jewels hid away. 
 And manj^ love me — more than I can tell : 
 
 And my heart is warm to all my friends this day,- 
 So what the hell. Bill— what the hell ! 
 
 [179] 
 
 
LONE WOLF LAMENT 
 
 "Tv RINK if 3'ou will to happy days 
 ^ And things to be — but say 
 Where are the fellows I used to know ? 
 Where are m\' friends to-day ? 
 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 For Shad and Pete and George and Jack 
 Who took the long trail and left no track : 
 O never a one of them all comes back, 
 
 And the winter-time is here ! 
 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 For Olive and June and white Irene, 
 And the Mexican Kid and little Corinne : 
 Daughters of joy who have not been seen 
 
 This many and many a j^ear ! 
 I'm a lone old wolf, and I've lost my pack, 
 
 And the winter-time is here : 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 
 II. 
 Many are gay and many are fair. 
 
 And some still come at my call : 
 But I've gone lame, and can run no more, 
 
 So what's the use of it all ? 
 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 For Shad and Pete and George and Jack 
 Who took the long trail and left no track : 
 
 [i8o] 
 
never a one of them all comes back, 
 
 And the winter-time is here ! 
 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 For Olive and June and white Irene, 
 And the Mexican Kid and little Corinne : 
 Daughters of jo}" who have not been seen 
 
 This man}' and man\' a ^-ear ! 
 I'm a lone old wolf and I've lost my pack, 
 
 And the winter-time is here : 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 
 III. 
 
 1 dream' d last night I ran with them 
 Under a gold-red sky. 
 
 Where the mountains rose from the green prairie- 
 And I woke and wisht to die. 
 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 For Shad and Pete and George and Jack 
 Who took the long trail and left no track : 
 O never a one of them all comes back, 
 
 And the winter-time is here ! 
 
 Wow ! Hear me howl I 
 For Olive and June and white Irene, 
 And the Mexican Kid and little Corinne : 
 Daughters of joj^ who have not been seen 
 
 This many and man}- a 3'ear ! 
 I'm a lone old wolf and I've lost my pack, 
 
 And the winter-time is here ! 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 
 [181] 
 
 msmam^^^i^BmBmaagamamm 
 
IV. 
 
 Drink if you will, and drink on me ! 
 But this is the toast I give : 
 
 I^ive hard with your pack and live yourselves out- 
 Then ask no more to live. 
 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 For Shad and Pete and George and Jack 
 Who took the long trail and left no track : 
 O never a one of them all comes back, 
 
 And the winter-time is here ! 
 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 For Olive and June and white Irene, 
 And the Mexican Kid and little Corinne : 
 Daughters of joy who have not been seen 
 
 This many and many a year ! 
 I'm a lone old wolf and I've lost my pack, 
 
 And the winter-time is here ! 
 Wow ! Hear me howl ! 
 
 [182] 
 
CHINATOWN CHANT 
 
 I. 
 
 I GO down to Dupont Street 
 See my very good friend : 
 I have something good to eat 
 With my very good friend : 
 Feel damblue and want some fun, 
 Play fantan with Wun Fat Bun, 
 He think me just Number One, 
 He my very good friend. 
 
 Yum poi — I no care ! 
 Yum poi — you no care. 
 Sometime good time alia time maybe ! 
 We no care — yum poi ! 
 
 II. 
 Hello, how do, come in, sit down ! 
 
 You my very good friend ! 
 You come best place in Chinatown, 
 
 You my very good friend ! 
 Too much cold and rain in street, 
 You look sick, me stand you treat, 
 Fix up something good to eat 
 
 For my very good friend. 
 
 Yum poi — I no care ! 
 Yum poi — you no care ! 
 Sometime good time alia time maybe ! 
 We no care — yum poi ! 
 
 [183] 
 
 -"-. -. -'^ A. .■•*. 
 
 llWtiilMP^ftijpf!ffi,^^^i||f)^W^^^^^^ 
 
III. 
 
 Spose 3^ou like some extra-dry, 
 
 You my very good friend : 
 Spose 3'ou like some mo-goo-gai, 
 
 You my very good friend ! 
 Fine chop-suey, guy-see-ming, 
 Bamboo-stick in chicken-wing. 
 Mushroom stew with everything 
 For my verj^ good friend. 
 
 Yum poi — I no care ! 
 Yum poi — you no care ! 
 Sometime good time alia time maybe ! 
 We no care — yum poi ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Plenty eat and plenty drink 
 
 For my very good friend ! 
 You stay here all night I think, 
 
 You my very good friend ! 
 I lock fast big outside door. 
 Have best time you had before. 
 Sing-song girlie come some more 
 
 For my very good friend. 
 
 Yum poi — I no care ! 
 Yum poi — you no care ! 
 Sometime good time alia time maybe ! 
 We no care — jmm poi ! 
 
 [184] 
 
V. 
 
 Sing-song girlie dance for you, 
 Sing, m}' very good friend ! 
 No more now you feel damblue, 
 
 Sing, my ver}' good friend I 
 Too much drink and too much fun 
 Just enough for Number One, 
 You know nothing when j-ou done, 
 O my very good friend I 
 
 Yum poi — I no care ! 
 Yum poi — 3'ou no care I 
 Sometime good time alia time maybe ! 
 We no care — 3-um poi ! 
 
 [185] 
 
 ranHR 
 
 msmsBBssm 
 
LAUGHTER 
 
 pLORY be, the corner is turn'd, 
 
 ^ And we've given the slip to the slim Hoodoo ! 
 
 Come, Moriarty, I think we've earn'd 
 
 The right to loaf, don't you? 
 Our score is paid, and we've money galore, 
 Enough to last us a month or more, 
 
 And never a thing to do ! 
 You're hungry you say ? Well, I am too. 
 But stroll this way for half a mile, 
 Sure the sun is good this afternoon, 
 Good for a pasty-faced gossoon, 
 
 Like 3'OU, d'ye hear, Moriarty ! 
 Aye, 'tis a blessed afternoon 
 For you, you pasty-faced gossoon ! 
 I'm talking too loud ? Go on — go on ! 
 
 I know what I'm doing I tell you ! 
 You're hungry you say — you want to eat ? 
 Well, I'm at home on Easy Street, 
 And I'll show you a tavern to your taste — 
 
 To your taste, d'ye hear, Moriarty ! 
 
 >K >)< ^ >i< ^ Jjc 
 
 Aw, take your time, boy, what's the haste? 
 There, where j^ou see that ugly baste 
 
 Ayont the Barbecue, 
 Where the lettering is half arased, 
 
 'Twas gold when it was new. 
 
 [1 86] 
 
Make out that name there if you can 
 With your cock-eye : The Black-and- Tan : 
 That's it : 'tis kept by a Mexican, 
 
 And that's where we dine, Moriarty ! 
 It has a long deep-rafter' d room 
 In the Mission style ; 'tis a man's room. 
 An sure you'll like this Mexican, 
 A fellow to follow a light amour, 
 A picaroon and a troubadour, 
 
 Much of your sort, Moriarty ! 
 
 >r^ ^ >ic >ic ^i: ^ 
 
 Hey Miguel ! Come hear me tell 
 
 This hungry friend of mine 
 How this place of yours is for epicures 
 WTio like a shady place to dine I 
 See this long deep-rafter'd room, 
 Half alight and half in gloom, 
 And 3'onder a cactus red in bloom. 
 
 Just to your taste, Moriarty ! 
 Somehow it puts me in mind of Yvette : 
 You remember — little Yvette ? 
 Will you ever forget that night when she trackt us 
 Into the old Savoy, and cried 
 For us to take her East again, 
 And we hadn't the price — and then — and then — 
 Alright, Miguel, by the window here : 
 Little Yvette — poor little Yvette — 
 
 She always was fond of a cactus ! 
 
 Yes beer, Moriarty, beer ! 
 
 [187] 
 
Then order whatever you wish — a dish 
 
 Of chowder, perhaps a sole ; 
 But of things come far and things come near 
 I fancy an onion omelette 
 
 With bacon on the side ! 
 Or what d'ye say to a steak Creole 
 
 With a sweet potato fried ? 
 
 You like these things done Spanish, 
 
 And it isn't a Friday yet ; 
 New raisins then and a pint of port 
 To finish on ; they say 'tis good 
 To iron the blood of a broken sport. 
 
 And they keep it here in the wood. 
 O very well, you know your cue ! 
 Yes, that will be all, Miguel, thank you, 
 
 But see that 'tis hot and Spanish ! 
 And now while I roll me a cigarette 
 
 Tune up that old guitar 
 
 And sing while we wait, Moriarty ! 
 Sing new songs, and sing till you banish 
 Out of my brain this vain regret ; 
 
 Sure that's what you're for, Moriarty ! 
 Sing new songs to that old guitar 
 Of things come near and things come far, 
 While I forget, forget, forget, 
 Watching the rings from my cigarette 
 
 Rise to the rafters and vanish ! 
 
 ^ ^ * ^ ^ :l^ 
 
 Watching the rings ! How each of them alters ! 
 [i88] 
 
Each of them alters and alters — and alters — 
 Moriarty ! — see ! — they're swinging like halters 
 Just over our heads as they climb ! 
 And after — and after — and after — 
 Christ ! hear that devilish laughter — 
 That devilish gurgle and laughter ! 
 And there ! — see there how each rafter 
 Is red — dripping red all the time ! 
 
 * ^ <i ^ iji * 
 
 No, no, Miguel — I'm well, man — I'm well ! 
 My nerves that's all — 'tis passing — this spell : 
 Moriarty can tell — there's nothing to tell ! 
 Roll me another cigarette. 
 
 And sing, damn you ! Sing and forget 
 That laughter — that laughter — hereafter ! 
 
 [189] 
 
YOLANA 
 
 qpHBRE'S a by-road the saints fear, 
 '■- And the wizards seek in vain ; 
 Aj-ont the day 'tis quite near, 
 Yet the way of it is too queer 
 
 For me to make it plain ; 
 But we find our track by the Zodiac, 
 
 Then a body parts in twain, 
 And we be lift in a mode to the mere 
 Mass a madness vain, 
 A dream or delusion vain. 
 
 Yolana avie avie avie ! 
 Yolayia vekana vor ! 
 
 II. 
 
 But what and O what may the mass know 
 
 Of the things that are done of us ? 
 On the round hill where we go 
 To bide our time in the pale glow 
 
 For Yolana marvellous ? 
 And visions evoke by sweet smoke 
 
 And breathings tremulous ? 
 Nay, the sound of words may not show 
 
 The things that are done of us — 
 
 Remotely done of us ! 
 
 Yolajia avie avie avie ! 
 Yolana veka?ia vor / 
 
 [190] 
 
III. 
 
 A gold star in the West glow'd 
 
 Thro' a night obscurely clear ; 
 'Twas the dry time when the winds bode 
 Thro' the tree-tops, and the tree-toad 
 
 Answers eerily ; 
 The dwarf came with the swart name 
 
 A-whispering in my ear ; 
 And I nodded and took the by-road 
 
 Thro' the night obscurely clear 
 
 As a smoky-topaz is clear. 
 
 Yolayia avie avie avie ! 
 Yolana vekana vor ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Where the lone pine-tree flings 
 
 A ragged shadow down 
 We light the fire, and the dwarf sings 
 To keep away the bad things 
 
 That glimmer about and frown. 
 As we mix the wine and make the sign 
 
 They made in the sunken town : — 
 Then O a glory of light wings 
 
 Bearing Yolana down ! 
 
 Yolana avie avie avie ! 
 Yolana vekana vor ! 
 
 V. 
 But what and O what may the mass know 
 Of the things that are done of us ? 
 
 [191] 
 
On the round hill where we go 
 To slumber in the pale glow 
 
 Of planets pendulous ? 
 And out of the skies materiaHze 
 
 Yolana marvellous ? 
 Nay, the sound of words ma}^ not show 
 
 The things that are done of us — 
 
 Remotely done of us I 
 
 Yolayia avie avie avie ! 
 Yolana vekayia vor ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 O the twinkling stones of faery 
 
 When Yolana comes I 
 All set in the greenest jewelr>^ 
 While the magic smoke goes bluely 
 
 From the burning magic gums ! 
 And we troll the chants in a ghost-dance 
 
 To the monotone of drums, 
 Till we lapse for sheer enchantery 
 
 When Yolana comes ! 
 
 Yolana avie avie avie ! 
 Yolana vekana vor J 
 
 [192] 
 
IN AMBER LANDS 
 
 Fragments 
 
 I. 
 
 IN a luminous valley once I awoke 
 To the sound of amber lutes ; 
 And I ate of the bread of the Romany folk, 
 With elvish herbs and savorj^ roots, 
 
 And I drank of the innocent wines 
 Made by their maidens from mandarin fruits 
 Pluckt from low-lying luxurious vines 
 In the somnolent heart of the valley. 
 
 And the Romany folk have a simple creed : 
 To make with their hands whatever they need, 
 
 And to live and be kind in the Sun : 
 To be one with the good brown Earth, and eat 
 Good things the Sun has shone upon 
 
 Till they be ripe and sweet : 
 And watch the flocks meanwhile that feed 
 
 In the blue up-lands of the valley. 
 
 And aptly enough the}^ sow and spin 
 
 In manner of antique industr3- , 
 
 And metals they mold and various glass 
 
 And motley pottery. 
 Taught by priests of a gentle class 
 
 In league with pale high Powers, 
 For whom they have builded singular towers 
 
 [193] 
 
 mmmjfimmwm 
 
In a grove of cypress trees,— 
 Towers of granite and bronze, wherein 
 Magic the}' make and medicine, 
 Or busied with their dim auguries 
 The hollows of space and cycles immense 
 They measure with intricate instruments. 
 
 But I mind how more it pleasur'd me 
 In the drowsy grass for hours and hours 
 To lie with the faintlj'-conscious flowers. 
 
 Far up on the slope of the valley ; 
 Or run with the younger Romany folk, 
 
 So handsome and sturdy they be. 
 At play in a forest of maple and oak, 
 
 A- romping healthily — 
 A-romping unkempt and all at their ease, 
 And kindly under the kindl}' trees 
 Doing whatever and ever the}' please 
 
 Consistent with courtesy. 
 
 O in youth I sail'd unusual seas, 
 And still I recall me lands like these. 
 Where they do whatever they please, dear Lord, 
 Whatever and ever they please ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Roaming I met the gentle maid 
 Whom forest-folk and hunters call 
 The Chatelaine of Ronzival. 
 'Twas under a cliff in the everglade 
 
 [194] 
 
Where the ic}^ waters bubble forth ; 
 In velvet green was she arra3''d 
 After the fashion of the Xorth : 
 O gentle maid, for thj- heart's ease 
 Venture with me far over the seas ! 
 
 There is a room in Ronzival 
 Rich with bronze, and panel!' d all 
 
 In oak grown dull with time ; 
 About the lancet windows there 
 
 Masses of ivj' climb ; 
 And some few roses, fair O fair. 
 Wave in the Northern summer air ! 
 
 The Sun was sinking thro' the pines, 
 
 While I was guest of the Chatelaine ; 
 
 Ruddily in slanting lines 
 
 Thro' each lancet window-pane 
 
 It lit the panell'd inner wall 
 
 Of that room in Ronzival, 
 
 With its bronze and quaint designs 
 
 And stilted things armorial : 
 
 O gentle maid, for th}- heart's ease, 
 
 Venture with me far over the seas ! 
 
 At table b}' a window-seat 
 
 The gentle maid sat long with me, 
 
 And sh^'ly of her courtesy 
 
 She bade me drink and eat ; 
 Out of a hammer' d silver dish 
 She chose me cakes and comfits fine, 
 
 [195] 
 
 . -- -. : .*■ 
 
 ^ 
 
From a twisted flagon dragonish 
 She pour'd me amber wine. 
 
 O gentle maid, our game is play'd, 
 The dragon is calling, calling ! — 
 While over the cliffs in the everglade 
 
 The lonely waters falling j 
 
 Blanch at the sound, and shiver afraid 
 
 Aye, 'tis the dragon calling 
 
 r airaia, — 
 
 I 
 
 With chilHng breath and bitter rime 
 Cometh soon the winter-time : 
 Ah, see how she has grown so frail, 
 Her form so slight, her face so pale ! 
 The hoary giants of Niffelheim 
 
 Will take her craftily, 
 And in a vault with marble stay'd. 
 Where long- forgotten saints have pray'd, 
 Her deHcate body will be laid, : 
 
 Cover 'd with greenery : 
 While down the ragged silver steep i 
 
 Where the gnomish waters creep ) 
 
 Somnolent, sonorous, deep, j 
 
 With her ancient friends 
 lyost to thee her soul shall sleep 
 
 Till the legend ends ! 
 Nay, gentle maid, for thy heart's ease. 
 Venture with me far over the seas. 
 And we shall go free of their wizard hands, 
 Away and away in the amber lands ! 
 
 [196] 
 
III. 
 
 From Mozambique I sought Zambar 
 
 On board au old felucca : 
 And nigh the Mosque in the Moon Bazaar 
 
 I got me a chanted hookah : 
 Its outer bowl was all inscribed 
 With golden demasceneries ; 
 Themes I think to be founded on 
 The amorous songs of Solomon, 
 
 Or Paynim mysteries ; 
 But the learned Moulah whom I bribed 
 
 Gave me no meaning of these : 
 Only, observing the courtesies, 
 To me he show'd, while the fire in it glow'd, 
 
 A manner of taking m}- ease ; 
 From the worry of life, with its folly and strife, 
 
 A marvellous good surcease. 
 And the years have come, and the years have flown, 
 
 But the hookah still hath power ; 
 And many a scintilating hour 
 I win in the midst of miseries. 
 Smoking aright in the manner unknown, 
 
 Obser^^ng the courtesies. 
 For then — O the soul of me understands 
 My waj^s lead into the amber lands, 
 A vagabond here, if you please — among these — 
 But a rover by right in the amber lands. 
 
 I have my chanted hookah still, 
 
 But now, when its fragrant bowl I fill, 
 
 [197] 
 
 BRBB 
 
And its dreamful smoke I draw and blow, 
 
 Watching it go — slow — so — 
 
 Round and round the carbuncle glow — 
 
 then I remember things like these, 
 How in 3'outh I sail'd unusual seas, 
 
 And I would a-roving go. 
 
 1 have my chanted hookah still. 
 
 But the core of the world has not been seen, 
 And lands unknown yet lie between 
 
 The roots of Ygdrasil. 
 And what of that garden Hesperides, 
 
 Forgotten this long, long while? 
 And the palmy cliffs of Hy-Brasil 
 
 And good Saint Brendan's Isle? 
 And they tell in xlrabian histories 
 Of venturings to ravish me, 
 And delectable zones of heathenry 
 
 Down under the Lost Indies ! 
 But I — I would know of their verit}^ 
 
 And to what each tale alludes. 
 So I will again to the solitudes. 
 
 And the winds I will be loving, 
 And leave these weary latitudes 
 
 And for the love of God go roving : 
 For O the soul of me understands 
 My w^ays lead into the amber lands, — 
 A vagabond here, if you please — among these- 
 But a rover by right in the amber lands. 
 
 [198] 
 
THE LAST SONG 
 
 T ONE, Heart, lone ! 
 ■^ And the Gates are barr'd above ! 
 O Heart with my Heart alone ! 
 lyove ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Cease, Heart, cease ! 
 
 For the last red embers gleam ! 
 O Heart from thy sorrow cease ! 
 Dream ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Still, Heart, still ! 
 
 God's night is round us deep ! 
 O Heart to my Heart lie still ! 
 Sleep ! 
 
 [199] 
 
 OMmtitl MifAMutMWmm^^ 
 
NOTES 
 
 [201] 
 
 mmmmm 
 
" FEY" 
 Fey: literally "On the way," "Death-bound." A Saxon 
 word denoting a Celtic mood. One who not only realizes him- 
 self on the ine\'itable way, but through some unusual experience 
 in some instant of Time, has wakened to an alien, inexplicable 
 Existence that leaves him bewildered, foolishly indifferent, 
 madly impersonal, to the concerns of Life. To the Highlander 
 the full meaning of the term is not expressed in either of the 
 following passages, but it lurks between them : 
 
 ' ' The Scotch peasants have a word that might be applied to 
 every existence. In their legends they give ' Fey ' to the frame 
 of mind of a man who, notwithstanding all his efforts, notwith- 
 standing all help and advice, is forced by some irresistible im- 
 pulse towards some inevitable catastrophe. It is thus that 
 James I— the James of Catherine Douglas— was ' fey ' when he 
 went, notwithstanding the terrible omens of earth, heaven and 
 hell, to spend the Christmas holidays in the gloomy castle of 
 Perth, where his assassin, the traitor Robert Graeme, lay in 
 wait for him." — Maurice Maeterlinck. 
 
 "A mermaid had once met a piper on Sandag beach, and 
 there sang to him a long, bright midsummer's night, so that in 
 the morning he was found stricken crazy, and from thencefor- 
 ward, till the day he died, said only one form of words ; what 
 they were in the original Gaelic I cannot tell, but they were 
 thus translated : ' Ah ! the sweet singing out of the sea ! ' "— 
 Robert Louis Stevenson. 
 
 [203] 
 
 WBBmmmm 
 
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 mmmm 
 
" LONESOME BAR " 
 
 "Triple golden years" — (Third stanza, fifth line.) — The 
 Klondike gold-rush, the greatest in history, took place from 
 1897 to 1900, during which period the Canadian North yielded 
 about one hundred million dollars in placer gold. 
 
 "On a lay." — (Sixth stanza, first line.) — A phrase origin- 
 ating perhaps with the sealers of Behring Sea, with whom it 
 meant an allowance, in lieu of wages, of a certain percentage of 
 the value of seal-skins secured by the hunters. In mining 
 parlance, to " work a claim on a lay " meant to have an agreed 
 percentage of the clean-up or output. 
 
 "I mush'd along." — (Ninth stanza, fifth line.) — Mush — 
 mush on — corruption of French Canadian "marchons," — the 
 travelling word for men and dogs throughout the Canadian 
 North and Alaska. 
 
 "Sourdough." — (Twenty-first stanza, second line.) — Early 
 prospectors in mining regions of the Far West carried with 
 them a lump of sour-dough, in lieu of yeast, for making camp- 
 bread, and were dubbed "sourdoughs." In the Yukon, how- 
 ever, the term was generally applied to those who had spent 
 an entire winter in that region during the first years of the 
 gold-rush. 
 
 " Mac an Diaoul — Peishta-Mor. " — (Thirty-sixth stanza, third 
 line.) — Gaelic, meaning "The offspring of Satan — the Great 
 Beast. ' ' 
 
 [204] 
 
"THE DAMOZEL OF DOOM." 
 
 " The peace of a thousand years." 
 
 " The Abbot gave me much instruction in matters of religion. 
 One day, in a discourse on fundamental virtue, which I found 
 difficult, he touched at some length on the nature and condi- 
 tions of Hell. And I remember, in describing those regions 
 of Hell which imderlie the Paradise of the West, he stated, inci- 
 dentally, that souls are only loosed therefrom by exhaustion of 
 the li\'id, lurid or dark emotions that keep them there — by that, 
 and the re-awkening of desires. By some of these desires the 
 souls are drawn outward to Earth again, while through others, 
 more subtle and fine, they pass into the Paradise of the West 
 as naturally as a butterfly rises from the chr^-salis. But having 
 attained this state, and feeling supreme relief from recent pain 
 and horror, they are prone to remain inactive, become lethargic, 
 and are soon overcome by the delicious atmosphere of the place. 
 And thus they lie peacefully intoxicated for a thousand j'ears. 
 Then their lives end. But the root essence of them all, I was 
 told, is drawn upon again by influences ever seeking occasion for 
 incarnation. And so, in Limbo, awaiting the birth conditioned 
 bv their divers natures, the}' and all manner of planetary life 
 remain in suspense, like to the clouds in the sky, which await 
 opportunity for return to Earth in endless drops of rain." — 
 The Teaching of Tao. 
 
 [205] 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY