.^ , ' 0' x = L> o cP' c^. '^ '%". <:>^ ,A if' \" .<*>/>lv. (P\^ ^ ^jr?>2-, % 1 ^ ^0^ II •oo^ .^\ N •r. \0o. ^^. O ''^''^ .^^ % <. ' , X ■'^ O^ V a n ^^ ' A LIFE-DRAMA OTHER POEMS. ALEXANDER SMITH, BOS T O N : ^ T I C iv N O R AND FIELDS. M DCCC LTX. CONTENTS. A LIKK-DRAMA ...... 5 AN EVENING AT HOME .... iSl LADY BARBARA ...... 173 I'O 177 SONNETS . . . . . . .181 A LIFE-DUAMA. SCENE I. An Antique Room; Midnight. Walter, Reading from a "paper on whicJi lie has been writing As a wild maiden, with love-drinking eyes, Sees in sweet dreams a beaming Youth of Glory, And wakes to weep, and ever after sighs For that bright vision till her hair is hoary ; Even so, alas ! is my life's passion story. For Poesy my heart and pulses beat. For Poesy my blood runs red and fleet ; As Moses' serpent the Egyptians' swalloAved, One passion eats the rest. My soul is followed A LIFE-DRA.'MA. [stENE I. By strong ambition to out-roll a lay, Whose melody will haunt the world for aye, Charming it onward on its golden way. [Tea7'S the 2^cipcr, and paces the room with disordered steps. 0, that my heart was quiet as a grave Asleep in moonlight ! For, as a torrid sunset boils with gold Up to the zenith, fierce within my soul A passion burns from basement to the cope. Poesy ! Poesy ! I 'd give to thee, As passionately, my rich-laden years, My bubble pleasures, and my awful joys, As Hero gave her trembling sighs to find Delicious death on wet Leander's lip. Bare, bald and tawdry, as a fingered moth, Is my poor life ; but with one smile thou canst Clothe me with kingdoms. Wilt thou smile on me ? Wilt bid me die for thee ? 0, fair and cold ! As well ma)'- some wild maiden waste her love Upon the calm front of a marble Jove. I cannot draw regard of thy great eyes, I love thee, Poesy ! Thou art a rock ; 1, a weak wave, would break on thee and die ! There is a deadlier pang than that which beads With chilly death-drops the o'er-tortured brow, When one has a big heart and feeble hands, — SCENE I.] A LIFE-DKAMA. 7 A heart to hew his name out upon time, As on a rock, then in immortalness To stand on time as on a pedestal ; When hearts beat to this tune, and hands are weak. We find our aspirations quenched in tears. The tears of impotence, and self-contempt. That loathsome weed, up-springing in the heart, Like nightshade 'mong the ruins of a shrine ; I am so cursed, and wear within my soul A pang as fierce as Dives, drowsed with wine, Lipping his leman in luxurious dreams ; Waked by a fiend in hell ! 'T is not for me, ye Heavens ! 't is not for me To fling a Poem, like a comet, out, Far-splendoring the sleepy realms of night. I cannot give men glimpses so divine, As when, upon a racking night, the wind Draws the pale curtains of the vapory clouds, And shows those wonderful, mysterious voids, Throbbing with stars like pulses. Naught for me But to creep quietly into my grave ; Or calm and tame the swelling of my heart With this foul lie, painted as sweet as truth. That "great and small, weakness and strength, are naught, That each thing being equal in its sphere. The May-night glow-worm with its emerald lamp 8 A LIFE-URAMA. [bJENE I. Is worthy as the mighty moon that drowns Continents in her white and silent light." This — this were easy to believe, were I The planet that doth nightly wash the earth's Fair sides with moonlight; not the shining worm, But as I am — beaten, and foiled, and shamed, The arrow of my soul which I had shot To bring down Fame, dissolved like shaft of mist, This painted falsehood, this most damned lie, Freezes me like a fiendish human face, Its hateful features gathered in a sneer. O, let me rend this breathing tent of flesh ; Uncoop the soul, — fool, fool, 'twere still the same, 'T is the deep soul that's touched, it bears the wound ; And memory doth stick in 't like a knife. Keeping it wide forever. [^4 long pmisf-, I am fain To feed upon the beauty of the moon ! \Opens the casemeM. Sorrowful moon ! seeming so drowned in woe, A queen, whom some grand battle-day has left Unkingdomed and a widow, while the stars, J Thy handmaidens, are standing back in awe, Gazing in silence on thy mighty grief I All men have loved thee for thy beauty, moon ! Adam has turned from Eve's fair face to thine, And drank thy beauty with his serene eyes. SCEN't: I.] A LIFE-URAMA. 9 Antony once, when seated with his queen, Worth all the East, a moment gazed at thee : She struck him on the check with jealous hand, And chiding said, — " Now, by my Egypt's gods, That pale and squeamish beauty of the night Has had thine eyes too long ; thine eyes are mine ! Alack ! there 's sorrow in my Antony's lace ! Dost think of Rome ? I '11 make tliee, witli a kiss, Richer than Caesar ' Come, I 11 crown thy lips." [A no/ her pause How tenderly the moon doth fdl the night ! Not like the passion that doth fill my soul ; It burns within me like an Indian sun. A star is trembling on the horizon's verge ; That star shall glow and broaden on the night, Until it hangs divine and beautiful In the proud zenith — Might I so broaden on the skies of fame ! Fame! Fame ! Fame ! next grandest word to God ! 1 seek the look of Fame ! Poor fool ! — so tries Some lonely wanderer 'mong the desert sands By shouts to gain the notice of the Sphynx, Staring right on with calm eternal eyes. SCENE II. A forest. Walter sleeping beneath a tree. F.nter Lady with a fawn. LADY. Halt ! Flora, halt ! This race Has danced iny ring-lets all about my brows, And brought my cheeks to bloom. Here will I rest, And weave a garland for thy dappled neck. \Wcaves fl-nvers I look, sweet Flora, in thine innocent eyes, And see in them a meaning and a glee Fitting this universal summer joy. Each leaf upon the trees doth shake with joy, With joy the white clouds navigate the blue, And, on his painted wings, the butterfly. Most splendid masker in this carnival, Floats through the air in joy ! Better for man, Were he and Nature more familiar friends ! SCENE n.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 11 His part is worst that touches this base world. Ahhough the ocean's inmost heart be pure, Yet the salt fringe that daily licks the shore Is gross with sand. On, my sweet Flora, on ! [Rises and approaches Walter. Ha ! what is this ? A bright and wandered youth, Thick in the light of his own beauty, sleeps Like young Apollo, in his golden curls ! At the oak-roots I 've seen full many a flower, But never one so fair. A lovely youth, With dainty cheeks, and rinn-lets like a girl. And slumber-parted lips 'twere sweet to kiss ! Ye envious lids ! I fain would see his eyes ! Jewels so richly cased as those of his Must be a sight. So, here 's a well-worn book, From which he drinks such joy as doth a pale And dim-eyed worker who escapes, in Spring, The thousand-streeted and smoke-smothered town, And treads a while the breezy hills of health. [Lady opie7is the book, a slip of paper fall out, she reads. The fierce exulting worlds, the motes in rays, The churlish thistles, scented briers. The wind-swept blue-bells on the sunny braes. Down to the central fires, 12 A LIFE-DRyVMA. [sCENE II. Exist alike in love. Love is a sea, Filling all the abysses dim Of lornest space, in whose deeps regally Suns and their brif!;ht broods sv/im. This mighty sea of Love, with wondrous tides, Is sternly just to sun and grain ; 'T is laving at this moment Saturn's si- let,, — 'T is in my blood and brain. All things have something more than barren use ; There is a scent upon the brier, A tremulous splendor in the autumn dews. Cold morns are fringed with fire ; The clodded earth goes up in sweet-breathed flowers In music dies poor human speech. And into beauty blow those hearts of ours. When Love is born in each. Life is transfigured in the soft and tender Light of Love, as a volume dun Of rolling smoke becomes a wreathed splendor In the declinins: sun. sCEXE IT.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 13 Driven from cities by his restless moods, In incense glooms and secret nooks, A miser o'er his gold — the lover broods O'er vague words, earnest looks. Oft is he startled on the sweetest lip ; Across his midnight sea of mind A Thought comes streaming, like a blazing ship Upon a mighty wind, A Terror and a Glory ! Shocked with light, His boundless being glares aghast ; Then slowly settles down the wonted night, All desolate and vast. Daisies are white upon the church-yard sod. Sweet tears the clouds lean down and give. This world is very lovely. 0, my God, I thank Thee that I live ! Ringed with his flaming guards of many kinds. The proud Sun stoops his golden head, Gray Eve sobs crazed with grief; to her the winds Shriek out, " The Day is dead ! " 14 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE 11. I g^ave this beggar Day no alms, this Night Has seen nor work accomplished, planned, Yet this poor Day shall soon in memory's light A summer rainbow stand ! There is no evil in this present strife ; From the shivering Seal's low moans, Up through the shining tiers and ranks of life, To stars upon their thrones, The seeming ills are Loves in dim disguise ; Dark moral knots, that pose the seer. If we are lovers, in our wider eyes Shall hang, like dew-drops clear. Ye are my menials, ye thick-crowding years Ha ! yet with a triumphant shout My spirit shall take captive all the spheres, And wring their riches out. God ! what a glorious future gleams on me ; With nobler senses, nobler peers, 1 '11 wing me through Creation like a bee, And taste the gleaming spheres ! .SCENE U.j A LIFE-DUA.MA. 15 While some are trembling o'er the poison-cup, While some grow lean with care, some weep, In this luxurious faith I "11 wrap me up, As in a robe, and sleep. 0, 't is a sleeping Poet ! and his verse Sings like the syren-isles. An opulent Soul Dropt in my path like a great cup of gold. All rich and rough with stories of the gods! JVIethinks all poets should be gentle, fair, And ever young, and ever beautiful, I'd have all Poets to be like to this, — Gold-haired and rosy-lipped, to sing of Love. Love ! Love ! Old song that Poet ever chaiiteth, Of which the listening world is never weary. Sold is a moon, Love is its loveliest phase. Alas! to me this Love vvill never come Till summer days shall visit dark December. Woe 's me ! 't is very sad, but 't is my doom To hide a ghastly grief within my heart ; And then to coin my lying cheek to smiles, Sure, smiles become a victim garlanded ! Hiot ! he awakes WA LT E R [awaliening) . Fair lady, in my dream Methought I was a weak and lonely bird, 16 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCEXF. [I. In search of summer wandered on the sea, Toiling through mists, drenched by the arrowy rain, Struck by the heartless winds : at last, methought I came upon an isle in whose sweet air I dried my feathers, smoothed my ruffled breast, And skimmed delight from off the waving woods. Thy coming, lady, reads this dream of mine : I am the swallow, thou the summer land. LADY. Sweet, sweet is flattery to mortal ears, And, if I drink thy praise too greedily, My fault I 'U match with grosser instances. Do not the royal souls that van the world Hunger for praises ? Does not the hero burn To blow his triumphs in the trumpet's mouth ? And do not poets' brows throb feverous Till they are cooled with laurels ? Therefore, sir, If such dote more on praise than all the wealth Of precious-wombed earth and pearled mains. Blame not the cheeks of simple maidenhood. Fair sir, I am the empress of this wood ! The courtier oaks bow in proud homages. And shake down o'er my path their golden leaves. Queen am I of this green and summer realm. This wood I 've entered oft when all in sheen The princiily Morning walks o'er diamond dews, SCENE II.] A LIFE -DRAMA. 17 And still have lingered, till the vain young Night Trembles o'er her own beauty in the sea. WALTER. And as thou passest some mid-forest glade, The simple woodman stands amazed, as if An angel flashed by on his gorgeous wings. LADY. I am thine empress. Who and what art thou ? Art thou Sir Bookworm ? Haunter of old tomes, Sitting the silent term of stars to watch Your own thought passing into beauty, like An earnest mother watching the first smile Dawning upon her sleeping infant's face, Until she cannot see it for her tears ? And when the lark, the laureate of the sun, Doth climb the east, eager to celebrate His monarch's crowning, goeth pale to bed, — Art thou such denizen of book-world, pray ? Books written when the soul is at spring-tide, When it is laden like a groaning sky Before a thunder-storm, are power and gladness, And majesty and beauty. They seize the reader As tempests seize a ship, and bear him on 2 IS A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE II. With a wild joy. Some books are drenched sands, On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps, Like a wrecked argosy. What power in books ! They mingle gloom and splendor, as I 've oft, In thmid'rous sunsets, seen the thunder-piles Seamed with dull fire and fiercest glory-rents. They awe me to my knees, as if I stood In presence of a king. Thejr give me tears ; Such glorious tears as Eve's fair daughters shed. When first they clasped a Son of God, all bright With burning plumes and splendors of the slcy, In zoning heaven of their milky arms. How few read books aright ! Most souls are shut By sense from grandeur, as a man who snores Night-capped and wrapped in blankets to the nose, Is shut out from the night, which, like a sea, Breaketh forever on a, strand of stars. Lady, in book-world have I ever dwelt, This book has domed my being like a sky. LADY. And who was its creator ? WALTER. He was one Who could not help it, for it was his nature To blossom into song, as 't is a tree's To leaf itself in April. SCENE II.J A LIFE-DRAMA. 19 LADY. Did he love ? WALTER. Ay; and lie suffered. — His was not that love That comes on men with their beards. His soul was rich; And this his book unveils it, as the night Her panting wealth of stars. The world was cold, And he went down like a lone ship at sea ; And now the fame that scorned him while he lived Waits on him like a menial. When the dark dumb Earth Lay on her back and watched the shining stars, A Soul from its warm body shuddered out To the dim air and trembled with the cold ; Through the waste air it passed as swift and still As a dream passes through the lands of sleep, Till at the very gates of spirit-world 'T was asked by a most worn and earnest shape, That seemed to tremble on the coming word, About an orphan Poerp. and if yet A Name was heard on earth. LADY. 'T is very sad, 9,0 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE 11. And doth remind me of an old, low strain I used to sin^ in lap of summers dead, When I was but a child, and when we played Like April sunbeams 'mong the meadow-flowers ; Or romped i' the dews with weak complaining lambs ; Or sat in circles on the primrose knolls, Striving with eager and palm-shaded eyes, 'Mid shouts and silver laughs, who first should catch The lark, a singing speck, go up the blue. I '11 sing it to thee ; 't is a song of One — (An image slept within his soul's caress, Like a sweet thought within a Poet's heart Ere It is born in joy and golden words) — Of One whose naked soul stood clad in love, Like a pale martyr in his shirt of fire. I '11 sing it to thee. [Lady sings. In winter when the dismal rain Comes down in slanting lines. And Wind, that grand .old harper, smote His thunder-harp of pines, A Poet sat in his antique room, His lamp the valley kinged, 'Neath dry crusts of dead tongues he found ^ Truth, fresh and golden-winged. SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 21 When violets came and woods were green, And larks did skyward dart, A Love alit and white did sit Like an angel on his heart. From his heart he unclasped his love Amid the trembling trees, And sent it to the Lady Blanche On winged poesies. The Lady Blanche was saintly fair, Nor proud, but meek her look ; In her hazel eyes her thoughts lay clear As pebbles in a brook. Her father's veins ran noble blood. His hall rose mid the trees ; Like a sunbeam she came and went 'Mong the white cottages. The peasants thanked her with their tears. When food and clothes were given, — " This is a joy," the Lady said, " Saints cannot taste in Heaven ! " 22 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCEXE II. They met — the Poet told his love, His hopes, despairs, his pains, — The Lady with her calm eyes mocked The tumult in his veins. He passed away — a fierce song leapt From cloud of his despair, As lightning, like a bright, wild beast Leaps from its thunder-lair. He poured his frenzy forth in song, — • Bright heir of tears and praises ! Now resteth that unquiet heart Beneath the quiet daisies. The world is old, — O ! very old, — The wild winds weep and rave ; The world is old, and gray, and cold, Let it drop into its grave ! Our ears, Sir Bookworm, hunger for thy song. WALTER. I have a strain of a departed bard ; SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 23 One who was born too late into this world. A mighty day was past, and he saw naught But ebbing sunset and the rising stars, — Still o'er him rose those melancholy stars ! Unlmown his childhood, save that he was bom 'Mong woodland waters full of silver breaks ; That he grew up 'mong primroses moon-pale In the hearts of purple hills ; that he o'er-ran Green meadows golden in the level sun, A bright-haired child ; and that, when these he left To dwell within a monstrous city's heart, The trees were gazing up into the slcy. Their bare arms stretched in prayer for the snows. When first we met, his book was six months old. And eagerly his name was buzzed abroad ; Praises fell thick on him. Men said, " This Dawn Will widen to a clear and boundless Day ; And when it ripens to a sumptuous west With a great sunset 't will be closed and crowned." Lady ! he was as far 'bove common men As a sun-steed, wild-eyed and meteor-maned. Neighing the reeling stars, is 'bove a hack With sluggish veins of mud. More tremulous Than the soft star that in the azure East Trembles with pity o'er bright bleeding day, W^as his frail soul ; I dwelt with him for years ; I was to him but Labrador to Ind ; 24 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE II. His pearls were plentier than my pebble-stones. He was the sun, I was that squab — the earth, And basked me in his light until he drew Flowers from my barren sides. O ! he was rich, And I rejoiced upon his shore of pearls, A weak enamored sea. Once did he say, " My Friend ! a Poet must ere long arise, And with a regal song sun-crown this age, As a saint's head is with a halo crowned ; — One, who shall hallow Poetry to God And to its own high use, for Poetry is The grandest chariot wherein king-thoughts ride ; — One, who shall fervent grasp the sword of song As a stern swordsman grasps his keenest blade. To find the quickest passage to the heart. A mighty Poet whom this age shall choose To be its spokesman to all coming times. In the ripe full-blown season of his soul, He shall go forward in his spirit's strength. And grapple with the questions of all time, And wring from them their meanings. As King Saul Called up the buried prophet from his grave To speak his doom, so shall this Poet-king Call up the dead Past from its awful grave To tell him of our future. As the air Doth sphere the world, so shall his heart of love — Loving mankind, not peoples. As the lake SCENE II.J A LIFE-DRAMA. 25 Reflects the flower, tree, rock, and bending heaven, Shall he reflect our great humanity ; And as the young Spring breathes with living breath On a dead branch, till it sprouts fragrantly Green leaves and sunny flowers, shall he breathe life Through every theme he touch, making all Beauty And Poetry forever like the stars." His words set me on fire ; I cried aloud, " Gods ! what a portion to forerun this Soul ! " He grasped my hand, — I looked upon his face, — A thought struck all the blood into his cheeks, Like a strong buffet. His great flashing eyes Burned on mine own. He said, " A grim old king, Whose blood leapt madly when the trumpets brayed To joyous battle 'mid a storm of steeds, Won a rich kingdom on a battle-day ; But in the sunset he was ebbing fast. Ringed by his weeping lords. His left hand held His white steed, to the belly splashed with blood, That seemed to mourn him with its drooping head; His right, his broken brand ; and in his ear His old victorious banners flap the winds. He called his faithful herald to his side, — * Go ! tell the dead I come ! ' With a proud smile, The warrior with a stab let out his soul. Which fled and shrieked through all the other world, ' Ye dead ! My master comes ! ' And there was pause 26 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE II. Till the groat shade should enter. Like that herald, Walter, I 'd rush across this waiting world And cry, ' He comes ! ' " Lady, wilt hear the song ? [Sings. In the street, the tide of being, how it surges, how it rolls ! God! what base ignoble faces! God! what bodies wanting souls ! 'Mid this stream of human being, banked by houses tall and grim. Pale I stand this shining morrow with a pant for wood- lands dim. To hear the soft and whispering rain, feel the dewy cool of leaves. Watch the lightnings dart like swallows round the brooding thunder-eaves. To lose the sense of whirling streets, 'mong breeay crests of hills, Skies of larks, and hazy landscapes, with fine threads of silver rills. Stand with forehead bathed in sunset on a mountain's summer crown. And look up and watch the shadow of the great night coming down ; One great life in my myriad veins, in leaves, in flowers, in cloudy cars. Blowing, underfoot, in clover ; beating, overhead, in stars ! SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. ' 27 Once 1 saw a blissful harvest-moon, but not through forest-leaves ; T was not whitening o'er a country, costly with the piled sheaves ; Rose not o'er the amorous ocean, trembling round his happy isles; It came circling large and queenly o'er yon roof of smoky tiles, And I saw it with such feeling, joy in blood, in heart, in brain, I would give, to call the affluence of that moment back again, Europe, with her cities, rivers, hills of prey, sheep- sprinkled downs, — Ay, an hundred sheaves of sceptres ! Ay, a planet's gathered crowns ! For with that resplendent harvest-moon, my inmost thoughts were shared By a bright and shining maiden, hazel-eyed and golden- haired ; One blest hour we sat together in a lone and silent place, O'er us starry tears were trembling on the mighty mid- night's face. Gradual crept my arm around her, 'gainst my shoulder came her head. And I could but draw her closer, whilst I tremulously said. 28 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE II. " Passion as it runs grows purer, loses every tinge of clay, As from Dawn all red and turbid flows the white trans- parent Day, And in mingled lives of lovers the array of human ills Breaks their gentle course to music, as the stones break summer rills," " You should give the world," she murmured, " such delicious thoughts as these." " They are fit to line portmanteaus ; " " Nay," she whispered, " Memories." And thereat she looked upon me with a smile so full of grace, All my blood was in a moment glowing in my ardent face! Half-blind, I looked up to the host of palpitating stars, 'Gainst my sides my heart was leaping, like a lion 'gainst his bars. For a thouglit was born within me, and I said within my mind, " I will risk all in this moment, I will either lose or find." " Dost thou love me ? " then I whispered ; for a minute after this, 1 sat and trembled in great blackness — On my lips I felt a kiss ; — SCENE. II.J A LIFE-DRAMA. 29 Than a rose-leafs touch 't was lighter, — on her face her hands she prest, And a heaven of tears and blushes was deep buried in my breast. I could make her faith, 77iy passion, a wide mark for scorn and sneers ; I could laugh a hollow laughter but for these hot burst- ing tears. In the strong hand of my frenzy, laws and statutes snapt like reeds, And furious as a wounded bull I tore at all the creeds ; I rushed into the desert, \yhere I stood with hopeless eyes, Glaring on vast desolations, barren sands, and empty skies ! Soon, a trembling naked figure, to the earth my face was bowed. For the curse of God gloomed o'er me like a bursting thunder-cloud. Rolled away that fearful darkness, past m}' weakness, past my grief, Washed with bitter tears 1 sat full in the sunshine of belief. Weary eyes are looking eastward, whence the golden sun upsprings, Cry the young and fervid spirits, clad with ardor as with wings. 30 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE n. "Life and Soul make wretched jangling', tliey should mingle to one Sire, As the lovely voices mingle in a holy temple choir. ! those souls of ours, my brothers ! prisoned now m mortal bars, Have been riched by growth and travel, by the round of all the stars. Soul; alas ! is unregarded ; Brothers ! it is closely shut : All unknown as royal Alfred in the Saxon neat-herd's hut, In the Dark house of the Body, cooking victuals, light- ing firgs, Swelters on the starry stranger, to our nature's base desires. From its lips is 't any marvel that no revelations come ? We have wronged it; we do wrong it — 'tis majestically dumb ! God ! our souls are aproned waiters ! God ! our souls are hired slaves : Let us hide from Life, my Brothers ! let us hide us in our graves. O ! why stain our holy childhoods ? Why sell all for drinks and meats ? Why degrade, like those old mansions, standing in our pauper streets, SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 31 Lodgings o7ice of kings and nobles, silken stirs and trumpet's din, NmOf where crouch 'mong rags and fever, shapes of squalor and of sin ? " Like a mist this wail surrounds me ; Brothers, hush ! the Lord Christ's hands Even now are stretched in blessing o'er the sea and o'er the lands. Sit not like a mourner. Brother ! by the grave of that dear Past, Throw the Present ! 't is thy servant only when 't is overcast, — Give battle to the leagued world, if thou 'rt worthy, truly brave. Thou shalt make the hardest circumstance a helper or a slave. As when thunder wraps the setting sun, he struggles, glows with ire, Eifts the gloom with golden furrows, with a hundred bursts of fire. Melts the black and thund'rous masses to a sphere of' rosy light. Then on edge of glowing heaven smiles in triumph on the night. Lo ! the song of Earth — a maniac's on a black and dreary road — Rises up, and swells, and grandeurs, to the loud trium- phal ode — 32 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE II. Earth casts off a slough of darlcness, an eclipse of hell and sin, In each cycle of her being, as an adder casts her skin ; Lo ! I see long blissful ages, when these mammon days are done, Stretching like a golden evening forward to the setting sun. He sat one winter 'neath a linden tree In my bare orchard : " See, my friend," he said, " The stars among the branches hang like fruit, So, hopes were thick within me. When I 'm gone The world will like a valuator sit Upon my soul, and say, ' I was a cloud That caught its glory from a sunken sun, And gradual burned into its native gray.'" On an October eve, 't was his last wish To see again the mists and golden woods; Upon his death-bed he was lifted up. The slumberous sun within the lazy west With their last gladness filled his dying eyes. No sooner was he hence than critic-worms Were swarming on the body of his fame. And thus they judged the dead : " This Poet was An April tree whose vermeil-loaded boughs Promised to Autumn apples juiced and red, But never came to fruit." " He is to us But a rich odor, — a faint music-swell." ■'CENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 33 " Poet he was not in the larger sense ; He could write pearls, but he could never write A Poem round and perfect as a star." " Politic i' faith. His most judicious act Was dying when he did ; the next five years Had fingered all the fine dust from his wings, And left him poor as we. He died — 't was shrewd ! And came with all his youth and unblown hopes On the world's heart, and touched it into tears." LADY. Would'st thou, too, be a poet ? WALTER. Lady ! ay ! A passion has grown up to be a King, Kuling my being with as fierce a sway As the mad sun the prostrate desert sands, And it is that. LADY, Hast some great cherished theme ? WALTER. Lovely in God's eyes, where, in barren space, Like a rich jewel hangs His universe, Unwrinkled as a dew-drop, and as fair, 3 34 A LIFE-DRAMA. In my poor eyes, my loved and chosen theme Is lovely as the universe in His. LADY. Wilt write of some young wanton of an isle, Whose beauty so enamored hath the sea, It clasps it ever in its summer arms. And wastes itself away on it in kisses ? Or the hot Indes, on whose teeming plains The seasons four knit in one flowery band A.re dancing ever ? Or some older realm ? WALTER. I will begin in the oldest ; far in God. When all the ages, and all suns, and worlds, ■And souls of men and angels, lay in Him Like unborn forests in an acorn cup. LADY. And how wilt thou begin it ? WALTER. With old words ! With the soliloquy with which God broke The silence of the dead eternities, At which most ancient words, beautiful ! With showery tresses like a child from sleep, SCENE II.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 35 Uprose the spjendid-mooned and jewelled night, — The loveliest born of God. LADY. Then your first chorus Must be the shoutings of the morning stars ! What martial music is to marching men Should Song be to Humanity. In song The infant ages born and swathed are. A beauteous menial to our wants divine, A shape celestial tending the dark earth With light and silver service like the moon, Is Poesy ; ever remember this — How wilt thou end it ? WALTER. With God and Silence ! When the great universe subsides in God, Even as a moment's foam subsides again Upon the wave that bears it. LADY. Why, thy plan Is wide and daring as a comet's spoom ! And doubtless 't will contain the tale of earth By way of episode or anecdote. This precious world which one pale marred face 36 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE II. Dropt tears upon. This base and beggar ■\vorld To your rich soul ! O ! Mark Antony, With a fine scorn, did toss your world away For Cleopatra's lips ! — so rich, so poor. SCENE III. Antique Room. Walter pacing tip and down. WALTER. Thou day beyond to-morrow ! though my life Should cease in thee, 1 'd dash aside the hours That intervene to bring thee quicklier here. Again to meet her in the windy woods ! When last we met she was as marble, calm : I, with thick-beating heart and sight grown dim, And leaping pulses and loud-ringing ears. And tell-tale blood that rushed into my face. And blabbed the love secreted in my heart. She must have understood that crimson speech, And yet she frowned not. No, she never frowned. I think that I am worthy to be loved. 0, could I lift my heart into her sight. As an old mountain lifts its martyr's cairn Into the pure sight of the holy heavens ! 3S A LIFE -DRAMA. [SCENE III. Would she but love me, I would live for her ! Were she plain Night I 'd pack her with my stars. My spirit, Poesy, would be her slave, *T would rifle for her ocean's secret hoards. And make her rough with pearls. If Death's pale realms Contained a gem out-lustring all the world, I would adventure there, and bring it her. My inmost being dwells upon her words, " Wilt trim a verse for me by this night week ? Make it as jubilant as marriage bells ; Or, if it please you, make it doleful sad As bells that knoll a maiden to her grave, When the spring earth is sweet in violets, And it will fit one heart, yea, as the cry Of the lone plover fits a dismal heath." I '11 write a tale through which my passion runs, Like honeysuckle through a hedge of June. A silent isle on which the love-sick sea Dies with faint kisses and a murmured joy. In the clear blue the lark hangs like a speck, And empties his full heart of music-rain O'er sunny slopes, where tender lambkins bleat. And new-born rills go laughing to the sea, O'er woods that smooth do\\Ti to the southern shore. SCENE III.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 39 Waving in green, as the young breezes blow O'er the sea sphere all sweet and summer smells. Not of these years, but by -gone minstrel times, Of shepherd-days in the young world's sunrise, Was this warm clime, this quiet land of health, By gentle pagans filled, whose red blood ran Healthy and cool as milk, — pure, simple men : Ah, how unlike the swelterers in towns ! Who ne'er can glad their eyes upon the green Sunshine-swathed earth ; nor hear the singing rills, Nor feel the breezes in their lifted hair, A lovely youth, in manhood's very edge, Lived 'mong these shepherds and their quiet downs ; Tall and blue-eyed, and bright in golden hair, With half-shut dreamy eyes, sweet earnest eyes That seemed unoccupied Avith outward things, Feeding on something richer ! Strangely, oft, A wildered smile lay on his noble lips. The sunburnt shepherds stared with aAvful eyes As he went past ; and timid girls upstole, With wondering looks, to gaze upon his face, And on his cataract of golden curls. Then lonely grew, and went into the woods To think sweet thoughts, and marvel why they shook With heart-beat and with tremors when he came. And in the night he filled their dreams with joy. 40 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE lU. But there was one among that soft-voiced band Who pined away for love of his sweet eyes, And died among the roses of the spring. When Eve sat in the dew with closed lids, Came gentle maidens bearing forest flowers To strew upon her green and quiet grave. They soothed the dead with love-songs low and sweet ; Songs sung of old beneath the purple night. Songs heard on earth with heart-beat and a blush, Songs heard in heaven by the breathless stars. Thought-wrapt, he wandered in the bree2y woods In which the Summer, like a hermit, dwelt. He laid him down by the old haunted springs. Up-bubbling 'mid a world of greenery. Shut-eyed, and dreaming of the fairest shapes That roam the woods ; and when the autumn nights Were dark and moonless, to the level sands He would betake him, there to hear, o'er-awed, The old Sea moaning like a monster pained. One day he lay within the pleasant woods On bed of flowers edging a fountain's brim, And gazed into its heart as if to count The veined and lucid pebbles one by one. Up-shining richly through the crystal clear. Thus lay he many hours, when, lo ! he heard SCENE ni.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 41 A maiden singing in the woods alone A sad and tender island melody, Which made a golden conquest of his soul, Bringing a sadness sweeter than delight. As nightingale, embowered in vernal leaves, Pants out her gladness the luxurious night, The moon and stars all hanging on her song, She poured her soul in music. When she ceased, The charmed woods and breezes silent stood. As if all ear to catch her voice again. Uprose the dreamer from his couch of flowers, With awful expectation in his look. And happy tears upon his pallid face. With eager steps, as if toward a heaven, He onward went, and, lo ! he saw her stand, Fairer than Dian, in the forest glade. His footsteps startled her, and quick she turned Her face, — looks met like swords. He clasped his hands. And fell upon his knees ; the while there broke A sudden splendor o'er his yearning face ; • 'T was a pale prayer in its very self. " I know thee, lovely maiden ! " then he cried ; ' I know thee, and of thee I have been told : Been told by all the roses of the vale. By hermit streams, by pale sea-setting stars, ~ And by the roaring of the storm-tost pines ; 42 A LIFE-CRAIMA. [sCENE III. And I have sought for thee upon the hills, In duTi sweet dreams, on the complacent sea, When breathless midnight, with her thousand hearts, Beats to the same love-tune as my own heart. I 've waited for thee many seasons through. Seen many autumns shed their yellow leaves O'er the oak-roots, heard many winters moan Thorough the leafless forests drearily. Now am I joyful, as storm-battered dove That finds a perch in the Hesperides, For thou art found. Thou, whom I long have sought, My other self! Our blood, our hearts, our souls. Shall henceforth mingle in one being, like The married colors in the bow of heaven. My soul is like a wide and empty fane ; Sit thou in 't like a god, O maid divine ! With worship and religion 't will be filled. My soul is empty, lorn, and hungry space ; Leap thou into it like a new-born star. And 't will o'erflow with splendor and with bliss. More music ! music ! music ! maid divine ! My hungry senses, like a finch's brood. Are all a-gape. feed them, maid divine! Feed, feed my hungry soul with melodies ! " Thus, like a worshipper before a shrine, He earnest syllabled, and, rising up. He led that lovely stranger tenderly SCENE III.] A LIFE-DKAMA. 43 Through the green forest toward the burning west. He never, by the maidens of the isle Nor by the shepherds, was thereafter seen 'Mong sunrise splendors on the misty hills, Or stretched at noon by the old haunted wells Or by the level sands on autumn nights. I 've heard that maidens have been won by song. Poesy, fine sprite ! I 'd bless thee more, If thou would'st bring that lady's love to me, Than immortality in twenty worlds. 1 'd rather win her than God's youngest star, With singing continents and seas of bliss. Thou day beyond to-morrow, haste thee on ! SCENE IV. The Banks of a Ricer. — Walter and the Lady. LADY. The stream of sunsets ? WALTER. 'T is that loveliest stream. I Ve learned by heart its sweet and devious course By frequent tracing, as a lover learns The features of his best-belovtd's face. In memory it runs, a shining thread, With sunsets strung upon it thick, like pearls. From yonder trees I 've seen the western sky All washed with fire, while, in the midst, the sun Beat like a pulse, welling at every beat A spreading wave of light. Where yonder church Stands up to heaven, as if to intercede For sinful hamlets scattered at its feet, SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 45 I saw the dreariest sight. The sun was down, And all the west was paved with sullen fire. I cried, " Behold ! the barren beach of hell At ebb of tide." The ghost of one bright hour Comes from its grave and stands before me now. 'T was at the close of a long summer day. As we were sitting on yon grassy slope. The sunset hung before us like a dream That shakes a demon in his fiery lair; The clouds were standing round the setting sun Like gaping caves, fantastic pinnacles, Citadels throbbing in their own fierce light, Tall spires that came and went like spires of flame, Cliffs quivering with fire-snow, and peaks Of piled gorgeousness, and rocks of fire A-tilt and poised, bare beaches, crimson seas. All these were huddled in that dreadful west, All shook and trembled in unsteadfast light, And from the centre blazed the angry sun. Stem as the unlashed eye of God a-glare O'er evening city with its boom of sin. I do remember, as we journeyed home (That dreadful sunset burnt into our brains). With what a soothing came the naked moon. She, like a swimmer who has found his ground, Came rippling up a silver strand of cloud. And plunged from the other side into the night. 46 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCEXE IV I and that friend, the feeder of my soul, Did wander up and down these banks for years, Talking of blessed hopes and holy faiths, How sin and weeping all should pass away In the calm sunshine of the earth's old age. Breezes are blowing in old Chaucer's verse, 'T was here we drank them. Here for hours we hung O'er the fine pants and trembles of a line. Oft, standing on a hill's green head, we felt Breezes of love, and joy, and melody. Blow through us, as the winds blow through the sky. Oft with our souls in our eyes all day we fed On summer landscapes, silver-veined with streams, O'er which the air hung silent in its joy; With a great city lying in its smoke, A monster sleeping in its own thick breath ; And surgy plains of wheat, and ancient woods. In the calm evenings cawed by clouds of rooks, Acres of moss, and long black strips of firs. And sweet cots dropt in green, where children played To us unheard, till, gradual, all was lost In distance-haze to a blue rim of hills, Upon whose heads came down the closing sky. Beneath the crescent moon on autumn nights We paced its banks with overflowing hearts. Discoursing long of great thought- weal thy souls, And with what spendthrift hands they scatter wide SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 47 Their spirit wealth, making- mankind their debtors : Affluent spirits, dropt from the teeming stars. Who come before their time, are starved, and die, Like swallows that arrive before the summer. Or haply talked of dearer personal themes, Blind guesses at each other's after fate ; Feeling our leaping hearts, we marvelled oft How they should be unleashed, and have free course To stretch and strain far down the coming time — But in our guesses never was the grave. LADY. The tale ! the tale ! the tale ! As empty halls Gape for a coming pageant, my fond ears To take its music are all eager-wide. WALTER. Within yon grove of beeches is a well, I 've made a vow to read it only there. LADY. As I suppose, by way of recompense, For quenching thirst on some hot summer day. WALTER. Memories grow around it thick as flowers. That well is loved and haunted by a star. 4S A LIFE -DRAMA. [sCENE IV The live-long day her clear and patient eye Is open on the soft and bending blue, Just where she lost her lover in the morn. But with the night the star creeps o'er the trees And smiles upon her, and some happy hours She holds his image in her crystal heart. Beside that well I read the mighty Bard Who clad himself with beauty, genius, wealth, Then flung himself on his owii passioa-pyre And was consumed. Beside that lucid well The whitest lilies grow for many miles. 'T is said that, 'mong the flowers of perished years, A prince wooed here a lady of the land, And when with faltering lips he told his love, Into her proud face leapt her prouder blood ; She struck him blind with scorn, then with an air As if she wore the crowns of all the world. She swept right on and left him in the dew. Again he sat at even with his love. He sent a song into her haughty ears To plfead for him ; — she listened, still he sang. Tears, drawn by music, were upon her face. Till on its trembling close, to which she clung Like dying wretch to life, with a low cry She flung her arms around him, told her love, And how she long had loved him, but had kept It in her heart, like one who has a gem SCENE IV. J A LIFE-DKAMA. 49 And hoards it up in some most secret place, While he who owns it seeks it and with tears, Won by the sweet omnipotence of song- ! He gave her lands ; she paid him with herself. Brow-bound with gold she sat, the fairest thing Within his sea-washed shores. LADY. Most fit reward ! A poet's love should ever thus be paid. WALTER. Ha ! Dost thou think so ? LADY. Ves. The tale ! the tale ! WALTER. On balcony, all summer roofed with vmes, A lady half-reclined amid the light, Golden and green, soft-showering through the leaves Silent she sat one-half the silent noon ; At last she sank luxurious in her couch. Purple and golden-fringed, like the sun's. And stretched her white arms on the warmed air As if to take some object wherewithal To ease the empty aching of her heart. 4 50 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE IV. " 0, what a weariness of life is mine ! " The lady said, " soothing myself to sleep With my own lute, floating about the lake To feed my swans, with naught to stir my blood, Unless I scold my women thrice a-day. Unwrought yet in the tapestrj'' of my life Are princely suitors kneeling evermore. I, in my beauty, standing in the midst. Touching them, careless, with most stately eyes, 0, I could love, methinks, with all my soul ! But I see naught to love ; naught save some score Of lisping, curled gallants, with words i' their mouths Soft as their mothers' milk. 0, empty heart I 0, palace, rich and purple-chambered ! When will thy lord come home ? " When the blind morn was groping 'bout the east, The Earl went trooping forth to chase the stag; I trust he hath not to the sport he loves Better than ale-bouts ta'en my cub of Ind, My sweetest plaything. He is bright and wild As is a gleaming panther of the hills, — Lovely as lightning, beautiful as wild ! His sports and laughters are with fierceness edged ; There 's something in his beauty, all untamed, As I were toying with a naked sword. Which starts within my veins the blood of earls. SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 51 I fain would have the service of his voice To kill with music this most languid moon." She rang a silver bell : with downcast eyes The tawny nursling of the Indian sun Stood at her feet. "I prithee, Leopard, sing; Voice me some stormy song of sword and lance, Which, rushing upward from a hero's heart, Straight rose upon a hundred leaguered hills, Ragged and wild as pyramid of flame. Or, better, sing some hungry lay of love Like that you sang me on the eve you told How poor our English to your Indian darks ; Shaken from odorous hills, what tender smells Pass like fine pulses through the mellow nights ; The purple ether that embathes the moon, — Your large round moon, more beautiful than ours ; Your showers of stars, each hanging luminous, Like golden dew-drops in the Indian air." " I know a song, born in the heart of love, Its sweetest sweet, steeped ere the close in tears. 'T was sung into the cold ears of the stars Beside the murmured margent of the sea. 'T is of two lovers, matched like cymbals fine, Who, in a moment of luxuriovis blood, Their pale lips trembling in the kiss of gods, Made their lives wine-cups, and then drank them off, And died with beings full-blown like a rose ; 52 A LTFE-DRAMA. [SCENE IV. A mighty heart-pant bore them like a wave, And flung them, flowers, upon the next world's strand. Night the solemn, night the starry, 'Mong the oak-trees old and gnarry; By the sea-shore and the ships, 'Neath the stars I sat with Clari ; Her silken bodice was unlaced. My arm was trembling round her waist I plucked the joys upon her lips ; Joys, though plucked, still grow again ! Canst thou say the same, old Night ^ Ha ! thy life is vain. Night the solemn, night the starry, 0, that death would let me tarry, Like a dew-drop on a flower, Ever on those lips of Clari ! Our beings mellow, then they fall, Like o'er-ripe peaches from the wall ; We ripen, drop, and all is o'er; On the cold grave weeps the rain ; I weep it should be so, old Night. Ah ! my tears are vain. Night the solemn, night the starry, Say, alas ! that years should harry SCENE IV. J A LIFE-DRAMA. 53 Gloss from life and joys from lips, Love-lustres from the eyes of Clari ! Moon ! that walkest the blue deep, Like naked maiden in her sleep ; Star ! whose pallid splendor dips In the ghost-waves of the main. O, ye hear me not ! old Night, My tears and cries are vain." He ceased to sing; queenly the lady lay, One white hand hidden in a golden shoal Of ringlets, reeling down upon her couch, And heaving on the heavings of her breast, The while the thoughts rose in her eyes like stars, Kising and setting in the blue of night. " I had a cousin once," the lady said, " Who brooding sat, a melancholy owl, Among the twilight branches of his thoughts. He was a rhymer, and great knights he spoiled, And damsels saved, and giants slew, in vei se. He died in youth ; his heart held a dead hope. As holds the wretched west the sunset's corpse, Spit on, insulted by the brutal rains. He went to his grave, nor told what man he was. He was unlanguaged, like the earnest sea. Which strives to gain an utterance on the shore, But ne'er can shape unto the listening hills 54 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE IV The lore it gathered in its awful age ; The crime for which 't is lashed by cruel winds To shrieks, mad spoomings to the frighted stars ; The thought, pain, grief, within its laboring heart. To fledge with music wings of heavy noon, I '11 sincr some verses that he sent to me : Where the west has sunset-bloomed. Where a hero's heart is tombed. Where a thunder-cloud has gloomed. Seen, becomes a part of me. Flowers and rills live sunnily In gardens of my memory. Through its walks and leafy lanes Float fair shapes 'mong sunlight rains; Blood is running in their veins. One, a queenly maiden fair, Sweepeth past me with an air, Kings might kneel beneath her stare. Round her heart, a rosebud free, Reeled I, liKe a drunken bee ; Alas ! it would not ope to me. SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAI\IA. 55 One comes shining like a saint, But her face I cannot paint, For mine eyes and blood grow faint. Eyes are dimmed as by a tear, Sounds are ringing in mine ear, I feel only she is here, That she laugheth where she stands. That she mocketh with her hands, I am bound in tighter bands. Laid 'mong faintest blooms is one, Singing in the setting sun. And her song is never done. She was born 'mong water-mills ; She grew up 'mong flowers and rills, In the hearts of distant hills. There, into her being stole Nature, and imbued the whole, And illumed her face and soul. She grew fairer than her peers ; Still her gentle forehead wears Holy lights of infant years. 56 A LIFE-DRAMA. [SCENE JV Her blue eyes, so mild and meelc, She uplifteth, when I speak, Lx) ! the blushes mount her cheelc Weary I of pride and jest, In this rich heart I would rest, Purple and love-lined nest. " My dazzling panther of the smoking hills. When the hot sun hath touched their loads of dew, What strange eyes had my cousin, who could thus (For you must know I am the first o' the three That pace the gardens of his memory) Prefer before the daughter of great earls This giglet, shining in her golden hair. Haunting him like a gleam or happy thought ; Or her, the last, up whose cheeks blushes went As thick and frequent as the streamers pass Up cold December nights. True, she might be A dainty partner in the game of lips. Sweetening the honeymoon ; but what, alas I When red-hot youth cools do^vn to iron man ? Could her white fingers close a helmet up. And send her lord unkissed away to field, Her heart striking with his arm in every blow ? Would joy rush through her spirit like a stream, When to her lips he came with victorjr back, iCENE IV.] A LIFE-DUAMA. 57 Acclaims and blessings on his head like crowns, His mouthed wounds brave trumpets in his praise, Drawing huge shoals of people, like the moon, Whose beauty draws the solemn-noised seas ? Or would his bright and lovely sanguine-stains Scare all the coward blood into her heart, Leaving her cheeks as pale as lily-leaves ? And at his great step would she quail and faint And pay his seeking arms with bloodless swoon ? My heart would leap to greet such coming lord, Eager to meet him, tiptoe on my lips." " This cousin loved the Lady Constance ; did The Lady Constance love her cousin, too ? " " Ay, as a cousin. He wooed me. Leopard mme, I speared him with a jest ; for there are men Whose sinews stiffen 'gainst a knitted brow. Yet are unthreaded, loosened by a sneer. And their resolve doth pass as doth a wave : Of this sort was my cousin. I saw him once, Adown a pleached alley, in the sun. Two gorgeous peacocks pecking from his hand ; At sigHt of me he first turned red, then pale I laughed and said, * I saw a misery perched I' the melancholy comers of his mouth. Like griffins on each side my father's gates.' 58 A LIFE -DRAMA. [sCENE IV And, ' That by sighing he would win my heart, Somewhere as soon as he could hug the earth, And crack its golden ribs.' A week the boy Lived in his sorrow, like a cataract Unseen, yet sounding through its shrouding mists. Strange likings, too, this cousin had of mine. A frail cloud trailing o'er the midnight moon Was lovelier sight than wounded boar a-foam Among the yelping dogs. He 'd lie in fields. And through his fingers watch the changing clouds, Those playful fancies of the mighty sky, With deeper interest than a lady's face. He had no heart to grasp the fleeting hour, Which, like a thief, steals by with silent foot. In his closed hand the jewel of a life. He scarce would match this throned and kingdomed earth Against a dew-drop. " Who 'd leap in the chariot of my heart, And seize the reins, and wind it to his will, Must be of other stufT, my cub of Ind : White honor shall be like a plaything to him. Borne lightly, a pet falcon on his wrist ; One who can feel the very pulse o' the time, Instant to act, to plunge into the strife, And with a strong arm hold the rearing wotld. SCENE IV,] A LIFE-DRAMA. 59 In costly chambers hushed with carpets rich, Swept by proud beauties in their whistling silks, Mars' plait shall smooth to sweetness on his brow ; Plis mighty front whose steel flung back the sun. When horsed for battle, shall bend above a hand Lail like a lily in his tawny palm. With such a grace as takes the gazer's eye. His voice that shivered the mad trumpet's blare, — A new-raised standard to the reeling field, — Shall know to tremble at a lady's ear. To charm her blood with the fine touch of praise, And, as she listens, steal away the heart. If the good gods do grant me such a man. More would I dote upon his trenched brows, His coal-black hair, proud eyes, and scornful lips, Than on a gallant curled like Absalom, Cheeked like Apollo, wdth his luted voice. " Canst tell me. Sir Dark-eyes, Is 't true what these strange-thoughted poets say, That hearts are tangled in a golden smile ? That brave cheeks pale before a queerdy brow ? That mailed knees bend beneath a lighted eye ? That trickling tears are deadlier than swords ? That w'ith our full-mooned beauty we can slave Spirits that walk time, like the travelling sun, With sunset glories girt around his loins ? 60 A LIFE-DRAMA. [sCENE IV. That love can thrive upon such dainty food As sweet words, showering from a rosy lip, As sighs, and smiles, and tears, and kisses warm ? " The dark Page lifted up his Indian eyes To that bright face, and saw it all a-smile ; And then, half grave, half jestingly, he said, — " The devil fisheth best for souls of men When his hook is baited with a lovely limb ; Love lights upon the heart, and straight vve feel More worlds of vvealth gleam in an. upturned eye Than in the rich heart of the miser sea. Beauty hath made our greatest manhoods weak. There have been men who chafed, leapt on their times, And reined them in as gallants rein their steeds To curvetings, to show their sweep of limb ; Yet love hath on their broad brows written ' fool.' Sages, with passions held in leash like hounds, — Grave Doctors, tilting with a lance of light In lists of argument, — have knelt and sighed Most plethoric sighs, and been but very men ; Stern hearts, close barred against a wanton world, Have had their gates burst open by a kiss. Why, there was one who might have topped all men, Who bartered joyously, for a single smile. This empired planet with its load of crowns, And thought himself enriched. If ye are fair. Mankind will crowd around you, thick as when SCENE IV.] A LIFE-DRAMA. 61 The full-faced moon sits silver on the sea, The eager waves lift up their gleaming heads, Each shouldering for her smile." The lady dowered him with her richest look, Her arch head half aside ; her liquid eyes From 'neath their dim lids drooping slumberous, Stood full on his, and called the wild blood up All in a tumult to his sun-kissed cheek, — As if it wished to see her beauty too, — ■ Then asked in dulcet tones, " Dost think me fair ' 0, thou art fairer than an Indian morn, Seated in her sheen palace of the east. Thy faintest smile out-price7 When, lo ! a train came upward from the sea With snowy garments, and with reverend steps. Full in their front a silver cross they bore, And this sweet hymn they strewed along the winds. * Blest be this sunny morning, sweet and fair ! Blest be the people of this pleasant land ! Ye unseen larks that sing a mile in air, Ye waving forests, waving green and grand. Ye waves, that dance upon the flashing strand. Ye children golden-haired ! we bring, we bring A gospel hallowing.' Then one stood forth and spoke against the gods ; He called them 'cruel gods,' and then he said, • We have a Father, One who dwells serene, 'Bove thunder and the stars, whose eye is mild. And ever open as the summer sky ; Who cares for everything on earth alike. Who hears the plovers crying in the wind, The happy linnets singing in the broom, Whose smile is sunshine.' When the old man ceased, Forth from the murmuring crowd there stepped a youth As bright-haired as a star, and cried aloud, ' Friends ! I 've grown up among the wilds, and found Each outward form is but a window whence Terror or Beauty looks. Beauty I 've seen In the sweet eyes of flowers, along the streams, 16S AN EVENING AT HOME. And in the cold and crystal wells that sleep Far in the murmur of the summer woods; Terror in fire and thunder, in the worn And haggard faces of the winter clouds, In shudilering winds, and oft on moonless nights I 've heard it in the white and wailing fringe That runs along the coast from end to end. The mountains brooded on some wondrous thought Which they would ne'er reveal. I seemed to stand Outside of all things ; my desire to know Grew wild and eager as a starving wolf. To gain the secret of the awful world, I knelt before the gods, and then held up My heart to them in the pure arms of prayer, — They gave no answer, or had none to give. Friends ! I will test these sour and sullen gods : If they are weak, 't is well, we then may list Unto the strangers ; but if my affront Draw angry fire, I shall be slain by gods. And Death may have no secrets. A spear ! a steed A steed was brought by trembling hands, he sprang Ana dashed towards the temple with a cry. A shudder ran through all the pallid crowds. I saw nim enter, and my sight grew dim. And on a long-suspended breath I stood. Till one might count a hundred beats of heart : Then he rode slowly forth, and, wondrous strange! AN EVEMNG AT HOME. 169 Although an awful gleam lay on his face, His charger's limbs were drenched with terror-sweat. Amid the anxious silence loud he cried, ' Gods, marvellously meek! Why, uny child May pluck them by the beard, spit in their face. Or smite them on the mouth ; they can do naught But sit like poor old foolish men, and moan. I flung my spear.' — Here, as a singing rill Is in the mighty noise of ocean drowned, His voice was swallowed in the shout that rose, And touched the heavens, ran \long the hills. Thence came on after-silence, strange and dim. A voice rose 'mong the strangers, like a lark, And warbled out its joy, then died away. And the old man that spoke before went on. And, ! the gentle music of his voice Stirred through my heart-strings like a wind through reeds. He said, 'It was God's hand that shaped the world And laid it in the sunbeams:' and that 'God With His great presence fills the universe. That could we dwell like night among the stars. Or plunge with whales in the unsounded sea, He still would be around us with His care.' And also, ' That as flowers come back in Spring, 170 AN EVENING AT HOME. We would live niter Death.' I heard no more. I thought of tnee in this delightful isle, Pure as a prayer, and wished that I had wings To tell you swiftly that the death we feared Was but a gray eve 'tween two shining days, That we would love forever! Then I thought Our home might be in that transparent star Which we have often watched from off this \erge Stand in the dying sunset large and clear. The humming world awoke me from my dream. I saw the old gods tumbh d on the grass Like uncouth stones, they threw the temple wide, And Summer, with her bright and happy face, Looked in upon its gloom, and pensive grew. The while among the tumult of the crowds Eivinest hynms the white-robed strangers sang. I wearied for thee, Bertha ! and I came. Wilt go and hear these strangers ? " She turned on him A look of love — a look that richly crowned A moment heavenly rich, and murmured "Yes," Ele kissed her proudly, while a giddy tear. Wild with its happiness, ran down her cheek And perished in the dew. They took their seats, And as the paddles struck, gray-pinioned Time Flew through the gates of sunset into Night, And held through stars to gain the coasts of Morn. AM EVENING AT HOMK 171 K 'T is done ! The phantoms of my soul have fled ■ Into the night, and I am left alone With that sweet sadness which doth ever dwell On the brink of tears ; I stare i' the crumbling fire, Which from my brooding eye takes strangest shapes. ■ The Past is with me, and I scarcely hear Outside the weeping of the homeless rain. LADY BAEBAEA. Earl Gawain wooed the Lady Barbara, — High-thoughted Barbara, so white and cold ! 'Mong broad-branched beeches in the summer shaw, In soft green light his passion he has told. When rain-beat winds did shriek across the wold, The Earl to take her fair reluctant ear Framed passion-trembled ditties manifold ; Silent she sat his amorous breath to hear, With calm and steady eyes, her heart was otherwhere He sighed for her through all the summer weeks ; Sitting beneath a tree whose fruitful boughs Bore glorious apples with smooth-shining cheeks, Earl Gawain came and whispered, " Lady, rouse ! Thou art no vestal held in holy vows, Out with our falcons to the pleasant heath." Her father's blood leapt up unto her brows — 174 LAUY BAKBARA. He who, exulting on the trumpet's breath, Came charging like a star across the lists of death. Trembled, and passed before her high rebuke : And then she sat, her hands clasped round her knee • Like one far-thoughted was the lady's look, For in a morning cold as misery She saw a lone ship sailing on the sea ; Before the north 't was driven like a cloud, High on the poop a man sat mournfully : The wind was whistling thorough mast and shroud, And to the whistling wind thus did he sing aloud : •' Didst look last night upon my native vales. Thou Sun, that from the drenching sea hast clomb ^ Ye demon winds, that glut my gaping sails, Upon the salt sea must I ever roam. Wander forever on the barren foam ? happy are ye, resting mariners ! O Death, that thou wouldst come and take me nome I A hand unseen this vessel onward steers. And onward I must float through slow moon-measured years. " Ye winds ! when like a curse ye drove us on. Frothing the waters, and along our way. Nor cape, nor headland, through red mornings shone, LADY BARBARA. 175 One wept aloud, one shuddered down to pray, One howled, ' Upon the deep we are astray.' On our wild hearts his words fell like a blight : In one short hour my hair was stricken gray, For all the crew sank ghastly in my sight As we went driving on through the cold starry night. " Madness fell on me in my loneliness, The sea foamed curses, and the reeling sky Became a dreadful face which did oppress Me with the weight of its unwinking eye. It fled, when I burst forth into a cry — A shoal of fiends came on me from the deep, I hid, but in all corners they did pry. And dragged me forth, and round did dance and leap ; They mouthed on me in dream, and tore me from sweet sleep. " Strange constellations burned above my head, Strange birds around the vessel shrieked and flew, Strange shapes, like shadows, through the clear sea fled, As our lone ship, wide-winged, came rippling through, Angering to foam the smooth and sleeping blue." The lady sighed, " Far, far upon the sea, My own Sir Arthur, could I die with you ! The wind blows shrill between my love and me." Fond heart ! the space between was but the apple-tree 176 LADY RARBAKA. There was a cry of joy ; with seeking hands She fled to him, like worn bird to her nest; Like washing water on the figured sands, His being came and went in sweet unrest, As from the mighty shelter of his breast The Lady Barbara her head uprears With a wan smile, " Methinks I 'm but half blest ; Now when I Ve found thee, after weary years, I cannot see thee, love ! so blind 1 am with tears." TO The broken moon lay in the autumn sky, And I lay at thy feet ; You bent above me ; in the silence I Could hear my wild heart beat. I spoke ; my soul was full of trembling fears At what my words would bring : You raised your face, your eyes were full of tears. As the sweet eyes of Spring. You kissed me then, I worshipped at thy feet Upon the shadowy sod. 0, fool, I loved thee ! loved thee, lovely cheat ! Better than Fame or God. 12 178 My soul leaped up beneath thy timid kiss : What then to me were groans, Or pain, or death ? Earth was a round of bliss, I seemed to walk on thrones. And you were with me 'mong the rushing whee.s, 'Mid Trade's tumultuous jars ; And where to awe-struck wilds the Night reveals Her hollow culfs of stars. Before your window, as before a shrine, I 've knelt 'mong dew-soaked flowers, While distant music-bells, with voices fine, Measured the midnight hours. There came a fearful moment : I was pale, You wept, and never spoke, But clung around me as the woodbine frail Clings, pleading, round an oak. Upon my wrong I steadied up my soul, And flung thee from myself; I spurned thy love as 't were a rich man's dole, — It was my only wealth. 179 I spurned thee ! I, who loved thee, could have died, That hoped to call thee "wife," And bear thee, gently smiling at my side, Through all the .shocks of life ! Too late, thy fatal beauty and thy tears. Thy vows, thy passionate breath ; I '11 meet thee not in Life, nor in the spheres Made visible by Death. SONNETS. I CANNOT deem why men toil so for Fame. A porter is a porter though his load Be the oceaned world, and although his r jad Be down the ages. What is in a name ? Ah ! 't is our spirit's curse to strive and seek. Although its heart is rich in pearls and ores, The sea complains upon a thousand shores ; Sea-like we moan forever. We are weak. We ever hunger for diviner stores. I cannot say I have a thirsting deep For human fame, nor is my spirit bowed To be a mummy above ground to keep For stare and handling of the vulgar crowd, Defrauded of my natural rest and sleep. 1S2 There have been vast displays of critic wit O'er those who vainly flutter feeble wings, Nor rise an inch 'bove ground, — weak Poetlings ! And on them to the death men's brows are knit. Ye men I ye critics ! seems 't so very fit They on a storm of laughter should be blown O'er the world's edge to Limbo ? Be it known, Ye men ! ye critics ! that beneath the sun The chiefest woe is this, — When all alone. And strong as life, a soul's great currents run Poesy-ward, like rivers to the sea. But never reach 't. Critic, let that soul moan In its own hell without a kick from thee. Kind Death, kiss gently, ease this weary one ! SONNETS. 1S3 Joy like a stream flows through the Christmas-street?. But I am sitting in my silent room, Sitting all silent in congenial gloom. To-night, while half the world the other greets With smiles and grasping hands and drinks and meats, 1 sit and muse on my poetic doom ; Like the dim scent within a budded rose, A joy is folded in my heart ; and when I think on Poets nurtured 'mong the throes, And by the lowly hearths of common men, — Think of their works, some song, some swelling ode With gorgeous music growing to a close. Deep-muffled as the dead-march of a god, — My heart is burning to be one of those. IS4 Beauty still walketh on the earth and air; Our present sunsets are as rich in gold As ere the Iliad's music was out-rolled; The roses of the Spring are ever fair, 'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair And the deep sea still foams its music old. So, if we are at all divinely souled, Tliis beauty will unloose our bonds of care. 'T is pleasant, when blue skies are o'er us bending Within old starry-gated Poesy, To meet a soul set to no worldly tune, Like thine, sweet Friend ! O, dearer this to me Than are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon, Or noble music with a golden ending. 185 Last night my cheek was wetted with warm tears, Each worth a world. They fell from eyes divine. Last night a loving lip was pressed to mine, And at its touch fled all the barren years ; And softly couched upon a bosom white, Which came and went beneath me like a sea, An emperor I lay in empire bright, Lord of the beating heart, while tenderly Love-words were glutting my love-greedy ears. Kind Love, I thank thee for that happy night ! Richer this cheek with those warm tears of thine Than the vast midnight with its gleaming spheres Leander toiling through the midnight brine, Kingdomless Antony, were scarce my peers. 186 I WROTE a Name upon the river sands, With her who bore it standing by my side, Her large dark eyes lit up with gentle pride, And leaning on my arm with clasped hands. To burning words of mine she thus replied : " Nay, writ not on thy heart. This tablet frail Fitteth as frail a vow. Fantastic bands Will scarce confine these limbs." I turned love-pale, I gazed upon the rivered landscape wide, And thought how little it would all avail Without her love. 'T was on a morn of May ; Within a month I stood upon the sand, Gone was the name I traced with trembling hand, — And from my heart 't was also gone away. 187 Like clouds or streams we wandered on at will, Three glorious days, till, near our journey's end, As down the moorland road we straight did wend, To Wordsworth's " Inversneyd," talking to kill The cold and cheerless drizzle in the air, 'Bove me I saw, at pointing of my friend, An old Fort like a ghost upon the hill, Stare in blank misery through the blinding ram; So human-like it seemed in its despair — So stunned with grief — long gazed at it we twain. Weary and damp we reached our poor abode ; I, warmly seated in the chimney-nook, Still saw that old Fort o'er the moorland road Stare through the rain with strange woe-wildered look 1S8 Sheathed is the river as it glideth by, Frost-pearled are all the boughs in forests old, The sheep are huddling close upon the wold. And over them the stars tremble on high. Pure joys these winter nights around me lie : 'T is fine to loiter through the lighted streets At Christmas time, and guess from brow and pace The doom and history of each one we meet. What kind of heart beats in each dusky case ; Whiles startled by the beauty of a face In a shop-light a moment. Or instead, To dream of silent fields where calm and deep The sunshine lieth like a golden sleep — Recalling sweetest looks of Summers dead. NOTICES FROM THE LONDON PRESS. Most abundant in beauties. Our extracts, which have been chosen chiefly to illustrate our account of the poem, have scarcely shown the poet at his best. Everywhere his poem has lines and phrases revealing a wealth of poetical thought and expression. — Athtn'tutn. Since Tennyson, no poet has come before the public with the same promise as the author of this volume There are many lines and sentences in these poems which must become familiar on the lips of lovers of poetry. — Literary Gazette, It is to the earlier works of Keats and Shelley alone that we can look for a counterpart, in richness of fancy and force of expression. .... These extracts will induce every lover of true poetry to read the volume for himself; we do not think that, after such reading, any one will be disposed to doubt that Alexander Smith promises to be a greater poet than any emergent genius of the last few years. — Sjje.ctator. The most striking characteristic of these poems is their abundant imagery, — fresh, vivid, concrete Images actually present to the poet's mind, and thrown out with a distinctiveness and a delicacy only poets can achieve. There is not a page of this volume on which we cannot find some novel image, some Shaksperian felicity of ex- pression, or some striking simile. — Westminster Review, 190 NOTICES FKOM THE LONDON PRESS. Mr. Smith has given nohle proof of possessing some of the best attributes of the true poet. One of his special characteristics is a luxuriant imagination, which continually suggests poetical images, and is happily allied to a singular mastery of language in one so young, which enables him to apply them with almost intuitive felicity. Nearly every page is studded with striking metaphors. ■ Sunday Times. It is seldom that a new work is met with which furnishes such incontestable evidence of the possession of great powers by the author as the present. It is impossible to read three consecutive pages without feeling in the presence of a spirit moved with a pro- found sense of all forms of spiritual beauty. Mr. Smith's language is, in the purest sense of the word, poetic, — that is, it is not only the very best for the expression of the idea, but is suggestive, — it summons up all the accessories to the idea. It is strong and splen- did, like golden armor. — Daily News, We have quoted enough, and yet we have not quoted a third of the fine passages our pencil has marked. Having read these ex- tracts, turn to any poet you will, and compare the texture of the composition, — it is a severe test, but you will find that Alexander Smith bears it well. — Leader. 7 34 J. ^°^. i <, t, .^^ . S ^ \ ' « Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. V Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: May 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION ' ^) 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 IP % .-i^^.^'V."*.-^. ,-0^ .-'-.--^ ^A v^ x° c ''■l' 'v '' \^^'^ ,, O • \' •' -p ..^" ^^^ % - .^"^ " o