THE GIFT OF Au-tkor, __ Cornell University Library PS 2391.F5 1905 Tlie fleelns nymph.and other verse.by Llo 3 1924 022 029 502 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022029502 THE FLEEING NYMPH AND OTHER VERSE BOOKS BY LLOYD MIFFLIN The Hills Page 8x10. With eight reproductions from pen drawings by Thos. Moran, N.A. ^. ^, -. . ^ ,„, Pnvately Printed, 1S96 At the Gates op Song Illustrated with ten reproductions in half-tone after draw- ings by , Thos. Moran, N.A. First and second editions. Estes & Launat, Boston, 1897 Third edition revised and printed from new plates, with portrait. Henry Provide, London, 1901 The Slopes of Helicon and otheb Poems With eight illustrations by Thos. Moran, N.A., and with two by the author. Esles & Lauriat, Boston, 189S EkjHOES OF Greek Idyls Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1899 The Fields op Dawn and Later Sonnets Houghton, Mifflin & Co., i900 An Ode on Memorial Day Written and delivered at the request of the G. A. R. Outof Privl Ode ON the Semi-Centennial op Franklin and Marshall College, 1903 The Hoffer Press, 1903 Birthdays op Distinguished 18th Centdry Americans With poetical Quotations The Levylype Co., Philada., 1897 Castalian Days Fifty sonnets, with photogravure portrait. Henry Prowde, London and New York, 1903 The Fleeing Nymph and Other Verse Small, Maynard <& Co., Boston, 1905 Collected Sonnets Being a selection of 350 of the Author's Sonnets In Press, 1905 My Lady op Dream InPreparaUm THE FLEEING NYMPH AND OTHER VERSE BY LLOYD MIFFLIN Boston Small, Maynard & Company 1905 Copyright, 1905, hy LLOYD MIFFLIN AH rights reserved Published, April, I go J Plates by Rose Valley Prest Presswork hy Geo. H. EUit Co., Botlon, U.S. A. EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR DEAN OF HASTINGS COLLEGE OF THE LAW SAN FRANCISCO MY DEAR DR. TAYLOR, To you who partly turned from JEsculapius that you might embrace Black- stone, and while you teach the Law, yet continue to worship in the Temple of the Muses; to you who love the Sonnet, and who gave us ^^ Les Trophees" of Heredia rendered into English; to you who dedicated to me one of your own volumes of Verse, and who were among the very foremost to welcome, in no half-hearted way, my earlier poetical work ; to you with whom I have long corresponded touching matters Pierian, — to you it is — without your knowledge or consent — that I now dedicate this my latest volume of Poems. Very sincerely yours, NORWOOD, LLOYD MIFFLIN. Novtmber, IQ04' PREFATORY Alfred Lord Tennyson complained very justly that it was the custom nowadays among readers to find in every poem a part of the biography of the poet. He asserted that his own poems had a very different origin. He asked that the reader attribute to the poet at least a small share of imagination, and begged him to consider a poem as a work of art which might have its origin in a single word — in less than a word — in some intangible gleam, or in the creative fac- ulty rather than in the narrow personal exper- ience of an individual. L. M. Norwood, September 15, igo4. CONTENTS THE FLEEING NYMPH - - _ i "O TENDER light" - _ _ 13 AT SUNSET ON CHRISTMAS DAY - - 14 THE COMING OF MAY - - - - 15 SHE PLEADS AT THE DOOR - - - 16 THE MEADOWLARK - - _ _ 13 IN THE GLOAMING - - - - 21 THE EVENING STAR - - . 22 A woman's plaint - - 23 THE WALK IN YOUTH - - 24 THE HELPERS - - - 26 "when the afternoon IS old" - - 27 TO THE IRIS ----- 28 ISEULT - - - _ 30 THE GIVER - _ _ 32 TWO IN A GARDEN - - - 33 RETURN O SPRING - - 34 A MIDNIGHT CHORD - - - - 34 SONNET - - - - 38 REPROACHFUL GHOSTS - - - 40 FIDELIA ------ 41 SANCTUARY - - - _ 42 "amid THE NEW-MOWN HAY" - - 44 IN THE VALE OF DREAMS - - - 46 "the frozen fields" - - - 48 50 TO BEATRICE _ _ _ 55 HALE AT EIGHTY - - 56 THE OLD PORCH - 57 HERBERT SPENCER - - 58 THE CARYATIDES OF THE RUINED FANE - 59 PHAON SPEAKS OF SAPPHO - 60 AGE AND THE POETS - - - 62 THE CHRISTMAS CARDINAL - - - 63 REVERIE - 64 THE UNREGARDED 66 "DORA ON THE STEPPING STONES " 67 THE SUNSET DOORS - - _ 68 A LADY OF LONG AGO - - 71 72 74 THE LAST LOOK - - - 75 HE ASKS OF THE WIND - - - 76 O DAYS AGONE - - - 78 "draw CLOSER, O YE TREES" - - 80 THE GREY PROCESSION - - - 83 AT EVENTIDE ----- 90 THE FLEEING NYMPH AND OTHER VERSE THE FLEEING NYMPH YOUNG PAN TELLS OF THE NYMPH SYRINX I am the rough and ruddy-visaged son Of that fair Dryad and the wily god With winged feet, who as a babe, once stole The oxen of Admetus ; — I am he The sylvan Piper, whose keen eyes have watched Those frolic beauties sired by the Fauns, Dancing to cymbals ; and brown bacchic girls Grape-drowsy in the dusk of ilex-groves In deep Arcadian dells. Full many a sight Lives in this brain of Naiad's wreathed arms. Of gleaming shoulder plashed with waterfalls. And twinkling ankle seen in myrtle glooms. But rarest the remembrance of that chase, — That rush among the Ladon's myriad reed, — To clasp the paragon of maiden bloom ! O, unapproached she was of all the Nymphs 1 For rosy whiteness of smooth-flowing limbs, For ripple.d wealth of amber-colored hair, And that prized beauty of the meeting brows, — The maid, who near the margin, stirred my blood One sultry noon in summer 1 Prone, at mine ease. And dozing there, I watched the shimmering heat Dazzle the meads and make the dittany tremble ; While near my side the honey-laden bees Buzzed in the pollened calyx, lazily. And from the uplands faint I heard and far. An idle shepherd droning out his song. Meanwhile a goat amid laburnum stopped His browsing, — stamped, and moved a listening ear I looked, and lo, the beauteous vision came ! Enthralled I mused, ' Surely the teeming earth That brings forth loveliness in mortal form This marvel never moulded ! She must be Some rare effulgence from the loin of gods 2 By nothing earthly mothered. Ah perchance Some pallid Hebe from her pedestal. Flushed into life with ichor from on high, Now leaves the marble for mortality Like her who from her ivory prison fled And blossomed to the lonely sculptor's bride. But no ! a Naiad radiant in her bloom She came, light-footed like a goddess born. Slow floating toward me. While the ambient air Throbbed amorous as she moved. She nearer drew And beauty filled the silence, as the song Of Philomela floods the grove at eve. A snow-drift tinged by sunset, roseate-pale She poised, a bud of perfect virginhood Dazzling the senses until all of life Fused, and swept throbbing through the veins, and ran Riotous on . . . Oh, fit for Jove she seemed I And, as a spur to conquest, maiden pride 3 Dwelt in her face ; and scorn, made beautiful By youth, sat on her curved lips and smiled. I dropped my crook and on the fawn-skin crouched And waited in the umbrage till she passed ; Then pushing back the sedgy galingale That screened me from her glances, out I leap't To clasp the prize, but she — a startled fawn — Fled like a breath within the rushes tall, — A white Limoniad flitting through the green ! These feet ne'er loved the maris, but I plunged Sheer through the gravelly shallows, golden-brown, Plashing the Ladon into silver spray, — On — on ! where e'er the tussocks trembled — on ! I, eager, out upon the marge beyond Rapidly by the rippling River, ran In swift pursuit. As often in the chase A hound, pursuing close the frightened doe. Through avid anticipation of his prey Fangs the soft flank before the fawn is touched. So I, pre-gathering in mine eager arms Herself, inhaled the rose's fragrance. But she, still fleeing, called unto the Nymphs — The jealous train that guards Diana's rear — Pleading for aid, but ever as she called. Winding, I tracked her by her wavering voice Still silverly entrancing even in fear. And when these ardent and outstretched hands Almost had clasped the Flower — even then, Behold ! some adverse potency unseen, — Some envious god, belike, enveiled in air. Turned all her body into glimmering reeds ; Rosy at first they swayed, vibrating still With tremulant remembrances of her ; And them I clasped, and held them to my heart. And warm they were a moment with her life. Then I — impassioned — angered — foiled, but yet Yearning with deep importunate desire. Hungry for even a vestige of herself, Sheared off the stalks and brought them to my haunt This pipe I made, that with the seven reeds Gives forth euphonious music, — named it for her, — " Syrinx the Sweet," on which spell-bound I play By Ladon in the twilight. Ah, who knows The fickleness of woman or of gods ! And there are bickerings in the upper world And fiarings round Olympus when the orbs Of Juno flash green lights of jealousy — Yea, I have seen it when a child, what time Of old I trembled on the Olympian floor — And love, in Nymph or deity, may change With every changing moon. What if, in sooth, She slipped her body from that long lithe grass To queen it with some god ? I know not whom, 6 Perhaps the ever-young Apollo, he The frustrate captor of his earliest love, Foiled of his flame as I am foiled of mine. Perchance the pair — he and my vanished Nymph Do even now, as haughty lovers, lie Empillowed on some couch of fading cloud Vermilion-dim at dusk ... It may be so . Yet she may change, as all things ever change. Tiring of him, perhaps, resume her shape. Visit the umber fields of once-loved earth And come when I am fluting ; leave his halls — If that her beauty star his corridors — The scarlet portals of his orient fanes And crumbling glories of illusive eve — Drawn by my potency, and so return. Why should she not ? I am a god as he. Fashioned not ill : I am the cosmic symbol, Similitude of all — earth, star and moon. And 'neath my ruddiness there dwells a heart Warm as the sun, as with a god's desire I chase the virgin, Beauty, through the world. And thou, O maiden, loveliest of the Nymphs, Who wast a virgin in the virgin-train Of ever-chaste Diana — on whose lips Man may not look and live — even because Of this — of thine immaculate sweetness, I am become thy lover, basely not, For thou art still remembered as a cloud Whose beauty floating in the April blue Leaves a white thought for aye, too high to touch With hands terrene . . . My planet shalt thou be Hung out of reach in heaven, and on me shed Nightly celestial influence, till 1 grow In love with darkness and the purple gloom That domes the dusk. Misjudged am I of men. Who deem me only earth-born, who forget 8 The starry blazon here upon my breast That links me to the gods, that lifts my thought Far in dim temples of ethereal Dream Beneath whose golden lintels, cloud-begirt. Mere mortal may not enter. Who shall guess What thought the godhead harbors ? Pure am I Even as great Nature who herself is pure, Though petty man, purblinded by his creeds, Swear she be foul. All things I love — adore — Nor is there high nor low ; the gods have made Cosmos and creature — made them good and pure. But purest thou 1 O Nymph, desired of me, Who now, alas, so far withdrawn away Thou seemest but a phantom of desire, Some form of loveliness dim-seen ere dawn And half believed a shadow. Come ! arise ! Reveal thy beauty even as a dream Unfolds, or as the goddess of the morn Breaks through the empearled barriers and appears, 9 So thou, part the thin cloud that veils thyself And burst upon me, an auroral flower ! For I am worthy that thou shouldst return. Worthy and potent, and my word revered : When on the summit of Lycseus high. Sacred to me, my rites and festivals — The vast of Peloponnesus at my feet — Did I not, godlike, give my oracles To mute-mouthed shepheird-hosts of Arcady Who, hearing, bent in awe ? Talon and tooth Obey me ; omnipresent is my voice, And on the utmost headland, far and lone. The huddled herdsmen tremble when I speak. Was I not loved, although in vain, by her. The beauteous daughter of the Earth and Air, Whom Hera, striding 'mid her peacocks, wroth, Drave from Olympus for a sweet deceit And demi-reft her of her limpid voice 10 Leaving it lovelier after ? Did she not, When I would hail her in the evening glen. Answer from rocky caves, — retreat, and call With the soft cadence of a lover's voice. Till passion wore her body to a sound Sweet as the mavis in a sister dell ? Was I not loved of Pitys, loveliest Nymph, Whom the wild Wind-god in his jealous rage. Blew from the Arcadian precipice to death And perpetuity, and where, e'en now Her delicate spirit lingers in the pine Whispering her ardor to me through the gloom ? But thou, O Syrinx ! Later Sweetness, Thou ! If that thou lookest from his doors of pearl. Return, return to these Ladonian dells, Through these Ladonian dells return to me — To me, more ardent than that stripling youth Whose lily-fingers linger on his lyre 11 In tedious murmurs every eve and morn ! Lost though she be, yet ever do I note Her voice within the hollows of my pipe — My flute that whispers of the Nymph I loved: And while the twilight lingers in the West, And croons the bittern in the crimsoned pool ; When airs from out the marshes move the sedge Stirring the borders to melodious sighs, Then, as the darkness gathers and I look Deep in the dusky reeds, I seem to hear Her breathings through the gloaming, and to see Her beauty glimmer like a silver star. 12 "O TENDER LIGHT" O dreamful woodland gaunt with age ! Deserted, desolate leaf-strewn ways ! Your pathos now can ill assuage The pang that comes from other days ; O faded grasses, paled with frost. That mark the course of frozen streams. As poems writ when love is lost Show the hushed poet's buried dreams ; O tender light that gently grieves O'er phantom uplands, ghostly gray, And on the waste of evening leaves Pale ashes of the dying day : Ah, fading light ! Oh, fallen leaf ! Ah, frozen fields love made divine ! Ye semble but a season's grief. But Oh ! the endlessness of mine 1 13 AT SUNSET ON CHRISTMAS DAY My heart was heavy as I heard The requiem of the dying year ; There was no welcome carol of the bird ; My spirit felt the far off knell — Hope's ruined chimes that tolled farewell In vales of dawn now dark and sere. The sombre Winter day was done ; Fluttered the fallen, withered leaf ; God veiled his splendor in the setting sun. Yet, as I gazed, I seemed to hear A paean from some distant sphere — A strain beyond the touch of grief ! 14 THE COMING OF MAY How fast thou growest weak, O Winter gaunt. Since March, the herald, came ! The sloping lawn thou still, at times, dost haunt Where cohorts of the canna used to flaunt Their crimson oriflamme. bed of flowers dormant by the firs. Break from your long repose ! 1 feel a Presence and the earth is hers. For underneath the frozen pallor stirs The red heart of her rose : I hear the footfalls of her naked feet Far to the south away ; From lonely dells she comes our dells to greet Thridding the violet slopes, demurely sweet. Crowned with the blooms of May ! 15 SHE PLEADS AT THE DOOR suffer me now — even me — with this alabaster of nard which I bring, To enter the house of the feast ; The pride of my beauty low on the floor in scorn do I fling, I, who am least of the least. 1 followed the path that is strewn with the fiery flowers of sin Afar through the youthful years. But am drawn of my soul to His side — bar me not — I beseech 1 let me in, I would bathe His feet with my tears ; And penitent, wipe them again with the desolate wealth of my hair, And anoint them with spikenard sweet ; 16 I am weighted with love — with the sorrow of loving, with shame and despair, — Let me kneel, I would kiss His feet 1 17 THE MEADOWLARK TO THE MEMORY OF THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD Minstrel of melody. How shall I chant of thee, Floating in meadows athrill with thy song ? Fluting anear my feet. Tender, and wildly-sweet — Oh, could thy spirit to mortal belong ! Tell me thy secret art. How thou dost touch the heart. Hinting of happiness still unpossessed ; Say, doth thy bosom burn Vainly as mine, and yearn Sadly for something that leaves it unblessed ? Doth not that piercing tone. Over the clover blown. Flow from a sorrow — a longing in vain ? 18 Or, is it joy intense. So like a pang, the sense Knows not thy happy note from one of pain ? Others may cleave the steeps, Soar, and in upper deeps Sing in the heaven's blue arches profound ; But, thou most lowly Thing, Teach me to keep my wing Close to the breast of our Mother, the ground ! Soon shall my fleeting lay Fade from the world away — Thine, ever-during, shall outlast the years ; Love, who once gladdened me. Surely hath saddened thee — Half of thy music is made of his tears ! Long may I hear thy note Soft through the summer float Far o'er the field where the wild grasses wave ; 19 Then, when my day is done, Mayst thou, at set of sun. Pour forth thy plaintive note over my grave. 2C IN THE GLOAMING Upon the porch deep fell the twilight shade While yet the crescent lingered in the sky ; We asked for song, — one took the flute and played " Good-bye, Sweetheart, good-bye ! " And as the music sent a soft appeal To fountains of the soul long fancied dry, We lightly feigned as though we did not feel " Good-bye, Sweetheart, good-bye ! " The soft notes yearned : uprose the vanished years- The pleading lips we left without a sigh ; But still the darkness hid the rising tears — "Good-bye, Sweetheart, good-bye!" While women's laughter veiled the silent pain The player ceased, and laid the rapt flute by : Oh love — lost love ! must we for ever feign ? . . . " Good-bye, Sweetheart, good-bye ! " 21 THE EVENING STAR Away above the cloud-land In the realm of deep repose That o'er the sombre vale of evening looms, Where the petals of the hours Fall from out the fading rose The sunset makes to perish as it blooms ; In the lucent upper spaces That the amber daylight fills — The dove-gray dreaming River far above — The Twilight with her taper, Dimly poising o'er the hills, Leans and lights the silver censer named of Love 22 A WOMAN'S PLAINT She raised her eyes and dropped a tear : She pondered on the words she read : " Ah, that is not the deepest fear, — ' To be forgot when we are dead,' — But while we breathe, and to them give Our days, our nights, our being — Oh ! To be forgotten while we live. That is the bitterness of woe ! " 23 THE WALK IN YOUTH Above the woods at close of day The amber sky was dim, Through filmy clouds of faded gray We saw the crescent slim ; But lower, past the maple boles, A pennant of the West Flamed like a flying oriole's Intense, refulgent breast. The dew fell on the clover sweet In meadows hushed and dark. And from the grass our happy feet Drove the late-settled lark ; While by her side I walked along Within the gloaming there, Drawn by her silence — deep as song — The luring of her hair. 24 But when we parted at the gate And stars were in the sky, My heart within me leaped elate — A tear was in her eye. I stepped on air : I sought my home ; The woods were black above, But every orb within the dome Thrilled to the chord of love. 25 THE HELPERS Not unto him who through inglorious days Reaches at last his ignominious goal — The spoils of wealth ; nor him, whose shriveled soul, Raised to bad eminence by devious ways. Exults in that for which his honor pays ; Nor him, the Warrior, dealing crimson dole. Though blushing Fame his brutal acts enroll ; To none of these the laurel and the praise : But unto them, true helpers of their kind, Who daily walking by imagined streams Reap all their wealth in building lines of gold, — Rare architects of figments and of dreams, Who, from the plastic and creative mind. Build their fine nothings in immortal mould. 26 "WHEN THE AFTERNOON IS OLD^ When the afternoon is old And the tree-tops are a-flush, When the deepening, dying gold Lingers on the sunset thrush ; Then beside the hidden stream, In the solemn evening air, Nora, standing in a dream. Gathers wildings for her hair; Muses, when the gloaming deep Dims the pasture far away — Wending with the homing sheep — What her lover's lips will say. So, beside the wimpling stream. In the solemn evening air, Nora, standing in a dream. Wreathes the wildings in her hair. 27 TO THE IRIS IN MEMORY OF LONGFELLOW Delicate Iris ! blooming near the edges Of this thy Naiad home, Where the wild brooklet by the rustling sedges Sings through the troublous foam, Thou, in reclusive silence cool and sombre, Beneath the willowed gloom, With azure torch, where deepest shadows slumber Dost the dark glen illume. Near to the soil, and to the lowly clinging. Terrestrial in thy birth. Yet with cerulean color ever bringing The depth of Heaven to earth. A herald thou, the vernal days endearing. With raiment brave bedight, 28 For aye within thy lifted hand uprearing The gonfalon of Light ; Shaming the brutal world of war and plunder Where ruthless wars increase ; Rebuking all the savage battle-thunder With undertone of peace. Still mayst thou dwell amid the quiet places Deep in the silent glen, Afar from all the canker that debases The sordid haunts of men ! I would not take thee from thy sylvan hiding O hyacinthine flower, Yet may thy spirit enter mine, abiding Until my closing hour ! 29 ISEULT I When in the dell of darksome leaves 1 saw the wheel the spider weaves Besprent with drops of crimson dew, Her fate, or mine, at once I knew. II Beneath the moat, within the wild. They found her, — placid as a child : Death could not, at his worst, erase The marble beauty of her face. Ill When by the tarn, distraught with love, I saw the wheel the spider wove, I prayed that I might lie beside That saintliness that was my bride. 30 IV All night, in dreams, I wander through Forests whose branches drip with dew Whose color is the fearsome red — Forests whose branches are the dead. 31 THE GIVER He gave his all unto the world — His more than gold : Disdainfully her lips she curled ; Her eyes were cold. Unto her arms he brought his best As one who knows He places in a statue's breast His only rose. 32 TWO IN A GARDEN Ah Love, when all the willow-boughs Put on their misty greens, And cherries drop their blossomed snows Anear the nectarines. You stand in shadow of the bloom The while your lover speaks, Where all the wafture sheds perfume Around your blushing cheeks. While roving zephyrs kiss your hair And on your red lips play .... Ah Love, have pity ! is it fair To ward him still away ? 33 RETURN O SPRING The River, gorged with melted snows. Sweeps ruthlessly along, Not as in June it lipped the rose And lilted into song. The hills are robed in sombre hue ; The frowning cliff is cold ; O where is all the tender blue, The glorious green and gold ! Ah, if thou canst, beloved Spring, Stretch forth thy sunny arm. Thy balmy airs unto us bring And all thy wondrous charm. And burst a-bloom the dormant shoot By icy creek and run, And stir the water-lily root With hope of summer sun, 34 And unto us, by frozen streams. Us winter-hearted men. Bring back the Love — the Youth — the Dreams That will not come again ! 35 A MIDNIGHT CHORD PARIS I 'Twas midnight in the lamp-lit garret room ; From the rich cello, with impassioned bow, A rapt soul drew the pathos. Hushed in gloom They listened, breathless, to the plainting low. II Two lovers, mutely clinging hand-in-hand, Stared at the havoc of the coming years ; The lonely sculptor from a foreign land Gave way at last and melted into tears. Ill Then one walked to the window and looked up Shaken with grief, remembering long-lost lips ; As memory passed to each her wormwood cup Youth seemed a phantom over sunken ships. 36 IV Then one by one they sought the silent night ; Each hoarding in the heart a sorrow, veiled ; Delicious pain had left their faces white, And still the music, gently poignant, wailed. 37 SONNET TO AN OLD VENETIAN PAINTING Who was she — this rare Beauty of appealing face ? . . . The eyes are laden with the weight of Love's fond burden, The heart, with tremulous hope of Love's alluring guerdon. Had she some wound — some grief which nothing would erase, — She whose impassioned look is raised in suppliant grace ? Perchance some erring penitent in saintly adora- tion ? Or Doge's wilful daughter offering supplication In all the sumptuous beauty of her languorous race? The plaintive mouth is saddened now from farewell- taking, 38 The sob still lingers in her smile, — the eyes brim o'er, As if sweet love, with her, had broken faith and trust. How could such beauty be unless her heart were breaking ? . . . Peace ! draw the veil : seek no revealment : ask no more : Such loveliness shall sanctify her very dust. 39 REPROACHFUL GHOSTS As glittering galleons, scornful of the shore, Bound for the Fortunate Isles with favoring breeze Sink ere they reach their goal, and ever more Phantom the dim mid-seas : So, for the ports unknown, at lift of sun. We sail afar with flaunting pennon high ; Life whelms us, and the ghosts of deeds undone Stalk in our evening sky. 40 FIDELIA THE BRIDEGROOM SPEAKS Her hair was amber as the grass that lies Along the edges of the winter brook ; As steadfast as her soul the genial look From the brown depths of earnest eyes. A sunnier Bride earth ne'er shall see again ! Her smile — a heavenly wave of inner light. And oh, her tender body was as white As is the snowdrift in the glen ! The frozen world lies pitiless and stark ; On barren slopes the bitter wind is cold ; And now the cypress, groping through the mould Blindly enfolds her in the dark. 41 SANCTUARY Lone, desolate reaches of the twilight dunes Crowned with the wind-bent pine. Where phantom fingers harp foreboding runes Learned of the mystic brine. Wan, ashen pools amid the mournful sands ; Reeds, — moaning round the brink ; And through the gloom, the ghost of frantic hands Appealing, ere they sink. Great voices, calling from the outer deep. Imperious, and profound, — A summons from the eternal caves of sleep Borne, without sense of sound. O love ! cling closer in the fading light ! The winds begin to wail. And many a ship, storm-beaten through the nighty Shall perish in the gale ! 42 Cling closer — closer in the gathering gray ! Let the wild breakers roll ! Safe moored are we within the quiet bay — Love's harbor of the soul. 43 "AMID THE NEW-MOWN HAY" SONG I The fragrance of the meadow breeze Made sweet the eve of June ; The sunset kissed the bending trees Above the rising moon — Above the rising moon. U The meadowlark upon her nest In silence settled down ; My true love hid her beating breast And drooped her eyes of brown — Her love-lit eyes of brown. Ill We roamed amid the new-mown hay The while the gloaming fell, 44 And after dark, ah, who shall say What tenderness befel — What tenderness befel ! The days have flown : I walk alone : But oh, upon the air, The fragrance from the fields new-mown Is more than heart can bear — Is more than heart can bear 1 45 IN THE VALE OF DREAMS I Ah, yes, as I lie by the rills, Alone in the shade and am lulled by the woodland notes, I know that the cradlers are out on the yellow hills A-cradling the ripening oats As over the meadow the lark with his carolling floats. II And fair to my vision would be The rythmical reapers a-swaying so supple and strong ; To watch them were sweet from the shadowy dell and to see The binders all binding along. And musical voices to note — a lullaby soft as song I III But better illusion than sight, — With eyes that are closed as in sleep in the shade by the streams 46 To hear away-off in the mystical Dale of Delight The murmur of men and of teams O'er hills of the Real, afar in the Valley of Dreams I 47 "THE FROZEN FIELDS" The frozen fields are wrapped in crusted snow ; Across the vale and on the rocky height The pallid sun, through rays of gloom and glow. Pours an insufferable path of light. Where are the fleecy clouds of summer's blue ? The dim-seen swallow madly sailing there ? The only phantom of a bird in view — A withered leaf whirled through the wintry air. Far — far the Naiad of the brook has flown. Her reeds are tuneless on the icy shore ; Gleams from the wood, white as Carrara's stone. The Dorian column of the sycamore. O'er orchard boughs once filled with bloom and bees O'er songless thickets hopeless now of June ; O'er barren hill-tops girt with windy trees. Hangs the gray remnant of the mid-day moon. 48 Lone as that moon I wander here and wait, Wroth at the world for all its cold and gray. When down the lane my love comes, all elate. And Winter bursts full-blossomed into Mav ! 49 "PEACE TO THE BRAVE! Wiitten for oral delivery at the request of " The Witness Tree Chapter " of the Daughters of the American Revolution. I Peace to the Brave ! They do not need our praising. For in all hearts is treasured every name ; Yet for the future we to-day are raising A tablet to their fame. 11 And while the trees put on their fading splendors And droop their banners like to knights of old. Let Freedom drop a tear for her defenders, Now crumbled into mould. Ill They are not dead so long as recollection Triumphantly proclaims their dauntless part ; But they shall live in sanctified affection Templed within the heart. 50 IV If some, perchance, were of a lowly station. They are ennobled beyond mortal breath ; Co-equal with the proudest of the Nation, — Made eminent by Death. V O'er those who die for Fame there rests a beauty Dimmed by the human craving for renown ; But on these patriot brows, the angel Duty, Enwreathed her purest crown. VI Here their descendants, rapt in veneration, In distant days full many an hour shall stand : The alien, too, shall bend in adoration O'er these who freed a Land. VII Sometimes in Spring, with flowers as a token. Children of sires as yet unborn, may come, 51 And place around this shaft, then still unbroken. Their wreaths of laurel-bloom. VIII Far from this vale, the heroes, lone, are lying In peaceful fields now tilled by happier men ; The patriots fell, but each dim eye in dying Looked to these dales again. IX Some near the Wissahickon shades are sleeping ; On far Long Island some as bravely died ; And sylvan Brandywine has in her keeping Some whom death glorified. X Forget not those — the warriors worn and gory — Who sought their homes when honored scars were healed ; They only lacked the great and crowning glory Of dying on the field. 52 XI Still may the Morning with her roseate finger Touch these engraven names with gracious light Still may the sunset round this tablet linger, — The stars keep watch by night. XII O shade the spot, historic oaks centennial. Here by the ancient Kirk of Donegal ; Ye evergreens, and church-yard pines perennial. Stand sentry round the wall I XIII O River, with your beauty time-defying. Flowing along our peaceful shores to-day. Be glad you fostered them — the heroes lying Deep in the silent clay ! XIV Be jubilant, ye hill-tops, old and hoary, — Proud that their feet have trod your rocky ways 53 Rejoice, ye vales, for they have brought you glory And ever-during praise ! XV We leave their memory to the hearts that love them Their sacrifice shall still remembered be ; The very cloud shall pause, in pride, above them Who fought to make us free ! XVI With the long line that files into Death's portal They pass with honor blazoned on each breast ; They camp afar, upon the Plains Immortal, Each in his tent of rest 1 54 TO BEATRICE Misjudge me not by lyric word Of lighter vein my lays among : The saddened soul of love-lorn bird May yield the sweetest note e'er sung. Remember where in summer's sheen Lovers, along the brook we stood, When all the willow's leaves were green While all the roots were red as blood. O trembling lips with dulcet sounds ! O souls that sing yet suffer wrong ! How deep — how deep the bleeding wounds Beneath the surface of the song ! 55 HALE AT EIGHTY Though gray December now his life enfold He wears the bloom of many a summer hour ; As through drear winter the hydrangeas hold Their rosy reminiscence of the flower. 56 THE OLD PORCH The south-wind touched the poplar leaves And turned their silver to the sun ; It bent the bearded harvest sheaves And swayed the wildings by the run ; And as it blew, the rocking-chairs Coquetted gently to and fro, As if prim Ladies, with their airs, Were rocking still as long ago. The breezes of that summer tide Transfigured all the golden glen. And by my sweetheart's gentle side I seemed to wander once again ! 57 HERBERT SPENCER I He stood alone ; his work was done : He faced Eternity Where Hope once saw her rising sun Irradiate the sea. II With wavering faith he watched profound The Light of Life withdrawn : Oh ! may the dark he could not sound Unfold the perfect Dawn ! 58 THE CARYATIDES OF THE RUINED FANE THEY SPEAK Only the blue of Hellas still doth bend Unchanged above us ; only ihe ancient seas Murmur, at times, of fallen deities : No suppliants at the altar hither wend ; No longer now the incense doth ascend Lingering amid the sculpture in the frieze : We bear our burden and the gods appease. Saying to man, "Endure unto the end". The Nations loom, and fade : kings wax and wane ; Anchored and patient, here we stand alone. Eternal symbols, scorning still to swerve. Time passes as a shadow : we remain Immortal and immutable in stone. More beautiful than beauty, as we serve. 59 PHAON SPEAKS OF SAPPHO Ah, had I only known in those empurpled days, The power of her passion, the deeps of her desire That stirred within her heart, ran over into lays, — The seething pools, the smouldering lakes of secret fire! Had I but yielded when she wildly importuned. Whose hidden hope my hungry soul had not divined. When, passion-pale, she looked into mine eyes and swooned, I might have gathered then for aye that glorious mind. For love, in sooth, meant more than life or deathless fame To her who long the wandering sea-weed hath en- furled ; 60 I might have raised from her child-flowers of my name. And worn upon my breast the rose of all the world. What joy is mine to be the comeliest of men ? What profits now my beauty, vain and thrown away ? Lonely I ferry here, nor shall I see again The Lesbian star who turned my night to radiant day! 61 AGE AND THE POETS From poet lips the slow years rob the fire ; Perchance in youth they sang some sweet refrains Then, from the changed lyre. Flowed immelodious strains ; As a rapt chorister who having sung Divinely while still young, Makes, at the last, but discord in the choir. 62 THE CHRISTMAS CARDINAL "When icy pendants drape the eaves And hungered sparrows tap the pane. And all the heart of Winter grieves For wafts of violets once again ; When sleet with silvery foliage fills The myriad branches gray with frost. And through the bended limbs the hills Loom but the ghost of Summer lost ; Then might we yearn for sunnier days When shepherds pipe in lonely vales. Or long for dusk Illyrian ways Where Fancy hears her nightingales ; But when within the fir-tree glooms The Cardinal's flaming pennon glows. We rest content, — are not his plumes The winged herald of the rose ? 63 REVERIE I sit in the lonely orchard And the long-lost days recall. And the hush is only broken As the crimson apples fall. O'er the grass, in the sunny places. And under the flickering shade, Come the ghosts of the dear companions- Full many a winsome maid. For there on the lawn I remember The hours I dreamed away With the beauteous girls in Summer Whose spirits are here to-day. They seem to be looking for someone They knew in another time, And they pass, but they do not know me- My temples are touched with rime. 64 But they are as lovely as ever ; I see them each as of old ; And Margaret's hair is midnight And Marion's brown and gold. Yet unheeding they pass before me. Their eyes uridimmed by tears : Ah, how could they know me their lover After the havoc of years ! 65 THE UNREGARDED Why should the Poet seek to roll The rhythmic current of his verse along, Opening the floodgates of his hidden soul ? The world, alas ! is deaf to Song. Far o'er the head of all the heedless crowd Floats the dim sweetness of his word ; As bells within the turret of a cloud Tolling at evening, die unheard. 66 'DORA ON THE STEPPING-STONES' Dora on the stepping-stones By the beeches low, Lured me with endearing tones — Ah, how long ago ! Beckoned with beseeching eyes : — " Follow Love ! " they said ; I, unwitting, spurned the prize. Followed Fame instead. Now I haunt the olden place ; Seek her by the streams ; But can only find her face In the Dale of Dreams 1 67 THE SUNSET DOORS Beauty is liquid and forever flows Through all the meshes of the net we dip Into her luring sea. The evening sky Is but a symbol of inconstancy — Eternal beauty in eternal change : Lo, even now, that bright celestial rose, The full-blown West, slowly her petals folds Fairer than mortal flower, richer than hues That golden Titian in Italia dreamed. Or iridescent Turner ever drew In rapturous color trances. . . Airy spires. Domes of dim cities melting into dreams ; Rivers whose waves, unutterably vague. Around the lucid islands loitering go In Orphean murmurs down ethereal shores Where ne'er immortal footsteps ever fall. Save those gold hoofs, diurnal, bearing on 68 Through dusty glory of the chariot wheels. The bright Hyperion of the beauteous brow With lyric tresses of resplendent hair Borne backward by an aura not of earth. Behold ! adown the highway of the West His eager coursers cleave the amber slope Above the crimsoned gates. He passes on Through scarlet fields ephemerally fair — He passes on, and all the phantoms fade : Vistas of aisles immeasurably dim. Prairies of opal and the pools of pearl ; Empurpled thrones o'er wastes of barren gold ; The emblazoned battlements, the serried towers The glittering legions plumed with gonfalons And streamers floating in the fulgent air ; The pomp, the splendor, and the pageantry ; These frail and evanescent glories — all Crumble to nothing, and the vacant skies, Empty of visions as the Nubian sands, 69 Are blank with glowing light, solemn and still. From whose unfathomed opulence serene The palpitating silence throbs intense. As Twilight with her vast and sombre wings Broods o'er the darkling world. 70 A LADY OF LONG AGO When from the empyrean of the midnight sky The queen of heaven on her ebon throne Touches with mellowing light his lonely bed. And through the casement high Silvers the pillow where, alone, He strives to rest an ever-restless head ; Then, in the hush of that secluded room Whence long ago a gentle spirit fled. He hears the faded, silken raiment stir. And faintest airs — as of low hovering wings — Pulse in the throbbing gloom. And wafts of roses — roses loved of her. Which she was wont to wear Wove in the twilight of her hair. Linger within the chamber till the dawning brings The unreality of real things. 71 "THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE WORLD AMISS" A WOMAN SINGS There's something In the world amiss When love seems all in vain : O would that you could have the bliss And I could have the pain — And I could have the pain 1 When Sorrow and Adversity Assault you unto tears, O lift me up that I may be The target for their spears — The target for their spears ! And when the end of life is near May heaven grant my prayer : The last to give you farewell here — The first to greet you there — The first to greet you there ! 72 There's something in the world amiss When love seems all in vain : O would that you could have the bliss And I could have the pain — And I could have the pain ! 73 "THE NIGHTINGALE UPON THE ROSE' The nightingale upon the rose Sat silent and forlorn. Nor sang her sweetest strain until Her breast bled with the thorn. The shell lay voiceless in the sea ; Then tossed upon the shore, A sorrow touched its rosy lips To song for evermore. Mute was the Poet till a grief Smote him with iron thong, When from his soul melodiously Flowed the deep wells of song. 74 THE LAST LOOK Let fall a tear above the golden head, For ere this lily bloomed she paled away : Oh do not call the unopened flower dead Who found the dark before she felt the day. 75 HE ASKS OF THE WIND Spirits of Twilight sighed in the West ; And far from the lamps of the nestled town I saw the Wind in the reeds at rest ; Her faint-blown hair fell over her breast And her filmy wings were folded down. Through her beautiful body shone afar The tremulous light of the evening star ; And the faintest flutter of heart I heard As sympathy hears the heart of a bird That has flown too wide and has come to rest In shadowed silence about her nest. And I asked of the Wind in the gloaming there As over her rested her twilight hair : " O Wind in the reeds of the evening furled, You who have traveled the width of the world,- For the hidden things unto you are known, — 76 Where is my long-lost happiness flown ? " And the Wind of the fofest, the Wind of the sea Answered and said from her soul to me : " Over the hills of Illusion fair. In the tangled gold of a sweet-heart's hair ; Lost in the lips you never kissed ; Gone in the love you scorned and missed ; In pale hands touching the sobbing keys Pleading for love through music, — these — The willing heart and the loving eye, — These it was that you let go by." And fainter her thin voice rippled on, — " Where is your long-lost happiness gone ? Sunk in the depth of yearning eyes ; Over the hills of Dream it lies By the gates you closed of Paradise." And the wraith of the gentle Wind had flown And Silence stood in the reeds, alone. 77 O DAYS AGONE! We heard the fading Summer's plaintive horn ; The sultry days were done ; The fields were tawny with the tasseled corn, And brown, the beechen run. A haze enfolded all the dreamful hills. And round about their feet. On umber acres moved the far-oflr drills Dropping the future wheat. There was no breath from out the distant dim The thistle-down to stir ; We guessed the squirrel on the chestnut-limb By the falling of the burr. An Eden-languor of the amber air Among immurmurous trees — A glorious orient calm as broodeth there On alcyonian seas. 78 A tender love-song floated through the dell By dear lips fondly sung, And stirred the silence like a silver bell In faery belfry rung. I breathed a lover's burning vows, — since then- How many a barren year ! Yet still her spirit lingers in the glen And moves beside me here. 79 "DRAW CLOSER, O YE TREES" O quiet cottage room. Whose casements, looking o'er the garden-close. Are hid in wildings and the woodbine bloom And many a clambering rose, Sweet is thy light subdued. Gracious and soft, lingering upon my book. As that which shimmers through the branched wood Above some dreamful nook ! Leaning within my chair, Through the thin curtain I can see the stir — The gentle undulations of the air — Sway the dark-layered fir ; And, in the beechen green, Mark many a squirrel romp and chirrup loud ; 80 While far beyond, the chestnut-boughs between. Floats the white summer cloud. Through loopholes in the leaves. Upon the yellow slopes of far-off farms, I see the rhythmic cradlers, and the sheaves Gleam in the binders' arms. At times I note, near by. The flicker tapping on some hollow bole ; And watch upon the elm, against the sky. The fluting oriole ; Or, when" the day is done, And the warm splendors make the oak-top flush, Hear him, full-throated in the setting sun, — The darling wildwood thrush. O sanctuary shade Enfold me round ! I would no longer roam : 81 Let not the thought of wandering e'er invade This still, reclusive home J Draw closer, O ye trees ! Veil from my sight e'en the loved mountain's blue The world may be more fair beyond all these. Yet I would know but you 1 82 THE GREY PROCESSION Rich was the twilight air ; The ancient trunks of vine-enwreathed trees Stood dark against the dying sunset there Far from the troubled seas. Pathless the unflowered ground In that sequestered forest of deep hush ; And 'mid the under-laurel, not a sound Lute-throated of the thrush. Musing at eve, alone, Within the umbered aisles of such a wood, I uttered many a soft melodious tone Soothing the solitude : Long lines of lyric sweep, Sonorous cadences of liquid sound 83 From those dead masters of the Olympian steep That still to-day resound Through the dim corridors Left of the memoried temples of old days, — From that full-voiced choir that ever pours Its unapproached lays From out the English prime. Flashes of stately splendor I unfurled From him — The Universal of all time — Peerless throughout the world : Then Spenser's golden tones Falling upon the soul with deepening swells, Clear-heard above the clash of warring thrones Tolled, soft as twilight bells : And him who, more profound. Too near Jehovah's fulgence, dimmed his eyes, 84 Yet pealed his rolling thunders far around Hades, and Paradise : Or him who, sweet and strong. Within the church-yard in the gloaming wrote Such opulent strains as make our modern song Thin, and of meagre note : The crowned Rydalian sung Low to himself from many a mountain old ; Infrequent pearls at intervals were strung Upon his thread of gold. Then Shelley's airy lyre Far o'er the rolling mists of morn I heard Peal from the blue a strain of keen desire Like some inspired bird. And in auroral air. Wild, haunting numbers thrilled the lifting dark 85 Unmatched, The Ettrick Shepherd chanted there His lyric of the Lark. Entranced I listened, mute, While from a cloud trembled a silver trill As youthful Adonais touched a lute Unrivalled by us still. I saw the Raven's wings Sweep through the night, and, heard the rhythmic flow — That harp of weird and demon-haunted strings — The slender strain of Poe ; And many a dreamful lay From Lotus-land beside the languorous brine. With Bugle-echoes of his golden day — The Laureate's limpid line. And tones that lingered long Flowed from New England's son, whose delicate art 86 Touches the mind with words of hopeful song That glow within the heart. The Water-Fowl in flight Cleaved the dark clouds adown the twilight slope ; Her poet's symbol pealed athwart the Night With clarion-voice of Hope. And verse of smaller men Who, if less finely, touched as pure a lyre With tones as welcome to the heart as when Chants some cathedral choir. And lingering, still were flung Word-jewels on the velvet of the night That burned the darkness like the star that hung Trembling above with light. The Present rolled away. And through the opening of the parted cloud 87 I saw, in glory of supernal day. Rare spirits, laurel-browed ; Then through the ages filed That grey procession of illustrious dead ; And all the temples of the mind were aisled With radiance which they shed ; While from beyond them came Faint echoes of a veiled and shadowy throng With sound of far-off harps, and soft acclaim From phantom shores of Song. 1 mused until the Morn Breathed all the east into an opal rose. And from that heart of splendor, outward borne Where godhead might repose On dim resplendent thrones Based with auroral wings of restless fires, — 88 I heard the plectrum beat the golden tones From far immortal lyres. Day broadened . . . Harshly came Coarse plaudits from the World. On bended knees A forward crowd kissed the soiled foot of Fame And she was crowning these. 89 AT EVENTIDE As one at twilight, silent and alone, Pacing through some secluded garden-close. Notes the ungathered blooms, and sadly knows How all neglect their fragrance, and disown ; Sees the parterre with crimson beauty strown. And where the nodding scarlet deepest glows. Only the wind's hand take the bending rose. Where, on unfooted walks, the leaves are blown : So, wandering through the garden of my rhymes. Now when the deepening shadows round me fal With darkness coming and the dayspring furled I see my roses undesired of all ; They bloom and fade within a heedless world. And I, remembering, muse upon the times. 90 NOTES Page 1 — In the poem, " The Fleeing Nymph," the author has, in his conception of Pan, followed his own feeling, which coincides with that of some of the older painters — Caracci and others — rather than with the mythologists ; that is to say, he has emphasized the human attributes of the god rather than his grotesqueness, which latter quality, to those who miss the symbol, often renders the sylvan deity almost repellant. Page 18. — Acknowledgment is here made to the N. Y. Independent for permission to reprint the poem on page 18 ; and to Everybody's Magazine for the poems on pages 22 and 27 ; and to The Century Magazine for permission to use "The Frozen Fields," page 48, in which some alterations have been made. Page 38 — The exquisite head here referred to is now in the author's possession and is by an old Italian master. Page 50 — Written at the request of The Witness Tree Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution on the occasion of the unveiling of a Cenotaph, October 5, 1899, at Donegal Churchyard, to the memory of the sol- diers who enlisted, from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, for the Revolutionary War. vj I V.' ' "i L « ^ / ' < A J.I.- 1 1 < 4 >