828 Broadway REESE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORN ShdfNo. VERSES. BY H. H., AUTHOR OF "BITS OF TALK" AND "BITS OF TRAVEL BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1888. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by HUBERTS BROTHERS, lu the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION. UNIVERSITY PRESS: JOHN WILSON & SON CAMBRIDGE DEDICATION. HEN children in the summer weather play, Flitting like birds through sun and wind and rain, From road to field, from field to road again. Pathetic reckoning of each mile they stray They leave in flowers forgotten by the way ; Forgotten, dying, but not all in vain, Since, finding them, with tender smiles, half pain, Half joy, we sigh, " Some child passed here to-day." Dear one, whose name I name not lest some tongue Pronounce it roughly, like a little child Tired out at noon, I left my flowers among The wayside things. I know how thou hast smiled, And that the thought of them will always be One more sweet secret thing twixt thee and me. CONTENTS. Page A CHRISTMAS SYMPHONY 9 SPINNING J 4 MY LEGACY l( > LOVE S LARGESS *8 FOUND FROZEN 20 MY DAYS 2I THE ZONE OF CALMS 2I MESSAGE 22 MY LIGHTHOUSES 2 3 IN TIME OF FAMINE 2 5 THE PRINCE is DEAD 26 POPPIES ON THE WHEAT 27 A FUNERAL MARCH 28 JOY 33 Two TRUTHS 34 GONDOLIEDS 35 "SPOKEN" 37 THE WAY TO SING 39 THE TRUE BALLAD OF THE KING S SINGER 41 CENONE 45 THE LONELINESS OF SORROW 47 A SUNRISE 48 A BALLAD OF THE GOLD COUNTRY 49 EXILE 55 MY SHIP 55 AT LAST 56 MKMOIR OF A QUEEN 58 OUR ANGELS 59 MAZZINI 61 11 WHEN THE TIDE COMES IN " 61 vi CONTENTS. Page THE SINGER S HILLS 63 COVERT 68 WAITING 69 RENUNCIATION 70 BURNT SHIPS 71 RESURGAM 72 THE VILLAGE LIGHTS 79 TRANSPLANTED 80 BEST 82 MORNING-GLORY 83 OCTOBER 84 MY BEES 85 THE ABBOT PAPHNUTIUS . 86 NOON 90 IN THE PASS 92 AMREETA WINE 94 SOLITUDE 96 NOT AS I WILL 97 LAND 99 OPPORTUNITY 100 WHEN THE BABY DIED 100 "OLD LAMPS FOR NEW" 102 FEAST 103 Two SUNDAYS 105 SHOWBREAD 106 TIDES 107 TRIBUTE 107 "ALMS AT THE BEAUTIFUL GATE" 108 CORONATION 109 MY NEW FRIEND in ASTERS AND GOLDEN ROD 112 Two LOVES 113 THE GOOD SHEPHERD 117 LOVE S FULFILLING 118 WOOED 119 WON 120 AKIADNE S FAREWELL 121 THOUGHT 121 MORDECAI 122 LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY 123 CONTENTS. Vll Page A MOTHER S FAREWELL TO A VOYAGER 124 "DROPPED DEAD" ,25 PRESENCE I2 6 POLAR DAYS I2 _ HER EYES _ THE WALL-FLOWER OF THE RUINS OF ROME I2 o SHADOWS OF BIRDS , 30 GLIMPSES 13I To A. C. L. B . J32 SNOW-DROPS IN ITALY I32 DISTANCE I33 WHEN THE KINGS COME , i 3 4 COMING ACROSS I3 4 THK TEACHER I35 DECORATION DAY 136 A 13TH-CENTURY PARABLE 138 FORM 141 MY HICKORY FIRE 142 REVENUES 144 A BURIAL SERVICE 146 A PARABLE 147 FRIENDS 148 THE ROYAL BEGGAR 149 MARCH 149 APRIL 150 MAY 151 THE SIMPLE KING 152 THE SINGER S FRIENDS 155 DOUBT 157 FORGIVEN 158 THIS SUMMER 158 TRYST 160 THE MAGIC ARMORY 161 LIFTED OVER 162 MY HOUSE NOT MADK WITH HANDS 163 MY STRAWBERRY 166 TRIUMPH 167 RETURN TO THE HILLS 168 "DOWN TO SLEEP" 170 viii CONTENTS. Page FALLOW *7* LOVE S RICH AND POOR J 73 LIGHT ON THE MOUNTAIN-TOPS X 74 CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN ST. PETER S *75 WELCOME 1 77 THE Two COMRADES *7& DEMETER l81 EXPECTANCY l82 BELATED I8a To AN UNKNOWN LADY l8 5 A WILD ROSE IN SEPTEMBER l8 7 ARCTIC QUEST . . 188 THE SIGN OF THE DAISY l8 9 VINTAGE J 9 LAST WORDS *9* A CHRISTMA ONY. CHRISTMAS stars! your pregnant silent- ness, Mute syllabled in rhythmic light, Leads on to-night, And beckons, as three thousand years ago It beckoning led. We, simple shepherds, know Little we can confess, Beyond that we are poor, and creep And wander with our sheep, Who love and follow us. We hear, If we attend, a singing in the sky; But feel no fear, Knowing that God is always nigh, And none pass by, Except His Sons, who cannot bring Tidings of evil, since they sing. Wise men with gifts are hurrying, io VERSES. In haste to seek the meaning of the Star, In search of worship which is new and far. We are but humble, so we keep On through the night, contented with our sheep, And with the stars. Between us and the east, No wall, no tree, no cloud, lifts bar. We know the sunrise. Not one least Of all its tokens can escape Our eyes that watch. But all days are As nights, and nights as days, In our still ways. We have no dread of any shape Which darkness can assume or fill ; We are not weary ; we can wait ; God s hours are never late. The wise men say they will return, Revealing unto us the things they learn. Mayhap ! Meantime the Star stands still 5 And, having that, we have the Sign. If we mistake, God is divine ! II. Oh, not alone because His name is Christ, Oh, not alone because Judea waits This man-child for her King, the Star stands still. Its glory reinstates, Beyond humiliation s utmost ill, On peerless throne, which she alone can fill, Each earthly woman. Motherhood is priced A CHRISTMAS SYMPHONY. ll Of God. at price no man may dare To lessen, or misunderstand. The motherhood which came To virgin sets in vestal flame, Fed by each new-born infant s hand, With Heaven s air, With Heaven s food, The crown of purest purity revealed, Virginity eternal signed and sealed Upon all motherhood ! m. Oh, not alone because His name is Christ, Oh, not alone because Judea waits This man-child for her King, the Star stands stilL The Babe has mates. Childhood shall be forever on the earth ; And no man who has hurt or lightly priced So much as one sweet hair On one sweet infant s head, But shall be cursed ! Henceforth all things fulfil Protection to each sacred birth. No spot shall dare Refuse a shelter. Beasts shall tread More lightly ; and distress, And poverty, and loneliness, Yea, and all darkness, shall devise To shield each place wherein an infant lies. And wisdom shall come seeking it with gift, And worship it with myrrh and frankincense ; 12 VERSES. And kings shall tremble if it lift Its hand against a throne. But mighty in its own Great feebleness, and safe in God s defence, No harm can touch it, and no death can kill, Without its Father s will ! IV. Oh, not alone because His name is Christ, Oh, not alone because Judea waits This man-child for her King, the Star stands still The universe must utter, and fulfil The mighty voice which states, The mighty destiny which holds, Its key-note and its ultimate design. Waste places and the deserts must perceive That they are priced, No less than gardens in the Heart Divine. Sorrow her sorrowing must leave, And learn one sign With joy. And Loss and Gain Must be no more. And all things which have gone before, And all things which remain, And all of Life, and all of Death be slain In mighty birth, whose name Is called Redemption Praise ! Praise to God ! The same To-day and yesterday, and in all days Forever ! Praise ! A CHRISTMAS SYMPHONY. 13 V. Oh, Christmas stars ! Your pregnant silentness, Mute syllabled in rhythmic light, Fills all the night. No doubt, on all your golden shores, Full music rings Of Happiness As sweet as ours. Midway in that great tideless stream which pours, And builds its shining road through trackless space, From you to us, and us to you, must be Some mystic place, Where all our voices meet, and melt Into this solemn silence which is felt, And sense of sound mysterious brings Where sound is not. This is God s secret. He Sits centred in his myriads of skies, Where seas of sound and seas of silence rise, And break together in one note and key, Divinely limitless in harmony ! 14 VERSES. SPINNING. IKE a blind spinner in the sun, I tread my days ; I know that all the threads will run Appointed ways ; I know each day will bring its task, And, being blind, no more I ask. I do not know the use or name Of that I spin ; I only know that some one came, And laid within My hand the thread, and said, " Since you Are blind, but one thing you can do." Sometimes the threads so rough and fast And tangled fly, I know wild storms are sweeping past, And fear that I Shall fall ; but dare not try to find A safer place, since I am blind. I know not why, but I am sure That tint and place, In some great fabric to endure Past time and race My threads will have ; so from the first, Though blind, I never felt accurst. SPINNING. 15 I think, perhaps, this trust has sprung From one short word Said over me when I was young, ^. , So young, I heard It, knowing not that God s name signed My brow, and sealed me his, though, blind. But whether this be seal or sign Within, without, It matters not. The bond divine I never doubt. I know he set me here, and still, And glad, and blind, I wait His will ; But listen, listen, day by day, To hear their tread Who bear the finished web away, And cut the thread, And bring God s message in the sun, " Thou poor blind spinner, work is done." 1 6 VERSES, MY LEGACY. HEY told me I was heir, I turned in haste, And ran to seek my treasure, And wondered as I ran how it was placed, If I should find a measure Of gold, or if the titles of fair lands And houses would be laid within my hands. I journeyed many roads ; I knocked at gates ; I spoke to each wayfarer I met, and said, " A heritage awaits Me. Art not thou the bearer Of news ? Some message sent to me whereby I learn which way my new possessions lie ? " Some asked me in ; naught lay beyond their door ; Some smiled and would not tarry, But said that men were just behind who bore More gold than I could carry ; And so the morn, the noon, the day were spent, While empty-handed up and down I went. At last one cried, whose face I could not see, As through the mists he hasted ; " Poor child, what evil ones have hindered thee, Till this whole day is wasted ? Hath no man told thee that thou art joint heir With one named Christ, who waits the goods to share ? " MY LEGACY. 17 The one named Christ I sought for many days, In many places vainly; I heard men name his name in many ways ; I saw his temples plainly ; But they who named him most gave me no sign To find him by, or prove the heirship mine. And when at last I stood before his face, I knew him by no token Save subtle air of joy which filled the place ; Our greeting was not spoken ; In solemn silence I received my share, Kneeling before my brother and "joint heir." My share ! No deed of house or spreading lands, As I had dreamed ; no measure Heaped up with gold ; my elder brother s hands Had never held such treasure. Foxes have holes, and birds in nests are fed : My brother had not where to lay his head. My share ! The right like him to know all pain Which hearts are made for knowing; The right to find in loss the surest gain ; To reap my joy from sowing In bitter tears ; the right with him to keep A watch by day and night with all who weep. My share ! To-day men call it grief and death ; I see the joy and life to-morrow ; i8 1 thank oar Father with my every breath, For this sweet legacy of sorrow ; And through my tears I call to each, " Joint heir With Christ, make haste to ask him for thy share. " LOVE S LARGESS. my heart s door Love standcth, like a king beside His royal treasury, whose wide Gates open swing, and cannot hide Their priceless store. His touch and hold Its common things to jewels turned ; In his sweet fires the dross he burned Away; and thus he won and earned .-.-i -lit := ;:li. So rich I find Mysetf in service of this king, The goods we spare, in alms I fling ; And breathless days too few hoars bring Me to be land, To souls whose pain My heart can scarcely dare to greet With pity, while my own complete LOl FS LAKGESS. 19 And blessed joy their loss must mete By my great gain. Diviner air Of beauty, and a grace more free, More soft and solemn depths I see In every woman s face, since he Has called me fair. More true and sure Each man s heart seems, more firm for right ; Each man I hold more strong in fight, Since he stands ever in my sight, So brave, so pure. More of sun s fire Than days can use, and more than nights Can name, of stars with rhythmic lights, And sweetest singing flocks, whose flights Can never tire, More bloom than eyes Can reach, or hands to grasp may dare, More music in the constant air, Than each round wave can hold and bear, Before it dies, And more of life For living, than all death can kill, More good than evil s utmost Can thwart, and peace to more than still The fiercest strife, 20 VERSES. All these I find In service of this gracious king ; From goods we spare, such alms I fling ; And pray swift days more hours to bring, More bonds to bind. O happiness ! To utter thee, in vain our eyes Seek tears ; and vainly all speech tries ; This thing alone our king denies In Love s largess. FOUND FROZEN. HE died, as many travellers have died, Overtaken on an Alpine road by night ; Numbed and bewildered by the falling snow, Striving, in spite of failing pulse, and limbs Which faltered and grew feeble at each step, To toil up the icy steep, and bear Patient and faithful to the last, the load Which, in the sunny morn, seemed light! And yet T was in the place she called her home, she died ; And they who loved her with the all of love Their wintry natures had to give, stood by And wept some tears, and wrote above her grave Some common record which they thought was true ; But 1, who loved her last and best, / knew. THE ZONE OF CALMS. 21 MY DAYS VEILED priestess, in a holy place, ! Day pauseth on her threshold, beckoning As infants to the mother s bosom spring At sound of mother s voice, although her face Be hid, I leap with sudden joy. No trace Of fear I feel ; I take her hand and fling Her arm around my neck, and walk and cling Close to her side. She chooses road and pace ; I feast along the way on her shewbread ; I help an hour or two on her great task ; Beyond this honoring, no wage I ask. Then, ere I know, sweet night slips in her stead, And, while by sunset fires I rest and bask, Warm to her faithful breast she folds my head. THE ZONE OF CALMS* S yearning currents from the trackless snows, And silent Polar seas, unceasing sweep To South, to North, and linger not where leap Red fires from glistening cones, nor where the rose Has triumph on the snow-fed Paramos, * The Zone of Calms is the space comprised between the second degree north latitude and the second degree south. 22 VERSES. In upper air, nor yet where lifts the deep Its silver Atolls on whose bosoms sleep The purple sponges ; and, as in repose Meeting at last, they sink upon the breast Of that sweet tropic sea, whose spicy balms And central heat have drawn them to its arms, So soul seeks soul, unsatisfied, represt, Till in Love s tropic met, they sink to rest, At peace forever, in the " Zone of Calms." MESSAGE. OR one to bear my message, I looked out In haste, at noon. The bee and swallow passed Bound south. My message was to South. I cast It trusting as a mariner. No doubt, Sweet bee, blithe swallow, in my heart about Your fellowship. The stealthy night came fast. " O chilly night," I said, " no friend thou hast For me, and morn is far," when lo ! a shout Of joy, and riding up as one rides late, My friend fell on my neck just in the gate. " You got my message then ? " " No message, sweet, Save my own eyes desire your eyes to meet." MY LIGHTHOUSES. 23 " You saw no swallow and no bee before You came ? " " I do remember past my door There brushed a bird and bee. O, dearer presage Than I had dreamed ! You sent by them a mes sage ? " MY LIGHTHOUSES. westward window of a palace gray, Which its own secret still so safely keeps That no man now its builder s name can say, I lie and idly sun myself to-day, Dreaming awake far more than one who sleeps, Serenely glad, although my gladness weeps. I look across the harbor s misty blue, And find and lose that magic shifting line Where sky one shade less blue meets sea, and through The air I catch one flush as if it knew Some secret of that meeting, which no sign Can show to eyes so far and dim as mine. More ships than I can count build mast by mast Gay lattice-work with waving green and red Across my window-panes. The voyage past, 24 VEXSES. They crowd to anchorage so glad, so fast, Gliding like ghosts, with noiseless breath and tread, Mooring like ghosts, with noiseless iron and lead. u O ships and patient men who fare by sea," I stretch my hands and vainly questioning cry, " Sailed ye from west ? How many nights could ye Tell by the lights just where my dear and free And lovely land lay sleeping ? Passed ye by Some danger safe, because her fires were nigh ? " Ah me ! my selfish yearning thoughts forget How darkness but a hand s-breadth from the coast With danger in an evil league is set ! Ah ! helpless ships and men more helpless yet, Who trust the land-lights short and empty boast ; The lights ye bear aloft and prayers avail ye most. But I ah, patient men who fare by sea, Ye would but smile to hear this empty speech, I have such beacon-lights to burn for me, In that dear west so lovely, new, and free, That evil league by day, by night, can teach No spell whose harm my little bark can reach. No towers of stone uphold those beacon-lights ; No distance hides them, and no storm can shake ; In valleys they light up the darkest nights, They outshine sunny days on sunny heights ; They blaze from every house where sleep or wake My own who love me for my own poor sake. IN TIME OF FAMINE. 25 Each thought they think of me lights road of flame Across the seas ; no travel on it tires My heart. I go if they but speak my name ; From Heaven I should come and go the same, And find this glow forestalling my desires. My darlings, do you hear me ? Trim the fires ! GENOA, November 30. IN TIME OF FAMINE. HE has no heart," they said, and turned away, Then, stung so that I wished my words might be - Two-edged swords, I answered low : " Have ye Not read how once when famine held fierce sway In Lydia, and men died day by day Of hunger, there were found brave souls whose glee Scarce hid their pangs, who said, * Now we Can eat but once in two days ; we will play Such games on those days when we eat no food That we forget our pain. "Thus they withstood Long years of famine ; and to them we owe The trumpets, pipes, and balls which mirth finds good 26 VERSES. To-day, and little dreams that of such woe They first were born. " That woman s life I know Has been all famine. Mock now if ye dare, To hear her brave sad laughter in the air." THE PRINCE IS DEAD. ROOM in the palace is shut. The king And the queen are sitting in black. All day weeping servants will run and bring, But the heart of the queen will lack All things ; and the eyes of the king will swim With tears which must not be shed, But will make all the air float dark and dim, As he looks at each gold and silver toy, And thinks how it gladdened the royal boy, And dumbly writhes while the courtiers read How all the nations his sorrow heed. The Prince is dead. The hut has a door, but the hinge is weak, And to-day the wind blows it back ; There are two sitting there who do not speak ; They have begged a few rags of black. They are hard at work, though their eyes are wet With tears which must not be shed ; POPPIES ON THE WHEAT. 27 They dare not look where the cradle is set ; They hate the sunbeam which plays on the floor, But will make the baby laugh out no more ; They feel as if they were turning to stone, They wish the neighbors would leave them alone. The Prince is dead. POPPIES ON THE WHEAT. LONG Ancona s hills the shimmering heat, A tropic tide of air with ebb and flow Bathes all the fields of wheat until they glow Like flashing seas of green, which toss and beat Around the vines. The poppies lithe and fleet Seem running, fiery torchmen, to and fro To mark the shore. The farmer does not know That they are there. He walks with heavy feet, Counting the bread and wine by autumn s gain, But I, I smile to think that days remain Perhaps to me in which, though bread be sweet No more, and red wine warm my blood in vain, I shall be glad remembering how the fleet, Lithe poppies ran like torchmen with the wheat. VERSES. A FUNERAL MARCH. ES, all is ready now ; the door and gate Have opened this last time for him, more wide Than is their wont ; no longer side by side With us, he passes out ; we follow, meek, And weeping at his pomp, which is not pride, And which he did not seek. We cannot speak, Because we loved him so ; we hesitate, And cling and linger and in vain belate Their feet who bear him. Slow, slow, slow, With every fibre holding back, we go ; And cruel hands, while we are near, And weep afresh to hear, Have shut the door and shut the gate. II. The air is full of shapes We do not see, but feel ; Ghosts which no death escapes. No sepulchre can seal ; Ghosts of forgotten things of joy and grief; And ghosts of things which never were, But promised him to be : they may defer Their pledges now ; his unbelief A FUNERAL MARCH. 29 Is justified. Oh, why did they abide This time, these restless ghosts, which glide, Accompanying him ? Can they go in Unquestioned, and confront him in the grave, And answers win From dead lips which the live lips never gave ? Will they return across the churchyard gate With us, weeping with us, " Too late ! too late ! " Or are they dead, as he is dead ? And when the burial rites are said, Will they lie down, the resurrection to await ? Hi. With dumb, pathetic look the poor beasts go At unaccustomed pace to suit our woe ; Uncomprehending equally Or what a grief or what a joy may be. House after house where life makes glad We bear him past, who all of life has had. And men s and women s wistful eyes Look out on us in sorrow and surprise, For all men are of kin to one who dies. IV. Eager the light grass bends To let us pass, but springs again and waves To hide our footsteps ; not a flower saves Its blossoming, or sends One odor less, as we go by ; 3 VERSES. And never seemed the shining sky So full of birds and songs before. Whole tribes of yellow butterflies Dart mockingly and wheel and soar, Making it only seem the more Impossible, this human death which lies Silent beneath their dance who live One day and die. Noiseless and swift, Winged seeds come through the air, and drift Down on the dead man s breast. They shall go with him into rest, And in the resurrection of the Spring To his low grave shall give The beauty of some green and flowering thing. v. The glittering sun moves slowly overhead, It seems in rhythmic motion with our tread, Confronting us with its relentless, hot, Unswerving, blinding ray ; Then, sparing not One subtle torture, it makes haste to lay A ghastly shadow all along the way Of formless, soundless wheel and lifeless plume, All empty shapes in semblance of our gloom, Creeping along at our slow pace, Not for one moment nor in any place Forsaking us, nor ceasing to repeat In taunting lines the faltering of our feet ; Laying, lifting, in a mocking breath, Mocking shadows of the shadow of Death. A FUNERAL MARCH. VI. But now comes silent joy, anointing With sudden, firm, and tender hand Our eyes ; anointed with this clay Of burial earth, we see how stand Around us, marshalled under God s appointing, Such shining ones as on no other day Descend. We see, with a majestic face, Of love ineffable, One walking in chief place Beside the dead, High Priest Of his salvation, King Of his surrender, comrade till life ceased, Saviour from suffering, O sweet, strong, loving Death ! With yearning, pitying breath, He looks back from his dead to us, and saith, " O mine who love me not, what filled Your hearts with this strange fear ? Could ye but hear The new voice of this man whom I have willed To set so free, to make Him subject in my kingdom, for the sake Of being greater king than I, Reigning with Christ eternally ! " VII. Closer and closer press the shining ones ; Clearer and clearer grow the notes Of music from the heavenly throats. We see the gleaming of the precious stones 32 VERSES. Which set the Gate of Life. King s sons Throng out to meet the man we bring ; We hear his voice in entering : " Oh ! see how all these weep Who come with me ! Must they return? Oh ! send swift messenger to Christ, and see If He will bid you keep Them too ! " Scarce we discern From distant Heaven where Christ sits and hears, The tender whispered voice, in which he saith, " My faithful servant, Death, is Lord of death : My days must be a thousand years." VIII. The Gate of Life swings close. All have gone in ; Majestic Death, his freedman following ; And all those ghostly shapes, the next of kin, Their deeds, which were and were not, rendering ; And tender Joy and Grief, Bearing in one pale sheaf Their harvest ; and the shining ones who come And go continually. Alone and silently, We take the road again that leads us home. The mother has no more a son ; The wife no husband ; and the child No father. Yet around the woman s days Immortal loverhood lights blaze JOY. 33 Ot deathless fires ; and never mother smiled Like her who smiles forever, seeing one Immortal child, for whom immortal fatherhood Beseeches and receives eternal good. And days that were not full are filled ; And with triumphant breath, Mighty to cheer and save, The voices ring which once were stilled, The pulses beat which once were chilled, " Life is the victory of the grave, Christ is Lord of the Lord of Death ! M JOY. JOY, hast thou a shape ? Hast thou a breath ? How fillest thou the soundless air? Tell me the pillars of thy house ! What rest they on ? Do they escape The victory of Death ? And are they fair Eternally, who enter in thy house ? O Joy, thou viewless spirit, canst thou dare To tell the pillars of thy house ? On adamant of pain, Before the earth Was born of sea, before the sea, Yea, and before the light, my house 34 VERSES. Was built. None know what loss, what gain, Attends each travail birth. No soul could be At peace when it had entered in my house, If the foundations it could touch or see, Which stay the pillars of my house ! TWO TRUTHS. ARLING," he said, " I never meant To hurt you ; " and his eyes were wet " I would not hurt you for the world : Am 1 to blame if I forget ? " " Forgive my selfish tears ! " she cried, " Forgive ! I knew that it was not Because you meant to hurt me, sweet, I knew it was that you forgot ! " But all the same, deep in her heart Rankled this thought, and rankles yet, "When love is at its best, one loves So much that he cannot forget." GONDOLIEDS. GONDOLIEDS. YESTERDAY. 1EAR yesterday, glide not so fast; O, let me cling To thy white garments floating past; Even to shadows which they cast I cling, I cling. Show me thy face Just once, once more ; a single night Cannot have brought a loss, a blight Upon its grace. Nor are they dead whom thou dost bear, Robed for the grave. See what a smile their red lips wear ; To lay them living wilt thou dare Into a grave ? I know, I know, I left thee first ; now I repent ; I listen now ; I never meant To have thee go. Just once, once more, tell me the word Thou hadst for me ! Alas ! although my heart was stirred, I never fully knew or heard It was for me. O yesterday, 6 VERSES. My yesierday, thy sorest pain, Were joy couldst thou but come again, Sweet yesterday. VENICE, May 26. II. TO-MORROW. ALL red with joy the waiting west, O little swallow, Couldst thou tell me which road is best? Cleaving high air with thy soft breast For keel, O swallow, Thou must o erlook My seas and know if I mistake ; I would not the same harbor make Which yesterday forsook. I hear the swift blades dip and plash Of unseen rowers ; On unknown land the waters dash ; Who knows how it be wise or rash To meet the rowers ! Premi ! Premi ! Venetians boatmen lean and cry ; With voiceless lips, I drift and lie Upon the twilight sea. The swallow sleeps. Her last low call Had sound of warning. "SPOKEN." Sweet little one, whate er befall, Thou wilt not know that it was all, In vain thy warning. I may not borrow A hope, a help. I close my eyes ; Cold wind blows from the Bridge of Sighs ; Kneeling I wait to-morrow. 37 VENICE, May 30. "SPOKEN. the hours by bells and lights We rose and sank ; waves on royal banquet-heights Tossed off and drank Their jewels made of sun and moon, White pearls at midnight, gold at noon. Counting the hours by bells and lights, We sailed and sailed ; Six lonely days, six lonely nights, No ship we hailed. Till all the sea seemed bound in spell, And silence sounded like a knell. At last, just when by bells and lights Of seventh day The dawn grew clear, in sudden flights White sails away 38 VERSES. To east, like birds, went spreading slow Their wings which reddened in the glow. No more we count the bells and lights ; We laugh for joy. The trumpets with their brazen mights Call, " Ship ahoy ! " We hold each other s hands ; our cheeks Are wet with tears ; but no one speaks. In instant comes the sun and lights The ship with fire ; Each mast creeps up to dizzy heights, A blazing spire ; One faint "Ahoy," then all in vain We look ; we are alone again. I have forgotten bells and lights, And waves which drank Their jewels up ; those days and nights Which rose and sank Have turned like other pasts, and fled, And carried with them all their dead. But every day that fire ship lights My distant blue, And every day glad wonder smites My heart anew, How in that instant each could heed And hear the other s swift God-speed. THE WAY TO SING. 39 Counting by hours thy clays and nights In weariness, patient soul, on godlike heights Of loneliness, 1 passed thee by ; tears filled our eyes ; The loud winds mocked and drowned our cries. The hours go by, with bells and lights ; We sail, we drift ; Our souls in changing tasks and rites, Find work and shrift. But this I pray, and praying know Till faith almost to joy can grow That hour by hour the bells, the lights Of sound of flame Weave spell which ceaselessly recites To thee a name, And smiles which thou canst not forget For thee are suns which never set. THE WAY TO SING. HE birds must know. Who wisely sings Will sing as they ; The common air has generous wings Songs make their way. 4 o VERSES. No messenger to run before, Devising plan ; No mention of the place or hour To any man ; No waiting till some sound betrays A listening ear ; No different voice, no new delays, If steps draw near. 14 What bird is that ? Its song is good." And eager eyes Go peering through the dusky wood, In glad surprise. Then late at night, when by his fire The traveller sits, Watching the flame grow brighter, higher, The sweet song flits By snatches through his weary brain To help him rest ; When next he goes that road again, An empty nest On leafless bough will make him sigh, " Ah me ! last spring Just here I heard, in passing by, That rare bird sing ! " But while he sighs, remembering How sweet the song, The little bird on tireless wing, Is borne along TRL E BALLAD OF TtlE KING S SINGER. 4 1 In other air. and other men With weary feet, On other roads, the simple strain Are finding sweet. The birds must know. Who wisely sings Will sing as they ; The common air has generous wings, Songs make their way. THE TRUE BALLAD OF THE KING S SINGER. HE king rode fast, the king rode well, The royal hunt went loud and gay, A thousand bleeding chamois fell For royal sport that day. When sunset turned the hills all red, The royal hunt went still and slow ; The king s great horse with weary tread Plunged ankle-deep in snow. Sudden a strain of music sweet, Unearthly sweet, came through the wood ; Up sprang the king, and on both feet Straight in his saddle stood. 4 2 VERSES. " Now, by our lady, be it bird, Or be it man or elf who plays, Never before my ears have heard A music fit for praise ! " Sullen and tired, the royal hunt Followed the king, who tracked the song, Unthinking, as is royal wont, How hard the way and long. Stretched on a rock the shepherd lay And dreamed and piped, and dreamed and sang, And careless heard the shout and bay With which the echoes rang. ** Up, man ! the king ! " the hunters cried. He slowly stood, and, wondering, Turned honest eyes from side to side : To him, each looked like king. Strange shyness seized the king s bold tongue ; He saw how easy to displease This savage man who stood among His courtiers, so at ease. But kings have silver speech to use When on their pleasure they are bent ; The simple shepherd could not choose; Like one in dream he went. O hear ! O hear ! The ringing sound Of twenty trumpets swept the street, TRUE BALLAD OF THE A /.VG S SJNGER. 43 The king a minstrel now has found, For royal music meet. With cloth of gold, and cloth of red, And woman s eyes the place is bright. " Now, shepherd, sing," the king has said, ** The song you sang last night ! " One faint sound stirs the perfumed air, The courtiers scornfully look down ; The shepherd kneels in dumb despair, Seeing the king s dark frown. The king is just ; the king will wait. " Ho, guards ! let him be gently led, Let him grow used to royal state, To being housed and fed." All night the king unquiet lay, Racked by his dream s presentiment; Then rose in haste at break of day, And for the shepherd sent. " Ho now, thou beast, thou savage man, How sound thou sleepest, not to hear ! " They jeering laughed, but soon began To louder call in fear. They wrenched the bolts ; unrumpled stood The princely bed all silken fine, Untouched the plates of royal food, The flask of royal wine ! 44 VERSES. The costly robes strewn on the floor, The chamber empty, ghastly still ; The guards stood trembling at the door, And dared not cross the sill. All night the sentinels their round Had kept. No man could pass that way. The window dizzy high from ground ; Below, the deep moat lay. They crossed themselves. " The foul fiend lurks In this," they said. They did not know The miracles sweet Freedom works, To let her children go. It was the fiend himself who took That shepherd s shape to pipe and sing ; And every man with terror shook, For who would tell the king ! The heads of men all innocent Rolled in the dust that day; And east and west the bloodhounds went, Baying their dreadful bay ; Safe on a snow too far, too high, For scent of dogs or feet of men, The shepherd watched the clouds sail by, And dreamed and sang again ; And crossed himself, and knelt and cried, And kissed the holy Edelweiss, (EXONE. 45 Believing that the fiends had tried To buy him with a price. The king rides fast, the king rides well ; The summer hunts go loud and gay ; The courtiers, who this tale can tell, Are getting old and gray. But still they say it was a fiend That took a shepherd s shape to sing, For still the king s heart is not weaned To care for other thing. Great minstrels come from far and near, He will not let them sing or play, But waits and listens still to hear The song he heard that day. (ENONE. WOE to thee, CEnone ! stricken blind And poisoned by a darkness and a pain, O, woe to thee, CEnone ! who couldst find No love when love lay dying, doubly slain Slain thus by thee, CEnone ! O, what stain, Of red like this on hands of love was seen Ever before or since, since love has been ! 46 VERSES. O, woe to thee, CEnone ! Hadst thou said, " Sweet love, lost love, I know now why I live And could not die, the days I wished me dead; O love, all strength of life and joy I give Thee back ! Ah me, that I have dared to strive With fates that bore me to this one sure bliss, Thou couldst not rob me, O lost love, of this ? " Hadst thou said this, CEnone, though he went Bounding with life, thy life, and left thee there Dying and glad, such sudden pain had rent His heart, that even beating in the fair White arms of Helen, hid in her sweet hair, It had made always moan, in strange unrest, " CEnone s love was greater love, was best." [" Paris, the son of Priam, was wounded by one of the poisoned arrows of Hercules that Philoctetes bore to the siege of Troy, whereupon he had himself borne up into Ida, that he might see the nymph CEnone, whom he once had loved, because she who knew many secret things alone could heal him ; but when he had seen her and spoken with her, she would deal with the matter in no wise, whereupon Paris died ol that hurt."] THE LOVELINESS OF SORROW.^ 47 /\^- l THE LONELINESS OF SORROW- RIENDS crowd around and take it by the hand, Intruding gently on its loneliness, Striving with word of love and sweet caress To draw it into light and air. Like band Of brothers, all men gather close, and stand About it, making half its grief their own, Leaving it never silent nor alone. But through all crowds of strangers and of friends, Among all voices of good-will and cheer, Walks Sorrow, silently, and does not hear. Like hermit whom mere loneliness defends ; Like one born deaf, to whose still ear sound sends No word of message ; and like one born dumb, From whose sealed lips complaint can never come, Majestic in its patience, and more sweet Thin all things else that can of souls have birth, Bearing the one redemption of this earth Which God s eternities fulfil, complete, Down to its grave, with steadfast, tireless feet It goes uncomforted, serene, alone, And leaves not even name on any stone. 48 VERSES. A SUNRISE. E slept on a bed of roses, I know I, who am least of his subjects. The thing Chanced thus. Before it was time for the king To rise just before I saw a red glow Stream out of his door, such as roses show At heart, such a glow as no fire could bring. The solid gold of the whole eastern wing Of the palace seemed pale. Then, floating low Across the threshold, great petals of pink Fell from the feet of the king, as he stood There, smiling, majestic, serene, and good. But was it a bed of roses ? I think Of another monarch who, on the brink Of death by fire, smiled, as a monarch should BALLAD OF THE GOLD COUNTRY. 49 A BALLAD OF THE GOLD COUNTRY. EEP in the hill the gold sand burned ; The brook ran yellow with its gleams j Close by, the seekers slept, and turned And tossed in restless dreams. At dawn they waked. In friendly cheer Their dreams they told, by one, by one ; And each man laughed the dreams to hear, But sighed when they were done. Visions of golden birds that flew, Oi golden cloth piled fold on fold, O* rain which shone, and filtered through The air in showers of gold ; Visions of golden bells that rang, Of golden chariots that rolled, Visions of girls that danced and sang, With hair and robes of gold ; Visions of golden stairs that led Down golden shafts of depths untold, Visions of golden skies that shed Gold light on seas of gold. VERSES. " Comrades, your dreams have many shapes," Said one who, thoughtful, sat apart : " But I six nights have dreamed of grapes, One dream which fills my heart. " A woman meets me, crowned with vine ; Great purple clusters fill her hands ; Her eyes divinely smile and shine, As beckoning she stands. " I follow her a single pace ; She vanishes, like light or sound, And leaves me in a vine-walled place, Where grapes pile all the ground." The comrades laughed : " We know thee by This fevered, drunken dream of thine." " Ha, ha," cried he, " never have I So much as tasted wine ! " Now, follow ye your luring shapes Of gold that clinks and gold that shines; I shall await my maid of grapes, And plant her trees and vines." All through the hills the gold sand burned ; All through the lands ran yellow streams ; To right, to left, the seekers turned, Led by the golden gleams. BALLAD OF THE GOLD COUNTRY. The ruddy hills were gulfed and strained ; The rocky fields were torn and trenched ; The yellow streams were drained and drained, Until their sources quenched. The gold came fast ; the gold came free : The seekers shouted as they ran, " Now let us turn aside, and see How fares that husbandman ! " " Ho here ! ho there ! good man," they cried, And tossed gold nuggets at his feet ; "Serve us with wine ! Where is thy bride That told thee tales so sweet ? " " No wine as yet, my friends, to sell ; No bride to show," he smiling said : " But here is water from my well ; And here is wheaten bread." " Is this thy tale ? " they jeering cried ; " Who was it followed luring shapes ? And who has won ? It seems she lied, Thy maid of purple grapes ! " " When years have counted up to ten," He answered gayly, smiling still, " Come back once more, my merry men, And you shall have your fill 52 VERSES. " Of purple grapes and sparkling wine, And figs, and nectarines like flames, And sweeter eyes than maids shall shine In welcome at your names." In scorn they heard ; to scorn they laughed The water and the wheaten bread ; " We ll wait until a better draught For thy bride s health," they said. The years ran fast. The seekers went All up, all down the golden lands : The streams grew pale ; the hills were spent; Slow ran the golden sands. And men were beggars in a day, For swift to come was swift to go ; What chance had got, chance flung away On one more chance s throw. And bleached and seamed and riven plains, And tossed and tortured rocks like ghosts, And blackened lines and charred remains, And crumbling chimney-posts, For leagues their ghastly records spread Of youth, and years, and fortunes gone, Like graveyards whose sad living dead Had hopeless journeyed on. BALLAD OF THE GOLD COUNTRY. 53 The years had counted up to ten : One night, as it grew chill and late, The husbandman marked beggar-men Who leaned upon his gate. " Ho here ! good men," he eager cried, Before the wayfarers could speak ; "This is my vineyard. Far and wide, For laborers I seek. " This year has doubled on last year; The fruit breaks down my vines and trees ; Tarry and help, till wine runs clear, And ask what price you please." Purple and red, to left, to right, For miles the gorgeous vintage blazed; And all day long and into night The vintage song was raised. And wine ran free all thirst beyond, And no hand stinted bread or meat ; And maids were gay, and men were fond. And hours were swift and sweet. The beggar-men they worked with will ; Their hands were thin and lithe and strong Each day they ate good two days fill, They had been starved so long. VERSES. The vintage drew to end. New wine From thousand casks was dripping slow, And bare and yellow fields gave sign For vintagers to go. The beggar-men received their pay, Bright yellow gold, twice their demand ; The master, as they turned away, Held out his brawny hand, And said : " Good men, this time next year My vintage will be bigger still ; Come back, if chance should bring you near, And it should suit your will." The beggars nodded. But at night They said : " No more we go that way: He did not know us then ; he might Upon another day ! " MY SHIP, 55 EXILE. EN may be banished, and a blood-price set, Tracking their helpless steps in every land, Arming against their life each base man s hand, But light and air and memory are met In holy league, to help and save them yet, From all of death which souls cannot withstand: The subtlest cruelty which ever planned, Can never make them pray they may forget Because they are forgotten. They may go, Driven of earth and tossed by salt sea s foam, Till every breath one slow dull pain become ; It is not exile. Only exiles know : Nor distance makes, nor nearness saves the blow; The exile had of exile died at home. MY SHIP. brothers ships sail out by night, by day; My brothers feet run merry on the shore, They need not weep, believing they no more Shall find the loved ones who have sailed away, 5 6 VERSES. So frequent go their ships, to-morrow may See one return for them. The ship that bore My loved from me 1! ,s where she lay before ; My heart grows sick v;ithin me as I pray The silent skipper, morn by morn, if he Will sail before the night With patient tread I bear him all my goods. I cannot see What more is left that could be stripped from me, But still the silent skipper shakes his head : Ah me ! I think I never shall be dead ! AT LAST. THE years I lost before I knew you, Love ! O, the hills I climbed and came not to you, Love ! Ah ! who shall render unto us to make Us glad, The things which for "~;d of each other s sake We might have had ? If you and I had sat and played together, Love, Two speechless babies in the summer weather, Love, AT LAST. 57 By one sweet brook which, though it dried up long Ago, Still makes for me to-day a sweeter song Than all I know, If hand in hand through the mysterious gateway, Love, Of womanhood, we had first looked and straightway, Love, Had whispered to each other softly, ere It yet Was dawn, what now in noonday heat and fear We both forget, If all of this had given its completeness, Love, To every hour would it be added sweetness, Love ? Could I know sooner whether it were well Or ill With thee ? One wish could I more surely tell, More swift fulfil ? Ah ! vainly thus I sit and dream and ponder, Love, Losing the precious present while I wonder, Love, About the days in which you grew and came To be So beautiful, and did not know the name Or sight of me. VERSES. But all lost things are in the angels keeping. Love ; No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love ; The years of Heaven will all earth s little pain Make good, Together there we can begin again In babyhood. MEMOIR OF A QUEEN. ER name, before she was a queen, boots not. When she was crowned, her kingdom said, " The Queen ! " And, after that, all other names too mean By far had seemed. Perhaps all were forgot, Save " Queen, sweet queen." Such pitiable lot As till her birth her kingdom had, was seen Never in all fair lands, so torn between False grasping powers, that toiled and fought, but got No peace. All curious search is wholly vain For written page or stone whereon occurs A mention of the kingdom which obeyed This sweet queen s rule. But centuries have laid No dead queen down in royal sepulchres Whose reign was greater or more blest than hers. OUR ANGELS. 59 OUR ANGELS. H ! not with any sound they come, or sign, Which fleshly ear or eye can recognize ; No curiosity can compass or surprise The secret of that intercourse divine Which God permits, ordains, across the line, The changeless line which bars Our earth from other stars. But they do come and go continually, Our blessed angels, no less ours than His ; The blessed angels whom we think we miss ; Whose empty graves we weep to name or see, And vainly watch, as once in Galilee One, weeping, watched in vain, Where her lost Christ had lain. Whenever in some bitter grief we find, All unawares, a deep, mysterious sense Of hidden comfort come, we know not whence ; When suddenly we see, where we were blind ; Where we had struggled, are content, resigned ; Are strong where we were weak, And no more strive nor seek, Then we may know that from the far glad skies, To note our need, the watchful God has bent, And for our instant help has called and sent, 60 VERSES. Of all our loving angels, the most wise And tender one, to point to us where lies The path that will be best, The path of peace and rest. And when we find on every sky and field A sudden, new, and mystic light, which fills Our every sense with speechless joy, and thrills Us, till we yield ourselves as children yield Themselves and watch the spells magicians wield, With tireless, sweet surprise, And rapture in their eyes, Then we may know our little ones have run Away for just one moment, from their play In heavenly gardens, and in their old way Are walking by our side, and one by one, At all sweet things beneath the earthly sun, Are pointing joyfully, And calling us to see ! Ah ! when we learn the spirit sound and sign, And instantly our angels recognize, No weariness can tire, no pain surprise Our souls rapt in the intercourse divine, Which God permits, ordains, across the line, The changeless line which bars Our earth from other stars. WHEN THE TIDE COMES 61 MAZZINI. HAT he is dead the sons of kings are glad ; And in their beds the tyrants sounder sleep. Now he is dead his martyrdom will reap Late harvest of the palms it should have had In life. Too late the tardy lands are sad. His unclaimed crown in secret they will keep For ages, while in chains they vainly weep, And vainly grope to find the roads he bade Them take. O glorious soul ! there is no dearth Of worlds. There must be many better worth Thy presence and thy leadership than this. No doubt, on some great sun to-day, thy birth Is for a race, the dawn of Freedom s bliss, Which but for thee it might for ages miss. "WHEN THE TIDE COMES IN." HEN the tide comes in, At once the shore and sea begin Together to be glad. What the tide has brought No man has asked, no man has sought : 62 VERSES. What other tides have had The deep sand hides away ; The last bit of the wrecks they wrought Was burned up yesterday. When the tide goes out, The shore looks dark and sad with doubt. The landmarks are all lost. For the tide to turn Men patient wait, men restless yearn. Sweet channels they have crossed, In boats that rocked with glee, Stretch now bare stony roads that burn And lead away from sea. When the tide comes in In hearts, at once the hearts begin Together to be glad. What the tide has brought They do not care, they have not sought. All joy they ever had The new joy multiplies ; All pain by which it may be bought Seems paltry sacrifice. When the tide goes out, The hearts are wrung with fear and doubt; All trace of joy seems lost. Will the tide return ? In restless questioning they yearn, THE SINGER S HILLS. 63 With hands unclasped, uncrossed, They weep, on separate ways. Ah ! darling, shall we ever learn Love s tidal hours and days ? THE SINGER S HILLS. E dwelt where level lands lay low and drear, Long stretches of waste meadow pale and sere, With dull seas languid tiding up and down, Turning the lifeless sands from white to brown, Wide barren fields for miles and miles, until The pale horizon walled them in, and still No lifted peak, no slope, not even mound To raise and cheer the weary eye was found. From boyhood up and down these dismal lands, And pacing to and fro the barren sands, And always gazing, gazing seaward, went The Singer. Daily with the sad winds blent His yearning voice. " There must be hills," he said, " I know they stand at sunset rosy red, And purple in the dewy shadowed morn ; Great forest trees like babes are rocked and borne Upon their breasts, and flowers like jewels shine Around their feet, and gold and silver line 64 Their hidden chambers, and great cities rise Stately where their protecting shadow lies, And men grow brave and women are more fair Neath higher skies, and in the clearer air ! " One day thus longing, gazing, lo ! in awe Made calm by ecstasy, he sudden saw, Far out to seaward, mountain peaks appear, Slow rising from the water pale and clear. Purple and azure, there they were, as he Had faithful yearning visions they must be ; Purple and azure and bright rosy red, Like flashing jewels, on the sea they shed Their quenchless light. Great tears ran down The Singer s cheeks, and through the busy town, And all across the dreary meadow lands, And all along the dreary lifeless sands, He called aloud, " Ho ! tarry ! tarry ye ! Behold those purple mountains in the sea ! " The people saw no mountains ! " He is mad," They careless said, and went their way and had No farther thought of him. And so, among His fellows noisy, idle, crowding throng, The Singer walked, as strangers walk who speak A foreign tongue and have no friend to seek. And yet the silent joy which filled his face Sometimes their wonder stirred a little space, And following his constant seaward look, One wistful gaze they also seaward took. THE SINGER S HILLS. 65 One clay the Singer was not seen. Men said That as the early day was breaking red, He rowed far out to sea, rowed swift and strong t>* Toward the spot where he had gazed so long. Then all the people shook their heads, and went A little sadly, thinking he had spent His life in vain, and sorry they no more Should hear his sweet mad songs along their shore. But when the sea with sunset hues was dyed, A boat came slowly drifting with the tide, Nor oar nor rudder set to turn or stay, And on the crimson deck the Singer lay. "Ah, he is dead," some cried. " No ! he but sleeps, ; Said others, " madman that he is, joy keeps Sweet vigils with him now." The light keel grazed The sands ; alert and swift the Singer raised His head, and with red cheeks and eyes aflame Leaped out, and shouted loud, and called by name Each man, and breathlessly his story told. " Lo, I have landed on the hills of gold ! See, these are flowers, and these are fruits, and these Are boughs from off the giant forest trees ; And these are jewels which lie loosely there, And these are stuffs which beauteous maidens wear !" And staggering he knelt upon the sands As laying burdens down. But empty hands His fellows saw, and passed on smiling. Yet, The ecstasy in which his face was set Again smote on their hearts with sudden sense Of half involuntary reverence. 66 VERSES. And some said, whispering, " Alack, is he The madman ? Have ye never heard there be Some spells which make men blind ? " And thenceforth they More closely watched the Singer day by day, Till finally they said, " He is not mad. There be such hills, and treasure to be had For seeking there ! We too without delay Will sail." And of the men who sailed that way, Some found the purple mountains in the sea, Landed, and roamed their treasure countries free, And drifted back with brimming laden hands. Walking along the lifeless silent sands, The Singer, gazing ever seaward, knew, Well knew the odors which the soft wind blew Of all the fruits and flowers and boughs they bore. Standing with hands stretched eager on the shore, When they leaped out, he called, " Now God be praised, Sweet comrades, were they then not fair ?" Amazed, And with dull scorn, the other men who brought No treasures, found no mountains, and saw naught In these men s hands, beheld them kneeling low, Lifting, shouting, and running to and fro As men unlading argosies whose freight Of gorgeous things bewildered by its weight. Tireless the great years waxed ; the great years waned ; Slowly the Singer s comrades grew and gained THE SINGER S HILLS. 67 Till they were goodly number. No man s scorn Could hurt or hinder them. No pity born Of it could make them blush, or once make less Their joy s estate ; and as for loneliness They knew it not. Still rise the magic hills, Purple and gold and red ; the shore still thrills With fragrance when the sunset winds begin To blow and waft the subtle odors in From treasure laden boats that drift, and bide The hours and moments of the wave and tide, Laden with fruits and boughs and flowers rare, And jewels such as monarchs do not wear, And costly stuffs which dazzle on the sight, Stuffs wrought for purest virgin, bravest knight ; And men with cheeks all red, and eyes aflame, And hearts that call to hearts by brothers name, Still leap out on the silent lifeless sands, And staggering with over-burdened hands Joyous lay down the treasures they have brought, While smiling, pitying, the world sees nought ! 68 VERSES. COVERT. NE day, when sunny fields lay warm and still, And from their tufted hillocks, thick and sweet With moss and pine and ferns, such spicy heat Rose up, it seemed the air to over-fill, And quicken every sense with subtle thrill, I rambled on with careless, aimless feet, And lingered idly, finding all so sweet. Sudden, almost beneath my footsteps weight, Almost before the sunny silence heard Their sound, from a low bush, which scarcely stirred A twig at lightening of its hidden freight, Flew, frightened from her nest, the small brown mate Of some melodious, joyous, soaring bird, Whose song that instant high in air I heard. " Ah ! Heart," I said, "when days are warm and sweet, And sunny hours for very joy are still, And every sense* feels subtle, languid thrill Of voiceless memory s renewing heat, Fly not at sound of strangers aimless feet ! Of thy love s distant song drink all thy fill ! Thy hiding-place is safe. Glad heart, keep still ! " WAITING. WAITING. ORNl KNOW it will not be to-day ; I know it will not be to-morrow ; Oh, half in joy and half in sorrow, I watch the slow swift hours away ; I bid them haste, then bid them stay, I long so for the coming day. I long so, I would rather wait ; Each hour I see the unseen comer ; Each hour turns ripe in secret summer The joys which I anticipate. precious feet, come slow, come late ! 1 long so, it is bliss to wait ! Ah, sweet sad life, so far to-day ! Ah, sweet sad life, so near to-morrow ! Can joy be joy when we miss sorrow ? When earth s last sun has rolled away In tideless time, and we can say No more, "To-morrow," or " To-day" ? 70 VERSES. RENUNCIATION. WHEREFORE thus, apart with droop ing wings Thou stillest, saddest angel, With hidden face, as if but bitter things Thou hadst, and no evangel Of good tidings ? Thou know st that through our tears Of hasty, selfish weeping, Comes surer sun ; and for our petty fears Of loss, thou hast in keeping A greater gain than all of which we dreamed. Thou knowest that in grasping The bright possessions which so precious seemed, We lose them ; but, if clasping Thy faithful hand, we tread with steadfast feet The path of thy appointing, There waits for us a treasury of sweet Delight; royal anointing With oil of gladness and of strength ! O, things Of Heaven, Christ s evangel Bearing, call us with shining face and poised wings, Thou sweetest, dearest angel ! BURNT SHIPS. 71 BURNT SHIPS. LOVE, sweet Love, who came with rosy sail And foaming prow across the misty sea ! O Love, brave Love, whose faith was full and free That lands of sun and gold, which could not fail, Lay in the west, that bloom no wintry gale Could blight, and eyes whose love thine own should be, Called thee, with steadfast voice of prophecy, To shores unknown ! O Love, poor Love, avail Thee nothing now thy faiths, thy braveries ; There is no sun, no bloom ; a cold wind strips The bitter foam from off the wave where dips No more thy prow ; the eyes are hostile eyes ; The gold is hidden ; vain thy tears and cries ; O Love, poor Love, why didst thou burn thy ships ? 72 VERSES. RESURGAM. OW, still, unutterably weak, In human helplessness more helpless than The smallest of God s other creatures can Be left, I lie and do not speak. Walls rise and close Around. No warning shows To me, who am but blind, which wall Will shelter, and which one will fall And crush me in the dust, Not that I sinned, but that it must. Each hour, within my heart, some sweet hope dies. Each night the dead form lies Of some fair purpose which I could not save, Ready for day to carry out and hide In a dishonored grave. My strongest will Finds stronger fate stand side by side With it, its utmost efforts conquering still With such swift might, the dust in which I lie Scarce quivers with my struggle and my pain, Scarce echoes with my cry. Grief comes and passes by, And Joy comes hand in hand With Grief, each bearing crowns with buds of snow, Both laying crowns upon my head. Soon as the buds are open, it were vain To try to separate or understand RESURGAM. 73 No sense of mine can feel or know Which flowers the hand of Joy has shed, And which the hand of Pain. Therefore I do not choose ; Fearing, desiring equally from each, I wait. I do not dare refuse. Only one sound can reach Me where I lie, can stir my veins, Or make me lift my eyes. That sound drops from the skies, A still small voice, round it great silence lies: "Not one of all these things remains. Thou shalt arise ! " Somewhere on earth, Marked, sealed, mine from its hour of birth, A stairway lies, down which I shall descend, And pass through a dark gate, which at my name, And at no other, will swing back and close. Where lies this stairway no man knows, No man has even wondered. Only I Remember it continually. Spring never came, Her grasses setting, that I did not bend Low in the fields, saying : " Lend But part trust, O Summer ! Many graves, Before this sweet grass waves Half grown, must open. Ah ! will reapers reap Harvest from my low resting-place This year ? Or will the withered sods and I 74 1 ERSES. Lifeless together lie, With silent, upturned face, Before the autumn winds sweep by ? " And when the winter snows lie deep, I think : " How hard to find, Just now, those hidden stairs that wind For me." The time must near the end. Perhaps for those I leave behind, More sad to see the snow. But its pure white, I think, would shed a little light, And stretch like alabaster skies Above the stairway dark I must descead, That I may rise. Somewhere on earth, Marked, sealed, mine from its hour of birth, There lies a shining stone, My own. Perhaps it still is in the quarry s hold. Oh ! Pine Tree, wave in winter s cold Swifter above it ; in the summer s heat Drop spices on it, thick and sweet ; Quicken its patient crystals growth. Oh ! be not loth, Quarry and Pine, And stir of birds in the still North, And suns that shine, Give up my smooth white stone ! Hasten it forth. My soul in bondage lies. I must arise. RESURGAM. 75 Perhaps upon the shining stone, My own, Even to-day the hammers ring. The workman does not sing. He is a lover and he has a child ; To him a gravestone is a fearful thing. He has not smiled Since under his strong hands the white stone came, Though he is slow and dull, And could not give a name To thoughts which fill his heart too full Of prophecy and pain. O Workman, sing ! See how the white dust flies And glistens in the sunny air. No grain but counts ; Some fair spot grows more fair By it, each moment. In the skies, My moment must be near. Workman, there is on earth no loss, no waste. Sing loud, and make all haste ; I must arise. Perhaps even now the shining stone, My own, Stands ready, arch and base, And chiselled lines, and space For name all done : and yesterday Some sorrowing ones stood round it silently, And looked at it through tears, But passed it by, 7 6 VERSES. Saying, with trembling lips : " No, no ! For stone more beautiful than this we seek. Sculptor, dost thou not know What lines will make the marble show A deeper grief? " Ah ! mourners, speak In lower voice. Ye do not see What presence guards The stone. More than ye dream retards Your will. The stone waits there for me. My soul in bondage lies. I must arise. Then, when I have descended, and the stone Above the stairway has been set, The tears of those who reckoned me their own A little space will wet The grass ; but soon all saddened days Count up to comforted and busy years : All living men must go their ways And leave their dead behind. The tideless light Of sun and moon and stars, silence of night And noise of day, and whirling of the great Round world itself, yea, All things which are and are not work to lay The dead away. The crumbling of the stone, more late, The sinking of the little mound To unmarked level, where with noisy sound Roam idle and unwitting feet, Least tokens are and smallest part Of the oblivion complete RESURGAM. 77 Which wraps a human grave ; And unto me, the hour when the last heart Has ceased to save My memory, the year That sees my white stone lying low, The century that sees the grave mound grow, Free of my dust, to solid earth again, Made ready for new dead, all these will be Alike to me, Alike uncounted will remain. Their sound I shall not hear As I arise. They mark no moments in the skies Through which I mount. As constant as God s law, Bearing all joy and grief my first years saw, Even my babyhood, Bearing all evil and all good Of ripest age, nowise Escaping and nowise forgetting one Of all the actions done, And bearing all that lies In utmost law for me, all God s great will, All God s great mercy, still I shall arise. The fool asks, "With what flesh ? in joy or pain? Helped or unhelped ? and lonely, or again Surrounded by our earthly friends ? " I know not ; and I glory that I do Not know : that for Eternity s great ends 78 VERSES. God counted me as worthy of such trust, That I need not be told. I hold That if it be Less than enough to any soul to know Itself immortal, immortality In all its boundless spaces will not find A place designed So small, so low, That to a fitting home such soul can go. Out to the earthward brink Of that great tideless sea Light from Christ s garments streams. Cowards who fear to tread such beams The angels can but pity when they sink. Believing thus, I joy although I lie in dust I joy, not that I ask or choose, But simply that I must. I love and fear not ; and I cannot lose, One instant, this great certainty of peace. Long as God ceases not, I cannot cease ; I must arise. THE VILLAGE LIGHTS. 79 THE VILLAGE LIGHTS. NLY a little village street, Lying along a mountain s side ; Only the silences which meet When weary hands and weary feet By night s sweet rest are satisfied ; Only the dark of summer nights ; Only the commonest of sights, The glimmer of the village lights ! I know not, then, why it should bring Into my eyes such sudden tears. But to the mountain s sheltering The little village seems to cling, As child, all unaware of fears, Unconscious that it is caressed, In perfect peace and perfect rest Asleep upon its mother s breast. No stir, no sound ! The shadows creep. The old and young, in common trust, Are lying down to wait, asleep, While Life and Joy will come to keep With Death and Pain what tryst they must. O faith ! for faith almost too great ! Come slow, O day of evil freight ! O village hearts, sleep well, sleep late ! VERSES. TRANSPLANTED. HEN Christ, the Gardener, said, "These many years Behold how I have waited For fruit upon this barren tree, which bears But leaves ! With unabated Patience I have nurtured it"; have fed Its roots with choicest juices ; The sweetest suns their tender warmth have shed On it ; still it refuses Its blossom ; all the balmiest summer rain Has bathed it ; unrepaying, Still, its green and glittering leaves, in vain And empty show arraying, It flaunts, contented in its uselessness, Ever my eye offending. Uproot it ! Set it in the wilderness ! There no more gentle tending Shall it receive ; but, pricked by nettle stings, And bruised and hurt, and crowded By stones, and weeds, and noxious growths of things That kill, and chilled neath shrouded And sunless skies, from whose black clouds no rain Shall fall to soothe its anguish, Bearing the utmost it can feel of pain, Unsuccored, it shall languish ! " When next across the wilderness Christ came, Seeking his Royal Garden, TRA NSPLANTED. 8 1 A tree stood in his pathway, all aflame, And bending with its burden Of burnished gold. No fruit inside the wall Had grown to such perfection ! It was the outcast tree ! Deprived of all Kind nurture and protection, Thrust out among vile things of poisonous growth, Condemned, disgraced, and banished, Lonely and scorned, its energies put forth Anew. All false show vanished ; Its roots struck downward with determined hold, No more the surface roaming ; And from th unfriendly soil, a thousand-fold Of yield compelled. The coming Of the Gardener now in sweet humility It waited, trusting, trembling ; Then Christ, the Gardener, smiled and said : " O tree, This day, in the assembling Of mine, in Paradise, shalt thou be found. Henceforth in me abiding, More golden fruit shalt thou bring forth ; and round Thy root the living waters gliding Shall give the greenness which can never fade. While angels, with thy new name sealing Thee, shall come, and gather in thy shade Leaves for the nations healing ! " 82 VERSES. BEST. OTHER, I see you with your nursery light, Leading your babies, all in white, To their sweet rest ; Christ, the Good Shepherd, carries mine to-night, And that is best. I cannot help tears, when I see them twine Their fingers in yours, and their bright curls shine On your warm breast ; But the Saviour s is purer than yours or mine, He can love best ! You tremble each hour because your arms Are weak ; your heart is wrung with alarms, And sore opprest ; My darlings are safe, out of reach of harms, And that is best. You know, over yours may hang even now Pain and disease, whose fulfilling slow Naught can arrest ; Mine in God s gardens run to and fro, And that is best. You know that of yours, your feeblest one And dearest may live long years alone, Unloved unblest ; MORNING- GL OR Y. 83 Mine are cherished of saints around God s throne. And that is best. You must dread for yours the crime that sears, Dark guilt unwashed by repentant tears, And unconfessed ; Mine entered spotless on eternal years, O, how much the best ! But grief is selfish ; I cannot see Always why I should so stricken be, More than the rest ; But I know that, as well as for them, for me God did the best ! MORNING-GLORY. ONDROUS interlacement! Holding fast to threads by green and silky rings, With the dawn it spreads its white and purple wings ; Generous in its bloom, and sheltering while it clings, Sturdy morning-glory. Creeping through the casement, Slanting to the floor in dusty, shining beams, Dancing on the door in quick, fantastic gleams, 84 VERSES. Comes the new day s light, and pours in tideless streams, Golden morning-glory. In the lowly basement, Rocking in the sun, the baby s cradle stands ; Now the little one thrusts out his rosy hands ; Soon his eyes will open ; then in all the lands No such morning-glory ! OCTOBER. ENDING above the spicy woods which blaze, Arch skies so blue they flash, and hold the sun Immeasurably far ; the waters run Too slow, so freighted are the river-ways With gold of elms and birches from the maze Of forests. Chestnuts, clicking one by one, Escape from satin burs ; her fringes done, The gentian spreads them out in sunny days, And, like late revelers at dawn, the chance Of one sweet, mad, last hour, all things assail, And conquering, flush and spin ; while, to enhance The spell, by sunset door, wrapped in a veil Of red and purple mists, the summer, pale, Steals back alone for one more song and dance. MY BEES. 85 MY BEES. AN ALLEGORY. BEES, sweet bees ! " I said, " that nearest field Is shining white with fragrant immortelles. P ly swiftly there and drain those honey wells." Then, spicy pines the sunny hive to shield, I set, and patient for the autumn s yield Of sweet 1 waited. When the village bells Rang frosty clear, and from their satin cells The chestnuts leaped, rejoicing, I unsealed My hive. Alas ! no snowy honey there Was stored. My wicked bees had borne away Their queen and left no trace. That very day, An idle drone who sauntered through the air I tracked and followed, and he led me where My truant bees and stolen honey lay. Twice faithless bees ! They had sought out to eat Rank, bitter herbs. The honey was not sweet. 86 VERSES. THE ABBOT PAPHNUTIUS. ]OW on the gray stone floor Paphnutius knelt Scourging his breast, and drawing tight bis belt Of bloody nails. " O God, dear God ! " he cried, " These many years that I have crucified My sinful flesh, and called upon thee night And day, are they all reckoned in thy sight? And wilt thou tell me now which saint of thine I am most like ? and is there bond or sign That I can find him by and win him here, That we may dwell as brothers close and dear ?" Silent the river kept its gentle flow Beneath the walls ; the ash-trees to and fro Swayed silent, save a sigh ; a sunbeam laid Its bar along the Abbot s beads, which made Uncanny rhythm across the quiet air, The only ghost of sound which sounded there, As fast their smooth-worn balls he turned and told, And trembled, thinking he had been too bold. But suddenly, with solemn clang and swell, In the high tower rang out the vesper-bell; And subtly hidden in the pealing tones, Melodious dropping from celestial thrones, These words the glad Paphnutius thrilling heard : " Be not afraid In this thou hast not erred ; THE ABBOT PAPILVUTIUS. 87 Of all my saints, the one whose heart most suits To thine is one who, playing reedy flutes, In the great market-place goes up and down, While men and women dance, in yonder town." Oh, much Paphnutius wondered, as he went To robe him for the journey. Day was spent, And cunning night had spread and lit her snares For souls made weak by weariness and cares, When to the glittering town the Abbot came. With secret shudder, half affright, half shame, Close cowled, he mingled in the babbling throng, And with reluctant feet was borne along To where, by torches fitful glare and smoke, A band of wantons danced, and screamed, and spoke Such words as fill pure men with shrinking fear. " Good Lord deliver me ! Can he be here," The frightened Abbot said, "the mar. I seek?" Lo, as he spoke, a man reeled dizzy, weak With ribald laughter, clutching him by gown And shoulder ; and before his feet threw down Soft twanging flutes, which rolled upon the stone And broke. Outcried the Abbot with a groan, Seizing the player firm in mighty hands, " O man ! what doest thou with these vile bands Of harlots ? God hath told to me thou art A saint of his, and one whose life and heart Are like my own ; and I have journeyed here For naught but finding thee." In maze and fear, The player lifted up his blood-shot eyes, 88 VERSES. And stammered drtmkenly, " Good father, lies Thy road some other way. Take better heed Next time thou seekest saints ! One single deed Of good I never did. I live in sins. Unhand me now ! another dance begins." "Flute-player," said the Abbot, stern and sweet, " God cannot lie ! Some deed thou hast done meet For serving him. Bethink thee now, and tell. Where was it that the blessed chance befell ? " Half-sobered by the Abbot s voice and mien, The player spoke again, " No more I ween Of serving God, than if no God there were ; But now I do remember me of her That once I saved from hands of robber-men, Whose chief I was. I know I wondered then What new blood could have quickened in my veins. I gave her, spite myself, of our rich gains Three hundred pieces of good gold, to free Her husband and her sons from slavery. But love of God had nought to do with this : I know him, love him not ; I do not miss Nor find him in the world. I love my sins. Now let me go ! another dance begins." " Yes, go ! " the Abbot gently said, and took His grasp from off his arm. " But, brother, look, If God has thus to thee this one good deed So fully counted, wilt thou not take heed Thyself, remembering him ? " Then homeward slow, Alone and sad, where he had thought to go THE ABBOT PAPHNUTIUS. 89 Triumphant with a new-found brother-saint, The Abbot went. But vain he set restraint Upon his wondering thoughts : through prayer, through chant, The question ever rang, " What could God want To teach me, showing me that sinful man As saint of nearest kin to me, who can Abide no sin of thought or deed." Three days The Abbot went his patient, silent ways. The river lapped in gentle, silent flow The cloister-wall; the ash-trees to and fro Sv/ayed silent, save a sigh : the third night, came Low rapping at the cloister-door, in shame And fear the player ! Then Paphnutius rose, His pale face kindled red with joyful glows ; The monks in angry, speechless wonder stood, Seeing this vagabond to brotherhood Made so soon welcome. But the Abbot said, "O brothers ! this flute-player in such stead Is held of God, that, when in loneliness I knelt and prayed for some new saint to bless Our house, God spoke, and told me this man s name, As his who should be brother when he came." Flute-player and Paphnutius both have slept In dust for centuries. The world has kept No record of them save this tale, which sets But bootless lesson : still the world forgets 9 VERSES. That God knows best what hearts are counted his ; Still men deny the thing whose sign they miss ; Still pious souls pray as Paphnutius prayed For brother-souls in their own semblance made ; And slowly learn, with outcries and complaints, That publicans and sinners may be saints . NOON. SWEET, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find; O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind ; While pale gray hours descend Fast on the farther slope, Where a darkness marks the end Of that day s work and hope. O Noon, if thou couldst stay ! Were there but spell to arrest Thy magic moment, to slay Night on the fair sky s breast, Or make the morning haste, Or the chilly evening tarry, And the liquid light they waste Give thee, O Noon, to carry! NOON. 91 O cruel, stinted drop, In sapphire chalice so deep That if million suns should stop Its walls their light could keep I O Love, O Joys above All words of my telling, stay ! Does your swiftness mean that love Has day, and noon of day ? This sweetness more, more sweet, And this brightness growing bright, This silent, delicious heat, This dearer, tenderer light, O Love, mean these a noon, A noon which thou climb s t to find, That moment over too soon, With morning left behind ? O Love, we kneel, we pray, For our sweet Love s precious sake ; Set here the bound of our day ; Grant us this choice we make. We fear the gray hour s sight, The moment over too soon ; Spare us the chill of the night ; We will forego our noon ! 92 VERSES. IN THE PASS. CROSS my road a mountain rose of rock, Fierce, naked rock. Its shadow, black and chill, Shut out the sun. Gray clouds, which seemed to mock With cruel challenges my helpless will, Sprang up and scaled the steepest crags. The shrill Winds, two and two, went breathless out and in, Filling tne darkened air with evil din. I turned away my weary steps and said : "This must be confine of some fearful place ; Here is no path for mortal man to tread. Who enters here will tremble, face to face With powers of darkness, whose unearthly race In cloud and wind and storm delights to dwell, Ruling them all. by an uncanny spell." The guide but smiled, and, holding fast my hand, Compelled me up a path I had not seen. It wound round ledges where I scarce could stand ; It plunged to sudden sunless depths between Immeasurable cliffs, which seemed to lean Together, closing as we passed, like door Of dungeon which would open nevermore. I said again : " I will not go. This way Is not for mortal feet." Again the guide IN THE PASS. 93 But smiled, and I again could but obey. The path grew narrow ; thundering by its side, As loud as ocean at its highest tide, A river rushed, all black, and green, and white, A boiling stream of molten malachite. Sudden I heard a joyous cry, " Behold, behold ! " And, smiling still on me, the good guide turned, And pointed where broad, sunny fields unrolled And spread like banners ; green, so green it burned, And lit the air like red ; and blue which yearned From all the lofty dome of sky, and bent And folded low and circling like a tent; And forests ranged like armies,- round and round, At feet of mountains of eternal snow ; And valleys all alive with happy sound ; The song of birds ; swift brooks delicious flow ; The mystic hum of million things that grow ; The stir of men ; and gladdening every way, Voices of little children at their play ; And shining banks of flowers which words refuse To paint ; such colors as in summer light The rarest, fleetest summer rainbows use, But set in gold of sun, and silver white Of dew, as thick as gems which blind the sight On altar fronts, inlaid with priceless things, The jewelled gifts of centuries of kings. Then, sitting half in dream, and half in fear Of how such wondrous miracle were wrought. 94 VERSES. Thy name, dear friend, I sudden seemed to hear Through all the charmed air. My loving thought Through patient years had vainly groped and sought, And found no hidden thing so rare, so good, That it might furnish thy similitude. O noble soul, whose strengths like mountains stand. Whose purposes, like adamantine stone, Bar roads to feeble feet, and wrap the land In seeming shadow, thou, too, hast thine own Sweet valleys full of flowers, for me alone, Unseen, unknown, undreamed of by the mass, Who do not know the secret of the Pass. CORTINA D AMPEZZO, AMPEZZO PASS, June 22, 1869. AMREETA WINE. HE rose up from the golden feast, And her voice rang like the sea ; " Sir Knight, put down thy glass and come To the battlement with me. "That was a charmed wine thou drank st, Signed white from heaven, signed black from hell Alas ! alas ! for the bitter thing The sign hath forced thy lips to tell ! " AMREETA WINE, 95 " Ho here ! Ho there ! Lift up and bear My choice wine out," she said ; "That which hath brand of a clasping hand, And the seal blood-red." 14 Ho here ! Ho there ! To the castle stair Bear all that branded wine ; And dash it far, where the breakers are Whitest, of the brine ! " Let no man dare to shrink or spare, Or one red drop to spill ; Of the endless pain of that wine s hot stain Let the salt sea bear its fill. " O woe of mine ! O woe of thine ! O woe of endless thirst ! O woe for the Amreeta wine, By fate and thee accurst ! " The knight spake words of sore dismay But her face was white like stone ; She saw him mount and ride away, And made no moan. The wind blew east, the wind blew west, The airs from sepulchres ; No royal heart in all of them So dead as hers 1 96 VERSES. SOLITUDE. SOLITUDE," I said, "sweet Solitude! I follow fast ; I kneel to find thy trace ; I listen low in every secret place ; I lay rough hand on eager human lips ; I set aside all near companionships ; I know thou hast a subtler, rarer good. Priestess, how shalt thou be found and wooed ? 1 tracked her where she passed in trackless fields ; I trod her path where footprint had not staid In sunless woods ; I stopped to hark where laid Her very shadow its great bound of light And gloom in lifeless arctic day and night ; And where, to tropic sun, mid-ocean yields Its silent, windless waves, like mirror-shields ; But found her not. Great tribes roamed free In every trackless field and wood. More plain Than speech I heard their voice: in rain, the rain Of endless chatter, and in sun, the sun Of merry laughing noise, were never done. All silence dinned with sound ; and, jostling me, In every place, went crowds I could not see. In anger, then, at last I cried, " Betray Whomever thou canst cheat, O Solitude, With promise of thy subtler, rarer good ! AS i WILL: 97 I seek my joy henceforth in haunts of men, Forgetting thee, where thou hast never been ! " When, lo ! that instant sounded close and sweet, Above the rushing of the city street, The voice of Solitude herself, to say, " Ha, loving comrade, met at last ! Which way ? " "NOT AS I WILL." LINDFOLDED and alone I stand With unknown thresholds on each hand ; The darkness deepens as I grope, Afraid to fear, afraid to hope : Yet this one thing I learn to know Each day more surely as I go, That doors are opened, ways are made, Burdens are lifted or are laid, By some great law unseen and still, Unfathomed purpose to fulfil, " Not as I will." Blindfolded and alone I wait ; Loss seems too bitter, gain too late ; Too heavy burdens in the load And too few helpers on the road ; And joy is weak and grief is strong, And years and days so long, so long: Yet this one thing I learn to know Each day more surely as I go, 98 VERSES. That I am glad the good and ill By changeless law are ordered still, " Not as I will." " Not as I will " : the sound grows sweet Each time my lips the words repeat. " Not as I will " : the darkness feels More safe than light when this thought steals Like whispered voice to calm and bless All unrest and all loneliness. " Not as I will," because the One Who loved us first and best has gone Before us on the road, and still For us must all his love fulfil, " Not as we will." LAND. 99 LAND. LAND, sweet land! New World ! my world ! No mortal knows what seas I sail With hope and faith which never fail, With heart and will which never quail, Till on thy shore my sails are furled, O land, sweet land ! New World ! my world ! land, sweet land ! New World ! my world ! 1 cross again, again, again The magic seas. Each time I reign Crowned conqueror. Each time remain New shores on which my sails are furled, A sweeter land ! A newer world ! world, New World ! Sweet land, my land ! 1 come to-day, as first I came. The sea is swift, the sky is flame. My low song sings thy nameless name. Lovers who love, ye understand ! O sweetest world ! O sweetest land ! OCTOBER 2d, 1871. 100 VERSES. OPPORTUNITY. DO not know if, climbing some steep hill Through fragrant wooded pass, this glimpse I bought ; Or whether in some midday I was caught To upper air, where visions of God s will In pictures to our quickened sense fulfil His word. But this I saw : A path I sought Through wall of rock. No human fingers wrought The golden gates which opened, sudden, still, And wide. My fear was hushed by my delight. Surpassing fair the lands ; my path lay plain ; Alas ! so spell-bound, feasting on the sight, I paused, that I but reached the threshold bright, When, swinging swift, the golden gates again Were rocky walls, by which I wept in vain ! WHEN THE BABY DIED. HEN the baby died, On every side White lilies and blue violets were strown ; Unreasoning, the mother s heart made moan: WHEN THE BABY DIED. 101 " Who counted all these flowers which have grown Unhindered in their bloom? Was there not room, O Earth, and God, couldst thou not care For mine a little longer ? Fare Thy way, O Earth ! All life, all death For me ceased with my baby s breath ; All Heaven I forget or doubt. Within, without, Is idle chance, more pitiless than law." And that was all the mother saw. II. When- the baby died, On every side Rose strangers voices, hard and harsh and loud. The baby was not wrapped in any shroud. The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed That men s eyes might not see Her misery ; But in her bitter heart she said, " Ah me ! t is well that he is dead, My boy for whom there was no food. If there were God, and God were good, All human hearts at least might keep The right to weep Their dead. There is no God, but cruel law." And that was all the mother saw. 102 VEKSES. III. When the baby died, On every side Swift angels came in shining, singing bands, And oore the little one, with gentle hands, Into the sunshine of the spirit lands. And Christ the Shepherd said, Let them be led In gardens nearest to the earth. One mother weepeth over birth, Anotner weepeth over death ; In vain all Heaven answereth. Laughs from the little ones may reach Their ears, and teach Them what, so blind with tears, they never saw, That of all life, all death, God s love is law." "OLD LAMPS FOR NEW." SOUL! wert thou a poor maid-servant, weak And foolish, and unknowing how the walls Of shining stones and silver, and fine gold, Which made our dwelling glorious, our life Assured, were built, that thou must spring at call Of our most deadly foe, lured by the sound FEAST. 103 And glitter of his hollow brass, and give Into his treacherous hands our all ? And now For thee and me remaineth nothing more, But cold and hunger and the desert ! Soul, Rise up and follow him, and tarry not, Nor dare to call thy life thine own, until Thou hast waylaid him sitting at his feast, And torn our talisman from off his breast ! FEAST. OR days when guests unbidden Walk in my sun, With steps that roam unchidden, And overrun My vines and flowers, and hands That rob on all my lands, For such days, still there stands One banquet, one ! One banquet which, spread under A magic mist, I taste, until they wonder What light has kissed My eyes, and where the grapes Have hung, whose red escapes In mounting, mantling shapes, And heats my wrist. 104 VERSES. Crowned with its rosy flowers, Pouring its wine, Glide faithful ghosts of hours Long dead : no sign They show of death, or chill, But glowing, smiling still, Love s utmost joy fulfil At word of mine. And ringeth through my garden, The tireless pace Of silver-mailed warden, With eastward face, Who calmly bides the night, And in each first, red light, Reads prophecy aright Of that day s grace, When guests that are unbidden Shall all have ceased ; And thy dear arms unchidden, My love, my priest, Shall hold me while the hours That were, and are, fling flowers ? And Hope, the warden, pours Wine for our feast. TWO SUNDAYS. 105 TWO SUNDAYS. BABY, alone, in a lowly door, Which climbing woodbine made still lower, Sat playing with lilies in the sun. The loud church-bells had just begun ; The kitten pounced in the sparkling grass At stealthy spiders that tried to pass ; The big watch-dog kept a threatening eye On me, as I lingered, walking by. The lilies grew high, and she reached up On tiny tiptoes to each gold cup ; And laughed aloud, and talked, and clapped Her small, brown hands, as the tough stems snapped. And flowers fell till the broad hearthstone Was covered, and only the topmost one Of the lilies left. In sobered glee She said to herself, " That s older than me ! " n. Two strong men through the lowly door, With uneven steps, the baby bore ; They had set the bier on the lily bed ; The lily she left was crushed and dead. The slow, sad bells had just begun, 106 VERSES. The kitten crouched, afraid, in the sun ; And the poor watch-dog, in bewildered pain, Took no notice of me as I joined the train. SHOWBREAD. AST imaged pillars, wrought of fir and palm, Past bright pomegranates, swinging on their chain, And bars of Tyrian cedar, overlain With gold, and past the molten sea whose calm Waves drink the offerings of spice and balm, Lit by the seven sacred lamps whose rain Of fragrant fire the almond bowls detain, Past clear-eyed cherubim, without alarm, And into shadow of the mercy-seat We pressed. No priest with onyx-stones to meet Us there ! Alone our hunger, face to face With God, ate of the showbread, sacred, sweet ; And listening, heard these words of heavenly grace, " One greater than the temple fills this place. TRIBUTE. 107 TIDES. PATIENT shore, that canst not go to meet Thy love, the restless sea, how comfortest Thou all thy loneliness ? Art thou at rest, When, loosing his strong arms from round thy feet, He turns away ? Know st thou, however sweet That other shore may be, that to thy breast He must return ? And when in sterner test He folds thee to a heart which does not beat, Wraps thee in ice, and gives no smile, no kiss, To break long wintry days, still dost thou miss Naught from thy trust? Still wait, unfaltering, The higher, warmer waves which leap in spring ? O sweet, wise shore, to be so satisfied ! O heart, learn from the shore ! Love has a tide ! TRIBUTE. R. W. E. II D WAY in summer, face to face, a king met. No king so gentle and so wise. He calls no man his subject ; but his eyes, In midst of benediction, questioning, Each soul compel. A first-fruits offering 108 VERSES. Each soul must owe to him whose fair land lies Wherever God has his. No white dove flies Too white, no wine too red and rich, to bring. With sudden penitence for all her waste, My soul to yield her scanty hoards made haste, When lo ! they shrank and failed me in that need. Like wizard s gold, by worthless dust replaced. My speechless grief, the king, with tender heed, Thus soothed : " These ashes sow. They are true seed." O king ! in other summer may I stand Before thee yet, the full ear in my hand ! "ALMS AT THE BEAUTIFUL GATE." H, how shall we, lame from the mother s womb, The temple enter ! Beautiful in vain For us, the gate, where we, in double pain, Of suffering and of loss, can find no room ; Whose whiteness only makes our outer gloom The blacker, and whose shining steps, more plain Than words, mock cripples weeping to attain The inner courts, where censers, sweet perfume, And music fill the air ! O sinful fear! Dare not to doubt. Our helplessness laid near That gate, is safe ; our faith without alarms Can wait ; the good apostles will appear ; CORONATION. 109 Our crippled beggary, made rich by alms Of God, shall leap and praise, in grateful psalms. CORONATION. T the king s gate the subtle noon Wove filmy yellow nets of sun ; Into the drowsy snare too soon The guards fell one by one. Through the king s gate, unquestioned then, A beggar went, and laughed, "This brings Me chance, at last, to see if men Fare better, being kings." The king sat bowed beneath his crown, Propping his face with listless hand ; Watching the hour-glass sifting down Too slow its shining sand. " Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me ? " The beggar turned, and, pitying, Replied, like one in dream, " Of thee, Nothing. I want the king." Uprose the king, and from his head Shook off the crown and threw it by. " O man, thou must have known, he said, " A greater king than I." HO Through all the gates, unquestioned then, Went king and beggar hand in hand. Whispered the king, " Shall I know when Before his throne I stand ? " The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste Were wiping from the king s hot brow The crimson lines the crown had traced. " This is his presence now." At the kings s gate, the crafty noon Unwove its yellow nets of sun ; Out of their sleep in terror soon The guards waked one by one. " Ho here! Ho there ! Has no man seen The king ? " The cry ran to and fro ; Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween, . The laugh that free men know. On the king s gate the moss grew gray ; The king came not. They called him dead ; And made his eldest son one day Slave in his father s stead. MY XEW FRIEND. Ill /r 1 T MY NEW FRIENK ^ NlA SHALLOW voice said, bitterly, "New friend ! " As if the old alone were true, and, born Of sudden freak, the new deserved but scorn And deep distrust. If love could condescend, What scorn in turn ! Do men old garments mend With new ? And put the new wine, red at morn, Into the last year s bottles, thin and worn ? But love and loving need not to defend Themselves. The new is older than the old ; And newest friend is oldest friend in this, That, waiting him, we longest grieved to miss One thing we sought. I think when we behold Full- Heaven, we say not, " Why was this not told ? " But, * Ah ! For years we Ve waited for this bliss ! " VERSES. ASTERS AND GOLDEN ROD. KNOW the lands are lit With all the autumn blaze of Golden Rod ; And everywhere the Purple Asters nod And bend and wave and flit. But when the names I hear, I never picture how their pageant lies Spread out in tender stateliness of guise, .The fairest of the year. I only see one nook, A wooded nook half sun, half shade Where one I love his footsteps sudden stayed, And whispered, " Darling, look ! " Two oak leaves, vivid green, Hung low among the ferns, and parted wide ; While purple Aster Stars, close side by side, Like faces peered between. Like maiden faces set In vine-wreathed window, waiting shy and glad For joys whose dim, mysterious promise had But promise been, as yet. And, like proud lovers bent, In regal courtesy, as kings might woo, Tall Golden Rods, bareheaded in the dew, Above the Asters leant. TWO LOVES. 113 Ah, me ! Lands will be lit With every autumn s blaze of Golden Rod, And purple Asters everywhere will nod And bend and wave and flit ; Until, like ripened seed, This little earth itself, some noon, shall float OiF into space, a tiny shining mote, Which none but God will heed ; But never more will be Sweet Asters peering through that branch of oak To hear such precious words as dear lips spoke That sunny day to me. TWO LOVES. OVE beckoned me to come more near, And wail, two women s songs to hear : The songs ran sweet, the songs ran clear ; It seemed they never could be done. One woman sat and sang in shade, Her still hands on her bosom laid ; The other sat and sang in sun. " I love my love," the one song said, " Because he lifts such kingly head, And walks with such a kingly tread, H4 VERSES. That men kneel down, and men confess ; And women, in soft, sad surprise, Acknowledge, by their longing eyes, His beauty and his goodliness. " His glory is my soul s estate ; Breathless with love I watch and wait The hours of his triumphant fate, Knowing that far the greater part Of all his joy in all his fame Surrenders to my whispered name In secret places of his heart. " And oh ! I love my love again With love incredulous of pain, Because I know my beauty s chain Binds him so sure, binds him so fast. I know there is not one swift bliss Which men may know, that he can miss, Or say of it that it is past." This was her song, who sat in sun ; It seemed it never would be done, Unless its joy should all outrun Slow speech, and fall of its own weight ; As fountains their sweet source recall, And, pausing sudden, break and fall, In murmur inarticulate. The other song, more soft, more low, Out of the shade came floating slow, As autumn leaves swim to and fro TWO LOVES. 115 In golden seas of sunny air. Her meek hands on her bosom laid, Sign of the cross unwitting made ; The woman was not young nor fair. " I love my love," the low song said, Because his noble, kingly head Is bowed, while, with most patient tread, He walks hard paths he did not choose, Smiling where other men would grieve, Heart-glad if other men receive Their fill of joys which he must lose. " I see each failure he must make, Each step he cannot but mistake ; And, weeping for his souPs clear sake, I set my faith with love s own seal, Token of all which he might be, Token of all he is to me, As God and my own heart reveal. " And oh ! I love my love again, With love which is as strong as pain, Because I know that by the chain Of beauty s bond I cannot bind ; The sweetest things which make men s bliss, In loving me, my love must miss, In loving me, he cannot find. " So, fearing lest I may not feed Always his utmost want and need, In trust for her who can succeed n6 VERSES. Where I must fail, his love s estate I solemn hold. Its rightful heir, A woman younger and more fair, Loving my love, I bide and wait." This was her song, who sat in shade, Her meek hands on her bosom laid, Sign of the cross unwitting made; She was not young, she was not fair : The sad notes floated sweet and slow, As autumn leaves swim to and fro On golden seas of sunny air. " O Love ! " I said, " which loveth best ? O Love, dear Love ! which wins thy rest ? " But Love was gone ; and, in the west, The sun, which gave one woman sun, And gave the other woman shade, Sank down ; on each the cold night laid Its silence, and each song was done. THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 117 THE GOOD SHEPHERD. ATE at night I saw the shepherd Toiling slow along the hill, With a smile of joy and patience, Facing night winds strong and chill. In his arms and in his bosom Lay the lambs content and still. When the day broke, from the valley I looked up and saw no more Of the patient, smiling shepherd I had seen the night before ; But new mounds along the hillside Lay in sunshine, frozen hoar ! VERSES, LOVE S FULFILLING. LOVE is weak Which counts the answers and the gains, Weighs all the losses and the pains, And eagerly each fond word drains A joy to seek. When Love is strong, It never tarries to take heed, Or know if its return exceed Its gift ; in its sweet haste no greed, No strifes belong. It hardly asks If it be loved at all ; to take So barren seems, when it can make Such bliss, for the beloved sake, Of bitter tasks. Its ecstasy Could find hard death so beauteous, It sees through tears how Christ loved us, And speaks, in saying " I love thus," No blasphemy. So much we miss If love is weak, so much we gain WOOED. 119 If love is strong, God thinks no pain Too sharp or lasting to ordain To teach us this. WOOED. I. ITH voice all confident, I knelt and cried, " Behold me at thy feet, O darling queen ! I kiss, round lowest hem, thy robe of green ; In all thy temples I have prophesied, And cast out devils in thy name. Confide In me. Lift up the veil that hangs between My eyes and thy dear face. Tell me what mean The voices of thy people." Far and wide The lovely queen s sweet kingdoms lie. I found My way to follow her to utmost bound Of all ; and listened, listened, nights and days, To every smallest sound on her highways ; But could not once her golden sceptre reach, Nor win the secret of her people s speech. 120 FEXSES. WON. II. EARIED at last, and sad, I cried, "Refuse Me what thou wilt, my queen ! At thy dear feet ; Henceforth I lie and sleep, and dream, and eat Thy locusts and wild honey. Thou mayst choose, Perhaps, that I the latchet of thy shoes One day unfasten. Ev&r incomplete Leave my desire, too bold, to see thy sweet, Unveiled face ; to know what words they use Who serve around thy throne." Lo ! as I lay, In such surrender, on that summer day, And sought not, stirred not, came the radiant queen, Sweeping me with her robe of leafy green, And kissed me everywhere that kiss could go ; While all her royal train I longed to know, The swallow leading, crowded up to teach Me all the secrets of their song and speech. THOUGHT. 121 ARIADNE S FAREWELL. HE daughter of a king, how should I know That there were tinsels wearing face of gold, And worthless glass, which in the sunlight s hold Could shameless answer back my diamond s glow With cheat of kindred fire ? The currents slow, And deep, and strong, and stainless, which had rolled Through royal veins for ages, what had told To them, that hasty heat and lie could show As quick and warm a red as theirs ? Go free ! The sun is breaking on the sea s blue shield Its golden lances ; by their gleam I see Thy ship s white sails. Go free, if scorn can yield Thee freedom ! Then, alone, my love and I, We both are royal ; we know how to die. THOUGHT. MESSENGER, art thou the king, or I ? Thou dalliest outside the palace gate Till on thine idle armor lie the late And heavy dews : the morn s bright, scorn ful eye Reminds thee ; then, in subtle mockery, 122 VERSES. Thou smilest at the window where I wait, Who bade thee ride for life. In empty state My days go on, while false hours prophesy Thy quick return ; at last, in sad despair, I cease to bid thee, leave thee free as air ; When lo, thou stand st before me glad and fleet, And lay st undreamed-of treasures at my feet Ah ! messenger, thy royal blood to buy, I am too poor. Thou art the king, not I. MORDECAI. ]AKE friends with him ! He is of royal line, Although he sits in rags. Not all of thine Array of splendor, pomp of high estate, Can buy him from his place within the gate, The king s gate of thy happiness, where he, Yes, even he, the Jew, remaineth free, Never obeisance making, never scorn Betraying of thy silver and new-born Delight. Make friends with him, for unawares The charmed secret of thy joys he bears ; Be glad, so long as his black sackcloth, late And early, thwarts thy sun ; for if in hate Thou plottest for his blood, thy own death-cry, Not his, comes from the gallows, cubits high. LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY. 123 LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY. HOSPITABLE wilderness, I know thy secret sign ; All human welcome seemeth less To me than thine. Such messengers to show me where Is water for my feet ; Such perfume poured upon my hair, Costly and sweet. Such couch, such canopy, such floor, Such royal banquet spread ; Such music through the open door, So little said. So much bestowed and understood, Such flavored courtesy, And only kings of unmixed blood For company. Such rhythmic tales of ancient lores, Of sweet and hidden things, Rehearsed by sacred troubadours On tireless wings. Such secrets of dominion set Unstinted for my choice, 124 VERSES. Such mysteries, unuttered yet, Waiting a voice. O hospitable wilderness, For thee 1 long and pine ; All human welcome seemeth less To me than thine. A MOTHER S FAREWELL TO A VOYAGER. " sends love and good-by. She thinks she sees the four quarters of the globe when she looks into the faces of her four children. November 2, 1868." AIL east, sail west, O wanderer, In east, in west, you cannot see Such suns as rise and set in these Four little faces round my knee. Blue as the north my first-born s eyes ; Her yellow hair hides brow of snow ; Like conquerors from the North she brought The sweet subjection mothers know. Glad and sad, and changed in an hour, My next girl s face is tropic sea, Where laden winds, whose secret none Can tell, sweep on unceasingly. "DROPPED DEAD: 125 Grave and searching, with hidden fire, My black-eyed boy kneels like a priest ; I know that, looking where he looks, We shall see the " Star in the East." No name as yet my baby has, Her rosy hands are just uncurled ; But with wet eyes we kiss her cheeks, And thank God for our sweet " new world." Sail east, sail west, dear wanderer ! God cares for you and cares for me ; He knows for which of us twas best To stay with children round her knee. STEAMSHIP CHINA, November 13, 1868. "DROPPED DEAD." LL royal strengths in life, until the end, Will bear themselves still royally. Degrees Of dying they know not : the muddy lees They will not drink : no man shall see them bend Or slacken in the storm : no man can lend To them. Those feeble souls who crouch on knees That fail, and cling to shadows of lost ease, Death tortures. But, as kings to kings may send, He challenges the strong. Such death as this 126 VERSES. O ertakes great love ; a lesser love will miss Such stroke ; may dwindle painfully away, And fade, and simply cease to breathe, some day. But great loves, to the last, have pulses red ; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead. PRESENCE. NAMELESS thing ! which art and art not; spell Whose bond can bind the powers of the air, Compelling them thy face to hide or bear. O voice ! which, bringing not the faintest swell Of sound, canst in the air so crowd and dwell That all sounds die. O sight! which needst no share Of sun, which sav st blind eyes from their despair, O touch ! which dost not touch, and yet canst tell To waiting flesh, by thy caress complete, The whole of love, till veins grow red with heat ; O life of life ! to which graves are not girt With terror, and all death can bring no hurt. O mystery of blessing ! never lift Thy veil ! our one inalienable giftl TRUTH. 127 POLAR DAYS. some poor piteous Lapp., who under firs Which bend and break with load of arctic snows Has crept and crouched to watch when crimson glows Begin, feels in his veins the thrilling stirs Of warmer life, e en while his fear deters His trust; and when the orange turns to rose In vain, and widening to the westward goes The ruddy beam and fades, heartsick defers His hope, and shivers through one more long night Of sunless day ; So watching, one by one, The faintest glimmers of the morn s gray light, The sleepless exiled heart waits for the bright Full day, and hopes till all its hours are done, That the next one will bring its love, its sun. TRUTH. TRUTH, art thou relentless? Wilt thou rest Never ? From solitude to solitude Eternally wilt thou escape ? Thy good And beauty luring us to fatal quest, Foredoomed to endless loss ? 128 VERSES. royal guest Of Nature s centuries, no spot so rude, So void, thy secret cannot there elude Our grasp ; no thing too subtle to attest Her royal sheltering ; from spheres to spheres Of light, through the incalculable years ; From force to force, through rock, through sound, through flame, Our worship wrests but echo of thy name, And builds at last, with patient stone, and sod, And tears, its altar " to the unknown God." HER EYES. ":HAT they are brown, no man will dare to say He knows. And yet I think that no man s look Ever those depths of light and shade forsook, Until their gentle pain warned him away. Of all sweet things I know but one which may Be likened to her eyes. When, in deep nook Of some green field, the water of a brook Makes lingering, whirling eddy in its way, Round soft drowned leaves ; and in a flash of sun They turn to gold, until the ripples run THE WALLFLOWER OF ROME, 129 Now brown, now yellow, changing as by some Swift spell. I know not with what body come The saints. But this I know, my Paradise Will mean the resurrection of her eyes. THE WALL-FLOWER OF THE RUINS OF ROME. GOLDEN-WINGED, on guard at crum bled gate And fallen wall of emperors and kings, Whose very names are now forgotten things, Thou standest here, in faithfulness to wait The centuries through, and of the ancient state Keep up the semblance. Never footstep rings Across the stones ; and yet, if sun but flings One ray, a gleam, like gleam of burnished plate On mailed men, thy hands have lit, and sent Along the gray and tottering battlement, And flung out yellow banners, pricked with red, Which need not shame a royal house to spread. Ah, golden-winged, the whole of thy deep spell I cannot fathom, and thou wilt not tell. 1 30 SHADOWS OF BIRDS. N darkened air, alone with pain, I lay. Like links of heavy chain The minutes sounded, measuring day, And slipping lifelessly away. Sudden across my silent room A shadow darker than its gloom Swept swift ; a shadow slim and small Which poised and darted on the wall, And vanished quickly as it came ; A shadow, yet it lit like flame ; A shadow, yet I heard it sing, And heard the rustle of its wing, Till every pulse with joy was stirred; It was the shadow of a bird ! Only the shadow ! Yet it made Full summer even-where it strayed ; And every bird I ever knew Back and forth in the summer flew ; And breezes wafted over me The scent of every flower and tree ; Till I forgot the pain and gloom And silence of my darkened room. Now, in the glorious open air, I w-*ch the birds fly here and there ; GLIMPSES. 131 And wonder, as each swift wing cleaves The sky, if some poor soul that grieves In lonely, darkened, silent walls Will catch the shadow as it falls ! GLIMPSES. S when on some great mountain-peak we stand, In breathless awe beneath its dome of sky, Whose multiplied horizons seem to lie Beyond the bounds of earthly sea and land, We find the circled space too vast, too grand, And soothe our thoughts with restful memory Of sudden sunlit glimpses we passed by Too quickly, in our feverish demand To reach the height, So, darling, when the brink Of highest heaven we reach at last, I think Even that great gladness will grow yet more glad, As we, with eyes that are no longer sad, Look back, while Life s horizons slowly sink, To some swift moments which on earth we had. I3 2 VERSES. TO A. C. L. B. HY house hath gracious freedom, like the air Of open fields ; its silence hath a speech Of royal welcome to the friends who reach Its threshold, and its upper chambers bear, Above their doors such spells, that, entering there And laying off the dusty garments, each Soul whispers to herself: " T were like a breach Of reverence in a temple could I dare Here speak untruth, here wrong my inmost thought. Here I grow strong and pure ; here I may yield, Without shamefacedness, the little brought From out my poorer life, and stand revealed, And glad, and trusting, in the sweet and rare And tender presence which hath filled this air." SNOW-DROPS IN ITALY. LOYAL vestals in this land of sun, Your white cheeks flush not, and your virgin eyes Vouchsafe no lifted look. In vain the skies Are red and pale with passion ; swift clouds run And beckon ; warm winds call ; long days are done And nights are spent, and still by no surprise, No lure can ye be tempted 1 DISTANCE. 133 O, where lies The spell by which your gentleness can shun These heats ? Is it your hidden zone of gold ? Or in the emerald whose glimmers show, Scarce show, beneath your white robes inner fold ? Vain question ! Still your calm bright peace ye hold ; And yet ye set my pulses all aglow With loyalty like yours to lands of snow. DISTANCE. SUBTILE secret of the air, Making the things that are not, fair Beyond the things that we can reach And name with names of clumsy speech ; By shadow- worlds of purple haze The sunniest of sunny days Outweighing in our hearts delight ; Opening the eyes of blinded sight; Holding an echo in such hold, Bidding a hope such wings unfold, That present sounds and sights between Can come and go, unheard, unseen, O subtile secret of the air, Heaven itself is heavenly fair By help of thee ! The saints good days Are good, because the good Lord lays No bound of shore along the sea Of beautiful Eternity. 134 VERSES. WHEN THE KINGS COME. HEN the Kings come to royal hunting seats | To find the royal joys of summer days, j The servants on the lofty watch-tower raise A banner, whose swift token warning greets The country. Threatening stern, an armed man meets Each stranger, who, by pleasant forest-ways, All unawares, has rambled till he strays Too close to paths where, in the noonday heats, The King, uncrowned, lies down to sleep. Such law As this the human soul sets heart and face And hand, when once its King has come. In awe, And gladness too, all men behold what grace Such royal presence to the eye can bring, And how the heart and hand can guard their King. COMING ACROSS. VERY sail is full set, and the sky And the sea blaze with light, And the moon mid her virgins glides on As St. Ursula might; And the throb of the pulse never stops, In the heart of the ship, THE TEACHER. 135 As her measures of water and fire She drinks down at a sip. Yet I never can think, as I lie, ( UN J And so wearily toss, That by saint, or by star, or by ship, I am coming across ; But by light which I know in dear eyes That are bent on the sea, And the touch I remember of hands That are waiting for me. By the light of the eyes I could come, If the stars should all fail ; And I think, if the ship should go down, That the hands would prevail. Ah ! my darlings, you never will know How I pined in the loss Of you all, and how breathless and glad I am coming across. STEAMSHIP RUSSIA, January 22, 1870. THE TEACHER. HE people listened, with short, indrawn breath, And eyes that were too steady set for tears. This one man s speech rolled off great loads of fears From every heart, as sunlight scattereth 136 VERSES. The clouds ; hard doubts, which had been born of death, Shone out as rain-drops shine when rainbow clears The air. " O teacher," then I said, " thy years, Are they not joy ? Each word that issueth From out thy lips, doth it return to bless Thy own heart many fold ? " With weariness Of tone he answered, and almost with scorn, " I am, of all, most lone in loneliness ; I starve with hunger treading out their corn ; I die of travail while their souls are born." DECORATION DAY. HE Eastern wizards do a wondrous thing, Which travellers, having seen, scarce dare to tell : Dropping a seed in earth, by subtle spell Of hidden heat they force the germ to spring To instant life and growth ; no faltering Twixt leaf and flower and fruit ; they rise and swell To perfect shape and size, as if there fell Upon them all which seasons hold and bring. But Love far greater magic shows to-day : Lifting its feeble hands, which can but reach DECORATION DAY. 137 The hands-breadth up, it stretches all the way From earth to heaven, and, triumphant, each Sweet wilting blossom sets, before it dies, Full in the sight of smiling angels eyes. n. But, ah ! the graves which no man names or knows; Uncounted graves, which never can be found ; Graves of the precious " missing," where no sound Of tender weeping will be heard, where goes No loving step of kindred. O, how flows And yearns our thought to them ! More holy ground Of graves than this, we say, is that whose bound Is secret till eternity disclose Its sign. But Nature knows her wilderness ; There are no "missing" in her numbered ways. In her great heart is no forgetfulness. Each grave she keeps she will adorn, caress. We cannot lay such wreath s as Summer lays, And all her days are Decoration Days ! 138 VERSES. A THIRTEENTH-CENTURY PARABLE. HEN good Saint Louis reigned in France as king, And William, Bishop of Paris, ministering To all the churches, kept them pure and glad, There came one day a learned man, who had Journeyed from distant provinces to find His Bishop and unload his burdened mind. Entering the Bishop s presence, he began To speak : but sobs choked all his voice ; tears ran Like rain from out his eyes, and no words came To tell his grief. Then said the Bishop : " Shame Not thyself so deeply, Master : no man So sins but that the gracious Jesus can Forgive an hundred thousand fold more guilt Than his, and cleanse it by his dear blood spilt." " I tell you, Sire," the Master said, " I must Forever weep : I am accursed. I trust Not in the holy altar-sacrament, As taught to us ; I cannot but dissent From all the Church doth say of it : and yet I know my doubts are but temptations set By Satan s self, to sink my soul to hell. O Sire, I am a wretched Infidel." Then said the gentle Bishop : " This one thing Tell me, O honest Master, do they bring THIRTEENTH-CENTURY PARABLE. 139 Thee pleasure, these dark doubts ?" " O, no ! my Sire," The weeping Master said : " they burn like fire Within my bones." " And could thy lips to speak Thy doubts be bought by gold ? And would st thou seek To shake a brother s faith ? " " I, Sire ! " exclaimed The Master. " I ! I would be bruised and maimed, And torn from limb to limb, ere I would say Such words." Then said the Bishop, smiling : " Lay Aside now for a space thy grief and fear, And listen. Soon my meaning will appear, Though it be strangely hid at first below My words. Thou know st that war is raging now Between the King of England and of France ; Thou know st that of our castles greatest chance Of loss has La Rochelle, there in Poitou, Lying so near the border. If to you The King had given La Rochelle to hold, And unto me no less true man and bold, Perhaps the Castle of Laon to keep, Far in the heart of France, where I might sleep All day, all night, unharmed, if so I chose, So safe beyond the reach of all our foes Lies Laon, when the war is ended, who Ought from the King to have the most thanks ? You, 140 VERSES. Who La Rochelle had saved by bloody fights, Or I, who spent in Laon peaceful nights ? " " In faith, Sire, I, \vho guarded La Rochelle ! " The wondering Master cried. " So, then, I tell Thee," said the Bishop, in most gentle tone, " My heart is like the Castle of Laon. Temptations, doubts, cannot my soul assail. Therefore, I say that thou, who dost prevail Against such foes of Satan s mustering, Art four times pleasing to the Heavenly King, Where I am once ; and thy good fortress, kept, Shall win thee glory such as saints have wept To win ! Go, joyful ! Put thy sorrow by. Thou art far dearer to the Lord than I." Scarce dared the Master trust such words as these ; But silent, grateful, fell upon his knees Until the Bishop blessed him. Then he went Away in solemn wonder and content. They lie in graves, the saints who knew this tale, The King, the Bishop, and the Seneschal, And he who doubted, rest their souls in peace ! And even mention of their names men cease To make. But, knowing all, as they must know, Of God, who roam his universes through, Untrammelled spirits, they could tell to men To-day no deeper truth than was told then, To cheer and comfort him who fighteth well To save a heart besieged like La Rochelle. FORM. 141 FORM. HIDDEN secret of all things ! Thy triumph, most triumphant, brings No sound of syllable of name To mark the law by which it came ; The subtle point of difference, Which made the joy of joy intense, The grief of grief too great to bear, Beauty than beauty s self more fair. No skill does* more, at best, than work Blindly, in hope to find where lurk Thy undiscovtied charm and spell ; No prophecies thine hour foretell ; No hindrances chine hour avert ; No purpose brings thee good or hurt ; Thy life knows not of wish or will ; Inherent growths thy growth fulfil. No man dared say to curve, to line, "Be beautiful, by word of mine ! I crown thee lovely on the earth ! I am thy Lord of life and birth." Before all men the line, the curve, Stood suddenly, and said : " Preserve What joy ye can. O blind of eye ! Behold us once before ye die ! " VERSES. O hidden secret of all things ! O kingdom earlier than kings ! Before earth was, yea, and before The Heavens, Eternity forbore All haste, waiting each sign and bond, For seal of thee, to set beyond All time s impatience the decree And record of thy sovereignty ! " MY HICKORY FIRE. HELPLESS body of hickory tree, What do I burn, in burning thee ? Summers of sun, winters of snow, Springs full of sap s resistless flow ; All past year s joys of garnered fruits ; All this year s purposed buds and shoots ; Secrets of fields of upper air, Secrets which stars and planets share ; Light of such smiles as broad skies fling ; Sound of such tunes as wild winds sing ; Voices which told where gay birds dwelt, Voices which told where lovers knelt ; O strong white body of hickory tree, How dare I burn all these, in thee ? But I too bring, as to a pyre, Sweet things to feed thy funeral fire : Memories waked by thy deep spell ; Faces of fears and hopes which fell ; MY HICKORY TREE. Faces of darlings long since dead, Smiles that they smiled, and words they said Like living shapes they come and go, Lit by the mounting name s red glow. But sacredest of all, O tree, Thou hast the hour my love gave me. Only thy rhythmic silence stirred While his low-whispered tones I heard ; By thy last gleam of flickering light I saw his cheek turn red from white ; O cold gray ashes, side by side With yours, that hour s sweet pulses died i But thou, brave tree, how do I know That through these fires thou dost not go As in old days the martyrs went Through fire which was a sacrament ? How do I know thou dost not wait In longing for thy next estate ? Estate of higher, nobler place, Whose shapes no man can use or trace. How do I know, if I could reach The secret meaning of thy speech, But I thy song of praise should hear, Ringing triumphant, loud, and clear, The waiting angels could discern. And token of thy heaven learn ? O glad, freed soul of hickory tree, Wherever thine eternity, Bear thou with thee that hour s dear name, Made pure, like thee, by rites of flame ! *44 VERSES, REVENUES. SMILE to hear the little kings When they count up their precious things, And send their vaunting lists abroad, Of what their kingdoms can afford. One boasts his corn, and one his wine, And one his gold and silver fine ; One by an army, one by a fleet, Keeps neighbor kings beneath his feet ; One sets his claim to highest place On looms of silk and looms of lace *, And one shows pictures of old saints In lifelike tints of wondrous paints ; And one has quarries of white stone From which rare statue shapes have grown ; And so, by dint of wealth or grace, Striving to keep the highest place, They count and show their precious things, The little race of little kings. " O little kings ! " I long to say, " Who counts God s revenues to-day ? Who knows on all the hills and coasts Names of the captains of his hosts ? What eye has seen the half of gold His smallest mine his in its hold? What figures tell one summer s cost Of fabrics which are torn and tost REVENUES. 145 To clothe his myriads of trees ? Who reckons, in the sounding seas, The shining corals, wrought and graved, With which his ocean floors are paved ? Who knows the numbers or the names Of colors in his sunset flames ? What table measures, marking weight, What chemistries can estimate One single banquet for his birds ?" Then, mocked by all which utmost words And utmost thoughts can frame or reach, My heart finds tears its only speech. In ecstasy, part joy, part pain, Where fear and wonder half restrain Love s gratitude, I lay my ear Close to the ground, and listening hear This noiseless, ceaseless, boundless tide Of earth s great wealth, on every side, Rolling and pouring up to break At feet of God, who will not take Nor keep among his heavenly things So much as tithe of all it brings ; But instant turns the costly wave, Gives back to earth all that it gave, Spends all his universe of power And pomp to deck one single hour Of time, and then in largess free, Unasked, bestows the hour on me. J 4 6 I* EASES. A BURIAL SERVICE. O this burying We come alone, you and I, not with our dead, But with our dearest living ; O, could mor tal tread Be unfaltering ! God knows how we love it, This we have come to bury ; the eyes smile, life s best wine The hands hold out ! Darling, shall it be yours, or mine, To lay the first sod above it ? But no decaying Can reach it in this sepulchre, whose stone Our hearts must make ! To an exceeding glory grown, This grief, outweighing, Not even regretting, It will await us ! Thank God, not being sown In any dishonor, it will await its own, Never forgetting ! To Christ s protection Now let us leave it, the tomb and the key ! He Will remember us, if there may ever be Resurrection ! A PARABLE. 147 A PARABLE. AR in the wood I found a vine, so sweet Of flower and leaf that, loving it, I stayed To learn its secret. Thick around its feet Grew thorny briers, and tangled sapling: made On every side of it too dark a shade. One tendril by a dead branch held. The rest Were folded like proud arms upon its breast. The rough wind beat it down ; it did not break, But, lying low until the storm went by, Lifted its head again. Still it would take No help ; but, shaking off with scornful eye The dust, rose slowly, looking to the sky, Borne up by hidden forces of its own, And stood again erect, a vine, alone Far in the wood I whispered then, afraid The question showed not all my love, " O vine, Brave vine, so sweet and yet so strong, what made It easy unto thee ? No sun can shine To warm thee in this cold, unwholesome shade. Why standest thou apart from all the rest, Thy slender proud arms folded on thy breast ? " Filling the wood, this subtile whisper then My reverent listening heard: 148 VERSES. " My love, the Oak, Has died. Never before his name to men Who, idly questioning, passed by, I spoke. But thou, thou lov st like me ; thy secret woke My own. Thou know st to a less lordly thing The tendrils torn from oaks will never cling." FRIENDS. TO A. E. P. E rode a day, from east, from west, To meet. A year had done its best, By absence, and by loss of speech, To put beyond the other s reach Each heart and life ; but, drawing nigh, <k Ah ! it is you ! " " Yes, it is I ! " We said ; and love had been blasphemed And slain in each had either deemed Need of more words, or joy more plain When eyes had looked in eyes again : Ah friendship, stronger in thy might Than time and space, as faith than sight ! Rich festival with thy red wine My friend and I will keep in courts divine 1 MARCH. 149 THE ROYAL BEGGAR. MARVEL strange! outside the palace doors, And begging humbly from the palace stores, He stands and waits ; and when a paltry crust Is flung, he stoops and picks it from the dust, And, smiling through his tears, clasps to his breast The niggard boon ; and, for the moment blest And fed, is grateful, though the ruby wine And milk and honey which, by right divine, Are his, his only, and the crown of gold God wrought for him, are to his rightful hold Refused ! Ah Love, dear Love, nowhere on earth Wanders uncrowned thy peer of royal birth ! Ah Love, great Love ! Denied, thrust out in vain, Kingly, though beggared ! Blest through all the pain ! MARCH. -^p? 1 E X E AT H the sheltering walls the thin snow winter s skeleton, left bleaching, white, Disjointed, crumbling, on unfriendly fields. The inky pools surrender tardily 150 VERSES. At noon, to patient herds, a frosty drink From jagged rims of ice ; a subtle red Of life is kindling every twig and stalk Of lowly meadow growths ; the willows wrap Their stems in furry white ; the pines grow gray A little in the biting wind ; midday Brings tiny burrowed creatures, peeping out Alert for sun. Ah March ! we know thou art Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats, And, out of sight, art nursing April s violets ! APRIL. OBINS call robins in tops of trees ; Doves follow doves, with scarlet feet ; Frolicking babies, sweeter than these, Crowd green corners where highways meet. Violets stir and arbutus wakes, Claytonia s rosy bells unfold ; Dandelion through the meadow makes A royal road, with seals of gold. Golden and snowy and red the flowers, Golden, snowy, and red in vain ; Robins call robins through sad showers ; The white dove s feet are wet with rain. MAY. 151 For April sobs while these are so glad, April weeps while these are so gay, Weeps like a tired child who had, Playing with flowers, lost its way. MAY. HE voice of one who goes before to make The paths of June more beautiful, is thine, Sweet May ! Without an envy of her crown And bridal ; patient stringing emeralds And shining rubies for the brows of birch And maple ; flinging garlands of pure white And pink, which to their bloom add prophecy ; Gold cups o er-filling on a thousand hills And calling honey-bees ; out of their sleep The tiny summer harpers with bright wings Awaking, teaching them their notes for noon ; O May, sweet-voiced one, going thus before, Forever June may pour her warm red wine Of life and passion, sweeter days are thine ! 1 5 2 VERSES. THE SIMPLE KING. HE king, the royal, simple king, Whom in bold lovingness I sing, Will not be buried when he dies, As kings are buried. Where he lies, No regal monument will show ; No worldly pilgrim-feet will go ; No heraldry, with blazoned sign, Will keep the record of his line. No man will know his kingdom s bound ; No man his subjects grief will sound. His crown will not lie low with him ; His crown will never melt nor dim. This king, this royal, simple king, Whose kingliness I kneel to sing, Looks on all other men with eyes Which are as calm as suns that rise Alike, and bring an equal gain To just and unjust. Like soft rain His gentle kindliness, but deep As waters, in which oceans keep Their treasures. Silent, warm, and white As mid-day is his love s great light ; But in its faithful summer saves For every smallest flower that waves Such shelter that it cannot die Nor droop, while love s fierce noons pass by. THE SIMPLE KING. 153 This king, this royal, simple king, Whose kingliness I cannot sing, Speaks words which are decrees, because They come as questions, not as laws. Himself devoutest worshipper At Truth s great shrine, his least acts stir The people s hearts, as when of old The High Priest, lifting veil of gold, Came from the ark s most sacred place, And only by his shining face Revealed to them without that he Had seen the Godhead bodily. Men serve him ; but while they obey Feel no oppression in the sway. His royal hand is burdened too ; No load of theirs to him is new ; No sting or stigma in a bond To him whose vision looks beyond All names and shapes of numbered days, All accidents of human ways, And, superseding signs and shrifts Of all allegiances, lifts Service to Freedom s regal plane Beyond compulsion or disdain. This king, tin s royal, simple king, Whose kingliness I love and sing, Has not much silver or much gold : Told as kings treasuries are told, Beggar s estate he must confess. But all the lavish wilderness 154 VEKSES. Sets state for him. Tall pine-trees bend ; Strange birds sing songs which never end The sunset and the sunrise sweep Backward and forward swift, to keep Fresh glory round his pathway. Then, Of sudden men discover, when They journey thither by his side, What pomp and splendor are supplied By Nature s smallest, subtlest thing, To hail and crown the simple king. Yea ! and the dull and stony street, And walls within which rich men meet, Cities, and all they compass, grow Significant, when to and fro The simple king, unrecognized, Unenvious, and unsurprised, Walks smilingly, and as he treads Unconscious benediction spreads. Ah ! king, thou royal, simple king ! Not as by any grave I sing ; Neither by any present throne ; King crowned to-day, king who hast gone,, In kingliness one and the same ! The house runs not by race or name ; No day but sees, no land but knows ; The kingdom lasts, the kingdom grows ; God holds earth dearer and more dear, God s sons come nearer and more near. THE SINGER S FRIENDS. 155 THE SINGER S FRIENDS. [jE roamed the earth with lonely feet; No homestead lured him back ; Lands are so full ; life is so sweet ; Such skies and suns forever meet To make each day s great joy complete ; Twas strange that he so much must lack. Twas stranger yet that joy could still His bosom overflow ; That smallest things his soul could fill With ecstasy and song, whose thrill No pain could hinder or could chill, As lonely he went to and fro. But ever if there came a day, Which on his joy and song So heavy load of sorrow lay That heart and voice could not obey, And feet refused the lonely way, So lonely, and so hard, and long, It always chanced, though chance is not The word when God befriends, That on such days to him was brought Echo from some old song, forgot, Which sudden made his lonely lot Seem cast for worthier, sweeter ends. 15 6 FEKSES. Some stranger whose sad eyes were wet With tears, would take his hands, Saying, " O Singer, my great debt To thee I never can forget. My grief in thy grief s words was set, And comforted forever stands." Or else he heard, borne on the air Where merry music rang, Making the fair day still more fair, Lifting the burden off of care, Old words of his that did their share, While happy people laughed and sang. Or else, O, sacredest of all, And sweetest recompense, Love used his words, its love to call By name : of his dead joy, the thrall Waked live joy still, and could forestall Love s utmost passion s subtlest sense. So when at last, in lonely grave, He laid his lonely head, No loving heart more tears need crave ; Nowhere more sacred grasses wave ; All human hearts to whom he gave Grieved like friends hearts when he was dead. DOUBT. 157 DOUBT. HEY bade me cast the thing away, They pointed to my hands all bleeding, They listened not to all my pleading ; The thing I meant I could not say ; I knew that I should rue the day If once I cast that thing away. I grasped it firm, and bore the pain ; The thorny husks I stripped and scattered; If I could reach its heart, what mattered If other men saw not my gain, Or even if I should be slain ? I knew the risks ; I chose the pain. O, had I cast that thing away, I had not found what most I cherish, A faith without which I should perish, The faith which, like a kernel, lay Hid in the husks which on that day My instinct would not throw away ! 158 VERSES. FORGIVEN. DREAMED so dear a dream of you last night ! I thought you came. I was so glad, so gay, I whispered, "Those were foolish words to say : I meant them not. I cannot bear the sight Of your dear face. I cannot meet the light Of your dear eyes upon me. Sit, I pray, Sit here beside me : turn your look away, And lay your cheek on mine." Till morning bright We sat so, and we did not speak. I knew All was forgiven ; so I nestled there [flew. With your arms round me. Swift the sweet hours At last I waked, and sought you everywhere. How long, dear, think you, that my glad cheek will Burn, as it burns with your cheek s pressure still ? THIS SUMMER. THOUGHT I knew all Summer knows, So many summers I had been Wed to Summer. Could I suppose One hidden beauty still lurked in Her days ? that she might still disclose New secrets, and new homage win ? Could new looks flit across the skies ? Could water ripple one new sound? THIS SUMMER. 159 Could stranger bee or bird that flies With yet new languages be found, To bring me, to my glad surprise, Message from yet remoter bound ? O sweet " this Summer ! " Songs which sang Summer before no longer mean The whole of summer. Bells which rang But minutes have marked years between. Purple the grapes of Autumn hang : My sweet "this Summer" still is green. " This Summer " still, forgetting all Before and since and aye, I say, And shall say, when the deep snows fall, And cold suns mark their shortest day. New calendar, my heart will call ; "This Summer" still ! Summer alway ! And when God s next sweet world we reach, And the poor words we stammered here Are fast forgot, while angels teach Us spirit language quick and clear, Perhaps some words of earthly speech We still shall speak, and still hold dear. And if some time in upper air On swiftest wings we sudden meet, And pause with answering smiles which share Our joy, I think that we shall greet Each other thus : " This world is fair ; But ah ! that Summer too was sweet !" i6o VERSES. TRYST. OMEWHERE thou avvaitest, And I, with lips unkissed, Weep that thus to latest Thou puttest off our tryst ! The golden bowls are broken, The silver cords untwine ; Almond flowers in token Have bloomed, that I am thine ! Others who would fly thee In cowardly alarms, Who hate thee and deny thee, Thou foldest in thine arms ! How shall I entreat thee No longer to withhold ? I dare not go to meet thee, O lover, far and cold ! O lover, whose lips chilling So many lips have kissed, Come, even if unwilling, And keep thy solemn tryst ! THE MAGIC ARMORY, 161 THE MAGIC ARMORY. O man can shut the open door ; Strange hieroglyphs of mystic lore Are writ on it from beam to sill ; The gleams and shapes of weapons fill Its silent chambers : field and fray Of centuries have borne away Its armor to their victories, And yet to-day the armor lies Unstained and bright and whole and good, For each man s utmost hardihood. All men go freely out and in, And choose their arms to fight and win ; But one man goes with silly hands, And helpless, halting, choosing stands, And from the glittering, deadly steels, Fits him with clumsy sword, and deals A feeble, witless, useless blow, Which hurts no friend and helps no foe. Close by his side his brother makes Swift choice, unerringly, and takes From those same chambers hilt and blade With which more magic sword is made Than that far-famed which armed the hand Of Lion-Heart in Eastern land. So fight and fray the centuries, The right and truth with wrong and lies ; 1 62 VERSES. So men go freely out and in, And choose their arms, and lose and win ; And none can shut the open door, All writ with signs of mystic lore, Where weapons stout and old and good For each man s utmost hardihood Lie ready, countless, priceless, free, Within the magic armory. LIFTED OVER. S tender mothers guiding baby steps, When places come at which the tiny feet Would trip, lift up the little ones in arms Of love, and set them down beyond the harm, So did Our Father watch the precious boy, Led o er the stones by me, who stumbled of Myself, but strove to help my darling on : He saw the sweet limbs faltering, and saw Rough ways before us, where my arms would fail ; So reached from heaven, and lifting the dear child, Who smiled in leaving me, He put him down Beyond all hurt, beyond my sight, and bade Him wait for me ! Shall I not then be glad, And, thanking God, press on to overtake ? MY IIOCSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS. 163 MY HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS. T is so old, the date is dim ; I hear the wise man vexing him With effort vain to count and read, But to his words I give small heed, Except of pity that so late He sitteth wrangling in the gate, When he might come with me inside, And in such peace and plenty bide. The constant springs and summers thatch, With leaves that interlock and match, Such roof as keeps out fiercest sun And gentle rain, but one by one Lets in blue banner-gleams of sky As pomp of day goes marching by Under these roofs I lie whole days, Watching the steady household ways ; Innumerable creatures come And go, and are far more at home Than I, who like dumb giant sit Baffled by all their work and wit. No smallest of them condescends To notice me ; their hidden ends They follow, and above, below, Across my bulky shape they go, With swift, sure feet, and subtle eyes, Too keen and cautious for surprise In vain I try their love to reach ; 1 64 VERSES. Not one will give me trust or speech. No second look the furry bee Gives, as he bustles round, to me ; Before my eyes slim spiders take Their silken ladders out and make No halt, no secret, scaling where They like, and weaving scaffolds there ; The beaded ants prick out and in, Mysterious and dark and thin ; With glittering spears and gauzy mail Legions of insects dart and sail, Swift Bedouins of the pathless air, Finding rich plunder everywhere ; Sweet birds, with motion more serene Than stillest rest, soar up between The fleecy clouds, then, sinking slow, Light on my roof. I do not know That they are there till fluttering Low sounds, like the unravelling Of tight-knit web, their soft wings make, Unfurling further flight to take. All through my house is set out food, Ready and plenty, safe and good, In vessels made of cunning shapes, Whose liquid spicy sweet escapes By drops at brims of yellow bowls, Or tips of trumpets red as coals, Or cornucopias pink and white, By millions set in circles tight ; Red wine turned jelly, and in moulds Of pointed calyx laid on folds MY HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS. 165 Of velvet green ; fruit-grains of brown, Like dusty shower thickly strewn On underside of fronds, and hid Unless one lift the carven lid ; And many things which in my hast And ignorance I reckon waste, Unsightly and unclean, I find Are but delicious food, designed For travellers who come each day, And eat, and drink, and go their way. I am the only one who need Go hungry where so many feed ; My birthright of protection lost, Because of fathers sins the cost Is counted in the children s blood : I starve where once I might have stood Content and strong as bird or bee, Feeding like them on flower or tree. When I have hunger, I must rise And seek the poisons I despise, Leaving untouched on every hand The sweet wild foods of air and land, And leaving all my happier kin Of beasts and birds behind to win The great rewards which only they Can win who Nature s laws obey. Under these roofs of waving thatch, Lying whole days to dream and watch, I find myself grow more and more Vassal of summer than before ; 1 66 VERSES. Allegiances I thought were sworn For life I break with hate and scorn. One thing alone I hope, desire : To make my human life come nigher The life these lead whose silent gaze Reproaches me and all my ways ; To glide along as they all glide, Submissive and unterrified, Without a thought of loss or gain, Without a jar of haste or pain, And go, without one quickened breath, Finding all realms of life, of death, But summer hours in sunny lands, To my next house not made with hands, MY STRAWBERRY. ^jj\ MARVEL, fruit of fruits, I pause To reckon thee. I ask what cause Set free so much of red from heats At core of earth, and mixed such sweets With sour and spice : what was that strength Which out of darkness, length by length, Spun all thy shining thread of vine, Netting the fields in bond as thine. I see thy tendrils drink by sips From grass and clover s smiling lips ; I hear thy roots dig down for wells, Tapping the meadow s hidden cells ; Whole generations of green things, TRIUMPH. 167 Descended from long lines of springs, I see make room for thee to bide A quiet comrade by their side ; I see the creeping peoples go Mysterious journeys to and fro, Treading to right and left of thee, Doing thee homage wondenngly. I see the wild bees as they fare, Thy cups of honey drink, but spare. I mark thee bathe and bathe again In sweet uncalendared spring rain. I watch how all May has of sun Makes haste to have thy ripeness done, While all her nights let dews escape To set and cool thy perfect shape. Ah, fruit of fruits, no more I pause To dream and seek thy hidden laws ! I stretch my hand and dare to taste, In instant of delicious waste On single feast, all things that went To make the empire thou hast spent TRIUMPH. he who rides through conquered city s gate, At head of blazoned hosts, and to the sound Of victors trumpets, in full pomp and state Of war, the utmost pitch has dreamed or found To which the thrill of triumph can be wound; i68 VERSES. Nor he, who by a nation s vast acclaim Is sudden sought and singled out alone, And while the people madly shout his name, Without a conscious purpose of his own, Is swung and lifted to the nation s throne ; But he who has all single-handed stood With foes invisible on every side, And, unsuspected of the multitude, The force of fate itself has dared, defied, And conquered silently. Ah that soul knows In what white heat the blood of triumph glows ! RETURN TO THE HILLS. IKE a music of triumph and joy Sounds the roll of the wheels, 1 And the breath of the engine laughs out In loud chuckles and peals, Like the laugh of a man that is glad Coming homeward at night ; I lean out of the window and nod To the left and the right, To my friends in the fields and the woods ; Not a face do I miss ; The sweet asters and browned golden-rod, And that stray clematis, Of all vagabonds dearest and best, In most seedy estate ; RETURN TO THE HILLS. 169 I am sure they all recognize me ; If I only could wait, I should hear all the welcome which now In their faces I read, " O true lover of us and our kin, We all bid thee God speed ! " O my mountains, no wisdom can teach Me to think that ye care Nothing more for my steps than the rest, Or that they can have share Such as mine in your royal crown-lands, Unencumbered of fee; In your temples with altars unhewn, Where redemption is free ; In your houses of treasure, which gold Cannot buy if it seek ; And your oracles, mystic with words, Which men lose if they speak ! Ah ! with boldness of lovers who wed I make haste to your feet, And as constant as lovers who die, My surrender repeat ; And I take as the right of my love, And I keep as its sign, An ineffable joy in each sense And new strength as from wine, A seal for all purpose and hope, And a pledge of full light, Like a pillar of cloud for my day, And of fire for my night. 170 VERSES. "DOWN TO SLEEP." OVEMBER woods are bare and still ; November days are clear and bright ; Each noon burns up the morning s chill ; The morning s snow is gone by night ; Each day my steps grow slow, grow light, As through the woods I reverent creep, Watching all things lie " down to sleep." I never knew before what beds, Fragrant to smell, and soft to touch, The forest sifts and shapes and spreads ; I never knew before how much Of human sound there is in such Low tones as through the forest sweep When all wild things lie " down to sleep." Each day I find new coverlids Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight ; Sometimes the viewless mother bids Her ferns kneel down, full in my sight ; I hear their chorus of "good night " ; And half I smile, and half I weep, Listening while they lie " down to sleep." November woods are bare and still ; November days are bright and good ; Life s noon burns up life s morning chill ; FALLOW. 171 Life s night rests feet which long have stood ; Some warm soft bed, in field or wood, The mother will not fail to keep, Where we can * lay us down to sleep." FALLOW. BOVE, below me, on the hill, Great fields of grain their fulness fill ; The golden fruit bends down the trees ; The grass stands high round mowers knees ; The bee pants through the clover-beds, And cannot taste of half the heads ; The farmer stands, with greedy eyes, And counts his harvest s growing size. Among his fields, so fair to see, He takes no count, no note, of me. I lie and bask, along the hill, Content and idle, idle still, My lazy silence never stirred By breathless bee or hungry bird : All creatures know the cribs which yield ; No creature seeks the fallow field. But to no field on all the hill Come sun and rain with more good-will ; All secrets which they bear and bring 172 VERSES. To wheat before its ripening, To clover turning purple red, To grass in bloom for mowers tread, They tell the same to my bare waste, But never once bid me to haste. Winter is near, and snow is sweet ; Who knows if they be seeds of wheat Or clover, which my bosom fill ? Who knows how many summers will Be needed, spent, before one thing Is ready for my harvesting ? And after all, if all were laid Into sure balances and weighed, Who knows if all the gain and get On which hot human hearts are set Do more than mark the drought and dearth Through which this little dust of earth Must lie and wait in God s great hand, A patient bit of fallow land ? LOVE S RICH AND POOR. 173 LOVE S RICH AND POOR. AKING me hand in hand, Love led me through his land. His land bloomed white and red ; His palaces were fair ; Glad people everywhere Stood smiling. Then Love said, " With all my kingdom wins, Never my heart begins To rest ; my cruel poor So rob my rich. By speech, By look, they overreach, And plunder every store. " My rich I love, and make More rich, for giving s sake. My poor I scorn ; they choose Their chilly beggary ; My gold is ready, free, But they forget, refuse. " My rich I love. I weep To see them starved, to keep My worthless poor well fed ; To see them shiver, cold, \Vhilc wrapped with fold on fold, The beggars sleep in bed. 174 VERSES. " My rich I love, and yet My love no law can set ; In vain I warn and cry ; They give, and give, and give ; The selfish beggars live, And smiling see them die." Then walking hand in hand With Love throughout his land, Land blooming white and red, I saw that everywhere, Where life and love looked fair, It was as he had said. LIGHT ON THE MOUNTAIN-TOPS. N Alpine valleys, they who watch for dawn Look never to the east ; but fix their eyes On loftier mountain-peaks of snow, which rise To west or south. Before the happy morn Has sent one ray of kindling red, to warn The sleeping clouds along the eastern skies That it is near, flushing, in glad surprise, These royal hills, for royal watchmen born, Discover that God s great new day begins, And, shedding from their sacred brows a light Prophetic, wake the valley from its night. CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN ST. PETERS. 175 Such mystic light as this a great soul wins, Who overlooks earth s wall of griefs and sins, And steadfast, always, gazing on the white Great throne of God, can call aloud with deep, Pure voice of truth, to waken them who sleep. BAD-GASTEIN, AUSTRIA, September 9, 1869. CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN ST. PETER S. OW on the marble floor I lie : I am alone : Though friendly voices whisper nigh, And foreign crowds are passing by, I am alone. Great hymns float through The shadowed aisles. I hear a slow Refrain, " Forgive them, for they know Not what they do." With tender joy all others thrill ; I have but tears : The false priests voices, high and shrill, Reiterate the " Peace, good-will " ; I have but tears. I hear anew The nails and scourge ; then come the low Sad words, " Forgive them, for they know Not what they do." VERSES. Close by my side the poor souls kneel ; I turn away ; Half-pitying looks at me they steal ; They think, because I do not feel, I turn away. Ah ! if they knew, How following them, where er they go, I hear, " Forgive them, for they know Not what they do Above the organ s sweetest strains I hear the groans Of prisoners, who lie in chains, So near, and in such mortal pains, I hear the groans. But Christ walks through The dungeons of St. Angelo, And says, " Forgive them, for they know Not what they do." And now the music sinks to sighs ; The lights grow dim : The Pastorella s melodies In lingering echoes float and rise ; The lights grow dim ; More clear and true, In this sweet silence, seem to flow The words, " Forgive them, for they know Not what they do." The dawn swings incense, silver gray ; The night is past ; WELCOME. 177 Now comes, triumphant, God s full day ; No priest, no church can bar its way : The night is past : How, on this blue Of God s great banner, blaze and glow The words, " Forgive them, for they know Not what they do ! " ROME, December 26, 1868- WELCOME, TO C. C ELCOME ! Perhaps the simple word says all. And yet, when from a country s earnest heart It sudden springs, quick pride and triumph start, Eager as love, and even hold in thrall Of silence love s own speech, while they recall How in all men s great deeds of life and art Their native land immortal share and part Must keep. But thou, O royal soul, how small Such laurels unto thee, we know who love Thee, and whom thou hast loved ! We dare to bring To thee this mite of silent offering, And know how it thy great, warm heart will move, That, dumb with joy, we find no voice as yet, And cannot see, because our eyes are wet ! 178 VERSES. TWO COMRADES. To O. W. AND H. DE K. S when in some green forest depth we find The spot to which with idle, tinkling feet, Two brooks have danced all unawares tc meet Each other, where at sight they interwind Their shining arms, and loving, trusting, bind Themselves for life, and with a louder song And in a wider channel glide along ; As when in some great symphony we trace, Through deep and underlying harmonies, How all the notes of melody uprise, Lifted by answering notes in distant place, Fulfilling each in each the final grace, But shielding, keeping each from each The separate voices through the blended speech ; So when we see two human souls by fate Held in life s restless current side by side, And in their deepest nature so allied That each, but for the other, life s estate Must smaller find, a sense of joy, too great Almost for speech, thrills earnest souls who heed Their fellowship and long to say " God-speed ! " TWO COMRADES. 179 Two comrades such as these I know, young, fair ; So fair, that choice cannot find right to choose ; So fair, that wish can nothing miss or lose In either face ; so young, their eyes still wear The looks with which young children trust and dare ; So young, the womanhood of each warm heart As yet finds love enough in love of Art. One, silent, with a silence whose quick speech By subtler eloquence than any word, Reveals when deepest depths are touched and stirred, Reveals by color tides which mount and reach Her broad, white brow, as on some magic beach, Where only spotless, peaceful snows resist, Might break a crimson sea through veiling mist. Silent, with silence which might often make Dull ears believe the answer unexpressed Meant an assent, or aquiescent rest ; Silence whose earnestness dull souls mistake ; But silence out of which words leap and break, As from their sheaths swords leap and flash in sun, When comes the time for swords, and truce is done ; Silence which to all finer spirits is Full of such revelation and delight As Nature s lovers find and feel in sight Of her most sacred, subtle silences ; Silence of mountain lake, untouched by breeze ; Silence of lily s heart, cool, white, and pure ; Silence of crystal growths, patient and sure. i So VERSES. The other, earnest equally, but born With veins made for a tropic current s flow ; Intolerant if fate seem cold, seem slow ; Full of a noble, restless, dauntless scorn ; Unjust to night, for eager love of morn ; Unjust to small things for the love of great ; Too faithless of all good which tarries late. But yet through all this tropic current s heat, Through all this scorn of failures and delays, Lives faithfulness which never disobeys The smallest law of patience, and, more sweet Than patience self, works on to its complete Fulfilling, wresting thus from alien powers A double guerdon for the conquered hours. In vain among all rich and beauteous things With which the realms of beauteous Nature teems I look for one which fair and fitting seems As simile for her swift soul, which wings Itself more swift than bird can fly, which springs And soars like fountain, but finds no content At levels whence its own bright waters went. Only one thing there is whose name is name Also for her : swift, restless, patient fire, Which, burning always, loses no desire ; Which leaps and soars and blazes all the same, If spices or dull fagots feed its flame ; Swift, restless, patient fire, which saves and turns Into more precious things all things it burns. DEMETER. 181 O comrades, sweet to know and hear and see, Whom I have dared to paint, each empty phrase But mocks my thought ; no dreamy singer s praise, No flattering voice of hope and prophecy Of what the future years shall bring and be, No stranger s recognition do ye need ! Ah ! comrades, sweet to hear and see, " God-speed ! " DEMETER. LEGEND of foul shame to motherhood ! How doubly orphaned ignorance which wrought Such tale ; which deemed a mother s soul had bought One healing for her woe in that she could Strike other mothers desolate ; made good Her loss by theirs, unpitying while they sought As she had sought, weeping and finding nought But cruel empty places where had stood The children. Ah, true motherhood, bereft, Finds only joy in thought that joy is left For other mothers : smiling, it abides In loneliness, a little way apart, And from all happy mothers gladly hides, And veils the chilly winter in its heart. 1 82 VEKSES. EXPECTANCY. ERPETUAL dawn makes glorious all hills ; Perpetual altar-feast sets fresh shew-bread ; Perpetual symphony swells overhead ; Perpetual revelation pours and fills For every eye and ear and soul which wills And waits, with will and waiting which are wed Into true harmony, like that which led The forces under which, with silent thrills, Earth s subtile life began. Ah, on the brink Of each new age of great eternity, I think, After the ages have all countless grown, Our souls will poise and launch with eager wing, Forgetting blessedness already known, In sweet impatience for God 1 s next good thing. BELATED. N a September day I came Seeking that flower of sweetest name Of all, from which the lavish June With boundless fragrance fills the noon, In woods where her best blossoms hide. " O sweet Twin-Flower ! " I longing cried, Hopeless but eager, "is there still One tiny pink bell left ? And will BELATED. 183 Thy guardian fairy condescend To guide my feet, that I may bend, In reverent and fond delight, Once more at the transcendent sight ? " The spicy woods were still and cool ; In many a little mossy pool Bright leaves were floating round and round ; The partridge mother s watchful sound, The sighs of dying leaves that fell, Were all that broke the silent spell. In mats and tangles everywhere, The Twin-Flower vines lay, green and fair, With subtle beauty all their own, Wreathing each hillock and each stone, Stretching in slender coiling shoot, Far out of sight of parent root, Making white silken fibres fast To all the mosses as they passed ; But trembling, empty, withered, bare, Stood all the thread-like flower-stems there. " Too late," I said, and rambled on, Sadder because the flowers were gone, Yet glad, and laden with green vines Of everything that climbs and twines ; With glossy ferns, and snowy seeds Strung thick on scarlet stems, like beads, And Tiarellas packed between In mottled, scalloped disks of green, And purple Asters fit for hem Of High-Priest s robes, and, shading them Like sunlit tree-tops waving broad, Great branching stalks of Golden Rod. 184 VERSES. So, glad and laden, through the wood I went, till on its edge I stood, When at my very feet I saw, With sudden joy, half joy, half awe, Low nestled in a dead log s cleft One pale Twin- Flower, the last one left. So near my hasty step had been To trampling it, it quivered in The air, and like a fairy bell Swung to and fro, with notes that fell No doubt on hidden ears more fine, And more of kin to it than mine. " O dear belated thing ! " I cried, And knelt like worshipper beside The mossy log. The wood, so still, With sudden echo seemed to fill. Repeated on each side I heard In soft rebuke my thoughtless word, Belated " ! No ! ah. never yet The smallest reckoning was set Too slow, too fast, by Nature s hand. Her hours appointed faithful stand. Her million doors wide-open stay. Love cannot lose nor leave his way, Comes not too soon, comes not too late. Twin-Flowers and hearts their lovers wait TO AN UNKNOWN LADY. 185 TO AN UNKNOWN LADY. There lived a lady who was lovelier Than anything that my poor skill may paint, Though I would follow round the world till faint I fell, for just one little look at her. Who said she seemed like this or that did err : Like her dear self she was, alone, no taint From touch of mortal or of earth ; blest saint Serene, with many a faithful worshipper ! There is no poet s poesy would not, When laid against the whiteness of her meek, Proud, solemn face, make there a pitiful blot. It is so strange that I can never speak I Of her without a tear. O, I forgot ! This surely may fall blameless on that cheek ! From THE RIDDLE OF LOVERS, Scribtter s Monthly for June, 1873. KNOW a lady no, I do not know Her face, her voice ; I do not know her name : And yet such sudden, subtle knowledge came To me of her one day, that I am slow To think that if I met her I should go Amiss in greeting her. Such sweet, proud shame In every look would tell her hidden fame Whose poet lover, singing, loves her so That all his songs unconsciously repeat The fact of her, no matter what he sings, 1 86 VERSES. The color and the tone of her in things Remotest, and the presence of her, sweet And strong to hold him lowest at her feet, When most he soars on highest sunlit wings. I bless thee, Lady whom I do not know ! I thank God for thy unseen, beauteous face, And lovely soul, which make this year of grace In all our land so full of grace to grow ; As years were, solemn centuries ago, When lovers knew to set in stateliest place Their mistresses, and, for their sake, no race Disdained or feared to run, they loved them so. Reading the verses which I know are thine, My heart grows reverent, as on holy ground. I think of many an unnamed saintly shrine I saw in Old World churches, hung around With pictured scrolls and gifts in grateful sign Of help which sore-pressed souls of men had found. O sweetest immortality, which pain Of Love s most bitter ecstasy can buy, Sole immortality which can defy Earth s power on earth s own ground, and never wane All other ways, hearts breaking, try in vain. All fire and flood and moth and rust outvie Love s artifice. The sculptor s marbles lie In shapeless fragments ; and to dust again The painter s hand had scarcely turned, before His colors faded. But the poet came, A WILD ROSE IN SEPTEMBER. 187 Giving to her from whom he took, his fame, Placing her than the angels little lower, And centuries cannot harm her any more Than they can pale the stars which heard her name. A WILD ROSE IN SEPTEMBER. WILD red rose, what spell has stayed Till now thy summer of delights ? Where hid the south wind when he laid His heart on thine, these autumn nights ? O wild red rose ! Two faces glow At sight of thee, and two hearts share All thou and thy south wind can know Of sunshine in this autumn air. O sweet wild rose ! O strong south wind ! The sunny roadside asks no reasons Why we such secret summer find, Forgetting calendars and seasons ! Alas ! red rose, thy petals wilt ; Our loving hands tend thee in vain; Our thoughtless touch seems like a guilt ; Ah, could we make ihee live again ! 1 88 VEXSES. Yet joy, wild rose ! Be glad, south wind ! Immortal wind ! immortal rose ! Ye shall live on, in two hearts shrined, With secrets which no words disclose. AN ARCTIC QUEST. PROUDLY name their names who bravely sail To seek brave lost in Arctic snows and seas ! Bring money and bring ships, and on strong knees Pray prayers so strong that not one word can fail To pierce God s listening heart ! Rigid and pale, The lost men s bodies, waiting, drift and freeze ; Yet shall their solemn dead lips tell to these Who find them secrets mighty to prevail On farther, darker, icier seas. 1 Alone, unhelped, unprayed-for. Perishing For years in realms of more than Arctic snow, My heart has lingered. Will the poor dead thing Be sign to guide past bitter flood and floe, To open sea, some strong heart triumphing ? THE SIGN OF THE DAISY. 189 THE SIGN OF THE DAISY. LL summer she scattered the daisy leaves ; They only mocked her as they fell. She said : " The daisy but deceives ; There is no virtue in its spell. * He loves me not, * he loves me well, One story no two daisies tell." Ah, foolish heart, which waits and grieves Under the daisy s mocking spell ! But summer departed, and came again. The daisies whitened every hill ; Her heart had lost its last year s pain, Her heart of love had had its fill, And held love s secrets at its will. The daisies stood untouched and still, No message in that snowy rain To one whose heart had had its fill ! So never the daisy s sweet sign deceives, Though no two will one story tell ; The glad heart sees the daisy leaves, But thinks not of their hidden spell, Heeds not which lingered and which fell. " He loves me ; yes, he loves me well." Ah, happy heart which sees, believes ! This is the daisy s secret spell ! 190 VERSES. VINTAGE. EFORE the time of grapes, While they altered in the sun, And out of the time of grapes, When vintage songs were done, From secret southern spot, Whose warmth not a mortal knew : From shades which the sun forgot, Or could not struggle through, Wine sweeter than first wine, She gave him by drop, by drop ; Wine stronger than seal could sign, She poured and did not stop. Soul of my soul, the shapes Of the things of earth are one ; Rememberest thou the grapes I brought thee in the sun? And darest thou still drink Wine stronger than seal can sign ? And smilest thou to think Eternal vintage thine ? LAST WORDS. LAST WORDS. I 9 RNIA EAR hearts, whose love has been so sweet to know, That I am looking backward as I go, Am lingering while I haste, and in this rain Of tears of joy am mingling tears of pain ; Do not adorn with costly shrub, or tree, Or flower, the little grave which shelters me. Let the wild wind-sown seeds grow up unharmed, And back and forth all summer, unalarmed, Let all the tiny, busy creatures creep ; Let the sweet grass its last year s tangles keep ; And when, remembering me, you come some day And stand there, speak no praise, but only say, " How she loved us ! T was that which made hei dear ! " Those are the words that I shall joy to hear. University Press : John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. SONNETS AND LYRICS SONNETS AND LYRICS BY HELEN JACKSON. (H.* H.) AUTHOR OF "VERSES," " RAMONA, "BITS OF TRAVEL," ETC., ETC. BOSTON ROBERTS BROTHERS 1888 Copyright, 1886, BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. Suibtrsitg JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. T TNTO one who lies at rest \Veath the sunset, in the West, Clover-blossoms on her breast. Lover of each gracious thing Which makes glad the summer-tide, From the daisies clustering And the violets purple-eyed, To those shy and hidden blooms Which in forest coverts stay, Sending wandering perfumes Out as guides to shcnv the way, All she knew, to all was kind ; None so humble or so small That she did not seek and find Silent friendship from them alL Moss-cups, tiarella leaves, Dappled like the adder s skin, Fttngtu huts with ivory eaves Which the fairies harbor in, Regiments of fronded ferns, Golden-rod and asters frail, Every flaming leaf that burns Red against the autumn pale, Every pink-cupped wayside rose, All to her were dear and known; But above them all she chose Clover-blossoms for her own. So they laid her to her rest In the sun-warmed, bounteous West, Clover-blossoms on her breast. CONTENTS. PAGE A DREAM 7 DANGER 9 FREEDOM 10 THE GODS SAID LOVE is BLIND 11 THE FIR-TREE AND THE BROOK 12 A ROSE-LEAF 14 A WOMAN S BATTLE 15 ESTHER 16 VASHTI 17 BURNT OFFERING 18 BON VOYAGE 20 NEW YEAR S MORNING 21 JANUARY 23 FEBRUARY 24 MARCH 25 APRIL 26 MAY 27 viii CONTENTS. PAGB JUNE 28 JULY 29 AUGUST .... 30 SEPTEMBER 31 OCTOBER 32 NOVEMBER 33 DECEMBER 34 REFRAIN 35 To AN ABSENT LOVER 38 CROSSED THREADS 39 OUTWARD BOUND 40 SEALED ORDERS 41 Two 42 THE GIFT OF GRAPES 44 AVALANCHES 5 1 A WOMAN S DEATH-WOUND 52 CHANCE S3 SEPTEMBER 54 APPEAL 56 \VRECK 57 THE HEART OF A ROSE 58 ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF 59 FEALTY . . 61 VISION 62 THE POET S FORGE 63 VANITY OF VANITIES 65 CONTENTS. ix PAGE MORN 67 QUATRAINS 68 RELEASE 70 WHERE? 71 EMIGRAVIT 72 MY TENANTS 73 THE STORY OF BOON 75 THE VICTORY OF PATIENCE 94 GOD S LIGHT-HOUSES 95 SONGS OF BATTLE 97 No MAN S LAND 98 JUST OUT OF SIGHT 100 SEPTEMBER WOODS 102 TO-DAY 105 OPPORTUNITY 106 FLOWERS ON A GRAVE 107 A MEASURE OF HOURS 109 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 112 DEDICATION 114 DAWN 115 EVE 115 DREAMS 116 THE DAY-STAR IN THE EAST 117 OCTOBER S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER 119 THE RIVIERA i^ T SEMITONES 122 X CONTENTS. PAGE IN THE DARK . . 123 MORDECAI 124 IN APRIL 125 Two HARVESTS 127 HABEAS CORPUS 129 A LAST PRAYER 132 THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE 133 A DREAM. DREAMED that I was dead and crossed the heavens, Heavens after heavens with burning feet and swift, And cried : " O God, where art Thou ? I left one On earth, whose burden I would pray Thee lift." I was so dead I wondered at no thing, Not even that the angels slowly turned Their faces, speechless, as I hurried by (Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned) ; Nor, at the first, that I could not find God, Because the heavens stretched endlessly like space. At last a terror seized my very soul ; I seemed alone in all the crowded place. 8 A DREAM. Then, sudden, one compassionate cried out, Though like the rest his face from me he turned, As I were one no angel might regard (Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned) : " No more in heaven than earth will he find God Who does not know his loving mercy swift But waits the moment consummate and ripe, Each burden from each human soul to lift." Though I was dead, I died again for shame ; - Lonely, to flee from heaven again I turned ; The ranks of angels looked away from me (Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned). DANGER. DANGER. what a childish and short-sighted sense Fear seeks for safety; reckons up the days Of danger and escape, the hours and ways Of death ; it breathless flies the pestilence ; It walls itself in towers of defence ; By land, by sea, against the storm it lays Down barriers ; then, comforted, it says : " This spot, this hour is safe." Oh, vain pretence ! Man born of man knows nothing when he goes ; The winds blow where they list, and will disclose To no man which brings safety, which brings risk. The mighty are brought low by many a thing Too small to name. Beneath the daisy s disk Lies hid the pebble for the fatal sling. 10 FREEDOM. FREEDOM. HAT freeman knoweth freedom? Never he Whose father s fathers through long lives have reigned O er kingdoms which mere heritage attained. Though from his youth to age he roam as free As winds, he dreams not freedom s ecstasy. But he whose birth was in a nation chained For centuries ; where every breath was drained From breasts of slaves which knew not there could be Such thing as freedom, he beholds the light Burst, dazzling ; though the glory blind his sight He knows the joy. Fools laugh because he reels And wields confusedly his infant will ; The wise man watching with a heart that feels Says : "Cure for freedom s harms is freedom still." THE GODS SAID LOVE IS BLIND. II THE GODS SAID LOVE IS BLIND. HE gods said Love is blind. The earth was young With foolish, youthful laughter when it heard ; It caught and spoke the letter of the words, And from that time till now hath said and sung, " Oh, Love is blind ! The falsest face and tongue Can cheat him, once his passion s thrill is stirred : He is so blind, poor Love ! " Strange none demurred At this, nor saw how hollow false it rang, When all men know that sightless men can tell Unnumbered things which vision cannot find. Powers of the air are leagued to guide them well; And things invisible weave clew and spell By which all labyrinths they safely wind. Ah, we were lost, if Love had not been blind ! 12 THE FIR-TREE AND THE BROOK. THE FIR-TREE AND THE BROOK. Fir- Tree looked on stars, but loved the Brook ! " O silver- voiced ! if thou wouldst wait, My love can bravely woo." All smiles forsook The Brook s white face. " Too late ! Too late ! I go to wed the sea. I know not if my love would curse or bless thee. I may not, dare not, tarry to caress thee, Oh, do not follow me 1" The Fir-Tree moaned and moaned till spring ; Then laughed in maniac joy to feel Early one day, the woodmen of the King Sign him with sign of burning steel, The first to fall. " Now flee Thy swiftest, Brook ! Thy love may curse or bless me, I care not, if but once thou dost caress me, O Brook, I follow thee ! " All torn and bruised with mark of axe and chain, Hurled down the dizzy slide of sand, THE FIR-TREE AND THE BROOK. 13 Tossed by great waves in ecstasy of pain, And rudely thrown at last to land, The Fir-Tree heard : " Oh, see With what fierce love it is I must caress thee ! I warned.thee I might curse, and never bless thee, Why did st thou follow me?" All stately set with spar and brace and rope, The Fir-Tree stood and sailed, and sailed. In wildest storm when all the ship lost hope, The Fir-Tree never shook nor quailed, Nor ceased from saying, " Free Art thou, O Brook ! But once thou hast caressed me; For life, for death, thy love Has cursed or blessed me ; Behold, I follow thee ! " Lost in a night, and no man left to tell, Crushed in the giant icebergs play, The ship went down without a song, a knell. Still drifts the Fir-Tree night and day ; Still moans along the sea A voice : " O Fir-Tree ! thus must I possess thee ; Eternally, brave love, will I caress thee, Dead for the love of me ! " 14 A ROSE-LEAF. A ROSE-LEAF. ROSE-LEAF on the snowy deck, The high wind whirling it astern ; Nothing the wind could know or reck ; Why did the King s eye thither turn ? "The Queen has walked here ! " hoarse he cried. The courtiers, stunned, turned red, turned white ; No use if they had stammered, lied ; Aghast they fled his angry sight. Kings wives die quick, when kings go mad ; To death how fair and grave she goes ! What if the king knew now, she had Shut in her hand a little rose ? And men die quick when kings have said ; Bleeding, dishonored, flung apart In outcast field a man lies dead With rose-leaves warm upon his heart. A WOMAN S BATTLE. 15 A WOMAN S BATTLE. EAR foe, I know thou It win the fight. I know thou hast the stronger bark, And thou art sailing in the light, While I am creeping in the dark. Thou dost not dream that I am crying, As I come up with colors flying. I clear away my wounded, slain, With strength like frenzy, strong and swift ; I do not feel the tug and strain, Though dead are heavy, hard to lift. If I looked in their faces dying, I could not keep my colors flying. Dear foe, it will be short, our fight, Though lazily thou train st thy guns ; Fate steers us, me to deeper night, And thee to briyhier seas and suns ; But thou It not dream that I am dying, As I sail by with colors flying ! 1 6 ESTHER. ESTHER. FACE more vivid than he dreamed who drew Thy portrait in that thrilling tale of old ! Dead queen, we see thee still, thy beauty cold As beautiful ; thy dauntless heart which knew No fear, not even of a king who slew At pleasure ; maiden heart which was not sold, Though all the maiden flesh the king s red gold Did buy ! The loyal daughter of the Jew, No hour saw thee forget his misery ; Thou wert not queen until thy race went free ; Yet thoughtful hearts, that ponder slow and deep, Find doubtful reverence at last for thee ; Thou heldest thy race too dear, thyself too cheap ; Honor no second place for truth can keep. VASHTL 17 VASHTI. N all great Shushan s palaces was there Not one, O Vashti, knowing thee so well, Poor uncrowned queen, that he the world could tell How thou wert pure and loyal-souled as fair? How it was love which made thee bold to dare Refuse the shame which madmen would compel? Not one, who saw the bitter tears that fell And heard thy cry heart-rending on the air : "Ah me ! My Lord could not this thing have meant ! He well might loathe me ever, if I go Before these drunken princes as a show. I am his queen : I come of king s descent. I will not let him bring our crown so low ; He will but bless me when he doth repent ! " 1 8 BURNT OFFERING. BURNT OFFERING. * HE fire leaped up, swift, hot, and red ; Swift, hot, and red, waiting a prey ; The woman came with swift, light tread, And silently knelt down to lay Armfuls of leaves upon the fire, As men lay fagots on a pyre. Armfuls of leaves which had been bright Like painter s tints six months before, All faded now, a ghastly sight, Dusty and colorless, she bore, And knelt and piled them on the fire, As men lay fagots on the pyre. Watching the crackle and the blaze, Idly I smiled and idly said : " Good-by, dead leaves, go dead leaves ways. Next year there will be more as red." The woman turned, and from the fire Looked up as from a funeral-pyre. BURNT OFFERING. 19 I saw my idle words had been Far crueler than I could know, And made an old wound bleed again. "These are not leaves," she whispered low, " That I am burning in the fire, But days, it is a funeral pyre." 2O BON VOYAGE. BON VOYAGE. HERE S not an hour but from some spark ling beach Go joyful men, in fragile ships to sail, By unknown seas to unknown lands. They hail The freshening winds with eager hope, and speech Of wondrous countries which they soon will reach. Left on the shore, we wave our hands, with pale, Wet cheeks, but hearts that are ashamed to quail, Or own the grief which selfishness would teach. O Death, the fairest lands beyond thy sea Lie waiting, and thy barks are swift and stanch And ready. Why do we reluctant launch? And when our friends their heritage have claimed Of thee, and entered on it, rich and free, Oh, why are we of sorrow not ashamed ? NEW YEAR S MORNING. 21 NEW YEAR S MORNING. JNLY a night from old to new ! Only a night, and so much wrought 1 The Old Year s heart all weary grew, But said : " The New Year rest has brought." The Old Year s heart its hopes laid down, As in a grave ; but, trusting, said : " The blossoms of the New Year s crown Bloom from the ashes of the dead." The Old Year s heart was full of greed ; With selfishness it longed and ached, And cried : " I have not half I need. My thirst is bitter and unslaked. But to the New Year s generous hand All gifts in plenty shall return ; True loving it shall understand ; By all my failures it shall learn. 1 have been reckless ; it shall be Quiet and calm and pure of life. I was a slave ; it shall go free, And find sweet peace where I leave strife." 22 NEW YEAR S MORNING, Only a night from old to new ! Never a night such changes brought. The Old Year had its work to do ; No New Year miracles are wrought. Always a night from old to new ! Night and the healing balm of sleep ! Each morn is New Year s morn come true, Morn of a festival to keep. All nights are sacred nights to make Confession and resolve and prayer ; All days are sacred days to wake New gladness in the sunny air. Only a night from old to new ; Only a sleep from night to morn. The new is but the old come true ; Each sunrise sees a new year born. JANUARY. 23 JANUARY. WINTER ! frozen pulse and heart of fire, What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn Of death ! Far sooner in midsummer tire The streams than under ice. June could not hire Her roses to forego the strength they learn In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn The bridges thou dost lay where men desire In vain to build. O Heart, when Love s sun goes To northward, and the sounds of singing cease, Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace. Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose. Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows, The winter is the winter s own release. 24 FEBRUARY. FEBRUARY. TILL lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white ; And reigns the winter s pregnant silence still ; No sign of spring, save that the catkins fill, And willow stems grow daily red and bright. These are the days when ancients held a rite Of expiation for the old year s ill, And prayer to purify the new year s will : Fit days, ere yet the spring rains blur the sight, Ere yet the bounding blood grows hot with haste, And dreaming thoughts grow heavy with a greed The ardent summer s joy to have and taste ; Fit days, to give to last year s losses heed, To reckon clear the new life s sterner need ; Fit days, for Feast of Expiation placed ! MARCH. 25 MARCH. ONTH which the warring ancients strangely styled The month of war, as if in their fierce ways Were any month of peace ! in thy rough days I find no war in Nature, though the wild Winds clash and clang, and broken boughs are piled At feet of writhing trees. The violets raise Their heads without affright, without amaze, And sleep through all the din, as sleeps a child. And he who watches well may well discern Sweet expectation in each living thing. Like pregnant mother the sweet earth doth yearn ; In secret joy makes ready for the spring ; And hidden, sacred, in her breast doth bear Annunciation lilies for the year. 26 APRIL. APRIL. O days such honored days as these ! While yet Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide For some fair thing which should forever bide On earth, her beauteous memory to set In fitting frame that no age could forget, Her name in lovely April s name did hide, And leave it there, eternally allied To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget. And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth, Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth, A holier symbol still in seal and sign, Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine, When Christ ascended, in the time of birth Of spring anemones, in Palestine. MAY. 27 MAY. MONTH when they who love must love and wed ! Were one to go to worlds where May is naught, And seek to tell the memories he had brought From earth of thee, what were most fitly said ? I know not if the rosy showers shed From apple-boughs, or if the soft green wrought In fields, or if the robin s call be fraught The most with thy delight. Perhaps they read Thee best who in the ancient time did say Thou wert the sacred month unto the old : No blossom blooms upon thy brightest day So subtly sweet as memories which unfold In aged hearts which in thy sunshine lie, To sun themselves once more before they die. 28 JUNE. JUNE. MONTH whose promise and fulfilment blend, And burst in one ! it seems the earth can store In all her roomy house no treasure more ; Of all her wealth no farthing have to spend On fruit, when once this stintless flowering end. And yet no tiniest flower shall fall before It hath made ready at its hidden core Its tithe of seed, which we may count and tend Till harvest. Joy of blossomed love, for thee Seems it no fairer thing can yet have birth? No room is left for deeper ecstasy ? Watch well if seeds grow strong, to scatter free Germs for thy future summers on the earth. A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth. JULY. 29 JULY. jOME flowers are withered and some joys have died ; The garden reeks with an East Indian scent From beds where gillyflowers stand weak and spent ; The white heat pales the skies from side to side ; But in still lakes and rivers, cool, content, Like starry blooms on a new firmament, White lilies float and regally abide. In vain the cruel skies their hot rays shed ; The lily does not feel their brazen glare. In vain the pallid clouds refuse to share Their dews ; the lily feels no thirst, no dread. Unharmed she lifts her queenly face and head ; She drinks of living waters and keeps fair. AUGUST. AUGUST. J.ILENCE again. The glorious symphony Hath need of pause and interval of peace. Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds cease, Save hum of insects aimless industry. Pathetic summer seeks by blazonry Of color to conceal her swift decrease. Weak subterfuge ! Each mocking day doth fleece A blossom, and lay bare her poverty. Poor middle-aged summer ! Vain this show ! Whole fields of golden-rod cannot offset One meadow with a single violet ; And well the singing thrush and lily know, Spite of all artifice which her regret Can deck in splendid guise, their time to go ! SEPTEMBER. 3 1 SEPTEMBER. GOLDEN month ! How high thy gold is heaped ! The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung On wands ; the chestnut s yellow pennons tongue To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped ; And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among The yellow gourds, which from the earth have wrung Her utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped The purple grape, last thing to ripen, late By very reason of its precious cost. O Heart, remember, vintages are lost If grapes do not for freezing night-dews wait. Think, while thou sunnest thyself in Joy s estate, Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost ! 32 OCTOBER. OCTOBER. HE month of carnival of all the year, When Nature lets the wild earth go its way, And spend whole seasons on a single day. The spring-time holds her white and purple dear ; October, lavish, flaunts them far and near ; The summer charily her reds doth lay Like jewels on her costliest array ; October, scornful, burns them on a bier. The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign Of kingdom : whiter pearls than winter knew, Or Empress wore, in Egypt s ancient line, October, feasting neath her dome of blue, Drinks at a single draught, slow filtered through Sunshiny air, as in a tingling wine ! NOVEMBER. 33 NOVEMBER. |HIS is the treacherous month when autumn days With summer s voice come bearing sum mer s gifts. Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways, And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts, The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning s rays Will idly shine upon and slowly melt, Too late to bid the violet live again. The treachery, at last, too late, is plain ; Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt. What joy sufficient hath November felt ? What profit from the violet s day of pain ? 34 DECEMBER. DECEMBER. HE lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakes Of water neath the summer sunshine gleamed : Far fairer than when placidly it streamed, The brook its frozen architecture makes, And under bridges white its swift way takes. Snow comes and goes as messenger who dreamed Might linger on the road ; or one who deemed His message hostile gently for their sakes Who listened might reveal it by degrees. We gird against the cold of winter wind Our loins now with mighty bands of sleep, In longest, darkest nights take rest and ease, And every shortening day, as shadows creep O er the brief noontide, fresh surprises find. REFRAIN. 35 REFRAIN. F all the songs which poets sing, The ones which are most sweet, Are those which at close intervals A low refrain repeat ; Some tender word, some syllable, Over and over, ever and ever, While the song lasts, Altering never, Music if sung, music if said, Subtle like some fine golden thread A shuttle casts, In and out on a fabric red, Till it glows all through With the golden hue. Oh ! of all the songs sung, No songs are so sweet As the songs with refrains, Which repeat and repeat. Of all the lives lived, No life is so sweet, 36 REFRAIN. As the life where one thought, In refrain doth repeat, Over and over, ever and ever, Till the life ends, Altering never, Joy which is felt, but is not said, Subtler than any golden thread Which the shuttle sends In and out in a fabric red, Till it glows all through With a golden hue. Oh ! of all the lives lived, Can be no life so sweet As the life where one thought In refrain doth repeat. " Now name me a thought To make life so sweet, A thought of such joy Its refrain to repeat." Oh ! foolish to ask me. Ever, ever Who loveth believes, But telleth never. It might be a name, just a name not said, But in every thought ; like a golden thread Which the shuttle weaves In and out on a fabric red, REFRAIN. 37 Till it glows all through With a golden hue. Oh ! of all sweet lives, Who can tell how sweet Is the life which one name In refrain doth repeat ? 38 TO AN ABSENT LOVER. TO AN ABSENT LOVER. HAT so much change should come when thou dost go, Is mystery that I cannot ravel quite. The very house seems dark as when the light Of lamps goes out. Each wonted thing doth grow So altered, that I wander to and fro Bewildered by the most familiar sight, And feel like one who rouses in the night From dream of ecstasy, and cannot know At first if he be sleeping or awake. My foolish heart so foolish for thy sake Hath grown, dear one ! Teach me to be more wise. I blush for all my foolishness doth lack ; I fear to seem a coward in thine eyes. Teach me, dear one, but first thou must come back 1 CROSSED THREADS. 39 CROSSED THREADS. HE silken threads by viewless spinners spun, Which float so idly on the summer air, And help to make each summer morning fair, Shining like silver in the summer sun, Are caught by wayward breezes, one by one, And blown to east and west and fastened there, Weaving on all the roads their sudden snare. No sign which road doth safest, freest run, The winged insects know, that soar so gay To meet their death upon each summer day. How dare we any human deed arraign ; Attempt to reckon any moment s cost ; , Or any pathway trust as safe and plain Because we see not where the threads have crossed ? 40 OUTWARD BOUND. OUTWARD BOUND. HE hour has come. Strong hands the anchor raise ; Friends stand and weep along the fading shore, In sudden fear lest we return no more, In sudden fancy that he safer stays Who stays behind ; that some new danger lays New snare in each fresh path untrod before. Ah, foolish hearts ! in fate s mysterious lore Is written no such choice of plan and days : Each hour has its own peril and escape ; In most familiar things familiar shape New danger comes without or sight or sound ; No sea more foreign rolls than breaks each morn Across our thresholds when the day is born : We sail, at sunrise, daily, " outward bound." SEALED ORDERS. 41 SEALED ORDERS. [HEN ship with "orders sealed" sails out to sea, Men eager crowd the wharves, and rev erent gaze Upon their faces whose brave spirits raise No question if the unknown voyage be Of deadly peril. Benedictions free And prayers and tears are given, and the days Counted till other ships, on homeward ways, May bring back message of her destiny. Yet, all the time, Life s tossing sea is white With scudding sails which no man reefs or stays By his own will, for roughest day or night : Brave, helpless crews, with captain out of sight, Harbor unknown, voyage of long delays, They meet no other ships on homeward ways. 42 TWO. TWO. APART. NE place one roof one name their daily bread In daily sacrament they break Together, and together take Perpetual counsel, such as use has fed The habit of, in words which make No lie. For courtesy s sweet sake And pity s, one brave heart whose joy is dead, Smiles ever, answering words which wake But weariness ; hides all its ache, Its hopeless ache, its longing and its dread ; Strong as a martyr at the stake Renouncing self; striving to slake The pangs of thirst on bitter hyssop red With vinegar ! O brave, strong heart ! God sets all days, all hours apart, Joy cometh at his hour appointed. TWO. 43 ii. TOGETHER. No touch no sight no sound wide continents And seas clasp hands to separate Them from each other now. Too late ! Triumphant Love has leagued the elements To do their will. Hath light a mate For swiftness ? Can it overweight The air? Or doth the sun know accidents? The light, the air, the sun, inviolate For them, do constant keep and state Message of their ineffable contents And raptures, each in each. So great Their bliss of loving, even fate In parting them, hath found no instruments Whose bitter pain insatiate Doth kill it, or their faith abate In presence of Love s hourly sacraments. 44 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. THE GIFT OF GRAPES. A LEGEND OF THE FOURTH CENTURY. |g| HE desert sun was sinking red ; Hot as at noon the light was shed. Bareheaded, on the scorching sands, Macarius knelt with clasped hands, And prayed, as he had prayed for years, With smitings and with bitter tears. " Good hermit, here ! " a hand outstretched, It was as if an angel fetched The purple clusters, dewy blue, " Good hermit, here ! These grapes for you ! " Swift swept the rider by. The grapes Lay at the hermit s feet. " Like shapes " Of magic, sent to tempt my sense," Macarius thought. " Sathanas, hence ! " THE GIFT OF GRAPES. 45 He cried. " I will not touch nor taste. Yet, were it not wrong such fruit to waste? " He paused. " I 11 leave it at his door, My neighbor, who with illness sore " Is like to die. He may partake, And sin not. Ay, for Jesus sake, " I will his dying lips beseech, Command, as if I were his leech." Thus speaking, tre.mbling as he spoke, Such parched desire within him woke, To taste the grapes, he swiftly ran, And, kneeling by the dying man, Held up the clusters, crying, " See, O brother ! these were given me. " I may not eat them ; I am strong ; But thou it were for thee no wrong. " Thy fever they will cool, allay ; Thy failing strength revive and stay." Reproachful turned the dying eyes, The whispers came like dying sighs : 46 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. " Brother, thou mightst do better deed Than tempt the dying in his need. " Thy words are but the devil s mesh, To snare at last my carnal flesh." Silent, Macarius went his way. Untouched the purple clusters lay Beside the dying hermit s bed. They found them there who found him dead, Two brother hermits who each morn, Water and bread to him had borne. " He drinks of living waters now," They pious said, and smoothed his brow, And prayed, and laid him in the ground, Envying the rest he had found. The purple grapes still lying there, Filled with sweet scent the desert air. " Where could these luscious clusters grow? " " He tasted not," they whispered low ; " But fairer fruit glads now his eyes : He feasts to-day in paradise." THE GIFT OF GRAPES. 47 On each a longing silence fell. " Brother, they tempt our souls to hell ! " Cried one. The other : " Ay, how weak Our flesh ! Strange that so long we seek " In vain to dull its carnal sense. Brother, we 11 bear these clusters hence. " That aged hermit, in the cave, Perchance these grapes his life might save. " Thou knowest, but yesterday t was said He starves ; eats neither pulse nor bread." Slow braiding baskets, in his door The aged hermit sat, his store Of rushes and his water-jar In reach. He heard their steps afar, And, as they nearer drew, up-raised His well-nigh sightless eyes, and gazed Bewilderedly. " Eat, father, eat ! " The brothers cried, and at his feet, Rev rent, the purple clusters laid. Trembling, but stern, the right hand made 48 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. Swift gesture of reproof. " Away ! " In feeble voice he cried, " and pray " To be forgiven ! Heinous sin Is his who lets temptation in." Meek-bowed, the brothers turned to go. " Stay ! " said the hermit, whispering low : " Leave them not here to tempt my sight. I may not eat. Some other might. " As each man thinketh in his heart, So must he reckon duty s part. " Mayhap some brother, in sore strait, Even this hour doth sit and wait, " To whom God sends these clusters sweet By your pure hands. Be true ! Be fleet ! " From cave to cave, from cell to cell, The brothers did their errand well. In Nitria s desert, hermits then By scores were dwelling, holy men, Mistaken saints, who thought to save Their souls, by making life a grave. THE GIFT OF GRAPES. 49 From cave to cave, from cell to cell, The brothers did their errand well. At every hermit s feet they laid The tempting grapes, in vain, nor stayed Till, at the desert s utmost bound, Macarius s cell they joyful found, Macarius, oldest, holiest saint Of all the desert. Weary, faint, They knelt before him. " Father, see These grapes ! they must be meant for thee ! " These many days we bear them now ; And yet they do not withered grow. " No brother will so much as taste. T was Isidore who bade us haste " To find the man to whom God sent The luscious gift. They must be meant " For thee. Thou art the last." " Ay," said The good Macarius, flushing red With holy joy, " Ay ; meant for me, As token of the constancy 4 50 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. " Of all our brothers ! Blessed day Is this, my brothers ! Go your way ! " Christ fill your souls with lasting peace ! The time is near of my release." Then, kneeling on the scorching sands, He stretched toward heaven his clasped hands, And prayed, as he had prayed for years, With smitings and with bitter tears. Untouched, the grapes lay glowing there, Filling with scent the desert air. AVALANCHES. 51 AVALANCHES. HEART that on Love s sunny height doth dwell, And joy unquestioning by day, by night, Serene in trust because the skies are bright ! Listen to what all Alpine records tell Of days on which the avalanches fell. Not days of storm when men were pale with fright, And watched the hills with anxious, straining sight, And heard in every sound a note of knell ; But when in heavens still, and blue, and clear, The sun rode high, those were the hours to fear. And so the monks of San Bernard to-day, May the Lord count their souls and hold them dear, When skies are cloudless, in their convent stay, And for the souls of dead and dying pray. 52 A WOMAN S DEATH-WOUND. A WOMAN S DEATH-WOUND. T left upon her tender flesh no trace. The murderer is safe. As swift as light The weapon fell, and, in the summer night, Did scarce the silent, dewy air displace ; T was but a word. A blow had been less base. Like dumb beast branded by an iron white With heat, she turned in blind and helpless flight, But then remembered, and with piteous face Came back. Since then, the world has nothing missed In her, in voice or smile. But she each day She counts until her dying be complete. One moan she makes, and ever doth repeat : " O lips that I have loved and kissed and kissed, Did I deserve to die this bitterest way ? " CHANCE. 53 CHANCE. HESE things I wondering saw beneath the sun : That never yet the race was to the swift, The fight unto the mightiest to lift, Nor favors unto men whose skill had done Great works, nor riches ever unto one Wise man of understanding. All is drift Of time and chance, and none may stay or sift Or know the end of that which is begun. Who waits until the wind shall silent keep, Will never find the ready hour to sow. Who watcheth clouds will have no time to reap. At daydawn plant thy seed, and be not slow At night. God doth not slumber take nor sleep : Which seed shall prosper thou canst never know. 54 SEPTEMBER. SEPTEMBER. HE golden-rod is yellow ; The corn is turning brown ; The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. The gentian s bluest fringes Are curling in the sun ; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest, In every meadow nook ; And asters by the brook-side Make asters in the brook. From dewy lanes at morning The grapes sweet odors rise ; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies. SEPTEMBER. 55 By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer s best of weather, And autumn s best of cheer. But none of all this beauty Which floods the earth and air Is unto me the secret Which makes September fair. T is a thing which I remember ; To name it thrills me yet : One day of one September I never can forget 56 APPEAL. APPEAL. LOVE, whom I so love, in this sore strait Of thine, fall not ! Below thy very feet I kneel, so much I reverence thee, so sweet It is to every pulse of mine to wait Thy lightest pleasure, and to bind my fate To thine by humblest service. Incomplete All heaven, Love, if there thou dost not greet Me, with perpetual need which I can sate, I and no other ! So I dare to pray To thee this prayer. It is not wholly prayer. The solemn worships of the ages lay Even on God a solemn bond. I dare, Thy worshipper, thy lowly, loving mate, I dare to say, O Love, thou must be great ! " WRECK. 57 WRECK. [By the laws of the Rhodians divers were allowed a share of the wreck in proportion to the depth to which they had gone in search of it.] O many fathoms deep my sweet ship lies, No ripple marks the place. The gulls white wings Pause not ; the boatman idly sleeps or sings, Floating above ; and smile to smile, with skies That bend and shine, the sunny water vies. Too heavy freight, and of too costly things, My sweet ship bore. No tempest s mutterings Warned me ; but in clear noon, before my eyes She sudden faltered, rocked, and with each sail Full set, went down ! O Heart ! in diver s mail Wrap thee. Breathe not till, standing on her deck, Thou has confronted all thy loss and wreck. Poor coward Heart ! thou darest not plunge ? For thee There lies no other pearl in any sea. 58 THE HEART OF A ROSE. THE HEART OF A ROSE. ROSE like a hollow cup with a brim, A brim as pink as the after-glow ; Deep down in its heart gold stamens swim, Tremble and swim in a sea of snow. My Love set it safe in a crystal glass, Gently as petals float down at noon. Low, in a whisper, my Love s voice said : " Look quick ! In an hour it will be dead. I picked it because it will die so soon. Now listen, dear Heart, as the seconds pass, What the rose will say," my Love s voice said. I look and I listen. The flushed pink brim Is still as June s warmest after-glow ; Silent as stars the gold stamens swim, Tremble and swim in their sea of snow. I dare not breathe on the crystal glass, Lest one sweet petal should fall too soon. False was the whisper my Love s voice said, If he had not picked it, it had been dead ; But now it will live an eternal noon, And I shall hear as the seconds pass What the rose will say till I am dead. ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF. 59 ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF. know Grief well? Hast known her long? So long, that not with gift or smile, Or gliding footstep in the throng, She can deceive thee by her guile ? So long, that with unflinching eyes Thou smilest to thyself apart, To watch each flimsy, fresh disguise She plans to stab anew thy heart? So long, thou barrest up no door To stay the coming of her feet ? So long, thou answerest no more, Lest in her ear thy cry be sweet ? Dost know the voice in which she says, " No more henceforth our paths divide ; In loneliest nights, in crowded days, I am forever by thy side " ? 60 ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF. Then dost thou know, perchance, the spell The gods laid on her at her birth, The viewless gods who mingle well Strange love and hate of us on earth. Weapon and time, the hour, the place, All these are hers to take, to choose, To give us neither rest nor grace, Not one heart-throb to miss or lose. All these are hers ; yet stands she, slave, Helpless before our one behest : The gods, that we be shamed not, gave, And locked the secret in our breast. She to the gazing world must bear Our crowns of triumph, if we bid ; Loyal and mute, our colors wear, Sign of her own forever hid. Smile to our smile, song to our song, With songs and smiles our roses fling, Till men turn round in every throng, To note such joyous pleasuring, And ask, next morn, with eyes that lend A fervor to the words they say, " What is her name, that radiant friend Who walked beside you yesterday ? " FEALTY. 6 1 FEALTY. HE thing I count and hold as fealty The only fealty to give or take -- Doth never reckoning keep, and coldly make Bond to itself with this or that to be Content as wage ; the wage unpaid, to free Its hand from service, and its love forsake, Its faith cast off, as one from dreams might wake At morn, and smiling watch the vision flee. Such fealty is treason in disguise. Who trusts it, his death-warrant sealed doth bear. Love looks at it with angry, wondering eyes ; Love knows the face true fealty doth wear, The pulse that beats unchanged by alien air, Or hurts, or crimes, until the loved one dies. 62 VISION". VISION. Y subtile secrets of discovered law Men well have measured the horizon s round, Kept record of the speed of light and sound, Have close denned by reasoning without flaw The utmost human vision ever saw Unaided, and have arrant sought and found Devices countless to extend its bound. Bootless their secrets all ! My eyes but stray To eastward, and majestic, bright, arise Peaks of a range which three days distant lies ! And of the faces, too, that light my day Most clear, one is a continent away, The other shines above the farthest skies ! THE POET S FORGE. 63 THE POET S FORGE. * [JE lies on his back, the idling smith, A lazy, dreaming fellow is he ; The sky is blue, or the sky is gray, He lies on his back the livelong day, Not a tool in sight ; say what they may, A curious sort of a smith is he. The powers of the air are in league with him ; The country around believes it well ; The wondering folk draw spying near ; Never sight nor sound do they see or hear ; No wonder they feel a little fear ; When is it his work is done so well ? Never sight nor sound to see or hear ; The powers of the air are in league with him ; High over his head his metals swing, Fine gold and silver to shame the king ; We might distinguish their glittering, If once we could get in league with him. 64 THE POET S FORGE. High over his head his metals swing ; He hammers them idly year by year, Hammers and chuckles a low refrain : " A bench and book are a ball and chain, The adze is better tool than the plane ; What s the odds between now and next year ? Hammers and chuckles his low refrain, A lazy, dreaming fellow is he : When sudden, some day, his bells peal out, And men, at the sound, for gladness shout ; He laughs and asks what it s all about ; Oh, a curious sort of smith is he ! VANITY OF VANITIES. 65 VANITY OF VANITIES. EE to the blossom, moth to the flame ; Each to his passion ; what s in a name ? Red clover s sweetest, well the bee knows ; No bee can suck it ; lonely it blows. Deep lies its honey, out of reach, deep ; What use in honey hidden to keep ? Robbed in the autumn, starving for bread ; Who stops to pity a honey-bee dead ? Star- flames are brightest, blazing the skies ; Only a hand s-breadth the moth-wing flies. Fooled with a candle, scorched with a breath ; Poor little miller, a tawdry death ! Life is a honey, life is a flame ; Each to his passion ; what s in a name ? 5 66 VANITY OF VANITIES. Swinging and circling, face to the sun, Brief little planet, how it doth run ! Bee-time and moth-time, add the amount ; White heat and honey, who keeps the count? Gone some fine evening, a spark out-tost ! The world no darker for one star lost ! Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame ; Each to his passion ; what s in a name ? MORN. 67 MORN. N what a strange bewilderment do w^ Awake each morn from out the brief night s sleep. Our struggling consciousness doth grope and creep Its slow way back, as if it. could not free Itself from bonds unseen. Then Memory, Like sudden light, outflashes from its deep The joy or grief which it had last to keep For us ; and by the joy or grief we see The new day dawneth like the yesterday ; We are unchanged ; our life the same we knew Before. I wonder if this is the way We wake from death s short sleep, to struggle through A brief bewilderment, and in dismay Behold our life unto our old life true. 68 QUATRAINS. QUATRAINS. THE MONEY-SEEKER. HAT has he in this glorious world s do main ? Unreckoned loss which he counts up for gain, Unreckoned shame, of which he feels no stain, Unreckoned dead he does not know were slain. What things does he take with him when he dies? Nothing of all that he on earth did prize : Unto his grovelling feet and sordid eyes How difficult and empty seem the skies ! THE LOVER. HE knows the utmost secret of the earth : The golden sunrise s and sunset s worth ; The pregnancy of every blossom s birth ; The hidden name of every creature s mirth. QUATRAINS. 69 He knows all measures of the pulse s beat ; He knows all pathless paths of human feet ; He knows what angels know not of the sweet Fulfilments when love s being is complete. He knows all deadly soils where poisons bloom ; He knows the fated road where joy makes coom For nameless terrors and eternal gloom : God help him in his sad omniscient doom ! 70 RELEASE. RELEASE. F one had watched a prisoner many a year, Standing behind a barred window-pane, Fettered with heavy handcuff and with chain, And gazing on the blue sky, far and clear ; And suddenly some morning he should hear The man had in the night contrived to gain His freedom and was safe, would this bring pain? Ah ! would it not to dullest heart appear Good tidings ? Yesterday I looked on one Who lay as if asleep in perfect peace. His long imprisonment for life was done. Eternity s great freedom his release Had brought. Yet they who loved him called him dead, And wept, refusing to be comforted. WHERE ? 7 I WHERE? Y snowy eupatorium has dropped ^ Its silver threads of petals in the night ; No signal told its blossoming had stopped ; Its seed-films flutter silent, ghostly white : No answer stirs the shining air, As I ask, "Where?" Beneath the glossy leaves of winter green Dead lily-bells lie low, and in their place A rounded disk of pearly pink is seen, Which tells not of the lily s fragrant grace : No answer stirs the shining air, As I ask, "Where?" This morning s sunrise does not show to me Seed-film or fruit of my sweet yesterday ; Like falling flowers, to realms I cannot see Its moments floated silently away : No answer stirs the shining air, As I ask, "Where?" 72 EMIGRAVIT. EMIGRAVIT. ITH sails full set, the ship her anchor weighs. Strange names shine out beneath her figure head. What glad farewells with eager eyes are said ! What cheer for him who goes, and him who stays ! Fair skies, rich lands, new homes, and untried days Some go to seek ; the rest but wait instead Until the next stanch ship her flag doth raise. Who knows what myriad colonies there are Of fairest fields, and rich, undreamed-of gains Thick planted in the distant shining plains Which we call sky because they lie so far? Oh, write of me, not " Died in bitter pains," But " Emigrated to another star ! " . MY TENANTS. 73 MY TENANTS. NEVER had a title-deed To my estate. But little heed Eyes give to me, when I walk by My fields, to see who occupy. Some clumsy men who lease and hire And cut my trees to feed their fire, Own all the land that I possess, And tax my tenants to distress. And if I said I had been first, And, reaping, left for them the worst, That they were beggars at the hands Of dwellers on my royal lands, With idle laugh of passing scorn As unto words of madness born, They would reply. I do not care ; They cannot crowd the charmed air ; They cannot touch the bonds I hold On all that they have bought and sold. They can waylay my faithful bees, Who, lulled to sleep, with fatal ease, 74 MY TENANTS. Are robbed. Is one day s honey sweet Thus snatched? All summer round my feet In golden drifts from plumy wings, In shining drops on fragrant things, Free gift, it came to me. My corn, With burnished banners, morn by morn, Comes out to meet and honor me ; The glittering ranks spread royally Far as I walk. When hasty greed Tramples it down for food and seed, I, with a certain veiled delight, Hear half the crop is lost by blight. Letter of law these may fulfil, Plant where they like, slay what they will, Count up their gains and make them great ; Nevertheless, the whole estate Always belongs to me and mine. We are the only royal line. And though I have no title-deed My tenants pay me loyal heed When our sweet fields I wander by To see what strangers occupy. THE STORY OF BOON. 75 THE STORY OF BOON. 1 haunts my thoughts morn, night, and noon, The story of the woman, Boon, Haunts me like restless ghost, until I give myself to do its will ; Cries voiceless, yet as voices cry, " O singer, can this tale pass by Untold by thee ? Thy heart is wrung In vain, if dies the song unsung." I am unworthy : master hands Should strike the chords, and fill the lands From sea to sea with melody All reverent, yet with harmony Majestic, jubilant, to tell How love must love, if love loves well ; How once incarnate love was found On earth, dishonored, martyr- crowned, Crowned by a heathen woman s name, O blessed Boon, of peerless fame ! 1 This story of Boon is strictly true. It is told by Mrs. Leonovvens, the English Governess at the Siamese court. She took it down from Choy s own lips. 76 THE STORY OF BOON. In Slam s court the Buddhist King Held festival. Fair girls to sing, And dance, and play, were led between Close ranks of Amazons in green And gold. In chariot milk-white Of ivory, and glittering bright With flowers garlanded, rode Choy, The young, the beautiful ; with joy And subtle pride no words could tell, Her virgin bosom rose and fell. No dream the Siam maiden knew More high or blest than that which grew In Choy s poor blinded heart, to be The favorite of the King, and see The other wives beneath her feet. From babyhood, that this was sweet The child was taught. How should she know They told her false, and worked her woe ! The song, the dance, the play, were done, Choy s fatal triumph had been won. The old king s bleared and lustful eyes Had marked her for his next new prize. Asking her name, as low she bowed Before the throne, he called aloud, " Which of my nobles springs to lead Her chariot ponies ? Do I need Speak farther?" On the instant, two Young nobles robed in white sprang through THE STORY OF BOON. 77 The crowd, and kneeling as to queen, With lo\v-bent head and reverent mien, They walked the chariot beside. The bands burst forth in swelling tide Of music, and the curtain fell. One noble, smitten by the spell Of Choy s great beauty, whispered, " God, How beautiful thou art ! " "My Lord, Have care," the scornful Choy exclaimed : " T were ill for thee, if thou wert blamed By me." The other noble silent gazed, With eyes whose glance strange tumult raised Within Choy s breast. He did not speak : All spoken words had fallen weak, After his look. Yet Choy s heart burned To hear his voice. Sudden she turned, And leaning forward said, " How now, What seest thou in air that thou Art dumb?" With trembling lips he spoke, " O Lady, till thy sweet voice broke Upon the air, I thought I saw An angel ; now, with no less awe, But greater joy, I see thou art A woman." Ah, they know not heart 78 THE STORY OF BOON. Of man or woman, who declare That love needs time to love and dare. His altars wait, not day nor name, Only the touch of sacred flame. The song, the dance, the play were done. Oh, fatal triumph Choy had won ! Oh, hateful life she thought was sweet ! She knelt before the old king s feet, A slave, a toy, a purchased thing, Which to his worn-out sense might bring Pleasure again of touch, of sight. Doting, he named her " Chorm," " Delight," Decked her with jewels, gave her power, And day and night, and hour by hour, With hideous caresses sought Joy in the thing which he had bought. And hour by hour, and night and day, Wasted poor Choy s young life away. One thrilling voice, one glowing face, One thought of such a love s embrace, Haunted her thoughts, and racked her breast, Robbed her of peace, robbed her of rest, Made of her life such living lie, Such torture, she but prayed to die Months passed, and she knew not the name Of him she loved. At last there came THE STORY OF BOON. 79 The fated day. A woman slave, New in the palace, quickly gave, Answering Choy s artful questioning, ^ The noble s name. " Ah, go and bring Me news of him," said Choy. " He bore Himself so loftily, I more Recall him than all else that day. Seek out minutely in what way He lives ; what may his harem hold. He seemed to me so silent, cold, No doubt some Houri keeps him chained," With scornful laugh, but poorly feigned, Cried Choy. At dusk of night returned The slave, with wondrous tale, which burned Itself on Choy s glad heart. The Duke, Phaya Phi Chitt his name, forsook His harem on the day he led The Favorite s chariot ponies. Dead He seemed to all he once had loved : No fear, no joy, his spirit moved. His friends believed that he was mad, Or else some mortal illness had. A feverish joy filled all Choy s thought, She knew by what this change was wrought. Ixwe s keenest pain, if shared like this, No longer seemed a pain, but bliss. 8O THE STORY OF BOON. Again the faithful slave she sent, With message of one word, which meant But "I remember." " I love much." The Duke sent back. Ah, madness such As this was never seen. The halls Of tyrants palaces have walls Higher than Love s and Hope s last breath, Wider than Life, deeper than Death ! Embroidered with a thread of gold On silk, and hidden fold on fold, As if an amulet she wore, Her lover s name the poor Choy bore By night, by day, upon her heart. The new slave woman, with an art As tender as a sister s, sought To comfort her. Each day she brought New message from the Duke, each night Lay at her mistress feet till light. O Buddha ! pitiful, divine, All-seeing, gav st thou no sign To warn these faithful, loving three, Who were as faithful unto thee As to each other ! Didst thou teach The cruel tyrant how to reach Their life blood, that thy arm might save Them by the surety of the grave ? THE STORY OF BOON. 8 1 Might give to their expiring breath The gift of life, in shape of death? Ah, Buddha ! pitiful, divine, Thy gifts of death record no sign Of life beyond. Our weak hearts crave Some voice of surety for the grave. The hours grew ripe : the hour was set, The night had come. Choy slumbered yet, While faithful Boon, with footsteps light, Made all things ready for their flight. Sudden a clash of arms, a gleam Of fire of torches ! From her dream Choy waked, and on her threshold saw, Dread sight which chilled her blood with awe, Standing with panting voice and breath, Mai Tai e, Mother of Death, Crudest of all the Amazons, Slayer of all convicted ones Who braved the tyrant s wrath and hate. Choy called on Boon. Too late ! too late ! Boon fettered lay with gag and chain ; Most piteous eyes, faithful in pain, Unto her mistress lifting still. With blows and jeers wreaking their will, The soldier women, fierce and strong, Dragged weeping Choy and Boon along The by-ways of the silent town, And flung them, chained and helpless, down 82 THE STORY OF BOON. Into a dark and loathsome cell. Soon as their footsteps echoes fell Faintly afar, Choy whispered low, " O Boon, dear Boon ! tell me hast thou Confessed?" " Dear Lady, no ! " she cried. " No tortures tyrants ever tried Shall wring from me one word of blame Against Phaya Phi Chitt s dear name." That instant, flashing through Choy s heart Strange instinct swept. " Tell me who art Thou, Boon," she said : " why dost thou cling To me through all this suffering? All other women I have known Had left me now to die alone. O Boon, conceal from me no more ! Tell me the truth in this dread hour ! " Then, looking newly at her face, She saw it beauty had, and grace ; Saw that the feet were lithe and fine, The hands were small and smooth : each sign Of tender nurture and high blood This loving woman bore, who stood To her as slave. Unearthly sweet Grew Boon s pale face, as to the feet Of Choy, all crippled, chained, she crept, And, as she strove to speak, but wept THE STORY OF BOON. 83 And sobbed, " O Lady dear, forgive That I deceived thee ! I but live > For thy dear Duke. I am his wife ! " Dumb wonder sealed Choy s lips. A strife Of fierce mistrust warred in her breast. At last, stern-faced, " Tell me the rest," She said. Closer, more humbly still Boon crept, and said, " Lady, I will ; And, by the heart of Buddha, thou Canst but forgive when thou dost know The whole. " The day my husband came Home from the fete, he spoke thy name And told thy beauty unto me, And said that from that moment he, His thought, his heart, his blood, were thine, Thine utterly, and no more mine Again. What could I do but weep? I saw him pine. No food, no sleep, He took. I thought that he must die. What could I do? O Lady, I So loved him that I longed as he That fate might give him joy and thee. I vowed to him that I would win Thee for his wife. How to begin 84 THE STORY OF BOON. I knew not, when I found thou vvert The King s last favorite. It hurt My pride to be a slave. The gold Lies in the sea for which I sold Myself to thee, rather than break My vow. But easy for his sake, I loved him so, thy service came, Soon as I found that his dear name Was dear to thee as thine to him ; That, when I spoke it, it could dim Thine eyes with passion s tears, like those Which he had shed in passion s throes, For want of thee. O Lady, none Of all thy sighs and tears, not one, But I have flown and faithful told, That he might know thou wert not cold. Each word of beauty, nobleness, Which thou didst speak, I bore to bless His heart with knowledge more complete Of thee. O Lady, the deceit Was only for his precious sake And thine : no other way to take I knew. My husband is so great, So good, I was but humble mate For him. As shadow follows shape, My heart in life cannot escape From following his ; nor yet in death Shall it be changed : with dying breath, THE STORY OF BOON. 85 From Buddha I one joy will wrest, That he find rapture in thy breast." ,, Boon ceased, and in her slender hands, Which scarce could lift her fetter bands, Buried her face. Choy did not speak. Her reverence knew not where to seek For fitting words which she might dare To use to Boon. The midnight air Heard only sobs, as close between Her arms she drew Boon s head to lean Upon her breast. The long night waned, And still in silence sat the chained And helpless women. Strange thoughts filled The heart of Choy. Her love seemed chilled, Poor, and untrue, beside this one Great deed she never could have done. "Ah, me ! his wife has loved him best," In bitterness her heart confessed, Yet jealousy for shame was dead. Her tears fell loving on Boon s head : " Dear Boon," she whispered soft and low, " To Buddha pitiful we go." Next morning when the judges dread Cross-questioned Boon, she simply said, " My Lords, what can a poor slave know?" Weary at last, the fearful blow Of lashes on her naked feet They ordered. Blood ran down the sweet 86 THE STORY OF BOON. Soft flesh : still came the answer low, 11 My Lords, what can a poor slave know? Be pitiful ! " The swift blows fell Again : no cry, no sound, to tell That it was pain, Boon gave ; no sign Of faltering. They poured down wine To stay her strength, and then again, Oh, surely fiends they were, not men ! Again, from slender neck to waist, The cutting blows in angry haste With tenfold violence they laid. Each blow a line of red blood made ; Yet, when they paused, the answer came Steadfast, heroic, in the same Pathetic words, more feeble, slow, " My Lords, what can a poor slave know?" Then in the torture of the screw, Whose pain has led strong men to do Dishonor to their souls and God, They bound this woman s hands. Sweat stood In bloody drops along her brow, Yet from her lips not even now Was heard one syllable. In rage, The baffled tyrants to assuage Her sufferings tried every art Which could be tried by kindest heart. And snatched her back from death again, Again to tortures fresh ; in vain ! THE STORY OF BOON. 87 Night came, and from her lips no word Had fallen. All night they faintly stirred, As if in sleep she dreamed and spoke. Choy watching, weeping by her, took Her hand, and said, " Oh, tell thy Choy, Art thou in mortal pain ? " " My joy Is greater than my pain," she said, " That this poor flesh hath not betrayed My love. Thanking great Buddha now, I pray unceasing, till we go Again to torture." Then no more Boon spoke. To Choy, but little lower Than angel she appeared. Ah ! true It was the wife loved best ! Love knew His own. His angels comforted Her soul with joy through hours which bred But anguish in Choy s breast. Too soon Came cruel day, and brought to Boon Again the lash, the screw ; again Unto the door of death in vain They tortured her : no word escaped Her bloodless lips. Her face seemed shaped Of iron, so calm, so resolute ; A superhuman light her mute And upward gaze transfigured, till In awe the torturers stood still. 88 THE STORY OF BOON. Then, binding up her wounds, they laid Her on a couch to rest. New shade Of anguish now her face revealed, Waiting Choy s words. All unconcealed, No doubt, the weaker love lay bare Before her instinct. It could dare For self : now that for self remained No hope, no future to be gained, Could it for him be true, be great ? Ah, this true torture was, to wait Another woman s courage ! Eyes Of fire Boon fixed on Choy. To rise She helpless strove, in impulse vain, As if by touch she could sustain Choy s strength. Her gaze was like a cry. " Oh, what is death, is suffering, by The side of truth ? If thou dost love Another, thought of self can move Thee not. If thou dost love, to bear The worst is nothing. Dost thou dare Betray, thou art a coward, liar !" Entreated, warned Boon s eyes of fire. They held Choy s eyes as by a spell. Feeble the judges stern tones fell, Idle the threats of torture seemed, Beside the scorching look which gleamed Upon that woman s face. Thus stayed And stung, Choy bore the blows which laid THE STORY OF BOOK. 89 Her quivering flesh in furrows. Feet And neck and shoulders, all the sweet Fair skin was torn : her blood ran down As Boon s had run, not of her own Resolve, but born of Boon s the strength Which silent sealed her lips. At length The one sure pain which torturers know They tried. No rack, no fire, no blow, Is dreadful as the screw. At first Sharp turn it gave, a loud cry burst From Choy, " O Boon, forgive, forgive 1 I cannot bear this pain, and live ! " And, shrieking out her lover s name, She cowered before Boon s eyes of flame. One cry of uttermost despair From Boon rang out upon the air, Her fettered arms above her head She lifted, and fell back as dead. Ah ! true it was, the wife loved best ! How true, that cry of Choy s confessed. To love which she had so betrayed, No prayer she for forgiveness made : On him whom she had thought her life She called not, but upon his wife. Swift sped the feet of them who sought The lover. Ere the noon, they brought 9o THE STORY OF BOON. Him also. Boon, with anguished eyes, Beheld him there. She could not rise, But, creeping on her hands and feet, She cried, in tones unearthly sweet, " O Lords ! O Judges ! look at me, And listen. It was I, not he. I am his wife. I laid the plot. Except for me, the thought had not Been his. T was only I deceived The Lady Choy. He but believed What I desired. The guilt is mine, All mine. Tell them it was not thine, My husband, I can bear the whole." And, as she turned to him, the soul Of love ineffable set smile Upon her face. Her piteous guile, Transparent, thrilled each heart and ear That heard her pleading voice. A tear Fell from the sternest Amazon, Fierce Khoon Thow App, as in a tone No mortal from her lips had heard Before, she said, " O Boon, what stirred Thy heart to this? Thy motive tell ! " The question all unanswered fell. Boon lay again as if in death, With closed eyes and gasping breath. All night, low on the dark cell s floor, Lay Boon and Choy ; for Boon no more THE STORY OF BOON. 91 Remained in life. When Choy crept near, And humbly spoke, she answered, " Dear, Farewell ! " no other word. Choy strove, Poor Choy ! her feebler, lesser love Avenging on herself its sin, Strove from the greater love to win Some healing stay. Too sweet to pain, Too loyal and too true to feign, Boon made but one reply, which fell Fainter and fainter, " Dear, farewell ! " That night, at midnight, sat the King And Lords in council. For the thing Phaya Phi Chitt and Choy had planned, Scarcely in all that cruel land Was known a punishment which seemed Sufficient. Fierce his red wrath gleamed, As cried the King, " At dawn shall fly The vultures with their hungry cry. Rare feast for them ready by noon Shall be : three traitors bodies hewn In pieces, and with offal cast Abroad, that to the very last Low grade of life they may return, And grovel with the beasts to learn, Through countless ages, in what way Kings punish when their slaves betray. Q2 THE STORY OF BOON. Long generations shall forget Their base-born names, ere souls are set Again within their foul, false flesh, To murder love and trust afresh ! " 1 Ah ! true it was, the wife loved best ! Love knew his own, gave her his rest ; And, to the other woman, doom Of life-long woe and life-long gloom. O cruel friends who prayed the King, Who dreamed Choy to this world could cling ! Reprieved from death, to life condemned, Sad prisoner forever hemmed Within the hated palace-wall ; By all despised, and shunned by all, Lonely and broken-hearted, she Weeps day and night in misery. And day and night one picture haunts Her weary brain, her sorrow taunts, Picture of Buddha s fairest fields, Where every hour new transport yields, And where the lover whom she slew, Loyal at last, and glad and true, In full Elysium s perfect rest, Walks with the one who loved him best ! 1 The Siamese believe that, whenever a dead body is not burned, its soul is condemned to begin life again in the lowest animal form. THE STORY OF BOON, 93 It haunts me morn, and night, and noon : This story of the woman, Boon, Haunts me like restless ghost, that says, " Oh, where is love in these sad days ! Rise up, and in my might and name Plead for the altar and the flame." \ am unworthy : master hands Should strike the chords, and fill the lands From sea to sea with melody Of such transcendent harmony That it all jubilant might tell How love must love, if love lovesWelr. N Yet, telling all, and flooding lands With melody, the master hands Could strike no deeper chord than I, When from a woman s heart I cry, " O martyred Boon, of peerless fame, Incarnate in thy life, Love came ! " 94 THE VICTORY OF PATIENCE. THE VICTORY OF PATIENCE. RMED of the gods ! Divinest conqueror ! What soundless hosts are thine ! Nor pomp, nor state, Nor token, to betray where thou dost wait. All Nature stands, for thee, ambassador \ Her forces all thy serfs, for peace or war. Greatest and least alike, thou rul st their fate, The avalanche chained until its century s date, The mulberry leaf made robe for emperor ! Shall man alone thy law deny ? refuse Thy healing for his blunders and his sins? Oh, make us thine ! Teach us who waits best sues ; Who longest waits of all most surely wins. When Time is spent, Eternity begins. To doubt, to chafe, to haste, doth God accuse. GOD S LIGHT-HOUSES. 95 GOD S LIGHT-HOUSES. HEN night falls on the earth, the sea From east to west lies twinkling bright With shining beams from beacons high Which flash afar a friendly light. The sailor s eyes, like eyes in prayer, Turn unto them for guiding ray : If storms obscure their radiance, The great ships helpless grope their way. When night falls on the earth, the sky Looks like a wide, a boundless main. Who knows what voyagers sail there ? Who names the ports they seek and gain ? Are not the stars like beacons set To guide the argosies that go From universe to universe, Our little world above, below ? 96 GOD S LIGHT-HOUSES. On their great errands solemn bent, In their vast journeys unaware Of our small planet s name or place Revolving in the lower air. O thought too vast ! O thought too glad ! An awe most rapturous it stirs. From world to world God s beacons shine God means to save his mariners ! SONGS OF BATTLE. 97 SONGS OF BATTLE. LD as .the world no other things so old ; Nay, older than the world, else, how had sprung Such lusty strength in them when earth was young? Stand valor and its passion hot and bold, Insatiate of battle. How, else, told Blind men, born blind, that red was fitting tongue Mute, eloquent, to show how trumpets rung When armies charged and battle- flags unrolled ? Who sings of valor speaks for life, for death, Beyond all death, and long as life is life, In rippled waves the eternal air his breath Eternal bears to stir all noble strife. Dead Homer from his lost and vanished grave Keeps battle glorious still and soldiers brave. 98 NO MAN S LAND. NO MAN S LAND. HO called it so ? What accident The wary phase devised ? What wandering fancy thither went, And lingered there surprised? Ah, no man s land ! O sweet estate inimitably fair ! No measure, wall, or bar or gate. Secure as sky or air. No greed, no gain ; not sold or bought, Un marred by name or brand, Not dreamed of or desired or sought, Nor visioned, "no man s land." Suns set and rise, and rise and set, Whole summers come and go ; And winters pay the summer s debt, And years of west wind blow ; NO MAN S LAND. And harvests of wild seed-times fill, And seed and fill again ; And blossoms bloom at blossoms will, By blossoms overlain ; And day and night, and night and day, Uncounted suns and moons, By silent shadows mark and stay Unreckoned nights and noons : Ah, " no man s land," hast thou a lover, Thy wild, sweet charm who sees? The stars look down ; the birds fly over ; Art thou alone with these ? Ah, "no man s land," when died thy lover, Who left no trace to tell? Thy secret we shall not discover ; The centuries keep it well ! 99 100 JUST OUT OF SIGHT. JUST OUT OF SIGHT. N idle reverie, one winter s day, I watched the narrow vista of a street, Where crowds of men with noisy, hurry ing feet And eager eyes went on their restless way. Idly I noted where the boundary lay, At which the distance did my vision cheat, Past which each figure fading fast did fleet, And seem to meet and vanish in the gray. Sudden there came to me a thought, oft told, But newly shining then like flash of light, " This death, the dread of which turns us so cold, Outside of our own fears has no stronghold ; T is but a boundary, past which, in white, Our friends are walking still, just out of sight ! " II. " JUST out of sight ! " Ay, truly, that is all ! Take comfort in the words, and be deceived All ye who can, or have not been bereaved ! " Just out of sight." T is easy to recall JUST OUT OF SIGHT. IOI A face, a voice. O foolish words, and small And bitter cheer ! Men have all this believed, And yet, in agony, to death have grieved, For one " just out of sight," beneath a pall ! " Just out of sight." It means the whole of woe : One sudden stricken blind who loved the light ; One starved where he had feasted day and night ; One who was crowned, to beggary brought low ; All this death doeth, going to and fro And putting those we love "just out of sight." IO2 SEPTEMBER WOODS. SEPTEMBER WOODS. IRT round by meadows wearing shabby weeds For clover s early death, and sentried by The tireless locust, with his muffled click Of secret weapon, at each footfall, stand The woods. September, smiling treacherous smiles, And bearing in his hand a hollow truce Which gentle Summer trusts, can enter free. O fatal trust ! Her sacred inner court Of Holies, holiest, the lovely queen Throws open to the ally of her foe. By day, with sunny look and gracious air He wins her heart and wears her colors. Night Beholds him, in his white and gleaming mail, Alert and noiseless, following the dews, Her faithful messengers, waylaying them With sudden cruel death, and, in their stead, His own foul treason bearing through the realm. Lured by his guile, the green and twining vines Array themselves in party-colored robes And loosely flaunt, unknowing t is their death. SEPTEMBER WOODS. IO3 The low Bunch-Berry her nun s white lays by, And wearing claret satin, decks her breast With knots of scarlet beads. This sin, O sweet, In resurrection of the coming Spring, Shall be forgiven thee, and thou again Shalt rise, as white as snow. The fragrant ferns, And clinging mosses, to whom Summer kind Had been, more than to other lowly things, Are true ; and not till they are trampled low By icy warriors, will they refuse Their emerald carpet to her tread, and then, In cold white grief, will die around her feet : The simpering Birch, unstable in the wind, Is first to break his faith, and cheaply bought By gold, in brazen vanity, lifts up His arms, and broadly waves the glittering price Of his dishonor : Poplars next and Elms Grow envious of the yellow show, and hold Their hands for traitor s wages ; but more scant And dim the golden tokens gained by them ; For now disloyalty has spread, and grown More bold of front : whole clans are cheaply won. In hostile signal fires from hill to hill, The Maples blaze ; the tangling Sumach-trees Of glowing spikes build crimson ladders up The wall ; ungainly Moosewood strives and creeps And shakes his purple-spotted banner out Defiantly ; the sturdy Beeches throw IO4 SEPTEMBER WOODS. Their harvest down, and bristle in a suit Of leathern points : all is revolt, and all Is lost for Summer ! Vainly now she showers By brook and pool her white and purple stars, And lifts in all the fields her Golden- Rod ; In vain thin scarlet streamers sets along The meadows, and to Gentian s pallid lips Of blue calls back the chilled and torpid bee ; Sweet queen, her kingdom rocks ! Her only stay And comfort now, the loving Pines who wait In solemn grief, unmoved and undismayed By guile or threats, and to their farthest kin, A haughty and untarnished race, will keep Eternally inviolate and green Their sworn allegiance to her and all Her name ! Encircled by their arms she dies ; And not the deadliest thrusts of wintry spears, Nor sweeping avalanche of snow and ice, Can daunt them from their silent watch around Her sepulchre, nor from their faithful hold Can wrest the babe, who, hid in sacred depths And fed on sacred food, and nurtured till The fated day, shall lift her infant hand, And slaying the usurper, take the throne Next in the royal line of summer queens. TO-DAY. 105 TO-DAY. SADDEST prisoner, to death condemned, Going blindfold, with slow, reluctant feet, Hands fettered and mute lips, thy doom to meet, By flaming swords before, behind thee, hemmed, Led by two Fates, To-morrow, with her gemmed Arms that flash mocking tokens of the sweet Things thou hadst hoped ; and Yesterday with cheat Of withered roses which thou hast contemned, Decking her icy brow and heavy pall ; While we, mute, helpless, with prophetic black Have wrapped ourselves, and in thy narrow track Come, hand in hand, blindfolded, fettered all, Waiting the hour when, in thy death s last thrall Bidding us follow thee, thou shalt look back. 106 OPPORTUNITY. OPPORTUNITY. DO not know if, climbing some steep hill, Through fragrant wooded pass, this glimpse I bought, Or whether in some mid-day I was caught To upper air, where visions of God s will In pictures to our quickened sense fulfil His word. But this I saw. A path I sought Through wall of rock. No human fingers wrought The golden gates which opened sudden, still, And wide. My fear was hushed by my delight. Surpassing fair the lands ; my path lay plain ; Alas, so spell-bound, feasting on the sight, I paused, that I but reached the threshold bright, When, swinging swift, the golden gates again Were rocky wall, by which I wept in vain. FLOWERS ON A GRAVE. FLOWERS ON A GRAVE. HAT sweeter thing to hear, through tears, than this, Of one who dies, that, looking on him dead, All men with tender reverence gazed and said : " What courtesy and gentleness were his ! Our ruder lives, for years to come, will miss His sweet serenity, which daily shed A grace we scarcely felt, so deep inbred Of nature was it. Loyalty which is So loyal as his loyalty to friends Is rare ; such purity is rarer still." Yes, there is yet one sweeter thing. It ends The broken speech with sobs that choke and fill Our throats. Alas ! lost friend, we knew not how Our hearts were won to love thee, until now. n. SOME lives are bright like torches, and their flame Casts flickering lights around, and changeful heats ; Some lives blaze like the meteor which fleets Across the sky ; and some of lofty aim IO8 FLOWERS ON A GRAVE. Stand out like beacon-lights. But never came, Or can, a light so satisfying sweet, As steady daylight, unperturbed, complete, And noiseless. Human lives we see the same As this ; their equilibrium so just, Their movement so serene, so still, small heed The world pays to their presence till in need It sudden finds itself. The darkness near, The precious life returning dust for dust, It recollects how noon and life were clear. in. How poor is all that fame can be or bring ! Although a generation feed the pyre, How soon dies out the lifeless, loveless fire ! The king is dead. Hurrah ! Long live the king ! The poet breathes his last. Who next will sing? The great man falls. Who comes to mount still higher ? Oh, bitter emptiness of such desire ! Earth holds but one true good, but one true thing, And this is it to walk in honest ways And patient, and with all one s heart belong In love unto one s own ! No death so strong That life like this he ever conquers, slays ; The centuries do to it no hurt, no wrong : They are eternal resurrection days. A MEASURE OF HOURS. IOQ A MEASURE OF HOURS. NTO those two I called who hold In hands omnipotent all lives Of men, and deal, like gods, such doled Alms as they list, to him who strives And him who waits alike : "Oh! show Me but how measure ye one hour Of time, that I at least may know If I lift up this cross what power I need ; and what I win of bliss If I may dare to pay the cost Whole cost, without which I must miss This joy, and feel my life lost." Then Joy spoke first, all breathless : " Drink ! An hour seems like eternity. My moments hold whole ages. Think No price too great which buys for thce This boundless bliss. Such hours as mine HO A MEASURE OF HOURS. Mock reckonings. The sands stand still. Drink quickly ! I will give the sign When it is over. Drink thy fill ! " I had scarce tasted when, with face All changed and voice grown sharp, Joy cried : " Thine hour is past. Give place ! Give place ! New hearts impatiently abide Thy going. Every man fills up His own swift measure. Thou hadst thine. Who weakly drains the empty cup Drinks only bitter dregs of wine." Then Sorrow whispered gently : " Take This burden up. Be not afraid. An hour is short. Thou scarce wilt wake To consciousness that I have laid My hand upon thee, when the hour Shall all have passed, and, gladder then For the brief pain s uplifting power, Thou shalt but pity griefless men." I grew by minutes changed and old, As men change not in many years Of happiness. Lifetimes untold Seemed dragging lifeless by. My tears Ran slow for utter weariness Of weeping ; and, when token came A MEASURE OF HOURS. I 1 1 The hour was done, I felt far less Of joy than woe ; as one whose name Is called, when prison doors have swung Open too late, reluctantly Goes forth to find himself among Strange faces, desolate, though free. " O cruel brethren. Joy and Grief," I cried, " with equal mockery Your promises meet our belief. One blossom and one fruit will be Your harvest ! But full well I know They are not harvest ; only seed Sown in our tears, from which shall grow In other soil harvest indeed, " Harvest in God s great gardens white, Where cool and living waters run, And where the spotless Lamb is light, Instead of pallid moon and sun ; Where constant through the golden air The tree of life sheds mystic leaf, Which angels to the nations bear, Healing alike their joy and grief." 112 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN, CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. UT yesterday it was. Long years ago It seems. The world so altered looks to-day That, journeying idly with my thoughts astray, I gazed where rose one lofty peak of snow Above grand tiers on tiers of peaks below. One moment brief it shone, then sank away, As swift we reached a point where foot-hills lay So near they seemed like mountains huge to grow, And touch the sky. That instant, idly still, My eye fell on a printed line, and read Incredulous, with sudden anguished thrill, The name of this great queen among the dead. I raised my eyes. The dusty foot-hills near Had gone. Again the snowy peak shone clear. II. OH ! thou beloved woman, soul and heart And life, thou standest unapproached and grand, As still that glorious snowy peak doth stand. The dusty barrier our clumsy art CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. 113 In terror hath called death holds thee apart From us. T is but the low foot-hill of sand Which bars our vision in a mountain-land. One moment further on, and we shall start VVith speechless joy to find that we have passed The dusky mound which shuts us from the light Of thy great love, still quick and warm and fast, Of thy great strengths, heroically cast, Of thy great soul, still glowing pure and white, Of thy great life, still pauseless, full, and bright ! 114 DEDICATION. DEDICATION. SAW men kneeling where their hands had brought And fashioned curiously a pile of stone. To God they said they gave it, for his own, And that their psalms and prayers had wrought Its consecration. When, perplexed, I sought Their meaning, they but answered with a groan, And called my question blasphemy. Alone, In silence of the wilderness, I thought Again. Swift answer came from rock, tree, sod : " These puny prayers superfluous rise, and late These psalms. When first the world swung out in space, Amid the shoutings of the sons of God, Then was its every atom dedicate, Forever holy by God s gift and grace." DAWN. EVE. DAWN. ITH a ring of silver, And a ring of gold, And a red, red rose Which illumines her face, The sun, like a lover Who glows and is bold, Wooes the lovely earth To his strong embrace. EVE. N millions of pieces The beautiful rings And the scattered petals Of the rose so red, The sun, like a lover Who is weary, flings On the lonely earth When the day is dead. Il6 DREAMS. DREAMS. YSTERIOUS shapes, with wands of joy and pain, Which seize us unaware in helpless sleep, And lead us to the houses where we keep Our secrets hid, well barred by every chain That we can forge and bind : the crime whose stain Is slowly fading neath the tears we weep ; Dead bliss which, dead, can make our pulses leap Oh, cruelty ! To make these live again ! They say that death is sleep, and heaven s rest Ends earth s short day, as, on the last faint gleam Of sun, our nights shut down, and we are blest. Let this, then, be of heaven s joy the test, The proof if heaven be, or only seem, That we forever choose what we will dream ! THE DAY-STAR IN THE EAST. 1 1/ THE DAY-STAR IN THE EAST. ACH morning, in the eastern sky, I see The star that morning dares to call its own. Night s myriads it has outwatched and outshone ; Full radiant dawn pales not its majesty ; Peer of the sun, his herald fit and free. Sudden from earth, dark, heavy mists are blown ; The city s grimy smoke, to pillars grown, Climbs up the sky, and hides the star from me. Strange, that a film of smoke can blot a star ! On comes, with blinding glare, the breathless day : The star is gone. The moon doth surer lay Than midnight gloom, athwart its light, a bar. But steadfast as God s angels planets are. To-morrow s dawn will show its changeless ray. n. THE centuries are God s days ; within his hand, Held in the hollow, as a balance swings, Less than its dust, are all our temporal things. Long are his nights, when darkness steeps the land ; Il8 THE DAY-STAR IN THE EAST. Thousands of years fill one slow dawn s demand ; The human calendar its measure brings, Feeble and vain, to lift the soul that clings To hope for light, and seeks to understand. The centuries are God s days ; the greatest least In his esteem. We have no glass to sweep His universe. A hand s-breadth distant dies, To our poor ears, the strain whose echoes keep All heaven glad. We do but grope and creep. There always is a day-star in the skies ! OCTOBER S BRIGHT BL UE WE A THER, 1 1 9 OCTOBER S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER. SUNS and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October s bright blue weather, When loud the bumble-bee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant, And golden-rod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant ; When gentians roll their fringes tight To save them for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burrs Without a sound of warning ; When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining ; 1 20 OCTOBER S BRIGHT BL UE WE A THER. When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing ; When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting ; When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together, And count like misers hour by hour, October s bright blue weather. O suns and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year October s bright blue weather. THE RIVIERA. 121 THE RIVIERA. ] PEERLESS shore of peerless sea, Ere mortal eye had gazed on thee, What god was lover first of thine, Drank deep of thy unvintaged wine, And lying on thy shining breast Knew all thy passion and thy rest ; And when thy love he must resign, O generous god, first love of thine, Left such a dower of wealth to thee, Thou peerless shore of peerless sea ! Thy balmy air, thy stintless sun, Thy orange-flowering never done, Thy myrtle, olive, palm, and pine, Thy golden figs, thy ruddy wine, Thy subtle and resistless spell Which all men feel and none can tell ? O peerless shore of peerless sea ! From all the world we turn to thee ; No wonder deem we thee divine ! Some god was lover first of thine. 122 SEMITONES. SEMITONES. H me, the subtle boundary between What pleases and what pains ! The dif ference Between the word that thrills our every sense With joy and one which hurts, although it mean No hurt ! It is the things that are unseen, Invisible, not things of violence, For which the mightiest are without defence. On kine most fair to see one may grow lean With hunger. Many a snowy bread is doled Which is far harder than the hardest stones. Tis but a narrow line divides the zones Where suns are warm from those where suns are cold. Twixt harmonies divine as chords can hold And torturing discords, lie but semitones ! IN THE DARK. 123 IN THE DARK. S one who journeys on a stormy night Through mountain passes which he does not know Shields like his life from savage gusts that blow The swaying flame of his frail torch s light, So each of us through life s long groping fight Clings fast to one dear faith, one love, whose glow Makes darkness noonday to our trusting sight, And joys of perils into which we go. God help us, when this precious shining mark The raging storms of deep distrust assail With icy, poisoned breath and deadly aim, Till we, with hearts that shrink and cower and quail In terror which no measure has nor name, Stand trembling, helpless, palsied, in the dark. 1 24 MORDECAI. MORDECAI. AKE friends with him ! He is of royal line, Although he sits in rags. Not all of thine Array of splendor, pomp of high estate, Can buy him from his place within the gate, The King s Gate of thy happiness, where he, Yes, even he, the Jew, remaineth free, Never obeisance making, never scorn Betraying of thy silver and new-born Delight. Make friends with him, for unawares The charmed secret of thy joys he bears ; Be glad, so long as his black sackcloth, late And early, thwarts thy sun ; for if in hate And haste thou plottest for his blood, thy own death-cry, Not his, comes from the gallows fifty cubits high. IN APRIL. IN APRIL. | HAT did the sparrow do yesterday? Nobody knew but the sparrows ; He were too bold who should try to say ; They have forgotten it all to-day. Why does it haunt my thoughts this way, With a joy that piques and harrows, As the birds fly past, And the chimes ring fast, And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast ? There s a maple-bud redder to-day ; It will almost flower to-morrow ; I could swear t was only yesterday In a sheath of snow and ice it lay, With fierce winds blowing it every way ; Whose surety had it to borrow, Till birds should fly past, And chimes ring fast, And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast ? 126 IN APRIL. " Was there ever a day like to-day, So clear, so shining, so tender? " The old cry out ; and the children say, With a laugh, aside : " That s always the way With the old, in spring ; as long as they stay, They find in it greater splendor, When the birds fly past, And the chimes ring fast, And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast ! Then that may be why my thoughts all day I see I am old, by the token Are so haunted by sounds, now sad, now gay, Of the words I hear the sparrows say, And the maple-bud s mysterious way By which from its sheath it has broken, While the birds fly past, And the chimes ring fast, And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast ! TWO HARVESTS. 12 7 TWO HARVESTS. LOSSOM and fruit no man could count or hoard ; Seasons their laws forgot, in riot haste Lavishing yield on yield in madman s waste ; No tropic with its centuries heat outpoured In centuries of summers, ever stored Such harvest. Had the earth her sole pearl placed In wine of sun to melt, one blissful taste To drain and die, it had not fully dowered This harvest ! She who smiling goes, a queen, Reaping with alabaster arms and hands The fruits and flowers of these magic lands, Wii,h idle, satiate intervals between, Oh, what to her do laws of harvest mean ? Joy passes by her, where she laden stands ! 128 TWO HARVESTS. II. A PARCHED and arid land, all colorless, Than desert drearier, than rock more stern ; Spring could not find, nor any summer learn The secret to redeem this wilderness. Harsh winds sweep through with icy storm and stress : Fierce lurid suns shine but to blight and burn ; And streams rise, pallid, but to flee and turn : Who soweth here waits miracle to bless The harvest ! She who smiling goes, a queen, Seeking with hidden tears and tireless hands To win a fruitage from these barren lands, She knoweth what the laws of harvest mean ! Blades spring, flowers bloom, by all but her unseen ; Joy s halo crowns her, where she patient stands ! HABEAS CORPUS. 129 HABEAS CORPUS. Y body, eh? Friend Death, how now? Why all this tedious pomp of writ? Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow For half a century, bit by bit. In faith thou knowest more to-day Than I do, where it can be found ! This shrivelled lump of suffering clay, To which I now am chained and bound, Has not of kith or kin a trace To the good body once I bore; Look at this shrunken, ghastly face : Didst ever see that face before ? Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art; Thy only fault thy lagging gait, Mistaken pity in thy heart For timorous ones that bid thee wait. 130 HABEAS CORPUS. Do quickly all thou hast to do, Nor I nor mine will hindrance make ; I shall be free when thou art through ; I grudge thee nought that thou must take ! Stay ! I have lied ; I grudge thee one, Yes, two I grudge thee at this last, Two members which have faithful done My will and bidding in the past. I grudge thee this right hand of mine ; I grudge thee this quick-beating heart ; They never gave me coward sign, Nor played me once a traitor s part. I see now why in olden days Men in barbaric love or hate Nailed enemies hands at wild crossways, Shrined leaders hearts in costly state : The symbol, sign, and instrument Of each soul s purpose, passion, strife, Of fires in which are poured and spent Their all of love, their all of life. O feeble, mighty human hand ! O fragile, dauntless human heart ! The universe holds nothing planned With such sublime, transcendent art 1 HABEAS CORPUS. 131 Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine Poor little hand, so feeble now ; Its wrinkled palm, its altered line, Its veins so pallid and so slow . . . (Unfinished here.) Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art ; I shall be free when thou art through. Take all there is take hand and heart ; There must be somewhere work to do. 1.32 A LAST PRAYER. A LAST PRAYER. ATHER, I scarcely dare to pray, So clear I see, now it is done, That I have wasted half my day, And left my work but just begun ; So clear I see that things I thought Were right or harmless were a sin ; So clear I see that I have sought, Unconscious, selfish aims to win; So clear I see that I have hurt The souls I might have helped to save ; That I have slothful been, inert, Deaf to the calls thy leaders gave. In outskirts of thy kingdoms vast, Father, the humblest spot give me ; Set me the lowliest task thou hast ; Let me repentant work for thee ! THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE. 133 THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE. IS thoughts were song, his life was singing ; Men s hearts like harps he held and smote, But in his heart went ever ringing, Ringing, the song he never wrote. Hovering, pausing, luring, fleeting, A farther blue, a brighter mote, The vanished sound of swift winds meeting, The opal swept beneath the boat. A gleam of wings forever flaming, Never folded in nest or cote ; Secrets of joy, past name or naming; Measures of bliss past dole or rote ; Echoes of music, always flying, Always echo, never the note ; Pulses of life, past life, past dying, All these in the song he never wrote. 134 THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE. Dead at last, and the people, weeping, Turned from his grave with wringing hands, " What shall we do, now he lies sleeping, His sweet song silent in our lands ? " Just as his voice grew clearer, stronger," This was the thought that keenest smote, " O Death ! couldst thou not spare him longer ? Alas for the songs he never wrote ! " Free at last, and his soul up-soaring, Planets and skies beneath his feet, Wonder and rapture all out-pouring, Eternity how simple, sweet ! Sorrow slain, and every regretting, Love and Love s labors left the same, Weariness over, suns without setting, Motion like thought on wings of flame Higher the singer rose and higher, Heavens, in spaces, sank like bars ; Great joy within him glowed like fire, He tossed his arms among the stars, THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE. " This is the life, past life, past dying ; I am I, and I live the life : Shame on the thought of mortal crying ! Shame on its petty toil and strife ! "Why did I halt, and weakly tremble?" Even in heaven the memory smote, " Fool to be dumb, and to dissemble ! Alas for the song 1 never wrote ! " 135 - L. * irT?\rTA LIBRAE 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book ii o Renewed books are subject to immediate recalL %, ^c RtC D LD >-? I960 . . iO