§mml\ WivAvmii^ ^itetg THE GIFT OF A...SL^..a.|..5.6. ^/TT"./^...?. 6896-2 Cornell University Library PS 3511.A76P7 Poems and essays. 3 1924 022 392 157 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022392157 POEMS AND ESSAYS U c'CiA/^iA^ SJ!aya/>A^u f ^mvyveMrtn^LL.^ Poems and Essays By Edward Clarence Farnsworth Portland Maine SMITH & SALE Mdccccvi Copyright by EDWARD CLARENCE FARNSWORTH Nineteen Hundred and Five CONTENTS POEMS : TO MY WIFE ..... xi PRELUDE ..... 3 THE SINGER ..... 4 MY MUSE ..... 5 THE musician's EPITAPH 8 IN MEMORIAM ..... 9 TO MARY ..... lO THE RIVAL QUEENS II COLUMBIA ..... IS THEODORE ROOSEVELT 21 THE MASTER TO HIS VIOLONCELLO . 36 THE VIOLIN ..... 28 SALUTE TO THE FLAG 29 love's MISSION .... 31 DAY AND NIGHT . . . . . 33 BESTOWAL ..... 36 love's RETROSPECT . . . . 37 TO BABY ELEANOR . . . . . 38 SUMMER MORN . . . . . 39 SUMMER NIGHT . . . . . 40 JOHN PAUL JONES . . . . . 41 THE philosopher's STONE 43 THE TONE POETS . . . . . 45 CONTENTS POEMS : (continued) PAGE . THE ANSWER . 49 TO TRITON, 52 YANKEE DOODLE S3 THE OLD WAR DRUM S^ RIVERTON PARK 59 OUR PRESIDENT 61 love's JUNE . (^i THE VOYAGE . 64 THE MASTER AT THE ORGAN 66 America's indictment . 6^ TO CAROLINE . 86 TO ESTELLA . 87 FAREWELL 88 LOVE DIVINE ... 89 THE TENTH AVATA OF VISHNU 90 THE EAGLE 92 THE ORCHESTRA 97 IN OTHER DAYS 99 THE WORTHY LOVER ZOO THE ORGAN lOI THE WIND 102 CONTENT AND DISCONTENT 103 CLEMENCY 104 TO MARTHA 105 TO THERON 108 CONTRITE LOVE 109 love's garden no THE FIR FOREST III VI CONTENTS POEMS: (continued) EVANESCENCE . . . . . . 112 MUSIC 113 BEETHOVEN 114 BLENDED STARS IIS YOUNG WOMANHOOD 116 THE MOON 117 TOO LATE 120 THE LESSON 121 SOUL SIGHT 122 BLONDE BEAUTY 123 THE POET 125 THE sage's heart 126 THE CHOICE 127 THE WRECK 128 THE SEA-FLOWER 129 THE GIFT 130 DEATH 131 HAPPINESS 132 THE HINDU MOTHER 133 TO AN ACTOR 135 TO AN ACTRESS • 136 JOHN STORM . 137 GLORY OyAYLE . 138 time's mission 139 THE ARCHETYPE 140 DESTINY . 141 MY QUEEN 142 SPIRITUAL EVOLUTIO N 143 vu CONTENTS POEMS : (continued) TRUTH 144 TO AN AGED MUSICIAN 145 love's bereavement 146 THE MYSTERY OF MARS . 147 THE CONQtTEST .... 149 WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE 150 THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD . 163 THE BIRD AT THE WINDOW 165 THE bird's ADIEU .... 167 FROM EVE TILL MORN 168 AN INVOCATION .... 170 TO Portland's returning musicians 173 DEDICATION HYMN .... 17s THE PLENUM 176 love's GIFTS 179 HER EYES 180 COLUMBUS 181 MY KINGDOM ..... 191 TO HELEN ...... 194 THE BIRTHDAY PARTY . . . . 19s THE ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTOR 197 MY LADY ...... 204 TO ELLA ...... 206 THE SAVING FEW 208 MUSIC 210 MOUNT WASHINGTON . . . . 212 BIRTH AND DEATH . . . . . 214 THE MESSAGE ...... 222 VllI CONTENTS POEMS: (concluded) the praise of freedom life's destiny the wooing . MY CITY . TO HARRIET JENNY THE MOUNTAIN HERMIT MEMORIAL DAY WHEN I AM OLD SEVENTEEN EIGHTY-NINE NANCY HANKS ELIJAH KELLOGG TO THE MODERN POET THE FOREST FLOWER THE STORY OF THE BELLS THE PEACE OF PORTSMOUTH THE HARVEST DEATH AND THE FLOWER 223 226 229 238 241 242 250 252 256 260 262 282 286 290 292 293 ESSAYS : THE ORIGIN, DEVELOPMENT, AND MISSION OF MUSIC ...... THE ORIGIN AND MISSION OF BEAUTY THE AMERICAN COMPOSER FINALE 297 322 340 364 IX LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FRONTISPIECE THE LILY II THE ROSE 14 YANKEE DOODLE S3 THE MASTER AT THE ORGAN 68 THE MOON 117 HAPPINESS 132 COLUMBUS 181 THE BIRTHDAY PARTY . 196 THE WOOING . 229 THE MOUNTAIN HERMIT . 244 DEATH AND THE FLOWER 293 TO MY WIFE OF what the wooing birds have sung to me In unpremeditated Springtime song, And of what Summer hours, abiding long. Have bidden me gather as the honey bee. Something I'd sing and gather worthy thee. Whiles faint I echo what the Fall doth tell Of Death which soon the Winter wind shall knell, I thank the Fate still shunning our rooftree. Amidst some far excursion of the mind Smile thou, and win me from the mazes blind ! But speak, and make our mutual home more sweet Than when in dream an angel charmed mine ear ! If all my barren themes would blossom here A flowery crown I'd proffer at thy feet. XI POEMS PRELUDE IF these poor pages, where my heart is writ, Should prove me petty and devoid of wit, My pen presumes for Nature has withheld The gift she lavished on the bards of eld. She brought her bounty to one chiefliest king Of Fancy's empire on whose verge I sing. Into the earth-dim eyes of one she drew Lost Paradise till he must tell the view ; To other showed she once the soul at rest, And the dread durance of the soul distressed. And Nature measures yet to whom she will ; Capricious mother unto poets still, Showering on some, she dangles in the sight Of much Ambition his fond hope's delight. O may I not be Nature's fool to cry " I grasp" while hangs her pleasure heaven high ! THE SINGER WHEN soared your song my willing fingers found, Of chords harmonious, the rich and rare; From our heart-interblending swelled the sound Of concord on the charmed evening air. O singer ! never, as the years onwear. Shall discord jar in Memory's cherished dream, Nor dull indifference dim your likeness there Beloved, musical as murmuring stream ! Fair maiden mild as Eve when pours her tender beam ! MY MUSE MY constant Muse aforetime seemed Inconstant, all caprice ; How oft on me her eyes have beamed A soul-shed perfect peace ! And then, behind a sudden shade. Twin stars would hide and night Upon my darkened spirit weighed, And Nature mocked my plight. 'Gainst Fate I cried, a babbler wild, A weakling whose low sky With earthly mists was dull, a child Whose glance should yet descry The distant peak that feeble wing And heavy cloud touch not : The storied peak whence paeans ring. The Muses' favored spot. Now well I know 'twas not Caprice That once said " hope ! — despair !" And promise gave of starlit peace, — Then made the chill dome bare. MY MUSE 'Twas Love ! and from the deep-down dell, Where waved no mountain-tree, It bade me rise henceforth to dwell Where mountain-eagles be. Aloft appears a slender sheen Upon the cliff's proud front ; Beyond, a mass of changeless green Shrinks from the gale's swift brunt. When shall I gain yon misty pool, And, kneeling in the spray. Drink life that pours from regions cool Where dawns a larger day, And night's calm vault is wider spread. And many a star, unknown To sleepers in yon valley bed, Swerves never from its zone? My faltering feet shall nowise find The mighty peak's far reach. But every song, on downward wind. Would patience, wisdom, teach. "The modest singer hath a note Well-pleasing to his mate. Through narrow streams the narrow boat Glides free, — the ship must wait. MY MUSE When ceases, on the sandy floor, The thunderous ocean-swell, A faint sweet echo of that roar Lurks in the tiny shell. When stately walls no longer ring With some grand burst of art, A simple lay, a gentle string, Will make the tear-drop start. The humble planet, mild of hue. Fills Evening's hour of rest When giant Day hath spanned the blue From east to utmost west. Thy single talent's worthy use Shall win thee honor, — love; The slothful, — envious, lack excuse; We win not more above." THE MUSICIAN'S EPITAPH G. A. M. MELODIOUS winds of summer days, And winter, tuned to sterner themes, And spring-time birds, with earliest lays, Make tribute here. The moon mild beams. And bright the sun, on this loved spot Where rests thy heart. A moon, a sun, It shed love-light. Heart unforgot ! Sweet, humble heart ! by thee was won Fame's laurel. Pulseless heart, so still ! Thy music stirs a tender string In hearts responsive, and they thrill With every note thyself did sing. IN MEMORIAM F. A. B. THE vale, through which the streamlet flows, Is richer, greener, and more fair ; The hillside, when the South soft blows. Buds forth and blossoms everywhere. The harp, as from the heavenly land. With angel rapture fills the hour ; The bow, moved by a master hand. Sweeps heart-strings all with magic power. The vale, where clear thy life-stream ran. Was mantled with a deeper green ; The kindly South from thee did fan The hills whose flowering we have seen. The power of music thou hast proved : When pipes and choir did paeans raise. Thy voice, by lofty impulse moved, Made more divine our song of praise. TO MARY MORNING on thy soft cheek flushes, Midnight hngers in thy hair, June is red with rose-bud blushes, But thy lips are rose-buds rare : Buds that pale the June, withholding No sweet bloom when she has fled ; Rose-buds fragrantly unfolding Beauty richer than her red. In thy voice is naught of chiding. Thy frank eyes enact no part, Beam they all the full confiding Of a gentle kindly heart. Praised be Nature that endowered thee ! Queenly to a queen she gave ; Hearts thou rulest, she empowered thee ; Willing hearts thou dost enslave. lO " White my cheek, no wing so white ; ' Gold my heart, unworldly sight ; From me breathes what all do prize, Perfume as of Paradise." THE RIVAL QUEENS SUMMER'S breath bends ne'er a leaf, O'er me move no clouds of grief, Clouds that drop and clouds that shower Sun-kissed tears of summer hour. Lily, in this fairy dell Joys have birth and bliss doth dwell ; Here the bird makes endless trill. He a fountain, joy its rill. Sweet Rose, near thy sister sweet, 'Tis my happiness to greet Queen and queen of flowers all, Happy more than birds that call. Low the Lily drooped her head, " Happiness from me is fled ! Ah, my sister, fragrant, rare. Deems herself more queenly, fair ! White my cheek, no wing so white ; Gold my heart, unworldly sight ; From me breathes what all do prize. Perfume as of Paradise." II THE RIVAL QJJEENS Quick the Rose with growing pride, ' ' Morning skies with me abide ; Evening glory I enfold, Warm when evening sky is cold." Then the Lily answering spake, " Eve may burn and morn may break On thy narrow, mimic sky ; It but symbols days that die. Chaste as all my white array, Emblem of unsetting Day, I would not thine eve and morn ; Nothing lacking I was born." " Thou dost lack," the Rose replied, " Through thee sweeps no love-urged tide; Pale thy cheek, and pale thy brow. Cold are they, and cold art thou ! Various days bring each a spell. In the various hours I dwell ; Love, dear, fleeting one draws nigh, — Sorrow hastes with love-lorn sigh. Earth shall be a tedious spot When the Morn and Eve come not. And no more the Autumn grows. Ripening, ripening, to a rose. 12 THE RIVAL QJJEENS May my bush be never bare ; Long may Love his roses wear ! Judge between us, Poet, — tell Which is queen of all this dell ? " " Queenly Rose and Lily queen ! Seeking Beauty far I've been ; Climbed the cliff than yon more high. Looked from crags no clouds o'erfly. Looked on ocean where it breaks, Looked on waveless mountain lakes : Beauty everywhere I found. But the spell of Earth was round. Then, along the heavenly ways. Gathering stars were my amaze ; They did search my heart and sing, ' Search the heart of every thing ! ' So, once more, I tread the plain ; Loud in me that starry strain ; Searching, proving, as I roam. Chance I on your valley home. Golden as the orbs that sung When the hosts of heaven were young. Golden as the perfect night Over blissful Eden bright, 13 THE RIVAL QJJEENS Lily, is the heart of thee : Robed in thy white purity, Crowned angels ever sing To the rapturous, golden string. Only Wisdom can declare Which fair flower He made more fair. What in all my fathers ran, Runs, dear Rose ! in veins of man ; Red it came and red 'twill go. Men unborn shall find it so. Of that red a bond was made. Yet the froward nations strayed ; Ah, it will, in some strong hour, Draw us back to Eden's bower Where her Rose and Lily stand Waiting in that waiting land ! Who would enter must make room In his breast that both may bloom : There entwined the twain shall blend, Each to other all shall lend." 14 Quick the Rose with growing pride, " Morning skies with me abide ; Evening glory I enfold, Warm when evening sky is cold." ^- COLUMBIA COLUMBIA I thy name triumphant swells From tongues of freemen in a heart-acclaim. Fame's lofty trump, with echoing praises due, Lauds whom far islands liberated hail. Loud Ocean on thy freehold's either shore Roars "freedom I " in the wild, recurring billow ; Wave-rousing winds, forth from the midmost main. Sweep o'er thine eastern, western, boundaries free. A song of freedom, and of triumph won, Comes fraught with homage from the Great Antilles. Long Mississippi, to his delta borne. And his far-branching tributary streams, Find not a state unfree. The slaver's chain Lies broken now ; his grievous shackles, rent, Grip not the bruised flesh ; falls nevermore His bloody lash in cotton field and cane. Columbia ! thy commonwealth outspreads. The broad, rich birthright of thine own the free ! With grandeurs and with marvels it outspreads. With peaks, with valleys, with emblossomed meads. And forests by the woodman ne'er despoiled, And hills of native vesture never robbed, And rocky ranges where the eagle nests, Choosing the bleak and barren solitude. Vast inland seas in mighty overflow 15 COLUMBIA Leap thunderous from wide Niagara's brink. Weird canyon rivers 'neath the jutting cliffs Are delving evermore their ancient beds. Fantastic gorges and ravines uncover The deep foundations of the riven crags Whereto the misty torrents sheer descend. Where lay the empty plain, Columbia I Proud cities teem; where once the wigwam, now Palatial splendor towers. Where every stream Poured prodigal, revolves the thrifty wheel, And builded brick enwalls the cunning loom And thousand crafts of Industry's deft hand. High Learning rears enduring shrine where tarried The savage and the venturous pioneer. Meek Wisdom's tongue discourses mild where once The war-whoop's challenge stirred an answering rage. Where in the autumn year the bison fed Through prairie grasses rolling rank and sear, Upon the level waves the yellow grain Even to the golden rise and set of sun. Where once the thorn, the thistle, and the weed, Now balm and beauty fragrantly unclose. Where once the cactus and the bushy sage, The irrigated desert yieldeth fruit. Stand forth, great Goddess ! pedestal thy feet Where of thy noble summits one is chief, A grander king of kingly company ! Above thy statued height thy brows uplift More heavenward than lusty eagle's wing I i6 COLUMBIA Gaze from the regions where the globe's curved roof Bends o'er the farthest solitary cloud ! With starry vision from the realm of stars Behold the wide assembly of States ! Behold the continent-divided Ocean I Floats there an ensign fit o'er many a fleet I Floats everywhere a banner first unfurled Above thy sailors and thy soldiery When thou, puissant on both soil and sea, Didst proflTer freedom to the dauntless brave. Uplift thy voice in kind and courteous greeting ; — Columbia ! let no unsympathy Sound discord in thy salutation launched To lands enthralled that yearn for liberty ! Though not to India's tangled jungle comes. Though not to bare Sahara's parched expanse. Or that long mystery, that bafl[ling land Which hid the fountains of historic Nile ; Though not to midnight Ethiopia comes A beam of Freedom's Universal Day, Yet, Seeress ! clear to thee that morrow rises ; Thine eyes flash back a flame of deathless fire Disked on the dreaming world's remotest verge. Where stern the Atlantic meets the stubborn cliff. Or where the Pacific ebbs unto the sun Raying his last on California's strand. Or where the sluggish bayou's mirror shows The weeping cypress' overhanging bough, Or midst the mazy swamp, the Everglades, 17 COLUMBIA Or cabined in the northern wilderness, Or wandering on the prairies and the slopes, Or domiciled in valleys or amidst The fertile farm-land's unobstructed green. Or housed in cities or in hamlets, or Proud sailors of the mighty lakes and streams ; Maternal Goddess I thine uplook to thee Whose power, impartial, stays thine every child. Behold afar the Orient's expanse 1 Behold more near the Occidental lands ! Lo ! eastward, westward, through the sundering tides, The haters of oppression come disdaining The minion's head, the craven's mien, the knee Of supplication to the tyrant's throne Which on betrayed and trampled Justice weighs. They come who yield not to Extortion's grasp The fruit of bitter toil, that morsel sweet Their daily bread ! They come who follow never Where Title struts against th' on-marching World ! They come who crave their fill of Freedom's air ! With freedom-hunger, freedom-thirst, they come Unto the welcome of thine outstretched arms ! Even as the mother bird, whose tender wing Spreads utmost that the orphaned equal share. Thou, Benefactress I roofing, sheltering thine, Giv'st to the alien as to them thou giv'st. Wherever a throb of filial gratitude In child or foster-child asylumed here, Heart-beats are measured by a pulse in thee, i8 COLUMBIA Eyes kindle with thine orbs' contagious glance, Voice joining voice, a choral rapture swells Concordant with thy praise of Liberty. Would coiled and hissing serpent choose for mark Thy bosom's nest where his chill life revived ? Doth treacherous whelp rage 'gainst the hand that feeds ? Would ingrate bird, spurned from the brood and fallen To thine uprearing, pluck thine eyeballs bright? Alas, Columbia ! such natures be ! Guised to resemble Earth's ennobled heir Of Heaven, the vulture, serpent, brute, unmask Toward one protecting still a nation's weal. With eyes of loathing and a brow of scorn Thou meetest these; — thou, on whose rigid shield The foe's audacious bolts were vainly hurled. Goddess Compassionate I with sorrowing Thou turnest thy gaze from every scene recalled Where Glory — blood-bespattered prize — was torn From the sore wounded and the mangled slain. To deck the pride of some world-ravager ! Ah, Goddess ! thine averted glances shun The hideous day when Rome waxed arrogant O'er Carthage prostrate, and the bleeding Nations I Thou wouldest from thy soul of horror sweep That gory wave which rolled from Macedon, And that red war by Caesar's lust unloosed. And every sod the heart of man has dyed. Thy head the wreath of goodly Peace hath chosen. Thy hand would never to the sword-hilt stray ; 19 COLUMBIA The war-drum's rage, the bugle's urge, no more Wouldst thou attend ; nor yet give willing ear To the ominous rhythm of an army's tread. O Chooser Blest I O wise Columbia I Thou Pattern Final for a race to be ! The past is fading and the future glows Till thy rapt sight is fraught with ardent joy For there the tyrant's throne is overturned. And by it fallen his rusty sceptre lies. Throughout his olden empire, all transformed, Him not a single slave abjectly serves, And there his loud authority is dumb. Serenely in that golden future dwell The peaceful ones who toward the statue strive Of God's full plan. There Love doth minister ; There Avarice and Envy covet not ; There Ease claims never the recompense of Labor ; There Selfishness is weeded from the breast, And Pride is humbled in the head grown wise. And Rage is banished to the den and lair. And Earth's strong consanguinity doth bind Thy freemen closer in sweet brotherhood Till heart-beats touch, and soul to soul is knit. And each his neighbor hails an equal man. The fruit late-born of travail sore is this ; The large delivery of poignant pain. At last the Victory of victories 1 The Boon of boons ! The craved of all the ages I Thy gifts, Columbia I unto the World I 20 THEODORE ROOSEVELT WHEN clear she called to all her patriot freemen, Columbia's mandate sped to either ocean strand, " Weigh anchor ! let my navies sail, O seamen ! March on ! march on ! my armies that embattled soon shall stand ! From out the knave's base pride the fool hath spoken ; His deed's black treachery was done in hiding night ; Soon in the midday glare his pride is broken, His war-fleet riddled, sunken; — and the Spaniard forced to flight ! " At once the southward marching and the sailing ; At once the pulse of hope in fainting hearts afar; At once the emblem, that our hearts are hailing. Bright blends its crowded heaven with one solitary star. I see the flash, — the trembling turret swinging, — The death our sailor marksmen hurl upon the shore ; — I catch a note, — 'tis Victory's voice wild ringing The prelude shrill of triumph that her throat will straightway pour I 21 THEODORE ROOSEVELT Thou art not there my white-hulled Maine ! my beauty ! In battle dress, in battle line thou shouldest be ! Thy brave know not what else were joyful duty ; Thine echoing rage is silent on the foe-infested sea ! But, Cuba, on thy soil our North is cleaving Thy bands of bondage with the keen down-stroke of steel I Arise, prone isle, from centuries of grieving ! Thy long defeat turns triumph and thy woe henceforth is weal. Thy champions well the jungle nests are clearing ; Where human vipers crawled soon not a sting remains ; On Juan's height what fame your feet are nearing "Grim hunters of the mountains and rough riders of the plains ! " Up I up I amidst the mauser bullets, flying From deadly rifle-pits, to where the summit flares I Up ! up ! through hell-flame your red road is lying I Ah, how you meet its fury with the swelling breast that dares ! O border-bred crag-climbers ! on your gazing, O peril-hardened, fear-proof men ! I seek one face Before the battle reek is deeper hazing The sulphurous death-slope ! Leader, thou art in thy fitting place ! 22 THEODORE ROOSEVELT Torn from the halyards lies a hated banner, But Cuba's risen star floats lofty, lone and bright ; Vengeance is done, yet Memory mourns, Havana, The deed that cursed thy waters in the crime bedarkened night. When for some hero dear my grief is falling. Or when, in heart regret, for all dead worth I sigh. Comes to my mind Creation's travail calling "Turn thou to heroes living whom man's need will not let die 1 " El Caney, Santiago, not forgetting. Nor that swift-conquering shock which shook the eastern world, A leader's face I see in its dread setting Juan, the upward valor, and the downward thunders hurled. Lo, on the mount whereto his youth has striven, Inspiring airs around and heaven above his head. The man, upgazing through some crest-cloud riven, To that high vision toileth by a larger purpose led. O leader bold ! of every hindrance heedless ! Such is the life wherein thy step by step has won I Slander is naught and praise itself is needless For on thy prime, thy noonday, blazes Truth's reveal- ing sun. 23 THEODORE ROOSEVELT Ponderous the duty on thy shoulders weighing, But Gaza's gates were borne, and thou wast born to bear Amidst the din that sets the war-horse neighing, And in the quiet sequel that forgets the trumpet blare. Deceit's mean face thou tellest 'neath its masking, And Vanity to thee is naked of his robe : Thou hast a " No " for Flattery's suave asking, And to its core of canker thou Corruption's breast dost probe. The hauteur of the selfish great abjuring, A simple comrade thou whom man to man we meet ; A friend of all those liberties, enduring. Whereat the despot trembles, fearsome on his totter- ing seat. Thou liftest voice against the eastern battle. Against the shouts which from that red arena ring. They mind thee of an age when men were cattle In Rome's dread amphitheatre, now a silent, ruined thing. Bid to our shores the just, the mediating I This world is woeful with her children's age-long strife ; The mild of Earth for thy wise word are waiting ; Abstaining still from bloodshed, they are leavening our life. 24 THEODORE ROOSEVELT Aspire ! aspire ! O chieftain of a nation Whom her great captains raised from war's abyss to peace ! Aspire I aspire ! unto their approbation Who sang " good will," foretelling that sweet time when war shall cease 1 25 THE MASTER TO HIS VIOLONCELLO THE pomp and splendor of the Eve depart, The purple and the gold are dulled to grey ; The wood-bird's rapture ends and tranquil Night Is tongueless to my silent listening, Yet in my grateful heart makes melody. Companion one through well-remembered hours ! Faultless revealer of my varied moods ! Dear Cello, waken for too long in thee The spirit of Guarnerius doth sleep ! Blend with my spirit blended with the Night 1 A noble concord finding, straightway greet Yon solitary beam which Dusk displays Ere laggard Dark lights her dim fires afar ! Now, 'neath the veil of gloom, thy sobbing notes — As tears from Sorrow's deepest fount of woe — With ever-unappeased grief are filled. Thyself once more attune I Pulsate with mirth I Loud let the boisterous strings reverberate The rustic merry-meeting's careless joy ! Now gather all the wild, impetuous chords. And fiercely hurl their storm abroad ! — Enough ! Give unto Love melodious, true voice ; 26 THE MASTER TO HIS VIOLONCELLO Let every tenor note impassioned yearn, And sweet harmonics flute-like sigh their pain. Inspiring Night, we now would pour a strain More worthy thee ! Despite thy bounty vast We do but falter ! Night unrecompensed ; How poor, inadequate, our tribute song ! 27 THE VIOLIN WEE thing and frail ! the giant soul of thee No shell can prison : Like the beamy star, Or like the sun, bestowing from afar. Thy best, thine all, thou wholly givest me. Thy soul with mine is blending, — twain no more ! Hark ! from the clear strings leap the bold notes free ! As moon-light, trembling on the slumbrous sea. Are thy faint harmonies undreamed before. How merry trips the dainty elfin dance I Fair fairyland I see ; its every flower Buds forth and blossoms in this magic hour Whose crowning moments, all, thou dost enhance. Wee thing ! thy soul is happiness or pain ! That joy or grief I feel ! Each eloquent string Will quiver deep into my breast, and bring A saddest burthen, or a buoyant strain. I hail thee queen of realms ethereal, pure ! From earthly queens I turn myself to thee : Benignant sovereign ! Gracious royalty ! In hearts thine empire doth indeed endure ! 28 SALUTE TO THE FLAG PROUD Flag of our Nation, how lofty thy station 1 Droop not spreading Banner that free winds have fanned ! Hide never thy stars that look down on this land ! Thy length is unfolded to every sea, Thy breadth is wide-waving where dwells Liberty, Thy stem is more staunch than the good oaken tree. Our voices sing triumph, sing triumph to thee. Proud Flag of our Nation, how lofty thy station ! Thy blue is unclouded, the sky that we love ; It blends with the azure of heaven above ; Thy staff is firm set where the tall mountains be. Around it is soaring the bold eagle free ; Hail, hail, fadeless Glory I Hail, hail, chosen Three ! Our voices sing triumph, sing triumph to thee. Proud Flag of our Nation, how lofty thy station I Thy bars are ablaze with the red sunset light ; They bum with the dawning that scatters the night. The foe stayeth not, from thy sweep he doth flee. The tyrant is trembling at thy trinity, The serf to the freeman is making his plea, Our voices sing triumph, sing triumph to thee. 29 SALUTE TO THE FLAG Proud Flag of our Nation, how lofty thy station I No Hell-flaming war-cloud can wither thy form ; No traitor dare mock thee in Treason's wild storm ; No more greet we gory and grim Victory, No more wreathe her brows, to her mandates agree ; Love maketh a wiser and nobler decree, Our voices sing triumph, sing triumph to thee. Proud Flag of our Nation, how lofty thy station ! Reveal to our homage the lamb's spotless fleece, Encompass the world with the emblem of peace. Impartial protector of mine and of me, Thy millions are banded in one harmony I Thou symbol, undimmed, of Faith, Hope, Charity! Our voices sing triumph, sing triumph to thee. 30 LOVE'S MISSION YE nations of one blood I Children of Earth ! the mother Whose aid goes forth to all that yonder sun beholds ! Forget not ye her love ! let Memory prize another That triumphs over pain, — and at the breast enfolds ! His natal hour found man more helpless than the creature Mean-born in cave, or lair, or 'neath the ocean swell ; But Love, sweet one, was there, and in her every feature. And tireless, restful arms did ministration dwell. Untiring, restful arms uphold in manhood's station ; Love's guardian care fails not lest utmost ill befall : Of infant strength is reft the hand which guides a nation If patient Love once cease, or shun life's pathways all. Life's pathways all I There stalks and boughs with nurture bending ; Love's ever-shading leaves change not though seasons change ; Her summer founts cool draughts from sunless deeps are sending ; The wintry norther keen, she tempers in its range. 31 LOVE'S MISSION The life-fount of thy frame, a taintless tide, is welling To feed thy members, and renew thine every part : At once thy mortal end if aught should stay that swelling, And stagnant floods pollute, and clog the palsied heart. Alive and pure thy soul if thence Love's fount be flowing In wider, deeper streams through Love's unnumbered ways; Those circling floods from far returning, ever-growing, Shall bring tenfold to thee thy soul's most healthful days. 32 DAY AND NIGHT IN paths where Nature's footsteps linger, A friend and lover at her side, I note, as 'neath her magic finger, The morning rosebud opens wide. The dainty floweret, lowly, shrinking. Half-hidden in the mossy shade, Looks up, her tender glances drinking Like dewdrops, while adown the glade,— A winding grace, a wayward motion, A careless joy midst varying charms, — The summer brooklet seeks the ocean As infant seeks the mother's arms. From yonder hillock hark the voices Of pasturing sheep I With merry sound The tree-top habitant rejoices. And toilers wing their flowery round. The fragrance of far meadows blooming, Where tinkle faint the browsing kine. The breezes bring, and, distant looming — A blended blue — the mountain line 33 DAY AND NIGHT Melts on the sky. Now day has vanished, Its lingering glories all have passed ; Where from the west the beam was banished, Outspreads the empty, moonless vast. And now the gem of twilight, glowing, Hangs pendant in the deep. Afar A tiny flame is ever growing ; It kindles on from star to star. A gathering shadow misty hovers Where surges hide the calm below ; Down-winging night, mysterious, covers The world aweary, — Time moves slow ! But wait, impatient one, the morning ! Wait him who comes in kingly power. All crowned with golden clouds adorning, When the far East proclaims the hour. Though night enwrap thee, darkling ever To thy dull reason's utmost ken, Great Wisdom will the gloom dissever, And show a dawning day to men. Then each, once malice-ruled — not thinking What flood of sorrow, shame and pain Should fill his life from witless drinking Of cups prepared for foes to drain — 34 DAY AND NIGHT No longer thralled, will own his brother Whatso his nation, rank, or guise. Mankind shall be as of one mother Whose counsel all her children prize. 35 BESTOWAL BELOVED child of man, by Nature's bounty blest ! Productive Spring for thee in season doth appear. Unto thy sickle's given whate'er the Summer west With moisty cloud has fed. How vain if thou shouldst fear Incessant drought or flood or thawless Winter drear 1 The sad monotony of never-varied days Is all-forbidden by the swift-revolving year. Cool shadows creep across the torrid noontime blaze, And dream's oblivion-spell holds thee from toilsome ways. Silvery and golden sheen, down-pouring, are the dower Which Sun and Moon bestowed upon thy needy birth. Night's radiant jewels crown for thee the sunless hour ; Shamed are the cluster-fires abeam from crowns of Earth. To thee, uprising, Morn displays a sparkling worth Ere Day has drunken deep from dewy flower and leaf. When Death, that'robs thine eyes, leaves utter mortal dearth. Immortal gazing thou shalt bless the generous thief Who makes thee rich beyond thy fervent heart's belief. 36 LOVE'S RETROSPECT AT Springtime did my ardent youth rejoice For bright-winged harbingers tuned clear to me Love-promise from the green of every tree. The Summer came wherein a clearer voice, More love-fraught than the theme which April trilled, Poured tender with that promise well fulfilled. O Summer ! of your myriad-flaming red, These poor brown leaves are left, once like the hue Which on a maiden's cheek at giving grew ! Love moved her then to words which, yet unsaid, Each thought-betraying act long uttered plain. Come back lost Summer ; bring surcease of pain ! Alas 'tis Winter I gone the grovy shade ! Regretful winds lament the season o'er ! But, from the blossom of one Summer shore Whereto sad Autumn never yet hath strayed, A voice angelic, with the earth-time sweet. Sings to my waiting, " At the end we meet I " 37 TO BABY ELEANOR WINGING far from hidden skies, Hoped for, yet a sweet surprise, Tliou hast brought in earthward flight Heavenly gifts, my Heart's Delight ! Long and long I gaze into Deeps of paradisal blue When, from slumber to my sight, Eyes unclose, my Heart's Delight ! Heaven has lent thy head's soft down Beauty golden as her crown ; On thy lips have cherubs bright Pressed their love, my Heart's Delight ! In rose gardens angels twine Pride of every bush and vine ; Buds they gave, both pink and white, To thy cheek, my Heart's Delight I Eden flowers beneath thy feet Blended delicate and sweet ; Thy wee finger-clasp, so slight. Crushed no bloom, my Heart's Delight! To mine ear thy tongue makes plain Fragments of an angel's strain ; My rapt soul doth hear aright All the song, my Heart's Delight ! 38 SUMMER MORN BRIGHT Summer Morn ! the gold is gone From out the western moon's wan face : Star-quenching Morn ! thou dost adorn Departing Night's deserted place- Red Summer Morn I a splendor, born Where burns the East, the sun foretells : Gem-laden Morn ! bestrew the lawn. But slight not thou the hills and dells. Fresh Summer Morn ! balm-breathing Dawn ! The waiting bud a flower shall be : Impartial Morn I thou wilt not scorn The humblest life that looks to thee. Fair Summer Morn ! thy smile withdrawn, Yon sky-blown rose would fade and die : Auspicious Morn I no storm clouds warn ; No tempest from afar draws nigh. Mild Summer Morn I more soft than fawn Thou treadst the path where Noon doth wait ! Ill-fated Morn ! why gliding on? He brooketh not thy crown and state. 39 SUMMER NIGHT SOFT Summer Night ! a chastened light, A moonbeam mild, outpours on thee : Eve-ushered Night whom Day doth slight ! Thy beauty stars come forth to see. Calm Summer Night ! the birds cease flight ; Their throats they still lest thou should chide : Breeze-lulling Night ! their plumage bright. Throughout thine hours, the nest shall hide. Mid-Summer Night I no frost shall blight The tenderest flower of all thy care : Dew-laden Night ! with leaves shut tight It sleepeth in thine odorous air. Loved Summer Night ! benignant Might Doth all the skyey gold reveal : Heaven-dowered Night 1 from that clear height A myriad glories meekly steal. Chaste Summer Night I when clouds bedight Inflame the East, a vasty pyre, Maid-modest Night ! more swift than sprite Thou'lt flee the Morning's amorous fire. 40 JOHN PAUL JONES WHEN Greed, all-grasping ever, would claim Death's hallowed ground. He robs the dead of rightful bed belowthe sacred mound. O heartless Greed I O Monster ! built you upon the breast Of one forgot? or feared you not to violate his rest? With hands of reverent doing men disinterred his mould That o'er the wave, beside our brave, our storied ones of old, He find befitting honor so late that Shame should weep ; A hundred years from all his peers the hero far did sleep. The hero and the sailor who earned a people's praise ; From hearts replete our tongues repeat a tale of other days ; We laud a deed as worthy as ever sailor wrought ; With pride we tell how long and well the hero sailor fought. He chose the brave sea-battle ; he knew the glorious end ; He grappled fast that to the last his iron rain should rend. Beneath the fires of Heaven the lurid flames of Hell In wrath outbroke as deafening woke the foeman's thunder knell. 41 JOHN PAUL JONES The rounded moon was looking, and every star alight, As face to face in that dread place the living fierce did fight. The battle rage was burning from cannon, lip to lip ; A mortal blow, — and ah ! the foe yields to a sinking ship. All silent comes the captain ; all silent spreads the sea Unlike the spot where rang the shot that won the victory When victory was timely, and every deed of power Illustrious, bright, in rising light of Freedom's morning hour. O Time-rewarded hero ! beneath the coffin lid Your perished frame, but not your fame, from all the world is hid ! Even as the vanished terror of your renowned broadside. Your days are done, — but Freedom won, shall evermore abide. 42 THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE TRANSFORMING Love I ah, at thy touch Will things the meanest show A hidden worth and luster such As in the noonbeams grow ! How free unto the dimmy west The Dawn its gold broadcasts ! So thou hast Earth's poor children blest, And thy rich treasure lasts. Untouched art thou by dulling cloud, Nor hast thou setting dread ; Through ceaseless day Wrath's thunder loud Falls not on man's low head. I praise Thee, Wisdom ! Power ! and Love ! Great Love, thou Trinity ! What fullness the mild spheres above Have found Thyself to be I cannot tell, — yet all the Night Is tender to the flowers ; The nested brood, in leafy height, Sleeps through the star-lit hours. 43 THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE Ah, many a sordid soul and blind, Dreaming of naught but gain, Has wrought and sought and longed to find What, found, would prove but bane, The Wonder-stone transmuting all From base alloy to gold ; But greedy self did rear her wall And in the heart-deeps hold The Universal Solvent prized : For it were climes ransacked. And danger, toil, and pain despised. And pathless deserts tracked. The anxious days, the vigils late, The crucible and fire, The ponderous tome, — vain I vain I Some fate Would mock men's crude desire. Be wise O man I seek not afar Thy centered self to win ! Wouldst be true alchemist? No bar Should stay the love within. Ray forth the triple light of thee. Born of the Light above ! Sprung from the One, the seeming Three ! God- Wisdom, Power, and Love. 44 THE TONE POETS A REVERIE AWEARY of the day, its din and strife, I sit me 'neath the silence of the stars : The Time-enduring look serenely down On this abode of fretful, fleeting man. Night's midmost hour is done ; the moon is low. And many an orb has found the western sky : The bright Attendant Ones, the loyal Seven, Have swung far round the steadfast Sentinel That guards with vigilance the vasty North. Held by a spell, a keen presentiment, I wait an echo of the angel song Interpreted by heaven-favored bards That oft, the notes of Paradise re-singing, Have blended her with the rapt soul of Earth. Hark, in the night-hush wakes for me the strain ! To one I listen, worthy every ear; O Bach whose chords complex and mazy measures Are always noble in the stately fugue I A tide of harmony in thunderous waves Out-rushes from the brimming organ-pipes ! Ah, 'tis thy gift to stretch, with certain hand. Through tonal labyrinths, a guiding strand I 45 THE TONE POETS Again the night is dumb till, from the gloom, One standeth chief amidst a choral throng Whose hallelujahs find the heavenly throne. Handel ! lofty, lucid one I thine art Outlives yon stately grove of massive oak Whence comes a fragrance of the wood-flower wild ! Another green than forest boughs beyond 1 see ; spontaneous mirth resoundeth there, And shepherd's rustic pipe and song and dance Are innocent in all the pastoral valley. There joyeth one to whom that spot must seem Arcadia verdant, blooming in a dream ; Haydn, thy notes leap blithe whate'er thy theme I Soft from the vale, with many a mimic fall And tiny eddy overhung by shade, A stream winds limpid, graceful, seeking ever The ocean o'er whose wide and waveless deeps No terror roves, no warlike prow doth steer : Thereon the ships, deep-freighted, gently fanned. From paradisal isles are winging far. O thou Mozart whose kindled eyes I see ! Child of the partial Muse ! beloved, endowered, And in thine own celestial requiem mourned ! Thy roomy and full-laden ship I hail From rich and bounteous regions of the heart 1 A giver generous, thou gav'st the best And recked not that the callous Great, swine-like, Would rend thee, and thy pearls of worth bemire. But harken ! Far and faint a white-robed band, 46 THE TONE POETS Soft-winged as airy cloud, of clouds most high, Is earthward tending. Now the nearer choir Swells louder as adown the quivering air They haste to greet who bids them ever come. Beethoven ! Master ! thine the pasan ringing, And thine the clear, on-rushing melody I Thine too the climax of the trancing song ! Behold, thy magic wand thou raisest and The distant West, deep-muttering, doth frown, — The winds, inconstant, wake with boding wail, — The tempest bursts, the cloudy van darts fire, — The ceaseless heaven-shaking thunders roll ! Streams out at length the long-enshrouded day ; The hiding birds, their fear-stopped founts unloosed. Come forth with joy renewed, and by the brook The peasants make again high holiday. I hear Titania and the Elfin King ! Agatha, beauteous in the chaste moon-beam. Is warbling all her maiden heart of love. Welcome, who bade them be ! Thy harmony Should mingle with the bliss of those that stand Where every harp-string owns a seraph's hand. Greeting, rapt Bard divinely pouring now Thine Earl King, Wanderer, and Serenade ! Welcome, inspiring Minstrel heaven-inspired ! Elijah's deeds and Baal's downfall tell I Right welcome, great Romanticist 1 O sing Of Mignon, Blondel, and the Grenadiers ! O bardic Band I Immortals young ! O ye 47 THE TONE POETS That teach my uncloyed ear your deathless themes ! One stands amidst, his poet brow enwreathed With tribute laurel. Strong Upbuilder, hail ! Thy lofty walls shall scorn the brunt of Time, And every Art, made one, shall temple there. Thou singer of the sky-descended Grail 1 Monsalvat's bells fore-ring the wakeful hour, And, at the summons, yonder knightly throng Is upward wending to the hallowed tower. And now the restless Morn, unbidden come, Arouses me to routine, worldly care ; She speaks 1 — Night's fervent eloquence is dumb ! — She looks ! and instant melts the vision fair. O be it that when through the valley dark, Or when I strain o'er rough and dangerous ways, Of this remembered night a note, a spark, Shall cheer and guide me unto better days 1 48 THE ANSWER ABOVE us beams the night; our pleasure-prow is leaving, Along the summer seas, a rippling wake of sparkles 'neath the moon ; In undulations faint the floods around are heaving ; Our course leads lightly on from pleasant shores which, far, will vanish soon. The furthering wind doth fill our sails not unto straining ; Tis on thy rounded cheek of graceful curve as our spread canvas white ; Sit by me at the keel 1 no salty spume is raining ; Thou mayest face the voyage which lovers choose when orbs yon queenly light. Sit thou beside me close I While this good hand is steering The other meeteth thine, its finger-tips pink-tinted as the shell. Beloved I asking still, with eyes and voice endearing, "My love, what meaneth love?" If love my tongue inspire I answer well. 49 THE ANSWER But why a questioner? Love lore of me why seeking? Thyself has chiefly taught whatso I tell of Love the deep and high. Remains the Love unspoke, Love past all mortal speaking, In nether gulfs unknown and in the Vast, beyond the earthly sky. Give eastward, westward, glance to rising stars and setting ; Behold the nebulous band, above our boat, huge- arching on the blue I Love rules that mighty maze, no loneliest charge forgetting ; Desire she makes a chain which binds the sun to suns beyond thy view. Blind contact-seeking spurs each swift and eager motion ; Thus harshly love begins, unlike sweet love, a ruin- ous mere desire ; But Love has fixed the ways ; along yon teeming ocean, From crash and wreck, she steers that mindless thing fierce-born of laboring fire. The link which binds us here, man unto woman cleaving, By hand of Heaven in gentler fires was fused, then for her purpose wrought. Unnumbered links there be, a form the same receiving At her well-fashioning forge. Unto Love's binding these have angels brought. SO THE ANSWER So you and I — conjoined by Love the unifying — Each of the other learner, grow more like the beings perfect grown In Love and Wisdom that, with Life the grave-belying, Are fullness in all spheres wherewith the Night her skyey field hath sown. By joy of love-contact kind Nature lureth ever To lesson which mankind must wholly learn ere smiles our heaven below. She shapeth mother love, a link no power can sever. And father-feeling, strong 'gainst mighty stress, and thus the chain doth grow Till golden bright there glows the cause of human yearning. The angel-witnessed truth that all are one as man and woman wed. One Love, one Wisdom's lit where Life's one fire is burning ; Let pure affection feed that flame in which Love- Wisdom's word is read I SI TO TRITON AH, Triton ! Ocean Prince ! I hear a strain Amidst the rapture of the minstrel train ; Thy herald shell's outburst is clearly sounding, Sweet resounding O'er the sea. I love thy notes that charm the vocal Fair Of Doris born and gracing everywhere The kingly train of Neptune, empire-keeping. Sovereign sweeping O'er the sea. Attune my harp, and tuneful let me sing ! Though all unworthy, I would tribute bring To Amphitrite's child from far appearing. Light careering O'er the sea. 52 From the shores, and the hills, and the prairie. Have we gathered in Liberty's sight ; We are brave and our leaders are wary, War-trained in the fierce border fight. YANKEE DOODLE ROLL the drum I swell the trumpet and bugle ! Let them ring through our battle array ! Thrill with life screaming fife ! Yankee Doodle Arouse us to deeds in the fray I Speed afright through the on-coming legions ! Bring thou joy to us, freemen to be I O'er the strife shrilly fife pierce to regions That know not the word liberty I From the shores, and the hills, and the prairie, Have we gathered in Liberty's sight ; We are brave and our leaders are wary, War-trained in the fierce border-fight. Steady arms 1 steady eyes ! and hearts steady 1 Waste we not the scant powder and ball ; Every musket is cocked, primed, and ready; — Crack I Crack ! how the rash foemen fall I Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! When the lithe deer was bounding. Or the wolf to the sheep-fold drew near. Did we miss ? Whilst the flint-lock was sounding He dropped in his midmost career. 53 YANKEE DOODLE Save the dead all are fled from our volley ; Rest we not for they rally again ! They are doomed, they are doomed by their folly, To cumber and crimson the plain ! Rolls the drum I swells the trumpet and bugle. Ever fiercer through our firm array 1 Fraught with strife is the fife ! Yankee Doodle Has roused us again to the fray. Haste to death ! haste to death I O ye legions ! All our marksmen are skilled as of yore ; Crack ! Crack I Crack I Let the sound fill the regions Where Tyranny's hand weigheth sore ! Oft the stealthy and murderous savage Glided goalward the bushes among ; But the war-whoop, the rush, and the ravage, Came not for our stern missiles sung To the heart of each luckless marauder, "Well our hearths and our households we love 1" Sing they now, " Every man is a warder ! He serves the great Warder above I " See ! The boldest, once proudly advancing. Are the wildest in f enzied defeat ; How the sunbeams rejoice with us ; dancing On swords that are goading retreat ! 54 YANKEE DOODLE Roll the drum ! swell the trumpet and bugle I Redder grows the ensanguined pursuit ! Martial fife I battle-rife, Yankee Doodle I Salute us whom Fame shall salute ! Get ye hence all ye vampires and minions I Hateful hirelings of monarchy's realm I For our vengeance is fleet on its pinions ; Our wrath shall your rout overwhelm ! Get ye hence with your tinsel and glitter ! Bend the knee and obsequious head To a prince ! to a king ! but 'tis fitter We stand among men Freedom-bred ! Men who dote not on earls ; not a thumb-snap Would they care for a duke's smile or nod ; Men who fawn not on birth ; not a drum-tap Would hail your most blue-blooded lord. Get ye hence ! From the Lakes to the Ocean, And from Georgia to Canada-land, We must nourish, with deep heart-devotion, A bloom midst our brotherhood band. Get ye hence that our patriot descendants The rich fruit of our blossom may see ! Go ! Beget ye a brood of dependants ! Our children shall love Liberty ! 55 THE OLD WAR DRUM OHARK to the voice of the drum ! A tale of the past it is telling ; The wild, whirring notes, so long dumb. With ardor of battle are swelling. When Liberty called to the brave, I lent her the roll of my thunder ; It roused the dull heart of the slave ; — Arising, his bonds he did sunder. Rung fierce, through the turbulent morn. My voice that awoke him, — my story ; He leaped to the ranks marching on To battle, to freedom, to glory. I sung them a song while they strode. With eyes never wistfully turning. Barefoot on the rough, stony road. The patriot flame in them burning. I sung them the song I must sing. No idle or amorous ditty ; I rung them the notes I did ring To the farm, and the town, and the city ; S6 THE OLD WAR DRUM " O haste ye to harrass the foe In every place, moment, and manner ! Rebuke ye his pride with a blow, And trample his insolent banner I " O charge ye, and thrust ye, and slash ! stand and shoot well, never missing ! O face the red, ominous flash, And death-missiles shrieking and hissing ! ' ' O keep the firm line well abreast Till Justice and Valor o'ermaster I Ye men, of War's deemon possessed, Move faster ! Move faster ! Move faster I " Of the camp, and the field, and the strife, 1 could prate till the dread trump's awaking : The comrades, the friends in that life, Sleep well, of the grave's rest partaking ; But — fresh from my century nap — I prattle and tattle and chatter ! A touch, just a daintiest tap. Doth swell to a garrulous clatter, A tattoo that tells of a night, — A bivouac, — the stacked muskets ready : At dawning I greeted the light With reveille rolling so steady ! S7 THE OLD WAR DRUM Right well I remember that day ; All the fates had long frowned on our battle. O shame ! O'er the death-cumbered way Our troops were stampeded as cattle. A fury broke forth from me then Like overhead tempest a breaking ; It filled every breast of our men Till foes in their footsteps were quaking. Then Victory's blade flashed, and high Our standard triumphant was flying ; My wild, soaring joy did outvie The roar, and the crash, and the crying. At even I throbbed by a bier ; Rejoicing was tempered with sorrow, A dirge and a volley, — a tear For those that wake not on the morrow. Hurrah ! To that morrow's high dome Ascended my jubilant story ; — Then stepped to my beat, marching home, Our Heroes, our Freemen, our Glory. 58 RIVERTON PARK KIND Nature, when the mood inspires, Will scatter riches of her store From purple morn till sunset fires, And gem the twilight more and more. Behold this spot ! her lavish hand Has touched the wood, the stream, the sky, Till all the charms of fairy-land Enhance the hours which careless fly. Throughout yon valley shines the stream ; Along its calm no ripple wakes ; Alive the shadowed branch doth seem Whereon the shadowed leaflet shakes. The over-arching green, which roots In grassy slope or steep descent. Lines either shore where alway flutes The bird his joy or his lament. These rustic paths fair Flora knows. These arbors found by every wind Which from the fragrant forest blows. Then, hastening, leaves the June behind. 59 RIVERTON PARK Beside this grove Presumpscot glides, This grove to pleasure dedicate ; Here Music pours melodic tides Whilst banished Care without doth wait. Long shall it wait ! Kind Nature's hand Touched all the wood, the stream, the sky, When first she planned this fairy-land Where burdenless the hours fly. 60 OUR PRESIDENT September 14TH, 1901 SEPTEMBER Night ! O long September Night ! A growing burden on my spirit weighs ; Thy gathered stars yield me no cheering light ; Thy griefful hours betoken hopeless days. September Night ! O hushed, suspensive Night ! Hark ! midst thy stillness wakes the dreaded bell 1 Its measured notes proclaim a free soul's flight ; Their throbbing would a Nation's sorrow tell ! September Night ! O ne'er-forgotten Night ! September ! surely I have heard before, Knelled through the darkness, those deep tones that smite ; Again their iron leaves my heart full sore. O hapless Nation mine ! O thrice bereaved ! Yes, Murder thrice thy chosen chief hath slain. For him who helmed thee through the storm thou grieved, And on a later grave thy tears did rain. 61 OUR PRESIDENT Rouse Nation ! rouse ! Stamp out the reptile brood Whose forfeit life doth menace Freedom's breast ! Shall venomed fang, that serves the viper's mood, At Freedom strike in this free land and best? If knave and fool subvert Columbia's law, A time shall hasten that a slave would dread ; 'Gainst Weakness Strength will wage the olden war When brother's blood on brother's blade was red. The wolf will mark the lone, unguarded fold, And stealthy, hiding crime flaunts forth by day ; The rufiian scatheless wrests the scanty gold. The poor man's wage, and Fear the land will sway. Until the brute in men is all transformed, And selfish lust to selfless love is grown ; Until that love each human heart has warmed. Must earthly Law fill her appointed throne. 62 LOVE'S JUNE WHERE growing leaves of June Make cool and quiet bower, We shun the sultry noon, And wait the twilight hour. Let Bud, that loves the Day, Reveal its fragrant heart ; Let Sunshine's bird be gay. And loud its rapturous art. For thee, retiring one ! This modest, woven shade ; Here, hidden from the sun, Thy modest vow was made. When, 'neath the sheltering night. We sought the lonely vale. Thy brow the winds kissed light That kissed the lily pale. A thousand eyes of love Dim-lighted all the place. And, tender, from above Looked on thine upturned face. And when again on me Thy trustful eyes did shine, What happiness to see A thousand eyes in thine I THE VOYAGE UPON the stream with childish glee The children launch their tiny ships ; In childhood's fairy-realm set free, On tiny waves each rises, — dips. 'Gainst puny sails the zephyr blows ; Through bending shade the blue reveals ; Along the tide, that devious flows, Move dangerless the puny keels. Move dangerless? Ah, yonder swirl Has claimed the foremost ; luckless fate ! In every swifter, madder, whirl She nears the brink where doom doth wait. Another, caught in weedy snare, Without the current idles now : Ho ! fragile bark speeding on ! beware ! — Alas ! the ledge has crushed her prow ! Where slimy, half-hid stones defy The seething torrent, one is lost : Look ! on the rapids rushing by, A torn, dismantled wreck is tossed ! 64 THE VOYAGE Now, motionless amid-stream, one Has stranded on a little isle : Another's tardy voyage is done For treacherous shallows could beguile. May some into the anchorage ride With hulls unbattered, masts upright, And prows unswerved, and rudders tried, And sails intact, and pennants bright ! 65 THE MASTER OF THE ORGAN THE venerable Master as of old Is at the Organ ; far above him tower, Tier over tier, the brimming pipes which hold Harmonic treasure ; yet in this dumb hour They seem but empty. High, and then more high, The ended day's last beam, a golden glow, Kindles the burnished metal : Eve is nigh ; — And now the lingering sun has sunken low. The twilight grows from floor to arching roof As, in his heart of purest concord, sings The Master venerable and aloof. Always aloof, from mean and sordid things. Wake Master, for thine every thought a voice 1 Touch thou the ready keys, the pipes awake ! The feeblest and the grandest shall rejoice ; In songs thine own their slumbrous silence break. As though from far a melody I hear, More soft than softest zephyr midst the green, Spring's gift to all the trees. Those pipes so clear. Withal so delicately sweet, I ween THE MASTER OF THE ORGAN Have yielded never yet what now they pour. Hark ! Hark I Unto mine ear a bolder phrase ! And, quick, an outburst like the distant roar That sombre western clouds will sudden raise ! Aloft a thousand stormy voices mount ; The roof-tree trembles with the thunder sound That swells harmonious from the tonal fount Whose source, far-reaching, Bach and Handel found. That fount undrained which Haydn knew, Mozart, And great Beethoven of the seraph strain, And many masters of a glorious art That will, a priceless heritage, remain. Majestic sweep the Fugue's recurring themes. And mighty Hallelujahs roll aloft ; And still the tide euphonious outstreams. The Largo sobs, the Scherzo laugheth soft, Andante sings with tenderness replete, Adagio welleth, from the deep upsprung. Allegro pours the sparkling notes and fleet ; — Finale roars ; from every pipe outflung. Master I thou twinest in the tonal wreath One richest and all-blending note, — thyself; Thy hand doth paint, and pictures grow beneath ; Thy music's poesy is not for pelf, 67 THE MASTER OF THE ORGAN Ah, not for pelf I A nobler meed his due That toils unprompted ere by worldly hire ; That labors for the joy he brings the few, His soul aflame with heaven's altar-fire. The Master's mood is ended, and again The notes are stayed within their brimming source ; Tier over tier is mute ; — Sound ends her reign ; She giveth place amidst her grandest course. Yet Night moves onward ; Master, I must go ! Farewell to thee, and to this hallowed pile ! Farewell still Organ, and the dimming show Of stained glass, and every pillared aisle ! 68 Wake Master, for thine every thought^a voice ! Touch thou the ready keys, the pipers awake ! The feeblest and the grandest shall rejoice ; In songs thine own their slumbrous silence break. SSiei.* AMERICA'S INDICTMENT LISTEN ! ye that fell my forests, bare my hills, and dam my streams ! Listen ! ye that build and burrow where the noisy city teems ! Ye that greedy stem my rivers ! ye that seek possessions new, Claiming mountains, valleys, prairies ! Listen well, rapacious crew ! I, America, outspoken, in no gratulations deal ! With my mouth I frame indictments ! with my tongue I search like Steel ! Through the peaceful, dreamy ages lay mine empire undefiled, Lulled by eastern winds, and western, and the south wind's music mild. Long my ample land was virgin as a nymph of woody shade, Midst her chosen quietude, inviolate and unafraid ; But too soon Atlantic breezes whispered of a stranger near : — Then the sullen-roaring billows brought the venturous voyager here. 69 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT All his heart with vast ambition craved a rich and wide domain ; India-ward should stretch the confines and the power of haughty Spain — Land of bigot, rack, and stake, and harsh, anathema- tizing word ; Land enslaving. Land baptizing, 'neath the overhanging sword ; Land of Cortes and Pizarro, and a treacherous outlaw band Scenting war and blood and rapine ; black of heart and red of hand. Qiiick the ships of Spain were crowded ; westward every prow was turned For the lust of El Dorado in the Spaniard's bosom burned. Over seas the old world evils hastening brought their hideous harm ; Rolled the battle, reeked the slaughter, deepest Hell then lending arm. Till the Inca and the Aztec in the common death lay low, And the tribes, enslaved and trampled, piteously besought the foe. Bathed in carnage rose the Cross o'er idols fallen from their height, 70 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT And the Christian day was blacker than the darkest heathen night. O my realms, ransacked and plundered I northward ! southward 1 not a ray, Tender from the sun of pity, pierced that century-lasting day. Then my outraged nations perished in the deep mines of Peru ; Worn they perished from the slave-gangs where the Cuban cane-fields grew; Crushed beneath the task of Cortes, galled by yoke no flesh could bear. Ground by heels of men ignoble, prone they perished everywhere. Ponce de Leon, in his island, sought through gore the fount of youth ; Stern De Soto, battling westward, filled his path with pain and ruth ; Cartier, welcomed to my borders, in his bark did treacherously Bear the captive from the northland to repine beyond the sea. Hudson's buccaneer adventurers, round the capes, and in the bay. And the palisaded river, sailed, alas ! their lawless way : 71 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT Sword and torch, in hands aggressive, found the still Virginian wood, Then the smoke of burning wigwams rose above the deed of blood. Look unto the rock of Plymouth where the Puritan pressed his feet 1 Crossed he that hard, frozen threshold seeking liberty complete ; Flint and ice henceforth the symbol of his arbitrary law Stifling pleasures innocent, and frowning on each fancied flaw. Hunting Baptists, driving Quakers to my noble native men Frank and generous and friendly in the wilderness of Penn. O my wild, untutored children ! Wisdom somewhat guides your brain ! Ye have rendered well to kindness, though revenging pain with pain. Had the Oppressor's heart but mastered life's half truth which ye perceive, Hate 'gainst him had never risen fraught with all whereat I grieve. Many a grim defense, unbuilded, long had served the peaceful well. Lending wall and beam and rafter to the homes where Peace would dwell. 72 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT Peace more precious than the treasure veining deep the mountain mine ; Peace more grateful than the plenty Summer gives to tree and vine ; Peace that Spaniard, Frenchman, Briton, knew not through the vengeful years ; Peace that fled the Dutch Manhattan struggling with assailing fears. Oft the silent, deadly arrow from the Indian's bow-string flew, Then the sudden death-cry, shrilling, told the settler's aim was true. From Canadian fort and block-house to Augustine's fending wall, Man made tyrant War his sovereign ; Peace, his friend, he drave from all. Plymouth, Jamestown, and Manhattan, margining Atlantic's wave, Widened toward De Soto's river where he found his fame and grave. Wrought to fury unavailing, backward was the Indian pressed 1 Backward ! backward I from his birthright, to a refuge in the west. Threading empty river channels, fording every valley stream, 73 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT All uncovetous he gathered where the golden sands did gleam : Gathered he as children gather sea-cast shell and curious stone : O that wiser men were simple with a wisdom like his own ! From the peak his eye discovered fairy dells the cliffs between, Then beyond the ridges traversed rolling plains of wider green. Simple heart I no daily joy of harvests growing to his gain, Fostered daily fear lest Heaven would withhold the needed rain. Soon, alas I came other footsteps ! soon, alas 1 on other eyes Flashed the floors of vanished rivers, flashed the streams their baleful prize : Mellow, untilled soil suggested dropping seed and autumn yield ; Greedy grew the coarse intruder, — and the Indian's doom was sealed. To the marge of either ocean swarms an eager, alien race ; But their presence moves me never to a mother's heart embrace. 74 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT Alien ones ! I sound a challenge I ye who call me mother oft I Were ye filial and fraternal, then my voice were love note soft. Ye have seen, as have your fathers, Bethlehem's star that guideth still ; Mine have seen, as have their fathers, trustless lights that lead to ill. Ye have known, as have your fathers, of one Love resisting not; Mine have known, as have their fathers, what the mother beast has taught. I have seen the slave ye brought from Afric lands to far Brazil ; Stripes ye laid for gems he dug, the gems which did your treasury fill : I have seen him, reft of manhood, toil 'neath Antillean skies. But the land of fancied justice lent unto my scorn surprise. Midst the ceaseless prate of freedom, seemingly no slave could be. But in rice, and cane, and cotton, there a wretched slave was he ; 75 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT Whosoever called him brother, braved the world's dis- dainful sneer, And the voice of gross reviling, and the scornful laugh and jeer. Lo, the brute in men turned devil toward the just, the bondman's hope. And through Boston streets they dragged him even with the hangman's rope. Vain the words wherewith ye answer, "Let this wrath for by-gones sleep ! We grow wiser ! we grow better ! at our father's deeds we weep ! " Cease, O fools ! the face of mourning, and the late and useless tear For the olden shames behind you ! other shames are growing here ! Slaves are in your midst though banished from these shores the last slave ship. Burst the bond, unloosed the shackle, stayed the smit- ing of the whip ! Slaves must be where Greed, withholding Justice unto all men due. Renders little to the many, renders much unto the few ; Grudges him, the man that buildeth, meagre portion of his right ; 76 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT Lashes, with the whip of scorn, the bound and shackled in God's sight. Slaves must be where Selfishness, ignoring ills which harm him not, Shifts his burden to a shoulder bruised and bent by life's hard lot. Wheedles for each coveted station ; rules there toward mere selfish end ; Values not that ruler chosen should, a servant, service lend. Slaves must be where hapless children, toiling through the weary night. Pine within the prison factory, tender lives that bud and blight. Slaves must be where Love is throneless, and, to carnal man's disgrace, Lust, usurper vile, is tyrant o'er the mothers of the race. Slaves must be where tongues are silent, and the lips by fear are closed. Leaving Truth without a champion, and the loud lie unexposed. Slaves must be where men bow humbly unto soulless Wealth and Power Till the boldest all are craven, and the staunchest quake and cower. 77 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT Slavish souls, freed from the tyrant, needs must choose another lord As the slaves that, led from Pharaoh, brought to Saul the ruler's rod ; Lo, the Dollar is your sovereign ! but the head of Liberty, And the Eagle, and the Motto, minted there, ye will not see ! Broken long with lords and titles, now through yours ye link with these ; If the lord prove but a knave the title doth your conscience ease ; Though ye boast no proud escutcheon, trust ye in your sovereign's might Soon to crown your daughter's children lineal lords with scutcheon bright. In your homes of brick and marble, greet the rich with courteous grace ; Spurn the poor man's hand polluting I teach him well his menial place ! If, amidst your sumptuous feasting. Hunger venture near the door. Let the fallen crumb suffice him ; be ye base as men before I Selfish men sunk in their pleasures till the soul's true voice was dumb, 78 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT And the voice of Revel shouted, "After us let deluge come ! " Straightway on the Bastille leaped, with thunder-burst, the hail and flame ; Red on scaffolds rained a torrent for to France the deluge came. In the path of man's dull progress feet are dragging chain and ball ; In the world's dark ways infested, few are scatheless ; many fall ; But in ways of peace, yet hidden, waits the prophet's promised hill Where the ravening beast is gentle, and the lion's roar is still. When each far milestone, grown nearer, dimly shapes amidst the gloom, And the brave turn backward never to the hovering wings of doom, Lo, a brighter wing appeareth, and a hopeful angel smiles Till my heart forgets her doubt, and all the rough, untrodden miles ! He who gropes in starless midnight, hails the momentary beam ; Sudden light and hope rejoice me, and my heart makes joy her theme 79 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT When some sweet, fraternal mercy, unto one of Adam's seed, Burns an instant on the blackness that the sons of men may heed. Shall not Avarice stay his fingers clutching, clutching, more and more? Shall not Greed withhold his hand to leave a morsel for the poor? Leave the lonely, widowed woman roof and shelter for her head? Leave the tender, needy child the scanty loaf, the orphan's bread? Shall not feverish days of intrigue, shall not restless nights of scheme. Pass away and be forgotten as the troublings of a dream ? Will not sweet Utopia, risen in the Sage's temperate mind. Gather to her just conditions every class of human kind ? To the world's great, busy hive the drone has never brought a sweet ; Strive ye through the world's long work-day ! rightfully ye then may eat ! Ere ye dole to Toil his pittance, think on all his power has wrought ; What ye plan himself must fashion else the planning comes to naught. 80 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT If ye rule, or sit in judgment, and the wronged his grievance bring, Rule for Justice I rule for Heaven ! judge as Israel's wisest king ! Tame the lust that drives its offspring backward toward the fleshly brute ! Guard and nourish childhood's blossom till it comes to perfect fruit ! Thunder truth through startled cities ! rouse the hamlet ! shake the town ! Though perforce ye drain the hemlock glorious more than votive crown ! Strive to merit their acclaim that unto lords will nowise bend ! Strive to tower above the pride which bids your line with lordlings blend ! Make no more the coin your King ! from riches turn the covetous gaze ! Let no knave on rungs of gold his baseness to your favor raise ! Though he purchase earthly honor, knave is he in God's pure sight ; All his wrested millions, given, weigh not as the widow's mite. But when Charity bestows, with that true gift a heart she gives 8i AMERICA'S INDICTMENT Bleeding with the bitter anguish of the world wherein she lives. Weepeth she at all the sorrow which from eyes of weeping flow; Joyeth she in hope that somehow Time will bring the balm of woe. He who clave the deeps asunder, and the billows back- ward drave, Raised my stable shores amidst, and curbed the wild, encroaching wave ; Tall He reared my wintry summits whence the torrents dash in spray. Ice-born floods that lave the meadows parching in the torrid ray. Then with life He filled my rivers ; mount and plain and forest filled ; Life of man and plant and creature thrived where'er His Wisdom willed ; Plant and creature lived contented in the genial day's outpour. But the mind of man looked sunward, formed to question evermore. Came at last the waited answer from the distant, favored land Where the flaming sun-god, risen, wingeth from the golden strand ; 82 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT All too well mine know the message poured in Monte- zuma's ear ; Even the pit of Hell doth shudder at the pain, the dole, the tear. O ye upright ! O ye godly ! wroth at every past abuse, Show each present evil shameful I prove it lacketh all excuse I Render deeds unto my peoples, and to them a message ring! Work and word of help and comfort to my widespread nations bring 1 Slaves are there for now, as ever, man is master over man ; Might enthroned is arrogant, and hurls against the Right its ban. Speed your work and word that quickly Evil cease her insolent boast I Aid who dwell by southern seas, and dwellers on the Carib coast ! Dwellers by the walls of Andes towering white o'er tropic green ; Dwellers 'neath Brazilian skies, and in the level Argen- tine; Dwellers southmost where the continent narrows pole- ward to the Horn ; Dwellers by themighty flood, the ever-widening Amazon ; 83 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT Dwellers in my western islands, and the Aztec's ancient home ; Dwellers in the land of cities north unto Niagara's foam ; Dwellers beyond Erie, Huron, where the Canadas out- spread ; Dwellers who look eastward, bowing to far isles obedient head. He who bound the land and waters, globing continent and sea In one mighty whole cohesive, bade them on eternally. He who bound man's every heart beat to his life-blood's ebb and flow, With that bond encompassed nations, then as one He bade them go Strifeless through the ages, looking ever to His steadfast Love, Sun of every sun whose planets peaceful in their circles move. Strengthen ye that saving bond which binds men as Earth's compact sphere ! Strengthen ye that saving tie which draws men to Love's Center near ! Then, the olden all behind her, Earth shall shine a brighter star Bathing in the light celestial from the Sun of skies afar. 84 AMERICA'S INDICTMENT Lo, she wheels in grander orbit to whose heights she did aspire When her ancient flames were kindled, and her basic rocks were fire ! 85 TO CAROLINE THE bud is fair when, eager for the sun, It bursts the doors of its dull prison-house, And — blushing deep before his ardent eye — With modesty, which doth reluctance seem, It slowly opes each pure and perfect leaf. In folded leaves a tender promise lies ; Embowered in beauty 'tis the chiefest charm Of flower to be, and budding womanhood. Welcome, O undelaying years that bring Her full-blown fragrance, every grace mature Of body and of mind, the kindly eye That piercing sham on merit loves to dwell. The friendly hand by no caprice withheld. The tempering judgment, and the tempered speech ! These goods to thee hath gentle Time vouchsafed. And, still more bounteous, brought that gift of gifts The mother's heart which from maternity Hath learned wise lesson. Helper ! Counsellor ! O'er every younger charge thou spreadest wing As in solicitude doth humbly she The foster-mother to some orphan brood. 86 TO ESTELLA WHERE rose-buds open to the day, And sweet wild roses fade and fall, I saw her, queenly, and did say, "Estella, fairest flower of all !" Ah, she is good and true is she, Above caprice, a faithful friend ; Her laughter bringeth joy to me ; No other voice such joy can lend. A heart-fire beameth from her eyes, A kindly, love-enkindling ray ; All gentlest power within her lies ; Whate'er her will I must obey. Ope not soft Bud of summer hours I Wild, blooming Rose, let no leaf fall ! Await ye, fragrant in your bowers, Estella, fairest flower of all ! 87 FAREWELL FAREWELL ! Thy lips first brought me bliss ; They press my lips again, And linger in a last love-kiss Unto my heart but pain. Farewell ! Thine eyes revealed to mine Love's joyful, tender light ; Love-sorrow makes them more divine. Yet fills my heart with night. Farewell ! Love-parting knew no sigh When yester-eve was come ; To-day our tongues have framed "Good-Bye ! " Our stricken hearts are dumb. 88 LOVE DIVINE ALL-GENEROUS of light, the perfect gem Illumes the hand or brow of knave and saint; For each doth Beauty flower the graceful stem, And skies are soft, and fragrant winds are faint. On knave and saint the goodly rain descends ; Impartial Love shall yet reclaim ; for thee It kindled bright the orb that radiance lends To every gem, and makes the flower to be. 89 THE TENTH AVATA OF VISHNU' NOT with re-echoing trump, and heaven-shaking thunder, The Lord of Wisdom comes to seek and claim his own ; No dread, foreshadowing might fills Earth with fear and wonder ; No grim, gigantic steed is guided to a throne. To Judah once did come, the Gentiles nowise spurning, A king of royal line which with our race began ; Mere outward trappings none, good deeds for ill returning. Midst Roman rule he taught the brotherhood of man. With wider mission filled, his regal way pursuing. He scorneth sceptre, crown, and sword, this latter king: He proffers highest help, he stoops to humblest doing. The brotherhood reveals of every living thing. I The Hindu scriptures teach that the god Vishnu will appear finally, riding upon a white horse and bearing a gleaming sword. Many believers, perceiving the symbolism within the dead letter of their sacred books, hold that the great, culminating Avata is already manifest as a growing spiritual presence in the heart of humanity. 90 THE TENTH AVATA OF VISHNU A vital, heaven-sent beam unto the heart descending, He speeds its dulling throb, and floods the chambers dark. Behold, Polaris far — poised in the north — is lending To guide the landsman on, and ocean's wave-tossed bark. Long, long, foretold the star whose growing presence lightens The path to utmost peaks which high and low must win : The timely beacon flames ! the dismal way it brightens ! Men blindly grope no more the midnight vale within. 91 THE EAGLE ABOVE the lonely path which leaves the dale, And, steepening, climbs the rugged, towering hill, I see what circles till it looks a speck ; A tameless eagle, homed in yonder blue, A solitary life aspiring there, Like some brave sail disdains the land. Alas ! Unventurous, reluctant, dull, am I ; Devoid of Aspiration's keen unrest ! Surely she scorns me creeping, crawling, here ; No creature of the field so sluggish ! Ah, Were I but fashioned like to her, a bird Fit for the deed of unexampled flight ! Ah, that it could be mine henceforth on wings To poise and soar and sudden sink ! Wholly To trust such might as she outspreadeth wide ! To know that calm of sweet security Which fills her ever in the clouds' domain ! Ah, that it could be mine henceforth to sweep A navigator of the airy tides. And, from her vantage, view the circle vast, The scene diversified in light and shade. Where soon a pale monotony of snow Will hide the vivid green save where the wood Wears through the winter day its changeless crown ! Into the zenith rising, rising, she 92 THE EAGLE More lightly floats than farthest cloudlets fly, Or on the placid rivers pictured move. Dense fir and pine and oak, gigantic waves From valley unto valley rolling, hide Nowise from her the torrent-seamed descent Of mountains ridged from rise to set of sun. Near and afar a thready silver weaves Betwixt the evergreens, and silverly The little lakes in windless hollows lie. The hamlet wakes not that so long hath slept Deep in the quietude of drowsy hills. From out the teeming city roadways reach Interminable, living arms of brown. In shade the rural home-roof half is hid, And round it thrive the orchard and the farm, And browsing sheep and kine are pastured near. Though well she knows the voices of the wild. To yonder careless bird the busy town Roars discord in the sound of human toil. The strife continual of human tongues. O could I gaze with her on the hushed groves Wherein the shunner of the world might dream Along the paths unfrequented, and far From traffic of the crowded mart and street ! O could I hover o'er his hermit hut Who breathes aroma of the pine, the balm Of fir ! His drink enfilters down the slope. Or leaps all limpid from the snow ; his heart Is burdenless, his mind unvexed, his soul 93 THE EAGLE Hath peace : he ages as the oak grows old Exempt from all unnatural decay. O were I unsophisticate as she Who, morn-awakened from her pathless summit, Did instant seek the calm, free solitude Whereto aspires the matin of the wood, A Nature-prompted happiness unmixed With the hoarse Babel of the worldly throng. At waning day's last hour, when the lulled breeze Moves languidly among the lifeless leaves Of yonder hilltop where the winds complain, She sees from valley unto peak advance The gradual even ere the red sun finds The lowly margin of her western view : And high, amidst the film of rosy clouds, She lingers wheeling, wheeling, tireless As when, Earth's far and dwindled scenes forgot. With joy she sought the bright Noon's blazing source. When thunders wrathful shake the stony cliffs. And stubborn trunks are bended by the blast. And the proud, lofty pine — the lightning's mark — Lies shattered, she doth more exult than fear. Look, bird, on mobile ocean — calm beneath — That in his world-encircling realm doth shelter A countless and adapted multitude ! On headland and on promontory breaks The white of towering waves that tidal sweep Through bays and inlets, and, with victor front. The seaward-rolling estuary turn. 94 THE EAGLE Behold how staunch the coming, going, ships Where once the savage launched his treacherous bark, His frail and shallow venture ! Visit thou Beyond the limit where for him the sky Outspread the curtain of the airy blue ! Those waters far held potent mystery, The fabled monsters of the unknown deep. When hoarse gales, raging long, no more could rage. And ruthless billows all were fury spent. And the strewn shore lay tranquil in the sun, He braved the peril of uncharted seas. The ranging hills thou seest, the vales and woods, The shelterless, enverdured plains, he roamed. How stealthily he neared the browsing herds With barbdd arrow bending tense the bow ! How oft he followed fierce their maddened flight. And tired the foremost, fleeter in the chase ! Thou, mountain-born, forsaking not thy home. Hast seen the flock steer toward the thawless North, Bleak land of desolation. Thou hast seen Their eager southing to the torrid clime Where, midst the flowery tropic wilderness. The birds in rainbow colors clad make nest, Or dumbly wait where twilight noon abides Hid from the burning equatorial beam. O curious, unfatigued excursioner ! Mayhap, down-gazing on encrimsoned fields, Thou heard the battle-volley's ceaseless thunder; Beheld of sword and bayonet the thrust 95 THE EAGLE More wanton than thy talon's reasonless deed. The warring fleet's dread cannonade has rolled To thee high-hovering fearless o'er the main. The rudderless bark with broken wings thou saw Wind-scourged, wave-beaten, to the dooming reef. Thou, poised above the unsealed precipice, Dost view the slender-rilling mountain streams Wax strong and leap in childish sport adown, And rush and roar along the dark ravines. And, river-wide, sweep through the pastoral plains. The frozen limit of the eternal snow That skyward clambers on the narrowing peak. The breathless valley parching in the sun. Both in one moment brief thou visitest. Vainly the tempest strives against thy breast ; The north wind or the east wind stay thee not ; Its might defying, through the boisterous day. Thou, mindful of thy tender, needy young, Seekest their food, and when the even comes Thy wings are folded in thy nightly home ; Where some untrodden crag o'ertops its kind. Thou giv'st thine eaglet brood maternal care. 96 THE ORCHESTRA THE tones harmonious that break The bond of Silence, from hid regions come ; How brief their liberty ! They wake ; — Then in her vasty realm once more are dumb. Behold the metal, wood, and string, So curious fashioned ! whosoe'er hath skill To these can lure the notes that sing. His ready servants pliant to his will. The treble strings the bow doth sweep ; Spring forth the nimble notes, a sparkling train ; Sedate the while, and ponderous, deep. The muttering basses rise and sink again. The Cello breathes a tender plaint, And soothing, sweet, the tranquil Flute replies ; The Harp is tremulous, — or, faint An angel whispers as unseen he flies. The Clarinet swells, eloquent, A martial measure or with love it pleads ; The Saxophone hath beauties blent Of sonant brass, and mild Pandean reeds. 91 THE ORCHESTRA The silvery joy of tiny Bells Is chiming dainty as from fairy-land ; The keen Triangle tinkling tells Of merry feet, the dancing gypsy band. Resounding far, the rich Trombone Outpoureth grand and stately melody ; Above the sombre Baritone The alto Horns make noble euphony. The clear Cornet re-echoing rings ; The Clarion calls ; the Trumpet boastful swells ; In pastoral quaint the Oboe sings The flock-loved valley where the shepherd dwells. The warring Cymbals clash amain, And rough and reedy is the deep Bassoon ; The Tuba roars a mighty strain. The Kettle-drums vibrate their stormy tune. If aught the rapt musician feel Of joy or grief, with voices loud or low The truthful notes his mood reveal ; They laugh or weep, they rush or smoothly flow. From Silence unto Silence all ! A memory leaving, dumbly they depart Who once pulsated through the hall. United by their master's magic art. 98 IN OTHER DAYS IN other days when Love was young, Before the knell of Youth was rung, Sweet words between his lips would flow, Then sink to sweeter sighing low ; But when Love's look your eye would meet Was not that look than sigh more sweet In other days when Love was young? In other days when Love was young? In other days when Love was fair. His locks would mingle with your hair. And mouths, too near for any speech. Were utmost sweetness each to each. The word, the sigh, the look, the kiss ! What has the later life like this In other days when Love was fair? In other days when Love was fair? 99 THE WORTHY LOVER HER servant, I just held within my palm The hand, once timid, grown so confident ; The woman's hand that trembled no alarm When touched to lips of one who humbly bent, Who is of duty always reverent. Then on her brow did I, with soul esteem. Light lay what was of earth taint innocent As kiss on his pure forehead, in a dream. When calm an angel's eyes into my gazing beam. A never-withering friendship then I brought To cheeks more bashful hued because I found Their beauty richer than what June had wrought On fairest rose-tree of the fields around. And then, the while my beating heart did bound — A true, believing heart so near — I pressed, Even on her mouth, eternal love. No sound Marred that sweet, bliss-betokening silence blest By love that homes in heaven, and earthly love the best. lOO THE ORGAN THE storm is growing, but no cloud I see ; Resistless ever, though the wind be still, It worketh in my soul its utmost will. And now the rushing, swelling euphony Ritards and sinks to whispering melody. Again it swelleth thousand-voiced until Harmonious thunders my heart-chambers fill, A reverent joy awakening in me. Leaps forth the lightning, — yet it riveth not ; Flash high and low the unconsuming fires. Seek thou in others what in me was sought ! Bring thou to others what to me is brought ! Work thou in others what in me is wrought ! Grand Organ ! meet to blend with angel choirs ! lOI THE WIND CAPRICIOUS Wind ! why leave the peaceful West? Thou fledest from the East but yesterday, Unwilling 'neath its gathered wrath to stay : The South deserting, that rich land and best, Unto the barren North how oft thy quest ! But soon thy wings returning fill the way ; — Forgotten is the mood that bade thee stray : O Wind ! why fickle? Wilt thou nowhere rest? " 'Tis mine to temper that far, frozen North ; To cool the fevered South I hasten forth ; I drive from seaward haunts the nourishing rain Born of the main, — then from the West I blow ; At once the sun's outburst cheers Earth again. Bent on man's welfare I must come and go." I02 CONTENT AND DISCONTENT TO dull Content one day came Discontent, Unbidden, rude, and, with his keen ploughshare. He tore her sterile field, her fruitless care. She, foolish thing, too long had earthward bent ; Alas, her poor, prized weed ! Its clod he rent ; — But in its grave a tiny seed he hid ; Upsprang it, nourished by her grief-moist lid. And, flowering, loved who with its life was blent. So daily nearer to her eyes it blushed ; Whereat joy filled what once was sorrow's fount. Branched forth the green ; aspired and bloomed the flower, And humble gaze fixed on its face did mount ; And, lo ! the sky — a heavenly flower — was flushed ! Then dull Content blessed Discontent's harsh hour. 103 CLEMENCY FROM out the West, the long-withholding West, There came a cloud, and suddenly a blast O'erthrew my frail, supportless stalks : — it passed ; And up the sky a sombre cloud-rack pressed. And hurled fi^ce hail on tender vines, my best. But while I viewed the havoc, all aghast, A softer cloud hung over me, and fast Fell welcome drops on Earth's unnourished breast. When o'er my soul-drouth sweeps the wind and hail, Faith's proffered stay, once scorned, and sheltering Truth I mourn. Thou scourger Doubt ! the strength shall fail Of thine unpitying tempest ; heavenly Ruth Will melt thy driven sleet to Hope's mild rain Whereby my withered soul shall bloom again. 104 TO MARTHA WHEN you were yet a child your face to me Revealed the promise which the years fulfill ; The loving and wealth-laden years which still Unto your beauteous womanhood would be God's bountiful givers. With what harmony Your voice of singing to my soul doth thrill ! Of your persuading eyes how sweet the will ! And all your maiden heart is purity. Your smile unto my care-beclouded sky Cometh a beam to make the long day bright ; Its memory fades not when the eve is nigh, But moon-like lingers gentle through the night. How often I forget the brook, the bird ! They lose their music when your laugh is heard. II To your young, innocent gaze the world is fair With face unfeigning ; ah, 'twas never so ! That Virtue is its mask you yet must know. And read the heart's dissimulation there. TO MARTHA But O not everywhere ! not everywhere ! Your spirit, spotless, hath some kin below High heaven ; your deep nature's limpid flow Commingling tides adown their course shall bear. Those taintless tides ! Along their margins grow Chaste lilies, and the rose doth warmer blow. Then let me linger on the blossoming bank Which well is nourished by the wholesome stream ! There must the Wise, Benignant Power I thank That made you fairer than a poet's dream. in Among my sweet relationships you move ; Within the cycle of my years a friend. No, never will your welcoming hand pretend ; Nor does uncandor in your tones disprove The words of greeting which I wholly love ! Whatever gifts the Lord of life may send, Withholds he friendship, I must graveward wend With mien of sorrow for it doth behoove. Far better is your friendship's even light . Than flash and flicker of that fickle fire Whose ardor to my breast is almost pain ; Then, turning from me, leaves it cold again ! Therefore to calmer friendship I aspire. The not too glittering prize of my desire. 1 06 TO MARTHA IV Ah, when your eyes have seen, and when your heart Beholds indeed, the happy, lifelong fate Which early seeks you — and not long will wait — True Love, discerning well your nobler part. Unto yourself shall shew you ; 'tis Love's art. Then, loving, j'ou with one beloved will mate ; With wifely zeal each wish anticipate, And to love-service ere his bidding start. If Love, with infant voice or lisping tongue, Appeal, you will, a mother like the one That lulled the years wherein your life was young. Forget no care and leave no deed undone. Thus I foreknew you in your childhood days ! 'Tis thus I know you and shall know always. 107 TO THERON MY heart, far-seeking, finds a heart in thee ; My hand meets thine amidst life's wildering maze ; A friendship, sprung of sweet Affinity, Shall bless the measure of my earthly days. Where petty natures gain some petty goal I see thee not, thou scorner of their prize ! But, moving native, in those realms of Soul Where Art upleads. Thou bringest to mine eyes The courtly age of Chivalry's high prime When knights were noble to all womankind. My wish will wander to that goodly time And, thence returned, in thee fulfillment find. I love the iron, and I love the tear. The man, the woman, that in thee appear. io8 CONTRITE LOVE SWEETHEART, whom through my nightly prayer I name ! The wound I gave thee, ah, I inly feel ! From hasty lips the darting anger came, And pierced thee deeper than the heartward steel. Even as God wilt thou the thing forgive? Let earthly love and Heaven blend once more When next I kneel to him in whom I live. And deem thee second in the prayer I pour. Faulty are women since our mother Eve ; Upon our Paradise shut we the gate ; Subdue the sword-flash of thine eyes I O leave 'Twixt me and happiness no barring fate ! For, though but woman, I was bliss to thee Until this hapless hour's infirmity. 109 LOVE'S GARDEN LOVE'S Garden this ! With constant mind draw near ; Unless of chaste intent O turn away ! Though seeming worthy, choose the gate with fear Of some unfitness. Into this fair May, This flower-white close, pass reverent of Love's fame. Thine eyes make modest, and withstrain thine hand. Else will it crush with cruel lust its claim. Leaving thee lilyless and all love-banned. Cull gently that which for thy joy doth spring. Though seemingly of thee quite unaware, Fain would she lean upon thy breast and bring A bosomed sweetness which thy heart should share. O let her prove the tender, trusty, wise ! Then art thou perfect in her wifely eyes. no THE FIR FOREST DIM, dreary maze of labyrinthian shade Wherein the wild bird's melody is mute ! His throat of gladness pours no song to suit The mournful hours thy myriad leaves have made ; The hours whose moments each with gloom is weighed. The Summer brings these freighted boughs no fruit, Nor will the upward-circling vine take root ; Betwixt these branches naught of noon is rayed. Monotonous, unmitigated green, Impenetrable, hides the lofty blue ; The loamy way winds verdureless between Columnar trunks around whose bases mould The outworn ventures of these fir-trees old Wherewith the seasons did the soil bestrew. Ill EVANESCENCE BARE in the silent desert stood a mound, But when the spade had searched its heart, • behold ! An ancient grandeur fallen, ruined, old. Before tradition. 'Neath the palaced ground An older palace lay ; within its bound Fragments, time-broken, of a splendor told Whose deep foundation sank into the mould Of oldest ruin once with glory crowned. Man builded ever ; — builds he yet again ! Their corner-stone on unsustaining air, Pride and Ambition reach Fruition's tower ; — Then man, the creature of a vanishing hour. One swift beam seeth gild, a moment fair, The tottering dome where many rose in vain. 112 MUSIC A RILL is gushing from a mountain spring ; It murmurs faint where piney branches sigh : Beneath the cliff, precipitous and high, Its thunder mutters. Mountain breezes bring The nearer dash of torrent floods that fling Adown the steep, and dimming echoes die Where cloudy summits sleep. Now roareth, nigh, The voice of waters deep still widening. Majestic river, from far fountain-source ! I moored my bark, nor dreamed thy tides were able To tear my anchorage, and part my cable. Resistless tides ! ye bear me on your course ! Murmur and thunder, downward dash and roar. And echoes dim, enchant me evermore. 113 BEETHOVEN INTERPRETER of hidden, unheard spheres 1 Vibrating with supernal harmony Made audible unto the heart of thee 1 The notes of Heaven, thou bringest to our ears, Are Earth-adapted, mixed with mortal tears. Truly whate'er of grief and pain may be Is but the throe of thy humanity Held from the highest thy free spirit hears. Thine earthly sense, grown dull to sounds of Earth, By what thou art is deemed of little worth Because that highest doth unceasing sing Of higher and more high whereto shall rise One never-faltering, ever-soaring thing In thee immortal, searcher of the skies. 114 BLENDED STARS THOU came not, Faith, from deeps which day doth shun ; From Glory speeding, thou this Earth didst meet ; Love wrought its purpose in that contact sweet Which fused two firmamental fires in one. Burst forth the splendor of an age begun ! A grander world through grander orbit turns For quenchless Faith in dross of Earth bright burns, And urges, guides, her to a purer sun. Blent with my being, to high destiny Faith urges, guides, me from dead worlds of doubt, And all uncertain orbs of sophistry : Henceforth no menacers have power to rout. And whirl me downward through wide gulfs of fear ; — My goal-gleam lost, and Faith, and wayside cheer. "5 YOUNG WOMANHOOD THE woman, dawning sweef within your eyes, Therefrom soft-looketh like a veiled sun That soon reveals, in its high course begun, The golden promise of the morning skies O'er whose tranquility no cloud-rack flies. Ah, who can tell where bright your beam will fall? Or when its radiance, risen, will enthrall The heart of him who seeks in lover wise ? Meanwhile the world is fairer for the morn Of your young Summer whereunto the Spring Brings every latest bud and blossoming Till May is fragrant in the Juney bowers. And roses early blush to perfect flowers. And birds are happy till the woodlands ring. ii6 ^ V,. -;'*^ ^ -'4 And Fancy's guess is but a faint surmise Like his from whom Earth did her future hide When, round and youthful, she arose to ride In moony splendor through his evening skies. THE MOON HIMALAYA'S peaks not yet had pierced the wave, From Ocean's deepest hollow had not peeped, When barren sand with death debris was heaped Where once thy teeming seas their shores did lave. Thy prime is spent, thine age sunk in the grave, Thy fruits are gathered and thy harvests reaped : Thou art all silent, in oblivion steeped, Whom Purpose sphered and ever onward drave ! Well knows the sun, that saw thy birth and death. If Ruin ruthless flung in paths behind. Beauty's fit pearl, her gems of wondrous kind, Or some rapt harp that taught the zephyr's breath Sweet themes of sorrow or of heart-delight When Earth was isleless in the misty night. II O for a ripple of thy vanished seas I A sudden wind to stir the airless day ! A cloud to veil the drear and dread display Of flameless fire-peaks whose deep entrails freeze ! 117 THE MOON Stand forth some lonely life ! the eye appease ! The eye of horror tracking Ruin's way O'er arid plains, and watching the sun's ray In deep-seamed valleys, and on flowerless leas. Those leas ! for his did Love cull tokens there ? Did Ruin trample, 'neath remorseless feet, Pure bridal-white, or red, or purple sweet. Love-placed on maiden brow and bosom fair Before the wavelets left thy shrunk sea verge? Before Himalaya's peaks had met the surge? Ill Perhance the utter wreck of grandeur lies On head of him who built in towering pride ; His olden archives crumbled, scattered wide. Are dusty record whereby none is wise. And Fancy's guess is but a faint surmise Like his from whom Earth did her future hide When, round and youthful, she arose to ride In moony splendour through his evening skies. Perchance he launched, to thine aerial realm, A bark more fleet than feathered pinion's flight ; Perchance an urge undreamed by man, a might Defying Ocean's wrath, obeyed his helm, And air, and soil, and sea, were his domain Whilst Earth unconquered spread her liquid plain. ii8 THE m;oon IV Thou holdst from me thy sunless hemisphere On whose dusk circle star-beams ever fall, Piercing the blackness of night's clinging pall, Till dimmy light makes weird Death's dreadful bier. Perchance to thee one oft has winged him near ; Then to his eyes sad memory would call, For empty lives that — like thy sterile ball — Have doomward shrunk, an angel's anguished tear. Then his time-mirroring orbs the triumph told Of lives expanded to the perfect round ; Fulfilling each the purpose, asons old, That sphered and sped thee, to thine orbit bound. Fulfillment vast I Great Wisdom justified Ere yet Himalaya's peaks had spurned the tide I 119 TOO LATE MY Heart makes hopeless battle ; 'tis its fate ! Both Pride and Duty have opposed sweet Love ; Determined, stern, they will victorious prove ; My struggling Heart sobs out, "Too late ! Too late !" In loosing strife for Love, its would-be mate : Fond are his eyes with words he dare not frame ; How well I hear though never his voice proclaim The passionate plea which Pride and Duty hate. O tiny circlet on this wedded hand I You cramp my being in your glittering band ! For title, station, and the glamour of gold, To him who was not Love, myself I sold. Now is my Heart defrauded, pauperized. Betrayed, maltreated, as a thing despised I 1 20 THE LESSON I SOUGHT and wholly loved the vocal wood ; Its winding, leaf-strewn ways my feet impressed. From paths o'ershaded often I digressed To deeper shadows where the lone flower stood ; Then, craving beauty multifold, my mood Bade to the clearing where bright rills caressed The fragrant, greeny slopes ; — to me addressed Sweet lesson came as from man's heart of good. Then in a jungle dense, discordant, dark, I struggled with the sharp, entangling thorn ; And loathsome, crawling things my gaze did mark, And deadly blossoms 'neath my footsteps born, And slimy pools whence fetid streams did start. Such I lamented is man's evil heart ! 121 SOUL SIGHT J MUSED what Greece had carved from marble stone, And framed with Attic and Ionian tongue ; Musing what Virgil, Dante, Milton, rung I deemed a petty age unfruitful grown That builds not as did Milan, Rome, Cologne ; No Shakespeare bears, no Handel like who sung, No Raphael visioning, midst cherubs young, Madonna Mary and the Child her own. But wiser now, in men around I see Appealing beauty Phidias never wrought ; A grandest poem by man's heart is taught ; No fitter temple than his frame can be ; When clear awakes his soul her harmony, Sweet, hovering angels list with looks love-fraught. 122 BLONDE BEAUTY JUST smile that so your perfect mouth reveal In part the matching rows of flawless white ; Laugh till twin blossoms on your cheeks are bright, And lips of innocent mirth no pearls conceal ! Then to your sunny eyes a change let steal ; Their mood make pensive as the late twilight Soon blended with the dome of deepening night That bids the soul of Adoration kneel. Blonde, wavy tresses ! Bright, unbraided hair ! On stainless brow it crowns you Fairest Fair ! That tiny ringlet ! It becometh well The ear more delicate than tinted shell ; No pink-white Maytime with your face can share ; No darker beauty with yourself compare. II Ah, when the mouth I love begins to smile Meseems 'twould not refuse the press of mine. When laughter widens there I oft opine Red lips invite that know not any guile. 123 BLONDE BEAUTY Upon the rose of rounded cheeks, the while My love-look lingers, how the dimple line Grows deeper, and the youthful blood's red wine Swells buoyant to the brow ! With what sweet wile The threads half-wayward of your sun-tinged hair Have woven for my willing heart a snare ! Agaze into the clear, soft-lidded blue, Your eyes I search that haply finding you Myself may see, if on this earth there be, At once the Good, the Beautiful, the True. 124 THE POET WHEN striving to the goal of worldly gain, I crossed his path who walked in lonely mood : To him, "Why choose this by-path? — solitude? Turn now and seek with me ; thy quest is vain ! " The Poet mildly, firmly said, " All plain My duty and my goal appear. I brood On things that teach mj'^ seeking ear ; this wood So voiceful hath a lesson in each strain. " I brood on things that teach my seeking eye ; — All things that creep, or walk, or heavenward soar ; The morn, the noon, the night, and every sky Over mount, and vale, and stream, and green, and moor. Thy meager piize can never lure me hence ; Here Wisdom's ore, my goal and recompense ! " 125 THE SAGE'S HEART BENEATH the mountain-wall upreaching far, This lowly, sheltered lake unruffled spreads : The skies of morn, above yon sovereign heads, Were mirrored here where glows the noon's high star : - And now a slender beam, a silver bar. Upon the lone lake's breast, reveals of night The earliest fire : — and now the moon doth light The crystal deep that never breeze shall mar. " Lo, that pure heart where passion's waves are still, Down-looking Heaven doth with glory fill ! Knowledge doth there her imaged presence see. Wisdom her beauty in that tranquil deep." Thus taught the Sage of marvels that would be From man's chief, self-subduing victory. 126 THE CHOICE TWO babes I saw, two brothers of one birth, Alike as were the breasts from which they drew. While in his happy nest each ever grew, Love's equal eyes looked down on equal worth. In one maternal heart was never dearth Of fond solicitude through youthful days When springtime paths bloomed bright to summer ways. And clear therefrom came careless, innocent mirth. Young Manhood now with graver voice doth speak, And virtuous pleads with one whose froward mind Makes choice, and sin's alluring road will seek; — Turning, he leaves a brother's hand behind. Alas ! how soon his chosen sweets are gall ! Alas ! how swift and lone his utter fall ! 127 THE WRECK LO, this the end ! Thou with resistless might Opposing billows clave ; thy strong, wide sails That held the trade-winds — Ocean's furthering gales- Or empty hung when the tropic breeze ceased flight, Unfurled have bent the thick mast in their plight When sudden fury brake. Beamed on thy deck. When midst the darkened deep thou wast a speck, Polaris, or the Cross of southern night. What ports have hailed thee coming, yet afar, Wealth-laden merchantman from fruitful lands? These rocks no haven are ; — this treacherous bar Thy hold, sea-plundered, brims with oozy sands. The hoarse wave thunders and the blast is shrill ; They sound their triumph, and their wrath fulfill. 128 THE SEA-FLOWER FAR from the changeful year the Sea-Flower hides ; Above her head the wrecking tempests roar ; Pink shells and white bestrew the sandy floor, Nor murmur of the wave. She calm abides While o'er her come and go the restless tides ; A cloud of waters, deep, forevermore Makes twilight of the noonday sun's outpour, And night is rayless though the round moon rides. No hand despoiling, in that hidden vale She branches dainty where the pearl is pale : Forms never cast on wildest ocean-strand, From narrow pole to equatorial band. Are foil fantastic to her beauty frail Where seasons merge as Ocean's confluent streams. I2C THE GIFT THE heart thou givest me is maiden pure ; What priceless beauty its deep treasury shows ! There modest Love a blushing ruby glows, And Chastity a diamond doth endure, And Constancy of dross is free ; how poor All other gold to this thy heart bestows ! Abiding Trust a gentle pearl-beam throws From the rich casket where it lies secure. O whence the sun-fire and the moony light? The star sheen tremulous ? the blush of dawn ? Dearest ! their luster were but rayless night Did not thy being, of Heaven's glory born. Thine ardent flame-soul, kindle and endow The wealth, unpurchasable, given me now. 130 DEATH WHEN in the journey of man's earthly day, At morn, or noon, or at the eventide, A spectre, risen sudden at his side, Or stolen on him from the darksome way, Or bold advancing, straightway bids him stay, Doth instant cease each throbbing world of light? Do past and future die in utter night Wherein he sleeps a clod of dreamless clay? Though Earth make answer with a moan, a sigh, Man's faith, unfaltering will look on high ; Both past and future, merged in the great Now, Are one to Wisdom ; then let Death draw nigh And clear my vision that I better see Whatever is has been, and e'er shall be. 131 HAPPINESS WHERE Gold is lord, and Greed bond-slave from birth, Each harassed face I scanned, there finding naught Of Happiness. A more than Gold I sought In Pleasure's midnight halls ; — again what dearth ! The jaded mean belied dissembled Mirth. Behind proud walls hid many a grief and gloom, Upon high thrones lay shadows of the tomb ; Through Envy's gantlet Fame must prove his worth. In Beauty's mind was haunting dread of Change, In Love's heart-soil grew seeds of Jealousy ; From Slander's weed was Virtue's path unfree. Saddened, I made the lonely wood my range; There, midst the clearing, round a cabin rude Played Childhood, happy in that solitude. 132 Saddened, I made the lonely wood my range ; There, midst the clearing, round a cabin rude, Played Childhood, happy in that solitude. THE HINDU MOTHER I YOUNG babe ! your accents, inarticulate, From out the bygone syllable to me, Even to my heart grown wise with sympathy. Far deeper can my love-look penetrate Than eyes of laughter, unsophisticate. Veiling the gulfs of past Eternity The which your soul, and every soul, doth see ! O Prattler ! have you clean forgot the great Of India's prime, with Vedic wisdom fraught, Though you were pupil and the sages taught. And though the blessed Buddha, at your gate A beggar, made you rich in heavenly things. And led your feet to paths inviolate Whei-eof the ]ust, rewarding Karma clings ? II Ah Gentle ! has the warrior in you burned? Then surely you were once the foremost brave Of the fierce hill tribes ; but you likelier gave Befitting service mild where peace is learned 133 THE HINDU MOTHER At temple shrine, or meditative turned To the aloneness of the anchorite's cave. And yet perchance you venturous did crave Sea peril where the typhoon waves were churned. My own, my only babe ! The Law is good That from the Kalpas brought these days to be Wherein his face which doth with yours agree. What world-shocks have our cleaving souls withstood ! Again they group ! Our lives, a woven three. Are one in tested love. The Law is good ! 134 TO AN ACTOR CAN aught express man's multifarious life ? His love and hatred? joy and misery? Alternate comedy and tragedy? Marble and canvas pulse not with his strife To good or evil goal ; strong words and rife, Deep-fraught with poet fervor, dumb must be Until some heart attuned, all sympathy. Has found them waiting like a would-be wife. Ah, thou hast found them ! well from thee they speak Wit, wisdom, pathos, through the vivid hour Whereof thy spirit is the vital power. What painters feign, doth live and round thee moves ; And sculpture breathes ; — henceforth no more I seek : Thine ample art my question's answer proves. 135 TO AN ACTRESS WIDE are the boundaries of thy perfect Art Wherein is every native grace revealed, And Art has all of artifice concealed. Glance, gesture, speech, are Nature's counterpart; In generous moments her great, throbbing heart She taught thee well : Apt Pupil ! hearts are steeled, Soul-deeps are frozen, and their founts are sealed. If at thine eloquence no teardrop start 1 Across the mimic world sweep thou a queen With ringing accents and with royal mien ! Or stay ! the center of some sweet romance. That thy soft cadence may our ears entrance. And we behold what beauty is, and truth To very Nature, and the heart of youth ! 136 JOHN STORM IN HALL, CAINE S DRAMA, THE CHRISTIAN TO one of manhood, one of heart and hand, With sob and cry comes Misery's lorn voice, " Haste thou my chosen ! thou, the Master's choice 1 Where teeming London tall and proud doth stand, Midst crime and squalor waiteth Duty grand : Thine outcast brother haunts the noisome way ; Thy fallen sister shuns revealing day ; And children weep, a vagrant, homeless band." Where mother shall not bear the name of wife, For her and hers he labors ; now his life Is wed to service, and the sad world's wail Swells even to thunder in his quickened ear. And Duty doth with surging waves assail Opposing Self that crumbles in the strife. 137 GLORY QUAYLE IN HALL CAINE S DRAMA, THE CHRISTIAN WITH goodly promise of a radiant bloom Thy tree of life grows fragrant ; morn is fair, And eager buds are ever opening there ; Drinking the sunrise grant they little room To rains which nourish flowers of rich perfume. Dost crave the noontide? Maid, its pitiless glare Will sear each blossom till thy days are bare Of blasted promise fallen unto doom. Now Sorrow's sky outpours a gift of tears ; The dry and withering bloom they find, and lo, The tree is laden which throughout the years Grew not to glory, neither did it know That he who saw each hope of fruitage blight. Would in sweet season look with heart-delight. 138 TIME'S MISSION THOU sovereign Time ! till rules Eternity Thy throne on Heaven's unmeasured floor is based ; Within the circle of thy crown is placed The cloudless Night's transcending Mystery 1 The Sun, thy sceptre, swerveth not; to me It portions but a narrow hour of day : How oft I fear, gloom-girt upon my way. As one adrift on some enshrouded sea ! " Unwise, fear not! " an inmost voice doth chide, " Eternity's high regent, Time, is just. Drawing man upward from the soulless dust. No vagrant wanders evermore and wide ; Eternity shall see him at her side. The chief fulfillment of Time's rendered trust." 139 THE ARCHETYPE SWEET Autumn vale ! in visions have I known The beauty of thy heavenly archetype ! Than these which redden were its fruits more ripe, More luscious, and its fertile seeds, thick-sown, Had sprung to harvest passing all thine own. Yon floating fleece of solitary white I saw unblemished in a bluer height, And Earth grew dull and Heaven was radiant grown. On soul of me at waking lay the Light That kindled orbs unutterably bright ; But she, encrusted o'er with earthly clay, A dimmy planet, a beclouded moon, Did pale reflect the Sun of perfect Day ; Did mirror faint the source of endless Noon. 140 DESTINY ONWARD the stream along whose varying shore I loiter, loth to leave the tranquil way : Nor flower, nor shade, nor soft, alluring lay, Retards the tide which to the sea must pour. Onward the quenchless beam, forevermore. Which kindles hill and dome with earliest day ; — Departing fire ! no spell thy course can stay ! The darkness claims thee, some good use in store. Onward my life-stream ! Can a charm withhold The wavelet borne unto the waiting sea? Onward my spirit when its frame is mould ! Undimmed through Time, and in Eternity, It seeketh That which, midst the seeming dark, Calls to Itself life's tiny, quenchless spark. 141 MY QUEEN IN piney groves we culled the trailing flower, But fairer thou than pink and white of May : Deep violets found we on the woody brae, Yet in thine eyes young June had made her bower. A-field we wandered through the Summer's dower. But thou wast queen wher§ lilies graced the way : The breeze, which with the Autumn corn did play. In thy ripe tresses knew a happier hour. When by the hillside fount we sat, my Sweet ! The leaf-hid wooer hushed his ecstasy To drink thy song of love, a welcome spring More pure than gushed beneath his trysting tree. Each gift of joy the generous seasons bring, By thee is bettered to a bliss complete. 142 SPIRITUAL EVOLUTION < ^ T IFE'S myriad fires are but the sparks of One ; 1—/ The seen and hidden of Eternal Flame ; Eternal sparks, their destiny the same, By Love and Wisdom guided toward life's sun. They journey ceaseless till the worlds are done. To conquer deeps and heights no man can name, Untutored, plastic children forth they came In Time's first hour, — their pilgrimage begun." Moreover saith the sage, his faith at rest Above the Indian skies, "The undreamed Best Shall claim its own, whoso to likeness grown Of Love and Wisdom. These, their stalwart sons, From Earth shall vanish in the Central Light, Forever lifted to Nirvana's height." H3 TRUTH THE sun and moon suffice the heart of thee ; Unto thine eye their beams are utmost bright, The measure filling of thy day and night. In mid-space heaven more glorious orbs there be Dwarfing the moon, the sun's immensity : Yet deep in undiscovered fields of light A star defies my search, my vision's flight, The center fixed of every galaxy. Sayest thou thy faith to final Truth is wed? Thy faith breaks nowise from its creedal bond ; Thy truth but preludes grander Truth beyond. The light, upon the prophet's pathway shed. Shone but a letter in Truth's golden name, A beam which from her boundless kingdom came. 144 TO AN AGED MUSICIAN A CROWN of white the ripening years have brought ; Thine is the glory of an honored name. Behold ! for thee a clear, unwavering flame Illumes the prize that eager Youth has sought, The prize to which Maturity has wrought. In steadfast Age is Manhood's goal thine aim ; It fills, upon the lofty paths of fame. Thine eye undimmed, and every noble thought. What weary steeps behind thy footsteps lie ! O Master I is the goal thou seekest nigh ? Methinks it bids thee to the shadowy height By angels visited in songful flight : Waits there a crown, an angel name most meet, A flame of heaven, a joy of art complete. H5 LOVE'S BEREAVEMENT FAIR on its flexile stem a lily grew, Morn's promise of a blooming white and gold ; But long ere noon was high, upon the wold Untimely ruin lay. Fragrance and hue Had vanished from the fragile leaves and few The wanton, scattering wind had missed. These told Of fated beauty which Earth's greedy mould Impatient claimed whilst one wee bud was new. Forth from the dark, to Love's enfolding arms, A life came sweet and nestled at a breast All joy o'er hope fulfilled. Thralled by the charms Of her dear, morning bud, Love then was blessed. Unconscious of the waiting, covetous tomb, She dreamed not of her tender lily's doom. 146 THE MYSTERY OF MARS DEPARTER from the West ! Red Planet-Fire ! A mystery hides beneath thy nightly blaze. With mien unmoved thou meetest my desire As once thou met the rapt Chaldean's gaze. Yet wast thou wisdom to his shepherd mind Still holding thee forsooth a tiny star. O be unto a latest lover kind Great World ! swift-rolling through wide regions far ! Reveal the secret of that life of thine ! Thy motherhood ! The memorable birth Of sons thy best ! Didst form in shape of mine Their fame, and dull with clay their soul's bright worth ? Or prove they from a mould whence gods might be, Well-honoring thy grand maternity ? II O Parent of an unimagined brood ! How live thy Martian children? Nevermore The fisher goeth to his livelihood O'er seas now vanished from the parching shore. 147 THE MYSTERY OF MARS Not now the hunter gains the empty hill, Or lurks where once the grove, or roams afield ! Not now the vineyard clambers where the spill Of upland fountains fed its ripening yield. Thy verdure needs must seek the water-ways Where with perchance thy sons have seamed thy face. When warm the annual season pours its rays The snow-fields, gathered to their Polar place. Should feed the springtime vales where deep did flow The lake-sprung rivers of thy long ago. Ill Are now thy kingdoms huddled and thy kings, If thine to kings yet bow that shouldst not so ? Or lies the monarch as Earth's crumbled things Which, long grown useless. Earth can well forego? Have fated nations failed through dooming years ? If now but few I pray these be thy best ! What ask they of the end which surely nears ? What faith sustains them in faith's mighty test? How look they Earthward? With art-aided eye Knowing the mountain and the man as well? Flash they a question, or an answer, high As Wisdom's Godward reach ? Thou wilt not tell, Departer from the West, and from my sight ! Dumb, baffling Mystery of the voiceless night ! 148 THE CONQUEST DEAR one ! thy heart to me has given all ; No rude assault could force her citadel ; But Love, the wise magician, cast a spell O'er every guardian of the breachless wall. Then, at thy stronghold's door it did befall That in my hand Love laid the key. "All's well I " He whispered, "enter where thou wouldest dwell." There, unto thee enthroned, my voice did call. Half prayer and half command ; and then replied The rapturous music of thy low love-tone. The language of thy soft, surrendering eyes. Great Love, sweet helper, nothing has denied To me his debtor ; through his will alone I make heart conquest, gain the conqueror's prize. 149 WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE HOW fierce the sieging Winter makes assault On our enforced, inhospitable hill Above the icy chain where flowed the stream Of Schuylkill, and the mingling valley-creek ! On wooded slopes, or shelterless and bare, Heaps here the drift of oft-descending snow. White save where patriot feet leave bloody print, The shoeless feet of men enduring on, My heroes ever ware of Heaven's approval That eased of old the dungeon, rack, and stake. Stripped is the friendly region round about. Until the farmer would re-thresh the straw ; And in the alien, outlying lands, Though wellow plenty heaps the niggard's barn. For British gold he lusts till no poor ear. Upon our need bestowed, doth bless the giver With bread returning after many days. Not man alone is stricken, for the steed, Unfed, droops courageless who pranced to battle War-eager as the bugle and the drum. Yet hearts are warm beneath but rags and tatters ; Your hearts O hero-choosers of this camp Where many, ere the night-tap, sink to rest Unwakened by reveille's morning call I Soldiers of Revolution ! led by one ISO WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE A scorner yet of danger, though no more Campaigning rashly since my youthful folly In old Virginia's fierce frontier defense I Comrades beloved I to my bosom held By one sad, common bond of misery ! Men hopeful in a cause well-nigh forlorn Since late reverses to our striving arms ! Your every hunger pang is pain in me. Perpetual, keen sorrow to my love, Even as your cruel, wind-found nakedness Ill-cabined from the norther's bitter sting On these sleet-crusted heights of Valley Forge 1 Here, as I look along the creek and river. Memory will lure me to an earlier scene ; — Potomac winding graceful, leisurely. By lawny slopes which shortly find the shore. On wooded crest, ere yet fall waterward The fields, my country seat Mount Vernon stands. There, from the pillared mansion-front, the view Of tides a-sparkle through the summer day, Or moonlight tinged in mellow, fragrant night. Hark, the plantation notes of natural singers I In the dim quietude of neighboring shade They rise barbaric-wild of Afric days. Or, pathos-fraught, sink low as lullaby ; And now the banjo and plantation dance. Fantastic, wierd, beneath the moony lamp, As we in candle-lighted hall make bow To courtesying partners in the minuette I 151 WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE Enough you siren visions 1 cease your lure ! Begone you beckonings of indolent Ease ! Come War in tempest of inspiring storm ! Bring every swift caprice of cloud and shine ! Thy musket rattle and thy cannon thunder Make me impatient of a milder tune ! Thy trumpet blares a bolder, better measure Than I with silken dames and damsels trod ! I see the Braddock-routing ambuscade Slink to the dim ravine's dense-tangled wood. A moment gleam the guns and tomahawks, — Then all is changed to innocent, native green. O stay thou headstrong leader ! Stay you lead ! You ruddy, flaring, solid mark I O stay Who crowd like senseless brutes to slaughter pen ! Play dirge O fools 1 Play dirge, a fitter strain, Or, rather, cease your music I take to cover ! And wage a kindred and more hopeful war ! Too late ! Around them sudden roars and rains The telling volley; then, demoniac wild, The yell of Indian triumph shrills above The scalped and heapen corses. Paly shades Of British prowess, come not here to-day ! Go ! hide beneath the mound where Braddock lies I Sweep down from your north circle Polar Winds ! December's sleety night, gloom once again ! Across the flood of Delaware we toil Amidst the broken ice-bridge sweeping by, And, where late wassailers at morning dream, 152 WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE Surprise and overwhelm the sotted camp. And now we glide dim, fearful, stealthy shadows. Behind the friendly curtain of the mist Which, timely, hides our fugitive sails and oars At midnight hurrying from Long Island's rout 1 Now, 'neath the high-revolving March, the brooks Are leaping free of Winter; Boston-town, Of murderers and incendiaries rid. Dances to greet us decked in holiday As, from the vantage-heights of Dorchester, In grim, columnar triumph come we down. Again I live that August-time we stept, Ere war's calamities, through cheering streets Which, till our strength renew, perforce endures The hateful foot of Howe and all his like, The British and the hired Hessian crew. City I honoring, with this chief command. One better fitted for a lesser sphere ; Loved City of the peaceful brotherhood I 1 grieve as exile by the alien stream Of sorrow-breeding Babylon ; and, for Our restoration and thy final peace, Do make continually my inward prayer ! O thou from land and sea invested ! Thou, Our Watch-tower taken ! Our hopeful Beacon quenched ! Our fallen Promise-star of Bethlehem ! Our Salem subjugate ! Our Capital, And freedom-seat of federated Power ! In thee is dumb the council of a nation 153 WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE Whose statesmen signed the scroll of Liberty, Whereat thine every clanging belfry hurled Iron defiance at the Georgian throne ! O for a David 'gainst the proud Goliah I The bulk, the head, the mouth of Tyranny I O for a Samson, ravager of his host ! The keen, God-holpen sword of Gideon ! The thunder's menace and the shattering bolt Which rends the stubborn pillars of the wood ! Enlist in our just cause you goddess ones Who sailed with Greek Timoleon ! Insure Success as 'gainst the Dionysian yoke ! Unhardened to the rigors of our clime, Warm-housed in sheltered, comfortable town Where soft enticements fill the luxurious days, The foe seek not who now are easy prey For muskets empty are but poor defense. And spreading famine and disease are scourge Beyond the loud artillery of Howe. O England ! stern amidst thy fortress isle ! Now is the mother marble in thy breast ! Sealed up the fountain of impetuous tears Lest to thine eyes one mother-drop should spring. And find the sorrow-channel of thy cheek ! Alas ! on thy Guelph throne is Folly seated , And other Follies order all his ways, And Wisdom, thrust afar, not soon returns To launch her forecast on the drowning babble ! But yesterday, with mind of mild submission IS4 WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE To Heaven's great captain of Earth's captained hosts, Within the wayside thicket I besought Who granteth no preaudience to kings, Even him who leads or turns the front of battle. Ah, though the ancient, unconsuming flame Burst not from any bush, and all was mute Save my sad syllables, I knew indeed The spot whereon I knelt was consecrate. Made holy by the willing ear of One Whose temple dome of domes high-spreadeth o'er Earth's every humble sod his altar shrine. No more Elijah's call invokes the fire ! No more the Red Sea waters wall-like stand. Or Jericho's defense lies instant low ! No more beneath the company of Korah The ground is rended to the smoking pit ! Ended the signs and wonders of the Lord, The visible down-reachings of his power, The interposing, heavenly miracles ! But now God, living, prompts the hands of men. How fares our Franklin at the court of France? Right well I trow ! Sagacious, wise, well-chosen, Wielding a wit more trenchant than my blade. He thrusts ere this betwixt the armour-joints Of her now open and now secret foe. Dies not, but smoulders on the national feud ; At faintest fanning fierce it flameth war ; Unhealed, the anguished pride of France yet bleeds From every English archer-shaft well shot WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE In ancient Crecy's red and conquering day. Soon may that blood cement a friendship firm Which leaves a people no more allyless, And makes us nation in the eyes of the world I Be this the vantage which doth all outweigh Our dwindling army's harassed, long retreat O'er Hudson River, and through Jersey roads ! Be this the gain which makes but light the loss. The culminating loss, of Brandywine And Germantown ! On our encouraged war What prestige shining from the sun of France Like noon upon the temper of my sword, Or these unbroken fields of billowy white 1 That hearts abroad do westward yearn I know ; Not like to plotters here against their chief. Not such as who would make our cause a lie — Those mere occasion-seekers quick to draw In what doth promise first their own advance — Not those, belligerous, who love a quarrel. But brothers ; men of one magnanimous band ; High, noble spirits owning kin with all ; World-movers mighty to yet overthrow The heaven-offending walls of ice and iron By man's unnatural heart and hand upreared 'Gainst one wide commonwealth of love and peace. Lo, some have passed the Atlantic main that here. All preferences of rank abjuring, they. As we, may do for our contagious cause Wherein are worthier deeds and nobler life 156 WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE Than Ease discovers from his languid bowers, Or Pride imagines in ancestral halls I Ah, that brave sight ! It nerves in me the hour When human weakness comes too near my breast I How deeply stirred the emulative hearts Of my good yeomen soldiers! La Fayette, To my fraternal bosom grown a brother ! Now is our soul to soul a brotherhood Closer than flesh and consanguinal tie ! Dear La Fayette, to my grave, elder years — My childless years — a deferential son ! How soon a warrior's worthy child ; thy cheeks Unblanched though deep thou tread in battle gore ! Shrinks not thy front from the swift bayonet charge ; Thine eye of courage trembles never a lid Before the slaughter-belching tubes of death ! Enlisted and enrolled not sole with us, But in the fettered world's outcrying cause ! Lo, other lands and times claim yet thine aid ! Gray Veteran I Thou in soldier tactics versed ! Those seeming littles — great in crisis where The soldier-holden line prevails — Tell me. And daily tell, that the great Frederic, Thy Captain-king, by adverse Fortune pressed Nigh to the fatal potion mixed to cheat her, Did twice against the united powers resolve, And wearied Europe into truce ! If so A dauntless king maintain autocracy Shall we, discouraged in a hope sublime. WASHINGTON AT VALL,EY FORGE Yield aught of principle, or cede one State, One dear Silesia? Oftentimes I ponder Remembrance of an hour 'twixt sun and sun ; Though long my pillow had denied its boon, My burdened mind did somehow slip the load, And every fevered tossing sank to rest Dream-filled with the simple, peaceful, primal life Of this now aging world's gold morning time. Around me spread the grassy, stream-fed plains Of milk and honey yielding Canaan. There A shepherd people kept late vigil like The faithful Christmas watchers of Judea. In hushed and moonless night beside me stood The shadowy, tented town of nomad tribes Owning no chief but their paternal head. Above a hundred peaks one rose supreme The patriarch's abode, the resting-place Of Abram whom Melchizedek, the king Of Salem and the priest of God, did bless. Beneath the beacons of the Asian sky I thought, "What vaster multitude than all The loosened bow shafts and flung javelins And darts of Persia's minion horde," when lo. From higher than heaven's host, a whisper, still As the Elijah-ward small voice, came to me, — " Thou canst not tell their congregation, yet Like them in number shall a people rise To call thee Chief and Father I " Then I woke Perplexed, no Joseph near, no Daniel come 158 WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE To read, and yet, despite, it brought a hope Medicinal in these sick times. Methinks By active arms I yet will quell, on shore. The interchanging hurl of iron, and The sea-guns' belched broadside along the deep. Comes then capitulation and the march Of conquered armies their stacked muskets leaving, Their British prestige, their dear fame in fight. Their staffless, fallen banner rent, befouled. Hoof-trodden in the mire of total rout. A humbled herd, they seek their humbled ships Whose lowered ensigns look not on the shame. Foremost, in red and bordered gold, onrides The swordless general with face firm set. The tear well checked which else to us betrays The desolation of a ruined pride ; Then come his lessers, to the lowest rank, A counterfeit indifference in their mien. The surly horde embark ; ah, not a cheer From shoreward, not a voiced or waved farewell ! Dumb is the anchor song ; dumbly they go. The free wind spurns them on till sails are shrunk Small as the dipping of a gull's far wing ; — And then the East down-swallows them forever. For us, and Freedom's dedicated all. On land unyielding, and upon the wave, Doth Liberty in infant cradle lie ! Bright stars enwrap her, and the barry folds Of bannered red and white. Fair sister states, 159 WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE Her ministering maidens, faithfully attend. To more than Greek or Roman majesty Thrive Goddess born to bless an age of glory Dreamed not by men who saw the yokeless years Ere Rome decadent crowned the Caesar's rule, Or Phillip schemed against the Grecian state 1 Far, far, thy sceptreless authority Beyond the interlinking lakes shall widen ; And wooded hills and prairie plains, the which Long Mississippi and his rivers drain. Shall gather state-like unto these thine own. Where skyward climbs the Continental Crest, Free as the Switzer's overtowering Peak, Thy cradle wrap — beneath the veilless sun. And in the lustre of uncurtained stars — Shall, on the fetterless fresh winds, unfurl Each added glory of the kingless years. Ah, who will dare gainsay thy goddesshood? Who halt, upon the westmost slope, thy feet That seek, beyond the trail of guide and hunter. The sunset margin of thy chosen rule? Heroes of Maine, the plaintive pine forsaking To do the bidding of a sterner voice ! Heroes of Massachusetts Bay from whence The spark of revolution kindled on ! Heroes down-marching from New Hampshire hills Re-echoing the deed of Lexington ! Green Mountain hero boys by heroes led Within Ticonderoga's fastness 1 You 1 60 WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE Of Roman metal ! minute-men heroic, Who leave the plowshare midst the unbroken fields ! Rhode Islanders who fight with Green ! And you Connecticut's outpouring regiments ! You toilers northward through the Canada woods ! Fortress besiegers at Quebec, worthy The triumph and the happy death of Wolfe ! You heroes risking life in hostile camps, Calm facers of the detailed rifle squad, Upon your lips the deathless words of Hale ! New York upholders of the bright thirteen. Not one deep-gulfed in Treason's quenching flood ! Volunteers of Jersey and of Delaware ! Pennsylvania and Virginia riflemen ! And you of soldier front, "the Maryland line" ! And you grim guard of Carolina's coast ! Georgian defenders of the invaded home ! Stern frontier heroes, marksmen, strategists. The ambush planning and the sudden volley ! Burgoyne defeaters I And you heroes mine That anywhither follow drum and fife ! You heroes fallen from Warren till this hour ! Tarriers, like Moses on the borderland. Content so we but enter into Promise ! You battle-maimed whose loss proclaims you brave ! And your sweet mightiness, abetting Love Incarnate in our women keeping bright Always the home-fire of the heart and hearth ! Heroic allies from the elder lands ! i6i WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE Sea heroes all I And you whose hour shall come 1 Behold your recompense, your deathless fame ! Unto the Free, by Nature's law your heirs. Great Liberty, instilling of your deeds The timely, profitable lesson which Commemorative marble shall attest, Forgetteth not the story of your faith, Forgetteth not the story of your hope, Forgetteth not the story of your love. That doubted not her morn, but hailed betimes Her yet unrisen destiny. And then Her own, enamoured of instruction, shape Their living into pattern of your lives To duty dedicated, and to her. 162 THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD WHEN sweet Content sits down with you, The early board around, Comes from her open heart, and true. No cynic laughter's sound. But joy contagious, innocent Of things which grieve and pain ; From covert words of ill intent Her converse doth refrain. At noon Content, abiding still. Outwears not welcome; lo, The routine day with toil may fill The hours which eveward flow. Yet, greeting who — their cares behind — Sit ere the stars are bright. She gives refreshment to the mind Amidst the calm twilight. Then one the secret half reveals Which stirs her maiden breast ; — At once the kindly mother feels The half yet unexpressed. 163 THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD Another then, with bolder eye, And deeper, firmer tone. Would tell Ambition's bye and bye, A son his father's own. Whilst fair the future is portrayed The parents backward look, And he is youth and she is maid And Time is open book. " 'Tis late ! no more till rise of sun ! " Their lips at parting meet ,- The kissed " good night " of every one In dreams will linger sweet. 164 THE BIRD AT THE WINDOW WEE Bird at my window ! art weary of wing? Did Spring call thee north? or didst thou call the Spring? "Companions from Southland straight onward we pressed, A song in my throat and a flower on her breast." That song ! did it win her? "Though pleased she was coy." Did fast-falling showers chill thine uprising joy, And dampen thy plumage, its feathery down? "Ah, yes, but all richer the red and the brown ! "On her bosom was quickened the frail blossom white That swayed in the breeze ; then the beam, coming bright From the widening blue, made my fair one more fair ; It crowned her with splendor ; it flashed in her hair. " Rang out my notes clearer and freer and strong ; I poured in her ear a tumultuous throng, A paean of love, and a pasan of praise. Till Spring smiled upon me through lengthening days." 165 THE BIRD AT THE WINDOW But is she yet gracious, and art thou yet true ? "My youth is unworn, and Iher beauty is new." Wee Bird at my window ! come, answer me plain? "My love is requited, it joys through my strain." Then fly forth to meet her who longeth for thee With sighs faintly sweet in yon zephyr-stirred tree ; Its leaflets are lisping words learned from her tongue, And weaving a bower where your love shall be young. i66 THE BIRD'S ADIEU LONE Bird of the Summer ! her season has fled, Her buds quicken not, and her blossoms are dead ; The leaf flutters down from the sere Autumn-tree ; Yon high, swinging nest soon is empty of thee. The Winter is nearing when bare is the bough, And silent the rapture delighting me now, And cold in the home of thy brood lies the snow, And he who would hear thee must otherwhere go. Then blithe sang the Bird, "In a far southern land Whence Winter is banished, the season is bland ; There Summer is waiting : — away I must wing In branches unfading to build and to sing. "Tall palms overshadow a bowery spot That frosts never find, and the blast pierces not ; All gorgeous with blossoms of tropical hue. It blooms till the Even besprinkles the dew. "It hushes ere moonshine hath spangled its green ; It sleeps while the stars of the midnight are keen ; It dreams not of sorrow, but, through the calm hours. It dreams of the morrow and opening flowers. "It flames with the red of the first morning ray That rouses the singer and wakens his lay. The palm trees are calling ; the bower hath a spell ; The groves of the North sigh a saddened farewell." 167 FROM EVE TILL MORN THE sovereign Sun, who came in regal might And golden glory to the eastern hill, Stays but a moment on the distant height Where western ridges the horizon fill. To other lands the kingly takes his way ; A glanced farewell he doth at parting deign ; — Now regent Night, whom countless hosts obey. Sweeps onward to her hours of queenly reign. The rounded Moon, which ere the dusk did seem A sluggish cloud, a white sail creeping higher, All silv'ry from the waveless blue doth beam On ocean waves a soft and chastened fire. Sweet Mercury's clear lamp alight I know ; It minds me of the trusty spark I greet In Love's high window where the kindly glow Guides home my weary and belated feet. Titanic Saturn moveth stately by ; In vast procession every orb keeps place : Mars casts on Earth a sanguinary eye As one, insatiate, on a conquered race. 1 68 FROM EVE TILL MORN Fair Venus makes more fair the twilight morn ; Thence Jupiter looks forth benignant, bright ; And now the East faint-flushes with the dawn, And stars are paling, paling, from my sight. The sovereign Sun all lands hath visited ; Again his glory lights the eastern hill ; Soon rests his orbic fire, his shield blood-red. Where western ridges the horizon fill. 169 AN INVOCATION DEDICATED TO THE MAINE MUSIC FESTIVAL O HOSPITABLE Maine ! O foremost one, Of thy great sisterhood, to greet the day When, soaring from chill ocean-waves, the Sun Streams on this land his unabated ray ! Aspiring State ! glad greeter of all light That Wisdom on our human kind would shed ! Behold, thy rising morn of Art is bright 1 Above and wide a cheering sky is spread ! Though born of Glory, one surpassing Muse Doth haunt thy fadeless groves, and unsere hills ; And there I listen silent lest I lose Her song from firy branch and from the rills. Anon ten-thousand chorused voices sweep Tempestuous where ten-thousand trees upstand ; The headlong flood roars by me, down the steep ; The pine is baton o'er the anthem grand. 170 AN INVOCATION Celestial Visitor ! since ages old Our North has sung responsive to thy will : Deign thou ! and of our pliant being mould More subtile harps than woodland breezes thrill. Flee, for a while, thy greenest hill and dell ; Rouse no more echoes midst the forest dim ; Forsake the rock that stays the storm-urged swell, And foamy pools that 'neath the cliff o'erbrim I Look now on what our pilgrim feet have sought ! Our Mecca and Jerusalem, O see I Unless thou fill the temple, we are naught ! Are pine-groves better than our broad roof-tree? Consenting Muse ! these plaudit-shaken walls Have felt thy presence, oft thy praises rung ; From thy great heart a benediction falls, And fraught with melody is thy sweet tongue. Rule thou the ruler of yon mighty choir I Sway him who sways us with a sovereign power ! Fan, in his breast, the sky-enkindled fire From soul to soul contagious in this hour ! This hour when "Hallelujah," heavenward sped, Is mingled with the rapture round the Throne : These hours when our high joys aspire to wed With paeans rapt as Morning Stars have known. 171 AN INVOCATION Thy Chosen, thine Endowered, the triumph share ; They shower their bounty, they, the World-renowned. Make thou their measures richer and more rare With every gem wherewith thy wealth is crowned ? Most gracious Muse ! from temples twain doth swell, From cities twain, the heart-uniting song : Inspired of thee, and to the ear a spell. It searcheth deeper and abideth long. Souvenir Programme Book, October, 1902. 172 TO PORTLAND'S RETURNING MUSICIANS OLD HOME WEEK RECEPTION, AUGUST 8tH, I9OO THOUGH long he wandered from his native land, The Loyal held their lost Ulysses dear ; Since his brave bark forsook the Grecian strand, Love's eyes had seaward strained for many a year, Ah, many a waiting year ! How oft when, on the circling deep's dim verge, Uprose a sail, would weary Love rejoice ! Forgotten was the widowed heart's lorn dirge, And other themes of other days found voice ; Found happy, hopeful voice. Think not that some, melodious by the sea Whose shores and isles have known your earlier song. Did lose their faith that every sail might be Your homeward ship, O you that left us long ! Yes, left us all too long ! 173 TO PORTLAND'S RET^URNING MUSICIANS Like him of Ithaca in manly strength You went, with courage and with eyes aflame ; From Art's victorious fields was borne at length To our fraternal ears your growing fame, Your ever-growing fame. Like him of Ithaca, you come at last ; Now older, wiser you ; your harps are strung. Your voices vibrant of the tuneful past ; Perchance your sweetest notes are yet unsung, Your sweetest notes unsung. 174 DEDICATION HYMN' AIR, AULD LANG SYNE KIND Friendship's hand upreared these walls, She ruleth here to-day ; Her cheery voice of welcome calls From toil and care away. Now stronger here the bond has grown, The bond of Love she wrought. And well unto the heart is known The Truth her lips have taught. How oft this fragrant, peaceful wood Her children's feet have found ! Through seasons all, she bids her brood To this her pleasure ground. Here fir and pine are waving green Throughout the changeful year. And Friendship's fadeless charm is seen. And Love and Truth are near. I Sung at the opening of the Odd Fellows' pavilion at Nonesuch Park, September 6th, 1904. 17s THE PLENUM THROUGH cloudless day the sun has burned the plain, But not from hill-crest, nor from hazy ridge, Came intermittently the mountain breeze Till gathering even gloomed my further path. Here, from this restful, wayside stone, I look As, one by one, yon skyey lamps, alight, The arching roadway of the stars illume. Thou western moon ! ye sparks of quivering fire ! And ye untremulous amidst the blue ! From silence beaming, oft your beacons led When save for them the midnight vault was bare. But now a clearer sight to me is given. And in my wakened ear a murmur faint Thrills from the inter-planetary gulf. What seems a stairway, binding star to star. From man's domain to ever-purer worlds Is winding till the view is lost afar. My mind, that doth all winged flesh exceed, With feeble flutter backward, — backward, — falls. What lives upon that bridging stairway throng ! What shapes that shame all human excellence ! From globe to globe what radiant hosts aspire ! What brighter glory on each higher stair 176 THE PLENUM Pours from the fountain of Eternal Light ! But what of man whom flesh and sense have bound Even to the soil which claimeth soon its own Whether on mountain or in vale he dwell, Or dance or labour through the mortal world? Yes, what of man engirt by mystery Though set amidst the searching of the sun? Yes, what of man? Doth ken O soul of me ! The grand or shameful in the final fate Of one unto himself a mystery? Each hour will he with grosser clay befoul The dense-walled habitation of his being? Or cleanse the carnal till the temple shrine Outstream its light along his lowly way, And fill his vision with the vast unseen? "To end sublime kind Earth, that cradled him, Did nurse her chiefest, even her human child. Unto his body gave she every fruit Of harvest field, and laden tree and vine ; Unto his questioning and ample mind The world-wide wonder of the sun-lit day ; Unto his heart the appeal of that strong love Which Nature's humblest mother shews her young ; And to his sky-begotten, quenchless soul The nightly uplift of enduring stars. The Sons of Light rejoicing saw his birth, And chorused from supernal realms the song Of progress infinite and guiding Love. Rough is the journey of man's earthly term. 177 THE PLENUM His road scarce brightened by the feeble ray Which trembles from the semi-darkened shrine ; But heavenly ones low-bending fain would lead By pitfall, and whatso of danger else, His bruised feet. O strange contrariety That spurns the down-reached hand I O dull ! O vain ! Who weakly stumbles on ! So toileth man Through woe-o'er-burdened, joyless years ; and yet, Despite the load, the stumbling, and the loss, In some far time, upon the topmost stair He stoopeth God-like unto souls perverse." 178 LOVE'S GIFTS THE Sun, upon his endless way, Illumines wide the deeps of space ; The mote, that dances in his ray. Reflects the glory of his face. The mellow Moon, all gracious, gives Her perfect beauty to the night ; Of mild seas born, the ripple lives ; Its moment dowered with her light. Unswerving Stars would thee befriend ; Capricious cloud is trustless guide ; To tender eyes the stars do lend ; Those eyes on thee with love abide. The Sun and Moon and faithful Star Love's utmost give ; — nor do they take. Love wills, and straightway speed from far Their gifts, — her gifts — for great Love's sake. 179 HER EYES LOVE ! they deem thee matchless ever In the archer's art, And they tell thine arrows never Miss the lover's heart. But how well I know another ! True each arrow flies ! Shall I tell thee of that other? Tell thee of her eyes? Thence a danger oft is flying ; Ah, how sweet the pain ! From those eyes the cause of sighing Oft will pierce again. As, when whitest clouds are parted, All the sun streams through, When her eyelids ope are darted Arrows from the blue. Knoweth she how sure her aim is? Where her weapons fall? From her innocence her fame is ; Aims she not at all ! Love ! because thine eyes are sightless, Rival thou shalt know ! Since her eyes thy shafts, grow mightless, Shame thy bended bow. i8o y- Canary's smoky mountain dulls no more The fiery dawn just lifting from the deep. COLUMBUS O VENTUROUS Bark! thy speedy prow swerves not; Prompt servant of the never-veering helm, It leaves the old routine for novel ways ! The pillared limits of the ancient world Are sunk behind us and the outmost isle Has vanished, and the island-circling seas Where, in the shadow of tall Tenerifle, Becalmed we loitered through impatient days. Drooped then thy sails as overwearied birds That cannot onward though the ridges leap. And hungry hollows yawn, their crests between. Canary's smoky mountain dulls no more The fiery Dawn just lifting from the deep. Henceforth the broadly-undulating floods We face ; far stretch they to a waiting haven Where I, O Joy! strike sail and cast the anchor, With cross and banner dedicate the realm To Heaven and my earthly liege Castile. The winds do favor me, the waves are kind ; With long misfortune God has tried me well. And proved me worthy of this enterprise Toward which the lofty heart alone aspires ; To which the chosen only shall attain. Lo, yonder sun throughout his mighty arc i8i COLUMBUS Is cloudless o'er these peaceful, prosperous days ; By night each westering constellation looks, And fixed Polaris, on my dream grown real, For, sleeping or awaking, I have dreamed Of this great Present. To my manhood's dawn Came luring visions of Hesperian shores Beyond Canary and the westmost cliff Of re-discovered Azore. Regions found By Marco to the morning journeyer. Far lands of wonder, have my visions known. Loud to my growing noon rung the command, " Search thou the unattempted main ! " and now, The orb of my life-day yet high, I lead Where soon, behind my pioneer fleet, A thousand prows will cleave the charted sea. Haste, haste, O bark! I seek the famed Cathay, Its palace-piles, its roofs of drossless gold. Its burnished domes that flash the rise of morn. The state and splendor of great Orient kings I seek. From ivory throne, with gems ornate. Whereon the line of Kubla mildly reigns. The Khan will greet the ambassador of Peace. Than Polo's utmost marvel stranger sights Yet gladden our well-terminated voyage. There every wavelet jealous guards a pearl, And yellow sands besprinkle all the beach. And scanty shroud Earth's buried treasure covers. And flowering spices odorous lade the winds A-wandering seaward from the grovy isles. 182 COLUMBUS Solve we Time's riddle which the wrecking surge And creatures hideous hold from fearful men. Lo, I, who doubt the one, the other dare I Acquainted long with all sea peril, why- Should I not altogether doubt and dare? Even my boyhood knew too well the wrath Of tropic tempest lifting suddenly high The foaming Mediterranean round the hull Of our frail, deckless caravel, half swamped In some sheer gulley of the mountainous main. In fight of grappled ships my sword hath struck From Arab cimeter a contact fire, Then cooled its length in blood of infidels Who, if I spared, must kiss the saving cross, Renounce the crescent and their error of faith. Nigh to the Afric strongholds of the Moor I dared made show of my bravado sails. Thus flaunting hatred which my face to face Should later hiss into his Moslem ear. For Youth is oftentimes but harsh and green. Offense and bitterness by Age deplored ; It lacks that mild admixture of good sense With which at last the ripened years are mellow. In Tunis harbor I for prize have striven Though cravens deemed it risk, unequal fight, And, but for my shrewd wit, had shamed and baulked Me with a prow turned helpward ere my task. 'Gainst Naples have I tested my sword arm Beneath the ambitious banner of Anjou. 183 COLUMBUS Then did I, though apprentice, somewhat hope A bright, illustrious mention by the scribe Of future war, for I deported well In battle glance of my commander kin That purger of the pirate-breeding coast. That sinker of the pirate-bearing ship, That wholesome dread of unbelieving wretches, The rashly brave Colombo. He it was That taught me scorn of fear ; he stirred my soul To emulation of great deeds. At length My deeper wisdom and my wider knowledge Bade me unto the marge of this endeavour. And promised me safe launch, and voyage, and much Of a more noble goal than one might gain Sailing through blood of every miserable dupe Since blasphemous Mahomet reared his throne On Hell's black corner-stone of utmost lie. Unlike the ships of Carthage, ancient led By voyaging Hanno round the Afric coast. At once we left, O little fleet ! all sight Of aught more stable than these fluid tides That heap or hollow at an instant's whim ; We left who said " God speed!" then our watched sails Fled to the hidden goal of sinking day ; All foothold we abandoned save the thin, Smooth-travelled and monotonous planks, our hope. Our sole dependence ; yet shall we discover What, solid, hides beneath the curve of ocean Whose vasty reach half-girdles wide a world 184 COLUMBUS Round as yon rising. Lo, what lureth on, A loadstone, draws us from the hateful wake Of coastwise craft, and those poor, narrow routes Where traders timid creep from port to port I Sometimes I deem this not the primal quest. For, nearing once the icy, northern isle. My project still maturing as I steered, I saw in thought uprear sea-haunters old ; Storm-weathering bark well-ribbed with storm-proof oak, Tough masts of pine on windy mountains hewn. Storm-toughened crew I saw, and Viking chief Whose darling ship shall flame, his chosen bier. Fit, unto recklessness, for rash attempts Of who would ravage or else rove afar — By naught on-guided save the heavenly fires — In tested steel they stood ; each warrior's face All scarred by blade and seamed by thrusting winds. Defiant they and well-nigh savage wild As if deep in the she wolf's native den Unnaturally nursed. At once it flashed, — Through west the eagle sweep from Teneriffe, Beyond the margin of the mountain view. Are we the wiser of her eye-glance keen? When comes the living sky-ship albatross That, waking, sleeping onward, found the last Proud wave of flood-tide on some unknown coast, Wax we the richer of her knowledge won? Adventurous but unenlightening bird, What though the Norseman ship hath winged to shore? 185 COLUMBUS What though her prow ground every sand I seek? These times, unbettered by her voyage, forget ; The world not knoweth as she ne'er had been. God grant I find an Eden remnant green. Escaped the blight, the plague of thorn and thistle ! God grant far peoples, taught of me, yet hasten The Christ to Eden kingdom of the saints, Barred not by flaming sword and cherubim. For men shall enter for a thousand years ! But hark ! how Discontentment's mutter grows Beneath the cabin roof, foreboding storm ! What oaths harsh-jangle through each Paternoster From mouths of cursing all unused to prayer ! Bold braggarts of scarce yester-week ! how mean. How less than men ye prove ! 'Tis ever so With Guilt anear the nameless and unknown. The murderer, fallen, waileth for the priest, And ye will moan and whine like that unshriven. Ah, what if Superstition blindly sway. And quaking Terror make downthrow of Reason, So that with hands of mutiny ye fell The westward-facing son of Genoa, Or, worse for me than death in onward duty. Ye backward force, through long, disgraceful leagues. My baffled, ruined venture unto scorn ; And in the mocking port of Palos strand A shipless Admiral and a realmless lord Whom Indian islands hail not ! Make me rather. Sweet Heaven ! the prey of gulfs unsoundable ! 1 86 COLUMBUS Let Kindness whelm and sink me from the shame Where never eyes of men spy out my rest, Nor Ridicule's keen arrows pang my heart ; And let the watery mountain, on my breast, Hold shattered hope around my oozy bed ! No drifting wreckage tells my secret hid, Save from the stars and inarticulate winds, Till Doom's loud trumpet bids the deep reveal ! But no ! ofttimes on tropic seas I've watched A sudden streamer of down-trailing fire Fall from the zenith to the midnight wave. And night was gloomier of that glory gone. Then soon an orb unquenchable upclomb From the chill bosom of the heaving East ; Whereat, to my embosomed, hopeful heart, But chiefly to my quenchless Soul, I cried, " O Strong ! O Bright ! thou art the Sun ! arise ! " And I in sight of all this day am risen. Henceforth, O crew ! my brain must be the master, The reason wherewithal ye know or guess ; Even should the trusted needle prove a traitor. Forsaking far the North, I'll frame you cause ; And what of craft unto my use I summon Is kindness done so ye not backward turn. Therefore my Bark, speed on ! my faithful Brave ! O wert thou where yon water-kissing west Bendeth its azure to the eastern rim Of floods prow-cloven never once unless By Noah, aimless mariner, ere rose, 187 COLUMBUS With promise sole, the crest of Ararat From midst the deep-drowned world ! Howso thou speed Swift bark, Desire outstrips thy nimble keel, Outstrips thy tensioned sails and bended mast, Outstrips the startled sea-bird's wild career. Beyond the vague and vanishing mountainous land That cheers the far-sea-gazing islander, Beyond Saint Brandon's mythical anchor-hold, Beyond the citied isle my wish is winging, Beyond Antilla and Cipango shore. Beyond the Archipelagoes of Ind, To all that gleams and glooms in Asian realms More west than ocean's deep-indenting bays. Hot on my cheek resentment yet will flame Let me but think upon thy perfidy O Portugal ! stooping to act the thief Toward my just gain and glory ! That thou failed Was recompense to thee. Already know Our shadow draws across thy star of fame ! Abashed thy voyagers shall behold us back From no mere wrestle with unprofitable waves, Those fury-hounds which on the Ithacan Did work the vengeance of their offended king. But rather over the flat seas home-coming, With sudden riches, to a rival state. Like the loosed captive that will turn to look On some crampt dungeon, long his forced abode. Do I with retrospective vision scan My years of bondage to the whim of kings 1 88 COLUMBUS And niggard nobles and dull-sighted men. How oft, alas ! have timid counsellors Ruled to my grief the impulse of a Throne ! How oft the brutish rabble howled their scorn At me a man overswayed by Fantasy, Mad almost unto chain and prison keep ! How oft straight- for ward speech roused enmity Where arrogant fools, disgracing Wisdom's seat, Did answer sense with mere absurdity ! How oft the bigot would upbraid, deeming His wordy, shallow rant meet censure in That just-adjudging Heaven, frowning, deemed My argument impious, my quest a sin Who, poor, unknown, disputed and durst seek Whereof the book saith not, nor any word Of our grave fathers reverent, wise and saintly ! For this, and more, my spacious plans, tall-reared. Did in my lofty thought remain but plans : My hope's bright blossom of a heavenly seed. The first — perchance the last — of rarest kind, Adjudged a weed, had languished and had died But that the tender eye of Pity saw, And her sweet ministration stayed the blight Of drooping leaves, and gave them back their prime. My once low-trodden heart anew hath risen. And, with fore-knowledge filled, doth prophesy ! Soon shall the base and blind and doltish know That Fortune, slipping quite their heedless grasp, Falls golden in a woman's softer palm ! 189 COLUMBUS generous lady I Isabella queen ! Minded to pledge for me thine every jewel ! A glory, in the crown of proud Castile, Blazes ere long to Europe's envious eye ! The Master's messenger, through thee, I bear On my enlightening way His Cross and Name ! A later Paul, I haste to Gentile lands. The ocean-banished sons of primal Adam, The nations blind that yet in darkness grope ! A better Caesar, for a better Rome, 1 spread the conquests of the Heavenly King To nameless regions of the growing Earth ! The last crusader, from polluting hands I wrest at length the Holy Sepulchre ! No rapt night-searcher of the starry deeps. Charting the islands of the airy blue — Unnavigable nothing to our prows — But hardy sailor of the mundane seas ; Behold, to all mankind I make bequest, — A world engirdled with a chain, complete. Uniting hemisphere to hemisphere ! 190 MY KINGDOM OF Fancy's realm behold me king ! The North salutes me, and the South ; From East to West my plaudits ring, And praise is more than from the mouth. I never will the tyrant play ; My lowliest charge I do endear ; 'Tis love that prompts him to obey ; As son he serves, devoid of fear. Not gold and ivory throne my state ; No circlet rare begems my brow : Whilst Need must on my giving wait, 'Gainst these and more I make my vow. Presumption in my breast be stayed ! Once Folly would surmount the cloud ; The grandest stone, on Babel laid, Lies humbled to an earthy shroud. Through deserts waste, and forests wild, The Afric lion lords it well ; His cowering subject, seeming mild, To meaner life is tyrant fell. 191 MY KINGDOM Though both prize freedom, are they free? Unswayed by appetite and need ? Than lion prouder lords there be, Yet men are slaves to lust and greed. And shall I pattern by the beast? Or seek my model in that one Who, reason-dowered, may still be least ; Unworthiest beneath the sun ? Of Fancy's realm behold me king ! Take hence the robe of purple hue ! But to my yearning bosom bring The heart-beats of the humble true. Go ! dig the iron from the hill ! The sword and sceptre fashion thou ! Spread conquest where it please thy will ! The slave shall cringe ; the head shall bow. No battle shock has ever tried My naked, swift-descending blade ; I draw not, sheathe not at my side, What for thy murderous arm was made. Thy sceptre bruiseth more and more ; 'Tis rigid of an iron age ; Forever gone the men who bore — Dull, hopeless brutes — their master's rage. 192 MY KINGDOM Once millions to the task were lashed By harsh and unrelenting hands As on their heads the fierce noon flashed, And burned their feet in Egypt's sands. From out the Roman's wide-flung gate Did ruthless War to carnage sweep. tell me Time ! their end, their fate. Whose pleasure caused their kind to weep ? " The Caesar's might all broken lies ; O'er Pharaoh's bones the waves are sped ; And he a crownless captive dies. Who once was Europe's grief and dread." Of Fancy's realm behold me king ! Thy choice the hard and sterile soil : Thou worldling ! aim the jest, the fling, — Then haste to mix with Earth's turmoil ! 1 still would dream of one fair day Conceived of Time, — alas ! unborn. I scan the East where yet a ray Shall herald that delaying morn. 193 TO HELEN SUNNY Beam, forsake the flower I Hasten unto Helen's cheek ! Summer green doth not embower Beauty such as you shall seek. Coy to my love-pleading she ; On her forehead, pure and white, Linger with a kiss for me 1 I would thrill with your delight. Sweeter than the morning rose, Stately Helen, maiden bloom, Doth her lily-leaves unclose ; All her heart outbreathes perfume. That deep heart a name would hide, And an image treasured there ; To your search shall be denied What her tongue will not declare. Sunny Beam, forsake the flower ! Seek you one of fairer kind ! Summer green doth not embower Beauty such as you shall find. 194 THE BIRTHDAY PARTY SUMMER'S here, and o'er the ground Beauties at her birth abound ; In the fields and woods around Every song makes merry sound. On my birthday looking down, Shines the sun through leafy crown ; Playmates, quit the narrow town Where the streets are dusty-brown I Leave behind the garden-close. And forget the garden-rose ; Here unbid the wild-flower blows ; Here the oak its shadow throws. Come, for clear the birdies call From the elm above the wall ! Come and pluck the daisies all In the grasses rank and tall I Buttercups are open there ; Dandelions everywhere Till the Even proudly wear Golden crowns beyond compare. ^95 THE BIRTHDAY PARTY Come before the scythe is keen In the maze of meadow green ; There the violet, half unseen, Lowly bides with modest mien. 'Neath a bluer, wider sky. Chase the gaudy butterfly Hovering low, then hurrying high Lest you catch him bye and bye. In and out the clover bed Hunt the berries ripe and red Where the fragrant bush, outspread. Scatters rose-leaves on the head. Boys and girls I long to greet ! Come you quick on nimble feet ! Come and share my dainty treat. Cake and cream and candy sweet ! Never have the naughty mice, Nibbling, nibbling, loaf and slice, Stolen goodies half so nice ; Taste them once you'll try them twice. Come you all 1 in childish way Make we then the moments gay, Wishing, wishing, as we play. Every morn might bring birthday. 196 In childish way Make we then the moments gay, ^yishing, wishing, as we play, Every morn might bring birthday. THE ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTOR WITH sceptre raised he stands ; a king is he ; In him the ruler I at once divine ; From his keen eye a spell doth company- Each gesture eloquent, each meaning sign. O'er his good band wields he a sovereign power ; His subjects joyfully with him reveal The gems of song inspired, the Muse's dower; I own her queen, her regal bounty feel. Midst far, faint harmony descends the Grail ; — On-cometh Lohengrin its champion knight ; Oppression trembles lest his arm prevail Who hears her cry, is moved by Elsa's plight. With tearful chant and penitential grief. The banded pilgrims seek the shrine at Rome ; Tannhauser there craves pardon and relief. Spurned now and outcast from both heart and home. Devoted Senta's wheel is whirling near The spinning maids ; she heeds their laughter not For he doth steer, who evermore shall steer Through scourging seas, held to his hopeless lot 197 THE ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTOR Unless, within some woman's breast, the seed Of pity, rooted deep, to love upbloom ; And she, responding to his utmost need. Appease in death the demon of his doom. The Meistersingers strive in vocal war. And Nuremberg's fair daughter is the prize ; One stands victorious ! Ah, by Love's kind law 'Tis he whom Love did choose, and love-lit eyes ! Tristan has won his own predestined bride For Mark of Cornwall ; how the winds grown chill Blow her from Erin Isle ! borne on the tide, The seaward tide, Isolde grieveth still. Sing guardian nymphs, beneath the Rhenish wave Where gleams the Rhinegold in the watery mine ! Whoso can wrest it may his kind enslave ; Guard well the Rhinegold, maidens of the Rhine ! Lament the Rhinegold maidens ! Alberich's greed Has won what Wotan's guile will make his own ; The ring accursed will thousand curses breed To hurl the monarch from his ancient throne. Within the shadows of the Druid wood Stands Norma ; stern the priestess-matron's face I Her broken virgin-vow brings naught of good. But broken vow to her ; here in this place 198 THE ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTOR Wrong must be righted and the gods appeased ; What though her children plead on bended knee ! Sore weighs the sin, nor can her soul be eased ; The funeral pile, and purging fire must be ! Sings Babylon's proud queen ! the Splendor-Crowned ! What magic in her siren voice whose trills Shame every wooing bird ! now doth resound Her high command ; — and now her pathos thrills ! To-morrow's bliss is young Zerlina's theme ; Lorenzo pours his doubts upon the wind ; Diavolo doth of brigand glory dream, Nor sees the meshy net around him twined. A boastful strain exulting Toreador I Thy vaunted triumph Carmen shall behold I Sevilla's tuneful Barber bubbles o'er With mirth contagious as in days of old. I hear Manrico, from the prison tower. To Leonora sigh a last farewell ; Ah, Miserere ! Ah, the hopeless hour ! The chant foreboding, and the ominous bell 1 Thy children brook the tyrant's whim no more. Brave land of wintry height and pastoral vale ! Their hearts are flame ; their voice the torrent's roar ; Rejoice, O Tell ! A nation's wakening hail ! 199 THE ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTOR Arline, unconscious of her noble birth, Flits through the gipsy dance with native grace ; Her sire, his heart bowed down, long strange to mirth; Deplores a loss which years do not replace. Hark ! through the night that clanging signal dread ! Canst tell O Huguenot ! its purport dire ? Raoul and Valentin ! that knell hath sped The death of kinsmen ! brought the sword and fire ! Linger ye rapturous notes that graceful glide Through Puritani's tender, love-born lay ! Sweep on Somnambula's euphonious tide ! Trip Martha's merry measures, glad alway ! Appear lithe Shadows, for the moon is bright ! Dance with Dinorah in an airy round ! Her footsteps, dainty as the music light. Crush not a dew-drop on your pleasure-ground. The mellow horns a martial strain outpour. Loud swells "The Rataplan" for Marie comes ! The valorous trumpets war-inciting soar ; The trombones waken and the battle-drums. Call to the deep Selika I Call in vain ! Stays not his bark who bears thy heart from thee : Dusk Afric queen, from love-dream waked to pain ! Wouldst dreamless rest? Woo then the deadly tree I 200 THE ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTOR Alone on dreary sands it thrives, a thing Whose life blights every life that ventures there ; And men, and beasts, and birds of hapless wing, Lie midst the stillness of that desert bare. Giovanni's themes I know and love full well ; Stradella's prayer that turns th' assassin's steel Back to the sheath : With sympathy I dwell On Linda and Fidelio's woe and weal. Pasquale's Serenade floats on the air ; Ernani's chorus is uplifted now ; With pomp and blare the Prophet comes to wear A fateful crown too weighty for his brow. That Barcarolle ! What fresh, spontaneous charm Hath source in Masaniello's troubled breast ! Thence that low Slumber Song whose lovely calm Lulls sad Fenella to forgetful rest. In fairy hall sits Oberon the king ; His fairy guests through fairy pleasures fly ; The fairy's horn, his gift, doth succor bring To knight and maid whom fairy arts do try. Lucrezia ! oft the poison flower is fair. And gilded falsehood feigns the golden truth ; Thy florid notes are weaving to ensnare ! Thy kiss of friendship hides the serpent's tooth ! 20I THE ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTOR Otello! Ah, the fierce, foul tragedy Thy baneful star in all its heaven has wrought ! Self-doomed and hurled from Glory's galaxy. That ruinous, ruined orb descends to naught. La Favorita ! from the secret bower, La Traviata ! from the wayward past. Rise specters grim of every wanton hour ; Though worthier love is come, your hopes they blast. Alas, Lucia, that thy witless hand Should slay whom Fate had bound too close to thee ! Distraught and piteous I behold thee stand. Thy life an ebbing stream of melody : Poor Marguerite ! Fond Innocence betrayed ! She barkens to the Tempter's passioned song : From Mignon's heart her land will nothing fade ; To her rapt voice will childhood memories throng. In anguished accents Isabella pleads With Robert whom the Fiend has turned to ill ; Accursed ! thou no more canst prompt his deeds For pitying Heaven doth reveal its will. Revenge, vile Rigoletto! sways thee now; The poison shaft of his malignance flies ; By blind Revenge 'twas loosed, — the goal mark thou ! Thy daughter, treasured one ! thy daughter dies 1 202 THE ORCHESTRAL CONDUCTOR Touch, Orfeo ! touch the py-forsaken string ! Minstrel bereaved ! the lyre touch mournfully ! Inspired of Grief ! voice sweet thy sorrowing ! Thou seeker of the lost Eurydice ! I hear Agatha by the willow grove Her tender hymn outpour ; falls there the light Of listening stars, and there the branches wove, ^olian, whisper to the answering night. Mine is the night, the grove, the hymn, the stars, And mine what thou hast proffered, generous Art ! Mine, mine, th' unmeasured bounty ! Nothing bars Nor turns me, save myself, from any part. The sweet, faint note, the full, sonorous sweep. The mighty rush of harmonies are spent ; Their treasured beauty to the silent keep Of Memory departs ; their deep intent Eludes my ken though all my soul it fills. Aroused in me unanswered questions ring, — Whence ! wherefore ! come life's varied goods and ills With laugh, or tear? with joy, or sorrow-sting? 203 MY LADY 1 LOOKED upon my lady's face Nor knew that anyone was by, But close a laughing cherub Grace, All winsome, stood with sightless eye. "Men say," he lisped, "your love is fair; For beauty nevermore they seek ; June, robbed of roses ruby-rare, Has found their blossom on her cheek. "Some fondly dote upon her mouth, And deem it dainty as my bow ! Her breath they liken to the South Just wafted from the orange-blow. "Some find her eyes a crystal well ' Where deep their hearts do helpless drown ; A bond she weaveth, some might tell, With every tress of wavy brown. "And some well know that sand and tide Shall not the pinkest seashells fill. For these beyond her temples bide. Half-hidden at a ringlet's will. 204 MY LADY "But one has kissed her maiden hand, The dimpled joint, the tiny tip : He sighs to place Love's golden band. And seal the rapture lip to lip, "And clasp her, willing to be kissed. In welcome arms of circling love Closer than bracelet on her wrist ; Yes, closer than her clinging glove. "If she but crown his ardent quest, To him her nature doth unfold A thousand beauties, never guessed. Enhancing all that men behold." 205 TO ELLA HOW joyful was the growing stream that bore thee onward still ! Not quite forgot the happy spot where, on its native hill, It leaped a tiny cataract, all mirth and laughter, — free ; And every breeze, from shading trees, its mirthful mates would be. The sky, as now, to thee was blue ; and all the spring- time vale, A widening green at morning seen, was pied with blossoms pale, And opening flowers whose richest tint was dull beside thy cheek ; Violets were there ! but. Winsome Fair ! from eyes did beauty speak. The swelling flood forsakes the glen. Earth's broader scenes invite ; Thus life moves on, it leaves the morn; — at noon it seeks the night. Now deeper, calmer currents guide a deeper, calmer soul ; Its destiny the calmest sea ; the yet far-distant goal. 206 TO ELLA The waters shall majestic roll to meet that shoreless main ; Then Love shall mark a stately bark cleaving the waves in twain ; Her sails are set, the prospering wind doth speed her through the bay ; The voyage is done ! — No, just begun ! — she sweeps from sight away. 207 THE SAVING FEW LONG, long, has Earth swung round her parent Star That speeds from deep to deep, serene : Long, long, men's eyes have lowered, the sky seemed far; Yet midst them some deplored the fleshly bar 'Twixt mortal sight and things unseen. Long, long, has mountain scorned the humble plain Though risen thence when Earth was new : Long, long, have loveless heart and scheming brain Inhuman filled their part where knaves did reign, Yet some were kings ; the sovereign few. Long, long, have surges furious met the shore Opposing stern, yet crumbling slow : Long, long. War's ruthless hosts, with ominous roar. Have sought defiant coasts and lashed them sore, Yet some roused not the vengeful foe. Long, long, has Summer burned the barren sand. And dried the shallow streamlet's bed : Long, long, have evil hours left their brand. Yet some in Virtue's ways unscathed did stand Where deep-veined fountains cool are fed. ao8 THE SAVING FEW Long, long, has Autumn bared the tree and vine, And flung their fading vestures down : Long, long, has Falsehood tripped in raiment fine Till Time requiting stripped her pride supine ; But some upbore Truth's changeless crown. Long, long, has Winter slain the life that sprung In seed-time ; days again to be. Long, long, with aging eye, men anguish wrung Have seen Death silent lie ; yet some were young Of Heaven's own Spring that Faith could see. Long, long, O Earth ! swing round thy parent Fire That speeds from deep to deep, serene ! Long, long, with downward gaze has looked Desire, Yet some are strong to raise men from the mire. From utter dearth, to things unseen. 209 MUSIC GRACIOUS Giver ! thou who sought us With the lyre of old and taught us ! Minstrel harp and song thou brought us. Queenly ! of thy wealth we glean ! Music ! deign to be our queen ! Faint as rill of Summer flowing, Sighs the flute for thou art blowing Soft as breath of Summer going. Queenly ! gentle is thy mien ! Music ! deign to be our queen ! Blithe as beams on wavelets dancing, Trip the dainty notes entrancing ; Leaps the tow, their joy enhancing ; Queenly ! thine the laurel sheen ! Music ! deign to be our queen ! To the window Love is leading Voice and lute impassioned, pleading; At the casement one is heeding. Queenly ! thou art fair I ween ! Music ! deign to be our queen I 2IO MUSIC By the streamlet murmurous wending, Sits the god, his flock attending, Chosen river-reeds there blending. Queenly ! listen, crowned with green ! Music ! deign to be our queen ! In the battle forefront flashing. Hero's blade is thrusting, slashing ; Roll his drums above the crashing. Queenly ! thou hast mighty been ; Music ! deign to be our queen ! Listen ! faith and hope revealing, Praiseful hymns are starward stealing ; Pipes harmonious are pealing. Queenly ! Earth seems poor and mean ; Music ! deign to be our queen ! Martial drum, thy measures lend us ! Organ, harp and lute, befriend us ! Reed, and string, and flute, attend us I' Queenly ! raise thy song atween ! Music ! deign to be our queen ! 211 MOUNT WASHINGTON FROM wooded Bramhall's westward-sloping hill I look to dimmy mountain ridges ; there One, chiefest, lifts a brow of winter still Though lesser heights, in April's thawing air, And in her melting beams, well-nigh are bare. But soon, O Washington ! the runnells leap Filled with the snow-fields of thy summit where The icy brooks will branch, and, from the steep, Adown thy wrinkled walls seek vernal valleys deep. And then above horizon hills thy hue Soft-mingles with the far and bending west As low the season drops a smoky blue, A vapory curtain, on thy summer crest. When calm the sun betaketh to his rest, And Eve is pensive for his vanished gold, And f&w the stars obeying her behest ; I turn my gaze to thy clear outline bold. By twilight purple kissed before the skies are cold. Harsh thunder-clouds will darken round thy form ; The liberated lightnings, flashing free. Will dart from regions of the rolling storm While all is tranquil o'er the head of thee Aspiring to the sun-lit, airy sea. 212 MOUNT WASHINGTON In breezeless Autumn hours a sluggish haze, Warm-tinted as October's yellow tree, Or mellow, laden apple-boughs, will laze Along thy distant heights ere come the leafless days. Then o'er yon intervening meadows wail The winds which leave for thee their northern zone. Then this lamenting grove repeats a tale. Voiced in the same unchanging monotone Which through thy valley fir and pine trees moan ; The tale of Winter sweeping south again To make thy barren monolith his throne, And seal the channels where thy streams complain. And whirl the snow-flakes far, and freeze the falling rain. 213 BIRTH AND DEATH A TENDER blush bespreads the cheek of Morn ; With modesty she waits her hastening lord ; Behold him kingly come unto her fair As at his greeting in Earth's primal hour. O Thou, whose advent cheers ! whose glanced farewell Is joyous promise of the morrow's joy ! Not thy rejuvenating life can stay The time of life's undoing, yet serene Thou lookest forth, beholding birth and death ! O Thou, whose earliest, latest, beam inspired The prayer and hymn from countless throats of old In farthest lands where first thou deignst to rule ! Proud One to whom the adoring Magi bowed ! Illume my heart ! do thou my brain illume ! The secret of unwavering faith reveal That I with temperate mind and undismayed. Consider life begun, — its course, and end ! At once the Gracious bends on me a ray Wherein a tongue hath noiseless utterance, A pregnant voic^, dumb to my straining ear. Unto my inmost sense is messenger. "I, who have always tutored, ever will The open mind and reverent heart of man That ofttimes questioned, and provokest yet. In Wisdom's all-compelling name — Truth's name — 214 BIRTH AND DEATH The seeming Silence that enlightens thee. Beholding me no more at eve, fearest thou The fate of utter gloom and deathful night? Ah, no ! 'tis then thy gaze upturning meets A mellowed and chastened fire : the Hand Which portions out each day, hath nowhere left A dreary, bare expanse above thy head ; Nowhere may Death unmitigated reign. Though dying to the Eve, in other realms I bide to animate the Morn, and thou, Obedient, at my matin summons livest ; From seeming death thou wakenest to bliss Unmixed with pain, or heavy sorrow's draught. But if thy place be vacant, and thine hour. Mine must I fill, for, as through ages dim. The fragrant leaves of budding life I touch To many-tinted pride of flowering days, And lavish on mankind, and humbler need, That land and sea may teem with excellence. My seven-fold urge, my fructifying flame. When soon my warmth within thy breast is chill, Thy heart-throbs cease, thou findest rest befit; All breathing things, grown weary, fain would rest: In earth recuperative rest they find. Behold a marvel ! from the womb brought forth, And vigorous, from the mould of graves upsprung. Their lives evolve ; their beauty fairer grows. To mission sweet the vernal season calls The rose whose mortal bloom hath other bloom 215 BIRTH AND DEATH Deep-rooted in a richer soil : soft rains From clouds unseen, and friendly dews from far, Descend, its daily, nightly, nourishers. Earth yields no purity to match the hues Of heavenly morns and eves reflected there ; No fragrance yields of mead and hill and valley Like what the blossom-kissing breeze, from bowers Beyond the west, brings to that hidden flower. Dull sense kens not the undecaying life When earthly leaves lie mingled with the loam Below the strewings of autumnal winds. And winter weigheth death upon that death. Dull sense kens not the liberated life That in one weakest, strongest, moment sunders The corporal bonds which held thy lusty youth. Like him whose outstretched eagle-wings some day Find not the hated bars, thy soul is free ; With sudden rapture of deliverance soars. The travail finished of her humble term. Thou wast begotten of the Primal Word Through chaos sped to fertilize the void Whence sprung the worlds, a myriad progeny. In thee one deathless syllable I hear ; Attune thy soul unto the perfect Whole ! From deeps and times inscrutable I came Creative breath of ante-natal Fire. Within the gulf illumed my ray — my voice — Enkindled life in all my circling train, Each single-eyed toward thine own vision's source. 216 BIRTH AND DEATH Conceived in Nature's Heart, from thence I came With Life's broad current on whose waves the world Seeks brighter days, and keener shine of stars ; Through ways complex thy life-drops ever seek Their chambered and inevitable fountain ; My orb, in Universal Space a drop, Will sometime, somewhere, reach the Parent Heart. Thou seest the slender crescent of the moon Grow nightly on its half-encircled sky. And sphere to splendor in some perfect hour ; — And then, through gloomier nights, the silvery sea Retiring leaves of blue a bare domain. At morn thou markest in the east my rise, At eventide departs my lessening light. From gloom to glory, then to gloom, poor one I Thine eyes would circumscribe all light ; thine eyes Unfit to overlook the tiny circle Which rims thy narrow morn, and noon, and eve, Mere flashes of Time's real, unsetting Day. From gloom to glory, then to gloom, mankind And lesser life onmove before thy mind Untrained to overleap the barriers Wherein swift-passing Childhood, Manhood, Age, Belie Eternity their source and goal. All times, the aeons flown ; all scenes, the worlds Life-thronged in youth, life-empty in decay, Have schooled thy teacher ; aye, have taught him truth. Though Death relentless wring a tribute tear, A pearl pure from its mother shell thy breast, 217 BIRTH AND DEATH On corse and bier I shine, and on the mound Which hides thy buried hope. Within that tomb Waits life thou wottest not ; there waiteth use Defiant of the worm ; there prone Defeat From Earth's kind bosom draws wherewith his arm Shall be invincible. The mien o'ercast, The sorrow-dropping eye, the pain of wounds Deeper than flesh, are Doubt's sad heritage. Keyed to the concord of Life's ceaseless notes, Whose mighty undertones deep-shake the globe, From tree and bush glad Intuition pours Carols of faith to cheer despondent Doubt. Wherefore lament from me when thou no more Raisest thine eyelids to my visiting ? No more returnest greeting at the dawn? Take then thy rest and preparation make ; With keener earth-eyes thou some day shalt look. Death sinks thee never in the watery waste. Nor holds thee prisoned 'neath the mountain's base. Nor wraps thy vital spirit in a shroud. I ne'er would thwart, if so might be, his doing Who constant serves, fulfilling Wisdom's law. Know thou thy seeming conquerer cannot stay The tide of life Eternal that in thee, Howso receding, meeteth yet a wave Which, from Life's never-drained, unmeasured ocean, Shall fill thy being with a fresher flood. In cloudless midnight lift both mind and eye ; Behold the stars down-looking on day's death 1 2i8 BIRTH AND DEATH Question those ponderous orbs my brother suns In lone or constellated glory, or Midst heaven-traversing and thronged ways I Those guarding, guiding, kings interrogate ! To those reflections of life's Source appeal ! From vantage heights no utter death they view. No dull stagnation, no black, rayless night. Dost deem it harsh that from the common rock Was torn the gem which gathers evermore The beamy splendor to a kingly head? Is he unjust who, from the prisoning shell, On sands submerged, or sunk in slimy ooze. Plucks beauty to adorn his dear one's brow? Is't robbery because the veined quartz Must yield the ore? the worm her spinning yield? Is't sacrilege that templed man's abode From pinnacle is rent to corner-stone. And e'en the sanctuary veils are shred, And naught but ashes heaps the desolate shrine? Ah, wouldst thou stand like some grimed obelisk Forsook of Death who crumbles into dust The fallen magnificence which flashed abroad. From burnished domes and skyey, gilded spires, The far-off, first salute of Morn? Wouldst be Survivor lone of the death-stricken years To make more felt their vanishing ? Dost envy The solitary fate of yon scathed pile Upon whose walls the storms of centuries Did vent their spleen ? Through dismal silence streams 219 BIRTH AND DEATH The noon-tide tinged with melancholy; — soon The moon's outpouring sadness fills the ruin Once throbbing loud with midnight merriment. The prime of chivalry, the minstrel harp, The festal gathering, and love's delight, Have faded all ; — long coffined is their pride ! Forgot are they as nameless thrones forgot. And kingdoms gulfed in cataclysmal waves. Their voice as Delphi, Helicon, is mute ; Themselves lie level with Nilotic soil ; As demi-god and hero low they lie. As huddled Pharaoh and Ptolemy. Life hath a final citadel intact, Unsealed, to all assault impregnable : From adverse battle fled, she standeth where Death hurls his utmost 'gainst the during walls. A fleeter bark hath Life than eager Death ; More swift of sail it makes the welcome port ; — From his black hull escaped, an anchorage finds. Though on thy way Death's darkling shadow lie. That brief eclipse stays not thy destiny. Sprung thou from Light I from Light supernal sprung That blinds, yes, blinds thee to thy heavenly source! Sprung thou from space-pervading Life that breathes No earthly whisper from the seeming void ! To these progenitors thou goest, child Of loving care ! a timely, homeward step, And poor, dim-sighted mortals deem it death. They thirst not who have found the favored spot, 220 BIRTH AND DEATH The brimming fount despite the rainless year ; They faint not who have found the branch which droops The purple, unpressed wine. His trials cease Who on his waiting father's threshold stands Whence wayward went he forth in days bygone. Strive thou to win a blessed comradeship With beings ever blessed ! How oft have they Thy feet from secret pitfalls turned ! How oft Through danger-crowded ways they guide unseen ! How oft their arms do ease thy routine toil ; Their noiseless wings fan thy moist brow till eve ; Their warning, hope, and consolation, oft Make sweet thy slumber till the night is worn. Attain such comradeship ! At once should be A saner purpose, aye, a grander aim Of riper knowledge born, and clearer sight. Dispel the mood which drave through devious days, And henceforth order thy harmonious course ! Attain true birth ! Fill worthy place in heavens Celestial. Thence thy light shall cheer alway. The lonely, darkened path, the eye bedimmed. The mind of Doubt, Despondency's faint heart. Sun of thy chosen spheres ! thou shalt attain ! And, useful, seek the summit of thy use In orbit wider as all Time unfolds I" 221 THE MESSAGE OSTAR in mid-heaven, beholding my love Who lonely the ocean doth sail ! Thy glory, unclouded, his beacon shall prove ; The light of thy lamp cannot fail. A lover upgazing, he knows that to-night All tender thou lookest on me. Wilt bear him a message ? His trusting requite ? Then beam what I breathe unto thee ! "My heart yearneth seaward, my heart that I gave ; Mine eyes would befriend as a star ; My voice would seek e'en to the uttermost wave And find thee, and cheer thee afar. "My wish would be wings to thy home-turning bark That never a storm-wind should veer ; My hope, thy good helmsman, through day and through dark. To one long-awaiting would steer. "This breast is thy haven, my own sailor-boy ! Thy calm though the wild waters roar : These arms would reclaim thee, my wide-wandering joy ! And keep who shall venture no more." 222 THE PRAISE OF FREEDOM FREEMEN by Atlantic waters! Freemen by the western shore ! Let the praise of Freedom, swelling, drown the surging ocean's roar ! In the northland, in the southland, in the tropic islands nigh, From the mouths of Freedom's chosen, let the paean seek the sky ! " On our necks no foe shall trample ; none shall menace with the steel ; Freemen, conquerers of the tyrant, never at his feet will kneel ! We have done with war and carnage, and the strife- engendering word : For the home and for the nation. Peace shall win, and not the sword ! " We are freemen, forest-felling midst the lofty pines of Maine ; Quarrv we New Hampshire mountains ; harvest we where rivers drain 223 THE PRAISE OF FREEDOM Fields and valleys of New England : bow we low where once did rill Life-blood 'of our patriot fathers down the slope of Bunker Hill. Merchants of the maritime cities, artisans and laborers we ; Tamers of the wasteful torrent, sailors of the curbless sea ; Planters by the Mississippi, miners of the golden West; Men in every fit vocation each the helper of the rest. Commerce we with Earth's great peoples, nations near and nations far ; At the masthead streams our pennant, floats our flag of many a star. Freemen ! on the ocean highways heaves the breast and flames the eye When those stars, undimmed at noonday, beam from ships careering by. Love-confederated brothers ! oft a star is brought to view. Of a state, new-born, the symbol risen on the ban- nered blue. Blending there its added glory, sinking never from our sight. As a state to many cleaving, clings it to the clustered light. 224 THE PRAISE OF FREEDOM O Columbia ! Goddess ! Mother ! flood with light these larger days ! Let your hopeful stars, wide-seeking, find the world's despondent ways ! But beyond your stars Columbia ! and the orbs of heaven, aflame, He who watched o'er Israel watcheth, looking down with love the same. Every people he has chosen ; every nation God has blessed Wheresoever men are brothers, well remembering Love's behest. Benefactress ! Lavish Giver of your aid to those unfree ! Let your arm, outstretched and mighty, still be strength and victory ! On the marge of ocean welcome all who flee the despot's will ! From your heart's o'erflowing bounty famished hearts with kindness fill ! Rendering homage unto Freedom, these shall prompt the lips to sing As a Nation's notes, united, to the praise of Freedom ring. 225 LIFE'S DESTINY BLIND and foolish is the man That would dwarf Creation's plan, Deeming God's impartial mind Purposed chiefly for his kind When the mountains cleft the main, And the seas forsook the plain, And the grasses green upgrew Nourished by the rain and dew, And the sun, that warmed the mead. Urged the blossom from the seed. Filled with fruit the tree and vine Where the valley walls incline. Blind and foolish is the man That would dwarf Creation's plan. Deeming God's impartial love Favors him, all else above. When the day's benignant king Cheers and guides his journeying. And when western stars, alight, Calm foretell the restful night ; 226 LIFE'S DESTINY Or when ocean waves are still, Working not their wrathful will, Or when from the tempest's grip 'Scapes the long-belated ship. Through their round the seasons ran Oft and oft ere man was man ; Then on land, or in the sea, Life grew toward its destiny. Never yet a useless birth Marred His plan who made the earth ; Never yet has utter death Triumphed o'er the dying breath. On all life the world doth wait ; God hath honored small and great ; That which seems but mean to thee. Shares thy full Eternity. In the twilight aeons fled. Many a meaner life it led Waiting some remotest dawn Better than thy natal morn. Sovereign man must worthier grow, Through millennial ages go ; Leaving lofty goals behind, He shall seek and he shall find ! 227 LIFE'S DESTINY In life's vast, progressive host, Man, the fittest and foremost, Serving through his sovereignty. Helper unto all should be. Human brother of Earth's brood ! That alone is brotherhood Which, compassionate and mild, Scorneth not her humblest child. Lo, the worm that shuns the day. Choosing darkness and the clay, Clingeth to a chain begun. Linking upward to life's Sun. Each good link by Time is tried ; Some I see, but many hide ; Angels in that chain methinks Are but highest, strongest links. When, Creation's course complete, Every bitter turns to sweet, And the thing that loved the ground. In life's upmost realm is found. Thou shalt know the perfect plan Dim-foreshadowed unto man ! Thou shalt praise the purpose wise Bidding nature Godward rise ! 228 ^■^-'W^^r ,' Oft in my revery at the well-sweep stands The ready givft of the welcome draught, A modest, gracious, love-engendering thing ; THE WOOING DEAR Cot 1 all vine-hid 'neath the branchy shade Of ancient elms o'er-arching tall and green ! Enchanted birth-place of love-memories I In thought I flee the vexings of the hour, The dust and turmoil of the city street, And, journeying near, behold thee bosomed deep In summer of full leaves and headed grass. And hues, besprinkled, of the field-sprung flowers; Then loiter up thy winding hill-approach As early I one memorable morn of June. Again the vocal birds have nested safe In yonder supple boughs whence rang their love Adown the ripened slope to where that morn The mowers sang amidst the level mead. 'Twas here that now my genial Spring of youth To manhood's ardent Summer nigh had grown, The tender, choired joy high overhead — Outpouring as from happiest day-dream heaven — Awoke within my uncompanioned heart A sorrowful sense of utter loneliness. O, shady Cot 1 by mated love o'erhung ! Kind was the Fate that led me to thy door I In thee, that proved beneath the skies a heaven. Dwelt one by angels dowered, and wholly fair; A maiden rich in all that lovers crave. 229 THE WOOING Oft in my revery at the well-sweep stands The ready giver of the welcome draught, A modest, gracious, love-engendering thing ; And I — some sharer in Youth's comeliness — A sudden stammerer grown bashful there, Quite overmastered by first-love's sweet might. And all the glory of one perfect bloom Paling the clusters of the garden bed. And yet methinks her woman's finer sense Heard in my plight a tongue that ne'er distilled The sweet, false flattery of a faithless heart Deadlier than honey of the poison flower. Now when too soon the usual commonplace 'Twixt strangers met should no more hold me near The maid that on the cotter's life did cast The glamour of her presence, and when she Who sometimes called her Daughter, sometimes Mary, With growing caution shew reserve toward one Ruthless perchance as taloned bird that spies The sole remaining of the brood, I turned As from a new-found treasure turneth he Whom Prudence warns to wait a fitter time. But, as I turned, two frank, confiding eyes Spake meaning other than the lips' good-day, Down in me deep it waked a melody Soft-blending with the rapture of the elms. Then forth into the radiant world and real. The world dim-shadowed on our everyday. The world wherein the poet native dwells, 230 THE WOOING And the rapt lover may sojourn, I went With sight love-keener and with ears unstopped ; And lo ! within the heart of Life shone Love, And of Life's myriad voices Love was theme. Then did my dormant, dim-suspected soul Arousing, bring unto that theme its burthen : — Dear Maid ! the promise in those eyes A gentle bosom shall fulfill ; Love-tutored, and by him made wise, Thou'lt know the purpose of his will. Dear Maid ! when lips that framed good-day, Would nothing more those eyes did dare ; Those eyes ! they bade him not away Whose fate is given to thy care. Dear Maid ! within thy rustic cot Would I make home, nor speak farewell ; And O, that Bliss, of Love begot, Our heart-child aye with us could dwell ! Dear Maid ! thou wilt all friendly grow ; Thy spark of friendship, flaming higher, Along our lives a light shall throw For Love shall feed its beacon-fire. Next morn, ignoring every usual lure Of stream, and field, and wood, and mountain-way, Again into the hill-path turning, I With mingled hope and apprehension, sought A welcome kindlier than stranger's due. 231 THE WOOING Then did the van-cloud of the rumbling west, That long had muttered, draw across the sky And seek the spotless circle of the sun ; Then on the verge make pause, — then turn aside And lead the lightning-bolts to other war : But not a beam of that bright orb was dimmed By all the gathered menace of the storm. Then burst upon my mood — almost of hope — Bird voices cheery, singing, singing, clear, Their alway fresh, reiterated song Of Springtime wooing and successful love : — Come unto my leafy tree ! Tilt upon a spray with me ! Parching noon draws never nigh, And the drenching shower goes by. Come unto my shady tree, And its gloom shall sunshine be! Now my song has lonesome note ; Come and cheer my saddened throat ! Come unto my murmuring tree, Songless source of melody ! Tranquil fount, that feels no drouth, Gush and sparkle from my mouth ! Come unto my spreading tree. And its forky branches see ! Hide we well the waiting nest Far from storm and all molest. 232 THE WOOING Here, within our mating tree, Breast thou soon the birdlings wee As that tender time I fill Pouring notes that woo thee still. Thus rang the joy of each unto his mate, As if with growing confidence more clear, Till, as he loud rehearsed that wooing song. All reassured I found the cottage door. That I was no mere stranger to my maid One glance, akin to that of yester, and The red unfolding on her cheek revealed. And her half-dumb confusion, mine before. O heaven-dowered Eden ! Love's remembered home ! Thy theme I do but vary ; 'twill be ringing Down Time's last age, unworn as when it rang An angel rapture o'er the birth of Love ! O vanished Eden I from whose blossoming Went Love a wanderer through the barren world 1 Full-handed and with equal mind he brings To cot and palace one rich gift from thee ! Henceforth for many days our lives moved on Converging floods of far-divided founts ; No angry torrent, no fickle wind, disturbed The tides which hid no treacherous rock or shallow. Meanwhile the barrier of her heart's distrust, Which barred the prudent mother once from me, Kind Rumor's breath had melted, warm with praise Of my most decent and industrious youth. Soon almost son to her I grew, almost 233 THE WOOING The boy who caught one kindly promise-beam Of manhood's dawning, — then untimely died And left the widow's daughter brotherless. But more than brother had I grown to Mary Who more than sister long had been to me. Now did the bountiful Summer, all mature. Shower wealth upon the garden world. Beside The windings of the meadow stream we culled What from her lap had fallen a flowery rain. And, in the dank grove by the darksome rill, Whatso of rare and curious was hid By her sly fingers ; on the dingle-side We parted from the scanty crevice-soil. The veiling glory of the sombre rock ; And from the shady wayside maple plucked The earliest, solitary hint of Fall. Then of our gathered fragrancies I chose One white, one red, and one of gold, and set That threefold loveliness on head of her Whose beauty needed not a single flower, Whose beauty needed not the praise I sang : — Sunless Eve is fairer When her star is clear, And no dimmy sharer Of the sky is near. Rose and lily sweeter Are when, open wide, Each of Morn is greeter, And the pale buds hide. 234 THE WOOING All thy brow was whiter, Thy pure, lily brow. And thy cheek's rose brighter. Ere I did endow Thee whose hair is golden Like the star, the Sun As he flees the olden West, and Day is done. Soon came the season, the rich and mellow season, When, from the leaves of every laden vine, The morning east deep-purpled to our eyes. And, midst the apple-orchard's bending green, The ardent fires of sunrise ruddy burned. And, in the pastures and the marshy meadows. The gentian's eye with azure noon was filled. And, from below our hill-sight, billowed far The tasseled and the bearded grain, a sea All golden with the eve's first afterglow. Ah, those old days ! those sun-bright, perfect days Of long ago ! those love-days of our youth I In revery-visions of this hour they rise. Soft nights arise ; those autumn nights wherein The cloudless beaming of innumerable stars Paled in the luster of the harvest moon Which on the reapers shone a milder day. As oft afield we roamed. Love's moon it seemed. Betokening to me his harvest time. From out that love-sweet time that harvest moon, Flooding the cottage parlor, shows the organ 235 THE WOOING A joy unto my maid's harmonious home. There would I sit prouder than he who fills The great cathedral with the majesty Of pillar-shaking pipes ; — and then the notes, Gentle and low, her fingers oft had chosen, I straight would summon from the delicate reeds. Pure even as she they seemed ; pure as the prayer Of some faint choir down-stolen on the heads Of kneeling worshippers. My moderate g4ft No doubt she magnified ; 'tis lover's way. Oft, sitting near, or standing at my side. She listened pleased with some extempore strain Herself had prompted. 'Twas in one such hour I shaped to verse and melody the theme Which, long-impatient prisoner of my breast, At length burst through the gateway of my lips : — In the woodland lonely, sprang a flower ! None was near to call her fair ; Yet, in chosen shadows of her bower, Shrinking from the noonday glare, Stood she, shaming all elsewhere, Queenly there. In that wood a stranger chanced her way ; Came he to her dim retreat ; On her beauty gazing he did say Words which from Love's tongue were meet, Making her fresh life, and sweet, Love-replete. 236 THE WOOING In a hill-crest cottage bloomed a maid Hidden well from lover's gaze ; Bowered 'neath bending elms and viney shade, Innocent of worldly ways, Lived she, worthy all love-praise. Her young days. Up the summer path that found her door. Strolled a youth ; a stranger ; he. Instant lover, faithful evermore. Saw a vision there of thee. Wilt thou. Dearest 1 all else be Unto me ? Even as I joined the question of my verse Unto the cadence-closing of the song, I looked full at her face above me now And bending closer, closer, till her breath, Fragrant as June that led me first to her, Was on my cheek ; — and then in her dear presence Inviting, — waiting, my love-eager arms. And in her troubled bosom's turmoil sweet. And in the seeking of her lips so near, And in the answering earnest of her eyes, I read the bliss of life-long, mutual love Ere yet her voice, a whisper, trembled " Yes ! " 237 MY CITY IN waking vision rises oft to me My City by the branching river deep ; The tidal river rolling back the sea In proudest moment of its inland sweep. Queen City ! by that eastern flood you keep Sole empire o'er my latest dream ; a boy Aloft I stand on verge of Lover's Leap, Or in Kenduskeag valley know the joy Of finished task, the ended school-day hour's employ. Sweet Home ! again I learn the swimmer's art, Or wade your shallows through the ebbing rush ; I see adown the rocky channel dart The finny creatures that quick by me brush. O willful boyhood ! how I laugh or blush At Mischief's every deed ere Reason's day ! My life's fresh fount did too impetuous gush. But o'er its wider waters Peace hath sway As o'er my native river on its seaward way. Amid-stream by the busy wharves I sail ; There line the fisher-craft from down the bay. Of lumber-laden ships a fleet I hail ; Yon hip-roofed bridge, where all the toller pay, 238 MY CITY Spans broad Penobscot. Morn and eve a ray Gilds one high steeple-vane o'ertopping bright My infancy's first shelter. All the May In field and orchard tree is blossom-white, And June shall shortly bring the Summer's warm delight. The Summer ! O alluring thought ! Good-bye You rivers ! and each often-threaded street ! 'Tis holiday in Mason's pasture nigh, On Thomas' hill-top and, where glad I greet — In aisled, suburban groves — the bird I meet. Wise shunner of the town, its boughs and eaves ! Forget no music to my boyhood sweet. No joyful burden, not a note that grieves ! I harmed you never bird ! nest on in hiding leaves ! No slayer, I, in Button's autumn wood, Meander weaponless, or through the glade. The hazel thicket drops the squirrel's food. The beech and oak what for his meal was made Who curious lingers near me though afraid. His yet ungarnered plenty he must share That, when his store in winter keep is laid. Myself may nibble at the toothsome fare Far from his hollow trunk, his habitation there. December's here ! how every sudden gust High-whirls and drifts and banks the blinding snow I My pane is target of the hail ; a crust Will coat Mill Hill where we a-sledding go 239 MY CITY At morn on polished runners never slow. 'Tis skating time I at home let sluggards hive ! We flit where mobile floods were wont to flow. Come on ! despite my two score years and five, I lead the foremost, I, the veriest boy alive ! In waking vision rises thus to me My City by the branching river deep ; The tidal river rolling back the sea In proudest moment of its inland sweep. Queen City ! by that eastern flood you keep Sole empire o'er my manhood's latest dream ; Through Time's thin curtain may I often peep Ere years have darkened it before my theme Touched here with what of light pale Memory can beam ! 240 TO HARRIET STAR of even, tranquil star ! glory of the tranquil night ! Shunner of the clustered stars paling in your perfect light ! Other stars ofttimes I see; stars anear me, stars of Earth ; Eyes of beauty, every hue, eyes of hope and joy and mirth. Eyes mild-beaming, eyes that flame, tearful eyes that downward bend ; Eyes wherein heart-sorrow lives, waiting pensively the end ; Eyes that thrill and eyes that thrall, eyes whose look is love revealed. Bashful eyes that sidelong glance, deeming their coy love concealed. These, that starlike rise and set, quite forgotten come and go ; Gazing in your orbs, soul-lit, I of others nothing know. Utmost heaven there I see, there behold her deepest skies Blending pure and tender light with the azure of your eyes. 241 JENNY JENNY of the sunny look Sings a laughing song ; Sings beside the sunny brook As it laughs along. Every note and every word Lesson is of love : Listens long and learns the bird In the boughs above. Catches he a blither strain, And a sweeter trill ; When he rings his joy again Love the grove shall thrill. Jenny ! I would learner be, Then, a lover, tell Ever to the heart of thee All thou teachest well ! 242 THE MOUNTAIN HERMIT HERE midst the mountains I've chosen my dwelling, Here built my hut on the crest of the hill ; Fir-tree and pine-tree and torrents are swelling Anthems that blend with the voice of the rill, Making a music that never is still. Far overhead sails the wild eagle screaming. From the dead limb comes the caw of the crow ; Down from the dome the slant day-beams are streaming O'er the rough slope, to the valley below. Silvering the waters that wind as they flow. Cool pours the fount that oak branches are shading By the rude path leading up to my door ; Forests encompass me, vasty, unfading, Green through the seasons, unnumbered, of yore, Green through the seasons that come evermore. Never the strokes of the ax-man have sounded. Never the fate of the monarch have told ; Ne'er has the fall of the mighty resounded Save when the strength of his prime, growing old, Doomed his huge trunk to the worm and the mould. Nowhere the smoke of the furnace doth hover Over the toiling of care-laden men ; Nowhere the red factory-wall I discover. Whirls not the mill-wheel on hill or in glen ; Free are the loud, leaping floods that I ken. 243 THE MOUNTAIN HERMIT Fond words misleading, and smiles that dissembled, Well I remember ; in life's vanished years Oft those deceivers, that true love resembled. Turned into grief all my heart-hidden fears, Wounded my soul unto bitterest tears. Long was I slave to a fool's weak ambition ; Burned in me then the fierce fever of gain ; Yet at my heart Wisdom waited admission. And, in mild moments beginning her reign. Here led me gently through pathways made plain. Youth seeketh joy, but soon manhood finds sorrow ! No more I reap the world evils long sown ; Tranquil I bide each eventless to-morrow ; Banished is envy, and hatred has flown ; All in me worldly henceforth I disown. When darkness hovers, above the heights beaming. Each upward star, looking down on my sleep, Brightens the vision that flits through my dreaming ; Gilds it with gold from the o'erhanging deep Walled by the gloom of the black, ridgy steep. Taintless the winds from the fields of the snowdrift ! Pure, they have breathed their sweet life into me ! Mornings I watch till the fogs, hanging low, lift Veil from the peaks that in death I would see ; Peaks in whose shadows my long rest shall be. 244 Here midst the mountains I've chosen my dwelling, Here built my hut on the crest of the hill ; > ^fc>.u'.-3i v-^S* MEMORIAL DAY DEPARTING May, so near farewell, bedecks With bloom of latest spring her fields and bowers ; Then, from a sorrow in her eyes, doth fall On flowers a tear-drop glistening as the dew. In voice of mild command soft calleth she, "Come yet again, O veterans I faithful come As when prompt rallying at the appeal of War ! Unto the annual deed of love returning. Bestow fair tribute from my fragrant yield For midst the worldly and distracting week A consecrated Sabbath calm has fallen. Behold, the honored and befitting day Of sad and sweet commemoration dawns. From the unwonted hush of toiling cities ; From the quelled towns and quiet villages ; From hilly outlooks and from valleys hid ; From central regions and remotest borders ; O patriots ! you reverently come Love's culled and twined memorials to bear ; Even you that through the fratricidal years, Those long-foreseen inevitable years, Bore keen and cruel implements of wrath. To northern fighter, and to southern foe, A welcome in Humanity's high name ! A welcome, children of the Adamic race I A welcome, brothers of the national bond ! 24S MEMORIAL DAY Thrice welcome, soldiers of your common land ! Yes, three times welcome on this mutual day Of enmity love-conquered, and forgot ! In every tap and roll of drum a greeting ! In every solemn and sonorous chord ; In every note of martial melody. As by me men, once formidable, move In narrowed column, and in shortened line. The straight, athletic forms are bending now ; The old-time feet had more the warrior tread ; The summer freshness of the cheek is flown, And Winter sprinkles over hair and beard, O sights that sadden me ! O sounds that thrill ! You conjure, you make visible the past I From graves of followers of the rival flags. Unknown and marked and monumented graves, Arise, each in his chosen blue or gray, A cofiined and uncoffined multitude Once wheat in Death's untimely harvest-field. Inured campaigners of an earlier war, Brave generals and the lesser leaders brave, The raw recruits, militia, regulars, The stalwart in their perfect middle-prime. Men younger, and the youthful immature. And, brave as these, the half-grown drummer boy Who soon shall miss a mother's ministering hand. Hark ! 'tis the roll of Sumpter's grim defiance Hurled from the battered and beleaguered walls ! The fever of that frenzied day consumes me ! 246 MEMORIAL DAY It sweeps all hearts in waves of kindling fire 1 At once the angry, southward rush of feet ; At once the steady stand of foes resolved ; The menacing face to face, the rifles aimed. The loading shrapnel, grape and canister ; The gleam of swords unsheathing, and the glint Of bayonets fixed and levelled for the charge I I tremble vdth the shock of closing armies, Each fighter deeming his the rightful cause ! The deed of human slaughter thrusts me through ! It pangs me like the shattering minie-ball ! Interminable seems the brutal battle As Victory long withholds the bloody boon From children of Columbia equal-matched. At last a saner moment 1 From the carnage The sulphur-smoke of turbulent hell uplifts. And Mercy's tender, sweet-voiced ministers Find but the brother in a stricken foe. I see from decks of riddled battle-ships Arise the sunken heroes of the wave ; The stubborn gunners drowned beside the guns. The faithful firemen at the furnace door. The trusty crew wave-whelmed in acts of duty, The captain calm as when the flag — nailed high — Surrendering not, down-settled toward the sea. And now arise the later dead escaped The dire catastrophes of naval war, The manifold disasters of the siege, The pitiless probe and slash of sharpened steel, 247 MEMORIAL DAY The instant end, the lingering agony Of wounds. Hopeless disease ne'er wasted them On hospital cot, nor perished they unnursed In filth and misery of the prison pen. Not from the hurried trenches heaped with slain, Not from the lonely and neglected mounds — Dim, vanishing records of the wayside fallen In the forced march or in the night retreat — Not from the pestilential marshes rise, Not from the loam of ploughed and planted fields, Not from the slime and crumble of the sea. Arise these sailor comrades of the mess, These boon companions round the camp-fires old — That blaze rekindled here in hearts humane — But from interment decent, honorable With all of obsequies to heroes due. Sink down into the mystery of the sea ! Down, down, into the dense, primordial ooze. The ever-rayless, never-heaving dark I Each sailor to your secret place return. But Time will catch the mention of your fame 'Till shrunken ocean leaves your burial bare I Melt back into the soil O soldier ones ! Melt back to Earth that fed your bodies well ! Melt back into that sweet, mysterious change Which, from your hearts, doth redder dye the rose, And hides with shade the nest where birds to be Will pour the carols which their fathers pour. Instinctive praise above your worthy rest. 248 MEMORIAL DAY O why to-day should Sorrow shape my thoughts? Or choose for me the syllables of woe ? Why bid me bend the melancholy brow, And dull the utterance of my voice to dole ? O why these tears above the tenantless mould As happy Nature heavenward lifts her song Fraught with a wisdom deeper than all grief? O Sorrow ! Sorrow ! merge thyself in Joy That fills the vision of immortal eyes Wherewith the brave, death-liberated, look Upon the recompense of anguished years ! O Sorrow ! Sorrow ! thou art merged in Joy ! The victory vindicated now I see ! Freed from the peril of disrupting strife. Wide-spreads a land of vast and varied need ; A teeming land of vast and varied yield ; A busy land of hearts and brains and hands ; A land of great, inevitable deeds That ever spur the emulative world. Move on, gray veterans, to your sacred rites ! Move on, O remnant of the crowded past ! Move on, O North and South, at shoulder touch I Neglecting not the least of comrades gone, Above his narrow but sufficient home Implant the emblem of a nation one ; Then circle round the staflf the wreath I give, And speak you well, with joy, the living worth, And dirge you well, with hope,* the mortal death Of every hero of the land and sea." 249 WHEN I AM OLD WITH overmuch of mirth Youth dances through his morn ; With overmuch of care looks Manhood back in scorn ; Then Age with futile sigh laments the worldly strife Where noble aim was naught unto the paltry life That barred the spirit's wings, and stayed her far upflight Beyond the very sun and every star of night, And digged with downward gaze, and knew not of the loss That comes with sordid gold unto the wise but dross. Thus men grow old; alas that Wisdom, found too late, Guides but a feeble step ere falls the common fate ! O how her worth compels my earlier search ! behold. Her blessings linger long with me when I am old. Her dictates rule my brain ere these earth-days are done ; Her breath dilates my soul whose days are but begun ; Her hand upon my brow undoes the work of Care, And, calm and mild of mien, she sets her symbol there. In my bold glance she tames the instant-flaming ire ; She fills mine eyes henceforth with soft and soul-lit fire ; My lifted arm, before avenger of my wrongs. Waits on his promised arm to whom avenge belongs. 250 WHEN I AM OLD My tongue is schooled to peace, my hasty tongue whose deed, More bitter than the stab of steel, doth inly bleed ; When Envy's lie to me some hidden thing imputes, My upright, open life her slanderous mouth refutes. Of the desire of fools doth Wisdom purge my heart, And to my mind doth she the truths of Time impart. Ah, let dull Earth withhold that hath not what is mine I Her fairest, brightest gem my riches far outshine. When Autumn robs my cheeks of all their summer red. And snow-time season brings its winter to my head. Men call me old nor think how youth grows young in me Who, midst the dying years, has found eternity. 251 SEVENTEEN EIGHTY-NINE HARK you, on thrones ; your hearts are stones ! Soon Vengeance thrusts with piercing steel ! Prone Justice groans, but blood atones ; The Tyrant's woe works yet our weal. A hopeful light, exceeding bright. Turned every through to o'er the sea When from yon height beamed to our night The birth-star of a people free. O France ! your fame, besmirched with blame, Despised of men, is sunken low ! With cheeks aflame we share the shame Who not ere now durst strike a blow. The hour has come for stir of drum , And trampling hosts that quake the ground. While slaves were dumb the wrath of some. Contagious, rose to thunder sound. With cannon shock the brave shall knock At fortress and defended town ; No builded rock our course can block ; Our cause shall shake the Bastile down. 252 SEVENTEEN EIGHTY-NINE Let Europe gaze in sheer amaze, To Title not again we bow I With torch ablaze his halls we'll raze, And tear the emblem from his brow. As on we press, Freedom no guess. The pike-staff bears a trophy grim. Our Wrong's redress works not excess If Fury sunder limb from limb. An alien queen, of careless mien, Bejewelled midst our poor doth ride ; Full oft, we ween, her eyes have seen Our children hunger at her side. Once, dainty dame ! some spake your fame. But you were young, the Dauphin's bride ! Accursed your name ! go whence you came ! Else down the steep which gulfs your pride ! Take hence the mild and unbeguiled In whom the Louis yet doth sleep ! Take hence the child, or he, defiled, A goat is driven from the sheep ! A greedy line of slothful swine Has eaten France, our birthright, up ; They dance and dine beneath the vine, And with the harlot drain the cup. 253 SEVENTEEN EIGHTY-NINE In palace pilte such sought the smile Of senile monarchs old in lust ; With courtier wile they fawned the while Whose crumbled hearts pollute the dust. Much fruit we see on Caput's tree ; Its trunk far saps the fattest soil. A straw to me, a husk to thee, Who in his harvest acres toil. Proud Bourbon power ! bewail the hour When first a nation hailed you Sire ! In richest bower the weed's no flower. And you are mean in king's attire. The morn is red, and soon your bed ! Lie low ! lie low I ere day is done ! The trunk may wed the severed head Yet in the eye no light is born. From every vein your gore shall gain The scaffold stair to mix with mire : Your life's deep stain must there remain ; Its tide shall quench a people's ire. When we are met 'twill spurt and jet. Then from the heart come dropping slow ; In ruddy wet our feet we'll set, And all the thrones of Earth shall know. 254 SEVENTEEN EIGHTY-NINE Then let them each our act impeach, Or, armed as one, our cause gainsay ; The gun shall preach, the sword shall teach. Till Freedom wins a wider sway. You tinselled things I that men call kings. Shall feel in dreams the knife descend ! And scornful flings and dagger stings Shall fill your visions of the end When round the earth men look to worth. And name is naught unless the deed ; And never Birth fills any dearth, And Time abjures your tainted breed ! 2SS NANCY HANKS BENEATH the lowliest roof, within the humblest cot, ■ Ofttimes a lofty soul awakes to share the thank- less lot. O'er unachieving throngs, the scarce-remembered poor, From out the common life doth flower a Fame that shall endure. In Poverty's mean home was born the Noble True ; The heart that grieved at wrong she gave who gave him will to do. From her the might bequeathed that brake the bond- man's chain ; From her the statesman's keen foresight, the righteous ruler's brain ; The soaring faith that found the source of strength on high; The hope that glimpsed the distant dawn beyond the midnight sky ; The patient ear assailed through years of loud alarm ; The helmsman's hand that steered our ship into the years of calm. 256 NANCY HANKS In him that mother mixed, with what of man is best, The woman soft with sympathy, by all the ages blessed. Throughout life's youngest years she saw her child mature, Her child howso in every vein the father might endure : Her child whose star would shine yet never warm her heart ; Her child in whose resplendent prime the dead could have no part ; His future nothing guessed, its grandeur unrevealed Save as her soul prophetic woke when eyes of sense were sealed. Then in her dreams perchance far southward rose a cloud Whose deep, portentous mutter grew to thunder utmost loud; And in its menace shrilled a harsh, discordant blast. Demoniac voices of the storm which up the morning passed. Beneath that dreadful pall, two armies clashed in war. And brothers fiercely closed amain, ignoring Nature's law ; — Then for a moment bright the dusky sky was riven And, lo, the ever-peaceful sun looked down from silent heaven ! 257 NANCY HANKS Where shredded banners streamed, amidst the volleying fire, He saw the rushing ranks of blue to victory aspire ; But she the mother, saw, though not her loved was there. His sovereign will and loyal word a leading everywhere. Then she in dreams beheld our flag without a stain ; Its one foul blot her son had purged would never come again. Abroad in all the earth none raised the scornful hand With finger fixed upon the shame which cursed the freeman's land. The drum's alarum had ceased, the cannon's flame was cold, The bugle's rallying note was done, the trumpet's Onward ! bold : The grappling ships were gone, deep-sunken, and once more, Where ocean thieves had robbed the main, the merchant sails onbore. And, lo I her child had grown the chiefliest man of men ; An undivided people's head, their olive-crowned ; and then ! — O God ! lift not the veil if thou but will it so ! Thy pity surely doth withhold ! Her heart would break to know ! 258 NANCY HANKS The son is sleeping now ; the mother long hath slept ; For sake of him, great Mother-Heart ! thy dust lies not unwept ! Thy dust that once endured the poverty and pain Whereat thy baffled eagle-soul made inly her complain : Thy dust for which the tears beneath our eyelids grow. From Sorrow's deep-stirred fountain-source the drops of grief outflow, And find thy crumbled life that doth in darkness hide ; Thence springs a flower whose living heart to all is opened wide. 259 ELIJAH KELLOGG LOVE knows the spot; here Memory' lives secure Amid the triumphs of Death's ruthless reign ; Ah, strong is Memory I she shall e'er endure To scorn the tyrant-scorner of our pain. Hopeful beside this lowly mound she stands And bids the sinking western beam, farewell : It shines anew in distant, unseen lands ; And whom we mourn, a beam, doth elsewhere dwell. To all he ministered. Love cheered his toil ; He asked but pittance for high service done ; He chose and followed one who trod Earth's soil In grandest days of her grand age begun. No weakling's voice was that which sped abroad The stirring, gladiator-call to war Of Grecian Spartacus, his victor sword Unmatched in Rome's broad empire, near or far. That voice, now dumb amid this quietude, Sang Rome-doomed Carthage of the long ago When Regulus, undaunted, sternly stood And told the hour of Punic pride brought low. 260 ELIJAH KELLOGG Oft have I marked the spacious, lofty tomb That hid a shallow heart behind its door ; Oft to mine eye his worldly state did loom Who, sundered from the world, was left but poor. Oft have I seen the ponderous shaft aspire With wordy praise of worthlessness below ; Upon his breast who higher looked and higher, More fit the springing flower than costly show ! A humble stone shall bear his honored name Who gave to humble men a selfless love : Bright in our hearts, as in the halls of fame, That name is written, and it shines above. 261 TO THE MODERN POET WHY turn your vision backward Poet ? say 1 Grows now the light of all the ages dim ? Hath not the morning sun a single ray That flames as did the earlier face of him? Cometh the moon unto the eastern rim To look on dimming stars with dwindling face ? Do rains of springtide, from the clouds that brim, Make vale and meadow less a greeny place? Do ancient sands outspread fill widening desert space? II Why turn your vision backward Poet? tell! Has all the blossom of the June grown pale ? Doth not a single hue of Eden dwell Amidst her rose-time that you should bewail That other flowering ? Doth the autumn fail In that the sickle lose one yellow ear? Doth Winter, with a blast more rude, assail? Or hasten whiter and more dirgeful-drear? Or later lingers he than in his primal year? Ill Remains no promise in the blended seven Bright-bending on the eastern after-cloud 262 TO THE MODERN POET Ere yet it sinks adown the slope of heaven Where faintly mutters what, above, was loud? Was ever bird with more of song endowed Than he who with your half-awaking dream At morning mingles as a merry crowd Makes chorus to the soaring of his theme Which, from the coppice, greets the first, resplendent beam? IV Why turn your vision backward. Poet? Now Is man so dwarfed, the angel likeness blurred In his dull heart, and brute ward shrunk his brow? Moreover is his being nothing stirred By high and holy that you do no word Of candor dare? Now grovels he a slave Low sunk in flesh? he whom his God preferred Above the tribes of earth and air and wave, And to his deathless part his Maker's Image gave. V Why turn your vision backward Poet? There The world is dumb beneath the will of-kings ; A bitted, bridled thing quite unaware How weak the hand which curbs. There seldom rings High Liberty's acclaim. There few the wings. The eagle wings, which gain her mountain home Where, in foreknowledge of her day, she flings The scorn of eyes, deep as the cloudless dome. On Egypt, Pharo-ruled, and Csesar-governed Rome ; 263 TO THE MODERN POET VI And on the conquerors in the Gallic wood, And in far Britain's subjugated isle ; Then sadly sees where nevermore the brood Of Greece will welcome death with wooing smile ; — Then proudly gazes on the famed defile Where her dear Spartan sons, so few, did face The rush of far-outnumbering spears the while An army fumed before the narrow space, And felt the first, keen pang of their world-long disgrace. VII All dustward let the temple ruin sink ; No priest, no priestess, there implores the skies ; And let the lion at the lone pool drink Where heathen altars burned with sacrifice ; And where the oracle made shrewd surmise. Let Delphi's ancient forecasting be dumb : From you no chant to Phoebus need arise ; Crave not that quickly to his mount he come And stretch a later lyre, of eloquence the sura. VIII Why turn your vision backward Poet? Ah, The knight has left the lists of dim romance ! Dead kings, dead queens, outgrown, he sees his star In other than some high-born damsel's glance That beamed when he at tourney couched the lance. 264 TO THE MODERN POET Of womanhood your song laments no dearth If on to-day your eyes look not askance ; Nor need you search all oldest lands of Earth ; Surely your Mother's land has borne an equal worth. IX Seek not your goddess in the Ionic muse ; Let Homer tell Achilles' wrathful deed ; To sing of Carthage or of Rome refuse, Nor to the lure of Latin bards give heed ; The triumphs of the Modern claim their meed. Lament not tearful, let your faith be calm Though faces fair are dead ; surely the seed Of mortal loveliness God guards from harm ! Without your moistening grief it springeth into charm X Whereto the swain shall plead with moving sigh, Vowing the sun her like hath never seen Despite Greek Helen's heart-compelling eye, The syren witchery of Egypt's queen, And all love-marvel that so oft hath been Since Grace was woman grown, with brows of white. And hair of flax, or gold, or ruddy sheen, Or like the lashes which befringe the sight Or orbs more darkling-deep than is the noon of night. 265 TO THE MODERN POET XI Not for a measure of the Lydian mode, Once wafted from ^gean islands, yearn ; Nor crave that from the Lesbian's bower abode Some Sapphic beauty to your singing burn ! No ancient ardor mourn though History's urn Preserve but ashes of its lyric fire ! Let not, O let not, in your lines return That flagrant bygone, of whose tale we tire. When men were pliant fools of warring Greed and Ire, XII And Macedonia at the world's throat leapt, And Xerxes of his myriad host made tool. And fierce-contested fields by Rome were heaped Till Hellas was but province of her rule, And Jewry sunk to be her mere footstool. Whilst thus too long she scorned the Patient One, And not the folly of her pride would school, There came, whereby her empire was undone. The southward-conquering Goth, the Vandal, and the Hun. XIII Heed not the griever of a hopeless note ! . No office hath he in this hopeful time ; The morbid sorrow of his sickly throat Is evermore offense of phrase and rhyme. 266 TO THE MODERN POET The dulcet measure, and the tinkling chime ! In these the minor poet hath his trust ; No wai-rior bard, he dreads the smoke and grime ; He lacks the sinews and the sword to thrust : Against Convention's rule he never cried, " I must! " XIV Nor pours he plenteous, to overflow, From out the molten caldron of the mind. How quick his little measure drains 1 and so It fills no matrix of a larger kind Than " Art for sake of Art ! " His eye is blind To things momentous more than tint of flower ; His ear is to the lay of birds refined ; His morn is troubled lest the gathering shower Shut all the petalled red of his soft, rose-leaf bower. XV Deem not the rough and rhythmless a song More human-heart sprung than the Epic grave ! Its discord works the tuneful Muse a wrong ; It learns no motion from the wind and wave. Of man's composite life speak plainly save Where native decency should veil or hide. Exceeding this your venture, nothing brave. Proves wholly rash ! Through Nature's kingdoms wide. She sinks in mould the thing which sense cannot abide. 267 TO THE MODERN POET XVI When wild the ocean billows through yoiir verse, Against excess put forth a mastering will I The gathered furies of the air disperse, And every huge and crested water-hill Crush level with your whispered, " Peace ! be still ! " Let not the whirlpool, drawing down the deep, Your dizzy, foundering bark with chaos fill ! Else dumb oblivion wraps your darkened sleep. And this neglectful world doth all forget to weep. XVII Though at the first foot-hill your path must end, The glacier skimming, and the trackless snow. Your mind may from the ice-peak's point ascend, And up the zenith all unweighted go Till, midst the fire-field's wide expanse below. This Earth counts nothing but a feeble star : Yet, down the light-years gazing, angels know How mortal all your heavenward lookings are Unless with seeing soul you pierce the body's bar. XVIII When falls the winter, and the wind is chill, Comes Poverty to turn you from your hearth? When Spring with ploughshare doth the valley till. Comes Grief to furrow on your heart a path? Your sorrow's flower is richer from its bath 268 TO THE MODERN POET Of soul-shed tears. Remember Tasso's cell ; Its vile and cruel keep ! The venomed wrath Which forced the Florentine afar to dwell ! Then, seeing pain's great flower, say you these were not well? XIX If Fame ne'er set you in the noon's clear light, You all escape the hate of Envy's look ; Escape the slander-stings which wounded Right Perforce endures ; escape the rough rebuke Of fools that fathom not as you the book Wherein the mystery of the world is hid. Prove high philosopher and calmly brook The final passing of a hope forbid. Let be ! it works you peace from 'neath its coffin lid ! XX Your little foibles will the wise forgive ; The over-tensioned wit must needs unbend : Perchance some folly keeps it sane to live Through times of striving unto Wisdom's end. No graver fault can Justice well defend ; Your office holds you even to the Law Judging the monarch to whom God did send Nathan his mouthpiece. On your lusts make war ! Else to their covert thrust you are but thing of straw. 269 TO THE MODERN POET XXI When in your brain the silent night hath spun, The filmy thread at waking you unwind ; Ere dusk you look upon the pattern done : A dim and shapeless fancy of the mind Is woven to a beauty well-defined. Such are the days of poets old and new; Even such the days of their uncommon kind ; Denied those days the nations sordid grew, And chose the coarser life, when poet souls were few. XXII O Conjurer, with whom the word and spell ! Obedient pours the moon upon your page ! The regal sun to service you compel ! The stars, that, looking on the Attic age, Well chose the poet, nor forgot the sage. Shall bend their gathered beams upon your say ! The winds, whose murmur rises into rage. The waves that ripple, or that hurl in spray. Shall to your varied verse their varied moods convey. XXIII To seem companioned when, from day's far blue, One little cloud down-looketh on your head ; And when in lone, forsaken groves to you The trees in whisper have a greeting said, And waved you welcome to the ancient spread 270 TO THE MODERN POET Of beech and oak that once a burial sung O'er Nature's forest-children vanished, dead. To stand upon the brink whence floods are flung, And learn the wildest theme of their continual tongue ; XXIV To look on face of Death without complain, Knowing him servant of the Wholly Just ; Knowing him blameless though no word he deign Who turns your darling's loveliness to dust 'Neath wood a-crumble, and the nails that rust! To look O Poet ! on life's darkest phase, And in the grand and sweet outcome to trust ; And, therefor, brightening dirge to fitter praise, To wing a helpful note to unbelieving days ; XXV Upon the near and usual to muse. And see, and hear, and feel, what others miss ; Nathless no worth or beauty high to lose ! Does not such poet living brim with bliss? No richer fullness in our earth I wis Than minstrel Homer though a beggar he ; His fame a doubt, a prisoned chrysalis, A hidden splendour. When your fame wings free. Its glory symbols well your modern minstrelsy. 271 TO THE MODERN POET XXVI " How can I chant the great," the little saith, <' Till I make pilgrimage to shrine of fame, And read the marble which entombs the death Of noble men who won them noble name? " " How can I chant the high," he doth exclaim, " Until I gaze upon some mountain's face Beside whose sheer uprise my hill is tame To lead my vision to a skyey place. And spur my laggard mind to more ambitious pace ? " XXVII " How can I write of wisdom till I thread Some walk wherein the sage's feet were set? Above my brow with stately green must spread The grove where once the listening learners met. If gone the grove, the scene reechoes yet Perchance a syllable from Plato's lip ; If dumb his teaching, and the times forget, I seek the clear Pierian spring to sip." Fool ! in his heart's near fount his pen neglects to dip. XXVIII " Come, Poet mine ! with no cramped fingers write What never from an earlier pen did flow ! The gist of these new days I would indite, Even I the Modern Muse ! Who lets me go. From bardling unto bard shall never grow ! " 272 TO THE MODERN POET Heed well her call, O Poet ! lest she pass ; Get you a message for the winds to sow 1 Else at your Autumn fields you cry, " Alas! Of Spring and Summer's toil, the folly and the farce ! " XXIX Despite the wrecks which strew the beaten sands, Or crumble silent 'neath the central sea, Amidst his fellows of the forest stands Some wider-spread and high-o'ertopping tree The strength of stauncher ships which yet shall be. For all that War's wild waves have ruin brought To many a nation struggling helplessly Till on Time's shore but wreck, or ground to naught, A mightier nation sing whom Peace her power has taught ! XXX Unto each just occasion rising, lo That land is valiant as when deeds began ! Along the veins of living heroes flow Red tides full-worthy as aforetime ran. Straight onward moves the race ! look to the van ! Hear you the trampling of the strong foremost? A martial rhythm sounding, yield to man A tribute void of empty, idle boast, A paean of the world's advancing, stayless host. 273 TO THE MODERN POET XXXI On tensioned iron, till it well nigh breaks, Beat out a measure with deternained hand Whilst loud your mood unsilenceable wakes 'Gainst all oppression in a stern command. Then, to the silver of a sweeter strand. With Reason's tongue prove truth, the lie refute ; And then, your harp as by the faint breeze fanned, Your voice grown tender as a love-fit lute, Be Love's mild messenger the loved will not dispute. XXXII We need not that you bid us fling away Those heart-hugged idols which the race holds dear ; 'Tis yours to cleanse therefrom the soiling clay Of Human fingers till they bright appear. At our poor differings pause not to sneer ; Escaped the web that dogmatists have spun, Bring to our aid the vision of the seer ; With eye of deeper searching than the sun. Find you the basic truths that bind us all in one. XXXIII Though Science, in her vast and varied scope, Explain the mighty and reveal the small ; Her scapel, baring hearts that throbbed with hope, Shews not a picture on the darkened wall ; Though she no vestige find of what we call 274 TO THE MODERN POET The spirit, doubtless Poet, laud that thing Escaped these human senses, gross in all ; Within a hand-reach, spreading angel wing. She leaveth flesh bereft of its high quickening. XXXIV Laud you the spirit ! that primordial germ ; That during spark adown the seons bent ; Intangible substance choosing, for a term, A tangible veil which instantly is rent When passing man's last, feeble breath is spent. Laud you the spirit lighted at such flame As whereunto, upon the green ascent Of Horeb, Moses nothing nearer came For, with hid face of fear, he heard the Eternal Name. XXXV Though man, subduing Nature to his need, Has bid the lightning bear his message far. And made its rushing might his fiery steed. And chained its impulse to his pleasure-car ; And though he pierce in twain the Isthmus bar, And link and mix the oceans east and west ; And though the iron cliffs he bore and scar, A triumph teach him, better than his best, To mould and fashion self, and rule his froward breast. 275 TO THE MODERN,[POET XXXVI Harsh War, grown terrible with weapons new, But laughs at fighters of the long ago : To waste and puny deed their missiles flew From spear-arm, catapult, and straining bow. War laughs ; — then hurtling death, from iron throw. Speeds far and true ; — then laugheth War again. O gloat not with her at the brutal blow That spreads o'er brutal scenes a bloody stain. And would from veins of Peace her fluid forces drain ! XXXVII O harmless rover of the field and wood ! Companion, lover of all creatures there God-fashioned, though of Nature's humbler brood Which yet with man a common kinship share ! To wrong the least your heart and hand forbear For lo, a sweeter, aye a saner creed, Widening your being, doth your soul prepare So not from you can any Cain-like deed Strike down a brother born of less than Adam's seed. XXXVIII O keen discerner ! sift the seeming wise Whose sounding folly with the fool has weight ! Laud not the glitter which the simple prize ! Reveal the tinsel on the robe of state ! The crown's dissembling dross ! Nowise abate 276 TO THE MODERN POET Your sham-denouncing breath I and be you bold As fits the hour with feigners satiate ! The hour that craveth speech unbought, unsold ; The rough-hewn speech not cast in Policy's smooth mould. XXXIX Say to the poorest, whom the world deems rich, " Nor mint, nor mine, can fill thine emptiness ; Shame on thy greedy hand whose fingers itch For the base wealth that will no baseness bless ! The brother in thee groweth less and less ! The callous master hardens more and more ! What bribe is in thy coin ! what vile duress ! How every ingot of thy shining ore Brings avarice to thee, and envy to the poor! " XL Say to the bribed, "Join hands with that mean thing Who yields his honor at a farthing's fee ! Thine equal found, henceforth unto him cling, And look not higher for fit company ! That thou art bribed is guilt's sufficiency ! Because thou satest in a lofty place The purchase-farthing little tempted thee Who now deep-sinkest in thy deed's disgrace. Whilst lovers of thy rise wear sorrow's fallen face ! " 277 TO THE MODERN POET XLI Say on O Poet ! if the world yet gain, Even by the meager breadth of one poor heart, A wider bound to Evil's ancient reign Made fiendish ever by the infernal art That hides, in fleeting pleasure, lasting smart! When dust was shapen to its chiefest use, 'Twas dowered with guidance of man's nobler part ; But lo ! how Evil worketh its abuse ! Therefore say on ! say on ! your silence lacks excuse ! XLII The sluggard's brain must you with purpose fill ! To him who builds Attainqjent's dome reveal ! Soothe Anger till in man the beast is still ! Bid Reverence to a loftier Heaven kneel ! In hope make to the vilest your appeal ! Stir up the strong ! be sinews to the weak ! Pray the self-seeker live for human weal ! Flame-soul of fire and heart of wisdom meek ! The world your message waits ! O let the Poet speak XLIII From all the high commandment in your soul For you deep-graven on the orb of day, And on the constellated night impressed ! It roars in waves ; it thunders midst the spray Where cataracts downpour, " Nowise delay !" 278 TO|THE MODERN POET Often the sweet persuader of the grove Unto your waiting chants " Obey I obey !" Whilst to his urge, that thrills the branches wove, The wood-flower other lends deep in her dim alcove. XLIV The aged child of Time is in the tomb ; The sealing-stone is rolled against the door ; But straightway, from her never-aging womb, Is born whose like blessed not mankind before Despite the Antoninian rule of yore. Announce Time's prodigy, her youngling child, A peaceful Century ! Amidst the floor Of this world's wide arena, undefiled By any blood-guilt yours, proclaim its office mild ; XLV To bid the armies of the Earth disband. Nor burden more the nations with their keep. Ungarrisoned, the forts of every land Then pile their cannon in a harmless heap ; And all of hostile thunder aye shall sleep. The soldier, he must find a peaceful field ; In peaceful mood must tend the pastured sheep ; Must plough and plant and garner in the yield ; Must train the vine, must well the axe in forest wield. 279 TO THE MODERN POET XL, VI Upon the Autocrat's pomp-circle throne Soon reigns a monarch chaired in simple state. From no chill eminence aloof, alone, He looketh fearful on a people's hate. And Anarchy and Murder lying in wait. But he to all, as to his blood the few. Is father, servant, ruler dedicate. How doth his justice hasten forth unto Siberia's exile and the long-despisdd Jew ! XLVII But peradventure kings and queens shall be Outgrown, extinct as then the titled grand. Fulfillment cometh, sweet Democracy ; That which man's noblest lovers early planned. And patriots pure did long for him demand. Ignoring days of revolution foiled. They battled on with unabated hand : By tyrants robbed ; of all but hope despoiled ; Democracy ! for thee, and for thy sons they toiled. XL VIII No truth withholding Poet, from this hour. Speak to the morrow thus as fits the seer ! Into the future hurl your word of power ! The Prophet's cry ceased not in old Judea ! His voice loud-ringeth when your own is clear ; 280 TO THE MODERN POET His work long waited for your natal morn ; His line was lengthened when you did appear : Through you the spirit of the great By-gone, Descending to far years, shall mould the bards unborn. XLIX Sing Poet, then ! High Heaven's evangel sing ! The theme millennial your heart has- heard ! And joyful to the discord-wearied bring Each angel-syllabled, harmonious word Wherewith your poet walk has well concurred. Proclaim the visible mountain of the Lord ! The bond acknowledge that shall wide engird A warless world ! Proclaim ! proclaim abroad ! All men, all nations, knit in Heaven's heart-accord ! 281 THE FOREST FLOWER WHERE Morning Twilight lingers till the Noon, And Even cometh ere the set of sun, I found, 'neath never-stirring boughs, a flower That, virginal, made sweet the forest nook. Though fair her blossom, nothing vain was she With whom I joyed to stay, my haste forgot ; There, all-forgetful of the summer fields — Whose bold, unhidden charms full oft had lured — Forgetting every growth uprisen rank Where Art with Nature strives, one worth alone I saw. Then to my soul were audible The words of that dear, humble flower and wise ; " Like others, thou thyself wouldst hurry on If dull of eye to what the lingering stars. Through interwoven branches, find and love Though Night close-shut my leaves and bow my head. True worth ofttimes to sight makes no appeal ; Some gem, that doth its lustre all conceal. Could well of crowns and coronets make mock. Yet lowly neighbors with the rayless rock. Not gayest feathers herald sweetest song ; Not vaunting trump can empty fame prolong. Not rarest bud doth choicest perfume yield ; Not stateliest stem bears pride of flowering field. 282 THE FOREST FLOWER The dew, that gems the lily's chaste attire, Lies sullied, ruined, touching once the mire. The mountain stream, snow-born or from the cave. Grows bitter mingling with the ocean wave. Sham doth each hollow day with boasting fill ; Fresh victories facing. Merit's tongue is still. The barren branch unweighted rises light. And Vanity's high head is empty quite. In Truth's clear fount would Falsehood vilely pour. Polluting lucid streams forevermore. Let Greed but win the fruit of eager quest, He loathes what lured him, seemingly the best. From Beauty's heart can rush the riot blood, And swell the murderer's arm, a vengeful flood. In puny frame some giant will hath life To helm a nation through the storms of strife. Aspiring soul ! rise on unfaltering wings ! The vault recedes, — ascend to better things ! And better still ! seek alway for the best With wider vision and with wisdom blest ! As rock is crumbled by the chafing tide, To life's rude brunt succumbeth haughty pride ; Humility, not stubborn, seeming frail. Bends with the tempest, and outlives the gale. The sword, encumbering the coward's flight. Should hew his road in valorous, onward fight. Promise is poor if no performance be. So plenteous leaves are mean on fruitless tree. False speech though glib lacks honesty's true ring ; 283 THE FOREST FLOWER Can skill draw music from an ill-tuned string? Frank speech, if ventured by the fawner's tongue, Seems insincerity to old and young. Thy strength grows weakness, once to evil turned ; Knowledge is fool unless some virtue's learned. 'Neath night's pale fires, when farthest from the day, The world onbears thee to the morning ray. Sun, Star, and Flower, above, in circles vast, Beneath, by many a foot unheeding past. Claim ceaseless guidance of th' impartial Mind That knows the wherefore of Earth's humblest kind Which, timely, profitable — as Love foresaw — Safe in the grasp of Universal Law That rules the Pleiads and the steadfast Pole, Seeks like thyself, the unimagined goal." " Farewell, wee friend I thou joy of this brief hour ! Farewell, who to my questioning art wise Afar from wisdom's towers, and from her seat! The flower made soft reply, " The domed blue Is Wisdom's highest seat ; yon trees her towers ; And all the topmost leaves will to their kin The whisperings reveal of every breeze Of every hour, in words that teach me true The secrets of the young and eager Morn Awakening Youth to his life-pilgrimage ; The secrets of the vivid, strenuous Noon When Manhood midst the long, rough highway strides ; The secrets of the tranquil Eve when Age Withholds his hand, and, weary, stays his feet : 284 THE FOREST FLOWER The secrets of reposeful Night when Heaven, Beaming a welcome, bids the soul to peace. But this my fitting home befits not thee ; A busy world loud calleth, ' Tarry not I ' Thou servant yet of Time ! farewell ! farewell ! ' 28s THE STORY OF THE BELLS YE merry bells in yonder tower ! Your every joyous to and fro Proclaims indeed some happiest hour ; Come, let me now your story know ! " Ding ! dong ! We greet the lily bride The June atwining in her hair ; We greet her to whose stately pride The budded rose lends radiance there. " We gather to our mellow chime The marriage song of hearts that blend : May gliding years, a tuneful rhyme, Grow tender even to the end ! "Ding! dong! We mourned, with gentle stroke, The life at morningtide that slept ; The little life whose parting broke Well-nigh the heart that childless wept. " Ding ! dong ! in sad and measured way We numbered all his honored years Who eased the widow, and did stay The bitter tide of orphan's tears, 286 THE STORY OF THE BELLS " And hastened much, by love to men, What long-awaiting Time would see, The blissful Eden come again With love abloom eternally. "The mother we lamented ; lo, She lives in daughter and in son ! Her life, bequeathed, will onward go Till human ages farthest run. " She lives not through the flesh alone Who rightly shaped the growing mind. And set the reason on its throne Above the brutish senses blind. " With dole we knelled the nameless dead In battle for his country's weal ; Uncoffined hero at whose head No marker bids the grateful kneel. " Ding ! dong ! the graveward borne we rang ; His pageant spake the common loss ; Not so he led, amidst the clang Of headlong war, the charging horse. " Not so he rode when, midst acclaim — The battle lifted from his brow — He blushed to hear the victor's name That tearful voices whisper now. 287 THE STORY OF THE BELLS " Ding ! dong ! What mortal power could stay The anguished and bereaving night Wherein a nation's chief was clay, A martyr's soul uprose to light? " When dawns his natal day, again We laud him, loved in all the earth, Who, from great Freedom's mother pain, A nation brought, a noble birth. ' ' While mute vv^e hung a prince was born ; Men crowned him but unmoved were we ; — Then far-off steeples tolled him gone ; They yet shall ring for liberty. ' ' We grieved for one whom Death did crown ; The man whose toil his children fed ; In no proud ways of world-renown He earned for many mouths their bread. " Ding ! dong ! how can our joy be dumb When bells of earth are chiming wide The goodly gift at Christmas come? The risen hope of Eastertide ? " How oft the hallowed day we hail ! It stills the market and the street, And bids above the lie prevail The truth which makes the man complete. 288 THE STORY OF THE BELLS " Ding ! dong ! our ancient belfry rings, At midmost summer's morning sun, That deed which brake the will of kings, And made a patriot people one. ' ' Ding ! dong ! all lofty deeds we praise ! Their fame attains the utmost sky Wherefrom the God-enlightened gaze On bettered Earth with angel eye." 289 THE PEACE OF PORTSMOUTH STA.Y the course of battle ! stay its chariot-car ! Stay the sword O potent Word ! O Message sped afar! Peace, thou silent doer; Peace, the Future's dower; Shame the host that war doth boast, and break his tyrant power ! Still the crack of rifle ! still the shriek of shell ! Quick assuage the drum's wild rage ! the cannon- thunder quell ! Peace, thou silent doer; Peace, the Future's dower; Shame the host that war doth boast, and break his tyrant power ! Furl the Russian banner 1 bid all flags be furled ! Halt their feet who march to meet ! O pacify the world ! Peace, thou silent doer; Peace, the Future's dower; Shame the host that war doth boast, and break his tyrant power ! Teach a Christian people what the Master taught ! Work for man, in far Japan, whatso the Buddha wrought ! Peace, thou silent doer ; Peace, the Future's dower ; Shame the host that war doth boast, and break his tyrant power I 290 THE PEACE OF PORTSMOUTH Join the hands of heroes clutching once the steel I Hate of foe, in every blow, grows mild at thine appeal. Peace, thou silent doer ; Peace, the Future's dower ; Shame the host that war doth boast, and break his tyrant power I Link the Orient Islands to our Western land ! Friendship's chain shall bind the twain, and Love shall weld the band. Peace, thou silent doer; Peace, the Future's dower; Sliame the host that war doth boast, and break his tyrant power ! Draw the nations nearer till Love's Eden bloom ! Rain and dew shall wake anew her blossoms from the tomb. Peace, thou silent doer; Peace, the Future's dower; Shame the host that war doth boast, and break his tyrant power ! 291 THE HARVEST My precious pearl I dropped into the wave ; My tears of anguish fell upon a grave ; Beneath its sod I sowed a rarest seed ; And, in a breast, a little, kindly deed. Ah, though the greedy wave give not again, A bud opes richer of my sorrow's rain ! But from heart soil a pure and heavenly flower Revealeth sweet my best and wisest hour. 292 1j0fe^ ^^-m^'' Then with surrendering heart I answered mild, " Death ! into thy charge I yield my flower ! Translate to softer climes and gentler days, In Paradise fore verm ore to bloom, The pride and promise of my happiest hour ! " DEATH AND THE FLOWER INTO my garden whose high walls withheld From fragile bud and tender flower, the blast; My sun-sought, sun-kissed garden beauteous ; My garden fed by showers and fragrant dews, And unforgotten of my daily hand ; There came, despite the shut and strong-barred gate, Aud every vigilance by Care devised, A noiseless footfall ominous of change. A stranger to my garden, but around No stranger, I beheld and to him spake, "Wherefore, Intruder Grim ! Unbidden One ! Despoiler of Earth's loveliest and best ! Wherefore, Insatiate ! Art thou sudden come Within the precinct of my love's abode, Far as the center of my heart's domain. To blast and ruin where all else befriends? Then he, unswerved, yet gracious, looked on me — Even he apparelled in the garb of grief — And temperate, and wise, and just, did speak ; " I who have loved, as thou thyself, yon flower Most frail and sweet of her dear sisterhood. Truly do know what thou hast little known, — At cheeriest dawn she lacketh yet some cheer. Still yearning for a note no bird has found ; 293 DEATH AND THE FLOWER The genial noon blows chill upon her cheek Grown pale unto the breathings of the South. The dew at eve distilled, and richest gift Of midmost summer's mildly-dropping cloud, Have nourished never her deep-dwelling life. Though with her kindred she would live and love, In turn beloved by her kindred all ; Though she regardeth well thy ministering hand, And all the deep affection of thy mien ; Her being craves another clime more fit Whereof I know. There satisfying morn With song is lade ; noon breezes shall caress No fairer beauty than the cheek of her, And balm of Eden's dewy, odorous eve Shall drop rich nurture in thy lily's cup." Then, with surrendering heart, I answered mild, " O Death ! into thy better charge I yield What I must always deem my chosen flower ! Translate to softer climes and gentler days. In Paradise forevermore to bloom. The pride and promise of my earthly hours. The summit of my human happiness. With soul of faith I give ungrudgingly. And, giving, prove my cherished love sincere. Triumphant in this great and instant test. No tear of sorrow from my heart is wrung That joys henceforward in its loved one's joy." 294 ESSAYS THE ORIGIN, DEVELOPMENT AND MISSION OF MUSIC ABORIGINAL man, strong and untiring of body, but mentally weak and incapable of sustained effort, existed an overgrown child amidst his natural sur- roundings. From the forest and the open, from the mountain and the valley, his voice arose, now harshly inflected to the fierce war-cry as he led his savage band against some rival band, — and now shrilled to triumph over the fallen foe. His ear, ever sensitive to mere sound, detected the faint rustle of underbrush, or the snapping twig, betokening the stealthy approach of man, beast, or reptile. The spontaneous and varied songs from tree and bush, softened not his fierce dispo- sition ; rather they urged him on to his beloved vocation, that of the slayer. Cunning by nature, he grew to know the habits of animals and birds ; learning to mimic many forest notes and calls, craftily he drew near the unsuspecting prey. The rhythm of clapping hands and stamping feet incited him to greater activity in the sav- age dance, whilst the rattle of rude drums wrought upon an organism more alive to the volume than to the quality of sound ; so in the hideous din he passed to more and more frenzied states. 297 MUSIC But the slow-moving ages brought their gifts to man ; no longer his eye was filled and gratified with the red, the scarlet, the crimson, the mere vividness of things : now his ear derived a pleasure from the soft, natural harmonies which filled his world. The notes with whose like he had lured the harmless creatures of the sky; the winds, singing their many moods through beds of reeds, or through the forest-boughs, now green, now bare ; and the distant murmur of waterfalls, had mean- ings all undreamed before ; meanings which haunted him while Nature's beauty grew before him, gradually revealed in the light of his dawning imagination. Her varied tones awoke a new desire higher than that of the mimic its predecessor. From the marsh reeds he fashioned him mellow pipes which voiced his thoughts when Love was gently ruler ; and through the pastoral valleys, and along the fertile shores of water-courses, his shepherd plaint awoke Pandean echoes. Meanwhile he learned to draw a soft and pleading strain, or a stirring one from strings ; he fashioned the primitive Lyre, its three strands tense as the chord whose twang proclaimed his liberated and death-dealing arrow. Obedient to impulse his fingers touched the simple instrument ; modulating his voice to loud or soft, he chanted in rhapsodic strains — half speech, half song — both war and love, extremes that often swayed him. He chanted every intervening feeling known to his limited experience. Those were the days of small beginnings when Music, our chief modern art, drew 298 MUSIC feeble, infant breath in the lap of a barbarous people at whose breast she found her earliest sustenance. Poetry and Music, twins of one birth, inspired the early bard; and he, the favorite of men and the chosen of Immortals, would edify his fellows. Soon, in many and various assemblies his upraised voice meant general silence; — finally all occasions claimed him. Wander- ing from place to place, the lyre his inseparable companion and emblem of uncrowned sovereignty, he everywhere found eager welcome. Even kings delighted to receive him as one apart, differing by reason of his gift from other men ; and he, of clear, discerning mind — the poet of both word and tone — knew well his impartial art's pure mission. So in palace or in hut, it mattered not, he touched the strings and skillfully. With such accompaniment he sung his story to the open heart. This is the meagre record of forgotten lives, the thousand unnamed bards before the days of Hesiod and Homer. In fable the lyre itself owes existence to the gracious- ness of some god who made it a type of heavenly things come down to earth. Imparting to the lyre somewhat of his own divine nature, he bequeathed it, a divine gift, to mortals. Doubtless an incipient tonal system resulted when those apt pupils of Nature, the first musicians, began to modulate the voice. Later, the invention of musical instruments, however poor and rude, and their use as auxiliaries to vocalism, must have powerfully stimulated 299 MUSIC the growth of that system. Notwithstanding all this, the ancient musical scale was very slowly evolved, for the disposition of semi-tones gave rise to much contro- versy begun in earliest times and long continued. The Greeks, also the Hindus, made seven divisions of their scale. It was held by the Hindus that the total seven, like the prismatic rays, are differentiations of Unity; in this case one mighty, all-pervading Tone, unmanifest, inaudible to fleshly ears. In the howling storm wind, in the shrieking hurricane, and in the din of tropic thunders, midst the elemental strife Imagina- tion caught an answer to the Ever-Hid. It barkened and it heard where headlong rivers roared the Kung, the Great Tone. Imploring favor of the Voice Unknown, men chanted sacred Mantras ; they intoned the Tetra- grammaton ; or the mystic trisyllable Aum. That "the Egyptians early brought the harp to high excellence is proved by a few existing specimens, and the pictured and sculptured models found in many tombs ; but the musical achievements of this great people, like those of many a nation, have perished with them. Music, despite her marvelously rapid maturing in our own time, has passed through a period of adolescence unproportionately long. Poetry, whom I have called her twin, must have experienced immediate growth both steady and symmetric. Already grandly propor- tioned, her demeanor simple and dignified, she spake unto Homer, and he obedient struck the bardic string. 300 MUSIC Poetry, goddess-grown, her graces manifold, her beauties mature, touching the lips of Virgil bade him sing. Searching through every land filled with the artistic and literary memorials of extinct peoples, the musical antiquary has been doomed to almost total disappointment. Thou hoary and most ancient North, land of Edda and Saga ! land of the fiery Skald inciting the warlike hordes to battle ! land of the Welsh and the Celtic sing- ers ! land of Ossian ! rugged and far-spreading North, home of rhapsodizing harp-players ! no floods of melody come down to us ; dry are the fountains ; — vanished the streams ; — barren forevermore their olden beds ! Thou canst not give us of thy music, fervent South ! though the lyres of Hermes, and Phoebus, and the sis- ter-Muses, have echoed over ^gean waves ; have echoed over Ionian land and sea from Helicon, from Greece, and the embowered islands of her archipelago I Long, long has ceased in Lesbos the smitten harp's response, the Mixo-Lydian mode of Sappho. The songs of Amphion, where are they whose magic reared the walls of Thebes? and is not Arion's sweet art become an empty name? Hushed is the Lydian mode of Anacreon, " the swan of Teos. " Hushed is the asolian breath of Alcaeus. Dumb are all the Orphic hymns. Dumb as Delphic oracle are the chants unto Apollo, and the virgin daughter of Leto, and every Hellenic, and every Roman deity. Forgotten is the chorus in the Grecian plays. Forgotten is the victor-trumpet's blast 301 MUSIC in the classic Olympiad. Forgotten is the song of Chrysothemis at the Pythian games ; it ceased there for- ever upon the plains of Delphi. To what shall we liken the notes of Jubal's lyre? or all the instrumental joy which welcomed Israel's con- quering arms? or those grand, heaven-reaching hymns which filled the temple with Jehovah's praise? Once uprose the song of Miriam when horse and rider sunk into the sea ; and once, alas ! the captive's tears com- mingled with Euphrates' waters whilst Jewish harps hung mute, the symbol of a grief that string or voice could not express. Along the broad avenue of Sphinxes did white-robed priests once seek the temples ruined now and buried in Egyptian sands. Then marched they to the music of great Thor whose many notes — like those funereal ones which dirged a Pharaoh or a Ptolemy — have proved but evanescent breath. The songs of early Rome rehearsed the story of Romulus and Remus, and told of the city's divine origin. Descanting on every deed of ancestral valor, they inci- ted the young men to emulation. Later, under the Empire, this style of composition suffered decadence, and voluptuousness succeeded martial vigor. Anciently and always the flute has proven a general favorite wherever music has to any extent been cultivated. The flute may justly be called the national instrument of the Romans ; one used constantly on both sacred and secu- lar occasions. The skillful flute-player was a person of consequence in Rome. Certain of the emperors, men 302 MUSIC like Caligula, moved perhaps by the spirit of rivalry, aspired to musicianship ; while Nero evinced almost maniacal egotism in respect to his capabilities as a harp- ist, as a flutist, and especially as a singer. Aspiring to compete in the great public contests, particularly the Neronia, instituted by himself for his own glory, the Emperor invariably secured the prize which might could wrest from merit. Though he was deficient in voice and real ability, his garrulous song often continued through an entire day ; and none in his luckless audience durst otherwise than conceal weariness, especially at moments indicated by those appointed to the ludicrous duty of commanding applause. Chinese music, if we ignore its mythological origin, dates from the time of Fuh-he who founded the em- pire at about 2850 B. C. A composer of music, he also invented several instruments, notably the Kin, not unlike our modern Zither. Music with the ancient Chinese was a sacred art of supernatural origin ; therefore an art productive of mu- tual good to performer and audience. It was an art fostered by almost every successor of Fuh-he, and for reasons differing radically from those which afterward actuated the Roman despots. Confucius, like many a philosopher of early times, was eminent both as a sage and a musician. During his travels he heard frag- ments of the music of the first dynasty ; these so pow- erfully affected him that he marvelled "that composers could reach such a pinnacle of perfection." 303 MUSIC Chinese historians aver that their original scale of twelve semitones was lost at about the year 245 B. C, when the reigning tyrant decreed against the ancient arts, and ordered destroyed all extant literary and mu- sical works, and all musical instruments. The system inaugurated by this presumptuous vandal is admitted to be full of errors. Subsequent efforts have brought to light but a mere bagatelle of the ancient knowledge ; Music consequently has lost her pristine glory among the Celestials. That the Japanese are not so musical as the Chinese is evident from the comparatively immature condition of the art among them. Despite superficial resem- blances, these people probably have not borrowed from the older nation ; rather are they in humble way origi- nators. Curious enough the Chinese have never con- ceded musical dignity to any but the male voice which, throughout the empire, is used in singing almost to the exclusion of the female voice. On the other hand, the Japanese women are often skilled vocalists. Not lingering for a cursory survey of the meagre, uninteresting efforts of many savage and semi-civilized peoples, let us proceed to consider the early condition and subsequent development of that branch of music whose symmetrical growth, and marvelous flowering, are' the heritage of our day and race. Undoubtedly the hymns of the early Christians were sung to then current popular airs of Greece, Rome, and Palestine ; thus the characteristic music of several 304 MUSIC nations mingled in the church service. From the beginning, the tendency in composition was to depart from Greek methods because too elaborate and difficult for the uses of a religion whose converts were drawn largely from the humbler classes. Improvisation, that unstudied expression of enthusiasm, helped much to originate the simple but vital style of church music which rapidly superseded the classical. As time went on, the plain song became overgrown with tasteless ornaments. These excrescences more or less marred the noble beauty of the chant. The vice of mere flo- ridity, which had already emasculated the music of the Greek. Church, was a crying evil in the West at the time of St. Ambrose's birth at about 334 A. D. Suc- cessfully coping with that evil, he restored original virility to the music of the church service. In the year 410 A. D., shortly after the death of St. Ambrose, occurred the sack of Rome by the Visigoths under Alaric. Thus was inaugurated that disastrous era when the northern barbarians, turning upon their Roman conquerors and oppressors of old, burst the boundaries imposed by the Rhine and the Danube, and gradually overran the enfeebled and decaying Empire of the West. A period of comparative calm witnessed the succession of Gregory the Great, born about 540 A. D. This versatile man, musically preeminent among Papal sovereigns, found music, in common with other arts, in a serious condition of neglect. Desirous of restoring to 30s MUSIC music its former office, Gregory caused to be performed as far as possible all extant works of merit. He also greatly enriched the church service with the products of his own inventive mind. Although many chants, called Ambrosian or Gregorian, belong to somewhat later times, Gregory himself may justly be considered the chief promoter of progress from the Grecian to the modern type of music. We have evidence that as late as 590 A. D. — there- fore during the pontificate of St. Gregory — musical compositions were preserved in the memory only. A satisfactory system of notation had not yet been devised, and the immature systems earlier in vogue, for instance, use of the letters of the Greek alphabet to indicate notes, were, like the Greek modes, long obsolete. We have evidence thai somewhat after the time of St. Gregory, ingenuity had not invented a scheme of notation ade- quate to the growing requirements of Music. A faint idea of harmonic combinations arose sponta- neously among Northern peoples, who, in singing, instinctively offset voice to voice at intervals other than the octave ; but theoretical knowledge of harmony dates from Pythagoras and contemporary thinkers with whom some knowledge of music was an indispensable prelimi- nary to admission into their highest schools of philos- ophy. It was held by those in seats of wisdom, that an appreciation of harmonious sounds, and a technical knowledge of their mutual relations, are no mean aids toward bringing the student into sympathy with the 306 MUSIC great, harmonious laws of being. It was held that this appreciation and knowledge quickened his perception of Spiritual conditions of which the material and objec- tive Universe was considered a distorted and deluding reflection, and therefore subject to radical change should man's cognition suddenly be enlarged or diminished. Part singing of a primitive kind was heard in England during the eleventh century. The majority of pieces harmonized were popular airs arranged for several voices, and introduced into the service of the Church. These attempts gradually led to the use of Canon forms wherein the voices, though singing the same melody or figure, entered successively at certain predetermined notes and measures. The Madrigal was an offshoot of the Canon which itself eventually evolved into the Fugue. The fifteenth century was well on its way ere the sun of enlightenment emerged from the fogs and mists which for a thousand years had swathed and lethargized the intellectual, the aesthetic, aye, the spiritual faculties of Northern Europe. Behold that sun pouring its goodly light on Flanders ! She became, and, for a century and a half, continued to be the center of musical activity. Her composers and contrapuntists were unquestionably the most learned to be found. Soon their influence was felt in the land where the genius of Dante and Petrarch — sprung from the soil of an older civilization and culture — had budded, blossomed, and borne ample fruit. That influence inspired to musical 307 MUSIC productiveness Palestrina, him whose strain — simulta- neous with that of the poet Tasso — was, by force of simplicity and true beauty, an effective protest against mere learning at that time become the bane of musical composers. Palestrina combated and quickly nulified the efforts of those who, having seized upon the body of Music, would if possible have enchained her very soul. Two hundred years prior to this event, Pope John XVII., holding narrow and austere ideas of what church music should be, had lamented the encroachments of counterpoint upon the plain chant, and had denounced what he considered the voluptuousness of progressing thirds and sixths. He believed such effects too frivo- lous for the sanctuary. Moreover, he inveighed against the supposed lasciviousness of the major scale of C : but the more progressive Pontiff of Palestrina's early days, and the singers of the Sistine Chapel, hailed with delight the maestro's setting of the text of the Mass, a setting at once learned, devout, and uplifting. Our great, modern Art may well date her rise from the time and labors of Palestrina. It was about the year 1570, and Music had experienced a long and eventful childhood. Even from the first she had been hampered ; her feet had encountered obstacles at every step of progress. Many hardships, in divers lands and in the haunts of uncouth men, had retarded her develop- ment ; later still, in paths made beautiful by kindred arts, she had been surprised, — overpowered, — and held the bond-servant of clever tricksters when most she 308 MUSIC needed help and just recognition. Now serenely mov- ing on the upward steep, the possibilities dormant within her, at once expanding and revealing themselves, she sped toward that attainment yet hid from every eye but her own ; — the glories of Italian and Germanic art. Long enactment of the Passion and the Miracle Plays, and especially their eventual translation from the Latin into the vernacular languages of Europe, had fully popularized the drama. Aside from literary merit or demerit, these plays lacked certain elements present in Greek tragedy which they superseded. A deficiency, obvious when original and successor are compared, is the absence of music from the latter. The inception of the sacred Oratorio and the secular Opera, at about the year 1597, was the inevitable result of the side-by-side development of Music and the Drama ; two arts natu- rally in rapport. The times were favorable to their union in some sort. Musical instruments were under- going great improvement ; already the Violin, in the hands of the Amati family of Cremona, was approach- ing an excellence of construction and a consequent capability since unequalled ; to vocal music, hitherto practically unaccompanied, instruments now gave real, sustaining foundation. At first merely duplicating the vocal parts, composers, grown bolder, wrote independ- ent, harmonious accompaniments which vastly enhanced the total effect. Recitative, destined to fall an important part in both Oratorio and Opera, had recently come into existence. This was the result of attempts to reproduce 309 MUSIC the declamatory music of Greek Tragedy which had been resurrected as from the dead during the revival of art and letters. The Ballet, sung as an accompani- ment to dancing, and the ever-popular Madrigal, were, with the recitative, the three chief elements whose unification, soon accomplished, produced the first models of that ample and satisfying art form, — the Modern Opera. The Oratorio, like the Opera, was of Italian origin and the outgrowth of dramatic instinct. Primarily, it was a species of sacred Opera ; but ere long it became apparent that the bent of Oratorio was in another direc- tion, that its true home and affinities were in the North. Meanwhile in the land of the ancient Teutons dwelt a people more staid and centered than the Latin race ; a people deeper and more earnest of nature than the passionate and impulsive children of the Italian Peninsula ; a people whose forefathers in the days of Rome's debauchery had thundered at the ge^tes of her cities, and summoned a nation to judgment ; a people for whom Luther had composed his chorals, had written verses thereto in their native German, had sung them with his congregation and his followers freed from the thrall of superstition and the degradations of religious serfdom ; a people whose inspired sons would mould the Oratorio into fittest vehicle of heaven-descended song. Indigenous to Italy, Opera sprang from the life of her people, a child exhibiting characteristics derived 310 MUSIC from the parents, and epitomizing the morals and man- ners of the South. For a long period Opera flourished in the land of its nativity only : like certain plants, it demanded that environment and sustenance which its birthplace best afforded. As early as 1607, Monteverde, constructing his operas, made application of principles to which Gluck and Wagner have reverted. During its three hundred years of development, the bane of Opera has been briefly this : composers of questionable taste have sub- ordinated the text, also the dramatic action — outgrowth thereof — to the voice parts. Thus has an entire opera often been debased to an exhibition of vocalism. More than half a century after Monteverde, Italian Opera received from Alessandro Scarlatti an important addition, — the Overture. Before his day the perform- ance was preceded by a madrigal in which every singer engaged. The Scarlatti Overture — written chiefly for the strings, with its opening and closing andante or largo separated by an allegro — is the foundation on which were built those later superstructures, the Orchestral Symphony and the Pianoforte Sonata. Planned and reared by Emanuel Bach, both were enlarged and adorned by Haydn, with whom originated the Quartette and other forms of modern instrumental chamber-music. During Scarlatti's day Opera was heard in France ; Italian players had there introduced it to a welcoming public. Thanks to the efforts of LuUy, a slip from the Italian tree took root among a 311 MUSIC people exhibiting the general characteristics of the Latin race ; in France that slip continued to thrive scarcely inferior to the original growth. In Gluck's time Operatic abuses had increased to an extent intolerable to one replete as was he, with musi- cal and dramatic instincts. Those vigorous children of his mind, Orfeo, Iphigenia, Alceste, and Armide, effectively opposed themselves to the reigning favorites of vitiated taste ; and the triumph of Gluck was more- over the vindication of tenets which have since obtained in the noble dramatic music of German Opera. Shortly before the advent of this reformer, in fact during the year 1685, that German land which aforetime had echoed with the vocal contests of the Minnesingers and the Meistersingers, gave birth to two of her ablest sons ; developers and perfecters of the Fugue and the Oratorio. The solid and vital nourishment in the works of these transcendent musicians, has assimilated in the body of Modern Music with her very life-blood ; a health-perpetuating and youth-preserving stream, 'tis flowing from her heart through every artery and vein. Bach and Handel ! what visions of beauty, what enchantments, spring to life obedient to the mention of those honored names ! Methinks I hear the organ- pipes' melodious thunder ; skillful fingers press the keys, — the great fugue is at its climax; how apparent, how individual, how majestic, the theme in that imperi- ous sweep of many-voiced harmony, that wondrous labyrinth of polyphonic song 1 Surely it is he, the 312 MUSIC modest cantor of St. Thomas' school, the learned choir- master of Leipsic, whose congregation oft has felt con- tagious grief at every chord of the John and the Mat- thew Passion. I hear the far-resounding call of one instinct with noble purpose. From utmost peaks, thus nearer Heaven source of song, he sings to listening multitudes ; the dwellers in the valley. Hark ! Hark ! ten-thousand voices now with his are blending ! like many mountain rills in one, tumultuous they roar adown the rugged steep. Now quaint, and low, and sweet, comes the Pastoral Symphony to simple shepherds, watchers faith- ful as the patient, watchful stars. And now both Earth and Heaven are singing Hallelujahs prophetic of a world regenerate. Behold, a day unknown to Handel is dawning ; Arca- dia is round about, and mirth is leaping from the merry strings, and feet are tripping, tripping, through the rus- tic dance ! Spontaneous notes, they bear no burden ; happy notes, they know not sadness ; for Haydn's soul hath utterance ; his buoyant youth is in them all. Look ! upon the calm land shines a ray that Earth's poor sun could never shed. Mozart ! the sun of thy genius fills the ample and serenest sky I In vain Mis- fortune's every cloud has striven to obscure ; in vain has Poverty's chill air opposed the grateful, penetrating fire. But other skies, and other scenes, and other joys, are calling. Beethoven ! thy sublime notes arise in yonder Eden, prophecy of one to be. Whoever reveals the 313 MUSIC highest beauty, teaches the highest wisdom, proclaims the highest truth. Hail ! Hail I Beethoven ! sover- eign singer and revealer ! seer and sage indeed art thou. Schumann ! ideal romanticist ! all hail ! Schubert ! thou free, spontaneous woodbird ! ever pour the perfect lay ! Awake not, Chopin ! the giant organ-pipes to elo- quence ! with cunning touch the dainty notes and debonair ! Mendelssohn ! melodious singer in Earth's Heaven-instructed choir ! behold, in ancient Jewry, Elijah steadfast 'gainst the froward sons of Baal ! A rapturous measure comes from realms of faery, and mel- low voices rise ; then cadence to a sigh. Weber ! the mermaids are vocal midst the placid ocean ; and, hark ! the horn of Oberon has magic power ! Hush ! Hush ! from highest Heaven etherial harmonies are earthward winging! The Holy Grail, by angels borne, descends unto the sacred mountain-top. But look ye now ! dun clouds are gathered! Hark ye now! the dread thunder and the fierce din of battle ! Woden, and all his Val- kyr-chosen, have met their fate upon the long-foretold, predestined field. — But no ! the end comes not, for the blitheful cadence of some shepherd's pipe now mingles with the weird, grief-laden pilgrim chant of those that seek heart-peace at Rome. In the memorable days of the Italian Renaissance they crowned their poet ; crowned their Petrarch, that illustrious king of lyric song. Amid universal acclama- tions they crowned him thrice. The Myrtle, the Ivy, 314 MUSIC the Laurel, well-graced a brow worthy to upbear such three-fold dignity. From Bach to Wagner, the uncrowned kings of Modern Music have dispensed their bounty for nigh two hundred years. After all, what need of crowns have they whose scepterless dominion wider than the rule of Roman Emperors, more lasting than the sway of Egypt's royal dynasties, is in the human heart? Polytheism, once a vital and an almost universal reli- gion, numbered in its various Pantheons many lesser divinities not native to the proud Parnassian heights. Gods and goddesses were they of river, lake, and foun- tain ; dryads and hamadryads peopling the wood and the quiet vale ; tritons and nereids choosers of the sea ; and guardians by every hearthstone, tutelary spirits, those in closest touch with individual man. In Music's Pantheon are many lesser divinities. Some have drawn a vigor from the old Castelian spring ; their inspirations often have rung through regions sacred to the major gods. Spohr, and Brahms, and Raff; Meyerbeer, and Rossini, and Berlioz ; Donizetti, and Bellini, and Verdi ; and others, true of ear and of imag- inative mind; and others — bards of narrower range — have striven each in his individual mood to give delight, to satisfy. It was held by many a philosopher of antiquity, that Music is the outgrowth of man's most interior life ; but its real, essential nature they declared beyond the ken of mortal mind; its origin coeval with the beginning 31S MUSIC of things. The creative Word that awakened Cosmos from the darkness of noh-being, was a dominating, har- monious tone whose vibrations drew the infinitely plas- tic world-stuff into evolving, geometrical forms. Sound was therefore the parent potency ; the virile, masculine principle that impregnated the deeps of space ; and so the worlds, a myriad progeny, were born. 316 II CONTEMPORANEOUS science has shown that all things material are, like the infinitesimal, com- ponent atoms, in a state of vibration. Color represents a higher vibration than does audible sound : it has been shown that color would also be sound to ears suffi- ciently sensitive. It may be added, without stretching the conclusions of modern physics, that all vibration is translatable into sound. Could we therefore enlarge sufficiently the domain of the physical organs of hearing, we should know the proportional works of Nature to be likewise her eupho- nious expression. The tiny flower, perfection of color and symmetry, is an unheard musical idyl or lyric ; or perchance it is some delicate instrument unnoticed in the rush and sweep of Nature's mighty crescendo, but in serene moments when her roaring brass and rolling drums have ceased, it sighs to the heart, revealing there its own individual message. The effective though inaudible voices manifest to the sight in the beauties of cloud and sky, in the manifold marvels of budding Springtime life, in Summer's mature growth, in Autumn's ripened yield, and even in Winter's white, recuperating fields, all sing, yes, sing to man's inmost sense. The mighty and sonorous breath of the storm, the zephyr whispering in the leaves of the forest, the artless 317 MUSIC calls of dawn-awakened birds, waves wheeling on the beachy shores, or in full course defied by rock or prom- ontory ; are blending with the heard and the unheard in one universal choir. That ancient conception of the nature of sound which madie it the primal expression of vibrating life, neces- sarily granted to it stupendous possibilities. Not a harsh, compelling force ; rather a mightily persuading and drawing power — universally operative like the mystery called gravitation — it awoke the planetary spheres to being and to song. The story of Orpheus, who, with voice and lyre cast a spell over men, animals, and inanimate objects ; and once even bent to his will the sovereign and the law of the under-world, allegori- cally illustrates the possibilities of sound. Schopenhauer was impelled to revert to the teachings of Vedic philosophy in respect to the essential nature of Music, for he had come to recognize therein a manifes- tation of Reality deep beneath all exteriors. He held that it is not the province of words to express or even indicate that Reality. However, the musician is privi- leged to mould the most sensitive and flexible of mediums, the one capable of gradations and combinations almost infinite. Because tone wells from the central, hidden source of Nature, its real meaning transcends the reach of the intellect than which something higher exists in man, and that something we call the heart. Harmoni- ous tone is the specific language of the heart, the language of man's spiritual being. The musician speaks to us in 318 MUSIC that tongue, but can his reason interpret his utterance? Schopenhauer and his teachers have answered, No ! Indeed, if opposite answer were possible, we, while lis- tening to the master-works of musical inspiration, would be led to an intellectual comprehension of life's great enigmas whose solution — the work of spiritually- unfolded man — is of the distant future. Undoubtedly the musician is the most favored of artists ; therefore like the poet he should ever cleave to Nature. So, understanding in his inner being her real self, he shall be wholly fitted for his duties. Conditions necessary to his full mission he cannot preserve other- wise than by the practice of unselfishness. No selfish- ness, no partiality, is displayed by Nature's laws. The fructifying shower softens the sun-dried soil and prepares it for the germinating seed, yet it recks not who shall harvest. Deep in the human heart a seed is buried, but often the soil, hardened by the fires of passion and self- ishness, refuses to yield, and the imprisoned must await some beneficent rain ! Music, more expressive than the idealizations of Sculpture ; more expressive than the painter's art, and even the impassioned eloquence of Poetry, is, I repeat, of the Spiritual, of that which is beyond our finite, form- limited conception. Reaching the heart, it softens with its rain of harmony the waiting soil, and quickens to germination the seed of every virtue. Music, the consummate art of our modern life, not yet has attained her goal, her ultimate development. 319 MUSIC From the Ambrosian and the Gregorian chant — plain as a Grecian-Doric column — to the polyphonic structure of Bach ; then to the stately and lasting memorials of the chief tone-poets of the classical period ; then through enchanting ways enhanced by the efforts of growing romanticism ; and then to that vast and elaborate tonal edifice, Der Ring des Nibelungen ; what long reaches she has passed ! The sun is dazzling ; we cannot with clear eyes look beyond ; yet let us hope the road is leading, leading, as it ever led. Some composers through vanity or whim have made for themselves little side-paths. Therein they toil, up hill and down, over rough and stony ground amidst arid regions whose grotesque, aye, hid- eous scenery is in keeping with their perverted sense of beauty. The broad highways of Art adorned with the inspira- tions of Genius — those achievements of Poetry and the sister Muses — to Wagner's vision ever converged, and finally united. Not until the testimony of future explor- ers equally discerning, is compared with his, can con- clusions take permanent shape. Wagner's philosophy of aesthetics was that of the Greek Dramatists, and also of Schopenhauer whom he loved to call his master : but, in truth, Greek poet and German mystic merely con- firmed his beliefs independently formulated ; they lent the strength of their intuitions to his conception of the essential oneness of every art. Whosoever, conceiving some high ideal, unswervingly 320 MUSIC strives onward, shall yet attain thereto and make its vital presence known and felt of men. Into the fostering care of such shall Music be given ; and they, seeing her grow to worth and dignity and beauty yet undreamed, shall to her feet bring fitting homage and the worthy tribute of unselfish, consecrated lives. When in future times her voice shall soar in some grand paean yet unheard, methinks her theme will stir to harmony the harp-strings of man's better nature, and tune his highest singing into songs of peace, and turn his chiefest doing into sweetest deeds of unmixed human- kindness unto all. 321 THE ORIGIN AND MISSION OF BEAUTY THE word beauty is one of the most suggestive in our language, a word whose application is indeed far-reaching. The subtle and perhaps indefinable attributes and qualities which it represents are ever pres- ent in visible Nature, and in her fresh, harmonious voices. They wake to life in the rhythmic concords of the musician, in the creations of the painter and the sculptor, and in the manifold, glowing suggestions which Genius conjures from cold and formal words. The ideations of the mind, the aspirations and longings of the heart, would find realization in that which the word beauty indicates. Beauty is indeed the fair, beneficient goddess whom all desire, whom all must worship in their best moments. Upon the most exalted heights to which imagination has attained, she wears the diadem and wields the sceptre. In whatever deep of knowledge the student and the investigator have searched, her approving glance has there rewarded them, and, midst the still and seldom- trodden paths of Wisdom, far from hurry and tumult, the philosopher and the devotee have met her face to face, have knelt in wonder and in homage at her feet. The artist and the poet have caught their inspirations 322 BEAUTY from her enkindling eye, the memory of whose thralling light, once bent upon himself, will hold the lover captive however he struggle for freedom. Ah, she is pure both without and within 1 No gem upon her brow or pendant flashing can enhance her worth ! Of divine lineage, she comes embodiment of Truth and Good. From Being's hidden heart she descends to brighten the upward ways, and strew our steps therein with flowers. It was held by Plato that the words Beauty, Truth, Good, are synonymous, and designate the primal con- cept of the Divine Mind, the underlying forms of the Archetypal World whose outward expression is the objective Cosmos. Bathed in supernal light, those forms transcend finite comprehension ; with them is inseparably associated every perfection in the Universe. Comprehending the Archetypal, high intelligences have emanated to man the idea of Beauty. It was held by many sages of many nations, that man- kind once had a perception of Beauty, Truth and Good, clearer than any influencing us. This almost universal belief gave rise to the legend of the fall of man ; but the secret teaching was briefly this : During a certain age of man's evolution, he was brought into contact with the rays of Eternal Light, in other words, he came under the direct influence of certain high and potent intelligences. That was to him a golden age wherein his spiritual faculties were powerfully stimulated ; — but his condition of blissful communion with his helpers in the terrestrial paradise — the primitive Eden — he was 323 BEAUTY forced to leave so that in times as yet immeasurably dis- tant he shall stand in strength, a helper even as he was helped. He may be likened to the beloved son when leaving the paternal environment to battle for a position of use in life. Man passing to the silver age was not without his helpers, but in every subsequent wandering his mind has reverted to the long-lost land whose beauty now is like some scarce-remembered dream because, as he moved farther and farther from the light of the Spiritual Sun, gradually he identified himself with material con- ditions. When the soul had become incapable of cognizing more than an infinitesimal number of the Divine Rays, it was proportionately incapable of recog- nizing real beauty. It has come about that man exists amidst forces which his crude desire for Beauty has by degrees moulded into the manifold aspects of his imperfect surroundings ; but meanwhile true Beauty is demanding from him an ever- growing acknowledgment which shall ultimate in its complete recognition. Constantly it urges him to the output of powers which grow with exercise. The daily sun, shedding lustre on the material world, has many a ray which awaits his unfolding life ; the nightly orbs beam forth a splendor which his imperfect eye cannot yet behold ; within the voices of the animated world vibrate harmonious tones too subtle for his gross ear, and the heart of Nature hides colors more radiant than any known to the artist or the poet. 324 BEAUTY The idea of Beauty varies with individuals. Some eventually grow into acquaintance and communion with manifestations of Beauty, before non-existent to them. It is equally plain that men frequently retrograde ; but what is the chief incentive to crime if not that abnormal conception of Beauty which identifies it with every self- interest? The thief undervalues or sees not the beauty of useful endeavor and its just compensations ; he loves its perversion and opposite ; and so on throughout the dreadful category, the record of those not in harmony with the principles of Truth, Beauty, Good, — the indi- visible Trinity in Unity. We have seen that strange anomaly, an evil and mis- shapen mind, in that supreme excellence of material beauty, a shapely human body. In this anomaly the ancients read the record of some good achieved in former births, and preserved upon the tablets of the soul ; but evil, now become positive, has repelled whatever of beauty was within ; it appears at the surface ; here it lingers loth to bid a last farewell; it pleads, with an eloquence which words can never voice, to be taken back to the heart its true home, — its birthplace. Even in manifest degradation, what a power its presence wields ! Shades of Helen, and Cleopatra, and Semiramis, bear witness what heart's have been rent ; what bitter, tearful fountains loosed ; what rageful clash of war the serene sun has looked down upon ; what plots and stratagems, what tragedy of crime, the slumberous night has known ; what dismemberment and fall of 325 BEAUTY empire has history revealed; what loss of honor, — everything ! Outer, physical beauty, to be satisfactory to a discriminating mind, must present to it no anoma- lies ; it must be the orderly expression, the systematic unfolding, of the hidden; that which urges every grow- ing bud to culmination. Offsetting these two types.of beauty, appear two types of ugliness. In a not uncommon one of them, interior beauty masks in sharp angles and unsymmetrical pro- portions, and even in a malformed and diseased body. Here whatever exists of ugliness the ancients consid- ered a negative quantity pushed to the surface by the more positive, indwelling good ; but of that personality which, from some point of observation, exhibits no beauty, optimistic views were not entertained. The animal kingdom, and even that of the vegetable, shows strange anomalies ; curious resemblances to the four types touched upon. The venomous reptile, a living, moving line of symmetrical curves, or coiled in grace- ful spiral with swaying head preparing to strike, causes a revulsion of feeling whereby the blending of delicate and intricate patterns, together with the harmony of color and the rhythm of motion, become an added hor- ror to the spectator whose mind, quickened by the situa- tion, clearly perceives utter incongruity in this mixture of beauty and ugliness, this mingling of good and evil. Similarly the gorgeous, tropical bloom affects him who knows its deadly power, and he needs must wonder how these conditions came to be. Anciently it was held that 326 BEAUTY the lowly but evolving creation, far below the limit where free-will begins, merely reflects man's stronger will, in fact his passions and imperfections, or whatever of vir- tue he has developed. The Lamb was the chosen emblem of innocence, and typified the normal condition of the humbler kingdoms when not obsessed by sov- ereign man. Some perception of ideal Beauty man inherits from the golden age. With each culminating race it grows to lofty expression in religion, poesy and art; then steadily it declines with that race, to reappear, to rise, to fall, with each successor. In the days of India's spirit- ual excellence her wisdom-loving sages sought to blend Religion, Philosophy, and Science. To the golden age of Greece — and each nation has its golden age — belong those triumphs of Beauty which are at once the rapture and despair of every succeeding time. The dramatist- philosophers of Greece were born to the purple of Art. Their exalted thought, clothed in poetic and symbolical language, and augmented by the poetry of harmonious movement in the dance, the poetry of sound in the cho- rus, and also all appropriate scenic accessories, lent to the Grecian stage a splendor unsurpassed, for it became the focal point of Religion, Philosophy, Poetry, Music, Sculpture, and Painting. The mighty tree of Roman life, more strong than graceful in its trunk and all-over- shadowing branches, revealed, amidst myriad leaves, maturing buds ; and once that fruitage of the Augustan age, Virgil, Horace, Livy. 327 BEAUTY Coming to modern Italy and her virile days, we see in the epic of Dante the power of Divine Beauty bursting the iron bulwarks which mediaeval religion had builded around itself : and, lo ! that narrow, cheerless confine is filled with a resplendent light. In old Hellenic days that light of varied hues and potencies had flashed from the sculptured Zeus of Phidias. Behold it flashes forth anew where Michael Angelo has chiselled, and his hand has frescoed upon the Sistine walls ! Tenderly, with the pure eyes of Mary, it looks from the Madonnas of Raphael and Murillo. Warm with the compelling human charm of the beloved of Zeus, it glows from the Dange of Titian. Fraught with the mel- ancholy of Rembrandt, it seeks the deepening shadows. It sorrows with the sadness of Van Dyck, or, joyous courtier of the sunshine, it pulses with the robust vitality of Rubens. The Hindu sages taught that color — the sacred lan- guage of the Devas — causes in the luminiferous ether an audible, rhythmic vibration. If this be true, what harmonies have emanated from the masterpieces of Turner, and the other great colorists, all of whom have with massive strength, or touch of utmost delicacy, blended the chromatic subdivisions of the prismatic scale. Every page of Shakespeare bears witness to his per- ception of that inmost homogeneity with which outward objects are correlated. While the ordinary poet or creative artist in moments of inspiration recognizes that 328 BEAUTY homogeneity to a degree corresponding with his endow- ment of soul, Shakespeare's language — replete with metaphor and simile — is the natural expression of his perception of relations previously unsuspected. So his work as a whole carries more of suggestiveness and real Beauty than any other in literature. The essentially religious genius of Milton was broader and more wholesome than the contracted and unlovely creed to which he assented. Though native conserva- tism held him loyal, he must satisfy his artistic cravings ; the ideal lover would invest his mistress with all the charm of womankind, would praise her with every word at his command. Milton breathed into his stately epic — as did that soul enamoured of Beauty, the youth- ful Keats, into his Endymion — ,the sensuous life of the antique world, and the mellifluous notes learned from Grecian Euterpe and Calliope: and with what result? Ruskin says, "Milton's account of the most important event in his whole system of the universe, the fall of the angels, is evidently unbelievable to himself." He says, moreover, that it was taken from " Hesiod's account of the decisive war of the younger gods with the Titans. " This event originally symbolized the triumph of better conditions ; the victory of compact intelligence over crude bulk; — mind over matter. Zeus himself and his pantheon were of time ; the law of Eternal Becoming is bringing higher and yet higher beauties to embodiment. The poems of Byron exhibit impetuous but unstable 329 BEAUTY power. He contrasts illy with those symmetrical and progressive poets, Milton, Wordsworth, and Tennyson. Constantly driven from extreme to extreme of the elon- gated orbit of his being, Byron at times almost touched that pure flame toward which Coleridge aspired, toward which Shelley, like his own skylark, ever soared and sang. At the moment of his perihelion there awoke in Byron the repelling force of unsubdued desire for that which has no beauty ; that which flees the all-revealing day ; that which would sink his erratic star in endless night. Modern Music, if we date from the labors of Pales- trina, is the result of but three hundred and fifty years of activity. Of many-sided symmetry, it everywhere reveals supernal beauties exemplified in the develop- ment of those pregnant fugal-themes which originated in the brain of Sebastian Bach ; exemplified also in the immortal strains which, from the minds of Handel and of Haydn, completely filled those noble moulds, the Oratorio and the Symphony. The plastic Beauty which permeates the works of Mozart, Schubert, and Von Weber, became in the hands of Chopin a jewel delicate and exquisite ; a unique diadem, it graced the intellectual brow of Schumann, whilst from the great heart of Beethoven it rolled a resistless tide of harmony which, efficacious as the fabled fountain of youth, imparted to every form of music a sustaining and rejuvenating life. During the last fifty years, Richard Wagner, in his 330 BEAUTY Music-Dramas, has made application of the ancient idea of Beauty. With the spirit of Greek Drama for model, and the resources of modern music, and that superb instrument the modern orchestra, at his command ; he as poet and musician, undertook what Gluck, one hundred years earlier, had, in a modest way, accomplished in the Orfeo and the Iphigenia. Wagner was drawn instinctively to the ancient myths and legends, and the cosmogonies of primitive peoples, and the hidden mean- ings therein. The modern stage with its appurtenances, together with the possibilities of our present-day musical art, became servants to his broad conception and large executive powers. In the adequate performance of the Wagnerian mystery-plays — for such in fact they are — we have a wonderful ideal of that spirit of Beauty which inspired the master-minds of the age of Pericles. We have seen Whitman, like his renowned contem- porary Browning, opposing a puissant individuality to that obtuse and stubborn materialism which perceives no truth, and therefore no beauty, in what it cannot touch with physical sense. Because of his native capacity as poet. Whitman was privileged to recognize Beauty beneath the mask of commonest things. Projecting his consciousness to the heart of appearances , he there beheld his true being, an integrant part of all Being ; and that vision of Unity, that vision of basic and universal brother- hood, became his incentive and the vital subject-matter of his poems. The artistic creeds of both Whitman and Wagner 331 BEAUTY contained in common certain tenets whose application we see in the constant struggle of these vigorous minds toward modes of expression more comprehensive than any already available. Both were actively rebellious against the doctrine of discrete degrees when applied to their art. They believed that Art's existing boundary lines are but the mile-marks of the explorer, and repre- sent his arbitrary separation and classification of results in an imperfect but necessary attempt to encompass the unity of Divine Beauty. Wagner held that although it is the sublime mission of every Art to convey a more or less adequate idea of Essential Beauty ; Music, because of its enormous flexi- bility, is peculiarly fit to suggest that which is beyond our ken, and, to our finite mentality, also formless although the Supreme Model of form, the Archetypal of the tangible world. Wagner consistently demanded for Music the most flexible form ; he ever sought to clothe his musical ideas with what to his artistic instincts was the most unhampered, suggestive, and elevating of forms. Although a composer of more ingenuity and harmonic resource than Chopin, Wagner frequently burdens with learning the mighty wings on which his imagination seeks a domain of the beautiful never before attempted. His characteristic chromatic progressions, often over- long, together with his many sudden though skillful modulations to remote keys, prove him enamoured of the strange and unexpected. The usual he abhors. He prefers the ugly to the ordinary. He somewhat parades 332 BEAUTY his ability as the most dexterous and gymnastic of har- monists. He reminds one of the poet Lanier whose unusual vocabulary is at times affected and obtrusive. Not seldom the subtle and paramount intellect of Wag- ner strives for what the simpler beauty of heart expression could with ease accomplish. His ample melodic gift Wagner seemed increasingly desirous of outgrowing ; less and less he invoked it as his art theory and practice converged ; besides, it little suited the tragic element which pervades his chosen themes. Possibly he at times imagined in the voice of Melody, whom Schumann called the queen, the seduc- tive appeal of the sensuous, the earthly. Perhaps in her sweet cantabile he had heard the siren songs of Kundry, and the witchery of the dancing damsels of Klingsor's enchanted realm overfair with the soft, baneful beauty of its living flowers. Grief for Wagner's dramatic purposes was altogether more eloquent than joy ; and yet the self-styled pessi- mist much comprehended that wisdom which is revealed unto babes, in fact that instinctive optimism which rings in the carols of unreasoning birds, and which every- where and always is Nature's pure, spontaneous voice : that optimism which she implants in the vernal heart of happy, innocent childhood where inevitably it withers through the hard and material years of earthly experi- ence, and then, if not wholly dead, sometimes revives in the mellowing heart soil of Age. Yes, Wagner knew much of that all-including optimism which inspired and 333 BEAUTY sustained both Emerson and Whitman, neither of whom confounded the local with the universal, nor made the little the measure of the large, nor judged the unseen by the seen as one determines the diameter and circumfer- ence from the arc of the circle. Wagner perceived that behind the tragedy of the perishable, the steadfast soul and source of Nature — enthroned superior to the lim- itations of time and space — is pulsing with joy because to its Eternal Now is present life's harmonious out- come, the exalted finale of creation's harsh and low beginning. Like Goethe, Wagner glorified the ideal womanly into the human expression of the potent principle of Divine Love. Through that expression is lifted the curse which weighed the Dutchman to the misery of his end- less voyage. Through that expression is Tannhauser Redeemed, even he whom Christ's vicegerent dared not shrive. Through it also is the dreaded inevitable brought to speedy consummation, the racking age of keen suspense is ended in one brief, sharp pang ; the long twilight of the doomed Norse gods is darkened into utter night of peaceful, unawakened sleep. The abnormal restlessness of these feverish, transition days has deeply affected the plastic musical nature of our ultra-Wagner composers who in their way are voic- ing Whitman's declaration, "Who has gone farthest? for I would go farther ! " In the total decadence of these vague and discordant noise-makers the discerning must lament a lack of coherence and sequence, an 334 BEAUTY absolute loss of equipoise and repose, essential beauties of all true art. From first to last Whitman strove to obliterate the demarcations which separate what is labelled Prose, from what we chose to call Poetry. It is obvious that the spirit of Beauty has illuminated many a prose work, and full often refused to dwell in the most elaborate and laborious poetical structure which ambition could rear. In the presence of such misdirected energy, one recalls the efforts of those landscape gardeners — artists of the artificial — who, at every turn and in every detail, seek to improve upon Nature's methods. The spick and span newness, the inanity and smoothness, of this improve- ment appears in the nicely planned and measured angles and distances, in the exact rows of equidistant trees, in the long stretches of shrubbery trimmed to a dead level of sameness, in the sharply defined outlines, the mechanical distribution of color, the obvious manipula- tion of all effects ; and the everywhere displayed taste that would paint the rose and blanch the lily. All this arouses in him who open-eyed has looked upon the face of Nature, a desire to flee the finical, the cramping, the confining, and gaze once more upon the untrammelled. Whitman was a filial though tameless and impulsive child of Nature. His virile individuality, his demo- cratic spirit, his unconventional attitude, bring him into rapport with those who are weary of the artificialities and vacuities of life. His fetterless dithyrambics, breathing the beauties of the broad open, the breezy 335 BEAUTY hills, the untrodden wilds, the winding water-ways, the inland seas, and the boundless oceanic domain, are a tonic to the jaded mind worn by the monotonous, daily round ; or too often focused on the trivial, the superflu- ous, the evanescent. Wonderfully suggestive, he gives to thought a new bent; imparting his superabundant vitality, he stimulates the mind to an activity that enlarges its vision of Beauty ; he is also the prophet of things attainable by onmarching humanity. But withal, is there other poet now so terse and now so verbose, so weak and flaccid from overstatement? Is there other builder so contemptuous of architectonic? Who of other real poets, not excepting Wordsworth, has descended to such unmistakable prose? What other votary ever sung a like melange in the temple of the muses? What other philosopher ever stepped so easily and unconsciously from wisdom to platitude? What other genius ever made so obvious the defects of untem- pered enthusiasm ? Fearlessly he launched his bark on solitary, uncharted seas ; single-handed and alone he steered, the sun his guide by day, — at night the pilot- star ; but soon, when storm-clouds had hidden the heavens, the driving winds and the buffeting waves would sweep him nigh to shipwreck on some sudden rock or shoal. The ancients saw in the sphere, and also in the circle — its circumference — that which most suggested com- pleteness, perfection. The curved line is a succession of segments of circles, and each segment suggests its 336 BEAUTY own circumference. Two converging lines will form the angle which suggests the common source of sepa- rated things. The straight line itself suggests the angle, for imagination following the line will eventually impose the angle to its own further progress. Although the normal province of the straight line, the angle, the curve, and the circle, is to suggest Unity — the Focus from which emanate Beauty, Truth, and Good — it must not be overlooked that none of the four is the exclusive property of these three. All can be present in what constitutes a perverted and opposing trinity. The painter, using straight lines, angles, curves and circles, can, by his subtle arrangements thereof, depict either the beautiful or the horrible, and, by an indis- criminate mixture of components, he can represent cha- otic conditions. The musician, employing the notes and harmonies contained within the circles of the octaves, can portray diametrically opposite conditions, and every intervening shade of feeling, while whoever has no ear for tone relations, only draws from the keys a jumble of sounds. The power of art to vibrate sympathetically every note of the emotional gamut, originates in the mysterious duality of both the world and man. That power is the expression of positives and negatives differ- ing as do nectar and poison, light and darkness, life and death. To attempt a specific definition of Beauty would be to court inevitable failure. Because it roots and thrives in the central heart of Being, its fruitage man as man 337 BEAUTY can never know ; and yet, some buds and blossoms have fallen here. Though blasted by Earth's unkindly frosts, though scattered by her harsh and chilling winds, though crushed they lie beneath man's unheeding feet, some- what of fragrance is lingering yet in every clime, some glow is reflected in the gem that flashes back the boun- teous sunlight, some tint is in the pearl deep-hidden beneath the oriental tides ; some splendor is in the mild and moonlit tremor of the waveless sea. Whatsoever the appreciative mind considers beautiful, whether bodily form, mental attainment, or spiritual condition in man, or Nature's handiwork in all her life- ful lower kingdoms, or her manifold inanimate creations, or the result of man's imitative skill, compels the sane judgment to its verdict because each and all of these in some measure illustrate the law of higher and higher becoming. The normal and progressive — physical, mental, or spiritual — ever approaches the concept of Eternal Mind ; it seeks to identify itself with that which epitomizes Beauty, Truth, and Good. Probably no artist-lover of the Ideal, contemplating his best work, has felt that entire satisfaction with which it fills his admirers. Keener of vision, he knows that Perfect Beauty — she for whom every power of his being was exercised — did after all elude him ; he but touched the garment's hem of the incomparable goddess who, stepping higher, turned, and, for a moment great with encouragement, beckoned him to renewed eflTorts ; and he, made wise and humble, strives afresh, for now at 338 BEAUTY last he understands her mission : she even to this dull earth descended to lead him upward on the ever- brightening way. Ah, though he may never claim her as his own, in some rare vision he shall see her glorious on heights before whose sheer ascent his feeble humanity must wait. Toward those unattained summits did Homer strive, his sightless orbs suffused with a glory we wot not of. Along his lonely pathway the smitten harp-strings rung as his resonant voice, in songs of mighty and heroic feats of war, in songs of strange adventure and far sojournings, came echoing downward, downward, even to the listening plain. Ah, when will the Earth clouds, lifting, discover the great Triune of Beauty, Truth, and Good? Ah, when shall be revealed to mankind those Verities that strain- ing eyes in every age have vainly sought? More stable than the throne of Olympia, they fade not as did the bright assembly of Grecian gods ; they vanish not like the Pantheons of the ancient world I Goodlier far than any vision of Helicon, the chosen seat of the Muses, they hide above the towering Meru, the Indian's sacred height. The prophet's millennial mount they glorify. They wait beyond Monsalvat's skyey, templed crest, home of the heaven-descended Grail ! 339 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER THOUGH man the unit, following the bent of his inclinations, separate himself from the vast major- ity of his fellows and the great average of his time and nation, and — living a life of seclusion — he wholly dedi- cate his days to lofty thought and profound meditation, or though, contrariwise, he debase his manhood in the haunts of vice where, ignoring the beckoning angel, he grovel with the brute ; he cannot completely sunder the ties of commonality which from time immemorial have existed, and which shall continue whilst men are men. In no department of life's varied activities has he stood, or can he stand, absolutely unique and individ- ual. Those bodily peculiarities which proclaim him physical man have their correspondents in his mental and his spiritual structure ; therefore is he held to his fellows by a three-fold and unbreakable tie. In both health and disease his every bodily sensation has coun- terpart in other human bodies. The sights and sounds of the outer world produce in his brain impressions known to all men, while deep in his spiritual being the fundamental principles of right and wrong appeal to savage and philosopher alike. Besides inheriting from immediate and even remote ancestors, tendencies which prove a blessing or a curse 340 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER to his three-fold self, man is ever pliant to the formative influence of contemporaries mingling their daily lives with his. Hermit of the mountain, the desert, or the wood, or dweller in the teeming metropolis', the world still environs him ; amid the free and unobstructed he escapes not wholly, whilst amid the cramped and crowded it permeates his being, and powerfully helps to mould and fashion the trinity of man. Such briefly are the conditions which influence the aspirant in life's every walk and way ; such are the conditions which peculiarly influence the Composer, the Poet, and in fact the creator in any art whatsoever, for he is by nature of that sensitive organization and sympathetic temperament most susceptible to local, national, and even world conditions. Although Shakespeare and Milton rise to the dignity of world poets, in their weighty and comprehensive message appears that of the local and national which appeals particularly to the English-speaking people. The words of Goethe and Schiller have true and per- manent abode in the deep heart of German life. The heroic lines of Homer, vital to-day, were yet more vital when, clothed in the ancient and befitting hexameter, they aroused the admiration of applauding Greece. The works of Bach and Handel, Beethoven and Wagner, are unmistakably German, although each of the four sounded that mighty common-chord whose organ-notes have stirred to sympathetic vibration the diapason of universal human life. 341 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER Because the Classic Greek poetical meters lend them- selves most reluctantly to our rough, uninflected, and mixed, modern vocabularies, and because the German and other idioms defy translation, and because Italian and French literature — and in fact any literature — loses much of its essential quality when rendered in an alien tongue, it follows that the supreme literary models of various peoples must remain largely the property of their originators, and so preserve the boundary lines separating kingdom from kingdom in the world of letters. Hampered by the bonds of national language, literature rarely attains to the universal ; chiefly it is eloquent of some locality and epoch, but silent of the immutable world of yesterday, to-day, and forever. The possibilities of Music, the language understood of all, are not bounded by the Alpha and Omega of the Greeks, neither are they held within the limits of the alphabet of any spoken language. Our modern music has, in the chromatic scale of twelve notes, an alphabet usable by every civilized nation, as are also the many chords and intervals obtained by variously combining the twelve. With these materials the inventive musician is free to create, for any harmonic combination, any sequence of chords, any figure or melody, is discover- able by the inspired and discerning composer of what- soever nationality. The enormous resources of music, which have long incited the musician and urged to activity the composers of foreign lands, are increasingly realized in the America 342 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER of to-day. In slavery times a strain of pure and simple melody rejoiced the weary toiler in the Georgian rice fields, and amidst the cotton and the cane. How often it sang unto sympathizing hearts the grievous pains and petty pleasures of the bondman's lot ! What American musician of sentiment can ignore the day of those small musical beginnings ; that clear, prophetic day of Stephen Foster and his kind ? What American musician of soul will scorn the stirring measures of those strifeful years when by the broad Potomac, and in the lowlands of Virginia, and by the South- Atlantic seaboard, and beside the waters of the Gulf, above the dull rhythm of trampling armies uprose from both rank and file of marching blue, the patriot paeans of our northern soldiery? Though not the foundations of a distinct and distin- guished native art, these effusions indicated that ground was broken. Whilst no composer of phenomenal indi- viduality has yet appeared among us, we are already fortunate in many of great talent. These have labored conscientiously and commendably upon foundation and corner-stone ; they arouse expectations which in the superstructure shall be grandly realized. Years after the death of Beethoven, that culminating genius of a musical succession beginning with Bach and Handel, we, in America, were still environed by the immaturities of a civilization of whose chief cities some had arisen where, but one hundred years before, stood the unblazed forest. Whatsoever here of musical apti- 343 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER tude was mostly in abeyance, crowded down and hidden by the dominating desire of developing the almost super- abundant material riches of this new world. Necessarily our musical unfolding has been most reluctant. In an uncongenial soil, and from dearth of the sunshine and rain of human sympathy, our bud of promise often seemed ready to blight. A glance at the piano music of Addison P. Wyman and his native contemporaries of the namby-pamby school — a school here generally esteemed some forty years back — reveals a poverty of harmonic and melodic resource no longer tolerated in circles similar to those which writers like Wyman once delighted. At that, time would appear occasionally the more ambitious but imitative efforts of American students of European models. In 1872, Professor John K. Paine published his oratorio, St. Peter, a scholarly work whose choruses especially were imbued more with the learning than the uplift of Bach and Mendelsshon, his ideals. Prior to this event nothing musically distinctive and worthy of international notice had originated among us. Mean- while that well-grounded and experienced musician, Mr. Dudley Buck, was attaining deserved prominence as composer of church anthems, and sacred and secular songs. In his cantata, The Light of Asia, he unques- tionably exhibits marked talent, and once or twice rises to heights of dramatic, musical eloquence little short of the standards of the world's enduring masterpieces. 344 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER Considered in its entirety, Buck's voluminous work, though not profoundly original either in matter or in treatment, is nevertheless most creditable, and also an earnest of rapidly-bettering, American musical author- ship ; whilst its ready and wide acceptance argues a general culture much advanced over that of a generation ago. During the last fifteen or more years there has appeared among us quite a notable group of native composers, to wit: — McDowell, Nevin, Chadwick, Foote, Marston, Shelley, and others, whose productions in the various forms of pianoforte, vocal, and orchestral music, are not infrequently imbued with the charm of spontaneous, poetic feeling, and enriched with a learn- ing at once resourceful and devoid of pedantry ; whilst now and then the unclouded flash of a sunbeam, the spotless and perfect opening of a flower, the outburst and unfettered soaring of a song, reveal the momentary presence of that thing of beauty which men call Genius. Such moments awaken one to the knowledge that the feeble childhood of the American Muse is all outgrown, and her robust adolescence is developing toward a glorious maturity. Unfortunately the times are rife with the activities of a commercial and utilitarian age wherein soul and sentiment are little valued by hustling and bustling business enterprise which, in literature, would debase the popular taste by means of the crude, the morbid, and the vicious ; and which, in music, would lower the 345 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER attained standard by forever obtruding upon our ears the insipidly sentimental and the hackneyed in song, and the characterless in instrumental music, and the poverty and threadbareness of the so-called Rag-time. The malign and formidable influences at present antagonizing the spirit of art, and in fact the spirit of whatever refines and ennobles life, are indeed aggressive foes to the musical composer whose sensitive and impressionable nature is made manifoldly so by the art which he assiduously cultivates. Despite these adverse conditions, that thinking world which hopes and listens for the virile, native poet who, without rudely violating the well-tried canons of poetical art, will — from his profoundly analytical and broadly synthetical mind — reproduce for his people the evolving nationalism of our heterogeneous America ; that thinking world which awaits the American novelist, the American sculptor, the American painter, by innate ability unquestionably such ; that thinking world which knows from the preserved records of ages, the Time Spirit's mysterious law of periodicity ; does even now with expectation await the advent in our midst of that product of a progressed civilization and culture, the National Composer. Appearing, he will be the latest in a line of musicians beginning before the minstrel poet of Greece, and the Psalmist king of Israel. Music, as we know it, is nevertheless an art comparatively modern. Of its achievements in ancient civilizations nothing remains 346 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER for our consideration. Unto Italy must we turn, and date from the Ambrosian and Gregorian chants the origin of nationalism in music. In the cantus firmus is reflected the native simplicity and grandeur of a religion that had Christianized Italia, and freed her from the sceptre of the Pagan voluptuary. And yet withal a certain narrowness and austerity, in fact an unspent reaction from profligate times and degenerate religions, lingers in these chants ; they but little reflect much that was sweet and wholesome in human life. Nevertheless they are the germs from which grew the rich and euphonious music of Palestrina, that unrivaled maestro of the Roman school. Meanwhile the secular sought and found an ever- wider musical interpretation until the fire and passion of the variable South was epitomized on the Italian operatic stage. But high, enduring qualities, worthy of musical utterance as the highest manifested by southern peoples, were dominant in the northern, Teu- tonic nations. Those brave but undisciplined barbarians who for home and liberty had opposed the legions of encroaching Rome, and with their last life-drop had defended their wives and daughters from the brutal lust of the Roman soldiers ; those semi-savage tribes of the Hercynian for- est ; those dwellers beyond the Rhine and the Danube ; those inheritors of the grandly-imaginative Norse mythology ; had bequeathed to their progressive poster- ity characteristics which evolved to steadfastness and 347 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER nobility of purpose, and intellectual and spiritual insight, and deep and loyal and tender sentiments, the kindlers of unquenchable flame upon the altar of country and the hearthstone of domestic life. This priceless heritage of the German people now craved and found an increasing expression in a distinctively national school of music. The many metrical experiments of the Minnesingers early shaped for German music, art forms of no little flexibility, while the choral songs of Luther and the Reformation endowed it with that sincerity, and dignity, and soul-reaching fervor, which accorded fully with the national temperament. Then again, the Flemish mas- ters, from the results of their profound, contrapuntal researches, bequeathed to it a wealth of harmonic device more satisfying than the vaunted melody of the Italian school. Nor was it lacking in melody, this music of Germanic origin. Unlike the characteristic music of Italy, wherein Melody was queen and Harmony merely her attendant, here was consummated the royal marriage of equals, and that interblending of melody and harmony where each to other gave its total of grace, or grandeur, or whatsoever else it possessed of sterling excellence. Thus enriched and impelled, the classical music of Germany developed rapidly, and gifted composers moulded it into larger and more adequate forms. Then, on a day great in the annals of Art, Bach and Handel appeared to perfect the Fugue and the Oratorio, and then on another day almost as notable, came Haydn who, continuing the work of Emanuel Bach, developed 348 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER the String Quartette, the Sonata, and the Symphony, until they needed but that perfecting touch soon given by the master hand of Beethoven. At this culmination of the classical school, to whose music Mozart and Schubert had bequeathed many a flawless gem of song, but two roads lay before the composer ; one led down the slope of decadence, the other into a region previously unexplored, the vast and prolific realm of Romanticism. From its efflorescence Von Weber, that first of pioneer discoverers, brought pure and native loveliness to adorn his Freischutz, his Euryanthe, and his Oberon. Then followed Schumann and Chopin penetrating to deeper forest recesses, and there gathering the gossamery, and the delicately and the weirdly beautiful. Then Wagner, seeking the unknown of that dim and labyrinthian wilderness, found whatever of rare and strange and gorgeous luxuriance was hidden in its central heart. Therewith he decked the grotto of Venus, and the min- strel hall of Thuringia, and the lofty towers of Walhalla — doomed to fire — and crowned with garlands her gods and heroes. We may liken the classical composer to him who travels a smooth and level avenue long and broad and straight ; an avenue lined on either side by stately trees in whose symmetry he perceives the busy hand of the forester lopping here and there the wayward branch. The romantic composer is like unto one who threads some woodland aisle wherein Nature, holding undisputed sway, weaves of the fantastic and irregular an ever- 349 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER varying maze of grace and beauty. Our growing, modern preference for the naturally rather than the artificially beautiful, gave to Romanticism in art and lit- erature its chief and original impulse. Here and now on this continent the natural largely predominates ; these lands, both new and ample, are not yet overrun by the artificialities that hamper a long- existing old-world civilization. America offers room for, and would incite to achievement, a larger Romanti- cism than any obtaining in European lands. We, as a people, have not yet surrendered to the arbitrary dictates of Convention ; we, as a whole, are more than nominally free ; and our freedom from and defiance of many evils that heretofore have tyrannized mankind, surely will demand an expression broad, and bold, and masculine, from our National Composer. Now whilst there exists, under law, a freedom both in art and society, there can and does exist a lawlessness in art corresponding to that deplorable condition which often has disrupted states and empires. But fortunately between law and lawlessness a boundary, a line of safety, is determinable which the judicious will ever recognize. Should the American Composer appear to-day, he would instinctively oppose the ultraist in art. Certain composers and poets have ignored precedent and essayed originality at any cost. Whilst the merely novel has its followers, these be seekers after strange gods, fickle worshippers from shrine to shrine. Who- 3SO THE AMERICAN COMPOSER soever would prove an epoch-maker should by no means undervalue the past ; from it he inherits largely, how- ever much he may seemingly transcend it. Long should he sit an earnest disciple at the feet of Time. So shall he profit by her experience learned in the schools of both Wisdom and Folly. The National American Composer will be a reverent student of his predecessors. Resourceful, he will show the violation of music's sacred tenets to be not only unnecessary but also a proof of the ignorance, or insincerity, or paucity, of the innovator. Learned in the language universal, the musical masterpieces of every nation assimilated with his artistic self, he withal shall be no copyist, no slave to convention, no arbitrary partisan, no weak back-stepper in the onward path. Although his language be the universal one, and, as previously stated, the materials at his disposal only those accessible to all men, inevitably there will appear in him characteristics which impart to music a local and national as well as world quality. Let us illustrate briefly the cause of this. The world- enveloping atmosphere, inbreathed by man, is permeated and tinctured by the peculiar emanations of each local- ity ; also it is sensitive to wide, climatic influences ; but only at great altitudes does it everywhere approach a uniform condition. Correspondingly, there exists the local, national, and world, life and thought of man. Even as his body incorporates the physical of Nature, do his mind and soul assimilate the local, national, and 351 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER world, life and thought according to his affinity and capacity for them ; and the result of the creative imag- ination of mind and soul — superlatively exemplified by the masterpieces of art and literature — is the local, national, and world, life and thought epitomized and moulded into tangible form. Could we gather into one vast museum all the mas- terpiece creations of the chisel and brush of the ancients, and could we restore the literary treasures of the Alexandrian library, and could we summon from the silence the Grecian modes, and the vanished notes of Egyptian and Hebrew music both vocal and instru- mental, we should have in these arts collectively, and even respectively, an epitome of the local, national, and universal, of the antique world. Likewise, the locally and nationally European, and the universal of the stern, dogmatic world of the Middle Ages, is con- centrated in the artistic achievements of the mediaevals. In the German music of Bach and Handel and Haydn, we welcome the morning of our modern day wherein the genius of Beethoven rays celestial light. Reason- ing from the past, we with safety conclude that the music of the American Composer will epitomize the local, national, and world, life and thought of his day. It is improbable that the masters of the classical school of music ever philosophized and speculated upon their art. With the exception of Schumann and Berlioz and Wagner, the same may be said of the composers of the romantic school . Their classicism or romanticism — the 352 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER epitome of existing local, national, and world, conditions — was theirs inevitably ; more impalpable than the sur- rounding air, it reached and filled their subconscious- ness at every indrawn breath. But above and beyond classicism and romanticism, something more subtle still, something all-pervasive as the ether of space, dilated and swayed their inmost, artistic being. Instruments they were, instruments attuned and played upon even as those for which they composed. Whether the American Composer will be a many- sided genius, a philosopher, a poet, in short a Wagner ; or whether like Beethoven he will focus his individuality on music only, is of course conjecture. Child of a cos- mopolitan race, probably he will inherit the versatility for which the Americans are already noted ; but his versatility will have but little specific influence on the national character of his music. Contemplating a por- trait by Rubens, one beholds the painter of the Flemish school, but not the ambassador and diplomat who never- theless is there because in the act of artistic begetting somewhat of each component of the mind was imparted to this particular child of fancy. On the other hand, in Rubens, the ambassador and diplomat, the painter and his school, though present, were not discoverable by his political associates. Whatsoever is true of the painter and his art will be parallelled by the American Composer and his musical works. Though from first to last a man thoroughly human ; a man the lover of his kind ; a man of masculine 353 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER mind and feminine intuition ; a man superlatively sensi- tive, therefore acted upon by his total environment, and yet, by innate force a man ever reacting upon that envi- ronment ; the American Composer will be, like the immortals of other lands, preeminently an instrument of the supersensible, an instrument of that which is broader and higher and deeper than the tangible world. For this reason the obsessing power of the worldly is almost nullified when, in moments of highest inspiration, he surrenders himself to the influx of the True, the Beau- tiful, the Good. In those rare moments is born an art the child of blended Earth and Heaven ; an art, accord- ing to its purity, the antagonist of evil, and the co-worker with religion pure and undefiled. Because the inmost spirit of Music is the offspring and expression of Beauty, Truth, and Good, that spirit is eternal and forever changeless amidst the vicissitudes of temporal things ; but its material body, the vehicle which alone renders it palpable to our material sense, does, like every other offspring of the material, incor- porate more or less of the earth ; therefore is that body capable of expressing both the highest and the lowest in human nature ; therefore also is it, like the creedal body of Religion — whose spirit is another expression of Beauty, Truth and Good — a changeful thing which, in successive re-embodiments adown the ages, becomes subject to both dwarfing and developing forces. Those composers of the classical school who pro- duced the fugue, the oratorio, the sonata, and the 354 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER symphony, moulded for Music a body of strength in repose, a body statuesque and graceful as with the contours of Greek sculpture. The great, modern romanticist who originated the Music-Drama, gave to the indwelling spirit of Music a body titanic ; a body throbbing with the life of imperious Woton and the wild, restless Valkyrs and the fierce, implacable warriors of the North. Now that Beethoven and Wagner and their compeers are behind us, we look to the American Composer, the fashioner of Music's body to be. Never in the Earth's annual revolution does it pass twice through the same region of space, for the sun its center, not yet has circled in an orbit begun before the foundations of the earth were laid. No hour, no day, no year, is wholly like any preceding it. Nothing that returns in the world of fashion, nothing recurring in the world of thought, comes as it was. The old Olympic games have lately been reproduced but not counterparted, besides they lack the intellectual atmosphere of classic Greece which for a thousand years environed them. Those Hindu and Platonic philosophies revived by the Theosophist and the Christian Scientist, are, by their exponents, permeated and colored with the hues of modern thought. Probably the so-called dead languages as at present spoken, would be curious dialects to an Ionian or Attic Greek, or a Roman. Whether in style the American Composer revert to the classic — which is improbable — or continue in the 355 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER ways of the romantic, his will be a classicism or roman- ticism epitomizing the total of then-existing local, national, and world conditions, and not the classicism or romanticism before obtaining. If there be in his environment an3rthing not expressible by the classic or the romantic, then, inevitably, will he become the founder of a new school ; meanwhile his brother musi- cians, comparatively undiscerning and unimpressionable and for that reason and to that extent deficient in genius, will continue in the old routine, or else become mere reflectors of his style. Furthermore, whether the American Composer, like Sebastian Bach, employ every resource known to strict counterpoint, or, like Richard Wagner, he be master of chromatic progres- sion, making manifold use of the intermediate notes of the scale, or whether he find his effective means in the harmonic materials with which Beethoven builded, assuredly he will as melodist and harmonist prove unlike any of the three. Perception of the multifarious color-tints of nature has grown steadily from Homeric times to those of Turner, Keats, and Tennyson. Musicians have found the cor- respondents of visible colors in the audible ones of the orchestra. These tone-colors our modern composers are more and more impelled to produce ; therefore the orchestral music of Berlioz, Wagner, Liszt, and the Russian composers, abounds in color-effects undreamed by Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. The pianoforte pieces of Chopin contain modulations 3S6 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER and progressions which greatly displeased Mendelssohn, that scholarly adherent of Bach and the fugueal style. The consecutive octavos and open fifths numerous in the works of Wagner and Grieg, were absolutely prohibited in the time of Bach. With modern harmonists, notably those of the romantic school, the tendency is ever away from the theory and practice of the strict contrapuntist. It is now generally admitted that the musical effect justifies the harmonic means. All apparent conditions considered, it is more than probable that the American Composer will be a modern imbued with the spirit of the moderns ; an exemplifier of every desirable orchestral effect, and a user of the rich and varied harmonic mate- rials accumulated through the patience, ingenuity, and wisdom of his forerunners. The compositions of the English school have borne the impress of Handel down to our own day. It is pos- sible that the individuality of Wagner, like that of Handel, will, for a long time, more or less dominate the individuality of his every successor. It is probable that the works of our great, native genius will bear some impress of that puissant individuality ; but although he profit by the broad, original, and modern treatment of harmony and form revealed in the Wagnerian Music- Drama, it is safe to predict that the American Composer will not be much influenced by the German musician's peculiar theory that instrumental music is, of itself, incomplete and unsatisfactory ; that its proper function is, primarily, to accompany and reinforce the human 357 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER voice, and with its specific eloquence, accentuate the uttered words of the singer ; and, secondarily, to illustrate the action of the drama. Again, if the American Com- poser, like Whitman the poet, and Wagner the musician, should prove a reactor against abuses active in his art, let us hope to find him a man of mental equipoise, a genius whose thoroughly sound judgment cannot permit reaction to exceed action. Musical tendencies nowadays are toward the dramatic ; although Berlioz furnished the original incentive, the present movement is largely attributable to the appear- ance of the Wagnerian Music-Drama. Beethoven, the master of the loftiest and most sustained of musical styles, looked deep into his heart and wrote his noble and transporting instrumental music simply as music. Nowhere did the composer usurp the specific function of the verbal delineator. Poured forth is the language of the heart, that language pure and simple, that lan- guage basic and universal, that language original and final — upon which all spoken vocabularies are but obscuring shadows and hiding excrescencies — his instrumental music is, and always shall be, every- where understood of men. Now the psychologist, emboldened by his literary vic- tories, and the impressionist, nothing daunted by the dubious result of his efforts with the brush, have invaded the province of music and would inflict upon us, and cause to reign over us, that producer from the head rather than the heart, — the maker of Programme Music. 358 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER Although I have claimed that music is an epitome of life, I have also claimed that the epitomizing composer is innocent of actual intent. The world life, or any part thereof, is epitomized not by his deliberate, intellectual effort, but in fact by his subconscious wisdom acting more or less independent of time and space, in moments of what is called inspiration. Hence it follows that Pro- gramme Music, the abnormal result of premeditated effort, is meaningless to any listener unacquainted with its verbal interpretation ; and even that interpretation is mostly an arbitrary one. The great of former times, from the peaks of musi- cianship saw not a horizon now discerned by the average composer from any hilltop. Unfortunately, the Pro- gramme musician has climbed to a region of outstretch- ing clouds whereon he imagines an advancing footway. If the American Composer would attain to a wide out- look, let him rise above the fogs and mists of Programme Music. Again, let us hope he will not belittle himself to bizarre effects, and the company of those eccentric musical contottionists whose writhings and posturings are suggestive of anything but grace, dignity, and beauty. When Beethoven had created his last string quartette, and the culminating pianoforte sonatas, and the great sj'^mphony for chorus and orchestra, it seemed no doubt to his most discerning admirers that the mine of musical material was exhausted ; but, ere long, Schumann and Chopin proved that prolific veins still awaited the explorer. How vast the wealth of golden ingots, and of 359 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER minted coin, heaped in the treasuries of kings ! How glorious the gems ablaze upon their brows ! But how that wealth grows poor, and how that glory fades, when we but think of Earth's deep treasury, and all that empearls the hidden floor of Ocean ! Whence the authority of him who declares the sculp- tures of Phidias, and the epics of Homer, and the dramas of Shakespeare, glories forever unique? Whence the dictum of him who proclaims the oratorios of Handel, and the symphonies of Beethoven, inspira- tions unmatchable? Why the assurance of him who would circumscribe the capabilities of the American Composer, or predetermine the limit of his path of progress ? It is inconceivable that twenty years back, any one would have chosen the distant and enervating clime of India as the birthplace of a virile and world-famous English poet. Although we have in Kipling much of objective localism plus a slight flavor of Oriental mysti- cism, yet is he practical and English to the backbone ; a poet most susceptible to British national conditions. On the other hand, we have in Joaquin Miller, the poet of the Sierras, an author more locally than nationally American. Although our western, pioneer civilization should have evolved America's most unconventional genius. Whitman in fact sprung from staid ancestry in the old Empire State, and almost within the shadows of her great metropolis, where in after years he often sought an inspiration. 360 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER He will indeed be a lucky guesser who, in these days of rapid and easy intercommunication, and general dissemination of knowledge, foretells whether in Maine or California, whether north or south of Darien, our American Composer, rising superior to the merely pro- vincial and even the altogether national, will stand forth and in some unmistakable masterpiece naively yet authoritatively announce and prove his title. However, it may be safely predicted that despite the gross and uninspiring of an age wherein no spontaneous Schubert sings, no giant Handel welds the massive chords in choral praise, no rapt Beethoven finds the keynote of man's nobler self, soon, in our vital, western world, a master-musician will sound the gamut of a mighty people's life. The restless, furrowed sea appears an angry and for- bidding thing, yet wide and deep a calm is hidden therein. The bough that tosses in the tempest, the slender branch swayed by the faintest breeze, the flut- tering, falling, withering leaf, belie the stalwart trunk's immovable life that long shall endure when his frame who looks on these has mingled with the dust. Surely the American Composer would despair, and every hope and help in his grand song remain unsung, were it not that beneath the scramble and hubbub of competitive commercialism, and beneath the discordant contentions of the political arena, and beneath the folly and fickleness and artificiality of fashion, and beneath whatever bends, and falls to fading before the breath of 361 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER variable opinion ; in short, were it not that beneath the outward and impermanent, the life of America is unfe- vered and normal, and tranquillity abides in her great, steadfast heart. Let not the pessimist look askance at the American Composer, nor deem his well-appointed natal hour the sombre twilight of Art's dying day. Her high-ascended Sun shall shine auspicious on his cradled infancy, and on his manhood's prime shall outpour the zenith of its noontide splendor. In summarizing his characteristics I would wholly doubt his reversion to classical models, those noble epitomes of a bygone time. As to Roman- ticism, I have considered the fact that the epitomizer of novel conditions is of necessity a unique artist. The American Composer, a student of former musical epochs and himself an epoch-maker, whilst illustrating the methods of modernism doubtless will prove a musi- cian of judgment, the preserver of the sane and satisfying mean betwixt the timid conservative and the hazarding extremist who delights in the ugly and grotesque. In him I would see no intellectual aristocrat, but rather an American cosmopolite and humanitarian. Always a keen observer, always a deep learner in the great school of the teeming world, he shall grow to symmetry, to composite manhood, exemplifying whatsoever is strong and sweet, whatsoever is laudable and lovable in the masculine and the feminine human. A being earth- born, yet heavenward-impelled by high-uplifting enthu- siasms ; one whose pliant heart-strings angel hands have 362 THE AMERICAN COMPOSER touched to melody ; a weaver and welder of harmonies ; a builder of tonal structures both vocal and instrumental ; a tone poet, a tone painter, a tone sculptor, shaping for the indefinable soul of Music a body of palpable beauty ; a genius, from his own fullness an enricher not only of his time but also of times to come ; — these, all these, I prophesy ; and unto him the American Composer, unto him the unselfish bestower of edifying and ennobling things, shall Earth and Heaven make continual recom- pense. The zephyr's whispered sigh, the storm's wild dithy- ramb, the wave-dash of the vexed sea, the dull surge- thunder, the purl of gliding brooks, the roar of head- long torrents, the melancholy plaint of forest pines, the daybreak greetings from roadside and wood, and the solitary sweet "good night ! " of nesting bird, shall bring to his ear their welcome message. And voices nearer, voices more eloquent, from out the joy and sorrow of our human kind shall come fraught with all that calls to lips a smile, or to the eye a tear. And voices nearer yet, celestial voices with whose rapture the morning and evening and midnight stars — creation-old — make choral symphony, ineffable voices, in his wakened soul shall choir, ' ' Whate'er thou hearest, O Musician ! sing again !" 363 FINALE MY words are ended, and no inky stain May further rob these pages of their white, Or spread thereon a dubious delight. Methinks the wise long since exclaimed, " Refrain ! Thy feeble say makes potent themes inane ! Ere half this task the Muse betook to flight ! Thy wearied shunner left, in prosy plight, A dismal length ; a more of loss than gain !" And yet of one who hath no human child, This book, in lieu of blood, shall bear the name ; From him inherit ridicule, or fame, Or else oblivion ; aye, the dumb neglect Apportioned to the Muse's nonelect On whom her saving choice hath never smiled.