PS 19 Z7 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. " PS i°\ 2-7 ©^ap.. — Gnpqrtg^t l^o. . Shelf. JrCS" - » -hZl^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.' THE Afternoon Landscape poems anli Cranslattons BY THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON Hefo gork atrti 3L0trtron LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. AC \ Copyright, 1889, By Thomas Wentworth Higginson. John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. Kx TO JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, Srfjoolmate anU Jtllofo^otonsmatt, THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED. ' Alter ab undecimo turn me jam ceperat annus, Jam fragiles poteram a terra contingere ramos.' " Ver erat aeternum ; placidique tepentibus auris Mulcebant zephyri natos sine semine flores." Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. CONTENTS. [A few of these poems are by other hands, and are designated by initials.] PAGE Prelude 9 Sonnet to Duty 11 A Jar op Eose-Leaves 12 Sub Pondere Crescit 15 The Playmate Hours 16 The Baby Sorceress 17 Heirs or Time 18 Sixty and Six : or, A Fountain op Youth ... 20 " Since Cleopatra Died " 22 The Soul op a Butterfly 23 Decoration 24 " The Snowing of the Pines " 26 The Lesson op the Leaves 27 Vestis Angelica 28 To My Shadow 30 Two Yoyagers - . . 32 Sea-gulls at Presh Pond 33 The Dying House 34 A Song of Days 37 vi Contents. PAGE Treasure in Heaven 38 Beneath the Violets 40 " The Knock Alphabet " 41 The Reed Immortal 42 Dame Craigie 44 Gifts 46 Dwelling-places 48 To the Memory of H. II 49 Venus Multiformis 50 To John Greenleaf Whittier 52 Prologue 53 Corporal Alston's Discourse 54 Waiting for the Bugle 56 Astra Castra 58 The Last Palatine Light 59 Memorial Ode 64 Earlier Poems : The Madonna di San Sisto 71 Hymns 73 Poems from "Thalatta" 77 The February Hush 80 June 81 December 82 To a Young Convert 84 Serenade by the Sea 86 The Frozen Cascade 87 The Things I Miss 88 Contents. vii Translations : page Sappho's Ode to Aphrodite 93 Sonnet prom Petrarch (123) 95 Sonnet prom Petrarch (128) 96 Sonnet prom Petrarch (134) 97 Sonnet prom Petrarch (223) 98 Sonnet prom Petrarch (251) 99 Sonnet prom Petrarch (253) 100 Sonnet prom Petrarch (261) 101 Sonnet prom Petrarch (302) 102 Sonnet prom Petrarch (309) 103 Sonnet prom Petrarch (314) 104 Sonnet prom Camoens (42) 105 Sonnet prom Camoens (186) 106 PRELUDE. T BREAMED one night that the calm hosts of heaven Had lost their changeless paths ; and as I stood Beside the latticed window, I could ivatch Those strange, fair pilgrims wandering from their shrines. Up to the zenith rose the moon, and paused ; Stars went and came, and waxed and waned again, Then vanished into nothing ; meteors pale Stole, soft as wind-blown blossoms, down the night ; Till I awoke to find the cold gray mom Hymning its lonely dirges through the pines. Were it not better that the planets fail, And every heavenly orbit wander wide, Than that this human life, its years like stars, Should miss the accustomed sequence of content ? io Prelude. All times are good; life's morning let us sing, Its sunny noon, high noon, the whole worloVs pause, Nor less that sweet decline which ends in eve. Life were monotonous with its morning hours, Came not the hurrying years to shift our mood, Unfold an altered heaven and spread its glow O'er the changed landscape of time's afternoon. SONNET TO DUTY. ®e6s ris ecrr' kv rj/xiv. Euripides (Fragm.). T IGHT of dim mornings ; shield from heat and cold ; Balm for all ailments ; substitute for praise ; Comrade of those who plod in lonely ways (Ways that grow lonelier as the years wax old) ; Tonic for fears ; check to the over-bold ; Nurse, whose calm hand its strong restriction lays, Kind but resistless, on our wayward days ; Mart, where high wisdom at vast price is sold ; Gardener, whose touch bids the rose-petals fall, The thorns endure ; surgeon, who human hearts Searchest with probes, though the death-touch be given; Spell that knits friends, but yearning lovers parts ; Tyrant relentless o'er our blisses all ; — Oh, can it be, thine other name is Heaven? 12 A Jar of Rose- Leaves. A JAR OF ROSE-LEAVES. IV TYRIAD roses fade unheeded, Yet no note of grief is needed ; When the ruder breezes tear them, Sung or songless, we can spare them. But the choicest petals are Shrined in some deep Orient jar, Rich without and sweet within, Where we cast the rose-leaves in. Life has jars of costlier price Framed to hold our memories. There we treasure baby smiles, Boyish exploits, girlish wiles, All that made our early days Sweeter than these trodden ways Where the Fates our fortunes spin : Memory, toss the rose-leaves in ! A Jar of Rose-Leaves. 13 What the jar holds, that shall stay; Time steals all the rest away. Cast in love's first stolen word, Bliss when uttered, bliss when heard ; Maiden's looks of shy surprise; Glances from a hero's eyes ; Palms we risked our souls to win : Memory, fling the rose-leaves in ! Now more sombre and more slow Let the incantation grow! Cast in shreds of rapture brief, Subtle links 'twixt hope and grief; Vagrant fancy's dangerous toys ; Covert dreams, narcotic joys Flavored with the taste of sin : Memory, pour the rose-leaves in ! Quit that borderland of pain ! Cast in thoughts of nobler vein, Magic gifts of human breath, Mysteries of birth and death. 14 A yar of Rose-Leaves. What if all this web of change But prepare for scenes more strange ; If to die be to begin ? Memory, heap the rose-leaves in ! Sub Ponder e Crescit. 15 SUB PONDERE CRESCIT. /^AN" this be he, whose morning footstep trod O'er the green earth as in a regal home? Whose voice rang out beneath the skyey dome Like the high utterance of a youthful god ? Now with wan looks and eyes that seek the sod, Restless and purposeless as ocean foam, Across the twilight fields I see him roam With shoulders bowed, as shrinking from the rod. Oh lift the old-time light within thine eyes ! Set free the pristine passion from thy tongue ! Strength grows with burdens; make an end of sighs. Let thy thoughts soar again their mates among, And as yon oriole's eager matins rise, Abroad once more be thy strong anthem flung ! 16 The Playmate Hours. THE PLAYMATE HOURS. "PvAWN lingers silent in the shade of night, Till on the gloaming Baby's laughter rings. Then smiling Day awakes, and open flings Her golden doors, to speed the shining flight Of restless hours, gay children of the light. Each eager playfellow to Baby brings Some separate gift, — a flitting bird that sings With her ; a waving branch of berries bright ; A heap of rustling leaves ; each trifle cheers This joyous little life but just begun. No weary hour to her brings sighs or tears; And when the shadows warn the loitering sun, With blossoms in her hands, untouched by fears, She softly falls asleep, and day is done. M. T. H. The Baby Sorceress. 17 THE BABY SORCERESS. /^\UR baby sits beneath the tall elm-trees, A wreath of tangled ribbons in her hands ; She twines and twists the many-colored strands, A little sorceress, weaving destinies. Now the pure white she grasps ; now nought can please But strips of crimson, lurid as the brands From passion's fires, or yellow, like the sands That lend soft setting to the azure seas. And so with sweet incessant toil she fills A summer hour, still following fancies new, Till through my heart a sudden terror thrills Lest, as she weaves, her aimless choice prove true. Thank God, our fates proceed not from our wills ! The Power that spins the thread shall blend the hue. 2 18 Heirs of Time. HEIRS OF TIME. INSCRIBED TO EDWARD BELLAMY. Aucun homme ne peut aliener sa souverainete, parcequ'ilne pent abdiquer sa nature ou cesser d' etre homme ; et de la souve- rainete de chaque individu nait, dans la societe, la souverainete collective de tous ou la souverainete du peuple, egalement in- alienable. — Abbe de la Mennais, Le Livre du Peuple (1837). T^KOM street and square, from hill and glen Of this vast world beyond my door, I hear the tread of marching men, The patient armies of the poor. The halo of the city's lamps Hangs, a vast torchlight, in the air; I watch it through the evening damps : The masters of the world are there. Not ermine-clad or clothed in state, Their title-deeds not yet made plain ; But waking early, toiling late, The heirs of all the earth remain. Heirs of Time. 19 Some day, by laws as fixed and fair As guide the planets in their sweep, The children of each outcast heir The harvest-fruits of time shall reap. The peasant brain shall yet be wise, The untamed pulse grow calm and still; The blind shall see, the lowly rise, And work in peace Time's wondrous will. Some day, without a trumpet's call, This news will o'er the world be blown: " The heritage comes back to all ! The myriad monarchs take their own ! " 20 Sixty and Six, SIXTY AND SIX: OR, A FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. Fons, delirium domus. Martial. TOY of the morning, Darling of dawning, Blithe little, lithe little daughter of mine ! While with thee ranging Sure I'm exchanging Sixty of my years for six years like thine. Wings cannot vie with thee, Lightly I fly with thee Gay as the thistle-down over the lea. Life is all magic, Comic or tragic, Played as thou playest it daily with me. Floating and ringing, Thy merry singing Sixty and Six. 21 Comes when the light comes, like that of the birds. List to the play of it ! That is the way of it ; All's in the music and nought in the words. Glad or grief- laden, Schubert or Haydn, Ballad of Erin or merry Scotch lay ; Like an evangel, Some baby-angel Brought from sky-nursery stealing away. Surely I know it, Artist nor poet Guesses my treasure of jubilant hours. Sorrows, what are they? Nearer or far, they Vanish in sunshine, like dew from the flowers. Years, I am glad of them ; Would that I had of them More and yet more, while thus mingled with thine Age, I make light of it, Fear not the sight of it, Time 's but our playmate, whose toys are divine. 22 Since Cleopatra Died. "SINCE CLEOPATRA DIED." " Since Cleopatra died, I have lived in such dishonor that the world Doth wonder at my baseness." " O INCE Cleopatra died ! " Long years are past, In Antony's fancy, since the deed was done. Love counts its epochs, not from sun to sun ? But by the heart-throb. Mercilessly fast Time has swept onward since she looked her last On life, a queen. For him the sands have run Whole ages through their glass, and kings have won And lost their empires o'er earth's surface vast Since Cleopatra died. Ah ! Love and Pain Make their own measure of all things that be. No clock's slow ticking marks their deathless strain ; The life they own is not the life we see ; Love's single moment is eternity: Eternity, a thought in Shakspeare's brain. The Soul of a Butterfly. 23 THE SOUL OF A BUTTERFLY. /^\VER the field where the brown quails whistle, Over the ferns where the rabbits lie, Floats the tremulous down of a thistle. Is it the soul of a butterfly ? See ! how they scatter and then assemble ; Filling the air while the blossoms fade, — Delicate atoms, that whirl and tremble In the slanting sunlight that skirts the glade. There goes the summer's inconstant lover, Drifting and wandering, faint and far; Only bewailed by the upland plover, Watched by only the twilight star. Come next August, when thistles blossom, See how each is alive with wings ! Butterflies seek their souls in its bosom, Changed thenceforth to immortal things. 24 Decoration. DECORATION. " Manibus date lilia plenis." TV/flD the flower- wreathed tombs I stand Bearing lilies in my hand. Comrades ! in what soldier-grave Sleeps the bravest of the brave ? Is it he who sank to rest With his colors round his breast ? Friendship makes his tomb a shrine ; Garlands veil it : ask not mine. One low grave, yon trees beneath, Bears no roses, wears no wreath; Yet no heart more high and warm Ever dared the battle-storm, Decoration. 25 Never gleamed a prouder eye In the front of victory, Never foot had firmer tread On the field where hope lay dead, Than are hid within this tomb Where the untended grasses bloom, And no stone, with feigned distress, Mocks the sacred loneliness. Youth and beauty, dauntless will, Dreams that life could ne'er fulfil, Here lie buried ; here in peace Wrongs and woes have found release. Turning from my comrades' eyes, Kneeling where a woman lies, I strew lilies on the grave Of the bravest of the brave. 26 " The Snowing of the Pines" "THE SNOWING OF THE PINES." COFTER than silence, stiller than still air, Float down from high pine-boughs the slender leaves. The forest floor its annual boon receives That comes like snowfall, tireless, tranquil, fair. Gently they glide, gently they clothe the bare Old rocks with grace. Their fall a mantle weaves Of paler yellow than autumnal sheaves Or those strange blossoms the witch-hazels wear. Athwart long aisles the sunbeams pierce their way ; High up, the crows are gathering for the night ; The delicate needles fill the air ; the jay Takes through their golden mist his radiant flight ; They fall and fall, till at November's close The snow-flakes drop as lightly — snows on snows. The Lesson of the Leaves. 27 THE LESSON OF THE LEAVES. C\ THOU who bearest on thy thoughtful face The wearied calm that follows after grief, See how the autumn guides each loosened leaf To sure repose in its own sheltered place. Ah, not forever whirl they in the race Of wild forlornness round the gathered sheaf, Or hurrying onward in a rapture brief Spin o'er the moorlands into trackless space. Some hollow captures each ; some sheltering wall Arrests the wanderer on its aimless way ; The autumn's pensive beauty needs them all, And winter finds them warm, though sere and gray. They nurse young blossoms for the spring's sweet call, And shield new leaflets for the burst of May. 28 Vestis Angelica. VESTIS ANGELICA. [It was a custom of the early English church for pious laymen to be carried in the hour of death to some monastery, that they might be clothed in the habit of the religious order, and might die amid the prayers of the brotherhood. The garment thus assumed was known as the Vestis Angelica. See Moroni : Dizionario di Erudizione Storico-Ecclesiastica, ii. 78; xcvi. 212.] r\ GATHER, gather! Stand Round her on either hand! shining angel-band More pure than priest! A garment white and whole Weave for this passing soul, Whose earthly joy and dole Have almost ceased. Weave it of mothers' prayers, Of sacred thoughts and cares, Of peace beneath gray hairs, Of hallowed pain ; Vestis Angelica. 29 Weave it of vanished tears, Of childlike hopes and fears, Of joys, by saintly years Washed free from stain. Weave it of happy hours, Of smiles and summer flowers, Of passing sunlit showers, Of acts of love ; Of footsteps that did go Amid life's work and woe, — Her eyes still fixed below, Her thoughts above. Then as those eyes grow dim Chant we her best-loved hymn, While from yon church-tower's brim A soft chime swells. Her freed soul floats in bliss To unseen worlds from this, Nor knows in which it is She hears the bells. 30 To my Shadow. TO MY SHADOW. A MUTE companion at my side Paces and plods, the whole day long, Accepts the measure of my stride, Yet gives no cheer by word or song. More close than any doggish friend, Not ranging far and wide, like him, He goes where'er my footsteps tend, Nor shrinks for fear of life or limb. I do not know when first we met, But till each day's bright hours are done This grave and speechless silhouette Keeps me betwixt him and the sun. To my Shadow. 31 They say he knew me when a child; Born with my birth, he dies with me ; Not once from his long task beguiled, Though sin or shame bid others flee. What if, when all this world of men Shall melt and fade and pass away, This deathless sprite should rise again And be himself my Judgment Day ? 32 Two Voyagers. TWO VOYAGERS. \ 7^7 HEN first I mark upon my child's clear brow Thought's wrestling shadows their new strug- gle keep, Read my own conflicts in her questions deep, My own remorse in her repentant vow, My own vast ignorance in her "Why?" and "How?" When my precautions only serve to heap New burdens, and my cares her needs o'erleap, Then to her separate destiny I bow. So seem we like two ships, that side by side, Older and younger, breast the same rough main Bound for one port, whatever winds betide, In solemn interchange of joy or pain. I may not hold thee back. Though skies be dark, Put forth upon the seas, priceless bark ! Sea- Gulls at Fresh Pond. 33 SEA-GULLS AT FRESH POND. C\ LAKE of boyish dreams ! I linger round Thy calm, clear waters and thine altered shores Till thought brings back the plash of child- hood's oars, — Long hid in memory's depths, a vanished sound. Alone unchanged, the sea-birds yet are found Far floating on thy wave by threes and fours, Or grouped in hundreds, while a white gull soars, Safe, beyond gunshot of the hostile ground. I am no nearer to those joyous birds Than when, long since, I watched them as a child ; Nor am I nearer to that flock more wild, Most shy and vague of all elusive things, My unattainable thoughts, unreached by words. I see the flight, but never touch the wings, 3 34 The Dying House. THE DYING HOUSE. CHE is dead ; her house is dying ; Round its long-deserted door, From the hillside and the moor, Swell the autumn breezes sighing. Closer to its windows press Pine-tree boughs in mute caress ; Wind-sown seeds in silence come, Root, and grow, and bud, and bloom ; Year by year, kind Nature's grace Wraps and shields her dwelling-place. She who loved all things that grew, Talked with every bird that flew, Brought each creature to her feet With persuasive accents sweet, — Now her voice is hushed and gone, Yet the birds and bees keep on. The Dying House. 35 Oh the joy, the love, the glee, Sheltered once by that roof-tree ! Song and dance and serenade, Joyous jest by maskers played ; Passionate whispers on the stairs, Hopes unspoken, voiceless prayers ; Greetings that repressed love's theme, Partings that renewed its dream; All the blisses, all the woes, Youth's brief hour of spring-time knows, — All have died into the past. Perish too the house at last ! Vagrant children come and go 'Neath the windows, murmuring low ; Peering with impatient eye For a ghostly mystery. Some a fabled secret tell, Others touch the soundless bell, Then with hurrying step retreat From the echo of their feet. Or perchance there wander near Guests who once held revel here : Some live o'er again the days 36 The Dying House. Of their love's first stolen gaze ; Or some sad soul, looking in, Calls back hours of blight or sin, Glad if her mute life may share In the sheltering silence there. Oh, what cheeks might blanch with fears, Had walls tongues, as they have ears ! Silent house with close-locked doors, Ghosts and memories haunt thy floors! Not a web of circumstance Woven here into romance E'er can perish ; many a thread Must survive when thou art dead. Children's children shall not know How their doom of joy or woe Was determined ere their birth, 'Neath this roof that droops to earth, By some love-tie here create, Or hereditary hate, Or some glance whose bliss or strife Was the climax of a life, Though its last dumb witness falls With the crumbling of these walls. A Song of Days, 37 A SONG OF DAYS. C\ RADIANT summer day, Whose air, sweet air, steals on from flower to flower ! Couldst thou not yield one hour When the glad heart says, "This alone is May"? passionate earthly love, Whose tremulous pulse beats on to life's best boon ! Couldst thou not give one noon, One noon of noons, all other bliss above ? solemn human life, Whose nobler longings bid all conflict cease ! Grant us one day's deep peace Beyond the utmost rumor of all strife. For if no joy can stay, Let it at least yield one consummate bloom, Or else there is no room To find delight in love, or life, or May. 38 Treasure in Heaven. TREASURE IN HEAVEN. TF messengers we fear Should hither come to-day, And beckon me away From all that earth holds dear; And I should trembling turn And cling to glowing life, Yet in the fiercest strife Feel heart and reason burn ; Then look into love's face, And see with anguish wild Our rosy little child With all her baby grace, And stretch my feeble hand To keep the darling near, — My fainting soul would hear A voice from spirit-land. Treasure in Heaven. 39 That voice would set me free, With joy my pulses thrill, " Mamma, I need you still ! Have you forgotten me?" M. T. H. 1883. 40 Beneath the Violets. BENEATH THE VIOLETS. CAFE 'neath the violets Rests the baby form ; Every leaf that springtime sets Shields it from the storm. Peace to all vain regrets Mid this sunshine warm ! Shadows come and shadows go O'er the meadows wide ; Twice each day, to and fro, Steals the river-tide ; Each morn with sunrise-glow Gilds the green hillside. Peace that no sorrow frets In our souls arise ! Over all our wild regrets Arching, like the skies; While safe 'neath the violets Sleep the violet eyes. 1880. " The Knock Alphabet!' 41 "THE KNOCK ALPHABET." [Mr. Kennan tells us that Eussian prisoners converse with each other in a complex alphabet, indicated by knocking on the walls of their cells. ] IKE prisoners, each within his own deep cell, We mortals talk together through a wall. " Was that low note indeed my brother's call ? Or but a distant water-drop which fell?" Yet to the straining ear each sound can tell Some woe that might the bravest heart appal, Or some high hope that triumphs over all : " Brother, I die to-morrow." " Peace ! " " All 's well!" Oh, could we once see fully, face to face, But one of these our mates, — once speak aloud, Once meet him, heart to heart, in strong em- brace, — How would our days be glad, our hopes be proud ! Perchance that wall is Life ; and life being done, Death may unite these sundered cells in one. 42 The Reed Immortal. THE REED IMMORTAL. INSCRIBED TO THE BOSTON PAPYRUS CLUB. [Pliny tells us that the Egyptians regarded the papyrus as an emblem of immortality.] "DEED of the stagnant waters, Far in the Eastern lands, , Rearing thy peaceful daughters In sight of the storied sands ! Armies and fleets defying Have swept by that quiet spot, But thine is the life undying, Theirs is the tale forgot. The legions of Alexander Are scattered and gone and fled, And the queen who ruled commander Over Antony, is dead; The Reed Immortal. 43 The marching armies of Cyrus Have vanished in earth again, And only the frail papyrus Still reigns o'er the sons of men. Papyrus ! reed immortal, Survivor of all renown ! Thou heed'st not the solemn portal Where heroes and kings go down. The monarchs of generations Have died into dust away; reed that outlivest nations, Be our symbol of strength to-day ! 44 Dame Crai DAME CRAIGIE. [Lines read at the Longfellow Memorial Reading, Cambridge, Feb. 27, 1888.] TN childish Cambridge days, now long ago, When pacing schoolward in the morning hours, I passed the stately homes of Tory Row And paused to see Dame Craigie tend her flowers. Framed in the elm-tree boughs before her door The old escutcheon of our town was seen, — Canker-worms pendent, yellowing leaves in or, School-boys regardant, on a field grass-green. Dame Craigie, with Spinoza in her hand, Was once heard murmuring to the insect crew, " I will not harm you, little restless band ! For what are mortal men but worms, like you ? " Dame Craigie. 45 The trees are gone; Dame Craigie too is gone, Her tongue long silent, and her turban furled ; Yet 'neath her roof thought's silk-worms still spun on, Whose sumptuous fabric clothed a barren world. 46 Gifts. GIFTS. A FLAWLESS pearl, snatched from an ocean cave, Remote from light or air, And by the mad caress of stormy wave Made but more pure and fair; A diamond, wrested from earth's hidden zone, To whose recesses deep It clung, and bravely flashed a light that shone Where dusky shadows creep ; A sapphire, in whose heart the tender rays Of summer skies had met ; A ruby, glowing with the ardent blaze Of suns that never set, — Gifts. 47 These priceless jewels shone, one happy day, On my bewildered sight : " We bring from earth, sea, sky," they seemed to say, " Love's richness and delight." " For me ? " I trembling cried. " Thou need'st not dread," Sang heavenly voices sweet ; And unseen hands placed on my lowly head This crown, for angels meet. M. T. H. 48 Dwelling- Places. DWELLING-PLACES. T^yHERE is thy home, little fair head, With thy sunny hair, on earth's clouded way? " On my lover's breast ; and I take my rest, And I know no terror by night or day." Where is thy home, little fair heart, With thy joyous hopes in life's shadows dim? "In my lover's heart ; and we never part, For he carries me round the world with him." Where is thy home, little fair soul, So brave 'mid the old world's sorrow and care ? " My home is in heaven. To me 't is given To win my lover to meet me there." To the Memory of H. H. 49 TO THE MEMORY OF H. H. r\ SOUL of fire within a woman's clay ! Lifting with slender hands a race's wrong, Whose mute appeal hushed all thine early song, And taught thy passionate heart the loftier way, — What shall thy place be in the realm of day ? What disembodied world can hold thee long, Binding thy turbulent pulse with spell more strong ? Dwell'st thou, with wit and jest, where poets may, Or with ethereal women (born of air And poet's dreams) dost live in ecstasy, Teach new love-thoughts to Shakespeare's Juliet fair, New moods to Cleopatra? Then, set free, The woes of Shelley's Helen thou dost share, Or weep with poor Rossetti's Rose Mary. 50 Venus Multiformis. VENUS MULTIFORMIS. n^HREE men on a broken deck-plank, With the reef and its roar ahead, Floated on, through a fair June morning, To a doom that was sure and dread. Said one, " My years have been wasted On a woman's terrible charms; But oh ! to see death draw near me, And to die outside of her arms ! " Said another, " Through surge and through tempest My eyes are fixed on her face; I forget the tumult of ocean In the joy of her last embrace." Said the third, " I can die unflinching Wherever my fortune lies ; But oh! her endless bereavement, And the rivers of tears from her eyes ! " Venus Multiformis. 51 While the woman they all had worshipped Walked out from the gray church-door Amid smiles and greetings and music, And followed by prayers of the poor. 52 To John Greenleaf Whi titer. TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. A T dawn of manhood came a voice to me That said to startled conscience, "Sleep no more ! " Like some loud cry that peals from door to door It roused a generation ; and I see, Now looking back through years of memory, That all of school or college, all the lore Of worldly maxims, all the statesman's store, Were nought beside that voice's mastery. If any good to me or from me came Through life, and if no influence less divine Has quite usurped the place of duty's flame ; If aught rose worthy in this heart of mine, Aught that, viewed backward, wears no shade of shame, — Bless thee, old friend ! for that high call was thine. Cambridge, Dec. 17, 1887. Prologue. 53 PROLOGUE. [Eecited by a young lady at the first performance of the Yas- sall House Dramatic Club, Cambridge, Mass., Dec. 8, 1882.] J3EKEATH this roof the stately Vassall race Once swept these halls in velvet and point- lace, Sedately welcomed many an English lord, And met him with the snuff-box, not the sword. A hundred years are passed. We fill the scene With humbler graces, less chivalric mien. Yet you may see upon our mimic stage The show and semblance of that earlier age ; The old brocades may veil some modern form Of living beauty and of heart still warm ; And we, the youths and maidens of to-day, Will be your vassals if you'll like our play. 54 Corporal Alston's Discourse. CORPORAL ALSTON'S DISCOURSE. OWIFT shooting down that Southern river's bends, Like logs in freshet, swept our steamers on ; Their midships lumbered up with useless bales, Old household stuffs and huddled clothes in rags, And sombre groups of sleeping negroes, — waifs Just taken on board from dug-outs, timbers, rafts, Or off the rice-fields that spread either side, One vast green chequer-work of dyke and pool. Here the swart mothers and their babies dozed 'Mid all their earthly goods; and here and there A silent sentinel watched a silent form Wrapped in a blanket, nerveless, pulseless, cold, Nigh to a dull red smear upon the plank, Or splintered shot-hole in our ship's stout side. But I, going past them to the forward deck, Saw only squads of dusky soldiers, couched Corporal Alston's Discourse, 55 Like some vast caravan, beneath the moon, A breathing mass of black and ivory ; And o'er them all a high, shrill voice pealed forth The burden of exhortation. I knew it well, Old Adam Alston's voice ; and thus it spoke : " When I heard de bombshell screamin' troo de woods Like de Judgment Day, I said widin myself, 1 Suppose my head been took clean off dis night, Dey couldn't put my soul in de torments. No, No ! not perceps I hab for an enemy De Mos' High God ! ' And when de bullets come, Ho ! dem dar bullets a-swishin' across de deck, I cried aloud, ' Lord, help my congregation ! Boys, load and fire ! ' " Then rang the strong Aniens And bursts of laughter from glad African lungs ; Then all was still but one blithe mocking-bird High on the bank, and that strange ominous fowl The chuck-will's-widow, and our engine's throb ; While Southern fire-flies, twice as large as ours, Swarmed from the meadows to the tree-tops high And hung there, clustering Pleiads, earthly stars. 56 Waiting for the Bugle. WAITING FOR THE BUGLE. [Read before the Grand Army Post (56) of veteran soldiers, at Cambridge, Mass., May 25, 1888.] \\ 7"E wait for the bugle ; the night-dews are cold, The limbs of the soldiers feel jaded and old, The field of our bivouac is windy and bare, There is lead in our joints, there is frost in our hair, The future is veiled and its fortunes unknown, As we lie with hushed breath till the bugle is blown. At the sound of that bugle each comrade shall spring Like an arrow released from the strain of the string ; The courage, the impulse of youth shall come back To banish the chill of the drear bivouac, Waiting for the Bugle. 57 And sorrows and losses and cares fade away When that life-giving signal proclaims the new day. Though the bivouac of age may put ice in our veins, And no fibre of steel in our sinew remains ; Though the comrades of yesterday's march are not here, And the sunlight seems pale and the branches are sere, — Though the sound of our cheering dies down to a moan, We shall find our lost youth when the bugle is blown. 58 Astra Castra. ASTRA CASTRA. COMEWHERE betwixt me and the farthest star, Or else beyond all worlds, all space, all thought, Dwells that freed spirit, now transformed and taught To move in orbits where the immortals are. Does she rejoice or mourn ? Perchance from far Some earthly errand she but now has sought, By instantaneous ways among us brought, Ways to which night and distance yield no bar. Could we but reach and touch that wayward will On earth so hard to touch, would she be found Controlled or yet impetuous, free or bound, Tameless as ocean, or serene and still? If in her heart one eager impulse stirs, Could heaven itself calm that wild mood of hers? The Last Palatine Light, 59 THE LAST PALATINE LIGHT. [One of the best-known traditions of our Atlantic coast is that of the " Palatine Light," popularly associated with the wreck, off Block Island in 1720, of a ship bearing emigrants from the German Palatinates. The light is reported as appearing at ir- regular intervals for more than a century, and was last seen in 1832. Its appearance is minutely described by an eye-witness, a resident physician, who saw it Dec. 20, 1810. See Sheffield : "Block Island," p. 42.] "DOGER HARLAKENDEN climbed the hill Where no other fisherman dared to go ; The east-wind was blowing bitter and chill, Sheer was the cliff and the footing slow ; Handgrip on rock and knee on the sod, — At last on the headland's height he trod. In , the days of the pirates three footpaths led To that dizzy cliff; but now there was none Save for the fox, the goat, and the bird : One path o'er the seaweeds green and red; From high-water mark to the cave-mouth, one ; And thence o'er the Pirates' HilJ, the third. 60 The Last Palatine Light. Roger Harlakenden threw him down, Breathless at last, on the thin dry grass ; He could see his dory that glistened brown, He could see the men and the women pass, Tending the fish-flakes, from door to door ; And then he looked off to the ocean-floor. Like a land-locked haven in sight of the sea The life of the twelvemonth past was spread ; Peaceful contentment of heart and head Since the Lord had found him, from sin set free. Yet sometimes the thought of his wilder years Rushed back upon him, teeming with ill, — Wicked joys and delicious fears ; And then he climbed to the Pirates' Hill. Was it worth the strength of a man like him To dwell by the bay, with a calm sweet wife ; No stir in the blood, no peril of limb, No wild, fierce joy of the coming strife ? Just to clean his boat and to haul the seines, To cook the fish by the drift-wood fire, To play with his boy through the autumn rains, And on Sunday sing with his wife in the choir ? The Last Palatine Light. 61 Straight from the far horizon's line The east-wind blew; the smell of the brine Banished the months of weary peace, And bade this desolate torpor cease. It was almost sunset ; there was the sea. Only a night's hard pull, and he With his dory made fast to a whale-ship's side Could rock once more on the ocean wide. What to him the fare or the men? The ruder the better. He held his own Still with the roughest. God ! how he longed To be once more where the sailors thronged, Or the old-time wreckers might shout again On some cruel isle of the middle zone ! See ! with the sunset came once more The Palatine Light, the ship on fire ! Each generation, son and sire, Had watched it gleam, since the current bore The fated ship to a merciless wreck, With the crew in sight on the blazing deck. There was the phantom now! the flame Climbed stay and halyard to pennon-staff! 62 The Last Palatine Light. There was neither pity nor joy nor shame In Roger Harlakenden's bitter laugh. " Let it burn ! " he said ; " let the ocean roar ! I have looked on burning ships before. " I will watch that light with a steadfast eye From this moment out, till the sun goes down If it lasts till the last red sunbeam, I Will be quit this night of the cursed town ! " Then he tried to think of his wife and child; But his lips grew stern, and the wind was wild. Suddenly met him the startled face Of a boy who had climbed to that dizzy place, — Half-triumphant and yet half-scared, But daring whatever his father dared. The fisherman trembled, 'twixt wrath and fright. Terror next in that young voice rang : " Father ! " it cried. Harlakenden sprang — Out went the gleam of the Palatine Light ! He clasped the child in his strong embrace, He thrust back the curls from the rosy face ; Then faded the last bright flush of day, The Last Palatine Light. 63 A shadow fell on the ocean-swells, And soft from the mainland dim and gray Came the sweet, far sound of the Christinas bells. Never since then has a sailor seen The lurid wraith of the Palatine. 64 Memorial Ode. MEMORIAL ODE. [Read before the Grand Army Posts of Boston, Mass., on Memorial Day, May 30, 1881, by Mr. George Riddle.] JOY to the three-hilled city ! — for each year Heals something of the grief this day records ; Each year the plaintive lay Sounds yet more far away, And strains of triumph suit memorial words. The old-time pang becomes a thrill of joy ; Again we turn the page Of our heroic age, And read anew the tale of every patriot boy. A modest courage was their simple wont, The dauntless youths who grew to manhood here Putnam and Savage, Perkins and Revere. It needs no helmet's gleam, No armor's glittering beam, Memorial Ode. 65 No feudal imagery of shield or spear To gild the gallant deeds that roused us then, — When Cass fell dying in the battle's front, And Shaw's fair head lay 'mid his dusky men. II. All o'er the tranquil land On this Memorial Day, Coming from near and far, Men gather in the mimic guise of war. They bear no polished steel, Yet by the elbow's touch they march, they wheel, Or side by side they stand. They now are peaceful men, fair Order's sons ; But as they halt in motionless array, Or bow their heads to pray, Into their dream intrudes The swift sharp crack of rifle-shots in woods ; Into their memory swells The trumpet's call, the screaming of the shells ; And ever and anon they seem to hear The far-off thunder of besieging guns, — All sounds of bygone war, all memories of the ear. 66 Memorial Ode. III. A little while it seems Since those were daily thoughts which now are dreams. A little while is gone Since, the last battle fought, the victory won, We saw sweet Peace come back with all her charms, And watched a million men lay down their arms. But at this morning's call We bridge the interval; And yet once more, with no regretful tears, Live back again, though now men's blood be cooled, Through the long vista of the fading years To days when Sumner spoke, and Andrew ruled. IV. Courage is first and last of what we need To mould a nation for triumphal sway : All else is empty air, A promise vainly fair, Like the bright beauty of the ocean spray Memorial Ode. 67 Tossed up toward heaven, but never reaching there. Not in the past, but in the future, we Must seek the mastery Of fate and fortune, thought and word and deed. Gone, gone for aye, the little Puritan homes ; Gone the beleaguered town, from out whose spires Flashed forth the warning fires Telling the Cambridge rustics, " Percy comes ! " And gone those later days of grief and shame When slavery changed our court-house to a jail, And blood-drops stained its threshold. Now we hail, After the long affray, A time of calmer order, wider aim, More mingled races, manhood's larger frame, A city's broader sweep, the Boston of to-day. V. They say our city's star begins to wane, Our heroes pass away, our poets die, Our passionate ardors mount no more so high. 'T is but an old alarm, the affright of wealth, The cowardice of culture, wasted pain ! Freedom is hope and health ! 68 Memorial Ode. The sea on which yon ocean steamers ride Is the same sea that rocked the shallops frail Of the bold Pilgrims ; yonder is its tide, And here are we, their sons ; it grows not pale, Nor we who walk its borders. Never fear ! Courage and truth are all ! Trust in the great hereafter, and whene'er In some high hour of need, That tests the heroic breed, The Boston of the future sounds its call, Bartletts and Lowells yet shall answer, " Here ! " EARLIER POEMS. THE MADONNA DI SAN SISTO. [These verses, written and published at the age of nineteen, are here preserved, partly from their association with my dear old friend and college teacher, Professor Longfellow, who liked them well enough to include them in his "Estray," in 1847.] OOK down into my heart, Thou holy Mother, with thy holy Son ! Read all my thoughts, and bid the doubts depart, And all the fears be done. I lay my spirit bare, blessed ones ! beneath your wondrous eyes, And not in vain ; ye hear my heartfelt prayer, And your twin-gaze replies. What says it? All that life Demands of those who live, to be and do, — Calmness, in all its bitterest, deepest strife ; Courage, till all is through. 72 The Madonna di San Sis to. Thou Mother ! in thy sight Can aught of passion or despair remain? Beneath those eyes' serene and holy light The soul is bright again. Thou Son ! whose earnest gaze Looks ever forward, fearless, steady, strong; Beneath those eyes no doubt or weakness stays, Nor fear can linger long. Thanks, that to my weak heart Your mingled powers, fair forms, such counsel give. Till I have learned the lesson ye impart, I have not learned to live. And oh, till life is done Of your deep gaze may ne'er the impression cease ! Still may the dark eyes whisper, " Courage ! On ! " The mild eyes murmur, " Peace ! " Hymns. 73 HYMNS. [These three hymns were written at the age of twenty-two, and were published anonymously in a collection edited by my friends Samuel Longfellow and Samuel Johnson. They are here inserted mainly because they have secured for themselves a semblance of permanent vitality in hymn-books, and are not always correctly printed.] I. I WILL ARISE AND GO UNTO MY FATHER. n^O Thine eternal arms, God, Take us, Thine erring children, in ; From dangerous paths too boldly trod, From wandering thoughts and dreams of sin. Those arms were round our childish ways, A guard through helpless years to be ; Oh leave not our maturer days, We still are helpless without Thee ! We trusted hope and pride and strength : Our strength proved false, our pride was vain, 74 Hymns. Our dreams have faded all at length, — We come to Thee, Lord, again ! A guide to trembling steps yet be ! Give us of Thine eternal powers ! So shall our paths all lead to Thee, And life smile on like childhood's hours. II. THE HOPE OF MAN. The Past is dark with sin and shame, The Future dim with doubt and fear ; But, Father, yet we praise Thy name, Whose guardian love is always near. For man has striven, ages long, With faltering steps to come to Thee, And in each purpose high and strong The influence of Thy grace could see. He could not breathe an earnest prayer, But Thou wast kinder than he dreamed, As age by age brought hopes more fair, And nearer still Thy kingdom seemed. Hymns. 75 But never rose within his breast A trust so calm and deep as now ; Shall not the weary find a rest? Father, Preserver, answer Thou ! 'T is dark around, 't is dark above, But through the shadow streams the sun ; We cannot doubt Thy certain love ; And Man's true aim shall yet be won ! III. PANTHEISM AND THEISM. ISTo human eyes Thy face may see, No human thought Thy form may know ; But all creation dwells in Thee, And Thy great life through all doth flow! And yet, O strange and wondrous thought ! Thou art a God who hearest prayer, And every heart with sorrow fraught To seek Thy present aid may dare. 76 Hymns. And though most weak our efforts seem Into one creed these thoughts to bind, And vain the intellectual dream To see and know the Eternal Mind, — Yet Thou wilt turn them not aside Who cannot solve Thy life divine, But would give up all reason's pride To know their hearts approved by Thine. So, though we faint on life's dark hill, And thought grow weak, and knowledge flee, Yet faith shall teach us courage still, And love shall guide us on to Thee! Poems from " Tkalatta" 77 POEMS FROM "THALATTA." [The two poems which follow are from a volume called "Thalatta ; a book for the Sea-side," edited by my friend Samuel Longfellow and myself in 1853.] I. CALM. ""P IS a dull, sullen day, — the dull beach o'er In rippling curves the ebbing ocean flows ; Along each tiny crest that nears the shore A line of soft green shadow rises, glides, and goes. The tide recedes, — the flat smooth beach grows bare, More faint the low sweet plashing on my ears, Yet still I watch the dimpling shadows fair, As each is born, glides, pauses, disappears. 78 Poems from " Thalatta" What channel needs our faith except the eyes? God leaves no spot of earth unglorified; Profuse and wasteful, lovelinesses rise; New beauties dawn before the old have died. Trust thou thy joys in keeping of the Power Who holds these faint soft shadows in His hand ; Believe and live, and know that hour by hour Will ripple newer beauty to thy strand. Poems from " Thalatta!' 79 II. THE MORNING MIST. ^PHE mist that like a dim soft pall was lying, Mingling the gray sea with the low gray sky, Floats upward now ; the sunny breeze is sighing, And Youth stands pale before his destiny : O passionate heart of Youth ! Each rolling wave with herald voice is crying ; Thou canst delay, but never shun replying, It calls thee living or it calls thee dying, Though beauty fade before the glare of truth. Thou wanderest onward 'neath the solemn morning, It seems like mid-day ere the sun rides high, The soft mist fades, whose shadowy adorning Wrapt in a dreamy haze the earth and sky; The Ocean lies before ! thou art lost if thou discard the warning To make hot Day more fair than fairest dawning, Till eve look back serenely on the morning When Youth stood trembling on the ocean-shore. 80 The February Hush. THE FEBRUARY HUSH. CNOW o'er the darkening moorlands, — Flakes fill the quiet air; Drifts in the forest hollows, And a soft mask everywhere. The nearest twig on the pine-tree Looks blue through the whitening sky, And the clinging beech-leaves rustle Though never a wind goes by. But there 's red on the wildrose berries, And red in the lovely glow On the cheeks of the child beside me, That once were pale, like snow. June. 81 JUNE. CHE needs no teaching, — no defect is hers ; She stands in all her beauty 'mid the trees. 'Neath the tall pines her golden sunshine stirs And shifts and trembles with each passing breeze. All the long day upon the broad green boughs Lieth the lustre of her lovely life, While too much drugged with rapture to carouse Broods her soft world of insect-being rife. So without effort or perplexing thought She comes to claim all homage as her own, Clad in the richest garments Nature wrought, Melting the strongest with her magic zone. O wondrous June ! our lives should be like thee, With such calm grace fulfilling destiny. s. L. H. 82 December. DECEMBER. ^PHE evening sky unseals its quiet fountain, Hushing the silence to a drowsy rain ; It spreads a web of dimness o'er the plain And round each meadow tree ; Makes this steep river-bank a dizzy mountain, And this wide stream a sea. Stealing from upper headlands of deep mist, The dark tide bears its icebergs ocean bound, White shapeless voyagers, by each other kissed, With rustling, ghostly sound; The lingering oak-leaves sigh, the birches shiver, Watching the wrecks of summer far and near, Where many a dew-drop, frozen on its bier, Drifts down the dusky river. I know thee not, thou giant elm, who towerest With shadowy branches in the murky air ; And this familiar grove, once light and fair, Frowns, an Enchanted Forest. December, 83 Couldst thou not choose some other night to moan, hollow-hooting owl? There needs no spell from thy bewildered soul; 1 'm ghost enough alone. 84 To a Young Convert. TO A YOUNG CONVERT. T ULLED by sweet words and lured by saintly charms, I see thy weary, wandering steps begin To enter where the Church spreads wide her arms, Arms that have clasped their many thousands in. From turret-windows and from high-arched door Looks many a face of saint and martyr dear: " Hail, Eve's lost daughter, 1 wanderer now no more ! Earth's chill damp air shall never reach thee here! "Here Dante, Bayard, Catherine knelt in prayer; Come in ! their great remembrance makes us strong." Oh, enter not! for peril haunts the air Which even the loveliest lips have breathed too long. 1 "Hevae filia exul." To a Young Convert. 85 Come out upon the mountain tops with me ! See the glad day break o'er their spires of blue ! There lies within those cloisters' tracery A deadlier poison than in dankest dew. The Orient sun, that in that templed span Lit all of beauty saintliest eyes could see, Still falls in blessing on the humblest man Who works for freedom with a soul set free. In vain ! thou canst not ; yet thy cheeks grow pale While thy lips smile, and rapture lights thine eyes; The tender fascinations slow prevail, And half thy life before the altar dies. Will it die all? I know not. I can wait. The free air presses round the cloister door, And I shall listen at that stern-barred gate To hear thy sweet voice pray for life once more. 1850. 86 Serenade by the Sea. SERENADE BY THE SEA. [Set to music by M. Albert Pegou.] /^V'ER the ocean vague and wide Sleep comes with the coming tide. Breezes lull my lady fair, Cool her eyelids, soothe her hair, While the murmuring surges seem To float her through a world of dream. Shadowy sloops are gliding in Safe the harbor-bar within. Silently each phantom pale Drops the anchor, furls the sail. She, meanwhile, remote from me Drifts on sleep's unfathomed sea. So may every dream of ill Find its anchorage, and be still ; Sorrow furl its sails and cease In this midnight realm of peace; And each wandering thought find rest In the haven of her breast ! The Frozen Cascade. 87 THE FROZEN CASCADE. THE BRIDE OF THE ROCK. TN beauty perfected, with lavish grace, She casts herself about his rugged form, With all her vesture on, of snowy white, Nor left one pendant out, one dropping pearl. Could she be fairer? Through her inmost veins The warm sun searches, as for some weak spot ; But with a pride refined she smileth back: " I gave myself in beauty to this Rock ; Ancient he is, and reverend and strong ; And I will fringe him with my snowy arms, And lay my white cheek on his dark gray brow, Nor ever melt for all thy beaming eyes ! " s. L. H. 88 The Things I Miss. THE THINGS I MISS. A N easy thing, Power Divine, To thank Thee for these gifts of Thine ! For summer's sunshine, winter's snow, For hearts that kindle, thoughts that glow. But when shall I attain to this, — To thank Thee for the things I miss? For all young Fancy's early gleams, The dream ed-of joys that still are dreams, Hopes unfulfilled, and pleasures known Through others' fortunes, not my own, And blessings seen that are not given, And never will be, this side heaven. Had I too shared the joys I see, Would there have been a heaven for me? The Things I Miss. 89 Could I have felt thy presence near, Had I possessed what I held dear? My deepest fortune, highest bliss, Have grown perchance from things I miss. Sometimes there comes an hour of calm ; Grief turns to blessing, pain to balm ; A Power that works above my will Still leads me onward, upward still. And then my heart attains to this, — To thank Thee for the things I miss. 1870. TRANSLATIONS. SAPPHO'S ODE TO APHRODITE. TloiKiXoOpov ', adavar ' A.