LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. Copyright No. 
 
 Shelf.vJtiAE *^ 
 ) % ^ (o 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
ECHOES FROM THE •• 
 
 MOUNTAIN 
 
 C. E. D.'t^HELPS, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY." 
 
 4t 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON 
 
 27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 
 
 Ube Iknicficrbociser ipress 
 1896 
 
 K:::> 
 
^^^^ 
 
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 I i ^ 
 
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 Copyright, 1896 
 
 BY 
 
 C. E. D. PHELPS 
 
 
 Zbc 1knici!erbocl;ev iptress, mew ^oxJi 
 
TO MY WIFE. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 Some of the poems here collected have appeared in The 
 Christian Union, Hearth and Home, Congregationalist, Home 
 Journal, Poet Lore, and other magazines. The Epithala- 
 mium, which with some others appeared in the Buffalo 
 Magazine of Poetry, was first printed in the author's novel, 
 The Bailiff of Tewkesbury (A. C. McClurg & Co.). 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CLASSICAL : 
 
 Echoes from the Mountain i 
 
 OCYPETE 2 
 
 Bellerophon 14 
 
 Song of the Sirens 16 
 
 PiTYS 18 
 
 Syrinx 20 
 
 The Corinthian Capital 22 
 
 Cimmeria 25 
 
 Iris 27 
 
 MEDIEVAL: 
 
 Oscar 29 
 
 Sola 35 
 
 How Frankfort was Founded . . .38 
 
 The Bat's Origin 41 
 
 Bertrand de Born 43 
 
 Epithalamium 45 
 
 GOUVERT LOCKERMAN 46 
 
 Youth and Love 49 
 
 SONNETS : 
 
 Shakespeare 50 
 
VIU 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Browning . 
 
 Keats 
 
 Shelley . 
 
 The Leaf . 
 
 A Winter Garden 
 
 Poesy 
 
 Tansy 
 
 A Portrait 
 
 The Fitting Word 
 
 The Meadow-Pinks 
 
 The Wood Road 
 
 MODERN : 
 
 The Two Strangers 
 
 Flavia Bent 
 
 The Way to Heaven 
 
 The Sphinx 
 
 The Old Gardener 
 
 The Water Jump 
 
 Gray and Silver 
 
 Cupid's Captures 
 
 Cupid's Weapon 
 
 The Tall Girls 
 
 Two OR Three . 
 
 The Sleep-Stream 
 
 Sesame 
 
 Aspiration 
 
 PAGE 
 51 
 
 52 
 
 53 
 54 
 55 
 56 
 57 
 58 
 
 59 
 60 
 6i 
 
 62 
 67 
 69 
 71 
 73 
 74 
 76 
 77 
 79 
 80 
 82 
 83 
 85 
 87 
 
ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN 
 
ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN, 
 
 The Mount Parnassus 
 Hath caves and passes 
 For all the choir 
 Of dryad breed ; 
 And there is walking 
 Bright Echo, mocking 
 Both Phoebus' lyre, 
 And Pan's rude reed. 
 
 The gods accost her. 
 And often foster 
 Her imitations 
 Of each low tone, 
 And from past ages 
 She disengages 
 Reverberations 
 Which reach our own. 
 I 
 
OCYPETE. 
 
 *T WAS noon. At Salmydessus in far Thrace 
 A ship was newly drawn upon the beach, 
 The water yet ran down her pitchy sides 
 In crooked threads, and her long keel had left 
 A clear sharp furrow in the yellow sand. 
 Some sling-cast distant rose the snowy walls 
 Of a fair palace ; and before its gate, 
 Like a green copse circling an aged oak, 
 About King Phineus stood the Argonauts. 
 
 Neglected, blind, and helpless, Phineus sat. 
 Feeling with sightless face towards the sun. 
 And yet some remnant of his former grace 
 Bedecked the royal ruin, and the gift 
 Of prophecy shone from his leaden eyes. 
 The throng of youths stood mute and reverent, 
 While, lowly bowing, Jason thus began: 
 
 " O King ! I need not tell thee who we are. 
 Or whence, or what we seek ; I but request 
 
OCYPETE. 3 
 
 Thy wisdom's words, to guide us on the way 
 To swift completion of our noble task." 
 
 The King sat silent for a moment, then 
 Uttered a hollow voice, " Turn back ! turn back ! 
 Turn to the homes which lately sent ye forth 
 With lamentations. Death will come ere long. 
 Ye need not hunt him thus ; the land of Greece 
 Hath corn and wine and wool and gold enow, 
 And many a fairer maid than Medea, 
 But doth not hold a fate more terrible 
 Than shall be some of yours, if ye persist." 
 
 A shudder ran along the host, as when 
 The first cold breath of autumn wakes the leaves 
 From summer's languor. Paler than before, 
 But proudly frowning, Jason spoke again. 
 
 " Phineus, thou speakest truth, but not the 
 whole 
 Of truth. We needed not to learn that death 
 Is common, mortals weak, and youth the time 
 For all enjoyment. Joy is not the best. 
 Valor can make the death we share with brutes 
 An envied prize : Glory can change the grave 
 From a disgracious hole among the clods 
 To a fair portal, through the which we pass 
 With exultation to a godlike host. 
 
4 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Thyself art proof that home-abiding men 
 May have their griefs. Come, raise that prophet- 
 voice 
 Which travels further than thine eyes were wont ; 
 Share in our triumph, as thou canst, O King ! 
 And warn us of the dangers we may 'scape, 
 Not from our goal, the one world-famous Fleece." 
 
 He ceased. The utterance of that youthful hope 
 Flashed for a moment on the old King's face 
 Like lightning o'er a frozen lake ; but soon 
 Graying again, he murmured : "It is well ; 
 Deliver me from my vile enemies, 
 And ye shall have what counsel I can give." 
 
 While yet the Argonauts in wonder stood, 
 The palace door swung open, and the slaves 
 Came bearing forth King Phineus* mid-day meal. 
 They deftly spread a table in the midst, 
 Set forth the meat, the honey, cakes, and milk, 
 And slank away, with fearful upward looks. 
 
 Then in the heavens appeared a clamorous crowd, 
 Which, swift descending, showed three winged 
 
 shapes, 
 The hateful Harpies. One, as keeping guard, 
 Hovered apart ; with hideous braying cries 
 The other two rushed in upon their meal, 
 
OCYPETE. 5 
 
 Rending and fouling all the dainty food 
 
 With hooked talons and hot fetid breath. 
 
 Aello and Kelaino were their names. 
 
 Their faces were as women's, sometime fair, 
 
 But marked with scars of passion, hate, and crime. 
 
 From the neck downward vulture-like they showed, 
 
 With frayed and draggled plumage. As they 
 
 gorged. 
 Horrible jests and mirthless laughter rose. 
 
 Then Jason waved his hand, and the twin sons 
 Of Boreas, Zetes and Kalais, spread 
 Their pinions, drew their swords, and forward 
 
 sprang. 
 The Harpies hurried to their waiting mate, 
 Caught her between, and, gnashing, took their flight. 
 
 As when a shepherd casts a heap of chaff 
 On glowing coals, a dense and dusky flame 
 Bursts upward, then is borne by winds aslant. 
 So sudden soared the Harpies to the sky, 
 So straightly laid their course for Libya, 
 So swiftly rushed the Boreads in pursuit. 
 
 Whirling Propontis soon was overpast. 
 And Lemnos, and the gulf whence Argo came, 
 And long Euboea. O'er Kopais lake 
 They flew, and saw to left the violet hill 
 
6 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Where Athens should be set. The Cyclops huge 
 Ceased from the building of great Tiryns' walls, 
 And turned his eye upon the airy chase. 
 From deep Arcadia's woods the note of Pan 
 Came to their ears : fair Enipeus' pools 
 And Ladon's wave caught glimpses of the hunt. 
 They swept o'er Elis ; and before them stretched 
 The Mediterranean, like a second sky. 
 
 By this the panting Harpies flagged and drooped : 
 And Zetes, pressing closely in, his hand 
 Over Kelaino's shoulder strongly laid. 
 As the pursuant foam slides o'er a wave. 
 Turning to strike, her balance lost, she fell. 
 And with her dragged both her companions down. 
 Whirling and plunging, now essaying flight, 
 Now strife, now safety, from the clouds they came, 
 And on the larger of two rocky isles 
 South from Zacynthus, touched the earth at last. 
 
 Aello and Kelaino quickly rose 
 Prepared for fight. The Boreads waved their 
 
 swords 
 On high ; but ere a single blow was struck, 
 A shadowed rainbow and a visioned voice 
 Sounded and shone : " O brethren, slay them not, 
 But let them swear a peace and so depart." 
 
OCYPETE. 7 
 
 Then did Aello and Kelaino both 
 Abjectly vow by the great stream of Styx 
 Never to harm or rob blind Phineus more, 
 And, with permission given, took their flight ; 
 At first in silence sailing, but anon 
 Chattering and mocking ; and at last, with shouts 
 Of neighing laughter and with threats obscene, 
 They vanished toward the slowly westering sun. 
 
 The brothers eastward turned. The way was 
 long. 
 And with the sunset Argo hoisted sail. 
 By chance they looked upon a rocky cleft 
 Where the third Harpy fell. What saw they there ? 
 No hateful wounded bird, no shattered corpse, 
 But, all the shrouding vulture plumage gone, 
 A perfect woman form. On velvet grass 
 She lay, half overshadowed by the boughs 
 Of a wild olive which the rock had griped. 
 Not Hesione or Andromeda 
 'Twixt hope and terror, ever fairer glowed. 
 Or ever stilled more loveliness from tears. 
 
 " Who art thou ? " cried the Boreads. '' What is 
 this? 
 Where is the Harpy, whom we hither drave ? " 
 She, answering : " Let your thoughts do me right. 
 
8 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Though your swords slay me ; Ocypete, I ; 
 Sister to Iris, daughter to the gods. 
 Long time abode I in the turquoise tent, 
 Till, venturing too far on Haemus' slopes, 
 The cruel Harpies took me in their net. 
 With base enchantments and with baser threats 
 My form and mind they forced to take the shape 
 Of grim Podarge, their true comrade born. 
 They bore me with them in their plundering course, 
 They filled my eyes and ears with daily shame, 
 And sought to make me even as themselves. 
 Your deeds have broke the charm ; welcome is 
 death." 
 
 She waited, as the lamb awaits the blade 
 To cut his tether or to end his life. 
 Then Zetes, filled with love and pity, spake 
 Low to Kalais : " Brother, all the fame 
 I might have gained is naught to this : go thou 
 And take a double portion : tell the band 
 Our mission is fulfilled : resume thy place. 
 And follow Jason unto Colchis' shore. 
 Here is my goal, here is my Golden Fleece ! " 
 
 Kalais, searching round for arguments, 
 Answered : " Nay, brother, is the first fair face 
 (I grant it beautiful) which thou hast met 
 
OCYPETE, 9 
 
 To sway thee from thy purpose thus ? to end 
 Thy hopes in life, and half our father's hope ? 
 Hast thou escaped Propontis' roaring floods, 
 And fierce yEgean, and wilt drown thyself 
 Here in the shallow pools of two blue eyes ? 
 Bethink thee else that the enchantment, which 
 Hath done so much (if that her words be true) 
 May do yet more : may change her back again 
 Into some hideous beast, or serpent form, 
 To draw thy blood, or in a crushing coil 
 Press out thy life anon. Thou dost not blench ? 
 Then recollect the waiting Argonauts. 
 When I, in shame, relate this wondrous tale, 
 It will be said by all the company 
 That thou art slain, and I am scarce escaped 
 From the dread Harpies, whom we thought to quell ; 
 Who on the morrow shall return again 
 To vex blind Phineus, as they were wont. 
 I know that these small, rocky isles shall be 
 From this our turning, called the Strophades ; 
 And thus, in after ages, shall men speak : 
 
 " Here both the Boreads turned from the pursuit 
 And here did one of them turn from his faith." 
 
 But Zetes, mastered by a stronger force 
 Than hope, or fear, or pride, or even shame, 
 
10 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN, 
 
 Repeated still, " Here is my Golden Fleece! " 
 Kalais, seeing that he nought prevailed, 
 Scoffed out a burst of bitter laughter from 
 The bottom of his heart, and crying loud, 
 ** I leave thee to thy distaff ! " soared away. 
 Long Zetes watched the comrade of his youth, 
 Till the reflections of his dazzling wings 
 Grew faint as gossamer, and like a flake 
 Of snow he seemed to melt into the sky. 
 Then, sighing once, to Ocypete turned. 
 As one who doubts not welcome. 
 
 But a blush 
 Vermilion shielded all her face and breast. 
 And both her eyes, twin lance-points of blue steel, 
 Held him aloof. " Thou mayest think," she said, 
 " The Harpies' prize is honored, being thine. 
 Mistake me not. Although I companied 
 With them, I was not of them ; nor of thee 
 Will I be trodden down, and left to die 
 Like a crushed bloom. Prince of the northern 
 
 wind, 
 I may be too unworthy for thy bride, 
 I am less worthy to become thy prey." 
 
 Then Zetes, who rose momently to heights 
 His careless nature had not trod before. 
 
OCYPETE. II 
 
 Said : " Judge me not by all my brother's words, 
 Or my own thoughts of half an hour agone. 
 Until this day I knew thee not ; still less 
 Did I know Love. But he hath come, and dived 
 Into the deep recesses of my soul. 
 And brought up jewels of unfading light, 
 Which even myself knew not that I possessed. 
 I seek to crown thee with them as my queen 
 Forever. But, an' if thou wilt not hear, 
 I go my way. And though this day I lose 
 Honor, and name, and place, and brother's love. 
 Ay, and thyself as well, I shall not grieve 
 That I have known thee." 
 
 Ocypete, then 
 Relenting, said : " I did thee wrong, O Prince, 
 And I rejoice for that I did thee wrong. 
 But go. The sun is still far from his couch. 
 And thou mayest reach thy troop before the night. 
 Of all thy love for me thou speakest well ; 
 But Eros' wings are weak, and such short time 
 Could scarcely bring him hither. Leave me now. 
 Here are green leaves for life, gray stones for death. 
 Some day thou wilt pass by and see my grave ; 
 Or some celestial messenger may come ; 
 Zeus will have pity." 
 
12 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 " Pity ! " Zetes cried, 
 " He hath had pity ; so have I ; and none 
 Are wanting here in pity but thyself. 
 Sure this rough island-setting fits thee not, 
 
 fairest jewel mine. Come with me, come. 
 
 1 know a cool retreat in Thessaly, 
 Beneath the ceaseless surf-roar of the pines, 
 Where we will dwell. And in the winter time, 
 When all the brown and ruddy earth is gray. 
 And frost has laid his hand on sap and stream 
 And blood of mortals, 1 will lead thee forth ; 
 And thou shalt breathe upon the buds, and save 
 The next year's fruitage ; the conglomerate ice 
 That overloads the boughs, shall fall away : 
 The springs shall flow, the grass leap out, and all 
 Shall joy to see thy face. Come with me, come ! " 
 
 But Ocypete lingered yet. Her face, 
 Still flushed, tho' not with anger, seemed to strive 
 As if it would keep down a fluttering smile ; 
 And her right hand, hard locked within its mate, 
 Sought not to seek another's. 
 
 " Nay," once more 
 Spoke Zetes, " think not of thyself, but me ; 
 And cast me not from that fair mount of hope 
 Which I have climbed. In the long summer days. 
 
OCYPETE. 13 
 
 When all is parching, and I am enforced 
 Helpless to lie, then thou shall be my guide : 
 1 he weary beast, and yet more weary man, 
 Refreshed by me, shall rise up from the shade, 
 And find their toil a happiness : the sun, 
 Tempered by me, shall lose the terror which 
 Environs him for three long cruel months ; 
 And I a happiness in thee and this 
 Such as I never knew shall find. Say not 
 Thou yieldest ; I will speak the word for thee ! " 
 
 Thus Zetes wedded Ocypete fair, 
 And still among us dwells their daughter — Hail. 
 
BELLEROPHON. 
 
 My end is near. For many weary years 
 About the Plain of Wandering I have roam'd 
 An outcast from my kind. The sun is dim, 
 The winds are cold, the leaves are falling fast, 
 And I shall fall with them, nor rise again. 
 Yet can I not forget those golden days 
 When I, tho' mortal, ruled the immortal steed, 
 And bent him to my will. How oft, when stars 
 Were paling one by one, we left the earth 
 And met the morning in the upper air 
 While yet in darkness field and forest slept ! 
 Then, as the peasants from their cabins crawled, 
 Trailing their feet along the dewy grass, 
 We soared above them while the sunlight flashed 
 On belt and corselet, shield, and helm, and greave. 
 And the wide-waving cloud of snowy plumes. 
 Till the poor serfs looked up with dazzled eyes 
 Crying, " The gods have visited the earth," 
 14 
 
BELLEROPHON. 
 
 And knelt and prayed for blessings as I past. 
 The fell Chimaera died beneath my sword, 
 Barbarians fled in fear at my approach, 
 And all was well with me, until that day 
 When, in my pride, I strove to scale the throne 
 Where sits imperial Zeus. Alas ! alas ! 
 What man can strive with the immortal gods ? 
 Cast down, disgraced, deserted by my steed, 
 Here am I doomed, while life shall last, to roam. 
 
 Tho' Kronionos work his cruel will 
 Upon this weary frame and aching heart, 
 May not my memory live ? Long ages hence. 
 Perchance, when mortals name Bellerophon, 
 They will forget my last presumptuous deeds. 
 And the gray form among the Aleian sands. 
 And only think of that bright joyous youth 
 Who bridled Pegasus beside Pirene. 
 
THE SONG OF THE SIRENS. 
 
 Oh, turn your prows hither, Achaian strangers, 
 
 For this is your rest, and the end of toil. 
 What town is fairer, O stern sea rangers. 
 
 Of the well-built cities on Hellas' soil. 
 Than the sunny shore by this little river. 
 
 Which laughs on its way to the gleaming sea ? 
 Oh, stay, and your hearts to pleasure deliver. 
 
 For in this, our country, all pleasures be. 
 Why seek ye thus for your ancient places. 
 
 Forever denying your souls of joy. 
 With your hands yet stained with blood, and your 
 faces 
 
 Yet dark with the ashes of sacred Troy ? 
 Your lands are wasted, your names are forgotten, 
 
 The hair is gray on your famishing lips ; 
 Still beat ye the wave with oars half rotten, 
 
 And still are ye urging the hollow ships ? 
 Already each gathering billow whitens, 
 i6 
 
THE SONG OF THE SIRENS. \J 
 
 And the fierce wind carries the flakes of foam ; 
 When to-morrow's dawn in the eastward brightens 
 
 Forever shall vanish your dreams of home. 
 Then cold and stark on the slippery shingle 
 
 Your forms shall be thrown by the cruel waves, 
 Nor ever with Grecian earth shall ye mingle, 
 
 Nor ever lie in your fathers' graves. 
 Come, while ye are living, and draw up quickly 
 
 Your ocean-traversing keels on the sand. 
 And rest ye here beside us, while thickly 
 
 Sweet odors float from the meadows inland. 
 For these are the Happy Isles of the sages, 
 
 Where never is shed the piteous tear ; 
 And thus may ye tarry through blissful ages. 
 
 For naught but the sea is sorrowful here. 
 
PITYS. 
 
 A SONG of hapless love 
 Comes from the pine-tree. Rooted in the stones, 
 Bristling with shaggy bark and pointed cones, 
 She stands, repelling all whose grosser ears 
 Know not the secret which her music bears. 
 For still the song remains, sweet as when first 
 Some poet heard that threnody outburst 
 
 From the Arcadian grove. 
 
 For when the breezes fan 
 Those spreading boughs, a gentle voice arises, 
 Telling of loneliness and glad surprises. 
 Of happy hours in the Grecian vale ; 
 Of dizzy heights — a cheek with terror pale — 
 And a light form among the boulders lying. 
 Done to her death — the voice of Pitys sighing 
 
 For unforgotten Pan. 
 
 18 
 
PITYS. 19 
 
 But all in vain her sigh : 
 Her lover walks no more among the rocks, 
 Sounding the sylvan pipe to milky flocks ; 
 He stands no more beside the faithful tree 
 Who spends for him her life in melody ; 
 The Hamadryad wakes not from the sleep 
 Which holds her of late years, inwalled deep 
 
 From sight of earth and sky. 
 
 Ever by night and day 
 Wail on, O Pitys ! Pour thy melodies 
 Of hopeless love upon the vagrant breeze. 
 The fleeting ages pass thee by in vain ; 
 They cannot move thee from that mournful strain. 
 Thy sorrow has no place of rest or cure. 
 Immortal love shall ever more endure 
 
 When all things else decay. 
 
SYRINX. 
 
 Fast fled fair Syrinx, Venus' rebel, 
 Fast down the valley Pan pursued ; 
 The goat-hoof, crashing on the pebble, 
 Dispelled her dreams, with daring rude. 
 
 Her fleetness might have foiled his forces. 
 As Atalanta's self she ran, 
 Until she came to Ladon's courses, 
 The river that was friend to Pan. 
 
 There crouched among the rushes quivering. 
 Half hidden in the envious wave. 
 She called, in tones with terror shivering. 
 Her sister nymphs : " O Naiads, save ! " 
 
 A moment — wide the branches scatter. 
 And trampling down the water-weeds, 
 In bursts the hot exultant satyr, 
 But only clasped a bunch of reeds. 
 
 20 
 
SYRINX. 21 
 
 Erelong repentant, he protested, 
 " The covert which she made her choice, 
 The reeds which Syrinx' form invested. 
 Henceforward shall contain her voice." 
 
 The reed became the lyre's rival. 
 And Pan with great Apollo vied ; 
 Still his invention has survival 
 Across the centuries that have died. 
 
 In all melodious aspirings 
 When captive air is chained to notes, 
 Pan's finger, and the fear of Syrinx, 
 Define the song that outward floats. 
 
THE CORINTHIAN CAPITAL. 
 
 O'er the Grecian cemetery- 
 Fell the dark autumnal day, 
 
 While away 
 
 From their babe in earth reposing 
 
 Turned the parents, sad and slow, 
 Hopeless in that short life's closing, 
 
 Twenty centuries ago. 
 
 Poverty's incessant pressure 
 Left them not a stone to raise : 
 
 But they place 
 
 All the toys, the dead child's treasure, 
 
 In a basket by the tomb. 
 
 And the journey slowly measure 
 
 To their solitary home. 
 
 Time, with steps that crush out sorrow. 
 
 Brought again the happy spring ; 
 Each green thing 
 
 22 
 
THE CORINTHIAN CAPITAL. 23 
 
 Laughed, outreaching to the morrow, 
 When an artist, wise and brave. 
 
 Seeking nature's hints to borrow. 
 Paused beside that infant's grave. 
 
 There a young acanthus, heaving. 
 Raised the basket from the ground, 
 
 Twining round 
 
 Every osier, interweaving, 
 
 Drooping like a fountain's fall ; 
 And Callimachus, perceiving, 
 
 Cried, *' Behold my capital ! " 
 
 Then he reared a temple holy, 
 
 And upon each pillar placed 
 A stone-traced 
 
 Semblance of that offering lowly ; 
 Soon through Corinth spread its fame. 
 
 And to other nations slowly 
 The bright revelation came. 
 
 Childhood's sportive slight endeavor, 
 Hope that loving hearts have shed 
 On its head, 
 
24 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Death that comes those hopes to sever, 
 Life arising out of death, 
 
 All are symbolized forever 
 In the white acanthus wreath. 
 
CIMMERIA. 
 
 Beyond the surging of the ocean stream, 
 Out of the reach of shifting winds it lies ; 
 There never comes the sun with cheering beam, 
 No planet glitters in those murky skies. 
 Morning, and night, and evening join in one, 
 Summer and winter sit on equal throne ; 
 No lightnings flash, no thunders rise or cease. 
 Nor hear they meanings from the sea's abyss 
 There, where the tumult of no tempest is. 
 Beyond the bounds of human war or peace. 
 
 But when with us Apollo highest drives 
 His chariot, in the long bright summer days, 
 While Night against his power vainly strives, 
 Then the Cimmerians see a gleaming haze 
 Shine from the distant world of happy men 
 Over the rim of their dark world ; and then 
 They say, " The gods have gathered to the feast, 
 2 25 
 
26 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Let us go thither ! " but the vision fades 
 
 Ere their weak feet can bear them from the shades 
 
 Which never yet a victim have released. 
 
 Yet there dwells Life, tho' faint and half afraid, 
 And though all men walk in the shadow there 
 With trembling steps and faces half dismayed. 
 Yet still they breathe the vital upper air. 
 Tho' it be dark, their home is real and true, 
 Not like that under world of livid hue 
 Where Aidoneus sits on phantom throne, 
 Where airy images renew their days, 
 Seeming to act again in earthly ways. 
 And Pain and Pleasure are alike unknown. 
 
IRIS. 
 
 Thou knowest not the parchinj 
 Of summer's cruel drought ; 
 Thou seest not the marching 
 Of snows in winter rout ; 
 But thine the emerald sod is, 
 And flowery cups that brim, 
 O amaranthine goddess, 
 Beneath the rainbow rim ! 
 
 For thee dusk sun-rays pencil 
 The slopings of the wold. 
 For thee fair lilies stencil 
 The ancient cloth of gold. 
 Of Tyrian hue thy bodice, 
 Thy crown the dewdrops trim 
 O amaranthine goddess. 
 Beneath the rainbow rim ! 
 27 
 
28 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 The breezes all pursue thee, 
 Moved by thy virgin pride. 
 Great Pan himself doth woo thee, 
 And seek thee for his bride. 
 The spot where thou hast trod is 
 A jewel cast to him. 
 O amaranthine goddess, 
 Beneath the rainbow rim ! 
 
OSCAR. 
 
 Oscar, a Northern sailor-lad, had strayed 
 
 To mediaeval Pisa ; and, delayed 
 
 By sickness, by Lord Gismond's kindness healed, 
 
 For years had been his ready sword and shield. 
 
 At night, when Gismond closed his chamber door, 
 
 Oscar lay down beside it on the floor ; 
 
 By day, when Gismond down the causeway stept, 
 
 Still the huge Norseman at his elbow kept ; 
 
 And more than once some stabber's ready knife 
 
 Had turned at thought of Oscar's skill in strife. 
 
 One other image half his heart had swayed — 
 Concetta 't was, the pretty waiting-maid 
 Of Gismond's lady. Dimples, smiles, dark hair, 
 And less than twenty years without a care, 
 Made up a catching whole. She coveted 
 A certain ruby, set in golden thread : 
 29 
 
30 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN, 
 
 For this had Oscar saved his yearly wage, 
 With this he thought her promise to engage, 
 For still, when he a plea for hope would bring. 
 She said : " First, giant, fetch the ruby ring." 
 
 So time went on, until, one day, in burst 
 Of unaccustomed passion, Gismond cursed. 
 And struck the Scandinavian in the face. 
 One moment the fierce blood of Oscar's race 
 Leaped up ; the next, he said : ^'Thou art my Lord." 
 At morning, Gismond, uttering not a word 
 Of greeting or of bidding, outward went 
 Alone ; while Oscar, moody, discontent, 
 Toiled idly through the day in weary ease. 
 Thinking what bearing might his master please. 
 At last the hour arrived which should bring home 
 The loungers all from palace, court, or dome 
 Of learning. Down the street might Oscar see 
 The well-known form, the face where majesty 
 And meanness mingled ; beauty half depraved. 
 Innocent eyes, and lips with evil graved. 
 He walked beside a poet of foul lays, 
 Discussing renderings of a doubtful phrase 
 In Seneca, the fashion of a glove, 
 
OSCAR. 31 
 
 Or some light jest on some light hundredth love. 
 
 He entered, Oscar to the pavement stooped, 
 
 Yet looking upward ; Gismond never drooped 
 
 An eye, or moved a lip, but hurried on. 
 
 And to his sleeping-room was quickly gone. 
 
 For hours the Norseman crouched with hidden face; 
 
 He knew not that the day to night gave place. 
 
 Or that his sword no longer lay beside ; 
 
 He only hoped to keep his eyelids dried. 
 
 At last Concetta's touch was on his arm ; 
 
 She spoke : " Poor Oscar, did he do thee harm ? 
 
 He meant it not ; he '11 smile to-morrow bright. 
 
 Come, Oscar, I will smile on thee to-night." 
 
 She led him to a room where flagons shine. 
 
 And then departed for a flask of wine. 
 
 A joy wave overrunning all his woe, 
 He couched his head against the curtain's flow, 
 And dreamed upon a future Northern home, 
 Set between mountain snow and ocean foam. 
 With bright Concetta smiling 'neath his roof, 
 Pure sun and song. 
 
 What was that noise aloof ? 
 By chance his ear was laid against the end 
 
32 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Of one of those dark whispering- tubes which wend 
 Their way through fathoms of old Pisa's walls, 
 Emerging where the sunlight never falls ; 
 For what base hate or baser love contrived 
 What man may say? And through the course 
 
 arrived 
 These mutterings. 
 
 *' Our boat waits at the gulf ; 
 Little Concetta has the Northern wolf 
 Fast by the ears " " Here 's the barbarian's 
 
 sword ; 
 We *11 lay it close beside the mangled Lord, 
 And all will say his watch-dog did the deed 
 In vengeance " " Hist ! Concetta, make more 
 
 speed." 
 
 Oscar, his brain a-whirl, heavily leaned 
 Upon one hand, and from distraction gleaned 
 A sheaf of purpose. Minutes slowly passed 
 Like hours of weary agony. At last 
 The door swung and Concetta entered quick. 
 His whetted senses heard the lock-bolt cUck 
 Behind her, and he knew he was betrayed 
 To death and shame, even by the pretty maid 
 
OSCAR. 33 
 
 Who looked upon him with that pouting smile 
 Which never until now failed to beguile. 
 He started. 
 
 " Bad one, where dost go ? " 
 " To bring 
 What thou hast asked so oft — the ruby ring." 
 
 A bound — a shoulder-drive — the splintered door 
 Flew from its hinges. In a moment more, 
 Among the pad-foot murderers, swift and dull 
 He rained his furious blows. With shattered skull, 
 One down the stairway rolled. A second fell ; 
 While circling closely round him, like a bell 
 About its battering tongue, each bravo's knife 
 Sought for his heart. But deep lies Norman life, 
 And high soars Norman strength. From his worst 
 
 wound 
 Snatching their weapon best, he dealt around 
 The yelling throng. Struck by an upward blow, 
 A chain-hung lamp swung wildly to and fro 
 Above the fray. At last a remnant fled. 
 Leaving the hall with wounded strewn and dead. 
 
 Waked from his heavy slumber by the sound 
 Of strife, Lord Gismond forth his way had found, 
 
34 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 And stood with armed hand and slippered foot, 
 Gazing upon the carnage. Bleeding, mute. 
 His faithful henchman slowly toward him crept, 
 And caught his robe ; and from his heart there 
 
 leapt 
 A throb of joy, as on the noble's face 
 He saw of love and penitence some trace. 
 Then, at a frightened sobbing on the stair, 
 He feebly whispered, " Is Concetta there ? 
 Give me thy hand. What — do the blood drops 
 
 cling 
 About it, Sweet ? It is — thy ruby ring." 
 
SOLA. 
 
 Red and dusky plots of mire, 
 Cawing crows that slowly pass 
 
 Overhead ; and one long brier 
 Lying on the ashy grass 
 
 Like a living brand of fire. 
 
 Shadow from the eastern wall, 
 Shadow from the southern pines. 
 
 Shadows from the sunset fall 
 Down the terraces of vines ; 
 
 So my days go, one and all. 
 
 Yes, you said : '' Be blithe and gay, 
 Surely I will come anon. 
 
 Long from thee I cannot stay. 
 Soon the winter will be gone, 
 
 And December melt to May." 
 35 
 
36 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 O my Lord, you spoke me fair, 
 But methought upon your face 
 
 Came a momentary care 
 
 Lest I should perceive a trace 
 
 Of the joy I could not share. 
 
 When you turned upon the fell, 
 
 Waved your hand to keep me pleased, 
 
 Was the gesture mere farewell, 
 Or delight of one released 
 
 From long bondage — who can tell ? 
 
 You saw but the fairest side 
 Of the web whereat I strove. 
 
 And to colors brighter pied 
 Than my feeble hand ere wove 
 
 Turn you now, unsatisfied ? 
 
 " But I promised, " so you say, 
 " Soon I would be with her there. 
 
 For a season though I stray, 
 
 This is pastime." Saw you ne'er 
 
 On a long-expected day 
 
SOLA. 37 
 
 In the very heart of Spring 
 (Crystal clear without a flaw) 
 
 Some poor dead and sapless thing, 
 All too late the tardy thaw 
 
 For its hope of blossoming ? 
 
 Day by day I pine and wither 
 
 For your presence, in like fashion ; 
 
 What may join us two together — 
 Habit, duty, love, compassion ? 
 
 O my husband, hasten hither ! 
 
HOW FRANKFORT WAS FOUNDED. 
 
 In the days long ago when through Europe 
 A squirrel could pass on a sure rope 
 Of boughs interlaced ; when the longest 
 Date had but three figures ; when strongest 
 Men ruled, and the feeble submitted, 
 A youth whom his sweetheart had twitted 
 With laziness, set out one morning 
 An hour or more before dawning 
 To bring her some larks, young and callow. 
 From their nest in the shade of the sallow. 
 " It is chilly and damp by the river," 
 Said he, "but she '11 smile on the giver." 
 
 For once, he had risen too early ; 
 The mist-wreaths hung scattered and curly 
 O'er the Main, and one star, like a spy, light 
 And fearful, was fleeing the twilight. 
 Not many the minutes he waited, 
 38 
 
HOW FRANKFORT WAS FOUNDED. 39 
 
 For long ere his patience abated 
 
 From the opposite shore came a murmur 
 
 Of voices, now fainter now firmer ; 
 
 Dry branches were snapping and scattering, 
 
 And weapons were ringing and clattering, 
 
 And shadowy shapes, like a torrent. 
 
 Rushed into the swift-flowing current. 
 
 Half man and half beast, as the halos 
 Of morning shone dim on the shallows. 
 They seemed. Over helmet and corselet 
 Hung wolf-skins with tooth and with claw set ; 
 And the form of their leader, whose proud head 
 Rose high o'er his comrades, was shrouded 
 In the hide of the hugest and hoarest 
 Bear that ever roamed Germany's forest. 
 Though Charlemagne stood there defeated, 
 Though, foiled, from the foe he retreated, 
 His mind, of all accidents master, 
 Snatched fame from the jaws of disaster. 
 
 All dripping, and breathless, and muddy, 
 They climbed from the waves that grew ruddy 
 In the light of the eastern horizon. 
 But momently rested their eyes on 
 
40 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 The dark fields awaiting the seeder ; 
 Then " Franken-furth ! " shouted the leader, 
 And deep, at the word, drove his sword in 
 The bank of the stream they were fording. 
 Loud cheered every spearman and bowman, 
 Forgetting the flight from the foeman, 
 And clear on their mail the sun glinted, 
 As they swung out their banner bright-tinted. 
 
 And thus, by the act of a crowned head, 
 The city of Frankfort was founded. 
 
THE BAT'S ORIGIN. 
 
 The Field-Mouse oft had wished for wings, 
 
 The Raven longed for legs : 
 Of Fortune, each with clamorings. 
 
 The trifling favor begs. 
 
 "My reasons," quoth the Mouse, "you know. 
 
 Are weighty and at hand ; 
 But what has moved this rascal crow, 
 
 I cannot understand." 
 
 " You wish to walk like others ? — you 
 Who make in trees your house ? " 
 
 The Raven in a fury flew. 
 
 And swallowed up the Mouse. 
 
 The Mouse, with many a bite and kick, 
 
 His way to freedom cleared, 
 Till through the Raven's feathers thick 
 
 Four struggling feet appeared. 
 41 
 
42 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 " See," Fortune cried, " what folly brings ! 
 
 No further shall you stir. 
 You, Mouse, have now your longed-for wings 
 
 You, Raven, feet and fur. 
 
 " Go, hover in the twilight drear ; 
 
 By stealth your living seek ; 
 Let all who wait upon me here 
 
 Declare if well I speak." 
 
 The beasts approved the sentence all, 
 
 Except a selfish gnat ; 
 And slowly from the judgment hall 
 
 Went fluttering the Bat. 
 
BERTRAND DE BORN. 
 
 Before the great monarch 
 King Henry of England, 
 Defeated, a captive, 
 Stood Bertrand de Born, 
 While o'er the King's features 
 Swept hate and derision. 
 As shadows in summer 
 Sweep over the corn. 
 
 " Methinks, my brave minstrel," 
 Cried Henry in anger, 
 " Thou often hast boasted 
 Thou never hadst need 
 To use half thy cunning : 
 Sure, all wit has left thee, 
 Or ne'er hadst thou stood here 
 For mercy to plead." 
 43 
 
44 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 " Thou speakest truth, sire," 
 The troubadour answered, 
 " I boast me no longer, 
 For on that sad day 
 Thy eldest son perished, 
 The gallant Prince Henry, 
 Then lost I my reason 
 For ever and aye." 
 
 " Sir Bertrand, Sir Bertrand," 
 The King replied, weeping, 
 " Thou didst well to love him. 
 Here end we our strife. 
 For sake of Prince Henry, 
 I pardon thy treason. 
 And give thee thy castle. 
 Thy freedom, thy life." 
 
EPITHALAMIUM. 
 
 Here ends all art, all artificers end, 
 
 Come ye, look thro' our little golden loop ; 
 
 Here is the best that Heaven to earth did send. 
 Here is the bond of love, and joy, and hope. 
 
 The soldier's laurel, poet's bay, down fling. 
 
 Take up this tiny wreath, the marriage ring. 
 
 The double bow, which heralds sunny weather, 
 The shining halo of the rising day, 
 
 Th' equator smooth, which binds the world to- 
 gether, 
 The chaplet fair, that rounds the brow of May, 
 
 A diadem by meanest mortals owned. 
 
 Who rightly wears thee, sits a king enthroned. 
 
 Let but a slender finger swift pass thro* thee, 
 And all delight shall follow in its train. 
 
 Hold fast by this, and woe may not undo thee. 
 That brave ring-armor blunts the edge of pain. 
 
 Gentles, but hearken to the minstrel's voice. 
 
 And ye shall ne'er repent, but aye rejoice. 
 
 45 
 
GOUVERT LOCKERMAN. 
 
 'T WAS in 1647, brightly shone the summer heaven, 
 Over Hudson's current even, gently gliding toward 
 
 the noon, 
 Over marshy land and dry land, over meadow, 
 
 wood, and highland. 
 And the fort on Beelen island, builded by the old 
 
 Patroon. 
 
 In the region that he warded, long his rights were 
 disregarded ; 
 
 So, although awhile retarded, he had set his fortress 
 here, 
 
 And blockaded thus the river, that no sail might 
 southward shiver 
 
 Until tribute it deliver to the great Van Rens- 
 selaer. 
 
 See ! a vessel downward drifting, scarce impelled 
 by breezes shifting, 
 46 
 
GO U VERT LOCKERMAN. 47 
 
 And the Orange banner lifting o'er a rugged face 
 
 of tan ; 
 Though the trading sloops are many, yet they know 
 
 her best of any, 
 'T is the " Good Hope " of Albany— Captain 
 
 Gouvert Lockerman. 
 
 Still the colors are not dipping — bang ! a ball, the 
 
 water ripping, 
 Went beneath the bowsprit skipping, as an urchin 
 
 skips a stone. 
 " Strike your flag ! " but Captain Gouvert shouted 
 
 to the foeman's covert, 
 " I *m the Orange prince's servant, and I '11 strike 
 
 to him alone ! " 
 
 Then the shots came flying faster — one to canvas 
 wrought disaster, 
 
 One just missed the gallant master, in his standard 
 left a hole ; 
 
 But amid the noise and pudder Gouvert stood with- 
 out a shudder. 
 
 While his right hand held the rudder, and his left 
 the banner-pole. 
 
48 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 As to load the gunners scuffle, lo, the waves began 
 
 to ruffle, 
 And the breezes burst their muffle, and away the 
 
 vessel take ; 
 While the Captain gayly whistles, just as careless of 
 
 the missiles 
 As it were but down of thistles that came dancing 
 
 in his wake. 
 
 Swift the centuries have been flying — Gouvert long 
 
 in dust is lying, 
 And his ship the wave is trying never more by sun 
 
 or moon ; 
 But in dusky archives hoarded, still the story is 
 
 recorded 
 Of the sturdy river Captain who defied the great 
 
 patroon. 
 
YOUTH AND LOVE. 
 
 " Bow down to thy Lord," 
 
 Cried Love, adored, 
 As he met with Youth in a garden fair. 
 
 But he held his path. 
 
 And Love, in wrath, 
 Launched many an arrow against him there. 
 
 Love turned at last ; 
 " Nay, whither so fast ? " 
 Cried his foe. ** To subdue me thou didst engage." 
 
 Then Cupid : " Fool, 
 
 Look on yonder pool ; 
 Thou *lt see that thou art not Youth, but Age." 
 
 49 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 His diadem hath worn away his hair ; 
 
 Those lips had never need to speak command ; 
 
 Those eyes ne'er strove for sight of sea or land 
 
 In vain ; the perfect poise of passion there, 
 
 The moment's stillness ere the ebb-tide wear, 
 
 Hath left him calm, serenely smiling, bland 
 
 As the June sunlight : without word or wand 
 
 His wish ruled all the spirits of the air. 
 
 Upon the hinging of the balances 
 
 He sat, and watched the clashing and the sway 
 
 On either side : the neighboring weights and 
 
 chains 
 Bowed not or bound his spirit for a day. 
 Or could affrighten him from that assise 
 Where he, the king of thought, forever reigns. 
 
 50 
 
BROWNING. 
 
 A THOUGHT-BOW which the word-string scarce 
 
 can pull ; 
 A hand too heavy for the instrument ; 
 A gold that needs alloy, ere it be sent 
 To mint or graver ; verse of faults as full 
 As is the gem of facets ; myriad lights 
 There sparkle, none converge ; gigantic wings, 
 With feet unfit for homely travellings ; 
 They can but perch on Himalaya heights. 
 Ears may be dull or low, he never seeks 
 To reach them stooping, as another man ; 
 They rise, who hear him ; he hath proved he can 
 Be understanded of the Babel-host : 
 And who shall blame the poet, if he speaks 
 His own peculiar language more than most ? 
 
 51 
 
KEATS. 
 
 As Theseus once in hostile Greta's maze 
 Toiled through the dark and stony labyrinth, 
 Holding the clue, which under arch and plinth 
 Guided his steps, and kept his soul ablaze. 
 So this young Greek, in modern English ways 
 Astray, and stunned by London's ceaseless dint, 
 Held fast that living Beauty, whose least hint 
 Above the sordid round his soul could raise. 
 None had a surer, stronger grasp than he, 
 Weak as he seemed, upon that golden cord 
 Which knits the rugged world in harmony, 
 A co-existent luring and reward. 
 Alas, it led him not to victory. 
 But to a little mound of flowery sward. 
 
 52 
 
SHELLEY. 
 
 He soared in highest heaven, and cloudy bars 
 Encaged him : swift he trod the earth, his feet 
 Were caught in snares : him many friends did 
 
 greet, 
 But few abode : he gazed upon the stars, 
 Stumbling the while : he fought in noble wars. 
 But knew not chief or flag : a ring would fret 
 His finger like a gyve : a coronet 
 Upon his head had wearied and left scars. 
 He stood at Nature's side, while loud or soft 
 Her wonted fingers struck the glancing chords : 
 At times he was her best interpreter ; 
 But seeking over hastily to transfer 
 The song wherewith she witched his soul, too oft 
 He gave the music, but forgot the words. 
 
 53 
 
THE LEAF. 
 
 Nay, ask me not how long my love will last. 
 
 Look out upon the waving forest green, 
 Where May the wealth of her full hand hath cast 
 
 Can aught of earth present a goodlier scene ? 
 Look on this leaf, preserved in yellow pages : 
 
 It lives not, but exists. Plucked in its prime, 
 Here hath it lain concealed through many ages, 
 
 The withered witness of a vanished time. 
 It never fluttered in the summer's breath. 
 
 It never changed with autumn's glowing hue ; 
 And though it hath escaped November's death. 
 
 Who now remembers in what place it grew ? 
 If we can only cling through sunny weather. 
 Perhaps fate wills that we may fall together. 
 
 54 
 
A WINTER GARDEN. 
 
 A HOLLOW by the clematis o'erspanned, 
 A little pool which were in summer lost, 
 And strewn upon its face by winter's hand 
 Behold the shining star-flowers of the frost. 
 Fern leaves more delicate than maiden-hair, 
 With drooping crystal frond and slender stem, 
 And the reflected vines are pencilled there, 
 And spiky moss of snow encircles them. 
 Though fairest form be here, no colors gleam. 
 No spray is stirred ; life were this garden's death. 
 Hark ! on the surface of the frozen stream 
 A withered leaf, blown by the year's last breath, 
 Goes sliding by, and all is still once more, 
 While darkness sinks upon the valley hoar. 
 
 55 
 
POESY. 
 
 What maketh poesy ? The great and small 
 
 Girded together in a little space, 
 
 When power and weakness, honor and disgrace 
 
 Are set in contrast sharp ; the finite's call 
 
 To the eternal ; the funeral pall 
 
 Dashed, of the sudden, in Life's glowing face ; 
 
 The effort of an imbecile to trace 
 
 His meaning on Minerva's pedestal. 
 
 Small part it hath in heaven. Praise is there, 
 
 Purity, and happiness which may not pass ; 
 
 Yet when the chiefest joy he would declare, 
 
 Despite the gate of pearl, the sea of glass. 
 
 The prophet must turn backward, and compare 
 
 Glory that is, with piteousness that was. 
 
 56 
 
TANSY. 
 
 By many a country farm-house may we see 
 A blue-green patch edging the scanty lawn, 
 Neglected, trampled, overrun and torn. 
 Yet ever at fair June's recurrency 
 Waving its golden blossoms scornfully. 
 Yes, even its name degraded. Few have borne 
 In mind that the brief homely word is worn 
 From Athanasia — immortality. 
 Ever forgotten in the day of health, 
 When sweeter, brighter annuals upstart ; 
 But when the summer passes in its wealth, 
 And dread autumnal agues shake the heart, 
 A sudden snatch, a hasty brew by stealth, 
 And the old tansy patch has done its part. 
 
 57 
 
A PORTRAIT. 
 
 I MET her walking slowly on the way ; 
 
 I saw her coming ere I saw her face ; 
 
 Fair lights and shadows all about her lay ; 
 
 What her eye caught that did her fingers trace. 
 
 At first, methought, companions she had none ; 
 
 But presently, as nearer fell her tread, 
 
 I was aware that she came not alone, 
 
 But by a goodly troop incircleted. 
 
 The foremost Health ; then Faith upon her right ; 
 
 And Loyalty ; and Constancy of mind ; 
 
 Unselfishness ; and Truth, with face of light ; 
 
 Patience and Charity, with arms entwined ; 
 
 Whoever is by such familiars dight. 
 
 Beauty, be sure, remains not far behind. 
 
 58 
 
THE FITTING WORD. 
 
 In the gold thread of ore, bright and unbroken, 
 For ages strained beneath the mountain's weight, 
 Lies the fair symbol of a monarch's state, 
 The diadem which shall his rule betoken. 
 So every scene where beauty hath awoken 
 From sleep, each conquest or achievement great. 
 For final coronation must await 
 The fitting word, by inspiration spoken. 
 The barrow-loading of the moiling miner. 
 Which, careless, from his shoulder he doth fling, 
 The molten product of the masked refiner, 
 Who in that fire-brook sees a bubble-ring ; 
 At last stands forth the poet — the designer, 
 And in a moment he hath crowned the king. 
 
 59 
 
THE MEADOW-PINKS. 
 
 I WALKED upon the sandy, wind-swept dune : 
 
 The pulsing ocean and the glittering bay 
 
 To the right hand and left beneath me lay 
 
 Bathed in the glory of the afternoon. 
 
 The sun went down, but as a final boon 
 
 Cast upward to the clouds a spreading ray, 
 
 Which seemed a messenger upon the way 
 
 To tell of his return who went too soon. 
 
 Then, quickly as a final hope defeated. 
 
 The glory faded from each cloudlet fleet ; 
 
 Downward I looked, and saw its hue repeated 
 
 Upon the starry blossoms at my feet : 
 
 The faithful meadow-pinks, whose blossoms fair 
 
 Brought Heaven's radiance to that sand-spit bare. 
 
 60 
 
THE WOOD ROAD. 
 
 Beneath my feet the russet Kalmia spreads 
 
 Its dwarfish thicket ; and beside the path 
 
 The spinning-vine lies in a tangled swath 
 
 Of emerald leaves and dry seed-crowded heads. 
 
 The wintergreen looks out from mossy sheaths ; 
 
 And tall smooth stems of grasses, hoar and dry, 
 
 Throw hair-like shadows on the bank, where lie 
 
 The cat-briers, berried blue, in wiry wreaths. 
 
 Each curving rut runs into little springs, 
 
 Which feed a stream, clear, dark, and dimpling 
 
 slow 
 Across the road, while from the shadow rings 
 A half heard ripple. Round it, black and low, 
 Lie the charred logs ; while, as the breezes blow, 
 Above the brook a rugged pine-tree swings. 
 
 6i 
 
THE TWO STRANGERS. 
 
 Upon the couch they sit, 
 As might two citizens of Attic air, 
 
 By fickle Fortune's fit 
 Borne captive to some Caledonian lair 
 
 Or gloomy Scythian hold. 
 The younger, regal-eyed, emits no sound, 
 But gazes on the rugged strangers round — 
 The breathing clods who brought him hither 
 bound 
 
 To hardships manifold. 
 
 Anon his eyelids sink, 
 And he beholds the home so late his own. 
 The visioned city of the violet crown, 
 
 On bright Ilissus' brink. 
 The elder, half-submitting to his fate, 
 As who his captors would conciliate 
 62 
 
THE TWO STRANGERS. 63 
 
 By their own jargon mean, 
 
 With mingled jest and dread 
 Clasps both his little hands above his head 
 
 Like the old Tudor queen, 
 And cries " Big, big ! " and strives to view 
 with scorn 
 
 His brother later born. 
 
 II. 
 
 We stand beside them, we 
 Who by the score have learned to count our 
 years. 
 
 Wrinkled and sinewy. 
 Long-haired, dark-bearded, frighted by the 
 fears 
 
 And failures loading each. 
 We cannot speak the angel-children's speech. 
 Or think their thoughts ; 't is they with labor 
 stern 
 
 Our dialect must learn, 
 And come by caution to avoid the snare. 
 
 And strength the load to bear, 
 And courage for the suffering or the strife. 
 
 Well woven into life, 
 
64 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 And patience, bearing without tear or frown 
 The final and irrevocable doom, 
 That when a thousand foes are smitten down, 
 The last will overcome. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet we were once as these ; 
 
 When Hope, entangled in the April wood, 
 Laughed for a space, and lighted into bud 
 
 The greenly-blazing trees, 
 
 What was 't we saplings thought ? 
 How base of purpose they who only sought 
 To climb from cattle-crunch and careless 
 
 blade. 
 For some few seasons scatter nuts and shade, 
 
 Then fall ; nor were it more 
 To stand a landmark for the country-side, 
 Unquestioned monarch of the forest's pride. 
 
 The centuries' heritor. 
 
 No ; 't was for us to be 
 The exponent of that incessant Life 
 Which thrills thro' all, elusive and eterne. 
 Till our green top was with the clouds at 
 strife. 
 
THE TWO STRANGERS. 65 
 
 Our roots sunk deeper than volcanoes burn, 
 
 Ygdrasil's very tree. 
 
 Ah, at what gradual cost 
 We learned of drought and hail and tempest's 
 
 fray, 
 The summer's inward treacherous decay, 
 
 The winter's gnashing frost ; 
 
 Till, all ambition fled, 
 We were too happy if our crooked bulk 
 Might 'scape the fire, and serve to sheathe a 
 
 hulk, 
 Or roof a cattle-shed. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But view the better part ; 
 The fourth immortal spake but yesterday, 
 
 " That man is happy, who, tho* old and 
 gray. 
 
 Can keep his childish heart." 
 
 And sometimes, when we cleave 
 The mossed and knotted trunk of six-score 
 
 years. 
 No loathed channel of decay appears ; 
 
 But as, with final heave 
 
66 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 The mass apart is torn, 
 A tender shoot falls from the inmost grain, 
 The very same that drank the vernal rain. 
 
 And from the mould was born ; 
 
 So with these strangers fair ; 
 May they, thro' layers of experience large, 
 Unto a better land, a mightier charge, 
 
 The youthful spirit bear. 
 
FLAVIA BENT. 
 
 As I sit at the evening board, 
 
 Half a dozen old spoons I see, 
 
 Worn at the tip, and thin, and scored ; 
 
 Each is marked with a faint "F. B." — 
 
 All that is left to represent 
 
 Hopes and deeds of a vanished life ; 
 
 For they belonged to Flavia Bent. 
 
 Flavia Bent was grandfather's wife. 
 
 Seventy years and more agone 
 Flavia stood by grandfather's side. 
 Parson Rogers had made them one : 
 Friends were blessing the bonny bride, 
 And the sun, through the shutter-rift. 
 Shone, as he shines in the afternoons, 
 Over each simple, wedding-gift, 
 Over the case of silver spoons. 
 67 
 
68 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Scarce six months did their joy endure : 
 Flavia's brother was sick to death ; 
 Flavia went to seek his cure, 
 Nursed him well to his latest breath ; 
 Caught in the terrible fever's grip, 
 Taken from him she hoped to save, 
 Whelmed as the whirlwind sinks the ship, 
 She was laid by her brother's grave. 
 
 No one living upon the earth 
 Now can remember Flavia's face ; 
 No one tells of her truth and worth, — 
 She was the last of all her race. 
 Grandfather mourned, but married again — ; 
 Grandfather 's dead these twenty year ; 
 Only the battered spoons remain, 
 Single trace of her sojourn here. 
 
 So, as I sit in the waning light 
 While around me the shadows rise. 
 Sunset gleams on the silver bright 
 Seem like the glance of Flavia's eyes ; 
 And I turn aside from this modern life 
 Of rush and glitter, of sham and show, 
 To think of the gentle, girlish wife 
 Who died for duty so long ago. 
 
THE WAY TO HEAVEN. 
 
 The great house on the hill-top rose ; 
 And far beneath its feet 
 The gardener's cottage nestled close, 
 Last of the village street. 
 
 Each morn he climbed the grassy slopes, 
 
 But first a moment stayed 
 
 To kiss the darling of his hopes, 
 
 A bright-haired little maid. 
 
 The hill, too steep for baby might, 
 Too vast for baby eyes, 
 Seemed to her newly wakened sight 
 The mount of Paradise. 
 
 She sat upon the steps one day 
 Hugging her kitten tame, 
 When striding down the dusty way 
 In haste a stranger came. 
 69 
 
70 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 " Where is your father, child ? " he cried. 
 "Where can I find him ? say." 
 " He 's gone to heaven," she replied ; 
 *' He goes there every day." 
 
THE SPHINX. 
 
 In a pathway of the garden 
 
 Which the roller could not harden, 
 
 Who 's this little rosy minx 
 
 Stretched before me ? 'T is the Sphinx ! 
 
 Elbows planted in the sands, 
 Chin supported on her hands, 
 In the leisure study grants 
 She regards a nest of ants. 
 
 Back and forth and to and fro. 
 Little black Egyptians go, 
 Bearing granite from the mine. 
 For a palace or a shrine. 
 
 Pharaoh-dolly 's lying hid 
 In a brickbat pyramid, 
 And his wife, with smiling grief, 
 Weeps for her departed chief 
 71 
 
72 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 In a wondrous temple, built 
 From a broken jar of gilt, 
 By the Nile that ceases not 
 From the tilted water-pot. 
 
 Through the eon-afternoon, 
 Ringed by mountains of the moon, 
 Egypt's labors, Egypt's plays, 
 Pass beneath that earnest gaze. 
 
THE OLD GARDENER. 
 
 He leaned upon his earthy spade, 
 
 Where, in plantation newly made, 
 
 Reared their young heads two graceful trees 
 
 Just gathered from the nurseries, 
 
 And said, while tracing out each line 
 
 Of tapering stem and twiglet fine, 
 
 "Yes, them are pretty." 
 
 " Are not all 
 Trees pretty, Thomas ? " came the call 
 From his young mistress, and her eye 
 Ran round the landscape, far and nigh. 
 He raised his head. Above the place 
 The elm rose into filmy lace, 
 The pine-tree brooded verdant gloom. 
 The larch broke into emerald plume. 
 The willow, young and eager chief, 
 Led on the legions of the leaf. 
 And the dark forest, far away. 
 Stood up against the dying day. 
 Slowly he spoke : " I sees they are ; 
 I never noticed it before." 
 
 4 
 
 73 
 
THE WATER JUMP. 
 
 Adown the lane I galloped fleet, 
 
 I dashed aside the branches sweet, 
 
 Swung round the curve, the stream to meet ; 
 
 How sudden changed my mood ! 
 There lay a gap, nigh twenty feet — 
 
 The bridge was gone in flood ! 
 
 No chance for halt or turn I spied ; 
 The space was but a double stride ; 
 I struck my horse, and sharply cried 
 
 To rouse him for the leap. 
 When a twin charger, close beside, 
 
 Made all my skin to creep. 
 
 As heat-blink on the hill-top spread, 
 So faint his form, so light his tread, 
 The rider's mien interpreted 
 74 
 
THE WATER JUMP. 75 
 
 The bearing of a King ; 
 About his white and fleshless head 
 Was laid a golden ring. 
 
 Swift eye and mind the vision drank ; 
 My horse's ears stood sharp and rank ; 
 For the last bound he trod the bank ; 
 
 I pressed my heel anew 
 Against his hardened, bulging flank ; 
 
 Across the stream we flew. 
 
 Down, down I swooped, like failing shaft ; 
 Methought my grim companion laughed, 
 And stretched his hand, as if in craft. 
 
 To catch my hither rein ; 
 A stunning shock — like sheath to haft, 
 
 I closed with life again. 
 
 Dismounting then, I drew the girth, 
 I gave my horse each term of worth. 
 Looked round about on sky and earth. 
 
 On thicket, tree, and stone ; 
 No sight or sound of woe or mirth ; 
 
 I homeward rode alone. 
 
GRAY AND SILVER. 
 
 I HAD a love ; dark-haired was she, 
 
 Her eyes were gray ; 
 For sake of her, across the sea 
 
 I sailed away. 
 
 Death, sickness, tempest, and defeat 
 
 All passed me by ; 
 With years came Fortune, fair and fleet. 
 
 And rich was I. 
 
 Again for me the sun looked down 
 
 Familiar skies ; 
 I found my love, her locks had grown 
 
 Gray as her eyes. 
 
 "Alas," she sighed, " forget me, now 
 
 No longer fair" ; 
 " I loved thy heart," I whispered low, 
 
 " And not thy hair." 
 76 
 
CUPID'S CAPTURES. 
 
 " I MUST be serious," Cupid said ; 
 
 " I 've wasted time in ways surprising." 
 He clapped his hat upon his head, 
 
 And went off entomologizing. 
 
 He took a flask of chloroform 
 
 (In old time " Hope" they used to call it) ; 
 The sky was fair, the weather warm, 
 
 And Cupid shortly filled his wallet. 
 
 He stuck his prey on postal cards 
 
 (They were the best he thought and cheapest) 
 Then sought the rest which toil rewards : 
 
 O Cupid, far too sound thou sleepest. 
 
 His victims broke each feeble stay 
 
 Which held them to the wall precarious. 
 
 And bore the postal cards away, 
 And fluttered in directions various. 
 
 77 
 
78 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Now Cupid gazes after them 
 With many a futile interjection. 
 
 Here is the finest specimen ; 
 
 Pray, will it do for your collection ? 
 
CUPID'S WEAPON. 
 
 In olden time, a gleaming eye 
 
 Was Cupid's missile true ; 
 ** I want a change," is now his cry ; 
 
 He bent the I to U. 
 
 He bent the I to half a round ; 
 
 Like boomerang it flew, 
 And struck — now look for the rebound. 
 
 Will it come back to you ? 
 
 79 
 
THE TALL GIRLS. 
 
 Why sprout ye thus, sweet maids ? Who did you 
 teach 
 
 The clouds to reach ? 
 Is it that ye would bring on those ye hate 
 
 Ixion's fate ? 
 Time was when men did woo your majesties 
 
 Upon their knees ; 
 Now, of necessity, erect they stand. 
 
 Well-sheathed each hand ; 
 Erelong, the lad who comes a-courting ye 
 
 Must ladder be ; 
 Or take such steps as never lover knew 
 
 To plead and sue. 
 Some scruple not to say, " The little jilts 
 
 Are set on stilts " ; 
 But these, as ye divine, are men who would 
 
 Do never good. 
 Speak, most fair longitudes, and tell us why 
 
 Ye seek the sky. 
 80 
 
THE TALL GIRLS. 8 1 
 
 Remember, tho' we prize each lovely rose 
 
 O'er all that blows, 
 'T is for the bloom we strive to gather them, 
 
 Not for the stem. 
 Then prithee, human flow'rets, cease to mock 
 
 The hollyhock. 
 
TWO OR THREE 
 
 Amid the pelter 
 
 Of summer rain, 
 The arbor's shelter 
 
 A couple gain. 
 Scarce might a sparrow 
 
 For entrance sue ; 
 The niche is narrow, 
 
 And holds but two. 
 
 Again up-springing 
 
 They seek the green, 
 Though close they 're clinging 
 
 Love walks between. 
 The sunny weather 
 
 Has found each heart, 
 For two came hither 
 
 But three depart. 
 
 82 
 
THE SLEEP-STREAM. 
 
 O KNOW ye the slumber-flood ? 
 
 Like the ocean's self it girds 
 Our pitiful earthly rood. 
 
 For waves it has foolish words, 
 We bathe in it o'er and o'er, 
 
 And rise with refreshened breath 
 When a comrade comes no more 
 
 We weep, and we call it death. 
 
 It circles about life's land. 
 
 And dreams are the fish therein ; 
 We anglers sit on the strand, 
 
 And purpose the prey to win. 
 No floating slumberer's wish 
 
 Can capture a shining dream ; 
 He never may take the fish 
 
 Who with them swims in the stream. 
 83 
 
84 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 With angle, and snare, and net, 
 
 We gather along the verge ; 
 What hope when the hooks are set. 
 
 And the flashing forms emerge ! 
 None fairer treasure may heap 
 
 Than he who wins in the strife ; 
 For a dream in the flood of sleep 
 
 Is a thought on the shores of life. 
 
SESAME. 
 
 In the old Arabian myth 
 
 We of All's fortune read ; 
 How, bereft of kin and kith, 
 
 Naked, and in sorest need. 
 Once to him the ponderous gate 
 
 Gave the halls where treasures be. 
 As he spoke the word of fate. 
 
 Murmuring, '' Open, Sesame ! " 
 
 Sesame ! an humble seed, 
 
 Yet the spark of life it holds ; 
 Vainly would the wisest read 
 
 Half the mystery it enfolds ; 
 Vainly with the glass and probe. 
 
 Through that husk they strive to see, 
 Laboring still to lift the robe. 
 
 Clamoring, " Open, Sesame ! " 
 85 
 
86 ECHOES FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Yet remains a single way ; 
 
 Though thy granaries may be stored 
 Well with sesame to-day, 
 
 Look thou hide it not or hoard. 
 Earthly life, and earthly gifts, 
 
 Sow them far as man may see, 
 While thou fiU'st the furrow-rifts 
 
 Whispering, " Open, Sesame ! " 
 
 Sesame shall spring again ; 
 
 Sesame shall open wide ; 
 Blessings of the bending grain 
 
 Lift thy soul, like rising tide ; 
 And the charm which Ali's fate 
 
 Once secured, shall work for thee, 
 And at last the heavenly gate 
 
 Swing to sound of " Sesame ! " 
 
ASPIRATION. 
 
 Thousands upon their eager tiptoes stand 
 Straining, and almost reach the Muse's hand. 
 A few have touched it ; never man had power 
 To clasp and hold it for a single hour. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 87 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS