953 JOHN McGOVEEN'S POEMS JOHN McGOVERN'S POEMS WILLIAM S. LORD EVANSTON 1902 COPYRIGHT. 1902. BY JOHN McGovEHN TTPOCBiPBT BT A!TKE * CCR1IB COMFA1TY, CHICAGO . TO MY BELOVED WIFE, A HASTENING FRIEND, WHEN EVEN NOBLE DUTY MIGHT HAYE COME WITH STATELY STEP " CONTENTS PAGE THE KINE . . 9 GENIUS 10 THE TREES 11 How BRIGHT JEHOVAH'S CARPET 12 PRIEST OF THE MORNING .13 I HEARD A LARK 14 COMET OF 1882 15 SUNRISE 16 I PRAY 18 THE POET 19 DEATH AND MY FELLOWS 21 To RUBINSTEIN 22 TIME 2S A RHAPSODY 24 I SAW A LIGHT 2ft HATE 27 IRKOUTSK TO SAN FRANCISCO 28 FANNY DRISCOLL 30 A LEAF 31 MEMORY 32 To H. G. C 33 SUGGESTIONS FOR A NAPOLEONIC DRAMA . . 34 THE SAINT IGNATIUS 37 A TRAGEDY OF STATE 41 PASTORAL 45 7 JOHN McGO VEEN'S POEMS THE KINE SWEET - BREATHING kine looked up from clover-mead, And night had come. Therefore they kneeled them down, And soon the field was freshened, and perfume Distilled for morn. With eyes as deep as heaven, And peaceful as the evening, gazed the flock Upon the skies ; and in those eyes benign All night on went the starry flight eternal. O wisdom of that wider view ! They saw, And were not envious. They knew enough When they did know that Dawn would light their meadow. The sun came o'er a corner of the earth Far to the north. Soft cooed the prairie-hens,. And yellow-breasted meadow-larks took wing To chide their great dumb friends. Beshuddering Their glossy coats, the kine arose, and lo! (Hast ever seen a stretch of clover-bloom?) The firmament had fallen to the field! They from Orion to the Dragon roamed And plucked that morn a thousand dewy stars. 9 GENIUS [T IS the fire beneath some night-fly's wing, Making a star out of the risen worm. 10 THE TREES THE Sun came onward, scourging all the stars Out of his temple. Maples, oaks, and elms Stood foiled in gold, and sheltered timid airs That scarcely moved from fear of March the Lion Sleeping hard by. Thus passed a day of summer Truant out of June, its wandering hours Delighting Winter, calling heaven down, And luring birds to love-songs. Blear, unkempt, The waking Lion roared ; the pale North Wind Sped from his realm. All terrified, the trees Made lowly genuflections through the night, Confessed their sin, and moaned for clemency ; Yet when their friend, the poet, came to them, He found long rows of woody penitents Dressed with disgrace in convict garb of snow And wailing. "I myself am- hurt," he said. "So, if ye grieve, my barer woes may speak, For ye have gnarled circles round your hearts Buckler on buckler. Strike your Eolian dirge Song of the sepulchre ! O cruel years ! O Friendship's welcome turned to Venom's coil ! O youth's ambition grown to manhood's greed ! spring of hope, and pale North Wind of Death ! Yea, weep, you maples, oaks and elms!" he cried; "Ye are my better tongue, ye are my wo; 1 saw your icy lord, I heard your prayers, I know your sentence sound our misery!" 11 HOW BRIGHT JEHOVAH'S CARPET HOW bright Jehovah's carpet ! Splendid Hour Complete with glory all thy Milky Way Pulsing eternity ! Man upward looks ; He looks, and upward aims ; and calm-eyed beasts That sleep not, have thy golden deep for dreams ! Lo, I, most miserable of the flesh, Proclaim within me throbbings of the light From yonder stars. For I have something star-like Jealously sentineled, and leashed with heart-strings, Which, when the heavens throw their portals wide, To pay thee, Night, their ceremonial, Peers forth on each familiar galaxy, As if those beacons burned for its return. And as I lay my head at rest, each eve, Thy oft-recurring mandate to obey, O Night, I feel my prisoner more glad, More confident of his release. Alas ! Why breaks my soul so quickly from my keep? Why yearns, alas ! my body for my soul? Alas ! why does my quivering form belie Its wretched doom when I upsend my eyes ! O Night ! forgive my bodily delight ! Forgive my body's envy of my soul! Make my poor flesh and blood like calm-eyed beast's, And let me have thy golden deep for dreams. 12 PRIEST OF THE MORNING THE morning twilight surges through the dome The dawn awaits. So has my soul sat still, And, like this day, full late the beam of peace Has come from haunts deep in the Eastern stars. Fierce writhes and coils the Night, and westward rolls A mass of darkness and despair, a load To weight a Universe, put on a world ! O life ! O God ! O sea of orient sky ! There is with me an end of soughing waves ! An end of casting anchors in mid-sea ! An end of chart without a firmament ! Now Morn uplifts this sinister pavilion ; Now valiant Hope rebukes my soul's confusion; Now Joy stands at the gateways of my heart Guiding the flood. O Sun in hidden heaven ! Whose gold is liveried on thy couriers The utmost clouds whose coming carpets Earth Beauteous with life whose coming tunes the woods With warblers' sweet devotions to my voice, My ruder song, give rapid messengers The invisible acolytes of thy golden fane To wing it to yon pillar in the air, Thy morning altar lit with silvery fires ! Accept my offering; pour thy earliest gold Out on thy pitiful, who then shall be All holy-dipped, emerged from Paradise A glorious slave, thy shining worshiper 1 13 I HEARD A LARK I HEARD a lark amid the morning clouds That wrapt his flight of song. As if that lark, Seer of the dawn, rose on prophetic wing, The sun now gorged the canyons of the sky, And, all the barriers of the zenith breaking, On happy Earth there flowed a shining ocean. With this thing seeing, I, poor wonderling, Made half of saddened sunlight, raised mine eyes, Cast off my baser part, and grew eternal. Lark of the earth, thy song shall still go on When mocking blasts bestrow thy tiny plumes. E'en now thy notes of earlier spring may be Well out upon an awful pilgrimage, Where dumb, despised, unshapen worlds go by, And all is dark forever. Yea, although The hand of Cruelty might scarcely feel Thy heart-beats in its grasp, not less thy cry May probe eternity, to leave behind Faith's low petition and Doubt's loud harangue. 14 COMET OF 1882 BRIDE of the morning star, hath not my soul Enough of envy in these nightly hosts? Coms't thou to wake our spirits from their sleep Of dumb, dull discontent? Bright apparition, fade O fade not from my clinging eyes ! Take me Take that of me thou wilt from off this orb Where Sin and Death are prisoned ; let me join Thy splendid train, and aid, in dawning skies. Those happier stars that bear thy shining veil. 15 SUNRISE SWIFT Michigan, full-rigged with white cap sail, Crowded to port her squadrons infinite, Beneath a sky where Nature's dye was mixing For maidens' morning blushes. Flying swallows Surveyed the province ceded o'er to Dawn, And called their links and chains in upper air With iteration unmelodious. Along the shore where envious waves peeped over, A play-yard stretched for miles, and iron monsters, Unyoked from toils and journeyings gigantic, Shouted harsh-sounding joy. Tall shadow dancers Woke into yachts, yet gaily reveled on, While steamers cheerless as the eye of Greed, And swoln with avarice, stole round the pier, And put the waves to flight. The amethyst And velvet air where Night the Jeweler Had spread bright riches brought from regions far On ruddier ether rose as gently rose As moves the sentried heart through dreams that look On scenes where all goes well. The lighthouse flash That in the darkness oft had bridged the waves With shining girders, flickered like a wick Fal'n in the oil. As in swift-plowing ship The venturous voyager, filled with low throbs And vessel-motions multitudinous, Peers toward the furnaces that shore his seas So toward the east, deep in the firmament Forthcoming with the morning star, the eye 16 Peered to espy the heavenly enginery That wheeled black-shrouded earth to shores of day. Now all but man was ready. All but he With little patience quivering beheld This eastern panoply. In highest flight, Where golden wings awaited, eager birds, Like sailor on the mast, from tiny throats Proclaimed the coming ; bright on every spire Shone confirmation. Rapt in fume and flame The iron chargers, oft-defeated, looked Upon their vanquisher. Out on the pier From full six hundred thousand slumberers, A dozen fishermen with dumb thoughts filled And cast their lines again. The harbor-lamp Grew thin and yellow, as it had been shut Within a book for years. The yachts their dance Pushed to a close, and Nature, thus prepared, Glowed proudly on Lake Michigan, that then Most splendidly returned her warmest smile. Up rose the Sun all haired with living fires. 17 I PRAY WHEN white-eyed Death shall fright my timid flesh, And chase my spirit from his habitation, May willing yet unwilling hands take me To unoff ended Nature. Then, O God ! Give me the memory of an honest man, And unseen flowers shall keep my grave as sweet As lilac-banks that make one narrow week The only recollection of a year. 18 THE POET I HE SITS before a great keyed instrument, The human heart built like some Alpine mill To wheel its echoes to the joyous heights Or urge them through the gloom. And as he sits O'er all the jarrings of the rough red rill That plunges down to Death, he strikes a chord, And Love reverberates. Pleased with his craft, He, holding all his keys, with quivering hands, Joins on Affection's softening part, and plies Sad Duty's stops and lowly harmonies. Thus flows the psalm of Family and of Home The sweetest measures of the poet's art, Yet on his mystic keyboard, oh! how few The pipes that play ! how insignificant ! II Then comes the flame, the flaming stride of War, The poet's hearthstone set to head the graves Of slaughtered sire and son ! Then breaks the storm From forth the angry pipes ; then comes the roar Of mighty octaves, wild and tempest- tossed, With passion-cries of freedom crashed and hurled In grievous ruin, like some city's sack Of precious wares. Behold yon tyrant's throne Set high beyond the hurt of cannon's wrath! Yet see it quake! aye ! 'tis an airy thing To shore the moving deeps of Liberty ! 19 in The player trembles like his low-blown reeds, His hand is weak, the snow drifts through his pipes. Where breaks that flood which filled the gorge of life With such sweet- sounding waves that voyagers Baptized with freshened hearts? the gloria ! Why drowns he not with joyous giant chords The murmurs of an unhomed, childless wo? Thou heedest not ! The patriarchal ear Hears from the strains on High some cadences; He holds his touch upon the keys thus light That he may join the Choir in unison. Behold his aged face (chiseled by Time- An evil sculptor, yet a master-hand) ! Sublime he smiles and strikes the key of heaven, Asking of his still noble house of sound But this last anthem. Hark ! it swells anew ! Now breathe in prayer and fall ye on your knees ! Now lave ye in the holy waves of holy airs! The God of Hosts hymns with his wafting worlds Adoring Earth pulsates with Paradise ! DEATH AND MY FELLOWS 1 THOUGHT, with selfish thankfulness: "If men Were all immortal save myself, how sad, How sadly terrible would be my plight ! How like the Aztecs' captive I should be A victim for the knife, though loaded down With luxuries if I were hailed each morn By brothers of the sun ! And, when I died, With what astonishment the golden-aged Would look upon my corse! my villain corse! That in their company had flashed a gem Which had been stolen property of soul Sought by the Officer !" With thinking this, I went among my comrades yesterday, And offered them ambrosia for their locks, And nectar in their cups ! I told them all, That god- like ichor made their countenances Most pleasurable their flesh o'er-radiant! The world smiled like a narrow-sighted babe That sees, yet can but see, its mother's breast, And I, poor courtier, sick with giving joy, Fled toward my dreams last night in dismal dread That death should cast his ashes over me, And never-dying beings bear my pall ! TO RUBINSTEIN On hearing his Ocean Storm portrayed by one hundred and seventy musicians. THOU shining soul, by Fame bright burning kept, Is God not angry when the wind is wailing Hopeless with dread? And when He bids the storm To whip the gamut of each shrieking shroud And trumpet thunders speaks He calmly then? If thou, on shore no braver than thyself, Canst key the sounding cloud, and at thy will Chord all the terrors of the secret deep, Then may those greater accents of God's voice Be taught to me, if thou interpretest ! Before Jehovah's ark mute penitents Bent round high priest, and breathing frankincense And myrrh and holy oils, revived their souls. Thou my high priest shalt be ! Within thy fane With formless ceremony, yet in garb And ephod of bright genius, thou shalt list To my devout and prostrate supplication ; Mine shall be thy rites, and thou God's power Shalt bring to my blind soul, as I do hear Great ocean's heart-beats sound a deep alarm Lest God through space should hurl its screaming bulk Or scatter it for dew on waking worlds. 22 TIME MAN whitens into death and lays him down In dreadful slumber 'neath a roof -like mound That sinks soon in upon his dust. A stone His name proclaims a little longer, falls, And crumbles, having filled an empty use. Anon the plow rives up the fattened ground, And harvests press like anxious waves. Then war. The peaceful plowman flees before a host Of conquering invaders come to sack, And strip, and pillage. Soon the straggling brush Starts into saplings, and the saplings wax To solemn woods. Now comes the simple bard, And peers with wonder in among the trees That weave their colors with the fragrant air, And sings: "This is the forest this must be The forest called primeval, and untrod." Forward the cycles roll the ax, the fires. The plow, the harvest moons, the grave, the sword, The impenetrable councils of the oaks, And last some circlings of a corse-like orb Until the world, a worn and fluttering moth, Drops in the central conflagration, and expires. A RHAPSODY Auroral Tumult on the morning of April 17, 1882. FORTH from the watches of the night I gaze To place the Greater Bear Help! Help! the world ! Awake ! ye sleeping hosts, and read the sky ! A whirlpool snatching at a million streams, Sucking the glory of the universe ; A cataract that falls where I would rise ; An awful flood, on which the stars shine strangely; A tide ethereal, all space engulfing, As though the current of the Milky Way Had overflown as though the wandering earth Passed through the luster of some greater sun Whose night was day! Fall down, self-sceptered soul! Fling off thy garb of state ! Thou art within The ante-chambers of the court of Heaven ! A tabernacle stanchioned with broad beams Of silvery fire, and keyed with frosted stars ; And at the apex, waving scrolls of flame, Doubtless two angels momentarily So that my favored soul should see them there, Yet not in holy agony expire. 24 Quick from the mystic north the living light Clambers the stars, or flows the fitting robes Of God's ambassadors ; and through the gate Thick clouds of glory back and downward plunge, As if outbound effulgence suddenly Had peered on Sabaoth ! O God! Thouliv'st! Thou surely liv'st! I am so near Thee now! Open Thy reverent firmament to me ! Unshade mine asking eyes ! Protect mine eyes! I SAW A LIGHT I SAW a Light upreared afar, so pure That to my constant gaze it seemed to come Half-way to me. With hope born from our prayers, We on a night of waters tossed ; yet came From other country of an eastern sky The fearful pillage of a cold-eyed Dawn, That stole our star to gem some new-made night, And stationed Horror in our pilot-house. I felt a Love so full of charity, That to my yearning heart it seemed to come Half-way to me. And then, all through a night Filled with heart-broken days, I stood the watch At misery's masthead, and in break of day When Love died out, cried to my heart below A dawn of darker night and deeper seas. I saw the Truth afar, blazing so bright That to my constant gaze it seemed to come Half-way to me. All through a night of Life I held my helm, until the morn of Death Came on the world ; then, as I peered, Behold! my beacon vanished, and, alas! I only saw its ashes eddying Above the breakers of Eternity. HATE ET Merit cease to be!" This was the crime- That Merit lived at all! Could he forgive? Could he make reparation? Strike him down ! And Envy then might breathe again, and Hate Accept apology ! So Merit died. Yet o'er his grave stood Hate, deep in the night, While Courage slept, and on the low-hung clouds Hate poured his woe he had so small relief, Though 'neath his feet great Merit lay in peace. 27 IRKOUTSK TO SAN FRANCISCO On receipt of news from De Long by Telegraph, Dec. 21, 1881. grinding ices of the central sea Closed round our mariners. The continents Peered past the circle of the Dipper stars Through fog and storm in fear. Then when the King Of Coldland fell upon these venturers He crushed their hardy ship within his hand, And cast them freezing toward Siberia. They touch the world again, and all the world, Pleased like a mother with her babe at breast, Trembles with joy. These wonders have we seen This white-haired year of this hoar century. The papa lisped by kissing babe at night Did drift on word-waves from Siberia's plains Did journey west, e'en like this telegraph, Full twenty thousand miles, and yet did dwell Full twenty thousand years upon the way ! How, then, shall simple songster read these signs? Are scores of thousand zodiacs a jot To point God's periods? Or is a flight That jibes at distance, mocks at time, itself An essence of the ages, or a soul Of dying world? O God ! I can but see, Here in my darkness, that our compass spreads Within Thy narrowest metes ; I can but give 28 For shortest record in Thy chronicles The years our dust shall moon yon noble sun ! The Aryan, this morning, stretched his hand, And, o'er a pathway strewn with centuries, Knocked at the Golden Gate ! Such was the act ! Yet not more fugitive and brief than man ! Nor yet than his abode, this girdled orb ! A spark of light, sped by the craft of man ; A flash of years hurled from the hand of God So passes man's short history here on earth So passes earth's short history here in heaven ! 29 FANNY DRISCOLL LIFE woke within her, and her chorded soul From harped heaven, breathed fine harmonies E'en when Eola passed, at which Eola led That way her Sister, whom devout mankind Have left unnamed ; straightway the poet's wand Built up a temple and a worship lit That famed the region. Then the people cried : "Behold! a priestess, yea, a prophetess!" And as her temple rose, and multitudes Surrounded, clamoring, she added then A holier rite where woman at her best With warmest heart most glorifies the world. Now blazed her altar, and her oracles Had life's full meaning ; yet that very blaze Warmed into life the python Phthisis, coiled Close by the sacred flame. One cruel blow That serpent struck, and set the poet's clay : As flees Eola when the cloud- wheel stalks Red-cored with lightning from Dakota's plain, So fled the poet's soul when vorticed Death That sweetly censored temple overwhelmed. Grim airs of Death, ye leave our fields so bleak We have no flowers for our sweet poet's grave ! A LEAF FROM out the topmost bulb a budding sentry A leaflet spread its green against the blue ; The songsters heralded its earthly entry And it was christened in the Morning's dew. men at Friedland. I know it made me qualmy of the blood Though I had won my war-legs, and had seen Some horrors. ' ' Bravo ! ' ' cried the clods and crowns ; "This general fights like Mars! Let's make him peace! Let's call him master, cousin!" Yet I clip One royal wart from off the public weal, That's pinched mankind to penance, like some bean Blistering a fool's heel and these same clods Shudder like jelly ! Bah! God's wounds! . . . And still France must not brood on even this one egg Of discontent, or I, her stile-brained choice, Crowned by her patriarchal pontiff, oiled By simpering tongues, will flounder. Too much blood Flows in her veins. She needs the leech of war ! By the raft of Tilsit! she shall have it! II NAPOLEON AFTER WATERLOO MY SHIP is past my helm; I wait the shock That breaks my keel. One moment on those rocks And I, great wreck, shall strow the beach of Time, 34 Piling the higher with the ages. There Let little conquerors, upon the income Haply of their good tide, pick up small fragments From my rich voyage, and forge themselves thereby Proud salutations ! Ah ye world of midges, Little did ye know how with a brand the more I could have burned the air free of your corpses ! Ill THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON [The Rock of St. Helena Napoleon dying Doctors and attendant A great storm.] FAPOLEON. Six years have knit the broken bones of the world. Caesar and Alexander, Hannibal, I join you. ATTENDANT. There's danger in this storm. DOCTOR. I fear it. NAPOLEON. Moscow, Leipsic, Waterloo, Cease troubling me ! Ye mar the deeper chant Of wars that on a weeping world enthroned me ! ATTENDANT. Sire, it is the storm 'tis nothing but the storm ! NAPOLEON. Holy Alliance of the elements, Shout o'er my soul ! It was imprisoned before An army of small Kings had taught to men This use of St. Helena. All your waves May scourge this rock, and all oncoming time May push its greedy billows ; my great name Shall flash, a towering light upon the reef, To warn all men against ambition. ATTENDANT. Sire ! Sire ! renounce ambition : speak to me ! NAPOLEON. Ambition ! ay, it is the coast of Hell ! And they who cruise thereby a helm must hold Gigantic. O it is sad for the envious To come that way ! They sail for cargoes rich Their leaking ships to load; there's greater hope For little children begging charity Of mouse-faced men ! DOCTOR. His heart-beats quicken ! God ! 'Tis history ! NAPOLEON. Aha ! an eagle's beak ! [Clutching his heart. Pluck deep, proud bird ! 'Twill run in your blood ! Your chicks Will in the storm-cloud build their tabernacle. [Falling back. 1 die a simple word a simple thing. When Death sits by the great they do not weep The world good-by. With smiling face they greet Our equal minister. [Death dimly revealed as a skeleton, seated on the further side of the couch. ] Good Pastor, know That I sought not this corner of thy parish, Giving thee journey. France should set mine urn Within our capital 'twould profit her More than her palaces. To eternal rest I give my clay ; this oldwife Earth will long And lovingly prate of the spouse who beat her. THE SAINT IGNATIUS A SCHOLAR, lightly reading, heard the storm, Yet used it for his comfort. Roaring grates Mocked at the gale. Through parlor-arches flowed Faint airs like summer waves, so peacefully That though they sought a well-accustomed ear They seemed to ride some new-discovered sea, And passed unknown, to strand amidst perfumes. Thus read the scholar : "Once upon a time, The Etruscan country sounded far the fame Of Saint Ignatius, Best of Blessed Men, And filled with holy fire ; until a fervor Seizing on a youth, he sought, and, journeying, He found the monk, and in his monastery, The Brothers Paul, Maximilian, Eustace, Luke, Marcellus, Simon, Vincent, Hilary, And Pius holier men than common mortals. "With hope of gaining heaven the youth besought Those monks that he might join a timid voice With their loud adorations. Thus it came This worshiper was soon a novice in The trade of praising God. He ate the husks And chaff of outer form until his soul Grew gaunt and meagre. So, one day he spake And said unto the saint and brothers nine 37 That he should leave them. Then, their under eyelids Drooping on their cheeks, the friars crossed them- selves, Spurned him, and, in their wrath, threw ashes on him. "So journeyed he unto a mighty town Where wealth unmeasured waited him, and years Piled up his fame, until no distant land Outlay his reputation. All the past As dusk dissolves at dawn went from his mind. But through these times, a war and scandals vague Had brought our monks to beggars' beggary. Therefore it came to pass, one wintry night, That as the great man sat in his rich home, And Comfort held the citadel, a storm Encamped about, balked but beleaguering There came a knock upon his outside portals, Knocking with loud assurance as of kinsmen Come to a Christmas feast. Whereat he ordered The opening of his massive doors ; and there With under-eyelids drooping on their cheeks, Stood Saint Ignatius, Best of Blessed Men, And Brothers Paul, Maximilian, Eustace, Luke, Marcellus, Simon, Vincent, Hilary. And Pius, all the ten, ten times unwelcome." Then natural weariness and luxury Combined to stop this tale. The scholar's eye Roamed past the arches where red firelights, flash- ing, 38 Jeweled the trappings, or in fairy fabrics Arrowed barbaric wounds ; anon his gaze Visited a far salon, where tigers glared, And shrinking leopards crouched in tawnier wools From Anatolia carpetings that waved Like growing grain. On ebbed the harmonies, Almost as subtle as the soul elusive E'en as happiness ! Lured thus, the scholar Sadly remembered him how, like the novice, He in his boyhood worshiped where a priestess, Sitting demurely at her instrument, Made him her slave, yet simply played Pique Dame And Zampa, Trovatore, Traumerei, And William Tell. To him those strains became An ecstasy of hope. Anon she swept The throbbings of his heart, finding them not Delightful to her touch, so that the youth Was left by Love to die ; but he sprang up, And, as he mended his hurt heart, the maid Still at her siren keyboard played Pique Dame And Zampa, Trovatore, Traumerei, And William Tell, which thence, with gradual years, Grew sweet once more, and served the requiem Of his agony. Soon a maid more fair, More happy, and more lovable, he woed And wed, while all the years outran each other, Bringing him blessings and renown. But, wondering Why thus the witch Remembrance croned her ghosts To fright Contentment, up the scholar rose And strode adown his parlors. Then the music Waking his mind once more, he needed nought To tell him why his moments had been saddened. A favorite daughter, sitting in an alcove, Seeking to please his ear, had played Pique Dame And Zampa, Trovatore, Traumerei, And William Tell. Thus through his revery Had stalked the shades of a forgotten passion Thus opened memory's outer gates, and there, With under eyelids drooping on their cheeks, Stood Saint Ignatius, Best of Blessed Men, And Brothers Paul. Maximilian, Eustace, Luke, Marcellus, Simon, Vincent, Hilary, And Pius all the ten, ten times unwelcome. 40 A TRAGEDY OF STATE T"*HE morn! as gray as was the look of death 1 Upon my husband's face ! I could have wished The morn had never come yet when I knew It stole upon the murder of my son I had no patience. Out on such a day ! A cancer on all time! E'en now the slaves Behold my boy with executioner's red lust, And laugh like grave-dogs. O how I did plead ! (When was't I've slept not! 'twas the day before And God ! to-morrow will be afterward) Ay, yesterday I kneeled before that man, And prayed as one should pray to God alone To aid my cause ! O Governor ! O hear ! My son did lift his hand in blood made hot With cursed wine. He did that thing of shame In wildest passion. Then let not this law, Built in men's wisdom, fall on his young head And break me with the stroke!" "Good woman, list: You think not of the victim slain, a mother Visiting his early grave and planting flowers With hand by horror palsied !" ' 'O great sir, Have mercy! Would that my poor son had fal'n And I passed by the copings of the rich To find an humbler grave and shed my tears ! That, sir, were grief but not a devilish grief To wreck the human soul. Revolting God ! 41 Must I, then, grasp the brush of obloquy And mark the headstones of a line of sires All pure and honorable? If this blow Fall on my head, have I, then, but the woe Of that sad mother? Hearken, O great sir ! This law was made by men well satisfied In life, afar from deadly acts. Would they, O sir would they build up a thing from Hell To tear the holy life from out a man? Would they come from such sacrifice and set This devil's ceremony in its place, Among our laws the foremost? Never ! No ! And you who can by one small, written thing, Estop this second curse would you for hire For all the welcome gifts of your high power Go to that den of death and strain the life Out of this fellow being? Nay, O nay ! Do not therefore, I beg, drive those base hinds , Who group around my son to eat his flesh And earn their bread by toil so damnable!" "Good man !" he said, as he had said "Good woman!" "Good man, show her the way ! I fear she needs Some help to walk ! Good woman, I will act As well becomes my duty. If I find My pity can have ear, you may take hope!" And at the very time, as I did turn, He bade a second clerk the case was closed, And other matters pressed. O breathing life! Hast thou lain coiled within my heart this while A deadly snake? Am I a thing of death, A living upas, bearing fruit of men Who must be tracked and torn by human hounds? Upon the green I played with little girls: My breath was sweet, my eyes were blue, my hair Was such that good old men would stop awhile To stroke my head and ask my name. At night My mother heard my sins, and found her heart Full wide for blessings, teaching me that God Had yet a greater love. And, as I grew, No warning came. My husband bore me forth While lanterned steeple rocked with wedding-bells ; And of ,the love we had we built a home Which Death espied. Then went my husband out The dreaded journey and my babe sucked salt From sorrow's breast ! Mayhap 'twas there the child Fed on the sin ay, let me have the hope : That then in agony the murder-draught Was filtered. Thus my soul with kinder look May leave my wretched body. Thus my son With parent ghost may walk beyond this world In mien all nobly sad. The hour of Death.] My friends, forgive! I soon will be the mother of a corse Made by the State. The State thus deals with me. And I do ask you, stand without, and watch That I may know the earliest approach Of that which now awaits. I am alone! ^1 courier:] Let not that messenger come near whose worda Stand on his ugly face I'll not have it Drinks:] How sweet this cup! How kind these murderous pains ! How quick! not e'en a tithe so horrible 43 As smiles of pity from a Governor. Dying:] Then this is death ! I had some girlish hope There would be light! 'Tis cold I have not felt Such cold before. 'Tis further than I thought. O shades ! if ye be round me, cry aloud ! Where waits my son? My son, desert me not ! 44 PASTORAL IMMERSED in sunshine, tremulous, intense, 1 Lie depths of wheat, and corn, and pasturage ; And where the acres meet in rivalry, A miser-pond evades the Sun-King's tithes, Hiding with lily leaves an envied hoard. Far off, an oaken family surround A giant of hard fibre, who has sat At feast with Time himself, and banqueted On centuries. There well-fed cattle stand, Watching unenviously the outer sky, Where cloud-flocks graze upon the sides of heaven. Some proud pond Ararat has stayed a plank And raised it well aslant ; upon this perch A row of turtles bask their checkered backs, And view with stolid look the overtures Of nodding reeds and fawning marsh-grass nigh. The weary wheat-stems stoop like mendicants, While alien rye-stalks rear their empty heads. The corn (just o'er a fence where chipmunks romp) A green, cockaded host, in phalanx drawn, Each soldier armed with many cutlasses Bespeaks the pomp of disciplined array, Nor flinches in the fervor of the sun. 45 O'er all a storm-portending haze ; from all, A heated perfume clover, wheat, and corn. II The swan-like clouds that swam with swelling wing In tropic, halcyon, horizon seas, Have changed to furious cars of war, and drive To offer scowling battle with the sun. High o'er Andean lines of clouds there looms A solemn Chimborazo of the sky, And from its avalanching sides flash forth The spears of hosts in heavenly ambuscade. The black clouds upward clamber, and the mount Attains new height, till now, as Titans mad Pile other mountains on too recklessly, The upper fabric topples yet, indeed, Some nightmare compromise with gravity Leaves Earth uncrushed. Anon, a horrid sight Hovers on high : The flapping storm-cloud A mighty vampire come to suck the world. Hotly the archers pour their golden darts From parapets of light and battlements With glory blazing dreadlessly and dire Not less, their hideous enemy assaults The splendid citadel alas ! how soon Beleaguered Day is fallen prisoner ! Now dirgeless shadows in long pageant come, Of gloom the celebrants, death-angel-like , And as their progress blackens field and pond 46 The turtles scramble down in clumsy haste, And loyal cornstalks on the distant hill Wave goodbys sunward with bright oriflammes. Down through an air come up from nether earth, Forth from the turmoil of inverted seas, A fiery force with crash on crash is hurled, Thrilling all things as if the startled earth Rocked in volcanic violence. This signal made, The volleys of the pirate squadrons pound Hard on the haughty corn, the modest wheat, And on the lily leaves like musketry Rattle their crystal bullets. Gusts of air Chase nimble swirls of rain ; through yeasty mists A million worlds join to the universe, And shackles of white lightning manacle The trembling sky. Heaven.is an idol-house, Thick with abominations, and its walls, Its lurid walls, are darkened with the shapes Of pagan elements in revelry. HI The storm recedes, the sun shines out, the clouds, Like fallen fortresses, their portals ope Before the flight of earthward-hurrying beams And lo ! the couriers with their victory ! The music of the herd comes o'er the mead In homely cow-bell tones, as rude to-day As in Pan's time. The clover-synod kneels Each tiny bishop's mitre lit with gems And silken rustles fill the aisles of corn, As though the wives of modern Pharisees Passed to their public prayer. Behind a gorge 47 Of ether icebergs, Hope, at azure loom, In warp of sunrays with a woof of rain, Arches her rainbow web upon the black That curtains all the east, where crowds the storm. GREENFIELD TOWNSHIP La Grange County, Indiana, 1861. IV MoGovern, T ohn MoG-dva rn T a 953 10 poems M515749