^c Class C Book .l^^M^ Copyright ]^'^_ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; The Months A BOOK OF THOSE HANDSOME KIN, FOR LOVE OF THEM ALL, AND OF LIFE, AND OF THE EARTH James Vila Blake The James H. West Company BOSTON MASSACHUSETTS 1907 LIBRARY of CONGRESS, Two e«DiM Recety«] JAN 2 1908 Copyrieni tntry CLASS A XXC. No. COPY B. Copyright 1907 BY James Vila Blake To Thomas P, Hal^in My Dear Frifndr Do you renaemjber* how often, while w^e Were in business together, when w^e met ^at morning" in the counting room, our greeting w^as, "Well, w^iiat verse have-yoii w^ritten over night?" Then fojlowed some very happy * moments, a * half hour perhaps, of poetical reading and con- ference. We w^ere not the less shrew^d and ready in business thereafter — w^ere we ? Would it not be happy for the world if all business partners began the day in like manner? During very many years of such poetic fellow- ship w^e have w^orked and walked and talked and wheeled and sung and broken bread and played and stood by graves together. In grateful memory of all this rich friend-life I ask leave to inscribe this little book to you. Faithfully, JAMES VILA BLAKE Chicago, June 1, 1907. FOREWORD Gentle reader, we must live on this earth and in time. Therefore it is very happy for us that the earth, as it goes singing in its orbit, discourseth so sweetly that it makes time a long song, divided into twelve chapters or strophes. The moment the song is completed it is begun again; but the composition is so beautiful that it never wearies us, but always is new and adorable. If it please you to begin attending w^ith me to these strophes, you w^ill run no risk of tedious trouble, for you can stop conveniently any- where; but I hope that through ear and eye you w^ill give comfortable lodgement in your heart to these tw^elve children of one year : April, first mother of soft silent show^ers, May, adding many to April's sweet- few flow^ers. FOREWORD June, glorying in fresh-green summer bowers, July, that flameth in bright ardent hours, August, with pouch of fruits that promise more, September, selling the green for golden store, October, that the gold doth crimson o'er, November, glad w^i' the garnered gold galore, December, cloak of ermine for Christ's birth, January, begilt with New^ Year mirth, February, becrystaling the earth, March, soothsaying the spring mid w^intry dearth, — These twelve be daughters of one matron virtue. The queenly Year ! What canticles be her due ! APRIL 11 A'PRIL. npHE coy maid April hath very -■' beautiful grace ; and the grace is notable because it were acceptable anywhere. For April w^ere as w^el- come tw^ixt June and July, or as de- lightful suspended twixt mid -winter months, as with changeable charms she ends the controversies of March. Now^, March hath a lusty buxom good- ness in a rough fleece cloak, and Feb- ruary hath notable charms of her own as I shall say and sing very soon ; but neither of them nor any other month could fit anywhere ; this is a sociability belonging to gentle April alone. Therefore, having a mind to sing the twelve kin, I am fain to begin the cycle with April, the one of them all that could buckle the zone in any place, and assuage w^ith her tears either heats or chills. Moreover, she is named well, being the Opener, that unlocks the earth for first flow^ers and R j[2 promise of others ; whence as on the earth, so in a cycle of song, she the first may claim to trip her airy and showery way. See now^ how beautiful is this maid, the leader-in of the various year ; how lustrous with heavenly showers, how fresh w^ith green, how^ blossoming, liberal to brooks, verduring the trees, and always as ready with smiles and tears as our joys and griefs tumble over one another. How^ fair the rainy lights, and how fair the lightsome rains, their intervals, their succes- sions; and with w^hat lovely blossoms, delicate little w^ells, are drunk up the superfluities of the w^aters. All which I have humbly prayed the kind Spirit of Song to set to music for me — w^ith answ^er thus : April, floral channel o' streamy skies, Roral domain, w^et lustres, dript dia- monds ! Or shall we say. Sweet maid, w^hose w^eepy ponds Loose their slow freshets from her tender eyes R Laving with heavenly-fiery drops her face? Ay, so ; and she in every new green place That under trees or in a meadow lies, Poureth her innocent coquetries of show^ers Besprinkling the coy plenties of her flowers, Whose many a one into her bosom spies : She binds them in her breast or at her zone, — Most willing they, and fondly all her own, And each in that dear w^armth its lashes dries : There while on beaded green grass she hath stayed — Five beads o' rain that day to every blade — And nooks are lush, and runnels slip along, Now^ have I mind to sing her a sw^eet song, Which thus from all my heart to her doth rise : 13 14 R SONG. MAID April, wherefore wee pest thou In sweet inconstant days, Making a motley of smiles and tears Along thy pearly ways ? Dost mourn for rough and ready March, Whose snows (Ah, burly lover ! ) Thy saxifrage, hepatica And sweet arbutus cover ? Or dost thou w^eep that gladsome May And eke the sunny June So long delay vexatiously. Although a-coming soon ? So then thou spend 'st thy time in smiley Tears for kindred other, And teary smiles for dear sweet things To which thou *rt virgin mother. R Nay, nay, sweet April, of thyself, We pray, more fondly think, 1 5 Of all the sweetness, fairness, dearness. That throng in thee a-brink. For this we say, and always will. Whether we walk, play, delve. That thou, sweet maid, art e'er among The loveliest of the twelve. 16 ^ EASTER SONGS Every year the Spring, Every year the Fall : First the Spring when earth doth sing, Then the Fall when passeth all — Every, every year. Every day the morn, Every day the night : First the morn w^hen light is born, Then the night when fadeth sight — Every, every day. Every soul hath breath, Every soul hath death : First the breath that pleasureth, Then the death that gathereth — Every, every soul. Every life hath love. Every life hath loss : First the love that looks above. Then the loss that sweeps across Every, every life. R God 's in Spring and Fall, ^ y God 's in morn and night — Spring and Fall that come to all, Morn and night the double-bright, — Always, alAvays God. God *s in death and breath, God 's in loss and love : Death or breath him witnesseth, Loss and love both point above — Always, always God. God 's the all of all, I 'm his and he 's mine : If all, w^hat recks what may befall? If mine, all *s love and light divine : — Alw^ays, always God. Every love he loves. And he makes it life — Life with never end nor stint. Life that hath th' immortal in't, — Every, every love. Every year the Spring ! Every day the light ! Comes the Spring new life to bring, Comes the light of Easter-sight, — Every, every year ! Every, every day ! 18 R II. How simple on its stem a flower Doth bloom above the dew, Looking to heaven every hour With native eyes of blue, Native unto the skies ' ow^n hue ! How simply do the creatures plan Who spin themselves a grave, And hide therein a little span, Then flutter forth full brave, — Flutter, and gilded pinions wave. How simple 'tis a man to be, To live, to love, to think. Who looks forth from his eyes to see. And standeth on the brink, Standeth whence soul soars, ne 'er to sink ! O, life is thrice simplicity, Plain as the blooming things, As spinning cocoon -creatures be. And simple as new^ w^ings. Simple as soul that prays and sings: R O, life is simple fellowship -tg With thing, and man, and beast, And death is naught, that cannot nip What shineth, large or least — Shineth >vith one light, west or east : O, life is earth-w^ide fellow^ship. And death has naught to say ; Saith naught but it to life doth slip As roundeth night to day Around the rounded w^orld alway. Wherefore, aw^ake me, orient life, Or lull me, Occident; With east or west I have no strife, But follow with one bent. Follow with Easter merriment. III. The bright new Spring Maketh the season glad : The year doth bring **The grand recoil Of life resurgent from the soil," When all bright things return, and flee the sad. 20 ^ This Easter Day Is the new season 's season : Its upward ray Is to the heart What to the earth is sun 's warm part, Enforcing it to joy with precious reason. *Tis sure the sun Will rouse the flowery earth : The brooks w^ill run, The blossoms lift Sweet eyes to see bright vapors drift, And creature voices praise th' ec- static birth. O heavenly blaze That doth involve my soul, In these new days Be my heart dight Not less than earth with loving light, And thorough me immortal know^l- edge roll! IV. I heard a bird sing in a tree, He singeth up right lustily, R He singeth long, he singeth well,. Naught is nor can be fairer-fair : Yet saith my heart, 'Tis sooth to tell. There must be songs otherwhere. Then went I to a prattling brook; Its music all my senses took. The song is glad, the song is bright, And softly shrill as eddied air : Yet saith my heart, This sense is right, There must be songs otherwhere. Then went I to w^oods-aisles and nooks. That sing more than a thousand brooks ; Sw^eet chorus 'tis, the winds and trees Concerting voices rich and rare : Yet saith my heart. This is heart *s- ease. There must be songs otherwhere. Then went I to the shore o * seas. That sing more than ten thousand trees ; The song is loud, the tone more grand Than ever angels' trumpets bare : 21 22 ^ Yet saith my heart, This still doth stand, There must be songs otherw^here. Then went I far from fog or fen. To homes where w^omen sing w^ith men. And baby-pipes that bird-wise float Make trios where w^as erst a pair: Yet saith my heart. This doth denote There must be songs otherwhere. That otherwhere, dear otherwhere. It rustleth in my soul like air. Like billows, brooks, w^inds, birds and trees. Men, w^omen, and what women bear : And cries my heart, 'Tis more than these. That glorious song otherw^here. V. "Where are they?" Why, here : Where should they be, I pray, My own beloved? Away? Forever and a day Heart-near A P ^ I L They walk with me and stay. ^^ ♦*Where are they", indeed ! ^^ **But vanished ?" O, yea. Just from the sight of eyes. *• Tear-blinded?" Well, surprise Caught me sorrow^-w^ise : But nay, Opake are not the skies. **But vanished", indeed! •'But silent?" Why, yes. Just to the sense of ears, Or when beclogged with fears I have no soul that hears Express : Heaven to their voices clears. '*But silent", indeed! *• Where are they ? But vanished ? But silent ? " What queries ! WeU, well — Hast thou naught better to do. Or hast thou nothing in view^. Or is naught given to you To teU? Or hath love nothing new^ ? What quer*«« indeed ! •R 24 VI. Up from earth leaps the seed Into heavens boundless, glorious, golden ; Germ within must be freed From its little coffer, broken, olden. Riseth life transcendent ! Now the lordly tree Verdure -bright will be ; Lissom branches pendent Cluster flowers ; Sunny hours Warm the fruit resplendent. This the glory of the Spring, This the life that birds do sing, This the promise that doth bring Springtide joy and caroling ! Up from earth leaps the heart Into heavens boundless, glorious, golden ; Dreams within upw^ard start From their mortal temple, broken, olden. Heaven forever shineth, And the spirit free Lights of joy doth see, — R Evermore divineth ^^ Through the portal ^^ That immortal Life with love entwineth. This the glory that doth spring In the soul, and rise and sing, This the promise that doth bring Easter joy and caroling ! VII. Spring, sing to my heart ! Sing to me, bring to me All thy bountiful beams ! Come with thy showers, come w^ith thine hours Of breeze, of trees, of flow^ers, of bow^ers, Of Paradise, carolings, dreams ! With voice of bird in the new^ green heard. Spring, sing to my heart ! Life, sing to my heart ! Sing to me, bring to me All thine infinite light ! Come with thy beauty, come with thy duty 26 R To bear, to dare, to earn, to learn The wond 'rous, the awful, the right ! Song of my soul, within me roll! Life, sing to my heart ! Love, sing to my heart ! Sing to me, bring to me All thy peace in my strife ! By thy fast cleaving, ne 'er losing, ne 'er leaving. Enfolding, upholding, believing, re- trieving, Thou show^est the deathless in life ! Love that breaks never is life that lives ever ! Love, sing to my heart ! Faith, sing to my heart! Sing to me, bring to me All thy might and thy rest ! With thine adoring, with thine out- pouring Of light, of sight, of power, of dower Of love unending and blest, Opens the portal of life immortal! Faith, sing to my heart! APRIL 27 VIII. 'Tis a sweet story old How^ our first parents waked in Eden, And unto ttiem unrolled The lovely beaming, blooming land- scape, The velvet green, the fruits of ruby and gold. Right surely then they smiled To see so beauteous a region. Rife, in the shady-aisled High arches of the leafy temple. With things at once imparadised and ivild. They had all gracious flowers Aroma-spilling on soft zephyrs, New^ birds sang sunny hours, New^ running creatures gamboled harmless, Nature profuse enriched her horn of powers. 28 R O, it was beautiful ! How more could benefits almighty Be fair and plentiful ? How^ more could Mercy infinitely Provide abodes for pleasures glory- fuU? But O, there was much more — A mighty kingdom was awaiting ! The hearts of them were sore With "sadness of the w^hole of pleasure;" Divine inquietude upon them bore. 'Tw^as not that in the store Of all the bounteous, beauteous glory Appeared aught to deplore,— It seemed one lovely perfect splendor: Yet still they said, There must be something more ! They prophesied, Can soul Expect too greatly of the Father ? This must be but a shoal Of his one tide of love supernal ; And we who have that thought, must share the whole. Not that we love the less r\Q This region dear of faithful beauty ; But soul hath the impress Of an "eternal weight of glory" And to be dream-full so is blessedness! This very glory here Proveth 'tis not the all of glory ; Nay, though so bright and dear, 'Tis but a carol in the passing, Which we who sing, sing but to persevere. And so it hath been aye. Unto this time from that beginning — So hath been every day ! As blest in all times as in any. We hold perforce and more that glory-way. So must it be love-long. So meaneth this beloved season ! To toil love -full, love -strong. This is to know the life immortal, And bend o'er all the year the Easter Song ! 30 IX. O blessed Voice of Love and Faith, That life immortal 'witnesseth, And to the waiting spirit saith. In my Father's house are many mansions!" Now Spring doth sing and w^aters leap; Earth's times a deathless vigil keep, And life returns from hidings deep: In the Father's house are many mansions!" My soul, let earth one mansion be; The heavens then hear that call to thee, With all the stars in company. In the Father's house are many mansions!" And mansions more for aye have been Beyond this round of stars serene, Eternal built in heavens unseen: "In the Father's house are many mansions!" Dear Master, Voice of Love and Faith, Thy word doth live, and in me saith — And all my spirit answereth— In my Father's house are many mansions!" O blest and dear is mortal breath, And blest is life and love,— and death. Because the soul within me saith, •*In my Father's house are many mansions!" 31 MAY 35 MAY. IF any man think he hath outgrown going a-Maying, ' twere well to ask himself seriously whether ever he hath grown up to it. I have heard of, nay, unhappily seen, poor people hoveled or herded in bad, uncleanly, ill-drained, unsightly, unw^holesome collision in cities, who, styed thus a few rods from a great lake, never have seen w^aters glisten, nor heard them wash forth music, nor in any manner nor in any w^eather come near them. Or packed straightly and crow^ded a short wagon-ride from the country, they never have beheld green trees or growing flowers, or a brook, or a cow, nor know^n w^hat milk is, believing it a kind of manufacture. This is a pit- eous misery ; and some persons, or all together, are to blame for it ; and if all together, then they most w^ho are most powerful and rich. The denun- ciation of Amos >vill come upon 36 M them, — " Thus saith the Lord, For three transgressions of Israel, yea, for four, I will not turn away the punish- ment thereof; because they sold the righteous for silver and the needy for a pair of shoes. * * * ^ Therefore the flight shall perish from the swift, and the strong shall not strengthen his force, neither shall the mighty deliver himself" (Amos, II ) . And one man- ner of this punishment on them who scrape together too much w^hile many get too little, is that they are as they are ; for no penalty is so pitiless as just this, to be pitiless, and toss about their kickshaws in the face of them w^ho want bread. More wretched, I mean in a w^orse way wretched, than they who herd \vhere plashing waves almost wash their ears, yet they can hear them not and their backs are bent from them to toils — more wretched are they w^ho have leisure and w^ide houses and w^agons, yet never get them forth a-Maying, and know^ not how^ the May-Apple looks w^hen it pushes its parachute of foliage through the soft soil, nor ever tenderly brush M away brown leaves to inhale, from oy under them, the compounded flavor of the pink Arbutus and the wet delicious mould. But w^hat has become of his love-life w^ho takes not to fields and w^oods in May-days ? I w^arrant me there w^as a time w^hen he was every >vhit as lusty for a-Maying as young Arcite for Emily, when to get greenery for her, and to observe ceremony to May, he "Is ridden to the feldes him to pley. Out of the court w^ere it a mile or twey, And to the grove of which that I you told By adventure his way he gan to hold, To maken him a gerlond of the greves. Were it of woodbine or of hauthorn leves. And loud he song again the sonne shene : O Maye, with all thy floures and thy grene, M o g Right welcome be thou, faire freshe May; I hope that I some grene here getten may. " But this old dreary fellow, who will not go a-Maying now^, w^as he alert for the maid, and is he now dull for the matron ? But when by him she is no longer a maid, then forever should he be " by twenty thousand fold liefer to be in forest wild " at this sea- son, and pledge her with every bow- ery romance. Or mayhap is it she who hath grown dull ? Or hath each ground the other to a w^orldly dull- ness, a partnership whose account of profit and loss falls the wrong way ? But how bright the sight when old lovers go a-Maying together as ro- mantically as ever, with the young ones hard by whose hearts and feet dance together along the same old w^ays. Having these thoughts, I made known to the kind Spirit of Song that it w^ere great boon to me if the Spirit would tune the thoughts, or some of M them, with verse. Then after >vaiting some time (for the Spirit often de- mandeth much piety of waiting), I received what follows ; and I humbly w^ould it might be so w^orthy and fortunate, or become so by time, as to draw^ some sweet music to it, and every year be among the carols sung on May Day by the choir of Magdalen College atop of the beautiful tower thereof: 39 40 M SONG. T KNOW a merry month whose all ^ out-doors Is filled with rippling frolics of the play Of children ; The woods are aisles, and all the fields are floors For flowery hunt and flowery dances gay Of children : The month is May. That same bright double-fortnight hath a boon For the bright youth who seek a w^ilding w^ay For lovers ; Who loves his love approves the soft- ened rune Of w^inds in w^oods 'neath twilight 's fondling ray For lovers : The month is May . M And aged and mid-aged lovers true — Most true, more blest than youth dreams night or day, Old lovers, Because enriched with life — roman- cing too They pair a-wilding in the sweet old w^ay, Old lovers : The month is May. For children and young lovers and old pairs There 's rue and columbine and bar- berry spray. With violets. Wild strawberries that sweeten south slope airs. And laurels that o'erhang and hide aw^ay The violets : The month is May. Marsh marigold and mandrake and bright thorn, And potentilla 'mid its grassy way. And early rose. 41 M AO I"s» the cornel, the rhodora lorn, Pyrus ; and vies the arethusa gay With early rose : The month is May! JUNE JUNE. IN this happy climate (for truly I would call its rigors no little of its happiness) June hath been long the battle field of perfections, or the jousting lists of them, wherein they contend which shall be accounted the most eminent, w^hether the balm of the air, or the greenery of the trees, or the parliament of the flow^ers^ or the colloquies of the birds, or *'the sun by day and the moon and stars by night." *' Th ' enameled knacks o ' the mead or garden", is what a poet ( *'The Two Noble Kinsmen", Act 3, Sc. 1) calls the flowers. Which is to say, the earth hath a knack of blossoming, a facility and nature — let it alone, and it will blossom; like the untoilsome craft of those gentle sincere persons who can not come near you without dressing you in their good spirits. And surely ia June the earth hath 47 48 J U N arrived at its full rondure of advent. 'Tis like a sun, yet never overscorch- ing, rather like a fair flush of warm morning ; or like a moon, yet not at bold fulness, but crescently foreshow- ing the orb to follow ; or like a star, but not fixed and cold, rather like Hesper attending lovers ; or like music, but not loud and martial, rather as a soft voice nearing silence. Being able to think of nothing ex- ceeding the perfectness of many a chamber of time in the house of June, I besought the kind Spirit of Song to bring me to some versing of these images, and my entreaty was answered thus: J U N ID YL. JUNE is the sun of months; not as he burns In tawny Arabian deserts, but as he glows Like Withe young hunter, w^ho, hab- ited in green, Follows dark game, drives flying Erebus. Or June 's the moon of months ; a delicate orb, — Not like th' emboldened round,- bar- baric gold Swung on swart Night, but like the tender crescent. Gilt on gold sky, i' the twilight o' night and day. Or June's the star of months ; not like the glitter Of steely inclement points, but like w^arm Hesper's Sw^eet invitation, who lights the shad- ow^ing sky 49 50 U N With lovers' lamp, beauteous for seemly tryst. Or June 's the music of months ; not like the trumpets Of rocky-mouthed torrents, nor like stretched billows Fingered by tempests, but like soft repetitions Of panting love, whose breathings hesitate. What 's lovely, dulcet, lustrous, prod' igal, light, What 's most remembered, marveled musical, merry. All colors — green, carnation, lilac gold. All new^ness, softness, sweetness,— that is June. JULY JULY. Standing one morning at my matin exercises, facing a wall against wiiich I was throwing my weight on arms and shoulders and back, I observed some wavering shadows on the w^all, and looked around at the sunny w^indow surprised, for there w^as nothing mov- ing between the light and the vertical surface. All w^as still, yet there plain- ly w^ere the flickering shadow^s. Soon I saw^ the cause, namely, a lamp burn- ing with a very small flame. The air above it was quivering across the sun- beams, and the quivers w^ere cast, like ascending clouds, on the w^all. I found this charming. For I could see no motion in the air directly, yet the soft w^aves came to shore on the wall in the shadow^s. Being a great lover of heat — w^hich now^ I speak of touching the month of July — no temperature ever being too high for me, willing, as I w^ere, to re'^^'ce in eighty degrees in 55 56 / U the shade all summer long, I was de- lighted with the ripples of it on the wall. I was willing to call it delicate heat advanced to visibility ; and my thoughts truly reveled in that fancy, as my body revels in fine heat-fervors. But yet, let me say, the shadowy presence w^ere far from sufficing me. I must have a real fire-sea, like Yima, and I think I come out of it full of in- clination and strength to stretch the earth, as Yima did. How glorious is the pulsing billowy heat of a July noon at its best quality or high tide ! I will accept no covering less royal than a tree. Under a tree, lying on my back, w^ith " my fine features turned up to the sky " like Christopher North, I give me up to melting fervorously into the air, which is a sun-sea agi- tated w^ith a splendid hot trembling throughout. Belike few^ are the lovers of great heat. The more pity for them. Heat is life, from the tremendous fire-mist to this present lovely urbanity of the earth. By "the refiner's fire " of the sun the air gains an elemental sweet- J u ness, full-laden with fragrances of wood and field, the tree under which I lie bathes me in its distilling essence, and the very soil breathes forth easy health after the cautery and probings of the sun ; while in the noon fire of a July day the rank vapors, infestings, decays, the out-going dumpings of Nature, if so I may say, find their vast crematory. Thus tree-cabined, I ardently, albeit w^ith a cool domestic content of w^ait- ing, besought the dear Spirit of Song to grant me some versing of this fer- vorous month ; w^hereto, after a good heat-ministered time, this little pastor- al w^as vouchsafed : 57 58 U SONG. O, the fervorous heat, the ardurous heat, The opulent, tremulant, pulsing heat. The shiver and shimmer, The flicker and glimmer O* the undulant wagging of heat i' the air. Of heat i' the hyaline air! The little birds sing in the fiery dawn. The wonderful, fiery, glorying dawn. With crooning and tuning ; But soon they are nooning. And silent as sun i' the heat-laden air. As dawn i' the gold-bearing air. The little rills start from the hills for the ocean, The mother of rain and of music, the ocean ; But the gushing, the flushing, The rushing, are hushing / u When water itself is athirst i' the air, CO r the ocean of fire i' the air. Balsams of pinery, fernery, hay. Attars of soil and the sun-mellowed hay. Are rimming and skimming. Are brimming and swimming The woods-sweetened, meadowed and muscadine air. The hay-balmy balsamined air. Flaming July ! calescent to argent, O'er-blazing the red and the golden to argent ! Sun-hours replete With showery heat. Burning to w^hite-hot the azure of air, To argent the opaline air ! AUGUST AUGUST. 63 A S April blithely foretells summer, -^^ so August sturdily hints of win- ter. The mornings and evenings grow cold, while yet the summer triumphs at noon. I assure you, friendly read- er, I have shivered well, with no little discomfort and no trifling danger, during a long ride over a bleak country at very early dawn of a fine August day. One such ride I recall specially, and cold indeed it w^as. My journey-friend was discoursing volu- bly to my blue ears, when we passed by a lonely field, spangled and glitter- ing with the sharp jewels that hung italics on the cold everywhere. In the pasture was a solitary bossy, who had passed the chill night there. "Moo-oo-oo," said the calf. "Good morning", cried my friend, incident- ally but heartily, continuing his dis- course to me with no breath of inter- ruption. 'Twas a fine bit of current courtesy on both sides. 64 U G U Yes, truly, if April be a coy maid, rich enough to fling diamond showers from one rosy hand while w^ith the other she scoops light from the heart of the sun to make her rainbow^ bril- liants, matronly-rich August dips her w^arm finger-tips into bow^ls of frost to comfort the brow^ of the sun-king. This month hath virtue to bring to pass things of her own, and yet keeps hosts of others. In large and generous folds, and sweeping the car- petry of the green, trails August's royal mantle splendidly embroidered w^ith blossoms, w^hereof the earlier sisters have wrought many, but some are her ow^n creations. Looking at this plentiful beauty, I w^ooed the kind Spirit of Song in the name of the beauty, and the Spirit sang August to me thus : U G U O'DE. RICH AUGUST hath a forelock in his eyes, Winter's first hint, Sibylline leaves of frost, The sun 's love o ' the snow, the snow 's requital — Foregleams like land-birds to the distant ships. For now the morning breathes pro- phetic rigor. And though high noon, w^here its hot chariot carries King Sun w^ith blazing axle, melts the sky, The baby cold coos from sw^eet eve- ning 's arms. Mayhap the whole day makes the flow^er. That something gains from every hour, And not alone the noontide fire 65 66 U G U Doth bid them open to desire, And not alone cold morning dews Have sparkles all the blossoms use, And not alone the evening chill Doth energize their blooming will, But every sixty minutes o 'er They something pick from th' twenty-four. Hence now the Wolfsbane brave appears, Desmodium slender waves his ears. Breaks forth the gold Leontodon, And Starw^orts put their fringes on. Nor these alone, bright August flow^ers, Are cooled and warmed into their pow^ers. But many a lovely blossom lingers, E 'en some that April's showery fingers . Shook out into their vanward bloom. That muster now in August 's room. July 's gold Foxglove hath for fellow^ The still-seen Potentilla 's yellow. And here delayeth stoutly yet The royal Yellow Violet. Still w^inks the mead with Blue-eyed grass, U G U Nyinphaea floats on watery glass, And to the same sun-sprinkled pond Are yellow lilies no less fond. The Jewel-weed its spotted horn Droops o 'er the marsh where th' Cress is born, Low^ blushes soft Polygala, Gay glows the gold Baptisia, And w^ayside gleams Linaria. Looks up the w^oodsy Pyrola, The splendid Cardinal is seen, Church -crimsoned more than king or queen ; The Honeysuckle, Clematis, The Centaury and Lathyrus, The alabaster Indian Pipe, — For these, and hosts, the month is ripe. So flowery is August 's golden noon. So flowery the morning of her cool- ness. So flowery her winter-hint o ' nights. And field and vineyard burn with gold and purple. These days are royal like a king's retinue : 67 68 A U G U First come the fore-guards, plain, the cold mornings ; Last ride the rear-ranks, plain, the cold nights ; Between them mounts the King, the golden noon. SEPTEMBER SE'PTEMBER. 73 THE last month of summer in this climate. And a good orator for valedictory, — her mid -day fires are fervent, and the mornings a glow. But also this is an equinoctial month. "The great September gales" are as famous as the blusterings of Brother March, the fellow in equal nights. I have seen a September gale enter a sea-board tow^n and set the house- leaves, I mean shingles, a-flying w^ith the tree-leaves. But if like March in adventurous winds, with what a dif- ference ! No snow nor ice nor cold, but splendid warmth, and greens shading toward purples, reds and browns, w^ith bevies of flowers still trooping. If we call March a burly honest lad, w^ith veins full of his w^in- ter ancestry, to what may we liken the fulfilled ripeness of September, triumphing equally in pow^ers of ma- rine gales and of sun-mellowed land- acres } Whether a lion 's gentleness, 74 SEPTEMBER or a good man 's ire, or battle-fields among roses, fit to our fancy, we know here a mighty heart-beat with a saving tenderness. The names of the months are all agreeable words, though some have more euphony than others, and among these are April and the two sets of rhymers ending in AR y and EMBER, September is a gliding name, that trips from tongue by letters well affiliated, yet stronger by consonants than the other EMBER names, and, if I mistake not, hath a hint of both the ease and the sound of the winds. It is curious perhaps that, despite the softness and pleasantness of the sound, there are but four words in our language ( if we count MEMBER and its compounds as one) that rhyme with EMBER, and three of these are month-names. April is a fine word ; so is October ; February little or not at all behind, and September w^orthy of the company. I know^ not whether more than some of her w^arm sisters September array herself in **the gray domino of the fog", but certainly lovely gray SE'PTEMSER days and misty alliances of soft vistas yq belong to her. Well I remember one setting forth of me on such a gray day, in the morning. The sky was not cloudy in masses, but evenly ocean- deep everywhere w^ith impenetrable vapor. The lacey light had no one spot on earth or in the sky which was brighter than any other place, but there w^as a suffusion of impartial veiled luminosity as soft as dove 's down. "My heart leaped up when I beheld " the beauty of air and of gray heavens stooping close, like a Sister Evangeline bending over me. Then came a dear thought of her who once had welcomed with tears some verse of mine just because it was not ad- dressed to her, but forsook her, she said, for a higher flight of thought. If poesy of mine w^ere conceived w^orth those tears, I w^ished for more, and cried. Come, lovely gray day, I pray thee speak music through me wherewith her heart may dissolve again. Then the tender pearl -light of time and place became this sonnet SEPTEMBER yg How beautiful this day, to eye- sight, mind -sight, And histories of God how beautiful With all their wonderments by fore- sight, hind -sight. And all their glow^ that 's deep a heaven-full ! Behold a day all gray, the very air Is gauzy-gray — this misty brushes do ; Mine eye doth revel in the soft pearl- fair. But with the mind *s eye I see through to blue. And here 's a gray that 's a gray sw^eep of time ; Sight likes it not — it sends a chill abroad ; But I 've an eye that looks through gray or grime To see that 'fore and after there i& God. This gray spread on the blue I love right well ! What story of man that not of God doth tell! SEPTEMBER But long before this gray-day jubi- lancy I had besought the dear Spirit of Song to grant me a lay of Septem- ber. " ' Tis a warm rich month," said I. "A song of her is worthy of a thought-theme," answered the Spirit. "Wilt, then," said I, "put into the song a thought drawn from storm and wreck and loss?" "Ay," said the Spirit, and did so, thus : 77 SEPTEMBER 78 O'DE. SEPTEMBER, warm memory of March, When, as in that month of winter 's gruff or gusty cheer In its last lustiness, and for the sec- ond time i ' the year. The day and night are equal round the sphere, And from the same, then chill, now fiery arch. The rondure of th' all-heavenly arch. Blew th ' early blasts icy and bluff. Hearty, athletic, rampant, rough. And now the cloudy famous gales That toss the hull and tear the sails Of hapless ship again that rocks I ' the arms of mighty Equinox, And yet in mists like wool The sun becalmed burns full. And w^hen th' mists rise Into the skies. SEPTEMBER Then doth the gray-green verdure jq parch — September, I love thee well ! Thy double majesty to tell The sun descendeth golden hot On flowery mead or garden spot. And thy great tempests, furious. Blazing, glorious, perilous, Fall on the billow^y main Where rolling vessels strain. Seas go up and seas go dow^n. And wild September gales. That thresh the ships like flails. Take no thought o' men that drow^n ; Yet ho ! for the w^inds o ' the roar- ing sea. That shake the air to purity From one to other pole. The w^hile beneath them roll The billow^s that be shaken too To keep all clean creation 's brew^ ! And though the mighty features Of tempests mind not creatures, *Tis man 's great part — no greater other — To Providence his coming brother, 80 SEPTEMBER And learn to weather the fierce storms, Building ships in sturdier forms : By every man that lieth drowned below^, Another on the w^aves shall safely go. Meanwhile, like ripples skimmed from a Summer sea And painted into flowers, September on the land Flingeth her sunny hours With warm, prodigal hand. Transmuting windy scud to bloom o ' the lea. Many a mead shines mellow With harvest-ready yellow. And by a brook or nook yet stay Blossoms lasting e 'en from May. Here is still the Pickerel Weed, That tw^o months gone began its seed ; The woods are flecked w^ith Yellow Sorrel, Sabbatia, Cress, Herb Robert, Laurel ; The Spurry Sandwort by the way Rose-purple at our feet doth lay In little stars ; Impatiens yet O 'erhangs a stream or places wet ; S E "P T E M 'B E R Vervain, Swamp Mallow, Pale o-i Violet, °^ The Water-Lily, Honeysuckle, Starwort, Lobelia Cardinal, The Potentilla 's golden eye. Poly gala 's purple nestling by. The Raspberry bush, the Black- berry vine, And Phytolacca 's crimson shine — These fill the mead, these light the wood Where eye hath looked or feet have stood With love, w^ith love, w^ith love, w^ith love, Knowing that from above For dear creation 's gain Descend the flower and hurricane ! September, September, September, ho ! Come with thy flowers, And battling powers — Thy merry hours Emblossomed, and furions gales that blow! OCTOBER OCTOBER. 85 HERE is the Fringed Gentian, mar- velous beauty, in full glory, like blue buckles on golden belts arraying alike September and Octo- ber. Some other flowers, too, linger from earlier season; but look they not drowsy ? Like children dismissed at late twilight feast-time. Earth's precious stragglers of bloom kiss her detaining hand ere Nurse's voice calls them aw^ay and they tumble sleepily into bed. Here are many meadows all run together, as it w^ere, and their thus crow^ded versicolored flowers lifted in a tapestry and spread over the tops of the forest. Or if that fancy please not, take this one, whether bolder or less bold I know not, namely, that a thousand meadow^s have con- densed their blossoms into thick, col- ored essences, wherewith Nature paints lavishly and with broad strokes w^hole w^oodlands. And if w^e journey 86 OCTOBER at this time through a hilly country, like our New England Berkshire, not only the front rank of trees, as in a wooded level, are visibly glow^ing, but vast slopes of tree-crowns, blaz- ing and glorious w^ith buffs and golds and crimsons and scarlets. To this add the royal dominion of the fruits, under the still flourishing but milder reign of the sun. All Nature is a "Field of the Cloth of Gold," where mellow^ed lights engild the gold of royal banners, hangings, vestures, trappings and liveries, and great shafts of golden flame light w^ith glow^- ing cheer the vast feast of yellow fruits and grains. Here, methinks, in this rich, glori- ous, summer -finishing, heaven-spill- ing month, I may record best my extreme separation from a memor- able and continually quoted line of Words w^orth, namely, "The light that never was on sea or land." For many years vaguely I recited this line, as others of the many re- citers have done belike, by reason OCTOBER of its curious spell-like charm. I gy have yielded me to its leading and misleading like as to a soft lambent marsh-light, called " Will - wi * -a- wisp;" but always with a dim un- easiness or foggy protest, w^hich at last cleared to a denial. The line occurs in the poem called *' Elegiac Stanzas, Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle, in a Storm, Painted by Sir George Beaumont." The poet says he had seen and intimately ob- served the Castle during many lovely summer days, and adds, "Ah, then if mine had been the painter 's hand. To express what then I saw^, and add the gleam. The light that never was on sea or land. The consecration and the poet's dream, **I w^ould have planted thee, thou hoary pile, Amid a w^orld how^ different from this ! 88 OCTOBER Beside a sea that could not cease to smile, On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss." Here plainly the bard's emotion, "the consecration and the poet's dream," might add a manner of glory to the scene not there before, "the gleam, the light that never was on sea or land." *Tis this which I have grow^n to dispute heartily, and even passion- ately, as being not true, and even hurtful. The glory of any splendid scenery throbs with all of me, and more ! And though I add me to it, 'tis only a plunging into it, and it flows over my head ! Better than Wordsworth's line is Richard Jeffer- ies' saying, "The sunlight that falls on the heart like a song ; " and better still if he had said. It is a song. And he has said so in effect, as in this paragraph : " Alone in the green- roofed cave, alone w^ith the sun- light and the pure w^ater, there was a sense of something more than these. The water was more to me than C T O B E R water, and the sun than sun. The gleaming rays on the water in my palm held me for a moment, the touch of the w^ater gave me some- thing from itself. A moment and the gleam w^as gone, the w^ater flow^ing aw^ay, but I had had them. Beside the physical w^ater and physical light I had received from them their beauty ; they had communicated to me this silent mystery." And in these lines : "Steeped in flower and pollen to the music of bees and birds, the stream of the atmosphere became a living thing. It was life to breathe it, for the air itself w^as life." And in the f oUow^ing paragraph from this passion- ate lover of Nature, in his "The Pageant of Summer:" '* A sw^eet breath on the air, a soft w^arm hand in the touch of the sunshine, a glance in the gleam of the rippled w^aters, a w^hisper in the dance of the shadows ! ***** There was a presence everyw^here w^ith us, though unseen, — w^ith us on the open hill, and not shut out under the dark pines. ***** That we could but 89 90 O C T O B E vith our own being, in the following splendid outburst beginning Nietzsche's **So Spake Zarathustra : " '* Having attained the age of thirty, Zarathustra left his home and the lake of his home and went into the moun- tains. There he rejoiced in his spirit and his loneness, and for ten years did not grow weary of it. But at last his heart turned, — and one morning he got up w^ith the dawn, stepped in- to the presence of the Sun and thus spake to him : ' Thou great star ! Where would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for whom thou shinest ? For ten years thou hast come up here to my cave. Thou wouldst have gotten sick of thy light and thy journey but for me, mine eagle and my serpent. But w^e w^aited for thee every morning, received from thee thine abundance, and blessed thee for it. Lo ! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath OCTOBER collected too much honey ; I need hands reaching out for it. I would fain impart and distribute until the wise among men could once more enjoy their folly, and the poor once more their riches. For that end I must descend to the depth, as thou dost at evening, w^hen thou sinkest behind the sea and givest light to the lower regions, thou resplendent star ! I must, like thee, go down, as men call it, to whom I will descend. So bless thou me, thou peaceful eye, that canst look w^ithout envy even upon over-much happiness. Bless the cup w^hich is about to overflow, so that the w^ater may flow^ golden out of it and carry everywhere the reflection of thy rapture. Lo ! this cup is about to empty itself again, and Zarathustra once more will be- come a man.' Thus Zarathustra's going dow^n began." Now thinking thus of Words- worth 's line, and even more feeling thus, as I have said, I spoke my sep- aration nine times from day to day, thus : 91 92 O C T O B E "R. I. ** The light that never was on sea or land" — Nay, nay, dear poet, ' twere better said for me, The light that al>vays was on land or sea, And alw^ays hath the lustrous heavens spanned. For look w^e w^here w^e w^ill, on either hand, Or up or dow^n, o 'er plains, w^here mountains be. In sheltered vales, or where wild w^inds are free. Where diamonds gleam, or on the common sand, — All light is one, and is the very light Beams in an eye or singeth in a voice When voice and eye are kindled with the heart ; Yea, and what light both shone and rang so bright When th ' morning stars sang out, and did rejoice Creation's sons, — which light, O God, thou art ! OCTOBER "• 93 "The light that never was on sea or land ! " Thought the most gentle bard there be two lights, Or many, — one of earth, that flatters the heights And valleys, and tw^inkles from Arc- turus ' band ? And other one where thoughts or loves have fanned The soul to flame that maketh dark- est nights Relucent, giveth th ' inward spirit sights Of Eden, and show^eth where angel armies stand ? O, no ! All light 's the same and all lights one! In man's, sweet woman's, child's, sw^eet infant's eye, In heavenly vault of stars or moon or sun, In plains, great mountains, calms, great tempests high. Where rivers deep to seas un- fathomed run, Light is all one — 'tis God whom we descry ! OCTOBER 94 III. **The light that never was on sea or land ! " Poet, dear poet, thanks that thou mak'st me see In contrary one light on every hand : God ! make it one to me as 'tis from thee! Soothly I ken that he who made the eye Doth feed it with divine refulgency ; Eke he that made the ear makes it espy In its ow^n w^ay that same divinity ; And he w^ho makes the heart, and throbs of heart, Doth noursle it with that same voice and gleam ; And he who gave us thoughts, gives for their part Th * enlightenment where planets sing and beam. All lights are one in thee, who being mine. Eke one I know them because I am thine. OCTOBER IV. "The light that never was on sea or land!" Nay, vouch me why the little flowers like bells In campaniles tall their mouths ex- pand, But that of sight atoned with voice it tells ! Sound is a light and light a very sound. What matter if He speak to ear or eye. The w^ords are one ; yea, sw^eet thoughts are compound O' the light that drips the bowls of earth and sky. Let day come as it will, noisy or stilled. And night come as it may, cloudy or bright, — What 's dim or clear or clamor or hush is filled In sea and land and soul w^ith one self light. There never were two fires, one soul's, one earth's ; Sea-beams, land-beams, be Heaven's sweet brim of mirths. 95 96 OCTOBER O, soul o' me, how were it any- w^here, ** The light that never was on sea or land?" Lo, earth is bright and wonderfully fair, With floral beauty plumed on every hand. And flies in space like Bird of Para- dise On pinions brighter than the rainy bow. Is there a lofty light of lordly rise Above sea shores, that w^ill not stoop so low? Nay, this I know, that all the light of earth Sprinkled on hill-tops and on seas abroad. Is one with glories that in soul have birth, And light 'tis of the countenance of God. God ! earthly light unheaven'd is naught to me. Nor thought or love unearthlike aught to thee ! OCTOBER * VI. They that go down unto the sea in ships, And in great waters to their business keep, These do behold the works o' the Lord — their lips Cannot refrain his wonders in the deep. For he commands and raiseth the stormy w^ind, Which lifteth up the mighty w^aves amain ; They mount unto the heavens, till he rescind ; Then go they dow^n into the depths again. Souls melt w^ith fear. The storm then calmeth he, So that the mighty waves thereof are still; Then are they glad because they quiet be, — He brings them to a haven where they will. What " light there never w^as on sea or land " Sure is small felloiv of this fair and grand ! *Ps. cvii. 23-30. 97 OCTOBER 98 VII. I've seen the heavens in April all a-fire, Rainy with iris, with opals stringing th' air, The skies pied like the sampler of a dyer, Birds sipping sunshine, — wi ' the sun their ditties fare. Eftsoon the waters of the upper sea Soundly w^ash down, a-breaking to lovely spray ; Anon the sun looseth his jollity, O'er-smiling the show^ers ; and so 'tis every day. If so the vernal heavens be song-full light. Behold how^ 'tis i' the dear diurnal earth; There new-loosed brooks along pour song-beam bright, — Light's tune, tune's light, calls th' other with sweet mirth. If with such voice-full light the earth be fraught, Sure "light that 's ne'er on sea or land" is naught ! O C T O "B E R VIII. Full often have I seen a glorious robe Apparel the earth with perfect end- less white, Making each bush a velvet stud or lobe, Wi' the same stuff covered as the raiment bright. Methought th' immaculate splendor w^ere enough ; But w^hen the hours opened the ward o' the w^est. There hung th* horizon of soft green and buff, A spangled girdle for the snow^y vest. O, heart o' me, how^ hath the dear bard spoken O' *'the light that never was on sea or land .?" Here 's the w^hite-shining seamless robe unbroken. Which God hath hasped with yon gold emerald band. If there be light more precious than here seen, 'Tis better light than Love is, as 1 ween. 99 100 OCTOBER IX. I think that light is God, and God is light, And love is light, and every light is love. Light was the first God -word, athwart the night When th' Spirit moved, moved the void deep above. And w^ith that w^ord methinks him- self w^as done Into all light, and evermore 'tis He, Qne Lord and Life and Light, etern- al One, As ever 'tw^as, is now^, and aye shall be. Wherefore, dear poet, I can not say w^ith thee "The light that never was on sea or land;" For all the many lights are one and He, Whether they shine in love or sea or sand, I pray for light within to know 't without, That 'tis all one, and w^raps the w^orld about. OCTOBER Having spoken so, 'tis just and grateful to witness that Wordsworth, like all the great bards, has said the like in many an illustrious break of beauty familiar to his lovers ; but if one view is true, the other can not be. Why this halt of harmony? Should not the tones of a poet, like those of a bell, ring true at every chime ? Have I w^andered far from October ? Nay, only w^andered some circles in its light. 'Tis a short traverse home to it, to its glorious finishing of all the w^arm transaction from bud to leaf and blossom since March, of April's opening to beauty and fragrance and the wing-flight of bloom, of the Summer's forming fruit and its mel- lowing for ready hands, — all ending in October's assembly of the royal dynasties of the leaves arrayed in pomp of scarlet and gold, and then the new bud, happed up and arm- ored against the winter, under the shadow^ed and disappearing arc. Rapt with this splendor of October, I be- sought the Spirit of Song to vouch - 101 102 O C T O S E R safe me to catch some music from the days ; and the Spirit gave me to hear and repeat this : O C T O B E -R 103 SONG. LATE did the precious Gentian open her lid, to look Up through her eyes' soft fringes high Into the blue, That she might view The azure rondure of the sky, Whence Nature th' sapphire pig- ment for her beauty took. Then had the summer's other blossoming beings run The way of flow^ery things, and fled Into the air. When forth this fair, This marveled fringed cerulean, sped, To wake in us again the glory that w^as done. Yet still some earlies linger, breath- ing summer and spring. 104 C T O B E R To show with w^hat reluctance sw^eet £arth spares the flowers ; Here still the bow^ers Of Honeysuckle, Cardinal, Laurel ; hearts greet Herb Robert, and still to the ruddy soil Pale Violets cling. Meanwhile the fields are golden- shock'd, and a meadow^y yellow^ Through all the fruitful earth doth shoot. And atmosphere, As if the clear Gold air itself were a round fruit; And rich therew^ith is poured the purple vintage mellow^. Aladdin's deeds were naught to yon- der flaming tree. Whose leaves turn jew^els ruby and gold, Rainbows of dyes ; And when our eyes Great hill-sides blazing so behold. Could vaster hanging tapestries of colors be ? OCTOBER October beautiful, radiant, more than maiden-fair, Lovely height o' the year's mid-age, Both rich and sweet. Thy matron feet Walk with a beauty large and sage; But youthful round thy head blows summer's amber air. 105 NOVEMBER NOVEMBER. 109 IS not the circling pathway of the months as notably and variously beautiful in song-tracery as in the rich and changing ranks of floral pro- cessions? Surely the sound-harmonies of each quatrain of weeks may be as ranging and distinct as its nature by heat and cold, by sky and air in- vestitures. A medley of the bird- notes prominent in each month would alone carry us through a charmed circle. And when to these is added the swell and beat of the thousand- voiced choir of Nature, the insect tones, concerting of w^inds and trees with the liquid w^ater-melodies, then indeed opens a great round of sea- sonal life, our entrance w^hereinto is conditioned only on that quick- witted hand-maid of the soul, the listening sense. Given the ear only, and then a place at a theatre of discoursing Nature, w^ho could mistake the shrillings of 110 KOVEMBER February for September mellowings, or July amplitudes for April anima- tions? The range is indeed as vast and various as if in each month a new earth were created and new seas of life were poured into a new sky of sound. There are songs enough, indeed ! And if you think nature- sounds be not veritable music, I must remind you of a pretty legend forthwith, that of the grudging and gloomy Sub-prior who awoke to find all the w^ondrous, rich, rare, beauty -bloom of his fair Minster bursting to a fragrance of rapturous concerted song. The Sub-prior had come on a cold night and had pros- trated himself on the cold stones of the floor, in a mood of surly gloom which he mistook for piety. While bew^ailing the sin of a fallen and ruined earth, as he deemed it, he fell asleep, and then was awakened by light flooding the chapel and there- with w^onderful song. When he looked he saw^ all the things in the chapel singing. The little carved cherubs of the choir and the stately NOVEMBER windo>v saints were caroling together. The carved faces on the oaken pews joyfully caught up the strains, even the splendid vestment-jewels flashed their color and light into song, and every corner of the radiant old Abbey shared in the great Antiphon. So outpoured the glad harmonious praise! And thereupon the astonished Sub- prior bethought him of the eyes that see not and the ears that hear not. If so be that this legend is really a truth, and all things in nature are singing, why then, when man is not listening thereto or singing, he alone of all earth's beings joins not in the harmony. But he does join therein sometimes, and forthwith from beings formed to see, to hear, to know^, to think, to feel, arise vast harmonies soul -stirred and wrung forth. Earth with all its creatures hath its Advent Song, its Resurrection Hymn, its Psalm of Thanksgiving, its Carol of Hope, its glorious Te Deum, and its cheerful Nunc Dimittis. So falls it that No- vember, as she closes the doors of a full granary, must needs '* break forth 111 112 J^OVEM'BER into singing, " lifting heart and voice in a fervor of praise. A stirring in me of the joy of the Thanksgiving Festival forced way at my mouth one day, thus : When I bethink me what skies are, and lands, And all the creatures both are rife withal, And my dear occupancy by com- mands Of the one Lord who daily makes it all. Then do I know what a tremendous gift To me my life is, and it doth be- hoove me To raise me to that contemplation, lift My heart, and let the heavens move me ; And I perceive how^ measureless the debt That 's laid on me, that if with all my pow^ers I make return, O, still it is not met — K O V E M B E R I cannot pay for life with ail life's hours. Lord, help me ! I would not be too much debtor, But somewhat pay by loving all things better ! I remember not surely how^ it hap- pened that this sufficed me not; yet I have some dim recollection that the last line of it took possession of me, namely, the thought of the loving of everything as a way of paying for everything, and the only w^ay ; out of w^hich after some days came the fol- lowing : Our Lord, how helpless am I to repay The marvels of thy gifts! Can I by thinking Reckon for the pow^er of thought ? Or by my w^inking Refund the eyes' marvel ? By such a w^ay The charges of thy mighty gifts defray — O' the sea by merry swimming, rising, sinking. 113 114 NOVEMBER O' the sweet rainy streams by of them drinking, Of green tree-skies if under them I stay ? Payeth the hirer hire who doth no more Than shrewdly use a beautiful ma- chine ? How^ then retribute I with reason better ? Lord of these goodly hosts round me and o'er, Grant me th' one wherewithal — sw^eet love, I w^een. To pay sweet love, so be not all a debtor ! The November out-pouring of praise seemeth not unlike a great Recession- al in the year's choral service. Rich and full as if plenty-blest it rises, then slow^ly softens to gentle memories and forward hopes, until at length from behind closed doors, rising from blazing hearths, comes a clear ** Amen ! " It being due from me on a certain time to hand forth a song of Novem- NOVEMBER ber and Thanksgiving, one day I iig cried out in my need, thus : Spirit of Thankfulness, prythee come unto me ! Spirit of Song, prythee see what is done to me Here in this noise in the world ! O, there be joys in the world. Mid the jargon and noise There be quiets and joys That will stay with me long And will grow in me strong! Bring them, dear Spirit of Song! So entreated came the kind Spirit of Song to me very quickly, nay, delay- ing not a moment, and caught me by the hair and held me even by hair and beard, and whispered eagerly, "Write what I chant to thee"; w^hich I did, and so received the following: 116 N O V E M B E R SONG. THE bright procession of the blos- soms hath passed by; The gold and purple rear Doth vanishing appear — Sparse stragglers from th' October flanks Of Summer's army, where in ranks ♦ They sang to the winds as never car- nivals nor symphonies outvie. Now fields are yellow^-hillocked w^ith golden fruits : The mighty succulent gourd, With rich, ripe round matured, Shineth tw^ixt many a saffron shock Where husks are soon stripped to unfrock The ear whose ruddy-orange color w^i' glow o' the lordly pompion suits. NOVEMBER Then comes mid-month the lovely Indian Summer new, Whose melting golden haze Copies the fruity blaze O' the field, and the bland airs and sky Retune the heart wi' old singer's cry : "Hath the rain a father, or who hath begotten the drops of dew?" O th' bounty and the beauty, The grain and vine ! The harvest is ingathered. Corn, oil and w^ine ; And it hath all been fathered With love divine! The ice-wind will be weathered. Where hearth-fires shine Upon the bounty and beauty. The grain and vine ! 'Tis a short and speedy way from field to house and home ; Crops seem to skip to table As in a fairy fable. And in the winking of an eye The flushing pompion in a pie 117 118 K O V E M S E R Sets many a heart a-flame, and to the homestead bringeth feet that Eke fruits and frosts together usher us indoors, And fiery hearths foretell Still ruddier wintry spell — Both a sounding and a shining note I' the chimney's hospitable throat, That crimsons all the mirthful com- pany wi* its bonny blazing roars- Thus back November looks to com- fortable sun, And forward w^ith desires To frost-becharming fires; And passeth cider cups about In loving harvest-merry rout: And aye this thrice-bedow^ered season singe th thus when it is done : O th' bounty and the beauty, The grain and vine ! The harvest is ingathered, Corn, oil and wine ; NOVEMBER And it hath all been fathered \\Q With love divine ! The ice -wind will be w^eathered, Where hearth-fires shine Upon the bounty and beauty, The grain and vine ! DECEMBER DECEMBER. 123 *• There is a river in the ocean" — so begins a book which has much to say of the Gulf Stream, a river whose banks are w^alls of salt w^ater. There is a climate prevailing in all other cli- mates, like a river running in the midst of them — so might one begin a page or a book treating of December ; for the Christmastide is a climate everywhere. No matter how various- ly December hath one nature in the north and another in the south, or may change with east and w^est, Christmas is the same and brings its ow^n tem- perature and quality; w^hereby, though every other month has altogether a different climate in different places, December hath a unity everywhere, which overrides without account all bars of parallels or meridians. The cause of this one climate in all climates is Jesus of Nazareth. Here is a great potency, wonder and glory, that he irrigates all climates with one 124 "DECEMBER climate. And vv^hat means had he ? None visible. He was very poor ; he came from obscure peasant stock; the dates of his birth and death, year, month, day, are unknown; he was vis- ible publicly but one or two years, or possibly barely three, out of his thirty three ; he w^as disow^ned by his own family and towns-folk; he was scorned by the proud, hated by the rich, hunt- ed by the pow^erful; he was a w^anderer, w^ithout station or any seat of influ- ence ; he was decried as a pretender and denounced as unreligious or ir- religious ; perhaps he was almost as little understood by friends as by enemies ; and he was put to death sud- denly and riotously on a cruel gal- lows reserved for slaves and felons. *' What pleasure did he taste?" cries out Isaac Barrow^. "What inclination, w^hat appetite, w^hat sense did he grati- fy? How did he feast or revel? How but in tedious fastings, in frequent hungers, by passing Avhole nights in prayer and retirement for devotion upon the cold mountains ? What sports had he, what recreation did he DECEMBER take, but feeling incessant gripes of 195 compassion, and wearisome rovings in quest of the lost sheep ? In what con- versation could he divert himself, but among those >vhose doltish incapacity and froward humor did wring from his patience these words, * How^ long shall I be with you, how^ long shall I suffer you ? ' What music did he hear ? What but the rattlings of clam- orous obloquy, and furious accusa- tions against him ? To be desperately maligned, to be insolently mocked, to be styled a king and treated as a slave, to be spit on, to be buffeted, to be scourged, to be drenched w^ith gall, to be crowned w^ith thorns, to be nailed to a cross, — these were the delights w^hich our Lord enjoyed, these the sw^eet comforts of his life and the not- able prosperities of his fortune !" Yet the spiritual heavens in him have spread their one climate "like a tent to dwell in" over all w^eathers of the earth, and that one clip;iate is hope, faith, cheer and joy ! The climate which is Christmastide, moreover, waiteth not for its month 126 DECEMBER or season to prevail, but may be spread over all the year. Nay, there is no health for us unless all the year be Christmased, that is, over-climated with his spirit who hath made the climate called Christmas. But also the special observance of the season by loving gifts between all manner of lovers, and also unto the poor, whom sorrow^fuUy yet w^e " have always with us, " this may spread the climate all over the year; for one does w^ell who takes a full year to provide his Christmas gifts, and is on watch for them, and happily stores them up. I was witness of the method of St. Ma- tilda, she w^ho w^as canonized by the great preacher Theodore. She placed in the attic of her home a row of box- es, all nicely disposed, w^ith the cover of each box laid by it very orderly, and right generous they looked, and every box was labeled w^ith the name of some friend. Then whenever throughout the year she obtained any good thing w^hich might be a good gift, she placed it in the box dedica- ted to whatsoever friend she thought DECEMBER the good thing fitted. At Christmas- i /yj tide the boxes were full, or soon com- pleted, and so forwarded. Gifts in token of love have a rich and ancient warrant, even Sacred Scripture, **My little children, let us not love in w^ord, neither w^ith the tongue; but in deed and in truth. ' ' We shall not interpret the w^ord " deed " w^ithout in- cluding gifts, if we remember that benefactions in love are meritorious in proportion to their cost to us, which is to say, what w^e sacrifice for them, denying or even pinching ourselves to do them ; and assuredly if we bestow what in truth costs us nothing, w^e are not liberal of our own, but of God's. **How^ can that gift leave a trace which hath left no void?" saith a French- woman ; and another, an English wom- an, hath it, *' One must be poor to know the luxury of giving," — w^hich if true ( and w^hat heart echoes not to it?) means that no gift rises to a great- ness, and no bestow^al hath any love- glory, unless it takes a virtue out of us and makes us in a way poor for the time. Therefore gifts, besides "DECEMBER words, always have been notable love- 128 vehicles, and thus are natural to Christmastide. Yet a gift, and even a costly gift, means not always a pur- chaseable object. There be very chargeable and expensive gifts w^hich are efforts, devotions of time and strength, plans, letters, thoughts, verses. A letter well-written, full of excellent thoughts or of love-elo- quences, things not to be plucked from bushes or picked up in streets, may be a very costly gift, with one's very self spun into it. Let it be said too, and very heartily, that current small gifts exceed occasional large ones; ten things at a dime are more than one at a dollar, three thirds are more than a whole in these measures. April rains (I mean reiterated ) of small attentions, little pleasures, inventions, ingenui- ties, are very fertilizing to love, and they cost much in thought. And this other principle above all lives in fine giving, namely, that the amercement w^hich love requires of itself, disowns all limit. If I have given joyful moments all day long, and at evening DECES^BER I can bestow one little last delight of more, I must, or I fail. "O, the little more, and how much it is, and the little less, and what worlds away!" "High heaven disdains the lore of nicely cal- culated less or more ! " There is a very fine oriental saying, "If a man will build a mountain and he put one basket-full of earth on the plain, he is building a mountain ; but if he put not the last basket-full on the top, he has not builded the mountain." 'Tis so in love. Verse, as I have said, if to compose it be vouchsafed to one, is an ex- cellent Christmas gift, and will be very acceptable to the recipient if he con- sider how much his friend's being goes into it. 'Tis a kindred fact that always Christmastide hath been a rich summoner of songs of itself, as much as April, or May, or June, or roses. Carols naturally cluster around Christ- mas in the courts of all languages, like holy revelers in the audiences of a Saint King. Of our store of Eng- lish Christmas Carols what can be said that is great enough and rich enough 129 130 DECEMBER and warm enough! How they lead us to the time and the place, and hang over it to show w^hat is there, like multiplications of the star in the east. This is the overbrooding and reveal- ing office of song. Suddenly one day I perceived, as it seemed to me w^ith a special light, that verily no great know^ledge is possible w^ithout the ministry of song, and I exclaimed w^ith the thought thus: Glorious Song, dear Poesy, me- thinks I see thee stand on verge of fairest star, And thence thy spirit the mighty prospect drinks, And round thee flasks of all the col- ors are. Now^, w^hen thou spyest a deed on any earth, Thou dashest it w^i' the colors of its kind ; Be it or good or bad, or grief or mirth, Its hue 's unknow^n till tinctured to thy mind: DECEMBER Be it of life or death or love or hate, 131 Imagination, reason, might, night, light, Honor or shame, or rich or poor estate, Till of thee dyed, 'tis naught but ashy sight. O Song, Saint Spirit, from thy verge above. Truth-dye all things for me, but most my love! **The rest may reason and welcome, *tis we musicians know," saith Abt Vogler ; but poesy is of a piece with music, and there is no reality of knowledge, nor doth anything unveil its depth, till Song hath explored it. There be alien times that *'know not Joseph, " w^hen noble poesy is neglected, and men w^ill not pay '* victuals and drink " for it. To be a soothsayer w^here there are no sim- ple hearts and no one cares for the ** sooth" hath its difficulties; and it might seem that God could do nothing so merciless as to create a poet in 132 DECE9^BER an un-poesy-loving time. But no, 'tis not so, and of this we may be assured; for song is so great rapture in itself, and so great illumination of every- thing, and so vast independence, un- moved even with the neglect of it, that to be made a poet is a great mercy ! So, steeped in Christmastide, w^hat could I have of it without song? Blessed be the old carols, by w^hich, singing them merrily with rapturous children, and rightw^isely looking afar back over the many years, even if "often glad no more, we wear a face of joy because w^e have been glad of yore! " But might not a new carol break, as every day hath its morning ? And might not the song of my ow^n soul show me somewhat the songs of others had not? *'Ah, draw me out of myself into thee !" I cried to the dear Christmastide; "Spirit of Song, I pray thee, give me a carol !" Then the Spirit ( I alw^ays have found the Spirit ready with more than was thought or prayed ) gave me many carols, as here they follow^ : DECEMBER 133 CAROLS, I. O, Christ was born a little babe, • A little babe was he, In manger laid w^as he, Who was to live for all the world And die for you and me: Then wreathe the holly. Twine the bay. Girls and boys and gentles all. Sing holy-happy Christmas lay. And "No well" sing and "well- a-day," That angel song again may fall. As round the manger and the stall. To bless this merry Christmas. O, Christ became a littl6 lad, A little lad was he. And in the temple he. Who w^as to preach to all the world. And speaks to you and me: 134 DECE9^BER Then wreathe the holly, Twine the bay, Girls and boys and gentles all, Sing holy-happy Christmas lay, And "No well" sing and "well- a-day," That angel song again may fall, As round the manger and the stall, To bless this merry Christmas. Now Christ be born in every heart, In every heart to be. That each a temple be. And he w^ho saves the w^ide- w^ide w^orld May save both you and me: Then wreathe the holly, Tw^ine the bay. Girls and boys and gentles all. Sing holy -happy Christmas lay, And "No well" sing and "well- a-day," That angel song again may fall, As round the manger and the stall. To bless this merry Christmas. D E C E 9^ B E R II. A little child peeped through the sky, Long ago, long ago, And said, I will come down from high. Long ago : It was the child, the dear Christ child. Who nestled to the earth and to his mother mild. He said to angels. Come and sing To men below^, men below. Because glad tidings I shall bring To men below : It was the child of God who spake. And with the tidings still the listening world doth quake. He said unto the traveling star. Show the w^ay, show^ the w^ay. For I to all both near and far Will show^ the w^ay : And still by that same holy light The traveling nations struggle onward day and night. 135 136 DECEMBER He saith to us, With ivy trim, With holly and bay, holly and bay, Make green the house. We will for him. With holly and bay : And here in manger still thou art, O dear and sweet Christ child, which manger is our heart. III. Now carols bring and carols sing, And all the holy story tell How^ Jesus loved the w^orld so w^ell And loved so well the world ! Sad that men w^ill each other kill, And spears be hurled and sw^ords be w^hirled. Since Jesus loved the world so well And loved so w^ell the w^orld. Now let all gentle hearts be gay. Kindle the hearth, the house array. Bring ivy and holly, bring holly and bay. With praise on high and peace on earth this Christmas day ! 'DECEM'BER IV. 137 'Tis day of day, 'tis sky of sky, 'Tis light of light and very heaven of heaven, When Christmastide awakes the eye With beams from far beyond the shining seven : And eke 'tis song of song Then doth to ear belong. And lifts the soul above With chant of praise and love! O, fetch the holly, wreathe the bay. And twine around the ivy gay, To light with evergreens the day, And deck our holy Christmas. The wondrous child, the sacred mother, Fill with a golden light the stable low. And e'en the kine on one another Look with astonished eyes to see the glow. The shadowy rafters ring With song the seraphs sing. And voice of beast and man Make answer all they can. DECEMBER O, fetch the holly, wreathe the bay, 138 And twine around the ivy gay, With sunny verdure bower the day. And deck our holy Christmas. What though a star, as now none are, Traversed the heavens with new created beam To guide the wise men from afar, Doth this too much for that dear advent seem? The soul hath said, Not so; The heart it crieth, No,— Though all the skies should w^ake With new stars for his sake! O, fetch the holly, wreathe the bay. And twine around the ivy gay. With golden green festoon the day, And deck our holy Christmas. But not far off, nay, now in heart Let the sweet stories have their being mild, Nor from our souls may e'er dispart The light, the star, wise men and heavenly child. DECEMBER The shepherds on the plains Hearkening th' angelic strains. The kine, the manger lowly, The wondering* mother holy. O, fetch the holly, w^reathe the bay, And twine around the ivy gay, To hang them round the neck o' the day. And deck our holy Christmas. Nor this alone, but round the world This day wherever Ghristmastide is preached Aw^ay may strifes and hates be hurled, By each for all may be sweet love beseeched; And th' angels' song again Ravish the hearts of men, And from the heavens fall — "Praise God, and peace to all!" O, fetch the holly, wreathe the bay, And twine around the ivy gay, To bring inside the outside day, And deck our holy Christmas. 139 140 DECEMBER V. Behold how fall at Christmastide Divers things together : The heart is warm to love and pray, Though 'tis wintry weather. Lo, the earth 's a-cold, Winds be rough and bold, When this story 's told— Hearts nor chill nor old ! O, up with the ivy, the ivy and hoUy, the holly and bay, And lovingly, joyously, merrily sing, 'tis Christmas day! Behold the persons of the poor Round the little stranger. The while the rich bring spice and myrrh To the lowly manger. Poor and rich are one. Strife is hushed and done, Peace on earth begun, Naught to hate or shun! O, up with the ivy, the ivy and holly, the holly and bay, And joyfully, mirthfully, gratefully sing,- 'tis Christmas day! DECEMBER And lo, the wise together come ... 1 4-1 With the rough and wild, ^^^ The magi w^ith the silly sw^ains Kneel before the child. 'Tis not wit or art, Nor the dull or smart, But the child-like heart Finds the heavenly part ! O, up w^ith the ivy, the ivy and holly, the holly and bay, And heartfuUy, faithfully, praisefuUy sing, 'tis Christmas day! Now happy light and happy dark Mingle over them ; At night 's the birth, but shines the bright Star of Bethlehem. Ever hold thy station In us, bright creation. Star of Revelation, Star of sweet Salvation ! O, up with the ivy, the ivy and holly, the holly and bay, And happily, blissfully, fervently sing, 'tis Christmas day. 142 DECEMBER And see, together come the earth And the heavens lighted, The angels and their heavenly beams Flood the plains benighted. Joy, that high and low Seek the Christ-child so ! Earth and heaven go, All the loving know ! O, up with the ivy, the ivy and holly, the holly and bay. Forever and ever and ever £o sing, 'tis Christmas day ! VI. Now carol, gentles, gentles all, *Tis holy Christmas Day, And when this holy tide doth fall, Let every heart be gay, And every good soul pray. In cottage or in hall ! For ivy, groweth every year. The ivy bay and holly grow. And every year the birth of Christ Converteth heart to manger low. Then up with the ivy, the ivy and holly, the holly and bay, And carol, carol every one, 'tis Christmas Day ! T> E C E 9^ B E R O, carol, gentles, gentles all, That Jesus lived and died ; ^^"^ Ye old or young or great or small, Carol the Christmastide Where'er ye be or bide. In field or wood or wall ! For ivy groweth, etc. O, carol, gentles, gentles free. The night the angels sang And shepherds hurried for to see Why all the music sprang : Then earthly good w^ill rang, And glory heavenly ! For ivy groweth, etc. O, carol, gentles, gentles brave. The Christ a little child. The stall, the kine, the stable-cave. The holy mother mild. Who on the infant smiled That all the world should save ! For ivy groweth, etc. 144 "DECEMBER O, carol, gentles, gentles kind, The wise men and the kings, And the new star that out hath shined And them to manger brings ; And round the earth it flings Sw^eet light to every mind ! For ivy groweth, etc. Now carol, gentles, gentles fair. Loud carol all the earth. And let the Christ-song ring the air, And ring the heart to mirth This tide of holy birth That breaketh everywhere ! For ivy groweth, etc. JANUARY JANUARY "A Happy New Year— I take my text from the lips of men ! * ' 'Twas so I heard the poet-preacher, Samuel Longfellow, begin a sermon. Then he w^ent on in his discourse by this method, namely, first asking why w^e should not be happy, and whether for this reason, or for this other reason, or still for this other cause, or again for yet another hap or chance ; and then the preacher gave reasons w^hy none of these causes should destroy happiness; and after that, he continued his discourse by counting and por- traying many kind and gracious Providential things from which w^e may glean happiness always, if we will; and so the sermon w^as builded. In the first part of it I remember the preacher said, "Why should we not be happy? Is it because of difficult things we must do, hard tasks to be surmounted, strenuous labors to be met ? And have we not learned that 149 J A K U A R 1 r A always we may prevail over the strong difficulty, and when we have prevailed its strength passes into us ?" 'Twas much more than a half century ago that I heard the sermon, and yet I remember it w^ell, and often run back to its light, and I behold still with what a joyful manner the preacher spoke, as if a breeze were playing around his head and making aeolian music with his long, light, wavy hair. A Happy New Year!— a good text for the church, and a lovely, loving, recurrent annual greeting. In that time more than fifty years back, that greeting made a great festival yearly. Well I remember it in Dutch New York, and all its preparations. For many days beforehand, the family, and especially the father and mother, held consultation to make out the list of calls, from which none must be forgotten, even if only hovering over some tender margin of acquaintance. Then, on the day before, there was great baking and brewing, and the bringing in of fruits and delicate kickshaws. On the New Year morn- JANUARY ing the family was early astir, long before light. Breakfast was taken by lamp or candle. Then the dining room w^as cleared and garnished, and a large table spread handsomely, and loaded w^ith things from w^hich a very substantial and goodly repast could be chosen, and these w^ere replenished continually throughout the day till late into the night, so that the board never lost its festal and newly-arrayed look. At nine o'clock in the morning my father sallied forth in his sleigh, armed w^ith his list of calls w^ell arranged in divisions according to streets and numbers ; and at the same hour the callers began to come, and my mother was in lovely array to receive them. On the departure of every guest, his name was punctihously entered on a list, for which a pencil and paper w^ere kept at hand on the mantle-shelf. At noon home came my father w^ith a rush becoming the mighty business of the hour. Came he home for food? No, he found tables everywhere, and he knew^ how to time his calls in such manner as to 151 152 J A K U A R Y bring up at dinner-time at some old friend's house where he could partake intimately at his good pleasure. Or came he home by reason of weariness? No, he was still as strong as a lion. He came solely to examine my mother's list of calls, to make sure that he should not fail to call on any lady w^hose husband or son had called on my mother. Forth he went again with a manner of w^ild eagerness, and w^ith the same rush he came home again at about six or seven o'clock in the evening to correct once more his list by my mother's, and very likely again at nine o'clock; and finally he came home at ten or eleven o'clock trium- phant, with happy sense of a fine old custom well sustained, and no omissions made nor aught on the horizon of acquaintance overlooked. As I grew^ unto suitable age, even while yet but an unsociable boy, I w^as trotted forth into the festival w^ith my father, and those w^ere proud days. The kindly custom has gone the way of many other old-fashioned excel- lencies—more is the pity. J A K U A R A Happy New Year!— 'Tis a reason- able greeting. For happiness much resembles climate ; it may be likened to the weather-record of a year. One winter is called summerish; again, a summer, winterish ; but those w^ho attend to it carefully tell us that always the year comes in its cycle to the fullness of its own, constantly having the due and right totals of heat and of cold in the twelve months. Now^ as the years are compounded of many changeable things, yet never lack sim- ilar complexions one with another, so belike it is with happiness, which hath many variable clouds, yet fails not in the annual round to attain its dues of sunshine. There be short days. There be long days, But one is all the year ; There be soft skies, There be rough skies. But in th' u naltered clear : And the year and the clear are the heart's stay vv^hile days and skies are passing. 153 J A K U A R Y g There be glad sighs, ^^^ There be sad sighs, But life 's the same at end ; There be soothed ways, There be hard ways. But none without a friend : And the end and the friend are the heart's stay w^hile sighs and w^ays are passing. There be fleet streams, There be slow streams, But all to the Infinite Main ; There be things lost. There be loves lost. But all once had is gain : And the Main and the gain are the heart's stay while streams and things are passing. There be old years. And the NEW YEAR ! And the East is one w^ith the West ; To the old, Hail! To the new. Hail ! And w^ith God be all the rest : And the West and the rest are the full heart's stay w^hile old and new^ are passing. J A N U A R Y A Happy New Year! — But bethink thee that happiness is not a happening — "roasted larks falling into the mouth." Happiness comes of disci- pline, right thinking and right doing, and both of them steadily. The New Year is no more seasonable for beginning any good thing than any other season is, but all are opportune. The time to begin a good thing is on the moment w^hen w^e see it to be good, and it calls to us. But the New^ Year is a good time to bethink us to continue all good things that hereto- fore we have begun. For it is easy to begin, but hard to continue. **Be not w^eary in w^ell doing," is w^ise, shrew^d Scripture, and "in due time w^e shall reap if we faint not." In reading I would put the stress on that little w^ord, the If. It signifies how likely w^e are to grow^ w^eary — the more if the reap- ing or the rew^ard be delayed, as very often it is, and we be stuffed with the notion of rew^ard, as very often w^e are. 'Tis easy to meet any great tax once. The second time, it is no little harder. The fourth and fifth time, it begins to 155 156 J A K U A R Y be heroic. The tenth time it calleth for a "veray parfit gen til knight," and the hundredth time it is the virtue of the Saint. What is there in Ufe, save indolence, that hath not the grain of it tried by continuance? *Tis sweet to fall in love; but to continue in love is discipline. To fall into it is a happy and easy letting go, as if one softly glide into delicious warm waters ; but w^arm waters will strangle as surely as cold unless w^e have the discipline of the sw^immer — which is an art, to be learned; and so is loving, by thought and care, by prayer and practice. 'Tis so with all things worth doing, all noble labors; they are easy to begin, or do once, but hard to continue. Yet this virtue, that we *'be not weary in w^ell doing," is easier to a real love than to any other pow^ers, and this, methinks, is a most heavenly fact, full of happiness for us. Therefore at the setting forth of the New Year, it is good time for us to set foj-th anew^ and reassure ourselves in this strenuosity, the "bein"^ not J A K U A R Y weary in well doing." As to reward, j^gj continuance is able to be its own rew^ard ; for it grow^eth to be a dignity of mind, w^hich is the greatest cheer and solace. Also it arriveth at great strength, and to be strong is great happiness. Here comes forward love again, as great joy because so unweary- ing. Love falters not even w^hen confronting death, and this is an extreme blessedness. Thought saith, " Alas, I tire : I fail - 1 can no longer count : There is no end behind or fore, 'Tis double darkness I explore : Like twinkling flames the moments mount:" Thought saith, *'Alas, I tire." Love saith, "/ weary not,— Tiptoe the darkness fearlessly : As glints of flame the moments mount ; I follow— blissfully I count. And I can reckon endlessly :" Love saith, "/w^eary not." 158 JANUARY Love, I take part -with thee : The seasons run from night to night ; But I can reckon endlessly, From dark to dark look fearlessly : 'Tis the New Year, the glad, the bright: Love, I take part with thee ! A Happy New Year! — "In the abund- ance of the heart," w^hich is all my wealth, I have found a hymn of this blissful greeting. If, since no man can have all riches, that one is richest w^ho hath the best riches, then am I among the most fortunate. For how much more affluent is he who possesseth little stuff, but much heart to bestow it w^ithal, than he w^ho hath great sub- stance but little love. "I've brought thee an ivy-leaf, only an ivy-leaf," saith an old song. Only an ivy-leaf— as if one should say. Only a w^ork of God ! In like manner I bring a song, only my little song. But— a song! For Who is it giveth us to sing ? So offer I this song of the greeting, A Happy New Year : JANUARY A Glad New Year unto my friends, And eke from them to me ! 159 But well I know I find no joy Till joy to them I be : And w^ell I know my well-beloved, My loves and friends, can taste No joy themselves till they w^ith joy Their little w^orld have graced : And well I know^ each little world Of neighborhood and few, Joys not, till they w^ith some like joy The earth's one w^orld endue : And well I know^ the earth's one world Is sad, till all abroad It be worth joy for all the worlds That roll i' the love of God. What shall w^e pray, this Glad New^ Year, But this, that Happy We Each in his part may Happy make These holy regions three : JANUARY Which be one's own, then neighbor- 160 hood, And then the world aw^ay ; Mayhap at last— sweet mystic bond !— All worlds in God that play. A Happy New Year !— On the bosom of this gentle greeting, while a coming New Year "cast its shadow before," I fell into a fanciful revery, and had this vision : My Soul and I set forth on a walk, or rather on a short path in a long wayfaring. 'Twas early in the morn- ing, at the dim hour of daw^n. We walked in a small plain, amid all the objects that dress the meadows with loveliness, and before us w^as a hill, a pleasant slope, wearing a green garment and a brow^n cap w^ith green plumes of cedar. We w^alked along w^ith much merry and some merry- sober converse. For My soul and I are fellow travelers good That talk not of each other, but commune Of what w^e see i' the air and field and w^ood ; J A K U A R Nor what we speak not think w^e of, nor croon Sickly unto ourselves about ourselves, But jaunt along with eye-light and a tune, — Singing of birds and brooks, of girls (sweet elves), Of boys and loves, of hearth-fires red and bright, And yellow^ f urrow^s w^here the yeoman delves. These be what flood my Soul and me w^ith light. Then said my Soul looking at the hill. Yonder is the New^ Year; w^e must climb to the top of the dawn of it, or rather, go airily up, for 'tis an easy green path ; and from the top there are long grand prospects, eastw^ard and westward, in seeing which w^e shall revel much, belike sing of them. Then w^e ascended, and looked first westward. Behold the many past years, said I. No, said my Soul. 161 162 JANUARY Past years? Not so. What's past unto our Lord ? Nay, what is past unto the soul o' me? Are fountains past when in the ocean stored ? Of flowery springs have brooks no memory, Or doth the river cease to be the brook, Or w^hen extinct are rivers in the sea ? Nay, but the runnel holds the bubbling nook. And eke the river chronicles the rill. Nor more are all in the wide main forsook. So the dear years part not from me, nor will. Behold, said my Soul, where we are. Look not westward nor eastw^ard, but overhead and round about our feet. What can we look for that is not here? What that is green and yellow^, rich, food-full, lightsome, more than these things ? Or w^hat more grand and glorious than is overhead ? J A K U A R Y For this I tell thee, this thy Soul doth say, That here or nowhere is the richest loam Creation's angels on the granite lay. For let be what it may, it is thy home; And let be what it may, that it thou till Thou hast come hither and hast hither clomb. And here the honey-heavy rains do spill. And here the glory of the sun 's thy creed, And sky-enriched soils with riches fiU. Ay, seek and find ! — that is thy only need. Now said I to my Soul, What is this to the eastw^ard ? *Tis a great sight, 'tis a mighty heavens, but 'tis dim, neither day-light nor darkness. And yet I see stars persevering, and plainly sprinkled all over it ; yea, and a glorious, tenderly gleaming, beautiful 163 164 J A N U A R Y roadway, like as a bed of crystal sea-sand. And my Soul answered, That is the New Year, the w^hole sky thereof, whose up-streaming from the horizon we behold. Look forth with un-self-thinking eye, and see Where the east-rising year is a dim sky Thick with a milky-w^ay of hours for thee : And lo, the constellated lights enriched hard by That w^ide w^hite path, and th* indefat- igable pole, Great stars of great occasions for the eye ! O, memory 's bare and savage to my soul, Till Love and Faith array me as a dress, And to Who joyed the past I trust the w^hole. The Old enriched doth th' New most richly bless. J A N U A R Ay, said I to my Soul, but there are more years. Yes, said my Soul, no end of years. No end is a long end, said I. 'Tis the only thing that is long, said my Soul, for ''nothing is really long that ends at all." With this my Soul and I talked of Life and Death, of the mortal and the unmortal. For, said my Soul, *'the healthy soul desires to live," and that desire hath a promise in it, because 'tis health. Like sunrise on the dim vault of a year Burns the all-future ; 'tis faith and trust, 'Tis hope and joy, peace, health and wealth and cheer ! It saith unto the feet. Tread ye in dust. But carry a head in commerce with the sky, With all th' unmortal, beautiful and just. My Soul saith. Tell thyself naught is too high To dream of, nor aught too great effect To look for ; health doth refuse to die. Who can of God too mightily expect ? 165 166 J A K U A R Then my Soul spake no more of the unmortal only, but of the eternal, and recited to me great things, such as, "The eternal God is our dwelling-place, and underneath are the everlasting arms." Then my Soul sang with a great voice, thus, — and methought the winds took harps to accompany him ! "Lift up your heads, ye gates; be ye up-lift, Ye everlasting doors !" The King is come! His countenance hath scattered Time and drift. *Tis still, now! The loud worlds cease to hum, The stars of morning have no more to tell, And the soul knows, but mouth is striken dumb. "He inhabiteth eternity !" 'Tis well, 'Tis very well with us ! O Life ! O God! "Lift up your heads, ye gates!" Shema YisraeL JANUARY Adonoi Elohenu, Adonoi Ehad ! * *ThegTeat cry of the Hebrews, "Hear,0 Israel, the Eternal is Our God, the Eternal is One!" A Happy New Year ! Here I will offer my reader w^ho kindly hath come with me hitherto a New Year Song that w^as a dream-child. I was sitting late into the New^ Year's Eve, resolved to "w^atch the old year out," w^hen I fell asleep ; and the Spirit of Song came to me in a dream, and said. My heart is brimming with a lay of the New^ Year; w^ouldst like to have it ? I flushed my welcome (for I could not speak) and the song was chanted into my ear, and when the Spirit's voice had ceased, like music dying away, I awoke to the last tone of the midnight bell : 167 J A N U A R Y 168 SONG And O, if I shall tell, my dear. If I shall tell the time o' year, The time that giveth most o' cheer, And most 's our own, And most by love is known. What shall it be ? And O, shall it be Spring, my dear, Shall it be Spring when first a-clear, When first it shineth far and near. And far doth glow. And far the zephyrs blow— This shall it be ? And O, shall it be June, my dear, Shall it be June w^hen roses peer. When roses blooming bright are here With bright gay heads And bright and various reds — This shall it be ? JANUARY And O, shall it be Fall, my dear, Shall it be Fall, when gold the spear, When gold and brown and ripe the ear, And ripe the fruits. That ripened Winter suits— This shall it be ? Ah no ! Not one nor all, my dear, Not one nor all, but w^intry cheer, The wintry primal glad New^ Year, When glad the heart Doth glad each other's part — This shall it be. For O, th' angelic snow, my dear, Th* angelic snow, and ice how sheer. The ice that tinkles frosty clear, And frosty fills With frosted light the sills O' the opening year. And O, the troops of nuns, my dear. The troops of nuns that w^hite appear Where w^hite the picket rows up-rear. In rows where snow^ The row^s doth now o'er-blow^, And hood them here. 169 170 J A N U A R And O, the evergreens, my dear, The evergreens that mock and fleer, That mock at storms, and shine in gear Of shining ice, That shining in a trice Berobes them sheer. And O, the bare-bough trees, my dear, The bare -bough trees that are not drear. But are a shape of grace severe, Of grace that sky More graces ivith a dry. Bright emerald clear. And O, the yellow flames, my dear, The yellow flames on hearth that veer, On hearth domestic where is cheer. And where a kiss And where all human bliss Hath naught to fear. Then O, how festal fair, my dear. How festal fair this time o' year. This time when hearts o' love sincere New love employ. With love say. Here be joy,— ••Happy New Year !'* FEBRUARY FESRUA31Y 175 Hail to February, Frost King ! Hail to his perfection of hero-making cold! In November Winter announces him- self, but he hath not really entered or laid hold. In December he hath come in, but he is a gentle youth who hath much more in him than is yet apparent. In January he hath grown sturdy, but he keeps still a tender memory of his youth, for so I may call the regularly recurring January thaw. In February he comes to the full glory of his polar powers, and showeth us amply what he can do. I care not in what thing there is found perfection, 'tis still perfection, and a glory. I w^ould not envy the man that hath not been envious and transfixed before the perfectness of a lofty tumbler \s^hirling himself like a wheel twice or thrice betw^een a height of ten feet and the ground. February hath this perfect- ness in cold, and utters such a con- gealing breath as seems to hang the 176 FEBRUARY unquenchable ruddiness of the morn- ing or twilight with a frosty lace. 'Tis a short and merry turn from the wealthy cold of February to the vaulted and wide-throated house-fire; and especially w^hat engages my heartland mind is the open fire, whether in the sociable living-room or in a man's own studious cubby-den. As to the beauty of it, this is so common a conclusion that everyone exclaims it, whenever an open fire-place is met, burning w^ood or coal, and w^hether hard or soft. But often I have thought of the varied stages, shapes and kinds of beauty which an open fire has, especially the wood and the anthracite. When the w^ood colors, and mayhap the bubbles of sap are mingled with broad but shallow chars, and with bright flames and rolling smoke, there is one kind of beauty, and very rich, which passes through many degrees to the heap of splendid w^ood coals, and these again to the gray pearl ash which the fiery spirit has left without rending or tearing it, so that it stays in the shape of the wood, and looks FEBRUARY like the same done by a strange art in powdered stone. So with the anthra- cite fire ; its beauties have as many changes as a chime of bells. First as many colors as may be betw^een a white heat and a quiet, ruddy glow^ ; but this glow^, if it be dying away, is one beauty, but if it be sprinkled with black coals, which slowly are kindling, there is another; and this leads to the greatest beauty of the hard coal fire, to my mind, w^hich is a lusty, brilliant fire below, draw^n very hot, thence cool- ing upw^ard to coals just kindling at the top; for then the fire is covered all over w^ith w^aving tufts and feathers of blue flame, flecked now^ and then with a yellow flash, or, if the heat be driven more, the light yellow over- comes the blue to a kind of purple flame, or to soft yellow^ shoots or cones edged and bottomed with lilac; and under this the blue black of the coal, which has become bluer still by reason of the flame, and under this a deep, glowing, orange incandescent by degrees to a white light in the depths of the fire. It is no little beauty 177 FEBRUARY of this way of heating a room that it 1 ' o joins light and calescence, charming the eye as well as the nerves of touch on which the billows of heat fall like surf on the bather. What is light w^ithout heat but a glare ? and what is heat w^ithout light but a mere roasting or scorching ? Which reminds me to denounce those holes in the floor called registers, out of which comes a noisome breath of oxidized iron if they be not carefully looked to ; also those vile inventions, called steam heaters, which prop their ugly, lank pipes, howsoever disguised, in the corner to ill treat the eye, and still more abuse the lungs w^ith air they heat without freshening. Not that I w^ould call all registers naught but black mouths of a "red hell" below, for modern inventions have their comforts. But it is w^ell to hold them tight in their place lest so they override us as to put gentle beauties to flight. Let t heref ore a furnace be used, if need be, for its dusky utility; but save places for the open fire for its cheerful beauty. The open fire-place is like a singer's throat. F E B R U A R Y a wide mouth of comfort and pleasure. *Tis also its virtue to be an excellent 1*9 ventilation of the room by reason of its large, open w^ay to the chimney. A closed stove will do something; for, as air must go through it, so it will draw^ the air it needs through the doors, the w^indow^s and cracks; but an open fire with its generous gateway above the fuel w^ill do much more for fresh air, and that does much for good thought and good humor. Among the charms of an open fire I must include the poking of it, for I envy not his dull temper or chilled phlegm w^ho can sit by a fire without provocation to stir it, especially if it be w^ood or soft coal; and w^ood most of all, whose flaming charms are as great a mingling of the coy and the quick as any buxom belle at a country ball. It must be coaxed much to do its best, but then flames out indeed. But it is excellent comfort to poke a fire, especially if one be alone with it, for it w^ill throw a show^er of sparks like witty foils at the first persuasion; but if the poker (I mean the implement 180 FEBRUARY or the man, or both, as the reader may choose), persist, soon shoots a flame, and then many, which have the charm of a conversation. A hard coal fire is different. This is a taciturn companion by comparison, but a great smiler; if it gurgle not v/ith flame, it is very amiable with a ruddy smile all over its broad face. In the poking of wood or anthracite, there is a difference which may be called capital or radical, as one looks from below or above; for the one must be poked on the top and the other on the bottom. Far be it to abuse my readers by telling them w^hich is to be poked one way and which the other, as if they knew not so simple a thing; yet be it said that if one be stirred from the bottom it will go out, and if the other from the top, it w^ill not burn. From which I could draw me an elegant moral with good grace, to-wit: That everything has its right side or end to be touched on, and w^ill do ill if handled otherwise. But another moral comes up, and a more solemn, to-wit : That, though fire be such a gay, gracious FEBRUARY and smiling servant, it turns to a terror if it gets the mastery. How cheerily burns the fire on the hearth or in the stove grate set out into the room! And ho>v pleasantly mix around it the prattle, the gossip, the wise talk, the merriment, like flowers of many hues in one nosegay! But scatter a coal or two unnoticed in a corner, beneath a settle, under a curtain, or where papers lie astray, and forthwith up leaps a demon, and soon a legion of them, which hardly may be routed by day, and by night will swarm over the house, kindling it like a pile of fagots, till the earth and the heavens gape like a fiery mouth, and the flames shoot and shout like red devils' tongues. Now herein lies a moral, I say, or a picture w^ith a precept; for how^ many things in life are good if curbed or bound, but loosened or unwarded turn enemies! and these even among the very best of things (as, in sooth, they must be, for what is sterling or precious if it have no strength?), like govern- ment, wealth, w^rath, love. The which reflection, if a man w^ill follow out, 181 182 FEBRUARY seated toasting comfortably before his fire, he will spend a very wholesome hour. I defy anyone to write about his open fire w^ithout turning confidential about himself and falling to at his own feelings as at a feast. For what more of a banquet can there be than when one feeds bits of himself to his vanity with his pen-point ? And where occur more of his doings, feelings and thoughts than at his fireside? And, hence, where w^ill he himself more cheerfully pop, like the best of good genii, into his own presence? Where- fore now^ I go straightway to myself w^ith my ow^n fire, and let him find me egotistical w^ho w^ill. Tw^o points w^herein I have enjoyed my open fire with solitary complacency are cooking and sleeping. If aught be more de- lightful than late in the "wee sma' hours," to lay aside the book or pen, stretch me in my big chair and my feet on the hob, and fall a-dreaming, till after a little I bestir myself, having dreamed of toast or parched corn, and then do a slice to a turn before the fire, or FEBRUARY watch (and hear, too, for two senses have delights herein and soon a third, to-wit, taste) the kernels leap to white flakes in the w^ire netting; and then, w^ith a sprinkle of salt, enjoy the one, or, w^ith a bit of Edam or Brie, the other— if there be aught more charm- ing than this, I say, let any one tell me what. As to the sleeping, this sometimes follows the toast or corn; and many a half -conscious, often half- rousing and then again sinking and dream-mingled, fancy-fraught and altogether charming slumberous rest have I had on my cushioned settle drawn before the fire. There w^e sit blinking at each other— I and the fire, not the settle— till the glowing beauty outblinks me, and I retire cosily behind my eyelids. But often I turn this same delight to account, for many a time and oft it has been the stopping places of a night's w^ork, like the inns on a tiresome journey. I have begun at eve tired, the which beginning was a good nap before my fire, as before described; then I have roused me at the edging hour of nine, and scribbled 183 184 FEBRUARY as if a spirit lay in my fingers, till the witching time was past by sixty minutes; then again I have slept at my fireside, w^aking promptly in an hour, refreshed for work again; and this alternation I have repeated twice more in the night before the gray midwinter dawn bickered with my lamp. The house-fires, and the open fire not the least, levy tax of no little work and care, and inventions are promised w^hich shall heat our houses comfort- ably from some central source, where all the labor w^ill be concentered, and all the slag and ashes. But I hope we never shall grow so indolent or so insensible as not to cleave to the open fire in some hospitable and conspicuous thoroughfare or common room in the dwelling. As to the ashes, they pave an excellent love-avenue, when 'tis a man's arm applies them to that purpose. "The total depravity of inanimate things", in sooth is a very wanton saying, a flattery of ineptitude, of un- careful mind, of unskilled fingers, — unless it be only a venture in humor, not bad if jocose and good-natured, F E B R U A R Y but very bad indeed if ill-natured. This I considered when removing the ashes from our great house-stove; for what could be more perversely light-footed than w^arm ashes? They are w^orse than thistle down, they dance on air, they have w^ings swifter than a humming bird's, and little bodies more intrusive than gnats. Yet I persuaded them to a most gentle subsidence and nestling obedience, by means of a pail of w^ater and a long-handled dipper. With these I plentifully moistened the bed of ashes, so that not a mote took flight when I tumbled them into the hod. Which is what she would wish, said I; for she is not • 'painfully neat" or curious, not she, but she will not put up with things that are as unsightly to the mind as to the eye ; and this happens when something whose worth is burn- ed out makes rubbish on things still useful, she says. With this reflection, mind's eye had instant vision of the gentle w^oman upstairs, and the w^ork glowed; the ashen heap kindled again like gold on silver, as if what was dead 185 F E B R U A R Y jl^gg in a fiery furnace could burn in the soul, airy with flame. Ah, lowly services how sweet they be! Behold, from out a w^ell One can look up and tell The stars at mid-day, and their twinkle And so up from my lowly love's intent And w^hat small deeds I may, Above the garish day I see thee, dear, shine in thy firmament. And for that thou look'st down, being such a height. As I must from my place Turn up to thee my face. So as I see must thou see— light is sight : I think from my deep wells I no more look — Wells of small deeds obscure— Than thou, whose lights allure. Regard of me in my small pits hast took. F E B R U A R Y I gainsay not 'tis dear in greater things Either to serve, or fly- Level with thee to try In equal enterprise conjoining wings; Disown I not the sweetness of thine eyes When straight in mine they gaze, When kind love-chances raise Me to be comrade in rich exercise ; But O, methinks 'tis a more blessed care Which then I take of you. When I some drudging do Too crass for reverent soul to let thee share. Then most, up from my lowly love's intent And those small deeds I may, Above the garish day I see thee, dear, shine in thy firmament. Yes, and this more the man-heart in me says, to wit, that if a man have any flavor of antique chivalry in him. 187 188 F E B R U A R Y without which he is no manner of man at all, ah! then he thinks it fit reason for being (no less) to shield a w^oman from the coarser labors if he can, and if he can not, then to grieve over it, gilding the rough fortunes with lights of his attentions and rev- erence. A man is a shabby scrub who prefers his ease to honoring a w^oman, as to sit while a woman stands, or to act the Turk w^hile a w^oman serves, or to take aught first or best w^hile a woman waits, or to push or precede w^hile his love should make all women as one Queen. Nor matters it whether a material purse hath thatched his back w^ell; for a scrubby and inglorious mannishness is like vermin, — velvet may harbor it, and rags may be void of it. O, what the deeps of the soul may be If most to one woman because unto all! What heavens in the eye to see ! What pure religion w^herein to fall Toward her that giveth the sister to brother. That on the son besto weth the mother^ F E B R U A R Y That to the husband bringeth the wife, And unto each proves what is life, lo9 Here or up above— Immeasurable love ! As I said it w^as a short and merry turn from the wealthy cold of February to the house-fires, so, by the grace of the Spirit of Song, whom having w^ritten so far, I invoked, the return is ready and easy. Dear Spirit, said I, prythee sing for me the vigor of February. Right willingly, said the kind Spirit, and did so, thus : F E B R U A R Y 190 SONG February, thou art sheer wintry time: Nor Christmas carols nor the New Year chime To thee belong. The more methinks a crispy grace And lively throng Of beauties habit in thy face, Lone w^orth a song. Though many months have natural pleasures w^arm, Or in them bright appointed pleasures swarm In spite of cold, Thou comest with lone beauties dear And manifold. And askest naught to give us cheer But thine own hold. F E B R U A R Y How lovely round thy neck thy brilliants hang That, as from misty sky they shaped and sprang, So show its fires : From twilight east, w^est, high or low^, Like burning pyres, Icicles the half- vernal glow Catch in their spires. Nor matters whether snow^ slope east or w^est. The same its fleece of whiteness is caressed By rosy sun ; The setting glory painteth it When day is done. And on its breast the splendors sit When day 's begun. Nor e'er were trees so black against the w^hite, Cut on the lustres like silhouettes of night Upon a noon : How^ crispy-feather-like the tips, How crisp their tune ! 191 192 FEBRUARY Almost methinks more fine these whips Than greens of June. Revels of cold frequent the country o'er, And dancing pixies foot the watery floor With clicks full frore ; Frost-drowsy winds forget to roar, Lulling th' lea shore Which the unfreezing w^hite-caps spore With ice galore ! O, February ! Sole February ! Thou ask'st no help of other, man or fairy, On hill or prairie ! Thine urchins ow^n, w^ith torches flare-y And glee unchary, Light thy ten-thousand snow orbs glary, Sole February ! MARCH MARCH 197 Let March come in, the blustering youngster, last of Winter's sturdy four— 'tis better to welcome him, for he '11 not stay out. And sooth he is a fine fellow, to be w^elcomed songf ully. Yes, of the tw^elve he is not the least deserving to be sung, if of that bright circle any is undeserving, or one deserves over another or hath any sum of advantage. March is not so rough and boisterous a f ellow^ as he seems. He is a lad with a rude pretence but a girl's heart. That heart, which is no pretence, continually flashes out of him, as a diamond w^hose center is lucency will emit sparkles on any evocation. Now^, March reveals the soft heart under his windy shag in three w^ays : First, as I just have said in brief, though he may keep up bluff airs never so, yet he constantly displays his heart at every convenience (if I may apply such a word to weather), like a boy 198 MARCH in his first down, who puts on furies manfully (as he deems it), but forgets himself often, and then his heart escapes, as a w^ild bird submissively caged will out and off like a shaft if the cage door unhinge or the wires part but a little. March is as variable, wayward, capricious as April's self, though not so changeably ready *'to post with such dexterity" from mood to mood in so little time as April can. But then neither hath April such extreme contrasts of moods as March has. The proverb is that if he come in like a lamb he will go out like a lion; but he is very scriptural all throughout his thirty one days— the lion and lamb lie down together. On one day he may roar fiercely from the north-east and bite us with steely snow^ ; on the next day he may smile with the balm of south w^inds and drive us to cover from his fervency. Sometimes with his smile he swells the fruit buds out of their safe w^inter somnolency, and then cuts them off with next day's icy breath. But there is no malice in the freak, and if it MARCH disappoint man's palate somewhat, it may charm his eye and launch his blood the more. March is a winter month in this climate, but w^ith a difference. As fervid days in September have a mys- terious quality of difference from the ardency of days of June or July, so the cold of March differs from the rigor of February, even if the glass report as low^. You feel that Winter's hold is loosened. Secondly, March can boast some heralds of the coming pomp of the sun. One easily may meet a robin in March, and the hepatica, and the evergreen arbutus rosy under a felted blanket of brown leaves. Finally, it is certain that April follows this month, w^hich blessed fact may be taken as a part of the soft heart of March; for he does nothing to deny the next month, and much to concede it, and the expectation of April is as much a part of March as one's country or home complexions the sea that w^e traverse thither. Not many poets have fallen in love 199 200 MARCH with March, or even dropped a wayside friendly song for him. But surely that is for lack in the ear of the voice heard in Peter's vision (Acts X, 15 . The Spirit of Song was not averse w^hen I entreated some music for March, but came to me soon, and gave me the following : MARCH 201 SONG I say, bluff March, You *re not so rough a fellow As you look. Here 's a brook Will show the sunny yellow Of heaven's bright arch, And the leaping little billows Laugh at pussies on the willows, Very soon, very soon, — I say, bluff March ! I say, bright birds. Ye prophesy a singing Wide a-field, And a yield Of verdure that is springing To feed blithe herds. When your wavy shadow passes Over w^avy-w^avy grasses, Very soon, very soon, — I say, bright birds ! 147 202 MARCH I say, brown buds, Your greening and your swelling On the limb, Set the slim And misty twigs a-telling Of sw^eet rich floods Up imbibing roots a-pouring, To the topmost leaf a-soaring, Very soon, very soon, — I say, brow^n buds ! I say, stout heart, Go out into the weather, Things of bluffness, Things of roughness,— That natheless croon together O' the earth's new start, Giving noted sign and reason Of a coming gentle season, Very soon, very soon, — I say, stout heart ! AFTERWORD 203 Gentle reader, we must live on the earth and in time ; but the earth is a good earth, and time is very blessed. Surely "all good Christian men" (and all other creeds also, since it is a human matter) ought to be cheerful, resolute, buoyantly busy (but not too busy), full of that "hope which is the evidence of things unseen" and is also a sturdy girding for honorable work-days amid what we see now. If sometimes you be dow^nhearted, gloomy, discouraged, may I commend to you w^hat is said in January, namely, that however it be w^ith one day or one month or one season, the total year is sure to arrive at its full due of heat and cold; also this thought, w^hich I have found helpful in my own dismal megrims, namely, that if this hour be hard, we must summon will to judge or interpret by the whole day; or if the day be drear, then by the whole w^eek; or if the w^eek be wretched. 204 AFTERWORD then by the whole of the month; or if the month be miserable, then by all the year; or if the year be desolate, then by ten years or a hundred. Dear reader, shall we commune in a song of this thought ? — to wit : There 's a chill in the air, a chill and a chill, And my heart, my heart I can not hold still, But it shivers aloof, and cower it will. In the misty morning gray. From my heart, my heart, I turn not away, E'en though with its darkness it darken the day, But I question, and hearken the things it will say. And it tells me the simple truth : I am w^eary, it saith, and I miss my youth. And eke in the w^orld I find little ruth; AFTERWORD I am weary and wish to die, good sooth, If God will set the time. But my heart, my heart, I say, 'tis the prime Of honor to bide in the ranks, 'tis a crime To run from thy post in dew or in rime. Till thou be mustered out; And w^hat 'tis a wrong to set thee about 'Tis a wrong to wish, and undevout: Who wishes to run is himself a rout. Though an army hold him in. I spake, and my w^hole heart knew^ its sin. And lifted its brow, and breathed deep in. And cried, There is something to do and w^in. Wherever, w^henever the same. 205 206 AFTERWORD If a thousand years betide my name, Or only this breath, or failure or fame. One thing is true glory and one is true shame, Howbeit I live or die : The part that is low, or the part that is high, Is to run from the thing that I ought to stand by. Or to face either heaven or hell and defy Them to draw me or drive or abate. For God 's in the little and eke in the great. Nay, naught is a big or a little estate; Who faceth th' Eterne is nor early nor late; — To hasten, or faint, 'tis one ill. Is there chill in the air, a chill and a chUl, And my heart, my heart I can not holdstiU? AFTERWORD But mighty it shall be, and glory it will I' some noon, and go its way ! God, my God! I thank thee! I pray ! 1 bless thee that noon of the night or the day Is thy noon still— I can not away ! Here 's home, my home ! I stay! 207 m 3 19^^ ;fi;-!S;;U::'i?!!: iiiiiiii