SONGS AT THE START 
 
 BY 
 
 LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY 
 
 'And we sail on, away, afar, 
 Without a course, without a star, 
 But by the instinct of sweet music driven." 
 
 SHELLEY : Prometheus Unbound. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 CUPPLES, UPHAM AND COMPANY 
 1884 
 
Copyright, 
 By LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY, 
 
 1884. 
 
 C. J. PETERS AND SOX, 
 
 8TEREOTYPER8 AND ELECTROTYPERS, 
 145 HIGH STREET. 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 PAGE i o. Third line : read haunt for haunts. 
 
 PAGE 26. Tenth and eleventh lines : omit the word no. 
 
 M522977 
 
C. J. PETERS ANT) 8O\, 
 
 8TEREOTYPERS AND ELECTROTYPER3, 
 145 HIGH STREET. 
 
fif'Tif 
 
 
 FIRST SLIGHT OUTCOME OF TASTES TRANSMITTED BY 
 MY FATHER, 
 
 tocdbclr to ^ts JFrtenU anto 
 
 JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 
 
 M522977 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 GLOUCESTER HARBOR 9 
 
 LEONORE 12 
 
 A BALLAD OF METZ 14 
 
 PRIVATE THEATRICALS 21 
 
 DIVINATION BY AN EASTER LILY 22 
 
 THE RIVAL SINGERS 23 
 
 AFTER THE STORM 26 
 
 HEMLOCK RIVER 28 
 
 ON ONE POET REFUSING HOMAGE TO ANOTHER .... 29 
 
 BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW 33 
 
 RESERVE 36 
 
 PATRIOT CHORUS ON THE EVE OF WAR 37 
 
 Lo AND Lu 39 
 
 HER VOICE 42 
 
 AN EPITAPH 44 
 
 THE FALCON AND THE LILY 46 
 
 BOSTON, FROM THE BRIDGE 48 
 
 THE RED AND YELLOW LEAF 49 
 
 "POETE MY MAISTER CHAUCER" 51 
 
 MOUNT AUBURN IN MAY 52 
 
 AMONG THE FLAGS 53 
 
 CHILD AND FLOWER 54 
 
 5 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 KNIGHT FALSTAFF 56 
 
 THE POET 57 
 
 A CRIMINAL 59 
 
 ORIENT-BORN 60 
 
 CHARONDAS 62 
 
 CRAZY MARGARET 65 
 
 To THE WINDING CHARLES 69 
 
 MY NEIGHBOR 70 
 
 THE SEA-GULL 73 
 
 LILY OF THE VALLEY 74 
 
 LOVER LOQUITUR 76 
 
 VITALITY 77 
 
 To THE RIVER 78 
 
 THE SECOND TIME THEY MET 79 
 
 ON NOT READING A POSTHUMOUS WORK 81 
 
 BESSY IN THE STORM 83 
 
 AFTER A DUEL 85 
 
 INDIFFERENCE 87 
 
 THE PLEDGING 88 
 
 AT GETTYSBURG 9 
 
 EARLY DEATH 9 2 
 
 MY SOPRANO 93 
 
 THE CROSS ROADS 94 
 
 "HEART OF GOLD" 98 
 
 A JACOBITE REVIVAL 100 
 
 SPRING 104 
 
 ADVENTURERS 105 
 
 L'ETIQUETTE 107 
 
 THE GRAVE AND THE ROSE no 
 
SONGS AT THE START. 
 
SONGS AT THE START, 
 
 GLOUCESTER HARBOR. 
 
 NORTH from the beautiful islands, 
 North from the headlands and highlands, 
 
 The long sea-wall, 
 
 The white ships flee with the swallow ; 
 The day-beams follow and follow, 
 
 Glitter and fall. 
 
 The brown ruddy children that fear not, 
 Lean over the quay, and they hear not 
 
 Warnings of lips ; 
 
 For their hearts go a-sailing, a-sailing, 
 Out from the wharves and the wailing 
 
 After the ships. 
 
 9 
 
IO SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 Nothing to them is the golden 
 Curve of the sands, or the olden 
 
 Haunt$ of the town ; 
 Little they reck of the peaceful 
 Chiming of bells, or the easeful 
 
 Sport on the down : 
 
 The orchards no longer are cherished ; 
 The charm of the meadow has perished : 
 
 Dearer, ay me ! 
 
 The solitude vast, unbefriended, 
 The magical voice and the splendid 
 
 Fierce will of the sea. 
 
 Beyond them, by ridges and narrows 
 The silver prows speed like the arrows 
 
 Sudden and fair ; 
 
 Like the hoofs of Al Borak the wondrous, 
 Lost in the blue and the thund'rous 
 
 Depths of the air ; 
 
GLOUCESTER HARBOR. II 
 
 On to the central Atlantic, 
 
 Where passionate, hurrying, frantic 
 
 Elements meet ; 
 
 To the play and the calm and commotion 
 Of the treacherous, glorious ocean, 
 
 Cruel and sweet. 
 
 In the hearts of the children forever 
 She fashions their growing endeavor, 
 
 The pitiless sea ; 
 
 Their sires in her caverns she stayeth, 
 The spirits that love her she slayeth, 
 
 And laughs in her glee. 
 
 Woe, woe, for the old fascination ! 
 The women make deep lamentation 
 
 In starts and in slips ; 
 Here always is hope unavailing, 
 Here always the dreamers are sailing 
 
 After the ships ! 
 
12 
 
 LEONORE. 
 
 You scarce can mark her flying feet 
 Or bear her eyelids' flash a space ; 
 
 Her passing by is like the sweet 
 Blown odor of some tropic place ; 
 
 She has a voice, a smile sincere, 
 
 The blitheness of the nascent year, 
 April's growth and grace ; 
 
 All youth, all force, all fire and stress 
 
 In her impassioned gentleness, 
 
 Half exhortation, half caress. 
 
 A thing of peace and of delight, 
 A fountain sparkling in the sun, 
 
 Reflecting heavenly shapes by night, 
 Her moods thro' ordered beauty run. 
 
LEONORE. 
 
 Light be the storm that she must know, 
 And branches greener after snow 
 
 For hope to build upon ; 
 Late may the tear of memory start, 
 And Love, who is her counterpart, 
 Be tender with that lily-heart ! 
 
A BALLAD OF METZ. 
 
 LEON went to the wars, 
 True soul without a stain ; 
 
 First at the trumpet-call, 
 Thy son, Lorraine ! 
 
 Never a mighty host 
 
 Thrilled so with one desire; 
 Never a past Crusade 
 
 Lit nobler fire. 
 
 And he, among the rest, 
 
 Smote foemen in the van, 
 
 No braver blood than his 
 Since time began. 
 
 And mild and fond was he, 
 And sensitive as a leaf ; 
 
A BALLAD OF METZ. 
 
 Just Heaven ! that he was this, 
 Is half my grief ! 
 
 We followed where the last 
 
 Detachment led away, 
 At Metz, an evil-starred 
 
 And bitter day. 
 
 Some of us had been hurt 
 
 In the first hot assault, 
 Yet wills were slackened not, 
 
 Nor feet at fault. 
 
 We hurried on to the front ; 
 
 Our banners were soiled and rent ; 
 Grim riflemen, gallants all, 
 
 Our captain sent. 
 
 A Prussian lay by a tree 
 
 Rigid as ice, and pale, 
 And sheltered out of the reach 
 
 Of battle-hail. 
 
1 6 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 His cheek was hollow and white, 
 Parched was his purpled lip ; 
 
 Tho' bullets had fastened on 
 Their leaden grip, 
 
 Tho' ever he gasped and called, 
 Called faintly from the rear, 
 
 What of it ? And all in scorn 
 I closed mine ear. 
 
 The very colors he wore, 
 
 They burnt and bruised my sight ; 
 The greater his anguish, so 
 
 Was my delight. 
 
 We laughed a savage laugh, 
 Who loved our land too well, 
 
 Giving its enemies hate 
 Unspeakable : 
 
 But Le"on, kind heart, poor heart, 
 Clutched me around the arm ; 
 
A BALLAD OF METZ. 
 
 " He faints for water ! " he said, 
 " It were no harm 
 
 To soothe a wounded man 
 Already on death's rack." 
 
 He seized his brimming gourd, 
 And hurried back. 
 
 The foeman grasped it quick 
 
 With wild eyes, 'neath whose lid 
 
 A coiled and viper-like look 
 Glittered and hid. 
 
 He raised his shattered frame 
 Up from the grassy ground, 
 
 And drank with the loud, mad haste 
 Of a thirsty hound. 
 
 Leon knelt by his side, 
 
 One hand beneath his head ; 
 
 Not kinder the water than 
 The words he said. 
 
1 8 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 He rose and left him so, 
 
 Stretched on the grassy plot, 
 
 The viper-like flame in his eyes 
 Alas ! forgot. 
 
 Leon with easy gait 
 
 Strode on ; he bared his hair, 
 Swinging his army cap, 
 
 Humming an air. 
 
 Just as he neared the troops, 
 Over there by the stream 
 
 Good God ! a sudden snap 
 And a lurid gleam. 
 
 I wrenched my bandaged arm 
 With the horror of the start : 
 
 Le"on was low at my feet, 
 Shot thro' the heart. 
 
 Do you think an angel told 
 
 Whose hands the deed had done ? 
 
A BALLAD OF METZ. 
 
 To the Prussian we dashed back, 
 Mute, every one. 
 
 Do you think we stopped to curse, 
 Or wailing feebly, stood ? 
 
 Do you think we spared who shed 
 A friend's sweet blood ? 
 
 Ha ! vengeance on the fiend : 
 We smote him as if hired ; 
 
 I most of them, and more 
 When they had tired. 
 
 I saw the deep eye lose 
 Its dastard, steely blue : 
 
 I saw the trait'rous breast 
 Pierced thro' and thro*. 
 
 His musket, smoking yet, 
 
 Unhanded, lay beside ; 
 Three times three thousand deaths 
 
 That Prussian died. 
 
2<X SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 And he, my brother, Leon, 
 
 Lies, too, upon the plain : 
 O teach no more Christ's mercy, 
 
 Thy sons, Lorraine ! 
 
 [This incident actually befell a private in a Massachusetts volun- 
 teer regiment, belonging to the Fifth Corps, at the battle of Malvern 
 Hill.] 
 
21 
 
 PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 
 
 You were a haughty beauty, Polly, 
 
 (That was in the play,) 
 I was the lover melancholy ; 
 
 (That was in the play.) 
 And when your fan and you receded, 
 And all my passion lay unheeded, 
 If still with tenderer words I pleaded, 
 That was in the play ! 
 
 I met my rival at the gateway, 
 (That was in the play,) 
 And so we fought a duel straightway ; 
 
 (That was in the play.) 
 But when Jack hurt my arm unduly, 
 And you rushed over, softened newly, 
 And kissed me, Polly ! truly, truly, 
 Was that in the play ? 
 
22 
 
 DIVINATION BY AN EASTER LILY. 
 
 OUT of the Lenten gloom it springs, 
 
 Out of the wintry land, 
 White victor-flower with breath of myrrh, 
 Joy's oracle and harbinger ; 
 
 I take it in my hand, 
 
 I fold it to my lips, and know 
 
 That death is overpast, 
 That blessed is thy glad release, 
 And thou with Christ art full of peace, 
 
 Dear heart in Heaven ! at last. 
 
THE RIVAL SINGERS. 
 
 Two marvellous singers of old had the city of 
 
 Florence, 
 She that is loadstar of pilgrims, Florence the 
 
 beautiful, 
 Who sang but thro' bitterest envy their exquisite 
 
 music, 
 Each for o'ercoming the other, as fierce as the 
 
 seraphs 
 At the dread battle pre-mundane, together down- 
 
 . wrestling. 
 And once when the younger, surpassing the best 
 
 at a festival, 
 Thrilled the impetuous people, O singing so 
 
 rarely ! 
 That up on their shoulders they raised him, and 
 
 carried him straightway 
 
24 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 Over the threshold, 'mid ringing of belfries and 
 
 shouting, 
 Till into his pale cheek mounted a color like 
 
 morning 
 (For he was Saxon in blood) that made more 
 
 resplendent 
 The gold of his hair for an aureole round and 
 
 above him, 
 Seeing which, called his adorers aloud, thanking 
 
 Heaven 
 That sent down an angel to sing for them, taking 
 
 their homage ; 
 While this came to pass in the city, one marked 
 
 it, and harbored 
 A purpose which followed endlessly on, like his 
 
 shadow. 
 Therefore at night, as a vine that aye clambering 
 
 stealthily 
 Slips by the stones to an opening, came the 
 
 assassin, 
 And left the deep sleeper by moonlight, the 
 
 Saxon hair dabbled 
 
THE RIVAL SINGERS. 2$ 
 
 With red, and the brave voice smitten to death 
 
 in his bosom. 
 
 Now this was the end of the hate and the striv- 
 ing and singing. 
 
 But the Italian thro' Florence, his city familiar, 
 Fared happily ever, none knowing the crime and 
 
 the passion, 
 Winning honor and guerdon in peaceful and 
 
 prosperous decades, 
 Supreme over all, and rejoiced with the cheers 
 
 and the clanging. 
 Carissima ! what ? and you wonder the world 
 
 did not loathe him ? 
 Child, he lived long, and was lauded, and died 
 
 very famous. 
 
26 
 
 AFTER THE STORM. 
 
 I. 
 Now that the wind is tamed and broken, 
 
 And day gleams over the lea, 
 Row, row, for the one you love 
 Was out on the raging sea : 
 
 Row, row, row, 
 
 Sturdy and brave o'er the treacherous wave, 
 Hope like a beacon before, 
 
 Row, sailor, row 
 Out to the sea from the shore ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 O no, the oar that was once so merry, 
 O hQ, but the mournful oar ! 
 Row, row ; God steady your arm 
 To the dark and desolate shore : 
 
AFTER THE STORM. 2/ 
 
 Row, row, row, 
 
 With your own love dead, and her wet gold head 
 Laid there at last on your knee, 
 
 Row, sailor, row, 
 Back to the shore from the sea ! 
 
28 
 
 HEMLOCK RIVER. 
 
 ON that river, where their will is, 
 Grow the tranquil-hearted lilies ; 
 In and out, with summer cadence, 
 Brown o'erbrimming waters slide ; 
 
 Shade is there and mossy quiet, 
 O but go thou never nigh it ! 
 Ghosts of three unhappy maidens 
 Float upon its bosom wide. 
 
2 9 
 
 ON ONE POET REFUSING HOMAGE TO 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 A NAME all read and many rue 
 Chanced on the idle talk of two ; 
 I saw the listener doubt and falter 
 Till came the rash reproof anew. 
 
 Then on his breath arose a sigh, 
 And in the flashes of reply 
 I saw the great indignant shower 
 Surcharge the azure of his eye. 
 
 Said he : "'Neath our accord intense 
 At mutual shrines of soul and sense, 
 Flows, like a subterraneous river, 
 This last and only difference. 
 
3<D SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 " Behold, I am with anguish torn 
 That you should name his name in scorn, 
 And use it as an April flower 
 Plucked from his grave and falsely worn : 
 
 " Thrice better his renown were not ! 
 And he in silence lay forgot, 
 Than to exhale a strife unending 
 Should be his gentle memory's lot. 
 
 " How can you, freedom in your reach, 
 Nurse your high thought on others' speech, 
 And follow after brawling critics 
 Reiterating blame with each ? 
 
 "The world's ill judgments roll and roll 
 Nor touch that shy, evasive soul, 
 Whose every tangled hour of living 
 God draws to issues fair and whole. 
 
 " It grieves me less that, purely good, 
 His aims are darkly understood, 
 
REFUSING HOMAGE. 31 
 
 Than that your spirit jars unkindly 
 Against its golden brotherhood. 
 
 " Et tu, Brute ! Where he hath flown 
 On kindred wing you cross the zone, 
 And yet for hate, thro' lack of knowing, 
 Austerely misconstrue your own. 
 
 " No closer wave and wave at sea 
 Than he and you for grace should be ; 
 I would endure the chains of bondage 
 That you might share this truth with me ! 
 
 " A leaf's light strength should break the wind, 
 Ere my desire, your wilful mind ; 
 If I should waste my lips in pleading, 
 Or drain my heart, you still were blind, 
 
 " Still warring on the citadels 
 Of Truth remotely, till her bells 
 Rouse me, your friend, to old defiance, 
 Tho' dear you be in all things else, 
 
32 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 "And tho' my hope the day-star is 
 Of broadening eternities, 
 Wherein, the shadows cleared forever, 
 Your cordial hand shall rest in his." 
 
33 
 
 BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW, working-time, 
 Would fall into musing and drop his tools ; 
 
 Brother Bartholomew cared for rhyme 
 More than for theses of the schools ; 
 
 And sighed, and took up his burden so, 
 
 Vowed to the Muses, for weal or woe. 
 
 At matins he sat, the book on his knees, 
 But his thoughts were wandering far away ; 
 
 And chanted the evening litanies 
 
 Watching the roseate skies grow gray, 
 
 Watching the brightening starry host 
 
 Flame like the tongues at Pentecost. 
 
 " A foolish dreamer, and nothing more ; 
 The idlest fellow a cell could hold ; " 
 
34 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 So murmured the worthy Isidor, 
 
 Prior of ancient Nithiswold ; 
 Yet pitiful, with dispraise content, 
 Signed never the culprit's banishment. 
 
 Meanwhile Bartholomew went his way 
 And patiently wrote in his sunny cell ; 
 
 His pen fast travelled from day to day ; 
 His books were covered, the walls as well. 
 
 "But O for the monk that I miss, instead 
 
 Of this listless rhymer ! " the Prior said. 
 
 Bartholomew dying, as mortals must, 
 Not unbelov'd of the cowled throng, 
 
 Thereafter, they took from the dark and dust 
 Of shelves and of corners, many a song 
 
 That cried loud, loud to the farthest day, 
 
 How a bard had arisen, and passed away. 
 
 Wonderful verses! fair and fine, 
 Rich in the old Greek loveliness ; 
 
BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW. 35 
 
 The seer-like vision, half divine ; 
 
 Pathos and merriment in excess. 
 And every perfect stanza told 
 Of love and of labor manifold. 
 
 The King came out and stood beside 
 Bartholomew's taper-lighted bier, 
 
 And turning to his lords, he sighed : 
 
 " How worn and wearied doth he appear, 
 
 Our noble poet, now he is dead ! " 
 
 "O tireless worker ! " the Prior said. 
 
RESERVE. 
 
 You that are dear, O you above the rest ! 
 Forgive him his evasive moods and cold ; 
 The absence that belied him oft of old, 
 The war upon sad speech, the desperate jest, 
 And pity's wildest gush but half-confessed, 
 Forgive him ! Let your gentle memories hold 
 Some written word once tender and once bold, 
 Or service done shamefacedly at best, 
 Whereby to judge him. All his days he spentj 
 Like one who with an angel wrestled well, 
 O'ermastering Love with show of light disdain ; 
 And whatsoe'er your spirits underwent, 
 He, wounded for you, worked no miracle 
 To make his heart's allegiance wholly plain. 
 
37 
 
 PATRIOT CHORUS ON THE EVE OF 
 WAR. 
 
 IN thy holy need, our country, 
 Shatter other idols straightway ; 
 Quench our household fires before us, 
 Reap the pomp of harvests low ; 
 Strike aside each glad ambition 
 Born of youth and golden leisure, 
 Leave us only to remember 
 Faith we swore thee long ago ! 
 
 All the passionate sweep of heart-strings, 
 
 Thirst and famine, din of battle, 
 
 All the wild despair and sorrow 
 
 That were ever or shall be, 
 
 Are too little, are too worthless, 
 
 Laid along thine upward pathway 
 
38 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 As with our souls' strength we lay them, 
 Stepping-stones, O Love ! for thee. 
 
 If we be thy burden-bearers, 
 Let us ease thee of thy sorrow ; 
 If our hands be thine avengers, 
 Life or death, they shall not fail ; 
 If thy heart be just and tender, 
 Wrong us not with hesitation : 
 Take us, trust us, lead us, love us, 
 Till the eternal Truth prevail ! 
 
39 
 
 LO AND LU. 
 
 
 
 WHEN we began this never-ended 
 
 Kind companionship, 
 Childish greetings lit the splendid 
 
 Laughter at the lip ; 
 You were ten and I eleven ; 
 
 Henceforth, as we knew, 
 Was all the mischief under heaven 
 
 Set down to Lo and Lu. 
 
 Long we fought and cooed together, 
 Held an equal reign, 
 
 Snowballs could we fire and gather, 
 Twine a clover chain ; 
 
 Sing in G an A flat chorus 
 
 'Mid the tuneful crew, 
 
4O SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 No harmonious angels o'er us 
 Taught us, Lo or Lu. 
 
 Pleasant studious times have seen us 
 
 Arm-in-arm of yore, 
 Learned books, well-thumbed between us, 
 
 Spread along the floor ; 
 Perched in pine-tops, sunk in barley, 
 
 Rogues, where rogues were few, 
 Right or wrong, in deed and parley, 
 
 Comrades, Lo and Lu. 
 
 Which could leap where banks were wider, 
 
 Mock the cat-bird's call ? 
 Which preside and pop the cider 
 
 At a festival ? 
 Who became the finer Stoic 
 
 Stabbing trouble thro', 
 Thrilled to hear of things heroic 
 
 Oftener, Lo or Lu ? 
 
LO AND LU. 41 
 
 Earliest, blithest ! then and ever 
 
 Mirror of my heart ! 
 Grow we old and wise and clever 
 
 Now, so far apart ; 
 Still as tender as a mother's 
 
 Floats our prayer for two ; 
 Neither yet can spare the other's 
 
 " God bless Lo and Lu ! " 
 
HER VOICE. 
 
 A LARK from cloud to cloud along 
 In wildest labyrinths of song, 
 So jubilant and proud and strong ; 
 
 A ray that climbs the garden wall 
 And leaps the height at evenfall, 
 So clear, so faint, so mystical ; 
 
 A summer fragrance on the breeze, 
 A shower upon the lilied leas, 
 A sunburst over violet seas, 
 
 A wand of light, a fairy spell 
 Beyond a faltering lip to tell ; 
 Bright Music's perfect miracle. 
 
HER VOICE. 43 
 
 Still live the gift outrunning praise, 
 Inviolate from this earthly place 
 And fitly pure for heavenly days, 
 
 Sincerity its stay and guard, 
 
 A glowing nature, happy-starred, 
 
 Its dwelling now and afterward ! 
 
 Where'er that gentle heart shall be, 
 Responsive to their source I see 
 The fount and form of melody ; 
 
 And my foreshadowed spirit drawn 
 Of hindrance free, and unforlorn, 
 To list thro' some ambrosial dawn, 
 
 To follow with oblivious eyes 
 The old delight, the fresh surprise, 
 Adown the glades of Paradise ! 
 
44 
 
 AN EPITAPH. 
 
 FUGITIVE to nobler air, 
 Dead avow thee who shall dare ? 
 Freeborn spirit, eagle heart, 
 Full of life thou wert and art ! 
 Tender was thy glance, and bland ; 
 Honor swayed thy giving hand ; 
 Sweet as fragrance on the sense 
 Stole thy rich intelligence, 
 And thy coming, like the spring, 
 Moved the saddest lips to sing. 
 
 Wealth above all argosies ! 
 Sunshine of our drooping eyes ! 
 Be to Heaven, for Heaven's desert, 
 Fair as unto us thou wert. 
 
AN EPITAPH. 45 
 
 Tho* the groping breezes moan 
 Here about thy burial-stone, 
 Never sorrow's lightest breath 
 Links thy happy name with death, 
 Lest therein our love should be, 
 Thou that livest ! false to thee. 
 
THE FALCON AND THE LILY. 
 
 MY darling rides across the sand ; 
 The wind is warm, the wind is bland ; 
 It lifts the pony's glossy mane, 
 So light and proud she holds his rein. 
 Not easier bears a leaf the dew 
 Than she her scarf and kirtle blue, 
 And on her wrist, in bells and jess, 
 The falcon perched for idleness. 
 That merry bird, O would I were ! 
 In joy with her, in joy with her. 
 
 My darling comes not from her bower, 
 The lowered pennon sweeps the tower ; 
 The larches droop their tassels low, 
 And bells are marshalled to and fro. 
 
THE FALCON AND THE LILY. 47 
 
 My heart, my heart, beholds her now, 
 The pallid hands, the saintly brow, 
 The lily with chill death oppressed 
 Against the summer of her breast : 
 That lily pale, O would I were ! 
 In peace with her, in peace with her. 
 
BOSTON, FROM THE BRIDGE. 
 
 THIS night my heart's world-roaming dreams are 
 
 met, 
 
 The while I gaze across the river-brim, 
 Beyond the anchored ships with cordage dim, 
 To the clear lights, that like a coronet 
 On thee, my noble city, nobly set, 
 Along thy summits trail their golden rim. 
 Peril forsake thee ! so shall peal my hymn ; 
 Glory betide thee ! Nor may men forget, 
 Shelter of scholars, poets, artisans ! 
 The sap that filled the perfect vein of Greece, 
 And hung with bloom her fair, illustrious tree, 
 Unheeded, thro' dull eras made advance, 
 Unfruitful, stole to topmost boughs in peace 
 Twice centuries twelve ; and flowered again in 
 
 thee. 
 
49 
 
 THE RED AND YELLOW LEAF. 
 
 THE red and yellow leaf 
 Came down upon the wind, 
 Across the ripened grain ; 
 The red and yellow leaf, 
 Before me and behind, 
 Sang shrilly in my brain : 
 
 " Pride and growth of spring, 
 Ease, and olden cheer, 
 Shall no Ignger be : 
 What benighted thing, 
 Dreamer, dost thou here ? 
 Follow, follow me ! 
 
 " Youth is done, and skill ; 
 What is any trust 
 
5O SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 Any more to thee ? 
 Pale thou art and chill ; 
 All of love is dust : 
 Follow, follow me ! " 
 
 " Thou red and yellow leaf, 
 
 whither?" from my staff 
 
 1 called adown the wind ; 
 The red and yellow leaf, 
 
 I heard its mocking laugh 
 Before me and behind ! 
 
Si 
 
 "POETE MY MAISTER CHAUCER."* 
 
 SOMEWHERE, sometime, I walked a field wherein 
 The daisies held high festival in white, 
 Thinking : Alas ! he with a young delight 
 Among them once his golden web did spin ; 
 He who made half-divine an olden inn, 
 The Tabard ; sung of Ariadne bright, 
 And penned of Sarra's king at fall of night, 
 " Where now I leave, there will I fresh begin." 
 Then straightway heard I merry laughter rise 
 From one that wrote, thrown on a daisy-bed, 
 Who, seeing the two-fold wonder in mine eyes, 
 Spake, lifting up his fair and reverend head : 
 " Child ! this is the earth-completing Paradise, 
 And thou, that strayest here, art centuries dead." 
 
 * Lydgate so calls him, 
 
 . ..." of righte and equitie, 
 Since he in Englishe in rhyming was the beste." 
 
MOUNT AUBURN IN MAY. 
 
 THIS is earth's liberty-day : 
 Yonder the linden-trees sway 
 
 To music of winds from the west, 
 And I hear the old merry refrain, 
 Of the stream that has broken its chain 
 
 By the gates of the City of Rest, 
 
 The City whose exquisite towers 
 I see thro' the sunny long hours 
 
 If but from my window I lean ; 
 Yea, dearest ! thy threshold of stone, 
 Thine ivy-grown door and my own 
 
 Have naught save the river between. 
 
 Thine on that heavenly height 
 
 Are beauty, and warmth, and delight ; 
 
 And long as our parting shall be, 
 Live there in thy summer ! nor know 
 How near lie the frost and the snow 
 
 On hearts that are breaking for thee. 
 
53 
 
 AMONG THE FLAGS 
 
 IN DORIC HALL, MASSACHUSETTS STATE HOUSE. 
 
 DEAR witnesses, all luminous, eloquent, 
 
 Stacked thickly on the tesselated floor ! 
 
 The soldier-blood stirs in me, as of yore 
 
 In sire and grandsire who to battle went : 
 
 I seem to know the shaded valley tent, 
 
 The armed and bearded men, the thrill of war, 
 
 Horses that prance to hear the cannon roar, 
 
 Shrill bugle-calls, and camp-fire merriment. 
 
 And as fair symbols of heroic things, 
 
 Not void of tears mine eyes must e'en behold 
 
 These banners lovelier as the deeper marred : 
 
 A panegyric never writ for kings 
 
 On every tarnished staff and tattered fold ; 
 
 And by them, tranquil spirits standing guard. 
 
54 
 
 CHILD AND FLOWER. 
 
 [From the French of Chateaubriand.]* 
 
 ALONG her coffin-lid the spotless roses rest 
 A father's sad, sad hand culled from a happy 
 
 bower ; 
 
 Earth, they were born of thee : take back upon 
 thy breast 
 
 Young child and tender flower. 
 
 To this unhallowed world, ah ! let them not re- 
 turn, 
 To this dark world where grief and sin and 
 
 anguish lower ; 
 
 The winds might wound and break, the sun might 
 parch and burn 
 
 Young child and tender flower. 
 
 * The author's title runs: "Sur la Fille de mon Ami, enterree 
 devant moi hier au Cimetiere de Passy : 16 Juin, 1832." 
 
CHILD AND FLOWER. 55 
 
 Thou sleepest, O Elise ! thy years were brief and 
 
 bright ; 
 The burden and the heat are spared thy 
 
 noonday hour ; 
 
 For dewy morn has flown, and on its pinions 
 light, 
 
 Young child and tender flower. 
 
KNIGHT FALSTAFF. 
 
 I SAW the dusty curtain, ages old, 
 
 Its purple tatters twitched aside, and lo ! 
 
 The fourth King Harry's reign in lusty show 
 
 Behind, its deeds in living file outrolled 
 
 Of peace and war ; some sage, some mad, and 
 
 bold : 
 
 Last, near a tree, a bridled neighing row 
 With latest spoils encumbered, saints do know, 
 By Hal and Hal's boon cronies ; on the wold 
 Laughter of prince and commons ; there and here 
 Travellers fleeing ; drunken thieves that sang ; 
 Wild bells ; a tavern's echoing jolly shout ; 
 Signals along the highway, full of cheer ; 
 A gate that closed with not incautious clang, 
 When that sweet rogue, bad Jack ! came lumber- 
 ing out. 
 
57 
 
 THE POET.* 
 
 LISTEN ! the mother 
 Croons o'er her darling ; 
 Birds to the summer 
 Call from the trees ; 
 Sailors in chorus 
 Chant of the ocean : 
 The poet's heart singeth 
 Songs sweeter than these. 
 
 Thy lute, gentle lover, 
 To her thou adorest ; 
 Ye troubadours ! paeans 
 For princes of Guelph : 
 
 * For this trifle, obligations are due to Maestro Mozart. A sunny 
 little opening Andante of his, from the Second Sonata in A major, sug- 
 gested immediately and quite irresistibly the words here appended, 
 which follow its rhythm throughout. 
 
5 8 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 But Heaven's own harpers 
 Breathe not in their music 
 The song that his happy heart 
 
 Sings to itself; 
 The changeless, soft song that it 
 
 Sings to itself! 
 
59 
 
 A CRIMINAL. 1865. 
 
 " CLOSE as a mask he wore this fiery sin 
 Of hate ; and daring peril foremost, died 
 Ere yet the wrath of law was justified, 
 Hopeless, with memory such as miscreants win. 
 One sacred head he smote, encircled in 
 A people's arms ; and shook, with storms allied, 
 The pillars of the world from side to side." . . . 
 E'en so the Angel's record must begin. 
 Show me not anguish since that traitor-stroke 
 Rang o'er the brunt of war ; yet child, O child ! 
 When later days bring bitter thoughts, recall, 
 No maledictions on his name I spoke, 
 Catching lost cues ; but asked, well-reconciled, 
 God, our Interpreter, to right us all. 
 
6o 
 
 ORIENT-BORN. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL olive-brown brows, chin where the 
 
 fairy-print lies ; 
 Vagrant dark tresses above splendid mysterious 
 
 eyes; 
 
 Mellowest fires that glow under the calm of her 
 
 face, 
 Girl of all girls in the world for mould and for 
 
 color and grace. 
 
 Such are the opal-like maids that flash in the 
 
 groves to and fro, 
 Dancers Arabian ; such, languorous ages ago, 
 
OK I EN T-BORN. 6 1 
 
 Ptolemy's daughter ; and so, breathing faint 
 
 cassia and musk, 
 Veiled young Moors on divans, singing and 
 
 sighing at dusk. 
 
 Never in opiate dreams have I o'ertaken you, 
 
 sweet ; 
 Never with henna-tipped hands ; never with 
 
 silken-shod feet ; 
 
 Still the love-charm of the East must over and 
 
 over be told : 
 By-and-by havoc with hearts! . . . Ah, slowly, 
 
 my seven-year-old ! 
 
62 
 
 CHARONDAS. 
 
 HE lifted his forehead, and stood at his height, 
 And gathered the cloak round his noble age, 
 
 This man, the law-giver, Charondas the Greek ; 
 
 And loud the Euboeans called to him : " Speak, 
 We listen and learn, O sage ! " 
 
 " In peace shall ye come where the people be," 
 Spake the lofty figure with flashing eyes : 
 
 " But whoso comes armed to the public hall 
 
 Shall suffer his death before us all." 
 And the hearers believed him wise. 
 
 The years sped quick and the years dragged 
 
 slow ; 
 In council oft was the throng arrayed, 
 
CHARONDAS. 63 
 
 But never the statued chamber saw 
 The gleam of a weapon ; for loving the law, 
 The Greeks from their hearts obeyed. 
 
 War's challenge knocked at the city gates ; 
 
 Students flocked to the front, grown bold ; 
 The strong men, girded, faced up to the north ; 
 The women wept to the gods ; and forth 
 
 Went the brave of the days of old. 
 
 Peace winged her flight to the city gates ; 
 
 Young men and strong, they followed fast 
 Back to the breast of their fair, free land : 
 Charondas, afar on the foreign strand, 
 
 Remained at his post the last. 
 
 Their leader he, in war as in word, 
 
 The fire of youth for his life-long lease, 
 
 The strength of Mars in the arm that stood 
 
 Seven hot decades upheld for good 
 In the turbulent courts of Greece. 
 
64 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 The fight is finished, the council meets. 
 
 Who is the tardy comer without 
 In cuirass and shield, and with clanking sword, 
 Who strides up the aisles without a word, 
 
 Rousing that awe-struck shout ? 
 
 The tardy comer home from the field 
 
 Great gods ! the first to forget and belie 
 The law he honored, the law he formed : 
 " Charondas stand ! you enter armed," 
 With a shudder the hundreds cry. 
 
 The men who loved him on every side, 
 The men he led to the victor's gain, 
 
 He paused a moment, the fearless Greek ; 
 
 A sudden glow on his ashen cheek, 
 A sudden thought in his brain. 
 
 " I seal the law with my soul and might : 
 I do not break it," Charondas said. 
 
 He raised his blade, and plunged to the hilt. 
 
 Ah ! vain their rush, for in glory and guilt, 
 He lay on the marble, dead. 
 
CRAZY MARGARET. 
 
 THAT is she across the way, 
 Dressed as for a holiday, 
 Wandering aimlessly along 
 In oblivion of the throng, 
 With her lay of old regret ; 
 That is crazy Margaret. 
 
 And her tale floats up and down 
 This enchanted Norman town, 
 Told among the wharves and ships, 
 On the children's babbling lips, 
 Over gossips' window-sills, 
 In the rectory, thro' the mills. 
 
66 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 Very sad and very brief, 
 
 Graven on a cypress leaf, 
 
 Is the record of her days. 
 
 When the aloes were ablaze 
 
 Long ago, in summertide, 
 
 He maid Margaret cherished, died. 
 
 Hush ! there is the holier part : 
 He knew nothing of her heart. 
 Tears thrilled in her lustrous eye 
 But to see him passing by, 
 And she turned from many a claim 
 Dreaming on that dearest name. 
 
 Solely on his thoughts intent 
 The rapt student came and went, 
 All the gladness in his looks 
 Sprung from visions and from books, 
 Grave with all, and kind to her, 
 His meek peasant worshipper. 
 
CRAZY MARGARET. 
 
 So she loved him to the last, 
 Keeping her soul's secret fast, 
 Suffering much and speaking naught 
 Of the woe her loving wrought ; 
 Till the second summertide, 
 The young stranger drooped and died. 
 
 At the grave, before them all, 
 
 In the market, in the hall, 
 
 Down the forest-paths alone, 
 
 Ever since, in undertone 
 
 She goes singing soft and slow : 
 
 "When I meet him, he shall kno v w." 
 
 Therefore is she eager yet, 
 Poor, unhappy Margaret, 
 Holding still, in faith and truth, 
 The lost idyl of her youth, 
 Seeking fondly and thro' tears, 
 One who sleeps these forty years. 
 
68 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 Should he haunt our Norman coast, 
 Should he come, the gentle ghost ; 
 Should she tell him of her pain, 
 Of her passion hushed and vain, 
 Would he grieve ? or would he care ? 
 What a tragic chance is there ! 
 
TO THE WINDING CHARLES. 
 
 THOU wanderer, what longing hath 
 Thee peace on earth denied, 
 
 Ah, tell me : constant in no path, 
 Thy pensive currents glide. 
 
 From dim pursuit and mocking zest, 
 Would I could set thee free ! 
 
 My soul hath its divine unrest, 
 Dear river, like to thee. 
 
MY NEIGHBOR.* 
 
 WHO art thou that nigh to me 
 Alone dost dwell, perpetually ? 
 The latch against thy door is mute, 
 I have not heard thy kind salute, 
 And though I live here at the gate, 
 Have never known thy birth or state, 
 Nor seen thy wide colonial lands 
 With slaves obeying all commands, 
 Or children playing at thy knee ; 
 Ah, neighbor mine, unneighborly ! 
 
 The sun beats hard upon thy roof, 
 The tree's cool shadow waves aloof ; 
 
 * Jacob Sheaf e, an old Boston worthy, laid away in 1658, in a quiet 
 northerly corner of King's Chapel Burying-Ground. 
 
MY NEIGHBOR. 7 1 
 
 Thou dost not heed, nor speak in ire, 
 Nor wound thy calm with vain desire. 
 The cones that patter as they fall, 
 The drifts that build thine outer wall, 
 The rains that glisten in the trace 
 Of thine inscription, dimmed apace, 
 The winds that blow, the birds that sing, 
 Thou carest not for any thing ! 
 
 Two centuries and more art thou 
 
 In solitude abiding ; now 
 
 This town is other than thy town ; 
 
 Its lanes are highways broad and brown ; 
 
 The oaken houses of thy day, 
 
 And inns, and' booths, are swept away. 
 
 Strange spires would meet thine eager eye, 
 
 New ships sail in, new banners fly ; 
 
 And names are kept of them that fell 
 
 In wars to thee incredible. 
 
72 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 How beautiful thine endless rest ! 
 The quiet conscience in thy breast, 
 Thy hidden place of peace, where pass 
 The ghost-like stirrings of the grass ; 
 The long immunity from strife, 
 The tumult, love ; the trouble, life ; 
 The blossom at thy feet, to be 
 A thousand summers, dust like thee ; 
 The winding-sheet, that white as worth, 
 Shuts all. thy failings in the earth. 
 
 My silent neighbor ! thou and I 
 
 Keep unobtrusive company. 
 
 For us each wild October weaves 
 
 The glistening clouds, the glowing leaves, 
 
 And March by March the robin sings, 
 
 Against the solemn porch of King's, 
 
 His sweet good-morrow to us both. 
 
 O be not harsh with me, nor wroth, 
 
 That I, apart from all the throng, 
 
 Break, too, thy silence with a song ! 
 
73 
 
 THE SEA-GULL. 
 
 OVER the ships that are anchored, 
 
 Over the fleets that part, 
 Over the cities dark by the shore, 
 
 High as a dream thou art ! 
 
 Beautiful is thy coming, 
 
 Light is thy wing as it goes ; 
 And O but to leap and follow this hour 
 
 Thy perfect flight to the close, 
 
 O but to leap and follow 
 
 Where freedom and rest may be ; 
 Where the soul that I loved in surpassing love 
 
 Hath vanished away, with thee ! 
 
74 
 
 LILY-OF-THE-VALLEY. 
 
 DARLING of the cloistered flowers, 
 Rising meekly after showers, 
 
 Every cup a waving censer, 
 Winds are softer at thy coming ; 
 By thee goes the wild bee, humming 
 
 Music richer and intenser. 
 
 Indian balsam is thy breathing, 
 Sabbath stillness thy enwreathing ; 
 
 Peace and thee no thought can sever. 
 In thy plaintive looks and tender, 
 Things of long-forgotten splendor 
 
 Thrill my inmost spirit ever. 
 
 And I love thee in such fashion, 
 With so much of truth and passion, 
 In this sad wish to enshrine thee : 
 
LIL Y-OF- THE- VALLE Y. 75 
 
 Only pure hearts be thy wearers, 
 Only gentlest hands thy bearers, 
 Even if therefore mine resign thee ; 
 
 Even if now I yield thee wholly 
 To the pure and gentle solely, 
 
 On whose breast thy cheek is lying ! 
 Droop and glisten where she laid thee, 
 And remember me that made thee, 
 
 Dear, so happy in thy dying. 
 
LOVER LOQUITUR. 
 
 LIEGE lady ! believe me, 
 
 All night, from my pillow 
 I heard, but to grieve me, 
 
 The plash of the willow ; 
 The rain on the towers, 
 
 The winds without number, 
 In the gloom of the hours, 
 
 And denial of slumber : 
 
 And nigh to the dawning, 
 
 My heart aching blindly, 
 Unresting and mourning 
 
 That you were unkindly 
 What did I ostensibly, 
 
 Ah, what under heaven, 
 Liege lady ! but sensibly 
 
 Doze till eleven ? 
 
77 
 
 VITALITY. 
 
 WHEN I was born and wheeled upon my way, 
 
 As fire in stars my ready life did glow, 
 
 And thrill me thro', and mount to lips and lids 
 
 I was as dead when I died yesterday 
 
 As those mild shapes Egyptian, that we know 
 
 Since Memnon sang, are housed in pyramids. 
 
TO THE RIVER. 
 
 FRIEND CHARLES ! 'tis long since even for a space 
 We stood in cordial parley : you and I, 
 (Albeit about the selfsame city lie 
 The daily orbits we in silence pace), . 
 Seldom, how seldom, see each other's face ! 
 Always had you a mill to turn near by, 
 A race to aid ; and I, with scarce a sigh, 
 Passed, on like duties bound with heavy grace. 
 But now good Leisure puts all things in tune, 
 Now o'er their brimming bowls in odorous whiff 
 The gods send up the clouds above us curled, 
 Let us go forth, my Charles ! thro' fields of June 
 Together, gladly, lovingly, as if 
 We could not have enough of this sweet world. 
 
79 
 
 THE SECOND TIME THEY MET. 
 
 "On, would I might see my love," sang he, 
 As he dreamed in his true heart of her, 
 
 As he rode that day up the highway wide, 
 
 With his feathers gay, and the lute at his side ; 
 
 " Oh, would I might see my love," sang he, 
 " My love that knows not I love her." 
 
 " Oh, would I might see my love," sang she, 
 As she sat in the porch above him, 
 
 With the web half-spun in her fingers fair, 
 
 And a ray of the sun in her brown, brown hair ; 
 
 " Oh, would I might see my love," sang she, 
 " My love that knows not I love him." 
 
8O SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 Then as their eyes met, with a start I forget 
 Whether shame, or delight, or sorrow, 
 
 The sky in its glow seemed to interest her, 
 
 And he bent very low to fasten his spur ; 
 
 But " Oh, would I might see my love," dear me ! 
 They sang it no more till the morrow. 
 
8i 
 
 ON NOT READING A POSTHUMOUS 
 WORK.* 
 
 THEY stirred the carven agate door 
 Back from the cloisters, where of yore 
 One toiled by night, and toiling, kept 
 
 The starlight on his bended head : 
 " O enter with us, straight and free, 
 The master's place of mystery ; 
 Had he not gone beyond the sea, 
 
 He would have bid us come," they said. 
 
 But from the threshold hushed and gray 
 The loiterer turned, and made his way 
 From arch to arch, and answered low, 
 Pale with some ever-deepening dread : 
 
 * Hawthorne's " Doctor Grimshawe." 
 
82 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 " What he once promised to unfold, 
 Without him, how shall I behold ? 
 
 enter you whose hearts are bold ; 
 
 My heart hath failed me here," he said, 
 
 Thou dead magician, be it so ! 
 
 1 close thy pages, and forego 
 The beauty other men may scan 
 
 With much of awe and tenderness ; 
 And if this blessing half-divine, 
 With gracious sorrow I resign 
 To faith that firmer is than mine, 
 
 Thou knowest if I love thee less ! 
 
BESSY IN THE STORM. 
 
 " WHY come ye in with tresses wild, 
 
 With baffling winds aweary, 
 All damp and cold, my bonny girl, 
 My deary ? 
 
 " The sun not yet has oped his lids, 
 The clouds hold fast together ; 
 Why stirred ye out this angry morn, 
 And whither ? " 
 
 " O mother mine ! mayhap I rose 
 
 To fetch the gillyflower, 
 Or soothe my sister's little son 
 An hour ; 
 
84 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 " Or else I led a bleating lamb, 
 Strayed off from any other, 
 Or went to pray at break of day, 
 Sweet mother ! " 
 
 " My Bess, my lass, deceive me not ; 
 
 So long it had not taken." 
 " O no ; O no ! I did for grief 
 Awaken. 
 
 " My true love never you have seen, 
 Down by the ships I found him ; 
 In all the gale, I held mine arms 
 Around him. 
 
 " He spake to me, he kissed me thrice, 
 
 And sailed the seas a-mourning ; 
 And then my tears rained with the rain 
 Returning." 
 
AFTER A DUEL. 
 
 "In fair and discreet manhood; that is, civilly, by the 
 sword." Ben Jonson. 
 
 BY laurels upon your brow 
 
 New-placed, our worth is reckoned : 
 
 You are a hero now, 
 
 And I, a dead man's second. 
 
 Your prowess was most fair, 
 
 And fairer yet I own it ; 
 A majesty lies there, 
 
 And you have overthrown it. 
 
 To dexterous hands was given 
 
 Your weapon giant-hewing ; 
 The lightning out from heaven 
 
 Had scarcely dared its doing ! 
 
86 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 For balm on wounds aghast 
 Supreme in you my trust is ; 
 
 Solicitous to the last, 
 
 Your pity tempered justice. 
 
 Thanks, to my final breath, 
 
 For challenge, thrust, and parry. 
 
 With this pale weight of death 
 Your living praise I carry. 
 
 I see no hate abhorr'd, 
 
 But courtesy acting thro' you : 
 The Devil, sweet my lord, 
 
 Be thus considerate to you ! 
 
 In honor, after a lapse, 
 
 Dare you to combat sprightly, 
 
 Thenceforth you chance mishaps 
 To superintend, politely. 
 
INDIFFERENCE. 
 
 As once in a town thro' the twilight pleasant 
 
 A belfry chorus majestic rose, 
 While our talk ran on, and the good lamp glis- 
 tened, 
 
 And nothing you recked, rapt soul ! but listened, 
 And followed on truant wing incessant 
 After the chime to its silvern close ; 
 
 So later, when over your gentle pages, 
 
 The harsh world wronged you with scorn and 
 
 sting, 
 
 By the far-away joy in your blue eye growing, 
 I knew that beyond these ill winds blowing, 
 You heard, my Poet ! the praise of the ages ; 
 Only and ever you heard them sing. 
 
88 
 
 THE PLEDGING. 
 
 " WE buried a loving heart to-day ; 
 We miss his coming over the way, 
 
 The toss of his hair, his laughter's ring ; 
 
 " The radiant presence gone from earth ; 
 The serious eyes that could shine with mirth, 
 The luminous brain, the hand of a king ; 
 
 " So, losing him as we did, I say 
 Fill up the goblets, and glad and gay 
 
 On his lonely road we will drink him cheer : 
 
 " Health to the fine old friend we knew ! 
 Peace to his slumbers under the dew ! 
 Hail to his memory kind and dear ! 
 
THE PLEDGING. 89 
 
 " And for second pledge, fill up to the brim ; 
 (Laugh lightly, what if our eyes be dim ! ) 
 Here's to the first that shall follow him." 
 
 The sun ran riot across the floor ; 
 Pomegranate-blossoms swung by the door ; 
 Blithe robins lit on the ivied sill : 
 
 The voice in the gurgle of wine was lost ; 
 Up from the board were the beakers tossed ; 
 Loud clashed their rims with a royal will. 
 
 And he, the youngest, that swayed them erst, 
 Poured yet again, like a man athirst : 
 
 " To the first who follows we drink, we three ! " 
 
 Sudden beside him Another stood, 
 So sudden, he fell as the sandal-wood 
 Sinks when the axe is laid to the tree : 
 
 But the Shadow lifted his cup instead 
 
 With the old quick smile, and the toss of the 
 
 head : 
 "Franz ! thou art the first to follow!" he said. 
 
AT GETTYSBURG. 
 
 BELLS of victory are dumb ; 
 Trailing sword and muffled drum 
 On we come, 
 
 Downcast eyes and broken tread, 
 Weary arms, and burdened 
 With our dead. 
 
 Lives were proffered : reck not his ; 
 For dear Freedom's ransom is 
 Sacrifice. 
 
 Proud our love is, nor at last 
 With a sorrow that is past 
 Overcast. 
 
AT GETTYSBURG. 9! 
 
 O'er the very clay we bring, 
 Meet it is that we should sing 
 Triumphing : 
 
 He was foremost, he was leal ; 
 Let his gallant breast reveal 
 Honor's seal. 
 
 Him we yield the Roman crown, 
 Woven bays ; in his renown 
 Lay him down. 
 
 Earth will softest pillow make, 
 So that never heart shall ache 
 For his sake ; 
 
 Spring will pass here many a day, 
 Sighing, one with thoughts that pray 
 Far away, 
 
 " When the trumpets shake the sod, 
 Raise Thy Knight from this dull clod, 
 Lord our God ! " 
 
EARLY DEATH. 
 
 A YOUNG bird fell last night across the dark 
 And was not. In the willow hung its nest ; 
 But yesterday, with proud and beating breast, 
 From bough to bough it crossed a fairy arc ; 
 Among its kindred barely did we hark 
 Its first delightful carol, or note the crest 
 Grow into golden-violet loveliest ; 
 There was no dial in our thought to mark 
 The sealed possibilities of days, 
 The unwrought miracle of happy singing : 
 And now, tho' newly fail our earthly sense, 
 Elsewhere that delicate intelligence 
 Bursts into blossom of harmonious lays, 
 All summer on a comely tree-top swinging. 
 
93 
 
 MY SOPRANO. 
 
 (H. L.) 
 
 LOVING her, what should I fail to do for her ? 
 Keep season on season sunny and blue for her, 
 Lengthen her days like a happy tale, 
 With thoughts all tender and hearts all true for 
 her, 
 
 Ward her from trouble, good tidings bring to 
 
 her; 
 Fight for her, laugh with her, comfort her, cling 
 
 to her, 
 
 But if I were even a nightingale, 
 I wonder if I should dare to sing to her ! 
 
94 
 
 THE CROSS ROADS. 
 
 OUT from the prison at twilight, 
 With stealthy, terrible swiftness, 
 Darted one of the branded, life beating in every 
 
 vein; 
 
 Freedom stirring his pulses, 
 Gladness and fear and longing 
 Surging thro' brain and body with precious 
 unwonted pain. 
 
 Out from the damp, dark cell, 
 The shackles, the sorrowful silence, 
 Out from the ring of faces and the jarring of 
 
 stern commands, 
 
 Forth to the scent of the meadows, 
 The glisten of garrulous brooklets, 
 And the dim, kindly, evening he blessed with 
 his weary hands. 
 
THE CROSS ROADS. 95 
 
 On, like the sweep of a scimitar 
 Dashed he, cutting the darkness, 
 Or as the storm blows on, none knowing its 
 
 way or its will ; 
 Cumbered with horrible fears, 
 Leaped he the perilous ledges 
 Reaching the village that lay in the valley, 
 untroubled and still. 
 
 Midway of his sickening haste, 
 Sudden he faltered and moaned, 
 Seeing three stand by a window, as the breeze 
 
 loitering blew ; 
 
 A woman sad-featured and patient, 
 Two golden heads at her shoulder, 
 Dear eyes he made shine once dear childish 
 hair that he knew ! 
 
 Not yet, for surely the bloodhounds 
 Would track him thither to-morrow ; 
 Not yet ! tho' soon that door should open, as 
 long ago : 
 
96 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 Dashing the tear from his cheeks, 
 The bronze, rough cheeks that it hallowed, 
 He rushed on. Had they seen it, the poor, 
 wan face ? Did they know ? 
 
 x 
 
 Here meet the roads : see, eastways, 
 The long, clear track to the forest, 
 There, with chestnuts shaded, the path to the 
 
 inland town : 
 
 Behind, a glimpse of the village, 
 Front four sharp cliffs to the ocean ; 
 Quickly, which shall he choose ? Hark ! the 
 captors are hunting him down ! 
 
 Shuffle of hurrying feet, 
 Breathings nearer and nearer. 
 No choice for a man that is doomed, unless 
 
 straight to the merciful sea. 
 Up to the toilsome cliffs ! 
 Better death than new anguish ! 
 A cry, a plunge . . . shine, stars, on the rip- 
 ples that ring that sea. 
 
THE CROSS ROADS. 97 
 
 Soft in the ominous shadow the branches stir 
 
 by the meadow, 
 Fair in the lonely distance the dying household 
 
 glow ; 
 
 Deep in the dust of the street, 
 Just where the four roads meet, 
 Two trembling forms where he stood a moment 
 
 so; 
 
 And a wistful child's voice said, 
 Touched with great trouble and dread : 
 " O little sister ! which way did father go ? " 
 
9 8 
 
 "HEART OF GOLD." 
 
 LADY serene, benign, 
 This dainty name of mine, 
 Pride in my bashful eyes 
 
 Bending to see, 
 With your look eloquent, 
 Oft for glad service lent, 
 Laughingly, lovingly, 
 
 Gave you to me. 
 
 Generous gift bestowed ! 
 
 Lofty desert avowed ! 
 
 Queen and true Knight indeed 
 
 Played we those days ; 
 All of my faith unspent, 
 Full of my child's content, 
 Shyly, yet haughtily, 
 
 Wore I your praise. 
 
"HEART OF GOLD: 1 
 
 O for that happy sport 
 Once in your mimic court ! 
 O for your voice again, 
 
 Lips silenced ! 
 O for the olden name 
 Ere disillusion came ; 
 O for " the golden heart," 
 
 Too, that is dead ! 
 
 99 
 
IOO 
 
 A JACOBITE REVIVAL. 
 
 ONE voice I heard of a ghostly horde, 
 About a visionary board, 
 
 That said, 
 
 While goblets filled with ruby-red : 
 " Can you remember, good my lord, 
 
 " Among the newer creeds and laws, 
 The unrevived, pathetic cause 
 
 Of kings ? 
 
 Can you remember all such things ? 
 How long, how long ago it was ! 
 
 " What is the story ? Rivets loose, 
 Superb contrivance ; fainter use ; 
 
 For years, 
 
 Allegiance, consecrate with tears, 
 Sad loyalty, its own excuse ; 
 
A JACOBITE REVIVAL. IOI 
 
 " A morning faith magnificent ; 
 Defiance breaking ; ardor spent 
 
 And pains 
 
 For royal blood thro' dwindled veins, 
 Half-clogged with dust of dull content, 
 
 "But weak not wholly; for there burst 
 In the last scion, battle-nursed, 
 
 Such scope 
 
 Of rich emprise, that our rash hope 
 Wrote him not last, indeed, but first. 
 
 " For our true liege folk mocked at ease, 
 And chartered foes, and crossed the seas : 
 
 Behold ! 
 
 Where are they now, the gaps, the old 
 Delicious taunts and enmities ? 
 
 " Then, troops of gallant gentlemen 
 That passed by night o'er field and fen, 
 
 Did shout 
 
 t Townward, lusty and loud throughout : 
 1 When the King comes back to hi's own again.' 
 
IO2 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 " Then rose a prayer, heart-tremulous, 
 Near many an heir, in many a house, 
 
 Asleep : 
 
 ' O kindly Heaven ! do thou but keep 
 Our children rebels after us ! ' 
 
 " Then sailors landing from the fleet, 
 Idling wits in a sunny street, 
 
 And sirs 
 
 With trim-clipp'd beards and rattling spurs 
 Met, swearing fealty : so we meet. 
 
 " And since the stars, and you, and I 
 Have seen the cycle rolling by, 
 
 And know 
 
 That right is right, thro' flower and snow, 
 Why then, give still the wonted cry : 
 
 " Here 's to the proud, forgotten names, 
 Here 's to the Stuart, Charles and James ! 
 
 Ah me! 
 
 Full few that live so long as we 
 Fan older love to steadier flames. 
 
A JACOBITE REVIVAL. 
 
 " Here 's to our fathers, Cavaliers ; 
 Their noble toil, their patient years 
 
 That bore 
 
 A burden precious now no more : 
 So may they rest in happier spheres. 
 
 " And here 's our benison for her 
 Who doth the forfeit sceptre stir ; 
 
 A toast 
 
 Late in the day, and welcome most : 
 Death and doom to Hanover ! " 
 
 Now this I heard from comrades dead, 
 And vowed Amen to all they said, 
 
 And rose 
 
 With fair intent to draw more close ; 
 But like the forest deer they fled. 
 
IO4 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 " With a difference." HAMLET. 
 
 AGAIN the bloom, the northward flight, 
 The fount freed at its silver height, 
 And down the deep woods to the lowest, 
 The fragrant shadows scarred with light. 
 
 O inescapeable joy of spring ! 
 For thee the world shall leap and sing ; 
 But by her darkened door thou goest 
 Forever as a spectral thing. 
 
IDS 
 
 ADVENTURERS. 
 
 WHEN we were children, at our will, 
 
 That vanished summer blithe and free, 
 Dear shipmate ! how we loved to float 
 Thro' wind and calm, in a little boat, 
 All alone on the sparkling sea ! 
 
 One morn, defying storms we sailed 
 And sang our Credo, you and I 
 " Beyond the foam, the surge, the mist, 
 The sea-fog's moving amethyst, 
 The peaceful fairy islands lie." 
 
 And far we urged the forward prow, 
 
 Half-mad with longing as we hied ; 
 Yet at the sunset's dying glow 
 Faint-hearted, ceased, and homewards so 
 Came meekly with the evening tide. 
 
IO6 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 Surely, the Isles of Rest were near ! 
 
 Why did our childish ardor tire ? 
 Now more, oh, more the thousandth time 
 We thirst for that celestial clime, 
 
 We hunger with that old desire. 
 
 Some day, when we shall sail again, 
 
 The home-lights late indeed may burn ; 
 Let signals flutter on the shore, 
 Let tides creep up to the open door, 
 But with no tide shall we return. 
 
L'ETIQUETTE. 
 
 NEVER one in your kingdom, my queen, 
 Who stands in your presence serene, 
 Would take the first step less or more, 
 Or pose otherwise on the floor, 
 Or bend a whit deeper the knee, 
 Or speak but as low as can be, 
 And then at your royal command ; 
 And never a lord in the land 
 Would stir the fine blade in its sheath, 
 Or a marchioness rustle her wreath, 
 Or a page grow too lean or too stout 
 For fear of an exile, no doubt. 
 And yet I remember the first 
 Thro' order and system to burst, 
 Old freedom of ways to reclaim, 
 Was that blithe little fellow who came 
 
108 SONGS AT THE START. 
 
 To the arras majestic one day, 
 In his lace and his velvet array, 
 And rioted gallantly round, 
 And talked of his horse and his hound, 
 And gave milord's buckler a clang 
 And leaped o'er the marbles, and sang, 
 And laughed in barbarian glee, 
 Disturbing your stately levee ; 
 Till the horrified ladies came down 
 And bore him away, at your frown. 
 
 That was a twelvemonth ago. 
 You sit there as placid as snow : 
 In ease and politeness and state, 
 The court holds its doings of late, 
 With nothing to vex with a qualm 
 That formal, respectable calm. 
 Patrician reproofs are forgot, 
 Since further ill-doers are not. 
 
DE TIQ UETTE. 1 09 
 
 Liege lady ! say, what would you give 
 
 Henceforward as long as you live, 
 
 For the roguish soft clutch at your hair, 
 
 The capers and curvets in air, 
 
 The laughter's wild musical flow, 
 
 That you frowned at a twelvemonth ago ? 
 
no 
 
 THE GRAVE AND THE ROSE. 
 
 [Translated from Victor Hugo.'} 
 
 WHISPERS the grave to the rose : 
 " With the dew that the dawn bestows, 
 What dost thou, love's darling blossom ? " 
 And the rose to the grave soft saith : 
 " And thou, dread abyss of death, 
 With them in thine awful bosom ? " 
 But answers : " Mystical tomb, 
 From the dew I exhale in the gloom 
 Mine odor of amber and spices." 
 Then the grave : " Ah, querulous flower ! 
 Even so from each heart in my power 
 An angel to Heaven arises." 
 
I