ORPHEUS 
 
 And Other Poems 
 WILLIS HALL VITTUM
 
 
 ly^liflttB 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ORPHEUS 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 WILLIS HALL VITTUM 
 
 "But let some portion of ethereal dew 
 Fall on my head, and presently unmew 
 My soul; that I may dare, in wayfaring, 
 To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing 
 
 BOSTON 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 
 1911
 
 Copyright, 1910, by Willis Hall Vittum 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, U. S. A.
 
 TO MY WIFE V$3& 
 
 This wreath of halting rhyme, dear heart, 
 
 Is my poor offering 
 
 Before thy quiet shrine, whose part 
 
 Throughout my wayfaring 
 
 In winter's cold, in summer's blight, 
 
 O'er field and flood and fell, 
 
 Hath been that of a pilot light 
 
 To lands where all is well. 
 
 But though the garland withered be, 
 
 Thy love shall make it sweet. 
 
 'Tis all I have. Despairingly 
 
 I lay it at thy feet. 
 
 1643519
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Orpheus 9 
 
 The Death of Orpheus 41 
 
 The Sirens 56 
 
 When Bacchus Came 57 
 
 Revery 75 
 
 Yellowstone Canyon 79 
 
 Indian Summer 82 
 
 Lines Written at Indian Mound Park 83 
 
 Yule-Tide 85 
 
 To Marguerite 86 
 
 Alongshore 88 
 
 Spring Song 90 
 
 A Poet's Heart 92 
 
 After a Late Snow Storm 96 
 
 In the Track of a Forest Fire 97 
 
 My Star 100 
 
 The Primal Strain 102 
 
 Spring Idyl 104 
 
 Absence 105
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACE 
 
 Sunset Lights 107 
 
 Keats in 
 
 Shelley 112 
 
 Milton 113 
 
 R. L. S 114 
 
 Lincoln 115 
 
 A Sequence of Four Sonnets 1 16 
 
 Proserpine 1 1 8 
 
 To Fanny 119 
 
 To a Crocus 1 20 
 
 In November 121 
 
 Unrest . 122
 
 ORPHEUS AND OTHER POEMS
 
 ORPHEUS 
 Part I 
 
 Calliope, chief muse of all the nine, 
 
 With bowed head and with bated breath I ask 
 
 Thine aid and guidance: help me line by line 
 
 Lest that I fail in my appointed task. 
 
 Unworthy, I, to touch thy garment's hem, 
 
 Yet now, before my song is even begun, 
 
 Thee I implore for many a verbal gem 
 
 To decorate this story of thy son. 
 
 Oh, crush not out the tiny spark of flame 
 
 Which, though presumptuous, yet is full of fear 
 
 And longing to extol thy gracious name, 
 
 And that of thy great son, in accents clear. 
 
 I 
 
 Aeons ago, mid dim and fragrant groves, 
 In farthest Thrace, when all the ambient air 
 Was vital with the springtime, and the loves 
 Of bird and beast were throbbing everywhere, 
 Fairest Calliope was wandering 
 Seeking that purple flower, the namesake dear 
 Of sweetest Iris, whom the poets sing 
 As goddess of the rainbow high and clear. 
 9
 
 Charmed by the sights and odors as she strayed, 
 Forgetful of her godhead on that day, 
 She seemed a gentle, simple woodland maid 
 Tempting her sister Nymphs to come and play. 
 Upon her rounded arm a basket green 
 Of wreathed willow hung, and, as she moved, 
 She was the fairest maiden, well I ween, 
 Ever by gods or heroes to be loved. 
 
 So straying on she presently was 'ware 
 
 Of fluttering wings and cooings soft and clear, 
 
 When lo! about her all the crystal air 
 
 Was rilled with gleaming doves both far and near. 
 
 These were the doves, although she knew it not, 
 
 Of Venus, who had flown from Paphos far, 
 
 In that fair Cyprian isle without a blot, 
 
 Where their great mistress is the guiding star. 
 
 Enchanted at the airy dalliance sweet, 
 
 She felt a sudden soft desire oppress 
 
 Her swelling breast, so moved on footsteps fleet 
 
 These lovely birds to fondle and caress. 
 
 But like the marshy ignis fatuus, 
 
 The wary doves evaded near approach, 
 
 And as the waters of King Tantalus, 
 
 Kept just beyond her tender yearning touch. 
 
 Still striving to accomplish her desire, 
 
 She followed where through wide dim aisles they 
 
 sped, 
 
 Pausing at last, to wonder, and admire 
 The secret refuge to which they had fled. 
 
 For here the trees had ranged themselves around 
 
 A space no bigger than a little room, 
 
 Where the bright sunshine, which its way had 
 
 found 
 
 Among the leaves, was dulled to golden gloom. 
 The walls around this lovely sylvan place 
 10
 
 Were wainscoted with rare and lacy ferns, 
 Such as among our modern city race 
 Are reared most tenderly in marble urns. 
 And round about, above the ferny wall, 
 Between the whispering trees, were interlaced 
 Sweet shrubs and slender flowering bushes tall : 
 And chiefly that Syringa which is traced 
 To the wild grief of Pan, who when he lost 
 The lovely Syrinx, fashioned blossoms rare, 
 So formed that when by gentle zephyrs tossed, 
 Delicious odors fill the grateful air. 
 And as the flowering branches intertwine, 
 Creeping among them comes the ivy green, 
 Emblem of joy, great Bacchus' sacred vine, 
 Binding the whole to form a living screen. 
 The only entrance to this vernal bower 
 Was garlanded with drooping trumpet vine, 
 Where brown bees hummed e'en at the noon-tide 
 
 hour, 
 
 Rifling the blossoms of their dewy wine. 
 The emerald floor was sparkling with the eyes 
 Of early flowers, children of youthful spring, 
 Narcissi fair recalled their parent's sighs, 
 And hapless Echo's aimless answering. 
 The starry trefoil and the violet, 
 The crocus striving first of all to be, 
 The blood root with its dewy gems beset, 
 And faintly blushing, pure anemone. 
 Midmost of all arose a rounded bank 
 Cushioned with springy mosses crisp and deep, 
 Exhaling odors cool and fresh and dank, 
 Inviting to the poppy-lidded sleep. 
 Just at one side a tiny rivulet 
 Bickered 'mongst osier roots and mossy stones, 
 Laving the plants along its borders set, 
 And babbling in most sweet and drowsy tones. 
 Enshrined within this cooling restful dell,
 
 Her heart enthralled by many a fair conceit, 
 
 The pensive maiden yields to Fancy's spell 
 
 Drawing her down where sleep and waking meet. 
 
 Low humming of the gauzy-winged bees, 
 
 The ring-doves crooning in the tree tops there, 
 
 The babbling brook, the odors, all of these 
 
 Combine her drowsy senses to ensnare. 
 
 Scarce knowing what she did, the dreamy maid 
 
 Laid her fair limbs along the mossy bank, 
 
 And like a closing flower, unafraid, 
 
 Through pleasant dreams to deepest Lethe sank. 
 
 As chance decreed, sweeping through upper air, 
 
 Apollo, lighting in that self-same wood, 
 
 Espied the beauties of the bower fair, 
 
 And soon within the flowery entrance stood. 
 
 Enraptured at the sight, and scarcely deeming 
 
 The vision true, so quietly she slept, 
 
 He stood adoring, till from out her dreaming 
 
 A sudden smile over her features swept. 
 
 Then a sweet madness seized him and he flew 
 
 Across the bower, and on her lips he pressed 
 
 His own, and tasted purest honey dew, 
 
 And felt the swelling of that silver breast. 
 
 Swept into ecstasy from deepest sleep. 
 
 'Twas thus Apollo won her, so 'tis said: 
 
 There amid Nature's charms so pure and deep, 
 
 Th'at mossy bank became her bridal bed. 
 
 Sweet infant bard, first poet of the world, 
 
 Such was the mating from which thou didst spring. 
 
 Within thy tiny body lies upfurled 
 
 That fire by which e'en latest poets sing. 
 
 The story of thy life, so full of pain, 
 
 Sad disappointment down to bitter tears, 
 
 Thy brief delight soon, soon, to flee again, 
 
 Has torn true hearts these many thousand years. 
 
 Thy bright lyre shining in the highest heavens,
 
 Sole relic of a life so sad and sweet, 
 Recalls our own scant happiness that leavens 
 The bitter bread of failure and defeat. 
 
 II 
 
 Unconscious babe, around thy happy head, 
 
 Fanning the air with gauzy pinions bright, 
 
 Sweet dreams and airy phantasies are led 
 
 To fill thy dawning senses with delight. 
 
 While the great muse, thy mother, hovers still 
 
 In deep solicitude above thy bower, 
 
 Within thy very being to instil 
 
 The love of poesy and music's power. 
 
 And from Olympian heights of majesty 
 
 Thy father fondly smiles upon his own, 
 
 And promises both gods and men shall see 
 
 Apollo's lyre descending to his son. 
 
 Gifted in all above our mortal measure 
 
 As there thou liest under Rhodope, 
 
 Great Pan himself bestows on thee the treasure 
 
 Of wondrous skill in woodland minstrelsy. 
 
 For, in the years to come, he can foretell 
 
 How closely interknit thy fate shall be 
 
 With that of one whom now he loveth well 
 
 His own most favored Nymph, Eurydice. 
 
 And now the ceaseless flight of passing years 
 Has brought the babe to life's gay morning time: 
 Midst childish joys, too young as yet for tears, 
 Even now he sweeps the lyre with touch sublime. 
 O happy child in these thine hours of bliss, 
 Thine only teachers Nymphs and Naiads bright, 
 Who teach thee all that sweet and lovely is, 
 Obedience to the gods, and music's might. 
 
 13
 
 Too soon, alas! the childish days are o'er, 
 
 And we behold him here a stripling grown. 
 
 All men his living harmonies adore. 
 
 He cometh now at last into his own. 
 
 The sweet compulsion of his wistful strain 
 
 The savage lion to his feet has drawn: 
 
 Thrilled into gentleness by music's pain, 
 
 The leopard dwells beside the timid fawn. 
 
 Each bird and beast becomes his willing thrall, 
 
 Hovering and playing round him as he goes, 
 
 Nor tear themselves from the sweet yearning call 
 
 Which ever from that charmed lyre flows. 
 
 The shivering heartstrings throb and thrill again 
 
 In unison with throbbing of the lyre, 
 
 And quiver with a rhythmic, pulsing pain, 
 
 Swooning in billows of celestial fire. 
 
 The sobbing cry of souls in deepest anguish, 
 
 The dark despair of hope forever gone, 
 
 Piteous appeals from tortured hearts that languish 
 
 In dungeons quarried in the living stone : 
 
 The plaintive call of desolating sadness. 
 
 The wistful following of hope deferred, 
 
 The triumph and the, joy of youthful gladness, 
 
 All these within those magic tones are heard. 
 
 Now comes the time when Fancy's specious smile 
 Besets young hearts with visions of delight, 
 Seeking adventurous spirits to beguile 
 To distant lands searching for fortune bright. 
 Yielding at length to this imperious call. 
 With his companions, heroes of old Greece, 
 He sails for unknown lands, whate'er befall, 
 Seeking far Colchis and the Golden Fleece. 
 Upon a lovely morn of early spring 
 This band of heroes sailed from lolchos forth, 
 With spirits dancing and with hope a-wing, 
 Eager to see the unknown parts of earth. 
 '4
 
 Bright Phoebus painted all the ocean o'er 
 With sparkling rainbows of brisk dashing spray: 
 While gently blowing horns of Tritons bore 
 Good omen to the voyagers on their way. 
 Down in the crystal depths were clearly seen 
 The daughters of Oceanus at play, 
 Fair maidens in their coronals of green, 
 More lovely than the flowers of early May. 
 And out upon the curling ridgy crests, 
 Floating among the dolphins sporting there, 
 Sweet Panope in all her beauty rests 
 Combing the glorious sunlight of her hair. 
 For many days over the blue Aegean 
 The good ship followed on the ebb and flow, 
 While the young heroes sang a grateful paean 
 To Aeolus, whose favoring breezes blow. 
 After long weeks upon that summer sea 
 The ship approaches sunny Lesbos' shore, 
 Where such a welcome waits them as shall be 
 Granted to travelers on earth no more. 
 Here too, alas! end of thy stricken years, 
 Down drifting through the pitying seas shall come 
 Thy tortured visage, 'mid ambrosial tears 
 Of Nymph and Nereid to its final home. 
 
 The marvel-breathing legends of the journey 
 
 By the great poets have been sung of old, 
 
 More wondrous far than knightly joust or tourney, 
 
 Or kingly meetings on the cloth of gold. 
 
 Well was it for each primal Argonaut 
 
 That the young Orpheus was of the crew, 
 
 For many were the miracles he wrought 
 
 With his sweet lyre as o'er the foam they flew. 
 
 When the fair Sirens' wistful voices called 
 
 Drawing the very hearts and souls of men 
 
 To their destruction, there to be enthralled,
 
 And never come among their kind again, 
 Then Orpheus by the magic of his lyre 
 Wrested those hesitating hearts away 
 From the accomplishment of their desire 
 To seek the fair forms on the ledges gray. 
 He sang a strain so weirdly wild and sweet 
 That even the Sirens listened with delight, 
 Forgetting, in the music's rhythmic beat, 
 Their fate approaching black as darkest night. 
 And later, on the tossing restless seas, 
 When dire disaster threatened ship and crew, 
 His music softened the Symplegades 
 To ope their stony jaws and let them through. 
 Even in Colchis, at their journey's end, 
 The silver lyre controlled the mad caprice 
 Of the grim dragon stationed to defend 
 From all intruders the famed Golden Fleece. 
 
 Triumphant now, they're on their homeward course, 
 Each one assured of an immortal name : 
 Renowned throughout the world for manly force, 
 Made mightier still by dire Medea's fame. 
 
 Ill 
 
 And so they came to their own land again, 
 And separated, each one to his own. 
 Sweet Orpheus, with spirits pleased amain, 
 Quickly to Thracia's flowery meads has flown. 
 Charming and thrilling all, as long before, 
 Again he wanders throughout grove and vale, 
 Where the glad memory of days of yore 
 Comes with each fragrant wind blown down the 
 dale. 
 
 Then on a day it happened, as he played 
 For Nymphs and Dryads gathered round to share 
 16
 
 The flowing strains, there came a lovely maid 
 
 As sweet and simple as the flowers are. 
 
 And as she came within the music's sound, 
 
 The maiden paled and faltered and stood still : 
 
 Her heart, drawn from her breast without a wound, 
 
 Yearns to those tones that bless yet seem to kill. 
 
 Enchanted, frozen into marble pale, 
 
 With wistful eyes seeking the reason why 
 
 Entrancing music makes her spirit quail 
 
 She stood, the image of pure poetry. 
 
 What of the bard whose magic tones have wrought 
 Such strange enchantment for this lady fair, 
 Whose brow, as crystal clear, shows every thought 
 As pure and innocent as mountain air? 
 Only one look he gave her when she came, 
 But with that look he 'gan the maid adore; 
 Struck through and through by Eros' dart of flame, 
 He wavered in her worship nevermore. 
 For in that moment when his blissful eyes 
 Beheld Eurydice so pure and fair, 
 Love swept his soul away, and sweet surmise, 
 And doubt, and hope were left contending there. 
 And every airy phantasy and dream 
 That bright Euphrosyne brings in her train, 
 And every charming sprite of field or stream 
 Brought lovely visions to his wildered brain. 
 Till in an ecstasy of wild desire 
 His fingers o'er the golden strings he swept, 
 Waking the spirit of that living lyre 
 Where midst her tenderest harmonies she slept. 
 Then liquid notes down dropping from on high 
 With sweetest music filled the listening plain, 
 As when, from out the splendors of the sky 
 Some shattered rainbow falls in iridescent rain. 
 The golden strings, swept by celestial fire, 
 Covered the gamut of our weal and woe; 
 17
 
 Joy, grief, and happiness ; the bard's own sire 
 Could never bid more tuneful numbers flow. 
 And in, and out, and through the music's maze, 
 Now here, now T there, flitting on fitful wing, 
 Recurring ever, comes the maiden's praise. 
 'Tis love, triumphant love, that strikes the string! 
 What maid such wooing sweet could long with- 
 stand ? 
 
 Soon to enraptured Orpheus she confessed 
 Her growing love, and that confession spanned 
 The gulf twixt dire despair and visions blest. 
 
 All secrecy was laid aside at last, 
 And the blue heavens smiled upon their love. 
 Great Pan gave them fair greeting as he passed, 
 And Nymph and Naiad with" each other strove 
 Who should bring fairest flowers and garlands gay, 
 And dance about them in the happy fields 
 Where, as young lovers should in month of May, 
 He sues for kisses, she, denying, yields. 
 So for a time their blissful life ran smooth, 
 All graces and perfections thither came, 
 Basking within their hapiness as doth 
 A horde of moths about a torch's flame. 
 And every Nymph within the laughing mead, 
 And every Naiad of the crystal spring, 
 And Satyrs piping on the slender reed, 
 And every warbling bird on gleaming wing, 
 And Zephyr of the cooling restful breeze, 
 And airy sprites in lilies' cups who dwell, 
 All gather, playing 'neath the whispering trees, 
 Drawn by the magic of their love's sweet spell. 
 And with them came the train of Fancy bright, 
 Splendors and dreams and sweet imaginings, 
 And sighing breaths of amorous delight, 
 And steadfast Harmony, from Joy that springs; 
 These hovering about the happy pair, 
 18
 
 Nestle within each clinging golden tress, 
 And twine like tendrils round that lady fair, 
 Whom by their presence they enchant and bless. 
 
 IV 
 
 But on a fatal and accursed day, 
 As sweet Eurydice was wandering 
 Through the tall grass, upon her sunny way, 
 She felt the spiteful adder's lethal sting. 
 No time to bid her loving lord farewell, 
 But swept at once along the downward path 
 That leads to Pluto's regions, that dread hell 
 Where all are gathered after earthly death. 
 Her moaning cries unanswered must remain, 
 For Orpheus has crossed full many a hill, 
 Soothing and shielding other hearts from pain 
 Which, soon, Oh soon, his stricken breast shall fill. 
 Then was her absence known, and now the wood 
 Reechoes to the wild despairing cries 
 Of Nymph and Naiad and each spirit good 
 Searching her path with wide fear-stricken eyes. 
 And when upon the fatal spot they strayed 
 Where the dull adder's loathly coil was spread, 
 One drop of that dear blood upon a blade 
 Of shrinking grass, betrayed the deed of dread. 
 O cursed beast, forever doomed to crawl 
 Upon thy belly through the mud and slime, 
 Forever shall man's wrath upon thee fall, 
 Loathing shall follow thee to end of time. 
 
 Who shall describe the wild drear loneliness 
 Of Orpheus as he strays among the hills 
 Thinking upon each loving kind caress 
 Of the dear Nymph whose loss his spirit kills? 
 No softening tear is loosened from those eyes 
 Wide open, straining over field and dell, 
 19
 
 Seeking the slender graceful form that lies 
 Forever graven in each crystal well. 
 The spirit of his lyre distraught did go, 
 Her music turned to sad complainings drear, 
 Without the master's hand to guide her woe, 
 Low shuddering moans alone may reach the ear. 
 Sweet stricken bard, all Nature shares thy grief: 
 The shivering aspen whispers soft and low, 
 The willow droops each slender shining leaf 
 And through the years still bears thy weight of 
 
 woe. 
 
 The sombre pine threw down his choicest cones 
 When sighing Zephyr told the dismal tale, 
 And wept balsamic tears, amid his moans, 
 Whose sad funereal fragrance filled the vale. 
 Each weeping lily from its silver vase 
 Pours forth its treasured store of dew r y wine, 
 And toward the smiling sky turns not its face, 
 iJut drooping sadly there doth still repine. 
 And all the Nymphs and Naiads who erstwhile 
 Had basked within the sunshine of her love, 
 Remembering that pure heart so free from guile, 
 Now grieved heartbrokenly as mourning dove. 
 Rut tenderest sympathy avails not here. 
 Distracted Orpheus roams the hills alone, 
 Seaching the wilds without or hope or fear, 
 His life one sad and dreary monotone. 
 
 At last a sudden stern resolve possessed 
 His bleeding spirit, and he turned to go 
 To that dim unknown land in farthest west 
 Where opes the portal to the realms below. 
 And as he journeyed on his dreadful way- 
 He called with mad intensity upon 
 His mighty mother, for her aid and stay, 
 And to his father on his fiery throne. 
 Beseeching them in the dear name of love 
 20
 
 To help him now in his great agony, 
 
 To find such tones as Pluto's heart should move, 
 
 And bend the will of stern Persephone. 
 
 Full many times the moon did wax and wane 
 Before he reached the gloomy groves that stand 
 Surrounding the grim portal to the pain 
 And suffering of iron Pluto's land. 
 Now as he entered on the dismal way, 
 Strange plants surrounded him on every side; 
 The deadly nightshade that doth ever slay 
 All living things that near it would abide. 
 And its malignant potency was shown 
 By pitiful dead songsters of the air 
 Thickly about the fatal bushes strewn, 
 Slaughtered for tasting of those berries fair. 
 And just beyond a mournful sight was seen 
 Where, gasping out its final fainting breath, 
 A tiny humming bird of emerald green 
 Was folded in the vile and sticky sheath 
 Of a strange murderous plant, whose honied leaves 
 Possess the dreadful and uncanny power 
 Of closing round all humming honey thieves, 
 And the poor helpless victim to devour. 
 And loathsome pulpous fronds of spotted plants 
 Whose noisome exhalations choke the breath, 
 Among whose grisly roots there ever haunts 
 The viper with the forked tongue of death. 
 And mosses like a million coffin worms 
 Planted on end and writhing in the dusk, 
 And cactus grim that deepest scorn affirms 
 For foliage, threatens with thorn-pointed tusk, 
 And hideous blotchy leaves of creeping vines 
 That cumber every stately forest tree, 
 Whose baleful grapes are pressed to make the wines 
 Poured for their victims by the Furies three. 
 Each slender graceful plant that thrills the heart 
 With pleasure when in flowery meadows seen, 
 21
 
 Has here its swollen bloated counterpart 
 Distorted into ghastly livid green. 
 
 Unwittingly to this grim region come, 
 The poet, heaving many a thankful sigh, 
 Emerged from out that pestilential home 
 Of horrors which all Nature's laws defy. 
 For now those monstrous forests terminate 
 And the undaunted traveler attains 
 A rocky region, sad and desolate, 
 Wherein the very soul of silence reigns. 
 And as he presses on his unknown way, 
 He sees the nagged crags now higher grown. 
 The path along which without stop or stay 
 He hastens breathlessly, winds ever down, 
 Leading at last into a jagged cleft 
 Where lightning's shock has sundered hill from hill, 
 And through the space by strokes Titanic reft 
 From solid rock, it plunges dow r nward still. 
 Here, close beside the narrow shelving way, 
 A raging torrent's mighty force is spent, 
 Covering the rocks with mists of driving spray, 
 Making more hard that perilous descent. 
 But with a courage born of wild despair 
 He stumbles down the treacherous incline, 
 Upholden, though he knows it not, even there 
 By great Apollo's shielding love divine. 
 At this there yawned before him black as night, 
 Made terrible by snarling beasts who fought 
 And tore each other in their furious might, 
 The gateway to the regions that he sought. 
 Not even here he faltered, but still pressed 
 Into that channel through earth's bowels riven, 
 For the wild longing in his stricken breast 
 Was stronger than or earth or hell or heaven. 
 When lo! the dismal entrance passed and won, 
 He finds it but a vain deluding masque, 
 For of the raging beasts the sound alone 
 22
 
 Remained to fright him from his heavy task. 
 Malicious imps come at their god's behest 
 To mime and juggle in the darkness there, 
 With foul intent to end his pious quest 
 Now fled, their mocking laughter heard from far. 
 And soon the rocky hallway makes an end : 
 Then straight he enters to a strange sad land 
 Whose vague faint half-light, (which no planets 
 
 send,) 
 
 Reveals a massive arch and portal grand. 
 And just within the gloomy portal's centre 
 Lieth that famed three-headed beast of yore, 
 Who never yet forbade poor mortal enter, 
 But holds him prisoner forevermore. 
 
 This final barrier passed, dark Pluto's realm 
 Now opens out before him far and wide 
 Beneath dim twilight that doth ever whelm 
 With deep despondence all who there abide. 
 Vague shadowy swarms of spirits, in their pain 
 Seeking that solace they may never find, 
 Drift up and down the desolated plain 
 Like swirling leaves before autumnal wind. 
 These spirits drear ne'er had their mortal frame 
 Laid piously beneath the kindly sod, 
 Victims eternal of that earthly shame, 
 They cower beneath the scourgings of the rod: 
 For never may they cross the Stygian river 
 While their dull lifeless bodies taint the air, 
 Sweet peace and quiet visit them, Oh never, 
 But leave them to dark desolation's care. 
 
 The poet wanders now across the plain 
 To a great river's marge, whose farther shore 
 Is hid in clouds and mists and driving rain 
 Which cover in that landscape evermore. 
 Then out of the dark whirl, amid the din 
 Of swollen waters rushing through the night, 
 23
 
 Comes that stern boatman, old and bent and thin, 
 Rowing full calmly in the flood's despite. 
 But when he saw a living mortal there 
 Amazement filled his eyes, and then he frowned 
 And motioned him away, but still would stare, 
 Seeking to understand, but nothing found. 
 Now must the lyre touch aged Charon's heart, 
 And soon pure melody filled all the air: 
 Strange weird emotions did its tones impart 
 Sounding thus sweetly in the turmoil there. 
 The dim and ancient boatman trembled then, 
 Sighing he motioned Orpheus to draw near, 
 Bidding him sing those wondrous songs again, 
 Prolonging thus one joy in life so drear. 
 Then straight he stretches forth his shaking hand 
 And guides the poet, with expression new 
 On that grim upturned face ; and from the land 
 They swept and drove the dreadful currents 
 
 through. 
 
 Beyond the mists and battling torrents whirled, 
 He sees arising through the clearer air, 
 The strange mysterious dreaded under-world 
 Where Pluto reigns with Ceres' daughter fair. 
 
 Then from the skiff he hastened, and along 
 The banks he wandered, 'neath the dreamy spell 
 Which overtakes all those who roam among 
 The mournful meadows of the asphodel. 
 Here were those peaceful spirits living still 
 The lives they followed in the upper air, 
 But pale and colorless beneath the will 
 That stifled passion, mirth and pleasure there. 
 But ever those sad souls look longing back 
 To earthly joys fled like a summer dream, 
 Save only those who could endure the rack 
 No longer, and had drunk of Lethe's stream.
 
 The sunless hills are pierced by many a cell 
 Burrowed within the hard and rocky soil. 
 These are their homes, where they must ever dwell, 
 Wrought by themselves with endless care and toil. 
 Roaming among these meadows dim and drear, 
 Where never change of time or season comes, 
 Is for these spirits all they have of cheer 
 Aside from that of their own darker homes. 
 
 Thrilling with pity for their state forlorn, 
 The anxious poet must no longer stay, 
 But goes where hills, to eery figures worn, 
 Border forever the descending way. 
 For now the path again leads steeply down 
 'Neath the foundations of the solid earth, 
 Midst the grim darkness, now far deeper grown, 
 Removed beyond all thought of easeful mirth. 
 Here, from the valleys twixt the phantom hills 
 Strange stealthy monsters of most hideous mien, 
 Whose ravening maw the heart with terror fills, 
 Watching along the lonely path were seen. 
 
 Dragons whose eyes dart jetted streams of flame, 
 And giants of the deadly serpent race, 
 And that behemoth whose unwieldy frame 
 Blanches with fear the boldest human face. 
 Besides were elfins flying through the mirk, 
 Shrieking and wailing like a soul in pain : 
 None of the throng would any labor shirk 
 That might send Orpheus fleeing back again. 
 But none of these grim shapes had power to harm, 
 Only to sight and hearing were they bold, 
 So on he passed, though sooth to say, alarm 
 Had pinched his face and shrunk his blood with 
 cold.
 
 Anon he sees a ponderous iron gate 
 
 Which radiate bars full cunningly enforce, 
 
 Across the face of whose firm forged grate 
 
 Stand letters hammered out both rough and coarse. 
 
 Ages thereafter, that divinest soul 
 
 Whose spirit straight from that of Orpheus sprang, 
 
 Made the same journey through these regions foul, 
 
 Guided by him who of Aeneas sang. 
 
 He hath writ large the dimly lettered scroll 
 
 So rudely wrought upon this gateway drear. 
 
 Those words of terror through the ages roll, 
 
 "All hope abandon, ye who enter here." 
 
 The sullen gate swung gratingly ajar, 
 
 While Orpheus, aghast with awe and fear, 
 
 With sinking heart passed that forbidding bar 
 
 Enclosing these sad souls in torment here. 
 
 Then entered he a region full of pain 
 
 And suffering that nevermore shall cease; 
 
 Where sobs and moans and stifled cries in vain 
 
 Appeal to vacancy and empty space. 
 
 Here the dim flickering light can just reveal 
 
 A spacious hall through which the wild winds rave, 
 
 Revolving Ixion's huge wooden wheel, 
 
 Which heaven's will has made his living grave. 
 
 Driven forever in the dizzy whirl, 
 
 His serpent bonds, writhing in maddened fear, 
 
 Draw tighter still their loathsome slimy coil, 
 
 While hissing threats ever assail his ear. 
 
 Here his ungrateful treachery so vile 
 
 To highest Jove, he rues day after day, 
 
 Longing forever for the sun's bright smile 
 
 Across the laughing meads of Thessaly. 
 
 Near by, a vast and dimly lighted cave 
 Whence groans and piteous cries forever come, 
 26
 
 The shuddering air repeats, wave after wave, 
 Those sounds of agony amid the gloom. 
 Here, sating the grim vultures' bloody thirst, 
 Must suffer while the endless ages run 
 That dastard giant, for his crime accurst 
 'Gainst her who had Apollo for a son. 
 
 There, in a space below a toppling cliff, 
 
 That Phrygian king stands in a mimic sea, 
 
 Consumed with thirst, his joints with terror stiff, 
 
 He ever cries for help that may not be. 
 
 The laden fruit trees growing near his face 
 
 Bend back their boughs when he would reach them 
 
 there, 
 
 Ever tormented by the sight of grace, 
 Ever he's doomed to disappointment drear. 
 Well may he rue that ghastly feast, whereto 
 Was bid each high Olympian on his throne : 
 His false and babbling tongue well may he rue, 
 Betraying secrets that were not his own. 
 And not alone he suffers, for the seed 
 Of pride and arrogance that he had sown 
 Within his children's breasts, has for its meed, 
 His daughter rendered childless, turned to stone. 
 
 Still further on the poet's eye doth meet 
 A hill, whose sharp precipitous incline 
 Is rendered glassy smooth by slipping feet 
 Which for long ages labor here in vain. 
 Here, while his sweating brow and panting breath 
 Betray the dire exertion of his toil, 
 King Sisyphus, still striving underneath 
 A monstrous stone which must forever roll 
 Downward again when near the summit high, 
 Forever urges it with labors vast 
 To mount the eminence, and quiet lie 
 Upon the top, and give him rest at last. 
 27
 
 Divine communication never told 
 
 The crime for which this punishment was given, 
 
 But well we may believe his spirit bold 
 
 Was full insulting to the powers of heaven. 
 
 So there he labors, in the Furies' grasp, 
 
 Nor may that stone the longed-for summit win, 
 
 Forever must he strain and pant and gasp 
 
 To pay the penalty of deadly sin. 
 
 Deeper within this inner shrine of woe 
 The trembling, heartsick, piteous poet sees, 
 There, in the darkness, where the waters flow, 
 The sinful souls of the Danaides. 
 With painful toil and unremitting care 
 Vast brimming jars they from the stream must lift, 
 And pour them endlessly within the maw T 
 Of gaping cisterns in a torrent swift ; 
 For well they know their labors here will last 
 Until these cisterns to the brim are filled ; 
 Nor can they see, within the darkness cast 
 About them, that the end is still withheld. 
 Great shards are broken from the bottom deep 
 Of each huge thirsting implement of clay. 
 Whence purling rivers bubble forth and sweep 
 All hope of ended labor far away. 
 
 And many more within these granite walls 
 Are here condemned so suffer endless woe. 
 Here even the shadow of a hope ne'er falls 
 Across these lives withered by tortures slow. 
 Forever groans and wailings fill the air. 
 Wrung from sad hearts amid their torments sore. 
 'Mongst shrieks and curses foul and hopeless prayer 
 These stricken souls must linger evermore. 
 
 Fainting and desperate, the poet turns 
 And hastens to the grim enclosing gate. 
 28
 
 A sudden dreadful fear within him burns 
 
 Lest in his agony he come too late. 
 
 But, as it were at some divine behest, 
 
 The gate swings open grudgingly and slow, 
 
 And safe from out that terrifying quest 
 
 He now emerged, stunned by compassion's blow. 
 
 VI 
 
 With footsteps faltering and heart cast down 
 
 Again he turns into the twilight gray. 
 
 In thought he hears those tortured spirits moan, 
 
 Nor will those hopeless wailings pass away. 
 
 Onward he wanders far into a vale 
 
 Whose bordering hills are pierced with darksome 
 
 caves, 
 
 Where dim mysterious forms his path assail, 
 But whose assaults his steadfast spirit braves. 
 Here dwells that shameful and incestuous brood, 
 Offspring of Death and his vile sister, Sin, 
 An evil and malicious multitude, 
 On pinions bat-like, tendinous and thin. 
 Foul Treachery still stabbing in the back, 
 And downcast Shame with her averted face, 
 And Jealousy stretched ever on the rack 
 Whose winch is turned by Falsehood's legioned race. 
 And baleful Murder, with his bloodshot eye, 
 And Lust, forever by his passions swept ; 
 And those twin vices creeping furtive by 
 Are grasping Avarice and Greed yclept. 
 And legions more of that malignant breed 
 With shrieks and howlings sweep athwart his way; 
 But his pure soul, proof 'gainst their utmost deed, 
 Baffles them still and robs them of their prey. 
 
 So faring on to calmer regions comes 
 The poet, till, mid meadows dim, he sees 
 29
 
 A placid stream whose current never foams, 
 But flows forever on in restful peace. 
 And here and there along its grassy shore 
 Come wandering spirits, bitten by the pain 
 Of keenest memory of days of yore, 
 Whose joys departed shall not come again. 
 These throw themselves lengthwise upon the turf 
 And drink deep draughts of the quiescent stream, 
 When rolling billows of oblivion's surf 
 Sweep memory away like troubled dream. 
 When this he saw he would no longer stay, 
 But wandered further from the river's brim ; 
 For Lethe's waters wash the past away, 
 And memory was all the world to him. 
 
 Then as he wandered, lighter grew the air, 
 And ever hurrying spirits passed him by 
 Till in the distance rose a palace fair 
 Whose towers and battlements reached far on high. 
 Through the chief portal of these massed piles 
 Go streaming hosts of spirits sad and drear, 
 For mighty Pluto in these gloomy aisles, 
 With his three helpers, sits in judgment here. 
 
 And then, Oh god of love, stand by him now! 
 
 Far in advance, amidst the press he sees 
 
 That slender form, that golden hair whose glow 
 
 Is dearer far than sunlight to his eyes. 
 
 Then from his inmost heart arose a cry 
 
 That shrilled above the rustling of the throng 
 
 Which straightway parted, looking lovingly 
 
 On him who was himself love's spirit strong. 
 
 "Found, found, at last! Gods, but the time was 
 
 long! 
 
 Thou dream and glory of this riven breast! 
 Turn, turn, Oh turn, thou source of all my song, 
 And bring this desolated bosom rest!" 
 30
 
 With startled eyes brimming with love's desire, 
 She turned to fly into the wished-for haven 
 Of his dear arms, but Pluto's edict dire 
 Prohibits freedom until judgment given. 
 
 VII 
 
 So was she swept out of his yearning view. 
 
 Now must he win her back, whate'er befall. 
 
 With heart on fire and courage spurred anew 
 
 He pressed into that mighty judgment hall. 
 
 The sight that met his eyes on entering there 
 
 Might well the kingliest human mind o'erwhelm. 
 
 Gold, silver, gems, in vast profusion rare, 
 
 All gathered from their home in Pluto's realm. 
 
 Here was a pillar reaching to the height 
 
 Of vaulted arches lost amid the gloom, 
 
 One shaft of limpid, sea-green malachite, 
 
 Like tenderest lily's bud before the bloom. 
 
 Yonder from out the gem-encrusted wall 
 
 A graceful archway leaps forth into space; 
 
 Of purest jasper were the ashlars all, 
 
 With softest hammered silver held in place. 
 
 Looking more closely he could see that all 
 
 The pillars glowing in their lustrous sheen 
 
 Were each a shaft of precious mineral. 
 
 Never the like upon the earth was seen. 
 
 For chrysoprase was there, and amethyst, 
 
 And lapis lazuli blue as the sea, 
 
 And agate like entangled vines in mist, 
 
 And jade and topaz and chalcedony. 
 
 Upon the summit of each pillar high, 
 
 Of beaten gold, wrought skilfully and well, 
 
 A capital was placed oh which the eye 
 
 Could see fair-carved the mournful asphodel. 
 
 The onyx walls were crusted thick with gems
 
 For kingly diadem or sceptre fit. 
 
 Amid the darkness of that hall, their gleams 
 
 By contrast made the place more dimly lit. 
 
 And all those sparkling walls of fairest stone 
 
 Were carved with scenes familiar in that hell. 
 
 Of birds or trees or flowers there was not one, 
 
 Save only the sad lily asphodel. 
 
 His anxious eye at last is turned to see 
 
 Where those grim powers in sternest judgment sit, 
 
 There mid the growing gloom it seems to be 
 
 Only a place for deeds of darkness fit. 
 
 The awful dais whence they all look down 
 
 Upon the crowded spaces in their might, 
 
 Is builded of the rarest marble stone, 
 
 Black as the darkest hour of starless night. 
 
 And there, before the dais is a space 
 
 Railed off from that which anxious spirits fill, 
 
 Where trembling mortals are compelled to face 
 
 Their final doom, whether for good or ill. 
 
 But now a hushed expectancy pervades 
 Those waiting spirits, and from out the gloom 
 Comes a procession whose uncertain shades 
 Most dismal 'mongst the gorgeous columns loom. 
 First came those Cretan brothers, children dear 
 Of fair Europa and of mighty Jove : 
 In judgment robes voluminous and sheer 
 Which rustle warningly as on they move. 
 Then Aeacus, the keeper of the gate, 
 Who with these brothers sits in judgment here; 
 All three were far above all love or hate, 
 Or coward weakness or untoward fear. 
 And ranged about on either hand he sees 
 Those grim attendants of the court of hell, 
 The Harpys and the stern Eumenides, 
 Whose punishment of crime is fierce and fell. 
 But still within the centre of them all 
 32
 
 Two seats were left for the great king and queen. 
 
 And now from far beyond the onyx wall 
 
 The royal cortege moved upon the scene. 
 
 Elfins and demons their great master's will 
 
 In swiftest flight to its fruition bring; 
 
 And hooded ghosts and imps whose duty still 
 
 Is doing his behests on flitting wing. 
 
 And fairest Nymphs, sent by great Jove's decree 
 
 As fit attendants on the stolen queen, 
 
 But veiled and silent all, as should agree 
 
 With that grim court where pleasure hath not been. 
 
 Now high upon the dais comes the form 
 
 Of Pluto, his dark face serene and grand, 
 
 But stern and sad from seeing many a storm 
 
 Of pain and agony beneath his hand. 
 
 Then, at the last, among these Stygian bowers, 
 He saw cursed ever by the memory 
 Of sunny fields and warbling birds and flowers 
 The sombre eyes of rapt Persephone. 
 That flower-like face, for love's entrancement fit, 
 Was shadowed by long years of nether gloom; 
 That perfect mouth and lips as honey sweet,. 
 Were like fair roses reft of their perfume. 
 And, Oh the pity of it! now he sees 
 Between her eyes, across her features fair, 
 Stern lines that surely bode no good to these 
 Sad spirits waiting for their judgment here. 
 Soon were they seated and the court began. 
 Swiftly to each was meted out his fate; 
 And rapidly those imps and demons ran 
 Conveying mortals to their last estate. 
 
 Now doth his heart stop beating; at the bar, 
 With pleading eyes, in all her purity, 
 Emblazoned in his vision like a star, 
 Stands she whom still he seeks, Eurydice. 
 33
 
 No charge was made, her life was without flaw, 
 
 Her record blameless, and she only came 
 
 Before that bar obeying the strict law 
 
 Which deals with good and bad in forms the same. 
 
 With kindly eyes the listening judges smiled 
 
 And told her she was free to go and come, 
 
 While the great queen with gesture sweet and mild, 
 
 Bade her among these halls to make her home. 
 
 But with entreaty filling every tone 
 
 She begged to be returned to Orpheus' side, 
 
 There where among the hills he wandered lone, 
 
 In his dear presence would she still abide. 
 
 But grim and stern each judge's face was seen, 
 
 The law's unchanging course must have its way, 
 
 Each mortal who upon the earth had been 
 
 Must in this land of spirits ever stay. 
 
 With piteous eyes, whose voiceless pleading calls 
 
 For help in this her dire extremity, 
 
 She turns to Orpheus who instant falls 
 
 Upon his knees before Persephone. 
 
 With some vague memory of days gone by, 
 
 She nods a kind permission to him there, 
 
 For in his agonized beseeching eye 
 
 She reads the presence of some unknown prayer. 
 
 Uprising then, he took the silver lyre 
 And, with a prayer for his great mother's aid, 
 And inspiration from his heavenly sire, 
 His fingers o'er the magic strings he laid. 
 Never before nor since has music's soul 
 Been poured in such a rhapsody divine. 
 Such tones among the vaulted arches roll 
 As with the quivering heartstrings intertwine. 
 The haunting sweetness of that minor strain, 
 Filled with divinest heartbreak, echoes still, 
 Smiting the bosom with a sudden pain 
 So sharp that e'en the dryest eye must fill. 
 34
 
 Then as he sang, within the minds of all 
 Grew up fair visions of the outer world. 
 Plainly as if emblazoned on a wall 
 Full many a scene before them was unfurled. 
 The sighing of the wind through lofty pines 
 Along the autumnal barren mountain side, 
 High terraced hills with purple clustered vines, 
 O'erlooking valleys deep and rivers wide. 
 Fantastic billowing of golden grain, 
 The beauties of a flower-bespangled lea, 
 The sweet refreshment of a summer rain, 
 The open glory of a wind-swept sea. 
 Then from the viewless spaces of the sky 
 Drifts down a sheer delirium of joy; 
 'Tis the blithe skylark only could supply 
 Such ecstasy of happiness without alloy. 
 Then arching over them come sparkling skies 
 Where great Diana's lovely face is shown: 
 About her every shimmering cloudlet flies, 
 Sitting triumphant on her crystal throne. 
 Beneath that witching light are dusky groves 
 Where hidden flowers the charmed sense assail, 
 And Nymphs and Dryads with their shepherd loves 
 In blissful murmurs tell the world-old tale. 
 
 Now to Poseidon's realm their thoughts are turned, 
 Where Lycidas, (whose dirge no man may mend,) 
 Lies deep within the sapphire caves inurned, 
 While round his bier the loveliest Nymphs attend. 
 Far o'er the level brine the snow-white sails 
 Of graceful argosy and pinnace shine; 
 From sunny climes they come, with wondrous tales 
 Of joyous life in lands of palm and pine. 
 Changing again, their docile thoughts are led 
 To tales of love and sacrifice divine: 
 Again doth Ariadne spin the thread 
 That shall her lover's tortuous path define. 
 35
 
 Once more they hear Andromeda's low moan, 
 Too fair a flower for that grim rocky shore, 
 While flying as on wings of tempest blown, 
 Comes he who'll be her lover evermore. 
 Whatever tales of sacrificing love, 
 Of sweetest constancy, to all most dear, 
 Of honor set all riches far above, 
 The old earth offereth, again they hear. 
 Then followeth his own heart-broken tale 
 Of love's enchantments, and the ecstasy 
 Of life in many a smiling Thracian vale 
 Beneath the steepy slopes of Rhodope. 
 And of the sudden loss that crushed him down 
 So low that even the warning hand of Fate 
 Could not deter from braving Pluto's frown, 
 Hoping his iron will to mitigate. 
 Then in the very throes of anguished fear 
 He stretched out supplicating arms to her 
 Who sat with eyes inscrutable and drear, 
 And poured forth his last agonizing prayer. 
 
 "Dread goddess of the shadow realm, 
 Hear my heartbroken cry. 
 Affliction's waters me o'erwhelm, 
 Like ship am I without a helm 
 In seas of misery. 
 
 Oh be thou pitiful to me 
 
 In midst of my deep woe, 
 
 Guide thou my pinnace through the sea, 
 
 Preserve me, let my sorrows flee 
 
 Before thy gracious bow. 
 
 Remember thou on Enna's plain 
 Thy mother's stricken cry, 
 Her sudden desolating pain, 
 
 36
 
 Her tears like sad autumnal rain, 
 Her hopeless agony. 
 
 If of thy love for her one trace 
 Still wrings that bosom fair, 
 Grant me the blessing of thy grace, 
 Oh turn not from me thy sweet face 
 But hearken to my prayer. 
 
 Shield me beneath thy mercy's wing, 
 Thee, goddess, I implore, 
 Such songs my soaring heart shall sing 
 That still thy boundless praise shall ring 
 Till time itself is o'er." 
 
 He ceased, and as a broken lily stands 
 Drooping within the sunlight clear and pale, 
 So he stood waiting, while those wizard hands 
 Were powerless as the new-fledged nightingale. 
 
 But on the dais where the judges drear 
 
 Sat erst in solemn pomp and majesty, 
 
 Was heard the sound of stifled sobs, the tear 
 
 Now visited those eyes of destiny. 
 
 The cruel Harpys and Eumenides, 
 
 Who still unmoved the keenest anguish see, 
 
 Now joined with streaming eyes in piteous pleas 
 
 That all the poet's prayer should granted be. 
 
 The mortal sages earthly grief had known, 
 
 And so wept openly, nor thought it shame, 
 
 While on great Pluto's cheek the tears ran down 
 
 More searing in their course than livid flame. 
 
 That queenly head is bended low at last, 
 
 Encircled by the fair embowed arm, 
 
 While choking sobs that follow thick and fast 
 
 Attest how deep and fierce is sorrow's storm. 
 
 37
 
 When the first tempest of their grief was spent 
 
 All turned with pleading looks to Pluto there, 
 
 Who with still swimming eyes his vision bent 
 
 On that fair head low lying in despair. 
 
 'Neath the compulsion of his wistful gaze 
 
 She raised her face one moment in her pain, 
 
 When lo, a miracle! to his amaze 
 
 He saw the face that on bright Enna's plain 
 
 Had swept his heart aw r ay. All trace of years 
 
 Within his saddened land was washed away 
 
 By sweet compassion's touch. Besprent with tears, 
 
 She seemed a rose gemmed with morn's dewy spray. 
 
 To the unspoken question in his eye 
 
 A Meeting smile made answer sure and sweet. 
 
 Then thus to him, with look serene and high, 
 
 Who stood before the mighty judgment seat. 
 
 "Fair son of the great Muse, I bid thee go: 
 
 And the reward of thy true heart shall be, 
 
 And of the music thou hast brought below, 
 
 The maiden of thy choice, Eurydice. 
 
 I tell thee thou mayst lead the maiden home, 
 
 But as an evidence of faith in me, 
 
 See that thou look not back, whatever come, 
 
 Else must she dwell here to eternity." 
 
 Down to the red core of his surging heart 
 That Thracian poet-lover trembled then 
 With joy so keen that his glad eyelids smart 
 With tears of thankfulness, and hope again 
 Sprang vibrant in his suffocating breast. 
 Among the gloomy splendors of those realms 
 Forebodings dire his courage had depressed 
 Until this sudden bliss him nigh o'erwhelms. 
 Now from the dais comes a misty form, 
 Deep cowled and silent, who with gesture brief 
 Points to the sombre entrance through which swarm 
 
 38
 
 The hosts of spirits in their hopeless grief. 
 Uplifting then his glad triumphant face, 
 The poet cast one final look around 
 On glories marvelous within that place 
 Where he, and he alone, had mercy found. 
 
 Forth from the presence of the court austere 
 
 He passed, while footfalls light as thistledown 
 
 Made sweetest music to his listening ear, 
 
 In softest cadence following his own. 
 
 Dire were the torments that he underwent 
 
 Obeying Pluto's last commandment stern. 
 
 Ever his gaze upon the ground he bent 
 
 Lest that his hungry eyes to her should turn. 
 
 So on they fared with minds and hearts elate, 
 
 Past poppied Lethe, through the vale where dwell 
 
 The vicious brood of Sin, past that dread gate, 
 
 Down through the meadows of the asphodel. 
 
 Now doth the Stygian torrent stop their way, 
 
 But by decree of Pluto, the divine, 
 
 Old Charon ferries them without delay 
 
 To the drear plain where restless souls repine. 
 
 Then o'er the plain and through the portal dim 
 
 Where sleeping Cerberus ne'er openeth eye; 
 
 And into that dark corridor and grim 
 
 Where dwell those imps of aptest mimicry. 
 
 Now, in the latest stages of his way, 
 
 With hope and joy the poet's heart beats high. 
 
 Soon needs no longer Pluto's hest obey, 
 
 For in another hour they're 'neath the sky. 
 
 Then in the accents of that honied voice 
 
 There shrilled a loud exceeding bitter cry 
 For instant help. Those vicious imps rejoice 
 To see that Orpheus turns back suddenly. 
 Alas! the wretched poet only sees 
 Eurydice swept wailing from his view. 
 Cold terror doth his very bosom freeze, 
 39
 
 And while he lives his weakness doth he rue. 
 Then as the giant pine on Ida's slopes 
 Amid the blinding crash of bolt from heaven 
 Reels to its fall, so mid his shattered hopes 
 Falls Orpheus, by stroke of fortune riven. 
 
 As o'er his whirling brain oblivion crept, 
 
 And active thought and consciousness expire, 
 
 His straying nerveless ringers overswept 
 
 The face of his forgotten silver lyre. 
 
 The tortured writhing of the golden strings 
 
 Sobbed out a cry of agonized despair 
 
 Such as a desolating sorrow brings 
 
 When hope is crushed by long unanswered prayer. 
 
 Now breaks that loving heart. Oh nevermore 
 Shall joy or gladness visit that sad breast. 
 Never those lips shall smile, but still implore 
 Sweet Death to give his wearied spirit rest. 
 
 40
 
 PART II 
 THE DEATH OF ORPHEUS 
 
 Fair Thrace, thou cradle of the youth of song, 
 Where every Nymph and Dryad sweetly sings, 
 Roaming thy sunny fields and vales along 
 While to their joyous strains the hillside rings: 
 Where every Satyr pipes on tuneful reed, 
 And nightingales pour out their melting notes, 
 Deep down within thy shadiest covert hid, 
 Whence to the ear their liquid warbling floats : 
 Yet hast thou other scenes more bleak and drear, 
 Where Haemos rears his rocky crest on high, 
 While low-hung clouds droop threatening and near, 
 And Strymon's torrents hurtle racing by. 
 Here, these unfriendly hills and peaks among, 
 Lived for a time he whom we all adore, 
 His lyre attuned alone to sorrow's song 
 Till death's release on fatal Hebrus' shore. 
 Each gentle dweller of the field and wood, 
 Each rushing Faun, and Satyr overbold, 
 Each dripping Naiad and all spirits good 
 The pitful sad story oft have told. 
 
 Muse of the pure and tender lyric song, 
 Look down upon thy humble servant here, 
 Thou spirit beautiful and sweet and strong, 
 Oh, listen to my calling, come thou near 
 41
 
 And touch my pen with thine own finger white, 
 And breathe into my soul thy sacred breath, 
 So shalt thou help in fitting strain to write 
 The story of his suffering and death. 
 
 After his wild despair at Hades' gate, 
 
 When Orpheus fell stricken by the blow 
 
 Dealt to his shattered hopes by hand of Fate, 
 
 Oblivion long enfolded him from woe. 
 
 The desolated cry of golden strings 
 
 Struck without knowledge or a sane desire, 
 
 Swept backward through the realm, borne on the 
 
 wings 
 
 Of the sweet spirit of that living lyre. 
 Through farthest Hades, even to the ear 
 Of fair Persephone still bowed in grief 
 Awakened by those strains so sweet and clear, 
 Came the sad cry of sorrow past relief. 
 And with the cry arose a woeful sight, 
 For pale Eurydice swept fluttering 
 Down to her feet in broken wavering flight 
 Like butterfly on bruised and crumpled wing. 
 Stirred to compassion by the bitter cries, 
 She bade a dusky spirit at her side 
 Fly thither where the poet stricken lies, 
 And bear him, all unconscious, o'er the wide 
 Vast stretches of the sea and hill and plain 
 That lay between him and the shady groves 
 Of far off Thrace, and place him once again 
 Among the smiling meadows that he loves. 
 
 And now the poet from the drowsy swoon 
 Slowly awakens, but he knows not where. 
 To his dimmed ears there comes the buzzing tune 
 Of busy bees among the blossoms fair. 
 And as he lieth peaceful, odors rare 
 Enchant him with the summer's golden breath, 
 42
 
 Till slowly memory returns to tear 
 
 His bosom yet anew with grief like death. 
 
 His roving eye in deep amazement sees 
 The well remembered sylvan scenes of yore, 
 Whose flowers and rivulets and waving trees 
 Shall give him joy or pleasure nevermore. 
 Then pierced by anguish straight doth he upstart, 
 And grasping firm the sweet enchanted lyre, 
 Onward he wanders, death within his heart, 
 Quenched now forever his celestial fire. 
 
 The pitying Nymphs and Naiads come and go 
 Waiting for those sweet strains he sang of old: 
 But murmured chords of deep enshrouded woe 
 Are all that issue from those strings of gold. 
 The sluggish weeks and months pass slowly by. 
 Time brings no solace to his riven breast. 
 Ever the image of Eurydice 
 More firmly on his reeling mind's impressed. 
 Unceasingly he singeth of her loss 
 While many a lovely maiden, sweet and coy, 
 Would gladly lift from him his heavy cross 
 And lead him back to love's delight and joy. 
 His mournful thoughts are bent on her alone 
 Who languishes in Hades dark and drear, 
 Far, far removed from warming ray of sun, 
 Or song of birds or waters running clear. 
 Enwrapt in this fond dream he sees pass by 
 All other maidens as dim shadows there, 
 Nothing is real but Eurydice, 
 Still to his eyes his living lady fair. 
 
 Foredoomed to death, he wanders from the plain 
 And seeks the rocky cliffs of Haemos high: 
 There amid clouds and mists he mourns in vain, 
 While from afar is heard his eery cry. 
 43
 
 Yet higher up the stony mountain side 
 
 He climbs, still breathing out the name so dear; 
 
 No gentle Nymph doth in these wilds abide, 
 
 Only faint Echo wanders sighing here. 
 
 Roaming at will, he finds a little grot. 
 
 Here doth he slowly fade day after day. 
 
 Feeble the hands and weak that long have taught 
 
 The strings among Pierian songs to stray. 
 
 Those shapely limbs whose slender pliant grace 
 
 Has carried him afar, too far in sooth, 
 
 That radiant form, that clear and buoyant face, 
 
 Are ravaged now by gnawing frailty's tooth. 
 
 And veiled sorrow on her ebon plume 
 
 Forever floats above his drooping head, 
 
 So that he walks in shadow, whether gloom 
 
 Or shine be o'er the rugged hillside spread. 
 
 Seeing strange visions now, he wanders far. 
 Ever his fancy one fair face deludes, 
 Leading him onward like a guiding star 
 To the deep vales where the dusk silence broods. 
 And as he goes, he deems that all around 
 He's scattering his songs so wild and free. 
 Alas! the strings give but a murmurous sound, 
 Like the deep droning of the laden bee. 
 
 So wandering fitful through the rocky pass, 
 He hies him on to rushing Hebrus' shore, 
 Seeking that happiness which he, alas, 
 Shall find among the sons of men no more. 
 Till, straying aimless through a leafy glade, 
 He sees the silver gleam of women's breasts 
 And snowy sides, the dazzling picture made 
 More dark the background upon which it rests. 
 With thought confused in his dim wildered brain, 
 He sees the sheen of that dear golden hair, 
 
 44
 
 And crying out his joy full loud and plain, 
 He rushes in among those Maenads fair. 
 
 But hate and fierce resentment in them burn 
 'Gainst one who dared to view their secret rites: 
 Forthwith upon that wasted form they turn 
 Whose eager searching eye their wrath invites. 
 Then this wild rout, among the sweet green leaves, 
 Crazed by some maddened Bacchanalian whim, 
 Strike the foul blow that all the world bereaves, 
 And fragile limb is rent from fragile limb. 
 Now in the wanton rage that license breeds, 
 His head and lyre adown the stream are sent: 
 While they, forgetting straight their ghastly deeds, 
 Again throughout the forest singing went. 
 
 Up from the mangled body rose the sprite, 
 Exultant, throbbing in its ecstasy, 
 And swifter than the starry meteor's flight, 
 Swept down at last to join Eurydice. 
 
 A gentle spirit of the mazy wood 
 
 Had viewed the scene with horror-stricken eyes, 
 
 And from the ghastly copse, bestrewn with blood, 
 
 She seeks the mount where springs Pierian rise. 
 
 Swept into action by the heartless tale, 
 
 The sacred Nine, on glorious wings outspread, 
 
 Down to the gloomy forest quickly sail 
 
 Where that sweet shuddering spirit them hath led. 
 
 Midst flowing tears, with tender loving care, 
 
 The sacred limbs are gathered from the earth, 
 
 And to Olympus the loved form they bear, 
 
 Where all divine and splendid things have birth, 
 
 Where beechen shadows waver to and fro, 
 Where plaining nightingales' mellifluous breath 
 Makes sweet his sepulchre, they laid him low, 
 The gold and vermeil tinted flowers beneath. 
 45
 
 But when Apollo heard the tale of woe, 
 Sitting triumphant in his fiery car, 
 Seizing his fell, unerring, golden bow, 
 In wrath he dropped adown the ether far. 
 Full soon that cruel band of Maenads bold 
 Had reached the limit of their earthly quest, 
 And lay disheveled on the soft brown mould, 
 Each with Apollo's arrow through her breast. 
 
 For many a rood around the fatal spot 
 
 No gentle Nymph nor tree-born Dryad dwells. 
 
 Each Naiad hath forsook her pebbly grot. 
 
 Unheeded now the crystal fountain wells. 
 
 Those fountains soon are choked with leaves and 
 
 mould, 
 
 And give no moisture to the thirsting roots: 
 The grass is dead, the earth, now dry and cold, 
 No longer nourishes the tender shoots. 
 Each drooping leaf has bowed its faded head, 
 Enmeshed by spider and the blasting worm ; 
 The trees at last have all their greenery shed 
 And naked bow before the ruthless storm. 
 And over this drear spot no bird beats wing, 
 But looking down from his aerial path, 
 In widest circle far aside doth swing, 
 Seeking some grove not cursed by Phoebus' \vrath. 
 For many ages they who passed might view 
 This desert strange with foliage sere and brown 
 A fitting monument for that mad crew 
 Who dimmed the lustre of fair music's crown. 
 
 Now doth the Muse with light compelling touch 
 Lead where the Hebrus rushes dark and drear 
 Twixt sombre banks, while winter's frosty clutch 
 Is felt within her waters chill and clear. 
 
 Far, far, adown her restless currents ride 
 46
 
 That sacred head and lyre of living gold. 
 And lo! in order due, along each side, 
 A bright procession, lovely to behold. 
 Fair Nymphs and Naiads and Okeanids, 
 And Nereids from the sapphire caves below, 
 And Tritons whom divine Poseidon bids 
 Guard them wherever waters rest or flow; 
 And dolphins on their undulating path, 
 And hippocamps with blood red nostrils wide, 
 And mane outstreaming on the gentle breath 
 Of sparkling breezes flying o'er the tide. 
 
 And so throughout the land, down to the shore 
 
 Where spreads the isle-bespangled sea Aegean, 
 
 Whence great Poseidon ruleth evermore 
 
 The dwellers in his watery empyrean. 
 
 Liparian Aeolus imprisoned all 
 
 The winds that scourge the ever-changing sea, 
 
 And flowered Zephyrus to him doth call 
 
 And bids him waft those relics tenderly 
 
 Down to the Lesbian shore, whose golden sands, 
 
 Shall give that tortured visage peace and rest; 
 
 Sheltered from every act of cruel hands, 
 
 No more by cheating fate to be distressed. 
 
 So on they move through pathless waters wide, 
 
 Safeguarded from the briny monster's, maw; 
 
 Before them and behind the Tritons glide 
 
 And force obedience to Poseidon's law. 
 
 The ruffling wavelets in their rise and fall 
 
 Give to the lyre a gentle swaying motion, 
 
 Whereat there rises a sweet murmurous call, 
 
 Soothing more dreamfully than Morphean potion. 
 
 The watery cavalcade sails swiftly on, 
 Wafted along by Zephyr's fragrant breath. 
 Till, slowly sinking, the bright summer sun 
 Incarnadines the daylight's coming death. 
 47
 
 Now Leto comes, and with her shadowy hand 
 Spreads her dusk veil the earth and ocean o'er. 
 Still through the darkness doth the mournful band 
 Press onward to the wooded Lesbian shore. 
 Before the noon of night fair Dian's orb 
 Swings quickly o'er the far horizon's rim, 
 Wherefrom those gracious sea-born Nymphs absorb 
 Comfort as down its silver path they swim. 
 And when Aurora's dewy lips had kissed 
 From off the earth and from the ocean blue 
 The trailing darkness and low-hanging mist, 
 Behold, fair Lesbos framed within their view. 
 
 The mighty motion of the morning swell 
 
 Wafted the lyre full gently to the height 
 
 Of a low rocky islet: pearly shell 
 
 And coral pink, and shining seaweed bright 
 
 Were all its resting place. And here it lay 
 
 Forsaken, on that lonely island wild, 
 
 Until the coming of a later day 
 
 When it should shine in glory undefiled. 
 
 The tearful Nymphs at last have reached the end 
 Of this, their pious quest, and from the seas 
 With slow and mournful steps their way they wend, 
 Amid their many-voiced harmonies. 
 The weeping Nereids dig with rosy shells 
 A grave upon the peaceful Lesbian strand, 
 And where the hallowed mound the surface swells. 
 They lay dark cypress boughs with snowy hand. 
 There in an ilex grove that sacred head 
 Lies buried by the ever-sounding sea: 
 Where rhythmic surges round its lowly bed 
 Beat out their thunderous diapason free. 
 About the grave beneath the sheltering trees 
 Immortal amaranths and lilies grow. 
 The song of birds and drowsy hum of bees 
 48
 
 Still linger near his face who loved them so. 
 And there, among the groves, the nightingale 
 Laments in saddest notes of sorrowing: 
 And sweeter song, so says the ancient tale, 
 Shall never bird to listening mortal sing. 
 
 When mighty Jove the tale of sorrow heard 
 Of this sad life by Fate's decree crushed down, 
 To deep compassion was his bosom stirred, 
 Upon his brow a grave and thoughtful frown. 
 Then swiftly that enchanted lyre he grasped 
 And set it high within the northern skies. 
 There, to the universal bosom clasped, 
 It joins creation's spheral harmonies. 
 And from the sapphire deeps its golden glow 
 Burns downward through earth's dim and misty 
 
 veil 
 
 To our adoring eyes upraised below, 
 In witness of the truth of all this tale. 
 
 Divinest bard, on earth there singeth still 
 The spirit of the music thou hast given. 
 Thy strains the hearts of erring mortals fill 
 With purest happiness this side of heaven. 
 Through all of thy great suffering and pain, 
 Out of the scourgings of adversity, 
 Sore punished, thou hast yet this final gain, 
 Thy name stands ever for sweet Constancy.
 
 AVE DIANA 
 
 Fair goddess of our hearts and of the night, 
 
 Shedding afar thy silver glory pure, 
 
 Bathing the heavens in effulgence bright. 
 
 Who else could so attract us and allure? 
 
 Within the radiance of thy crystal beam, 
 
 Where all of witchery and charm abide, 
 
 Our spirits drift as on a summer stream 
 
 Twixt flowery banks down to the ocean wide. 
 
 And out across the silvery ocean vast 
 
 We float, unmindful of the flight of time. 
 
 Lulled by soft lapping waves, until at last 
 
 They bring us to a strange and wondrous clime 
 
 Where all is clear and pure and radiant 
 
 As are thy beams, thou lovely goddess dear, 
 
 Where poesy and music ever haunt 
 
 The flowery meads and waters running clear. 
 
 Here in this happy land no sadness dwells, 
 
 Nothing is known of sorrow, naught of fear, 
 
 No vain regret the tortured bosom swells, 
 
 And suffering has never entered here. 
 
 Throughout the land are fountains sweet and clear, 
 
 Deep shaded dells with thickest verdure clad. 
 
 While ever and anon the sportive deer 
 
 Betrays his presence by his antics glad. 
 
 Along the pleasant sylvan paths there lie 
 
 Fair gardens blossoming in the delight 
 
 Of sun and de\v, until the charmed eye 
 
 Is wean- with excess of colors bright. 
 
 And further on the hills begin to rise, 
 
 Covered with forests to the summit steep. 
 
 Here lurk the Dryads, who with curious eyes 
 
 Peep at us as we pass through shadows deep. 
 
 So pressing on into the ancient wood, 
 We come at last into an open glade 
 50
 
 Nestled among the mountains which have stood 
 Guarding this woodland vale since time was made. 
 Across the level sweeps of cooling lawn 
 Flowers run riot, and the pebbly rills 
 Murmur their sweetest music, which has gone 
 Into our hearts, and every longing stills. 
 Midmost within this happy vale serene, 
 Surrounded by lithe vines and thorn trees bare, 
 Which intertwining, form a living screen, 
 Rises a bower more than earthly fair. 
 And round about the lovely bower, a band 
 Of maiden Nymphs, each one of beauty rare, 
 Sing and make merry, dancing hand in hand., 
 Their joyous music filling all the air. 
 
 Oh, now indeed, we know where thou hast led 
 Our feet, fair goddess of the silver face! 
 These be thy Nymphs before whom Actaeon fled, 
 Thy comrades in the pleasures of the chase. 
 Here ever faithful watch and ward they keep, 
 Forever closing in their magic ring 
 Round thy Endymion in his deathless sleep ; 
 And, watching ever, clear and sweet they sing. 
 
 O goddess of the chase, 
 Give us thy presence fair, 
 Oh teach us yet to trace 
 The wild beast to his lair. 
 
 Ever thy silver bow 
 Hath been our strong ally. 
 Forsake us then not thou. 
 Still for thy help we cry. 
 
 Here in this peaceful vale 
 Thy watch and ward we keep 
 Over thy lover pale, 
 Deep in his dreamful sleep. 
 51
 
 Lead us, O queen of night, 
 Rushing across the plain, 
 To follow in wild flight 
 Thy crescent once again. 
 
 Only to hear thy bow 
 Twang as we heard of old, 
 Thy voice so sweet and low 
 Giving its orders bold. 
 
 Only to hear thy horn 
 Waking the echoes far 
 
 At this is heard a note with liquid roll 
 So sweet and yearning that it penetrates 
 Down to the shivering caverns of the soul, 
 Whence echoing, at once it recreates 
 And brings to life all those desires intense 
 Which from of old have held us in their grasp, 
 And throbs and thrills and aches through even- 
 sense, 
 
 Holding our spirits in its tender clasp; 
 Sobbing and wailing in its wistful sweetness 
 Until our very heartstrings give a cry, 
 Strained past endurance in their incompleteness, 
 Not yet attuned to heaven's harmony. 
 
 And now athwart the blue empyrean, 
 Gliding as straight as light, swift as a dove, 
 Cometh a vision which may ne'er again 
 Be seen by any eyes save those above. 
 For radiant in celestial glory, 
 Behold, fair Dian, than a fawn more fleet, 
 Not chaste and cold as in the olden story, 
 But blushing rosy red, divinely sweet. 
 For she has come, smit by the pain divine, 
 To seek her lover, young Endymion, 
 52
 
 And pour along his veins such fiery wine 
 Would wake to life a block of wood or stone. 
 
 But ere she entereth into her bliss 
 
 Each Nymph with gracious kindness she would 
 
 greet, 
 
 Approaching first now that one and now this, 
 Blessing the herbage with her tender feet. 
 At last into the inmost bower she's gone, 
 Which straightway glows with roselight pale and 
 
 clear, 
 
 All sleep has from those heavy eyelids flown, 
 Enraptured he beholds his goddess near. 
 And now come gently murmured words of love, 
 Tender complainings such as lovers use, 
 Heart pressed to heart in wildest, throbbings move, 
 While lips from nectar'd lips sip sweetest dews. 
 
 Too soon, alas ! the winged hours have flown 
 And Cynthia must back into the sky. 
 Else would all Nature cry and make great moan 
 Could she not see her goddess clear and high. 
 For dearer to the night that face so pure 
 Than to parched crops the gently falling rain, 
 So must the loving goddess now immure 
 The hapless youth within his dreams again. 
 This done, out of that blissful vale she swept, 
 Which straightway gloomed, losing her presence 
 
 bright. 
 
 And we who far and far have overstepped 
 The bounds of earthly life, led by the light 
 Of sweetest Dian, never shall believe 
 Those tales that call her the pale chilly moon. 
 Such words can never more our minds deceive, 
 For we have seen her with Endymion. 
 
 53
 
 TO A RED SUNSET 
 
 O great Apollo, what beauties follow 
 
 Thy roseate car at dawn ! 
 
 But better than those are the gold and rose 
 
 Thou bringest when day is gone. 
 
 When the stars peep out and complete thy rout 
 
 As thou sinkest in the west, 
 
 And thy streamers red, flung far overhead, 
 
 Herald thy coming rest. 
 
 To mortal vision the gates Elysinn 
 
 Seem opened for a time, 
 
 And from the towers and airy bowers 
 
 Familiar in legend and rhyme, 
 
 There comes a blessing beyond all guessing 
 
 To those of us who know 
 
 That our mortal eyes see the smile that flies 
 
 From the gods to earth below. 
 
 Still the splendor falls on the eye and enthralls 
 
 Our hearts with the vision bright; 
 
 The glowing hues interweave and suffuse 
 
 The heavens with golden light, 
 
 Till all must adore, and the sun-god implore 
 
 That in some future clime 
 
 Our spirits may float to that region remote, 
 
 And bathe in that flood sublime. 
 
 Now the afterglow and the shadows show 
 
 That the god of day has fled. 
 
 The colors fade into many a shade 
 
 Of purple, saffron and red, 
 
 While the clouds so gay become cold and gray 
 
 As the twilight waxes old, 
 
 And the fires so bright burn dim in our sight, 
 
 And turn to ashes cold. 
 
 54
 
 In the near-by trees, with never a breeze, 
 
 There comes a rustling deep, 
 
 'Tis the birds o'erhead in their airy bed 
 
 Settling themselves to sleep. 
 
 As the daylight dies and the gem-like eyes 
 
 Of the twinkling stars appear, 
 
 The vision departs and leaves in our hearts 
 
 Only a memory dear. 
 
 55
 
 THE SIRENS 
 
 Out across the sunny reaches 
 Of the sparkling sapphire sea, 
 There, along the golden beaches, 
 Beautiful entrancingly, 
 
 Fairest sea-maidens repeating 
 Sunshine's glints in lustrous hair, 
 Stretch out lovely arms entreating 
 Us to come and join them there. 
 
 Then those pleading accents tremble 
 Into harmony divine ; 
 Sweeter voice may ne'er dissemble 
 Love that ever doth repine. 
 
 Still those notes from sweet lips falling 
 Promise happiness to be, 
 Calling, calling, ever calling 
 To those isles amid the sea.
 
 WHEN BACCHUS CAME 
 
 The world was new and all the gods 
 Were mad with youth and love, 
 And Titans trembled at the nods 
 Of heaven-defying Jove. 
 Then were the halcyon days of old 
 Of which the ancient poets told. 
 
 Then Dryads swarmed in every grove. 
 
 Then every crystal pool, 
 
 Whose whispering reeds and rushes wove 
 
 A bower fresh and cool, 
 
 Showed far beneath its mirrored face 
 
 Some shimmering Naiad's dwelling place. 
 
 In meads where nodding flowers move, 
 
 The murmurous bees intone 
 
 The drowsy litany of love, 
 
 More dulcet than their own 
 
 Most fragrant treasure, when it swells 
 
 The waxen semilucent cells. 
 
 The flowering almond's avalanche 
 
 Of blossoms pink and white 
 
 Sends many a downward curving branch 
 
 O'er hidden bowers bright, 
 
 Wherefrom, with innate coquetry, 
 
 Blithe Nymphs set fluttering glances free. 
 
 And round about, the jocund sound 
 Of piping and of song 
 Comes from each velvet-swarded mound 
 Where Nymphs and Satyrs throng. 
 While twining arms and twinkling feet, 
 And willowy forms make grace complete. 
 
 57
 
 Far in a vale, where tumbled hills 
 
 Skirt the Boeotian plain, 
 
 The last outlying sentinels 
 
 Of great Parnassus' train, 
 
 Behold, a vision of delight! 
 
 A maid in spring-time jewels dight. 
 
 On dewy rose and violet 
 
 Lies Semele the fair, 
 
 While rosemary and mignonette 
 
 Enwreathe her wondrous hair. 
 
 The first is for remembrance meet, 
 
 The second makes remembrance sweet. 
 
 In alternating white and red, 
 Flushing at every sound, 
 She waits with joy akin to dread, 
 A queen with blushes crowned. 
 Well may high Jove enchanted be 
 Devotion such as hers to see. 
 
 But hark, a step! Now fluttering heart 
 
 Lie quiet in thy nest, 
 
 Else must thy throbbing impulse start 
 
 Soft tumult in that breast, 
 
 Whose tender billowings would betray 
 
 The love that sweeps her soul away. 
 
 Nay gentle maid, with downcast eyes 
 
 Fixed on the flowery earth, 
 
 This is not he whose ardent sighs 
 
 Give to thy love new birth. 
 
 The languorous air doth not enfold 
 
 Thy god-like wooer uncontrolled. 
 
 Fair as a dream before her stands 
 A being all divine, 
 
 58
 
 Whose gracious smiles, like silken bands, 
 About the heart entwine. 
 Thus jealous Hera craftily 
 Approaches youthful Semele 
 
 "Bright jewel of the Cadmean race, 
 
 Happy art thou above 
 
 All others, since thy lissome grace 
 
 Hath lured e'en mighty Jove 
 
 To seek thy blissful earthly bower: 
 
 Although compact of god-like power. 
 
 Nay, blush not thus because I know 
 
 Thy secret sweet and dear. 
 
 With friendship true this heart doth glow. 
 
 Disarm thee of thy fear. 
 
 Secure and peaceful mayst thou rest: 
 
 Thy tale is buried in my breast." 
 
 Then with alluring blandishment 
 
 And favoring glances kind, 
 
 She moved to where in wonderment 
 
 The blushing maid reclined, 
 
 And sinking to apparent rest, 
 
 She drew the maiden to her breast. 
 
 And twined the massive coils of hair 
 About her soothing hand, 
 And murmured tender words and fair 
 In accents sweet and bland; 
 Until the doubting maid, at last, 
 Her fear to all the winds has cast. 
 
 "But know, O Semele", she said, 
 "The keenest joy of all 
 As yet hath never visited 
 Thy heart. May it befall 
 59
 
 That soon thy wondering eyes shall see 
 Thy loved one in his majesty. 
 
 Past mortal thought his grandeur shines 
 
 O'erpanoplied with cloud, 
 
 The lightnings round his arm he twines, 
 
 While bursting thunder loud, 
 
 Like echoes from vast heavenly drums, 
 
 Reverberating downward comes. 
 
 Well do I know thy lover bright: 
 
 His modesty's a jest 
 
 Among the gods. Demand the sight, 
 
 He shall deny thy quest. 
 
 By subtlety shalt thou attain 
 
 To that whereof thy heart were fain. 
 
 Ask thou thy boon : then as he stands 
 
 Before thee, let him swear 
 
 To grant whate'er thy love demands 
 
 Ere thou thy wish declare. 
 
 And bid him swear, his faith to fix, 
 
 By ebon waters of the Styx. 
 
 Now lovely Cadmean, adieu. 
 
 Forget not what I've told 
 
 For thine own good, in friendship true; 
 
 And may thy heart be bold 
 
 To seek that which is thine by right, 
 
 Thy lover at his glory's height." 
 
 Unclasping her enfolding arms, 
 She leaves the maid at rest, 
 While new desires and vague alarms 
 Disturb that peaceful breast. 
 Then fades adown the flowery vale 
 Like drifting wreath of vapor frail. 
 60
 
 Upon her couch where roses glow 
 
 And daffodillies fine 
 
 Invert their cups, with overflow 
 
 Of all their dewy wine, 
 
 The pensive maiden musing lies, 
 
 With brooding, thought-o'ershadowed eyes. 
 
 Far in the upper realms of light 
 
 A piercing scream is heard: 
 
 In palpitating, headlong flight 
 
 Descends Jove's royal bird. 
 
 Full well the blithesome maiden knew 
 
 This herald from her lover true. 
 
 With pinions set, he sails adown 
 
 The trackless paths of air, 
 
 And at her feet is gently thrown 
 
 A token sweet and fair, 
 
 The flower that first saw light of day 
 
 Where dying Hyacinthus lay. 
 
 Then with a cry of hoarse disdain 
 For all save power and might, 
 Tremendous throbbing wings again 
 Bear him from mortal sight. 
 More fierce a messenger may ne'er 
 The tender thought of lover bear. 
 
 Full oft she's seen that cruel face 
 
 With golden eyes of doom, 
 
 Those talons from whose fell embrace 
 
 No living thing may come. 
 
 Yet howsoever oft he's sent, 
 
 Chill fear is with her raptures blent. 
 
 Now stooping where the flower lies, 
 Within the blissful nest 
 
 61
 
 Of her soft bosom's fall and rise 
 She cradles it to rest; 
 And with its balmy breath inspires 
 Renewal of her love-lit fires. 
 
 While thus in musings sweet she stood, 
 
 Her eyes with love aflame, 
 
 From out a grove of ilex wood 
 
 Her royal lover came. 
 
 With outstretched arms and flying feet 
 
 He speeds the blushing maid to meet. 
 
 The first ecstatic greeting done, 
 
 With beaming eyes she said, 
 
 "My lord of love, I crave a boon, 
 
 Wilt grant it to thy maid?" 
 
 "Tis thine before the thought," said he, 
 
 "What gift shall I not bring to thee?" 
 
 "Nay, not so fast, my lover bold, 
 
 Deem of thy maid no ill, 
 
 But first, before my will I've told, 
 
 My longing to fulfil, 
 
 I pray thee swear to grant me this 
 
 By what to thee most sacred is." 
 
 Then o'er his smiling face a shade 
 Of doubt and anger came: 
 As when a cloud o'er sunny glade 
 Makes dim the roses' flame; 
 But as the sun shines out again, 
 His smiles returned and he began. 
 
 "By that dread stream of nether hell 
 Whose sable waters run 
 Past gloomy fields of asphodel 
 In twilight shadows dun, 
 62
 
 I swear to do thy very will: 
 Thine utmost longing to fulfil. 
 
 Now little disbeliever, art 
 
 Thou not content that I 
 
 Have done my meek subservient part, 
 
 Who else am stern and high, 
 
 And yield not lightly to command? 
 
 See, here thy servant now I stand." 
 
 With eyes whose languorous content 
 
 Promise a full reward, 
 
 In utter self-abandonment 
 
 She flees to him, her lord. 
 
 Be sure his eager lips shall meet 
 
 Her dewy lips all cool and sweet. 
 
 "Fair Semele, now say thy say, 
 
 Behold thy servant stands 
 
 In burning ardor to obey 
 
 His dearest love's commands. 
 
 What is it thou wouldst have me bring? 
 
 'Tis thine ere swiftest bird might wing 
 
 His way across the little space 
 Between my heart and thine. 
 What is there of my utmost grace 
 That should not equal shine 
 On thee within thy flowery nest, 
 And me, who am thy lover blest?" 
 
 "O lord of love, thy task is light; 
 Thou needest not to bring 
 Thy sandaled messenger, whose flight 
 Outruns the tempest's wing. 
 As Jove the thunder-bearer, I 
 Would see thee pass in majesty." 
 63
 
 Then for a time amazed he stood, 
 While in his visage drear 
 Surprise and consternation showed 
 Her danger great and near. 
 Her innocence and ignorance 
 Have put him in this sudden trance. 
 
 "Light of my eyes, thou knowest not 
 
 The task thou'st set for me. 
 
 Celestial laws bind me about, 
 
 In this I am not free. 
 
 No living mortal e'er may view 
 
 That sight, but bids the world adieu. 
 
 But since I've sworn that fatal oath 
 
 Naught can absolve me now 
 
 From strict obedience, how loath 
 
 Soe'er to scorch thy brow. 
 
 So pray thee grant me heart of grace, 
 
 And take some other wish in place." 
 
 "But nay, but nay, my lover high, 
 
 So great a god as thou 
 
 Must know some secret means whereby 
 
 Mayst ward the fatal blow, 
 
 And let me see thee stern and grand, 
 
 And yet remain within thy land." 
 
 "Rash maid, thou wringst my heart with fear 
 
 Oh change this foolish whim. 
 
 I'll show thee where the elfins leer. 
 
 I'll guide thee through the dim 
 
 Vast spaces of the realms below, 
 
 Where even celestials may not go. 
 
 Within their gloomy caves thou'lt see 
 The monstrous fiends of hell. 
 64
 
 I'll wander hand in hand with thee 
 Through fields of asphodel. 
 We'll see the fair, sad queen of pain, 
 Rapt from the flowers on Enna's plain. 
 
 I'll lead thee o'er the ocean's foam, 
 And through the western seas 
 Where lies the happy island home 
 Of the Hesperides. 
 Within their wondrous gardens grew 
 The golden apple Eris threw. 
 
 Then, winging northward, we shall see 
 
 Where wintry whirlwinds blow, 
 
 And fill the drear immensity 
 
 With drifting worlds of snow; 
 
 In lambent flushes o'er the skies 
 
 The pulsating aurora flies. 
 
 Here broods the everlasting night. 
 
 Here Zephyr never brings 
 
 His flowery season of delight. 
 
 Here never song-bird sings, 
 
 But shivering in the frozen air, 
 
 In ambush lurks the monstrous bear. 
 
 Along the wind-swept icy shore, 
 
 Where all things else congeal, 
 
 Is heard the far off barking roar 
 
 Of walrus and of seal: 
 
 While on the deep, leviathan 
 
 Heaves his huge bulk through summers wan. 
 
 We two will go where Saturn's rings 
 Whirl round his heart of flame, 
 And where the blazing comet flings 
 Through space beyond a name: 
 6 5
 
 And where Polaris swings in air 
 His playmates of the little Bear. 
 
 Where shooting stars like torches glow, 
 
 And Dog-star fell doth shine: 
 
 Where baleful planets earthward throw 
 
 Their influence malign, 
 
 And star-dust swarms like fiery bees 
 
 Among the maiden Pleiades. 
 
 We'll go where fire, erupted, runs 
 From burning star to star; 
 Where gyrating and seething suns 
 Throw molten worlds afar; 
 Where fierce Arcturus leads the van, 
 And mocks at slow Aldebaran. 
 
 But terror reigns not here alone, 
 
 For Lyra's throbbing strong 
 
 Gives out a grand sweet undertone 
 
 Amid a heaven of song; 
 
 And thus shall strike thy ravished ears 
 
 The music of the heavenly spheres. 
 
 Then plunging through the ocean's swell, 
 
 Beneath the solid land, 
 
 We'll see the sapphire caves where dwell 
 
 The lovely Nereid band, 
 
 And dolphins undulating through 
 
 The twilight floods of deepest blue. 
 
 Though storms above our path may rage, 
 We'll wander, you and I 
 Through groves of wondrous foliage 
 Unwonted to the eye; 
 While brilliant sea-born creatures swim 
 Along the fronded vistas dim. 
 66
 
 We'll seek the swells where Tritons blow 
 
 Their hollow far-heard horns 
 
 In gentle cadence, soft and low, 
 
 On sunny summer morns; 
 
 And see Poseidon sweep along 
 
 Behind sea-horses fierce and strong. 
 
 Men shall be swept to war for thee. 
 
 Shalt hear their stirring cries 
 
 In battle both on land and sea; 
 
 And deeds of high emprise 
 
 Shall make thy fame more fresh and green 
 
 Than Helena's, the Argive queen. 
 
 Wealth shall be thine beyond desire, 
 And gems of every hue. 
 The diamond with its eye of fire 
 Is thine, and sapphire blue. 
 Resplendent then thy form shall shine 
 As Iris with her bow divine. 
 
 And when thy days on earth are o'er 
 
 Thy gentle sprite I'll bring 
 
 To that far happy western shore 
 
 Where reigns eternal spring, 
 
 And brightest sunshine ever smiles 
 
 Above the blest Elysian isles. 
 
 And thou shalt ever hold my love, 
 
 For thee this bosom glows. 
 
 The maid beneath the shield of Jove 
 
 Is safe from fortune's blows. 
 
 O maiden mine, my heart is sore; 
 
 Give me my happiness once more!" 
 
 He ceased, and sombre eyes of dread 
 Plead strongly for recall 
 67
 
 Of that rash wish by which the maid 
 Held him within her thrall. 
 But yet she deemed that he might still 
 In harmless wise her wish fulfil. 
 
 "And art thou he, my lover fond? 
 
 Thou makst a jest of love. 
 
 Can there be aught that lies beyond 
 
 The power of might Jove? 
 
 Shall I, thy handmaid, never see 
 
 Thine all-compelling majesty?" 
 
 "Though puissant in things that deal 
 
 With nature, laws obtain 
 
 Which bind the gods in gyves of steel. 
 
 We have encountered twain. 
 
 An oath sworn by that ebon flood 
 
 Must be fulfilled by every god. 
 
 Stern Fate another law has made. 
 
 That mortal sure must die 
 
 Who sees me passing, when arrayed 
 
 In thunder's panoply. 
 
 By all the love I bear thee now, 
 
 Absolve me from that foolish vow." 
 
 But still the words that Hera spoke 
 
 Were ringing in her ear: 
 
 And still she deemed he would revoke 
 
 His stern decision clear 
 
 Could she but make him understand 
 
 How his resistence only fanned 
 
 The flame of her desire to see 
 That sight, come good or ill; 
 And spite of her mortality, 
 To bend him to her will. 
 
 68
 
 So hardens now her heart again, 
 
 And makes his dearest pleadings vain. 
 
 "Dear lover mine, this breast abounds 
 
 In full affection free, 
 
 And every heartbeat only sounds 
 
 A throbbing call for thee; 
 
 But this desire scorns all control, 
 
 'Tis longing of my inmost soul." 
 
 "Fair maid, thou dost not heed my words. 
 
 I tell thee I am bound. 
 
 Like keenest double-edged swords 
 
 Thine accents pierce and wound 
 
 A heart made languorous by love 
 
 For thee, whom prayers will never move. 
 
 Lo, here I make my last appeal. 
 
 Helpless indeed am I. 
 
 If in thy bosom thou dost feel 
 
 The love thine acts deny, 
 
 Yea, by the love thou bearest me, 
 
 Oh, set me from this promise free." 
 
 But Hera's subtle words had brought 
 
 Their deadly mischief now. 
 
 With eyes cast down as if in thought, 
 
 Serene and placid brow, 
 
 "Fair lord, thou knowest my desire, 
 
 Its due fulfilment I require." 
 
 Then o'er his face displeasure's veil 
 Came like a funeral pall. 
 "Thou stubborn maid, will naught avail? 
 On thee the bolt must fall. 
 But sad and lone this heart will be, 
 O foolish, lovely Semele." 
 69
 
 With look foreshadowing her doom, 
 
 He turns his face away 
 
 From that fair wilful maiden whom 
 
 The gods perverse still sway. 
 
 Then as a meteor in the night 
 
 Is quenched, he vanishes from sight. 
 
 Alarm hath seized the trembling maid 
 
 At his abrupt farewell 
 
 Who erst his partings long delayed, 
 
 In burning words to tell 
 
 How her mere presence filled his soul 
 
 With ecstasy beyond control. 
 
 Then mindful of his parting words 
 
 And ominous despair, 
 
 Her fears, like trenchant flaming swords, 
 
 Pierce through that bosom fair. 
 
 With timid apprehensive eye 
 
 She scans the clear translucent sky. 
 
 Then casts a timorous look around 
 
 Upon the wide expanse, 
 
 But naught in that fair scene is found 
 
 Her terrors to enhance. 
 
 O'er all the smiling grassy vale 
 
 Deep peace and quietude prevail. 
 
 With mounting courage she returns 
 
 Into the flowery maze 
 
 Where every flaming blossom burns 
 
 Sweet incense in her praise, 
 
 And tuneful birds the branches throng 
 
 To charm her with their matin song. 
 
 Enshrined like pearl in rosy shell, 
 To tender visions given 
 
 70
 
 Of him to whom her bosom's swell 
 Brings rapture beyond heaven, 
 She still believes his ardent fire 
 Will grant her inmost heart's desire. 
 
 Within a near-by grove she sees 
 
 A wreath of vapor rise: 
 
 It wavers in the gentle breeze 
 
 Soft as a maiden's sighs, 
 
 As frail and wraith-like doth it seem 
 
 As fabric of a fleeting dream. 
 
 Again are heard those raucous cries, 
 And through the crystal heaven 
 That herald fierce his passage plies, 
 On stormy pinions driven. 
 Wild joy within her bosom swells. 
 Jove's swift arrival he foretells. 
 
 Her lover's custom had been such 
 That on each happy day, 
 Forerunner of his near approach, 
 Some token bright and gay 
 Was dropped before her snowy feet, 
 Twin lilies meshed in grasses sweet. 
 
 But, stooping from the heavens down, 
 
 Still nearer and more near, 
 
 On that fair head he drops a crown 
 
 Of cypress branches drear. 
 
 Alarmed, bewildered now, the maid 
 
 Sinks to the earth all sore dismayed. 
 
 Then as her wandering glances range 
 From place to place, she sees 
 A strange and mystifying change 
 Among the shivering trees. 
 71
 
 The tiny wisp of vapor blue 
 
 Has spread and shows a darker hue. 
 
 With eyes as of a frightened child 
 
 She sees it growing still, 
 
 And now it turns and writhes, as wild 
 
 As thunder-clouds that fill 
 
 The wide horizon with the storm 
 
 On summer evenings close and warm. 
 
 But see! that threatening form dilates. 
 
 More broad it seems, and higher. 
 
 Its dusky surface scintillates 
 
 With tiny sparks of fire; 
 
 Like summer marshes seen o' nights 
 
 Twinkling with myriad fire-fly lights. 
 
 And now there comes a heavy moan 
 
 Like thunder's rumbling jar, 
 
 And rushing sounds that speak alone 
 
 Of tempests heard afar. 
 
 Some force resistless writhes and rends 
 
 Within that cloud, and death portends. 
 
 In terror wild the maiden turns, 
 
 But scarce three steps away 
 
 When through the ebon cloud there burns 
 
 A blue and crackling ray. 
 
 Alas, alas, for Semele! 
 
 She's seen Jove's awful majesty. 
 
 Then with a blinding glare, and wail 
 Of wind, the tempest leaps 
 O'er all the place. Across the vale 
 The swirling blackness sweeps. 
 And lurid flames in wrath devour 
 The hapless maiden's secret bower. 
 72
 
 Never on any land that lies 
 Beneath the shining sun, 
 Or any sea whose waters rise 
 Xo greet the alluring moon, 
 Shall wistful mortal vision see 
 The martyred maiden, Semele. 
 
 Sweet winds came rushing down the vale 
 And swept the clouds away, 
 Revealing Jove distraught and pale, 
 With features drawn and gray; 
 For Sorrow deep within his heart 
 Had planted her corroding dart. 
 
 With fathomless sad eyes of ruth 
 For her thus blindly driven 
 By innocence and wilful youth 
 Athwart the laws of heaven, 
 He gazed around as if to find 
 Some token memory-enshrined. 
 
 Upon the blackened fire-scarred ground 
 
 A lovely infant shows 
 
 His death-still form, which that discrowned 
 
 And slaughtered mother's throes 
 
 Had left to mighty Jove to prove 
 
 How ardent was her tender love. 
 
 Then through his heart swept such a pang 
 As only gods can feel. 
 Again within his senses rang 
 Her piteous appeal. 
 Since then all bards commandeth he 
 To sing her immortality. 
 73
 
 Then swiftly to the infant goes 
 
 And breathes celestial breath 
 
 Into his lips, and overthrows 
 
 The greedy pallid Death. 
 
 The infant moves and gasps and smiles, 
 
 And soon his father's heart beguiles. 
 
 Now Jove calls Hermes to his side, 
 
 And bids nor rest nor stay 
 
 Till he in Nysa's valleys wide 
 
 The smiling child might lay; 
 
 And bid the Nymphs and Naiads there 
 
 Give him their loving watchful care. 
 
 Thus through pale death and terrors grim, 
 
 And anguished throes of fear, 
 
 The infant came into the dim 
 
 Sad world about us here. 
 
 The son of Jove, a god was he, 
 
 But mortal-framed like Semele. 
 
 Of all the names about the earth 
 By Fame's clear trumpet blown, 
 Of mortal or of heavenly birth, 
 Is none more widely known, 
 Even to the farthest western sea, 
 Than BACCHUS, son of Semele. 
 
 74
 
 REVERY 
 
 When earth lies dead beneath the wintry sky, 
 
 And sparkling stars gleam icily on high, 
 
 And alabaster paths, bediamonded, 
 
 Shriek loudly 'neath the passer's hurrying tread, 
 
 And restless horses breathe twin jets of steam 
 
 That turn to silver in the moon's cold beam, 
 
 And frozen stillness, with her pinions furled, 
 
 Broods o'er the silent gem-encrusted world, 
 
 I sit within the glowing ingle nook 
 
 With pipe and some beloved poet's book: 
 
 And as the gray wood blossoms into flame, 
 
 My mind turns backward, and old pictures frame 
 
 Themselves anew before my dreamy eyes. 
 
 Again I see New England hillsides rise. 
 
 Before me slopes the lichened granite ledge 
 
 With huckleberries all about the edge: 
 
 And shyly peering from their leafy screen, 
 
 The scarlet globes of shining wintergreen. 
 
 Again my eager nostrils can discern 
 
 The spicy fragrance of the rare sweet fern. 
 
 With quick contraction of the heart I feel 
 
 The clasp of tiny fingers, which would steal 
 
 Into my own, and sweet adoring eyes 
 
 Upraised to mine, with childhood's wisdom wise, 
 
 And sunny curls, ah, gentle little maid! 
 
 With whom through all my childish hours I played, 
 
 The winter's snow and summer's blossoms spread 
 
 Their amaranthine white and gold and red 
 
 Above thy quiet bosom, buried deep 
 
 These many years, in the long dreamless sleep. 
 
 Beyond our knowledge is the reason why 
 This one is spared, while that one's stricken cry 
 Peals to the shivering stars. The power above 
 (Whose very name and nature must be love,) 
 75
 
 Which moulds our plastic being day by day, 
 As hand of potter moulds the facile clay, 
 Like that same potter treats the fragile ware. 
 This lovely vase, of graceful form and fair, 
 Is dashed as soon as made. That other one, 
 (No fairer to our seeing,) has begun 
 A life of wide-spread usefulness, and high 
 Sweet service to mankind, but why, oh why? 
 
 Far in the shadowy woodlands we explored, 
 
 And found the canny squirrel's wintry hoard. 
 
 And eagerly we seized the sudden prize 
 
 Of nuts, and rushed away with joyful cries. 
 
 But suddenly the maiden sees the pain 
 
 And sorrow of the squirrel, who in vain 
 
 Has labored weary hours 'gainst winter's need. 
 
 Then with eyes dropping purest pearls, she'd plead 
 
 Against my rougher boyish mood, till I 
 
 Felt sorry too, and forthwith back we'd hie, 
 
 Retracing all our steps through meadows sweet 
 
 With thyme and marjoram about our feet; 
 
 And when we reached the winding shady lane. 
 
 The squirrel's granary was filled again. 
 
 Or else about the old farmhouse we'd play, 
 And watch the tall and slender well-sweep sway 
 In summer winds, and rattle in the gale. 
 And when some elder came with empty pail, 
 'Twould make a stately bow, precise and prim, 
 Down even to the well-curb's echoing brim. 
 Never were we too busy at our play 
 To take refreshment from the bucket gray. 
 Ah, well I mind the long delicious sips 
 Of sparkling water from its velvet lips. 
 
 Anon we'd seek the ancient cider mill, 
 Where in its darkling shadows lingered still 
 76
 
 Grim dragons, high above or underneath, 
 
 So that we crept about with bated breath. 
 
 But when the autumn came, in his slow round 
 
 The patient horse the odorous apples ground. 
 
 Then she and I with tiny cup in hand 
 
 Sought out the wooden spout whence flowed the 
 
 bland 
 
 Sweet life-blood of the fruit. With vessels filled, 
 We'd creep to where, with cautious fingers skilled, 
 We found sweet home-made cakes of rapturous 
 
 smell, 
 
 In the deep earthen jar we knew so well. 
 Then underneath the ever-whispering trees, 
 Surrounded by the golden-banded bees, 
 What wild and joyous banqueting was ours 
 Among the shade and sunshine and the flowers! 
 
 Now to the child-alluring pond we've flown, 
 
 Where all the marshy borders are bestrewn 
 
 With velvet cat-tails, and the iris blue 
 
 In fascinating clumps of color grew. 
 
 Here sweet winds waft our laden ships to sea, 
 
 Seeking great store of gold and ivory 
 
 In far, dim-visioned, glorious foreign lands, 
 
 And isles of spice begirt with coral strands: 
 
 Till from the grasp of Fancy's visions deep, 
 
 We're startled by the frog's portentous leap. 
 
 Far down the sunny field, along the wall 
 
 Where whistling thrush and strident cat-bird call, 
 
 We watch with curious eyes the antics queer 
 
 Of a small family of woodchucks near: 
 
 Till some quick motion frights them to their lair, 
 
 When presto! all we see is empty air. 
 
 Alas! like marmots in their vanishing, 
 My childhood's dreams unto themselves take wing. 
 For now the fire is burning low at last, 
 77
 
 And all my memories of the golden past, 
 Fade with the fading flames, and die away 
 Along with them into cold ashes gray. 
 
 Sweet, tiny maiden, in thy narrow bed 
 Beneath the beechen boughs, and garlanded 
 With trailing vines, and flowers of every hue, 
 Kept bright and fresh by heaven's impearling dew, 
 I know not if that power which rules us all 
 Were not more kind to thee. The stony wall 
 Of custom hems us in on every side; 
 Surrounded, we, by lying pompous pride. 
 And grief and sorrow and temptation sore, 
 And sin and pain and death forevermore. 
 Whether this life or thine own peaceful rest, 
 I know not, oh, I know not, which is best.
 
 YELLOWSTONE CANYON 
 
 Not in the blue Ionian isles 
 Nor Arthur's island home, 
 Nor on that bay where Capri smiles 
 Beneath Vesuvius' dome, 
 
 Doth such a dream of beauty burst 
 On the astonished eye 
 As in this wondrous chasm, lost 
 From paradise on high. 
 
 Well may the troubled soul adore 
 And worship at its shrine, 
 Where beauty and majestic power 
 Of grandeur intertwine. 
 
 Abysses smitten deep below 
 Glow with such hues as vie 
 With Iris' myriad colored bow 
 Arching across the sky. 
 
 Gulf beneath gulf, the golden walls 
 Yawn pitiless and clear, 
 Till on the dizzy brain there falls 
 A solemn awe and fear. 
 
 Far down within the lowest deep 
 
 A tiny thread of green 
 
 Marks where the battling torrents sweep 
 
 These glowing walls between. 
 
 Yonder across the chasm bright, 
 A filmy, lacy veil 
 
 Drifting in dazzling gleaming white, 
 Seems swayed by every gale. 
 
 And high above, a silver mist 
 79
 
 Where glistening droplets shine, 
 By magic rays of sunlight kissed 
 To coloring divine. 
 
 O fairy fall, behind thy veil 
 Of silver, there lies furled 
 A power to make the spirit quail, 
 Strength to disrupt a world. 
 
 Adown thy shelving roof on high 
 Arrowy currents gleam ; 
 Swift as the meteor through the sky 
 They seek the rocky brim, 
 
 And with a royal plunge they soar 
 Down to the shuddering deeps 
 Where blinding chaos evermore 
 His boisterous revel keeps. 
 
 Relentless as the gates of death, 
 And pitiless as hell, 
 Woe to the man who feels thy breath 
 Or rides upon thy swell! 
 
 For him this life is but a span 
 Briefer than beat of wing 
 With which thy screaming eagles fan 
 The spray thou dost upfling. 
 
 O canyon beautiful, there rests 
 Within my memory still 
 The vision of thy sunlit crests, 
 Thine emerald waters chill. 
 
 And over all, the tenderness 
 Of summer's golden haze, 
 While every slope the eye doth bless 
 With color's lovely maze. 
 80
 
 Ruby and pearl and amethyst, 
 And sapphire, and the sheen 
 Of ruddy gold, no tint is missed 
 In all the world, I ween. 
 
 Never on any sea or shore, 
 Whatever light may shine, 
 Or sunlight or when, arching o'er, 
 The moon and stars combine, 
 
 Shall any scene the earth doth hold 
 Smite so enchantingly 
 As that when first I saw thy bold 
 Bewildering harmony. 
 
 Softer than glance of maiden's eyes 
 Thy loveliness doth seem. 
 Enshrined in memory it lies, 
 Fair as youth's wistful dream. 
 
 81
 
 INDIAN SUMMER 
 
 O'er all the earth a golden mist 
 By Autumn's hand is hung. 
 From every tree her lips have kissed 
 Abroad her banner's flung. 
 
 And yonder, in among the gold, 
 A scarlet flame I see, 
 Where that young maple doth unfold 
 His dying heart to me. 
 
 Along the forest's edge embanked, 
 In keenest rivalry, 
 
 The sumac's serried hosts are prankt 
 In gorgeous livery. 
 
 And over all the riot bold 
 Of fitful color's blaze, 
 The sun, with level rays of gold 
 Pours amethystine haze. 
 
 As the wild swan's lone melody 
 Floats up when death is nigh, 
 Nature her color symphony 
 Unfolds ere summer die. 
 
 Like fleeting pleasure's lovely face 
 Summer must surely be, 
 Showing her most alluring grace 
 Just as she turns to flee. 
 
 82
 
 LINES WRITTEN AT INDIAN MOUND 
 PARK 
 
 Far in the dim unstoried past, 
 Of which no legend tells, 
 These tumuli, with labors vast, 
 Were reared o'er cryptic cells. 
 
 Upon this bold projecting crest, 
 Where all the breezes fanned 
 The grasses growing o'er their rest, 
 Repose that mystic band. 
 
 Here the long quiet dreamless sleep, 
 Whose waking troubles still 
 The human heart, with questions deep, 
 Brought balm for every ill. 
 
 The old and wise, the young and fair, 
 Were gathered here at last, 
 And found relief from earthly care, 
 In that long distant past. 
 
 And who of us shall say tonight 
 What longings strange and dim, 
 What wistful yearnings toward the light, 
 Midst terrors vague and grim, 
 
 Led them to this enchanted spot 
 Where, haply, their sad eyes 
 Amid the sunset's glories caught 
 A hint of paradise? 
 
 Wide spreading underneath them sweep, 
 Fair as sweet Fancy's dream, 
 Forests and vales and valleys, deep 
 Embowered along the stream 
 83
 
 The mystic stream that takes its rise 
 Far within northern lands, 
 And ends where summer never dies, 
 Along palm-shaded strands. 
 
 Sweet be their sleep! Unknown to them 
 Grim failure's withering blight; 
 The dull and sordid cares that hem 
 The spirit's upward flight. 
 
 Sweet be their sleep! As wild and free 
 As soaring skylark's song, 
 Dismayed their simple souls would be 
 Among our modern throng. 
 
 Sweet be their sleep ! 'Neath sun and dew, 
 In wind and starlight chill, 
 They dream the long bright summers through 
 Upon their sacred hill.
 
 YULE-TIDE 
 
 The King of Yule he strides abroad 
 With voice as blithe and gay 
 As when he ruled the festal board 
 In bluff King Harry's day. 
 
 A hale old soul is our King Yule, 
 For countless ages he 
 Has spread his kindly hearty rule 
 Over all lands that be. 
 
 His mighty feasts in days of old 
 Were shared by mighty men, 
 But round his board true hearts of gold 
 Still gather now as then. 
 
 What though the days of stricken field 
 And deeds at arms are gone? 
 What though with sword and spear and shield 
 No battle now is won? 
 
 Stout hearts must bear the brunt of blows 
 Keener than sword or spear; 
 Undaunted souls face sterner foes 
 Than mail-clad cavalier. 
 
 The times are changed, but still the flower 
 Of knighthood burgeons free, 
 And he is blessed who has the dower 
 Of truth and bravery. 
 
 So, like our sires of old, may we 
 With joyous hearts and kind, 
 Engage in love and amity 
 Where yule-tide wreaths are twined. 
 
 May every soul in Christendom 
 Be gladdened by the ray 
 Of Bethlehem's bright star that shone 
 On Christ his own birth-day. 
 85
 
 TO MARGUERITE 
 (On the occasion of her debut) 
 
 Oft in the sunset's golden light 
 
 My wandering spirit strays 
 
 Through smiling gardens' pathways, bright 
 
 With all their flowery blaze. 
 
 And straying mid the blossomings 
 With dream-enchanted eyes, 
 I muse on all heart-easing things 
 The flowers symbolize. 
 
 The rose's fragrant bosom glows 
 
 With love's unquenched desire, 
 
 While through the lily's veins there flows 
 
 A spiritual fire. 
 
 To the forget-me-not is given 
 Remembrance of the past. 
 The violet's eyes are blue as heaven, 
 Sweet to the very last. 
 
 The hyacinth's the child of woes; 
 Narcissus is self-love. 
 The cloying sweets of tuberose 
 To drowsy languor move. 
 
 The orchid is a stately dame 
 Of arrogance supreme. 
 The poppy, with her scarlet flame, 
 Brings many a lovely dream. 
 
 Carnation's beauty is complete; 
 The pansy's thoughtful still. 
 86
 
 Who loves not in his heart the sweet, 
 Downglancing daffodil? 
 
 But still I know not what fair flower 
 Shall typify to me 
 
 Bright friendship's fascinating power 
 Through all the time to be. 
 
 In vain I search my garden gay, 
 When, lo! here at my feet, 
 Just budding out this very day, 
 Behold, the ''Marguerite"!
 
 ALONGSHORE 
 
 Ho for the rough waves dashing! 
 Ho for my island home, 
 Where racing breakers threshing, 
 Leave wakes of beaded foam! 
 
 Where in the wild March weather 
 Spindrift and foam together 
 Tap at the window pane. 
 Unheeding rein or tether 
 These birds of wildest feather 
 Seek entrance here in vain. 
 
 Brightly the high sun shineth 
 Over a flowing sea. 
 No mortal e'er divineth 
 How great its glories be! 
 Silver and gold and azure 
 Mixed in no earthly measure 
 Give hint of mystic treasure 
 Where Nereids dance in glee. 
 
 But when the sun is sunken 
 Below the watery rim. 
 And all its light is shrunken 
 To silver gleamings dim, 
 Cruel and ruthless is the sea 
 As veiled destiny. 
 
 Now creeping o'er the ocean 
 In slow unhurried motion, 
 Comes the mist demon's frown. 
 With wrack of clouds low-lying, 
 Wind-twisted vapors flying, 
 And far-heard sea birds crying, 
 The lonely night comes down.
 
 Still, though unseen, the surges 
 Beat at the rock that scourges 
 And drives them to the main; 
 While winds wail round the gables 
 As did, in ancient fables, 
 Unshriven souls in pain. 
 
 But wind and wave and weather 
 All merge their sounds together 
 Into a song of rest, 
 And sleep, the blissful maiden, 
 Gathers the sorrow-laden 
 Soul to her quiet breast.
 
 SPRING SONG 
 
 My soul is swung 
 Like sweet bells rung 
 In mellow limpid peals, 
 This springtime day 
 When blithe and gay 
 The earth in transport reels. 
 
 The grasses peep 
 
 From slumber deep, 
 
 And smile to meet the sun: 
 
 The new buds swell 
 
 In wood and dell, 
 
 And blossoms every one. 
 
 The young woods show 
 
 A tender glow 
 
 Of delicatest green; 
 
 While through and through, 
 
 On branch and bough 
 
 The sunlight pours between. 
 
 And from the earth, 
 
 A kindling birth, 
 
 The dainty dwellers spring 
 
 Who fill our cup 
 
 With pleasure up 
 
 In life's new blossoming. 
 
 Now over all 
 The seneschal 
 
 Of spring's awakening days, 
 The gentle rain, 
 Brings in its train 
 Sweet Flora's lovely maze, 
 90
 
 The harebell blue, 
 
 The tender hue 
 
 On fern and mandrake set, 
 
 Anemone, 
 
 But chiefly thee, 
 
 springtime violet! 
 
 From tree to tree 
 
 Their ecstacy 
 
 The trilling chorus pour, 
 
 And swell their throats 
 
 With dulcet notes 
 
 Of rapture o'er and o'er. 
 
 Along the shore 
 
 Where evermore 
 
 The willows bend and sway, 
 
 Each velvet bud 
 
 Stirs in the blood 
 
 A springtime roundelay. 
 
 The shoreward crew 
 
 Whose shrill ado 
 
 Is heard both near and far, 
 
 Redouble all 
 
 Their piping call 
 
 Beneath the evening star. 
 
 And when the gleam 
 Of Dian's beam 
 Comes like a spirit's kiss, 
 My senses reel, 
 
 1 seem to feel 
 
 The Latmian shepherd's bliss.
 
 A POET'S HEART 
 
 Within a vale of storied Argolis, 
 
 Where lost Mycenae stood 
 
 In other age, but now in this 
 
 Grown to a tangled wood, 
 
 A poet strayed through leafy nave and aisle, 
 
 And thought on life's vicissitudes the while. 
 
 Over the solemn hush and solitude 
 
 The year's fresh-opening hand 
 
 Had led the shining multitude 
 
 Of flowers, while many a band 
 
 Of joyous birds were carolling away 
 
 In blithesome jargoning the happy day. 
 
 In one fair glade young spring in glee had set 
 
 Her daintiest darlings down 
 
 Anenome and violet 
 
 And daffodils, to crown 
 
 A slope where slender harebells' trembling fears 
 
 Made mournful music for the fairies' ears. 
 
 Hither the poet came. In his wide eyes 
 
 Surprised delight doth shine. 
 
 More lovely than his far surmise 
 
 Is Flora's secret shrine. 
 
 So lies him down among the blossoms gay 
 
 To watch the feathered choir make holiday. 
 
 The interchanging play of light and shade, 
 The gently whispering breeze, 
 The slumbrous, booming anthem, made 
 By legioned restless bees, 
 
 All lured him down the pathway smooth and steep 
 Into the quiet realms of grateful sleep. 
 92
 
 In frolic mood a band of wandering fays, 
 
 Chance-led along the dale, 
 
 Came gliding down the golden rays 
 
 That pierced the leafy veil. 
 
 They spied the poet in his grassy nest, 
 
 Where tranced he lay, enwrapped in visions blest. 
 
 With shrieks of sprightly joy and merriment 
 Unheard of human ears, 
 The swarming brood, on mischief bent, 
 With laughing gibes and jeers, 
 Invade his person lying hid from view, 
 And search and probe his being through and 
 through. 
 
 With immaterial fingers swift and bold 
 
 They grope within his breast, 
 
 And drag to light with glee untold 
 
 His bosom's gentle guest, 
 
 Filled to the brim with grief for human smart, 
 
 That tender, mystic thing, the poet's heart. 
 
 Forthwith the boisterous rout by ruddy shame 
 
 Were hushed to musings mild, 
 
 For hovering round about them came 
 
 Full many a lovely child 
 
 Of Fancy, from the violated shrine 
 
 Thus rudely entered without warning sign. 
 
 Dream faces, startled fancies deep, 
 
 Their shrinking forms display, 
 
 And shy and gentle thoughts that creep 
 
 Back from the garish day, 
 
 Scared by the hate and scorn to all things shown 
 
 That dare to live for beauty's sake alone. 
 
 93
 
 The thirst that drives the poet his life long 
 
 To drink at beauty's well; 
 
 The ear that hears the spirit song 
 
 That never tongue may tell; 
 
 The prophet eye, that sees the dawning light 
 
 Expunge the errors of the spirit's night. 
 
 The spirit pitiful that sees the blind 
 
 Mad welter in the gloom, 
 
 That cries a warning to mankind, 
 
 And shares Cassandra's doom. 
 
 Whose eyes compassionate, since time began, 
 
 Mourn the sad edict set on mortal man. 
 
 The spirit militant, that holds the truth 
 
 Dearer than life or love; 
 
 Whom neither hate nor serpent-tooth 
 
 Of calumny may move; 
 
 But steadfast still, whatever fate may send 
 
 Unterrified dies fighting to the end. 
 
 And many more of gentle words and deeds, 
 
 Unnumbered as the sands, 
 
 The fays might see, and each one pleads 
 
 With mutely folded hands 
 
 That they might be restored to that dear breast 
 
 Where neither hate nor fear nor scorn infest. 
 
 Ashamed, discomfited, the fairy band, 
 
 Each seeking to atone 
 
 For what his desecrating hand 
 
 Had wrought against the lone 
 
 And unprotected mortal lying there, 
 
 Strove eagerly their mischief to repair. 
 
 And one brought heartsease for his spirit's balm. 
 Another bringeth rue 
 And poppies red, whose essence calm 
 Doth peaceful sleep renew. 
 94
 
 One doth anoint his head most daintily 
 With oil distilled from gums of Araby; 
 
 Whose virtue was, thereafter he might hear 
 
 The swaying bluebell ring; 
 
 The plaintive words that through the year 
 
 The nightingale doth sing; 
 
 And know the meaning deep of every sound 
 
 Of bird or beast, above or underground. 
 
 Another whispers in his sleeping ears 
 
 Old tales from fairy lore, 
 
 The hopes and fears, the smiles and tears 
 
 Of lovers long of yore: 
 
 And bids the poet as he farther strays 
 
 To sing these songs of long forgotten days. 
 
 When every fairy wight had done his share, 
 
 These spirits wild and free, 
 
 Impalpable as crystal air, 
 
 Fled where no man may see, 
 
 And left the poet there the legend tells 
 
 To be awakened by the floral bells. 
 
 95
 
 AFTER A LATE SNOW STORM 
 
 My heart is saddened by the voiceless crying 
 Where prone along the ground 
 The stricken forms of early flowers are lying 
 In icy fetters bound. 
 
 O Springtime, else so tender and so loving, 
 Why should thy changeful breath, 
 A blight across the vernal landscape moving, 
 Do these, thy babes, to death? 
 
 Demeter, whither were thy footsteps wending? 
 Heard'st not thy children's cry 
 Wlien winter's squadrons, in a host unending. 
 Swept from the northern sky? 
 
 Alone and helpless now the flowers are falling, 
 Smit by the fatal blast; 
 
 The spirit of the snow about them her appalling 
 And chill embrace has cast. 
 
 Alas! within the alabaster masses 
 
 We see each pallid face. 
 
 The while its dying fragrance sweetly passes, 
 
 Like prayer for final grace. 
 
 The earth, so prodigal, will bring fresh flowers 
 
 To ease us of our pain ; 
 
 In sunny meadows and in lonely bowers 
 
 The buds will swell again. 
 
 But to our saddened memory is clinging 
 Thought of those faces wan, 
 And sore regret our inmost heart is wringing 
 For bloom untimely gone. 
 96
 
 IN THE TRACK OF A FOREST FIRE 
 
 Upon the bleak and drifting shore 
 
 The low wind-tortured trees, 
 
 Mishandled by the storms of yore, 
 
 With gnarled and bulbous knees, 
 
 Grotesque, fantastic, sprawl along the sand, 
 
 (Withered and sere 
 
 In the sunlight here,) 
 
 Distorted, goblin keepers of a lonely barren strand. 
 
 Against a background desolate 
 The dreary picture lies, 
 Where sylvan hosts bewail their fate, 
 Upraising to the skies 
 
 Gaunt blackened arms that tell their sudden doom. 
 (A holocaust 
 By the demons tossed 
 
 To sweep them all together to their crackling fiery 
 tomb.) 
 
 Yet here, among these naked spires, 
 Where death his wrath doth wield, 
 Sweet Nature's force that never tires 
 Has decked the stricken field 
 With tangled labyrinth of bush and vine, 
 (Bramble and brier 
 Those sons of the fire), 
 
 With eglantine and maiden hair and brake and 
 columbine. 
 
 The high sun strikes out tender greens 
 
 Along a gentle hill 
 
 Sloping where purple iris leans 
 
 Above a hidden rill 
 
 That chuckles ceaselessly as on we pass, 
 
 (With joyous note 
 
 97
 
 In its reedy throat), 
 
 And laughs in bubbling music as it ripples through 
 the grass. 
 
 Blithe spring has sown both far and wide 
 Her gems with lavish hand, 
 Beneath the rustling herbage hide 
 A shy and fragrant band 
 Of pink arbutus denizens, replete 
 (Through all the years 
 Our dearest dears), 
 
 With memories of joys that fled on pinions wild and 
 fleet. 
 
 Yon swelling, golden, mossy knoll 
 Thick dappled o'er with red 
 Had been my dearest childish goal 
 In years that long are dead: 
 For there the prim and dapper wintergreen, 
 (Filling the air 
 With a perfume rare), 
 
 Like dainty woodland belle arrayed in scarlet beads 
 is seen. 
 
 And love dwells here. Among the bloom 
 Where upstart aspens dance, 
 Gay fawns, with eyes of liquid gloom, 
 In youthful rapture prance, 
 While in some shadowy nook the yearning doe, 
 (O fawns, 'tis well 
 She's the sentinel!), 
 
 Alert and watchful, standing guard, protects from 
 every foe. 
 
 A little soundless fluttering 
 Within the fallen wood 
 Reveals the pheasant hovering 
 Her leaf-brown, fluffy brood. 
 98
 
 They peer about, these mites of recent birth, 
 (But at a sound 
 Not a chick is found.) 
 
 At all the strange unwonted things in this new- 
 entered earth. 
 
 Thus love and life and beauty come 
 
 Where desolation grim 
 
 Uprears her banner. They who roam 
 
 With eyes not blind and dim 
 
 By reason of the selfish tears that flow, 
 
 (Alas how few 
 
 Have the vision true!) 
 
 May see the hidden benison behind the clouds of 
 
 99
 
 MY STAR 
 
 The night wind whispers its story, 
 My shallop seems to go 
 In paths of astral glory 
 Reduplicate below. 
 
 The sense of the great world resting 
 
 Comes like a slumber-song 
 
 To my weary soul, attesting 
 
 How sweet is the night and strong. 
 
 Sweet to assuage our losses, 
 Strong to relieve our pain ; 
 Sweet to make light our crosses, 
 Strong to revive again. 
 
 In the shallop idly drifting 
 Over the dim lake's breast, 
 My spirit's voice uplifting 
 Gives a desolate cry for rest. 
 
 When, lo! from the stellar spaces 
 Cometh a star-crowned wraith. 
 She hovers about me, and places 
 Her hands on my brow, and saith, 
 
 "O mortal compounded of spirit 
 Imprisoned in vestments of clay, 
 Remember 'tis thine to inherit 
 A part of the infinite day. 
 
 In the struggle unending that rages 
 Twixt man and angel in thee, 
 Forget not the terrible wages 
 Of weaklings who falter and flee.
 
 Thy spirit thou shalt strengthen 
 By conquest of sorrow and fear, 
 As the days of labor lengthen, 
 And the time of reaping draws near. 
 
 And when the final evangel 
 Shall visit thy mortal frame, 
 Releasing thy sin-vexed angel, 
 It shall, rise like a living flame, 
 
 And soar to the empyrean 
 A part of the light divine. 
 Loud, loud shall be then thy paean. 
 O mortal, what visions are thine!" 
 
 Then bending above me lowly, 
 Sweet as the hope of heaven, 
 Three kisses pure and holy 
 Unto my lips were given. 
 
 The first hath brought life's sweetness 
 It came like a rushing song: 
 The second in its completeness 
 Hath heartened and made me strong. 
 
 But or ever the tale be given 
 By my lips of the last of the three, 
 May my dastard heart be riven 
 And my soul in jeopardy: 
 
 For across the abysmal distance 
 On some shimmering night afar, 
 My spirit in wild insistence 
 Shall pierce to that maiden star. 
 
 101
 
 THE PRIMAL STRAIN 
 
 I hold it true that every man 
 Has deep within that breast of his 
 A strain that reaches back to Pan, 
 And stirs at woodland mysteries. 
 
 What though the mind be cultured-filled ? 
 The tiny drop of Satyr blood 
 To riotous unrest is thrilled 
 At call of that old pagan god. 
 
 The chance-heard whistle of the thrush, 
 Odor of meadows after rain, 
 Striking the senses mid the rush 
 And turmoil of the strife for gain, 
 
 Will in a pulse-throb sweep away 
 Stone walls that seem to touch the sky, 
 And lead us where the breezes play, 
 And deep alluring shadows lie. 
 
 Or where the loud-complaining brook 
 Tumbles in riot down the glen, 
 While shelving bank and foamy nook 
 Conceal the speckled denizen. 
 
 As merry April leads along 
 The bright procession of the hours, 
 A homesick longing, fierce and strong, 
 Tugs mightily, with growing powers, 
 
 Upon those cords that lead adown 
 Into the red heart's central core, 
 And waken primal instincts, sown 
 Within the bosom long of yore. 
 
 102
 
 Happy is he whose wistful eye 
 May gaze once more on field and hill, 
 And all the thousand charms descry 
 That Nature's tiniest spaces fill. 
 
 For him red blood and thews of steel, 
 And joy of life throughout the year, 
 Pleasures that they alone can feel 
 Who live to Nature's bosom near. 
 
 For when the final tale is told, 
 
 It comes to this man's strength, at best, 
 
 And spirit free and uncontrolled, 
 
 Find common source within her breast. 
 
 The men of brain, of bone and brawn, 
 High thinkers they and men of worth, 
 The fruitage of the world's new dawn, 
 Shall suckled be by Mother Earth. 
 
 103
 
 SPRING IDYL 
 
 Out in the sweet May morning, 
 Yvette, the world adorning, 
 And I, dull duty scorning, 
 Haste where the red gods call. 
 'Tis spring, when nothing single 
 Can be where love-notes mingle 
 But feels his blood a-tingle, 
 And finds his heart in thrall. 
 
 Beneath the spreading birches 
 Whereon the linnet perches 
 And sings a song that searches 
 And thrills us through and through. 
 What bliss beyond comparing 
 When, with a sudden daring, 
 Spite of the linnet staring. 
 Each to the other drew. 
 
 Our hearts a carol singing, 
 Love glances flashing, winging, 
 Aside all caution flinging, 
 Our lips in kisses met. 
 Ah, spite of years of sadness 
 And toil, the piercing gladness, 
 The ecstasy and madness 
 That thrilled me, thrills me yet. 
 
 Then through enchanted spaces 
 Where sylph-like floral faces 
 Smile up in dainty graces, 
 We wander hand in hand : 
 Till in the tender gloaming, 
 Our footsteps earthward roaming, 
 We come, like ringdoves homing, 
 Back from love's fairy land. 
 104
 
 ABSENCE 
 
 I sit where star-crowned Shelley smiles 
 And rapturous Keats displays 
 His sweetest, most alluring wiles 
 Before my listless gaze. 
 
 The mighty minds of ages gone, 
 Each one a flaming light 
 Xo lead my spirit up and on, 
 Unheeded are tonight. 
 
 Reproachfully they all look down, 
 Giants of song and tale, 
 And watch me sitting here alone, 
 While Fancy's crew assail. 
 
 In order is the household all. 
 In wonted place each thing, 
 Yet down the stairway, past the tall 
 Old clock, a whispering 
 
 Like filmy shadow of a sound 
 Heard by the spirit's ear, 
 Pervades the air and hovers round 
 My lonely vigil here. 
 
 And footfalls light as fairy feet 
 Along a rose-leaf way, 
 When in their flowery revels meet 
 Those dainty sprites and gay. 
 
 And scarce-heard rustlings seem to swing 
 The stirring drapery, 
 More faint than whir of linnet's wing 
 Among the shrubbery. 
 
 105
 
 A subtle presence through the room, 
 Less palpable and dense 
 Than far-blown sweets from unseen bloom, 
 A sense within the sense, 
 
 Brings to my soul a nameless cheer, 
 Until I seem to see 
 Her spirit brooding o'er me here 
 Who holds my heart in fee. 
 
 1 06
 
 SUNSET LIGHTS 
 
 Along the deepening vale of life, 
 As sunset's shadows longer grow, 
 Fair memories come tumultuous, rife 
 With dreams and hopes of long ago. 
 
 And through the sombre darkness here 
 Pierce sunny gleams from days gone by 
 That lighten all the passage drear 
 With youthful joys and triumphs high. 
 
 And so the downward sloping path 
 Holds neither fear nor dread for me; 
 Since life's most fragrant aftermath 
 Grows sweeter as the seasons flee. 
 
 What though the head be bowed and gray, 
 While winter's cold and summer's heat 
 Have tamed the active limbs, yet may 
 The heart to youthful measures beat. 
 
 The magi spell of field and wood, 
 The sunset with its red and gold, 
 The brooklet with its rushing flood, 
 May charm as keenly as of old. 
 
 And when this throbbing heart forgets 
 In swifter flight its blood to send 
 At sight of April's violets, 
 'Twill be the end, 'twill be the end. 
 
 107
 
 SONNETS
 
 KEATS 
 
 More sweet than Hyblan honey is thy song. 
 Like clean-cut cameos thy pictures stand. 
 Be sure the Muse with her own plastic hand 
 Attuned thy lyre, and by her spirit strong 
 Thine own was led beyond the common throng, 
 Along Arcadian vales, to that fair land 
 Where visions dwell, and there at her command 
 The speech of gods was given to thy tongue. 
 What Nymphs and Dryads overran thy dream! 
 What ecstasy of longing hast thou known ! 
 Along what rose-embowered Latmian stream 
 Were dulcet-bosomed Naiads to thee shown 
 As, straying 'neath thy Cynthia's witching beam, 
 She stooped from heaven and took thee for her 
 
 ill
 
 SHELLEY 
 
 Thou fiery spirit of the upper air, 
 
 Like thine own skylark pulsing loud in song, 
 
 Stern fighter for the weak against the strong, 
 
 Our earthly praise were least of all thy care. 
 
 Intrepid spirit that would keenly dare 
 
 On wings of morning soar the worlds among, 
 
 With that sidereal host dost thou belong 
 
 About Orion and the northern Bear. 
 
 Clear beauty and the spirit's life are thine. 
 
 Crowned art thou evermore with diadem 
 
 Of lambent flame, whose jeweled lightnings shine 
 
 Across the years oblivion to condemn. 
 
 The whole world in thy music dost entwine, 
 
 Each word a song and every song a gem. 
 
 112
 
 MILTON 
 
 As some tremendous Himalayan peak 
 At sunset throws its splendor o'er the world, 
 Thy lone and austere genius towers impearled 
 By light of time which gilds the summit bleak. 
 Our trembling mortal spirits, frail and weak, 
 Shrink back from pitchy blackness tossed and 
 
 swirled 
 
 In that vast cauldron down to which were hurled 
 Archangels bright who dared God's power to seek. 
 Yet far below thy mighty genius' crest, 
 Amid the bright beginnings of thy song, 
 Lie sunny vales where Nymphs and Naiads blest 
 On twinkling feet dance gaily all day long. 
 And one loved spot, where Lycid lies at rest, 
 Is still a shrine to which the poets throng.
 
 R. L. S. 
 
 Thou gentle gossiper of things divine, 
 Thou white-souled lover of the sunny world, 
 Though flayed by weakness, thy brave spirit hurled 
 Thy soul into life's active battle line. 
 Unsullied honor and clear manhood shine 
 From all thy pages, every page impearled 
 With jewelled thought. Close in our hearts up- 
 furled, 
 
 Thy memory hath there its perfect shrine. 
 By what sweet alchemy hast thou so wrought 
 That each unlovely thing thy presence flees? 
 What sage or god thy kindly spirit taught 
 To lead us into those far southern seas 
 Where thine impressionable soul had caught 
 The haunting songs of the Hesperides? 
 
 114
 
 LINCOLN 
 
 Thou monument of every good that lies 
 
 Among the common people of the land, 
 
 Secure is thy great fame. Thou still dost stand 
 
 Colossal among giants. To our eyes 
 
 Thy rugged features, like the bright sunrise, 
 
 Are all aglow with light serene and grand 
 
 Which has its source in thy true heart's demand 
 
 For mercy blent with firmness just and wise. 
 
 Nor do the mists of passing decades hide 
 
 Thy glory, which yet shineth clear and bright 
 
 From chaos of thy times, and doth abide 
 
 Like some high mountain hidden from our sight 
 
 When near at hand, but towering magnified 
 
 By distance to its lonely mystic height.
 
 A SEQUENCE OF FOUR SONNETS 
 
 Demeter, great earth-mother, take thou me, 
 Thy foster child outworn with toil and pain. 
 Within thy soothing arms the fretful chain 
 Of custom falls, and leaves my spirit free 
 To worship and to take its joy in thee, 
 Far, far removed from life's mad hurricane 
 And vortex of contention, where in vain 
 I strive thy faithful servitor to be. 
 Thus pillowed on thy bosom let me hear 
 The grasses rustling round me as I lie, 
 And all the woodland blossoms that uprear 
 Their dainty heads, and gossip knowingly 
 Of things too deep for my dull mortal ear, 
 Of death and life and their dim mystery. 
 
 II 
 
 Great mother, take me to thine inmost heart. 
 
 Teach me the secret language of the flowers, 
 
 And what they say throughout the sunny hours. 
 
 Tell the sweet means by which thou dost impart 
 
 Its odor to the rose, and bid it start 
 
 In pulsing new, what time the winter cowers 
 
 And flees before the all-compelling powers 
 
 Of great Apollo with his golden dart. 
 
 Tell me the secret of the violet's blue, 
 
 The hawthorn's white, the pink carnation's blush 
 
 How doth the budding foliage renew 
 
 Its tender green along the swaying bush? 
 
 What signal dost thou give the iris crew 
 
 To decorate the shore with verdure lush? 
 
 116
 
 Ill 
 
 O mighty mother, stern and yet so mild, 
 
 Show how the sap distils along the trees 
 
 Until the smallest twigs of each of these 
 
 Are thrilled with spring-time joy and gladness wild, 
 
 And, like thy lowliest hidden grassy child, 
 
 Put forth brave show of vernal greeneries: 
 
 And fluttering their new mantles to the breeze, 
 
 Murmur in innocence all undefiled. 
 
 What may the purport of their whisperings be? 
 
 Do they the mystery of life disclose, 
 
 And what comes after death, when suddenly 
 
 The vital spark that through our being glows 
 
 Expires, and with fast glazing eyes we see 
 
 The light that from Elysium overflows? 
 
 IV 
 
 Alas! the secret still is hidden deep. 
 
 In heedless babble talk the nodding leaves: 
 
 Yet my soothed spirit now but faintly grieves, 
 
 Drawn Letheward by dreamy restful sleep. 
 
 The frolic winds along the hillside sweep 
 
 And make irate the buzzing honey thieves 
 
 Whose gauzy wings, when boisterous Zephyr heaves, 
 
 Are all too frail their wonted poise to keep. 
 
 My soul is led the slumbrous vales along 
 
 By leafy lullabies, and murmurous tune 
 
 Of buried runnels, and the cradle-song 
 
 Of vagrant bees who hum a sleepy rune. 
 
 Demeter, mother, fruitful young and strong, 
 
 Thou bringest rest, thy tired children's boon. 
 
 117
 
 PROSERPINE 
 
 Six times the moon hath changed, O Proserpine, 
 Since last thy presence cheered this world of ours. 
 But with awakened life of leaves and flowers, 
 And flow of sap along the tree and vine, 
 Xhou comest with thy quickening smile divine, 
 Abandoning the gloomy Stygian bowers 
 Where thou must spend the dreary winter hours, 
 And now thy breath intoxicates like wine! 
 Thy velvet footfalls fill the earth with bloom: 
 Joy bringest thou to hearts that need it sore: 
 Thou banishest the weariness and gloom 
 That dull gray skies into our spirits bore, 
 And standest beckoning beyond the tomb, 
 The symbol clear of life forevermore. 
 
 118
 
 TO FANNY 
 
 Dear gracious lady with the diadem 
 Of silver tresses round thy queenly head, 
 Through all the pleasant seasons that have fled 
 Since to my keeping came the priceless gem 
 Of thy pure friendship, which doth ever hem 
 My life with sweet observance, and hath led 
 To knowledge of thy virtues, garlanded 
 Forget-me-nots enshrine both thee and them. 
 Whatever envious time may bring to me, 
 Within my heart shall be no trace of fear, 
 So that thou keep me in thy memory 
 And thy blithe spirit float forever near; 
 Even though thine earthly presence may not be 
 Perceived by these mine eyes that hold thee dear. 
 
 119
 
 TO A CROCUS 
 
 Thou pert and daring flower that pushest through 
 The lingering snow to show thy winsome face, 
 Thou sweet forerunner of the dainty grace 
 Of spring, when blossoms full of sun and dew 
 And perfume come, thy cheerful smiles renew 
 The summer in my heart, and drive all trace 
 Of stormy winter back to that dim place 
 Where half -forgotten memories lie perdu. 
 The mystic charm that the reviving year 
 Brings to our hearts, within thy chalice lies. 
 Thy velvet lips unto the spirit's ear 
 Whisper of stirring life that soon shall rise 
 From the new-kindled earth, and lead anear 
 Long vanished joys to reminiscent eyes. 
 
 120
 
 IN NOVEMBER 
 
 O'er all the face of torpid nature lies 
 An elemental desolation vast, 
 That speaks of life which from the earth has passed, 
 And left its dull dead husk to film our eyes. 
 But hope, to still the spirit's mournful cries, 
 Bids each his vision on the future cast, 
 (Beyond the time of wintry storm and blast,) 
 When life triumphant over death shall rise. 
 Since thus the fecund womb of mother earth 
 May keep immortal even grass and flowers, 
 How must the demons, in discordant mirth, 
 Mock at our tremblings when death's shadow low- 
 ers; 
 
 And howl and dance in glee to see the dearth 
 Of faith and knowledge in these hearts of ours. 
 
 121
 
 UNREST 
 
 I know not by what sweetest alchemy 
 
 This grizzled, time-worn, weary heart of mine 
 
 Beats with a youthful zest and joy divine, 
 
 What time the powers of darkness have set free 
 
 The goddess of the spring, Persephone. 
 
 Her breath, like incense from some hidden shrine 
 
 Doth permeate my being, and incline 
 
 To dreams of happiness that may not be. 
 
 What strange unrest doth agitate my soul 
 
 With longings that I do not understand ? 
 
 Doth my immortal spirit seek control 
 
 Of its own destiny, and make demand 
 
 For freedom from that sadness, ages old, 
 
 Which rings humanity on every hand ? 
 
 122
 
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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 1991 
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