9t»st^-: #*^^*\ |?'^'>'^''h) I #: ^ V I / '4 I f \ BEVEBiy DORAW Class _^'?£:3M/ CoffyrightN". 1^7 COPYRIGHT DEFHJSrr. The Breath of the Mountains By BEVERLEY DORAN Ajrti eti^sVeritatt Boston THE POET LORE COMPANY Publishers 1907 Copyright 1907 by The Poet Lore Company All rights reserved |UBRARY»»C0NG8E»5] Two «♦»»« Mcm^ DtC 11 t907 OUS»' )UU. NO COPY B. The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. CONTENTS The Breath of the Mountains 9 Lines on Leonardo Da Vinci 10 Da Vinci^s '^ Last Supper** 12 Sonnet to Leonardo Da Vinci 1 3 Vallomhrosa 14 Sunset 14 Early Morning 1 5 An Episode 16 A Song 18 Kundry 20 To a Mountain Brook 20 Maternal Love 21 A Song of the Sea 22 The American Woman 23 Music — An Ode 24 Descent 26 / — Veronese 26 // — Rubens 27 III — The French School of Realism 28 Gibraltar 30 Two Pictures 32 A Presence in the Room 34 Primal Force 35 Sonnet on Robert Browning 36 A Sailo/s Song of the Tropics 37 T he Law of Renewal 3^ A Spring Prophecy 39 The Silent Land 41 An Unmanned Boat 42 A Lullaby 43 A Song Cycle 45 Spring 45 Summer 45 Autumn 46 Winter 46 An Ocean Memory 47 The Swan Song of Autumn 50 The Winds are Sculptors of the Clouds 52 What is a Brook ? 54 The Awakening 55 Foreboding 56 Astir 57 Nature in the Mountains 59 Cries of the People 6o Lines on Guido Renins Beatrice Cenci 65 The Chant of a Frigate 67 Eternal Love 69 *'r he Choice" 71 Between Sleep and Death 78 THE BREATH OF THE MOUNTAINS THE BREATH OF THE MOUNTAINS The sunset pales beyond the hills To violet and gray, And with a tender twilight fills The valley with its daffodils, Its herded flocks and drowsy mills And faintly scented hay. Far up the wooded mountain height A chilly breath is born. An evening breath — serene and light That whispers to the summer night A cooling message of delight — Then wanders on till morn. LINES ON LEONARDO DA VINCI Like a river rolling onward In four swiftly flowing branches, — Was his genius — rich and varied His stupendous gifts and powers Which found utterance and expression In his painting and his sculpture, In mechanical invention, In his architectural science. — Everything he wrought at prospered, — Clear and true his sweep of vision. And the people called him * 'Master," — Kings and peasants loved and v/ondered At his full and splendid knowledge. — While in humbleness of spirit He who knew the high perfection Of the inner aspiration — Never reached his soul's desire. Never gave the outward picture Of those heavenly ideals Resting there within his nature As the full moon's clear reflection Rests upon a mighty river — Sinks within it deep and deeper Until all its waves turn silver — Seem a glistening path of moonlight Filled and brimming with its glory. 10 So Da Vinci saw the visions, Drew the God-illumined forces Round about him like a garment Till his dreams grew high and higher. What he did but seemed the presage Of those better things he dreamed of. Thus he filled his wondrous mission And passed onward gravely eager For the lifting of life's curtain On a universe of splendor. II DA VINCI'S *'LAST SUPPER" Behold the face and attitude of Christ! Never before has artist breathed such strength Into this vast and unattained ideal. See the benignant brow — its lofty breadth Expressing the unearthly power within. And then the somber eyes and drooping lids So full of patience and of weary love! No beauty in the face belittles it. The mouth is almost bitter in its curve, As tho* Christ felt His spirit's loneliness. Yet all the form in brooding tenderness Leans, as it were, above the startled Twelve Who hear Him tell of that black coming deed Which stained a world in perfidy and guilt. Only the dark-browed Judas understands He seems affrighted that tke Christ knows all. The others show their deepening distress, — John sinks in terror from the coming woe, Peter, in haste, is whispering in his ear. While James the Greater starts aback in shame. And Thomas springs toward Judas for revenge. 12 Philip alone is filled with heavenly love For Jesus — whose eyes — yearning — turn to him At this rare touch of fullest sympathy. The others show belief or unbelief. The simple room— with windows looking out Towards fair Jerusalem beyond the hills Complete and round this pictured tragedy. SONNET TO LEONARDO DA VINCI Mighty spirit of a mighty past Where, in the onward sweep of life, art thou ? And thro' whatever broadening currents now Are all the powers of thy genius cast In full and joyous plenitude at last! Only a perfect Being can endow Mankind within that little arch of brow With attributes so mystical and vast. I wonder whether now, from out some height. Thy brooding memory dwells on earth agam And sees thy works and knows their changeless right To utmost reverence on our human plane. So may thy past and present both unite To show thee all thy genius shall attain. 13 VALLOMBROSA Sunset Look far down the valley yonder And beyond, to where the slopes Of the purple Apennines Rise majestic, range on range Towards the sunset. See the trees Standing clear against the sky; The deep orange light revealing Every branch of those tall pines That, like sentries of the mountains, Stilly watch across vast spaces. Wild ravines and ragged rocks Lie between — and the hills Folded soft in misty outlines Seem asleep. 14 Early Morning From the near monastery tower A bell rings out the hour of three. The summer night has gently sped, And soft bird-notes rise sleepily From out the forest near at hand; While woodsmen take their early way To work upon some lower land, Reached when the valley wakes today. Along the mountainous outlines A pearly light begins to creep, And night winds sighing through the pines Arouse the forest from its sleep. Yet all the sky is filled with stars. Planets and satellites in train. And on beyond the fiery Mars Still other shining planets reign In royal orbits of their own With depths on depths of space between, Each sweeping in its path alone To some one distant goal unseen. Towards Vallombrosan solitudes These planets bend in still delight, And send their trailing glories down To rest upon this mountain height. 15 AN EPISODE Across the shoulder of yon green hill Two lovers rode thro' a summer noon. Their horses' hoof-beats seeming to fill The clear-cut measure of a tune. And the strain on saddle, girth and rein Of yielding leather marked the time As pacing slowly on, they gain The crest of the hill and that view sub- lime. He was a man of vigorous life. Well-knit, well-poised, alert and strong With mind and body not at strife But matched, as the words of a noble song Are matched to the harmony's rise and fall. So he — as he watched the distant view. Seemed, in a way, a part of it all — A creature living thro' and thro.' And she was a woman whose springs arose Like a mountain stream from cloud-capped heights Where dwelt 'mid everlasting snows The lonely vestal who trimmed the lights. A warmth and beauty of form and face Revealed yet hid this inner power And made her a temple of womanly grace A strength and joy for earth's fullest hour. i6 And this was the hour in both their lives When earth and heaven seemed fused in one And every word thro' life survives The wildest storm — or blazing sun. They turned and for a moment's space They loved beyond the power of speech. Depths calling from each human face To inner depths no word could reach. Then slowly pacing thro' the wood Retraced their path in light and shade; While Nature — watching — understood Her love-thrilled children — man and maid And cast a glamour on hill and dale, And breathed a breath of ecstasy, Enfolding them as in a veil, A sacred veil of mystery. 17 A SONG Oh, wind of April Bear me aloft To yonder sky Until I see the world grow small, A turning, whirling, vanishing ball! Then I, then I shall be free from it all - And breathe anew In the deepening blue A breath of rare delight As I gain that stellar height. So bear me aloft Oh, wind of April Pure and soft! Oh, wind of April Hear my sigh. Give me cheer, Come silently near. And sweep me singing up to the stars, Jupiter, Venus and fiery Mars! Then I, then I shall cross the bars Of living light So fiercely bright And see with mortal eyes The wonders of the skies. So hear my sigh, Oh, wind of April Make reply! i8 Oh, wind of April Give me rest Within thy arms From all alarms! So, like a tired, storm-tossed bird I*m listening for thy whispered word. Then I, then I — when I have heard Will swing me free Far out to sea. And on my wind-swept throne Shall drift from zone to zone. So give me rest Oh, wind of April On thy breast! 19 KUNDRY A desert wind sweeps round her as she comes From her lone, distant quest in Arabic. And ever that same desert loneliness, That strange aloofness seems to follow her Thro' all her tragic passion for the good. And all her wild abandonment to wrong. She lives the lonely one — misunderstood — Despised — tormented — but the one who serves And, at the last, the one who rises near To perfect service — selfless, patient, true. For she, indeed, received naught from the knights. Save in that searching moment of despair When to her dimming eyes the sign of grace Was granted as she lay in final peace. TO A MOUNTAIN BROOK Thou cheery singer of the mountain glens, Thou softest babbler to the ancient wood, Where all the velvet-footed denizens Feel a still joy within thy neighborhood, As if thy blithesome voice was understood. Thy quiet pools hold dreams of peace and rest, Thy glancing ripples look as tho' they could In sudden fancy speak a merry jest And make thy sylvan spirit manifest. 20 MATERNAL LOVE Up to the realm of human life A mighty instinct holds its way, Deepening fiercely step by step From worm and fish to beast of prey. Till reaching past the blind demand, It suns itself in woman's eyes And grows to consciousness at last, A dawning power deep and wise. This splendid fire of mother love Uplifts to slay and slays to live. A selfless hunger — keen and sweet. An inward, urgent need to give — To give of patience, time and strength, To give of actions small and great, To give of soul's inspiring force, To give, in order to create. — 'Tis mother love that year by year Awakes the soul, subdues the beast, Unveils each trembling joy of earth And lives forever God's high priest. The poise of body, mind and soul Can soonest come thro' simplest ways. Instruct the mothers of our race. Waste not the time in weak delays. 21 For every gift we give to them Their lives will tender rich return. The best on earth is none too good As incense at their shrine to burn. At last maternal love shall speak With freedom — and in loftier guise; Humanity spring toward the goal With light of triumph in its eyes. A SONG OF THE SEA Oh, give me thy pearls And thy beryl green Under thy swirls Of glistening sheen! And give me thy grace And charm so fine, Thy sea-foam of lace. Thy melting sky line, Thy fragile green reefs And red coral isles. Thy crag bas-reliefs And thy measureless miles! 22 THE AMERICAN WOMAN High on the rim of the world she stands Looking out towards a future day, Which slowly brightens and expands As earth and earth's unlightened lands Swing forward along their spiral way. This is the daughter of all the past Who holds as a gift the keys of fate, Who will lead the way thro' doors at last To human temples new and vast Which only she may consecrate. 23 MUSIG — AN ODE When, in the Eden world, A gate was closed against the pair, And angel hands wheeled to and fro A fateful, flaming sword — In the dread silence of the outer night A rhythmic cadence grew and filled the void, A blossoming into sound, serene and clear Of woods, and stars and planets: and the winds Became their messengers about the world And drew a mighty diapason Over leagues of space, to die in Plaintive moaning at lone Eden*s gate. Thus were the pair born into Music's realm. The forces of the world still sing their myriad songs Since those first children thrilled and dim of soul Listened to Nature's wildest orchestra Which swept about their wanderings Among the dewy pathways of the early world. And evermore this rhythmic realm Can fill us with immortal yearnings, — Transporting us by mystic power To fiery planets or cathedral woods, Or the wild clamor and seductive grace Of all earth's boundless seas. From out these elements of sound Man has created all his harmonies. 24 A Bach can give us whisperings of the sea; Its lightly rippling, many-crested waves, Its thunderous depths rolling in organ tones To die in solemn surges on the beach. Or Handel sing the songs the planets teach, A starry, radiant world, all pulsing With hymns of praise and prayer. While great Beethoven, ere we are aware Draws us within the shadows of the wood And makes us hear its hum of teeming life. The music of the pine sings thro* his soul. The oak has bent in stately plaint for him. Each tree has its own woodland motive sung, And even nesting birds and violets dim Awake within the circle of his art. A Wagner sweeps a mountain chant, And all the world which, seemingly, was dull To trumpet blast, responds from silent depths To harmonies half human — half divine. All cosmic sound Has found it's echoed duplicate In human music drawn from human souls. For every aspiration of the race And every dream of perfect harmony Is mirrored in this plastic realm of tone. The union of the earth and highest heaven Reveals itself in music as a flame Which touches every race beneath the sun. And lo! The gate of Eden is unlocked. Each spirit enters into rest. Is understood — and gladly understands. 25 DESCENT I Veronese Beauty was visioned to his mind in regal state, And he, her servitor, spent all his mounting wealth Of genius on those fair and stately works of art Which, in design and color, splendid line and form Excel that elder school of Venice from whose stem This art exotic grew. Behold his canvases — What shade on shade of melting color holds the eye. What true and clean-cut lines swept by a master craft! The grouping of the sumptuous figures all re- veal A clear and steadfast method — a consummate art A pagan love for all the outward shows of things. No tender subtleties, no shadows where the soul May rest in dim and high obscurity and prayer. But only earthly beauty — vibrant and supreme. 26 II Rubens A man of Flemish mind Who painted all the folk he knew In gorgeous robes of brown and blue, And ever as he painted grew To understand his kind. His burghers richly dresst, Their comely wives and daughters fair And children with their shining hair All proudly conscious that they wear Their finest and their best. And at his highest reach In those great pictures where his heart Seems quick to prompt his fullest art He still remains in thought a part Of Flanders* life and speech. Always the outward show The full demand of touch and sight The local color clear and bright, In Flemish pride and Flemish might His pictures are aglow. 27 Along a lower grade Below those keen Venetian schools Where he had learned his artist rules And grown a master of his tools His lines of work were laid. No tenderness is here, No sympathy for human pain, No joys above an earthly plane, No deeper wisdom of the brain. No reverence or fear. Ill The French School of Realism From Veronese*s stately grace From Rubens' strong and forceful place Descend Oh, friend, And on the modern school of France Uprisen from her dreamless trance Attend. We see her turn from rule and chart, We see that quick, impulsive start To stray Away To pastures red and pastures blue To sift creation thro' and thro' In play. 28 She likes the outward look of life. The gay unrest — the noise — the strife, The haste And waste Of shallow heart and shallow brain With all life's sweetness in their train Debased. She likes the ugly and the strange Beyond convention's utmost range. Her eyes Are wise And very quick to gather in All new and glittering forms of sin That rise. Her masters were those artists old Who half-truths always keenly told, And so Below Comes filtering down in low estate This soulless one to meet her fate Of woe. She is not free — she is not bound — But gropes all blindly on the ground, The past Has cast An evil charm about her feet \nd draws her on, her doom to meet At last. 29 GIBRALTAR A rock in the sea Rising sheer from its base To the mist floating free Across its dark face. The summit all bare Save a strange purple haze Like a veil clinging there To this ancient of days. At the back towards the bay Lies the white, sheltered town. While above the salt spray The black cannon frown. From a tropical garden Sweet hedges and bowers Fling perfumes of Eden To where the fort towers; Which, sleepless and silent. Stands ever on guard, A giant unspent. Grim, unbending and hard. 30 England's keen living race With its dominant mind Treads the town face to face With the halt and the blind. The Spaniard and Moor, And the men of the plain, Are the feeble and poor With life on the wane. Yet they may be renewed, They already look up. For the strong Saxon brood Are holding life's cup. And the warrior rock By overmastering fate Holds the key to the lock Of the Eastern gate. 31 TWO PICTURES I Along the silent pathways of the forest blow The winter winds, and falls the pure untrodden snow In whirling veils about the hemlocks and the pines And all the stately guardians of those sylvan shrines From which arise a worship free and undefiled. The flashing forest stream lies still and recon- ciled Beneath its cloak of ice; and on its margin bends A wealth of flower and fern on which the snow descends, And moulds each outline in a glistening coat of mail, While spears and fairy swords in marvelous detail Equip these faithful sentries of the sleeping stream. A close and tender silence seems to reign supreme, A breathing pause in Nature's sacred liturgy, While through the forest sweeps a brooding mystery. 32 II Within a cradle lies a rosy, sleeping child. A breathing wonder floated from the outer wild To our fair shores of earth, and moulded to this form Of beauty (as a snow flake in the winter's storm) At Nature's high behest. While in that childish mind Rest latent powers, that fetterless and uncon- fined. May wing our star-illumined universe at length With high and boundless stores of free and fear- less strength. That tender form of childhood like a perfect flower Awaits in seeming helplessness the fateful hour When, as the wind that bloweth from a region high Down to our warmly sheltered, cloud encom- passed sky. That sleeping mind awakes within its fragile shrine, And lo! the flower of life is touched with breath divine. 33 A PRESENCE IN THE ROOM A presence in the room, A feeling keen and sweet That some beloved friend Beyond time's loom Had come my soul to greet. Have you not felt the same ? One moment quite alone Close locked within earth's bounds, The next — a name Or a remembered tone Will quicken all the mind Till — for a moment's space A silent, living shade Serene and kind We almost seem to face. Oh word beyond our speech! Oh sense so nearly sight When can mortality The secret reach And gain this spirit height. 34 PRIMAL FORCE Primal matter or force Primal atom or wave Whirling along in thy course Without a birth or a grave. Open our eyes to see Open our ears to hear One sw^eep of thy harmony, One flash from thy higher sphere. Behold all thy boundless might Unwearied thro* eons of time Steadily building in light A pulsating pathway sublime. The drift of all science is clear — It tends towards the fountains of life It puts by all cowardly fear, It goes beyond regions of strive. And the universe silently lies Enwrapped in colossal law, Pliant — invincible — wise, Without one blot or flaw. 35 SONNET ON ROBERT BROWNING ** Wander at will Day after day, Wander away Wandering still, — Soul that canst soar! Body may slumber Body may cumber Soul-flight no more." From Pisgah Sights His spirit like a clear and restless flame Swept up and down thro' life's strange, devious ways, Lighting all dark abodes as with a blaze Of inner fire. And always with one aims|^» \ One fierce, half-conscious thirsting for the good In all the world! To draw it to the light. To lift it up with superhuman might Until men felt — and saw and understood The fullest meaning of the highest love. This seemed the heart of everything he wrote, This was the goal his truest instincts sought, To lift us by all human paths above Our feeble fears and doubtings — till we float To his high level of enfranchised thought. 36 A SAILOR'S SONG OF THE TROPICS Here let us always stay Thro* langorous night and day Under the tropic shade Of some palmetto glade Between whose branches gleam afar The sands of Malabar. The line of ocean seems A silver web of dreams Beyond the shimmering sands Which ring these southern lands. While nature in her balmy sleep Woos us with magic deep. Oh! when afar we sail Before a northern gale May visions of this shore Return to us once more And lustrous eyes in beauty glow And voices murmur low. And thro' the icy blast Fair pictures from the past Blot out the winter's storm, While perfumed breezes warm Arise and bear us drifting free Across a summer sea. 37 THE LAW OF RENEWAL Out of our deepest weariness and pain, Our bitter disillusions and despair, Slowly, with dulled and clouded brain. We issue from the turmoil and the glare, Crying aloud in misery of soul For mother-earth to make us sane and whole. Then, thro' the silences of night And fine renewals of the patient days Our turbulence of suffering drops from sight, Borne down that river which, in hidden ways, Freshens the rootings of our trees of life And flings its tides across our wildest strife. Behold! The radiant seasons, circling change Draws us along the spiral labyrinth. Familiar — yet forever new and strange — Each violet and every hyacinth That yearly wakes and blooms upon the earth Heralds within our souls a mystic birth. The world of nature stirs the world of mind. And, as our natures struggle towards a height With self-same instinct as the plants that find Their blind tenacious way from dark to light, So, in our deepest thought, the path is found Which leads us on and up to sacred ground. 38 A SPRING PROPHECY As spring lifts the drooping vine And reddens the maple buds, As the rising sap of the pine Whispers to sleeping floods, Awake! Awake from your marsh beds cool Awake and rule. — So — out of the dawning light Of this wonder-working age, In growing instinct of might Is waking a prophet — a sage. "All hail!" "All hail!" he calls to the earth — "Hail and new birth," — And over the land is blown The breath of a great desire. A seed of powder is sov»-n In Pentecostal fire. Arise, Arise and break the strain 'Twixt heart and brain. A humming electric stir Comes into the ways of life — Portentous messenger Of a new and subtler strife. Behold! Behold the leaders rise Alert and wise. 39 The restless human will And the slumbering human heart Are roused from a slumber chill And wake to a nobler part. Rejoice! Rejoice humanity For thou art free! Free from that lowest past Where the trail of the beast of prey Lies like a shadow vast Over the fairest day. Speed on, Speed on to thy high place, O human race, Free from theology's band Which holds and cramps the brain And free to understand To struggle and attain. Aroused — Aroused at last to see Life's dignity. As spring lifts the drooping vine And wakens the earth from sleep, So currents of strength divine Around earth's children sweep — At last — At last the soul uplifts the veil — Hail — all hail. 40 THE SILENT LAND {From a Picture) Here Is a glimpse of the silent land Where the fleet wild creatures hunt and hide And the cautious moose with antlers wide Along the shallows stand, While fallow deer like shadows pass Between the boles of the forest trees And only the sigh of the wandering breeze Stirs the tall marsh grass. 41 AN UNMANNED BOAT I saw from my window today A drifting, sinking boat, Without guide — without oars or sail To save it in storm and gale, — The loneliest thing afloat. Perhaps on its far home-beach One morning the whispering sea , Came gently against its side And spoke of the ocean wide With its foam-tossed, rippling glee. Yet never a word was said Or ever a whisper breathed Of the hidden, desolate graves Under the sun-kissed waves With clinging sea-weed wreathed. And naught of the nights and days When storm winds blowing high Would toss like a fragile shell On the billows' mighty swell This plaything of sea and sky! All wearily now it glides Towards the far horizon's rim! Almost human it seems Slow drifting on in dreams While filling to the brim! 42 A LULLABY Where is the bobolink Singing — singing Where is the bumble-bee Buzzing Where is the katydid Roaming, roaming Far from the fire-flies Far from my baby's eyes, Hid in the purple dark Gloaming, gloaming Hid in the purple dark Gloaming. Sleep all the pretty things Softly, softly Tucked in their leafy beds Gently. Only the green frogs are Croaking, croaking Under the willow's edge. Under the rocky ledge And the deep valley mist Smoking, smoking And the deep valley mist Smoking. 43 Close then your heavy eyes Dear one, dear one, Rest in my loving arms Safely, Whispers of pure delight, Creeping, creepng Out from the pulsing air Cherubs are v^aiting there Bringng sweet dreams to thee. Sleeping, sleeping Bringing sv^eet dreams to thee, Sleeping. 44 A SONG CYCLE Spring A whir of wings in the apple boughs, A fine thread of green creeping over the fields And broadening swiftly as winter yields To the delicate whispers of earth and sky, A fringe — nothing more to the eye On hill-top against the wide stretch of the blue. A fringe of golden green, fragrant, delicious and new, While afar, in the shadowy stillness of dawn The note of a bird, marvelous, subtle, and sweet Rises in space from a woody retreat. The murmurous stir of insect strife A budding warmth and life — All in a perfect harmony sing And proclaim in woods and fields and hills the birth of Spring. Su mmer A breath of the noontide heat Sifting down thro' the blossoming trees A humming of bees in the wheat. And a perfume ladened breeze. And away to the east and the west And away to the south and the north Along the horizon's crest The waves of heat stream forth. 45 Autumn Between the day and night — Within the darkening twiHght hour We feel the life of tree and flower Sink slowly to an inner bower. Of silence and delight. A sense of soft repose Leans towards us from the bronzing vine And purpling leaf, as from some shrine Where Autumn holds a sacred wine Prest from the summer rose. Winter A feathery frost on the window pane And a world of snow beneath the moon As night resumes her regal reign. I see the moonlight spreading far As the midnight hour draws to the full And its brilliance dims each lustrous star. But hush! In the night the lonely calls Of some wild migratory bird Upon the silence strangely falls, Then passes down the farthest hills Beyond all hearing — and again A stillness cold the midnight nils. 46 AN OCEAN MEMORY Deep in the hollows of the waves That toss their foam across the ship, Vast serpents seem to glide along In Titan strength And endless length, Then, sinking, seek those hidden caves Where nameless creatures slink and slip And tides run still and strong. Here is the subtlest element, The primal cradle of mankind. Here, on this dark, unquiet breast Time's nurseling heard A whispered word And, stirring in slow discontent All dumbly groped in circles blind And onward — ever upward prest. Thro' lengthening spirals high and higher Thro' eons, moving towards one hour At last in light and radiant form Rise from the sea Divinely free The winged creatures that aspire To live beyond the ocean's power To fly towards shore thro' wildest storm. 47 They reach the safety of the shore They rest upon some friendly land Which lifted arms of spreading green In welcome mild To this new child Who held all that would be the core Of what we feel and understand And what humanity shall mean. And so we live to sail the deep! To span the seas in giant ships! So we, as the green waters glide In ripples light Pure, clear and bright Still feel an instinct strong as sleep Thrill thro' us to our finger-tips As runs in shore the rising tide. And leaning towards the ocean foam We feel the early joys again Those echoes of dim merriment The sea folk knew Beneath yon blue. Oh! some sea-cave with crystal dome Held all our hearts' affection when We swam the sea in blind content. 48 So — drop below Swing to and fro, Here, there. Everywhere, Thro' rainbow sheen. Thro' the waters green Swiftly we pass By the tall sea grass. Afar to that goal Where there is no soul. The spell! The spell? Nay, all is well, We are free at last From our earthly past. On ocean's bed Lie the blessed dead. 49 THE SWAN SONG OF AUTUMN Down the long lines of forest trees Rich with their robe of autumn fire A plaintive murmur ran Broadening and deepening as it passed Athwart the glories of the oak And burnished brightness of the maple trees. The sighing of the woods it seemed, The soft lament of autumn still in leaf To that large, pulsing mother life Upon whose gentle breast The changing seasons wake And bloom and fade and sleep. The Lament Farewell oh! life of earth Farewell oh! ardent sun Whose love drew towards their birth Our fair leaves one by one. A long farewell to light To color, joy and grace, Down to the inmost night We gather face to face. Over us lie the snows And the glistening frost and ice, While the winter tempest blows They hold us in a vise. 50 Yet we feel in the body of death A spirit of life arise Filled with diviner breath And boundless as the skies. Thus thro' the ancient wood Crowned with the splendors of the autumn leaf This plaintive swan song Rose and fell in ever fainter echoes. It seemed a wandering soul Had passed — so fleet Yet so august and somber Was the sound. 51 THE WINDS ARE SCULPTORS OF THE CLOUDS {Written at St. Moritz, Switzerland) The winds are sculptors of the clouds And shape them to their swift designs; See yonder vessel with her shrouds Rising aloft in bold outlines. Look at that giant lying there Against the rugged mountain's breast, His huge proportions grandly bare, His limbs composed as if in rest. Now, lighted by the sinking sun A rosy group of children dance — And then in widening circles run Before an army's quick advance. It sweeps across the darkening sky With banners floating to the breeze And on yon mountain far and high Frowns the grim fort they raze and seize. What droops along the glacier's face In silver veils of trailing mist ? Ah — now I see — it grows apace And changes to an amethyst. 52 Still changing by a touch — a turn — A crown is on the glacier's head And rows of regal rubies burn To grace this monarch of" the dead. They pale, they fade, they die away And other shapes drift into view A lion holds a stag at bay, Armed men with elephants pursue. Great droves of oxen, flocks of birds, Long, writhing serpents fold on fold. And prairie buflfalo in herds These master sculptors lightly mould. That figure as it calmly stands Rivals the craft of Angelo, His "Moses" sits — this one commands The world with the gesture grand and slow. There to the right an angel form Hovers above the snowy height. Then flies before the coming storm Which rolls its thunders to the night. 53 WHAT IS A BROOK? It is the '*yungling" of the woods and hills And, in the spring, when gorges overflow, The merry chatter of its water fills The wooded lands and villages below. For then it capers on the wheels of mills And swings from side to side, and to and fro Adown its banks and in among its rocks And in a gay refrain the cypress mocks. The sweet, melodious banter of its song Arouses from their sleep the somber trees Who lean to guard it with their branches strong From burning sunlight or the boisterous breeze, And as it wends its babbling way along Stand in a still content and happy ease As parents do who with indulgence see Their boys leap past them happy to be free. 54 THE AWAKENING Again I hear a robin call His ringing reveille to spring And just beyond my garden wall The bobolinks are on the wing. The hawthorn buds begin to trace In matchless forms of leaf and flower Their virgin shadows — fine as lace Upon the ground in quivering power. The scent of hidden violets Is wafted to me from the hill, And, in a moment, one forgets The winter's desolating chill. The lark has risen to midair And sings from out that dizzy height As thro' he sees — while poising there The spring's approach in warmth and light. For him the message of the seer — For him the high, unclouded view, A prophet of the changing year Watching from out that vault of blue . The air blows soft across the land Bringing a moist and earthy breath And mosses, roots and ferns expand, For life again has conquered death. 55 FOREBODING When all the land is bathed in light Long streamers from the western sky, The herald of the coming night Along the mountain slie. And, as the color fades away From out the sunset's ruddy gold A phantom shadow-glow of day Arises clear and cold. Then from the circle of the hills Is borne a cool and mystic breath And all the warmth of summer thrills With whisperings of death. 56 ASTIR There is something new in the nation, east and south and west, A spirit of civic-freedom which does not halt or rest, It has roused the sleeping conscience of multi- tudes of men. It has whispered to our statesmen again and yet again. But the hour is fast approaching when the dullest must awake To hear the new voice speaking — To see the new day break. Woe to the latest sleepers — Woe to our enemies Here in American highways or there across the seas. For their doom will come upon them swift and sudden and strong The doom which a quickened people shall mete to them ere long. No more the slogan of party rings with its old- time power, The docile ranks of the voters are thinning hour by hour, For Freedom speaks among them, and listening to her voice They hear that nobler watchword which makes a world rejoice. S7 Away with our civic bondage, away with our blind content, With ignorance and selfishness and venal better- ment. Stand by the men who aid us to win in the nearing strife They are the sons of Freedom. They know of the deeper life. For astir — astir in the nation and listened to at last. Is the voice that called our patriot sires from out our mighty past. It called and they responded — Shall we not also rise And answer to the summons ere our great moment dies ? 58 NATURE IN THE MOUNTAINS She plays upon the organ stops of life When, gathered in the foldings of the hills, Her children breathe the purer mountain air And wake to see her great simplicities. The over-stress of modern life is gone. Behold us now — aware — alive — alert. Touched by her murmurs in the brook. Her solemn thunders on the mountain slope. Each day reveals her in a nobler way To our starved senses. And these summer nights. All throbbing with the mighty planet lights And glancing radiance of the silver moon. Clothe us anew in all primeval joys. High nature in the mountains of the world Instructs in clarion tones serene and sweet. And we — her children — see her face to face. 59 CRIES OF THE PEOPLE God, they've taken my baby away, While I slept they took my new-born son! Quick — bring him back or I'll rise from the bed. What? "He smothered to death in this room?" He's dead! My boy! That cannot be. I've got to have him — see — woman — see, 1 live in this room, then why can't he ? The doctor said that ''the poisoned air of this dreadful place has killed the child." Why, you'll set me mad, you'll set me wild. Don't I know it's bad, but where can we go ? Poor folk have got to pay high for fresh air, So an air-shaft window must do for us. give me my baby — I love him so. He cannot be dead! I'll call to the rich And beg them to help me keep it alive. I'll call and cry — "O give us air, God's air, to make our children thrive, Our little ones we love so well. Our little ones who make the home. They're all we poor folk have to love. Without them we may go to hell. Listen and heed, O heed my cry, A dying mother calls to you." 1 will not live without my boy. His cold mouth feel I at my breast. His heavy head upon my arm. Give us air — O eive us air! 60 II Who comes there thro' the dismal hall ? A stealthy step — a sudden spring, And down goes the lodger across the way. Some one is there in the dark with him Crushing his life out in deadly hate, Ho — the police! Quick, help, O help! Look! on that grimy, rotting floor They struggle and swing from side to side And no one comes, for no one cares. Fll catch them there in spite of the dark, The slippery floor and narrow space. Hold, man, hold — you shall not kiM! Stop! — don't throw that knife at me! God! I'm struck — I'm down — I'm dead! Ill We men stand watching the wealthy pass In their carriages, satin-lined. We men take note of this "upper class'* And bear then well in mind. We think we know their selfishness Which shuts them from mankind. We never touch them in life's press. They are shadows, deaf and blind. 6i They are shadows, useless, ugly and vast, The goblins of this age, Their palaces, cars and yachts we cast In the scales with our rising rage. We turn to our wives and our little ones, All poorly clad and fed; We see the labor of our sons. And it maddens the heart and head. Oh who will help us at our need Oh who will hear our cry Oh who will collar their reckless greed Before our children die ? We live in crowded tenements; They are fire-traps, each and all — And the heartless men who fix our rents May grind us to the wall. The law allows this fearfull curse To drag the people down, The law sees only the open purse, And hears us with a frown. Justice, Justice is our claim. The courts should hear us speak, We men can show who is to blame For the sufferings of the weak. 62 Ye selfish, idle millionaires, Come, see us, where we live. Look at our loved ones he who dares And then refuse to give! No charity we ask of you — No careless or grudging dole, But the chance for us to rise and do And for you, the chance of a soul. IV Isn't it nice to see the sky And the birds that fly past one by one. And the smoke that dances and whirls and curls, And clouds that run away with the sun ? I lie on my bed while mother's away And every day she goes to work At washing or scrubbing or what she can find, For I'm an incurable, so they say At the children's hospital where I was; But mother — she says — ** Never mind, my boy, We've got a window — so don't you care. And when your back hurts just say a prayer For all those children who have no share In a window open to God's air." 63 My baby that was is a young woman now Full sixteen years come Easter eve — And I — who was born of good, clean folk Must see her walking the streets by day Ad trailing and creeping about in the night! Our one room holds a family of eight, And we have to live in this little pen, For we haven't money to live like men. By heaven — I'll kill her when she comes in! Better to send her out of a world That takes no heed for her body or soul If that soul and body belong to sin. Yet, oh my girl, is it all your fault ? Men may say yes — but God will say no. 64 LINES ON GUIDO RENFS BEATRICE CENCI {In the Barberini Palace^ Rome) Ah, look and see her Resting there so pale and still, No fluttering stir Of pulse awakes that slumbering will From dreams of what it must fullfil. So young she seems, With lips half parted like a child Who, smiling, dreams. Yet in her eyes a shadow wild Reveals a soul unreconciled. Dark, deadly fears Have clouded all her sunny face. No soothing tears Can the long tragedy displace And give her back life's early grace. An image fair Of melancholy without hope! Pictured despair — Which only can in darkness grope Along hell's narrow, crumbling slope. 65 That purest brow Speaks without words to you and me. We know her now — Thou truest maid enslaved yet free We lift our prayers to heaven for thee! 66 THE CHANT OF A FRIGATE Hark! I hear my timbers straining As I slowly rise and fall, And my sagging masts complaining As they loom there, dark and tall. I seem only fit for selling As I lie here — gaunt and old, Yet in memory 1 am dwelling With those war-dogs — fierce and bold. I can see them in the offing Cleared and ready for the fight, And their maddened sailors scoffing As I raked them, day and night. How we fought them needs brave telling, Stilled their forts and closed their trade, Then — our blackened jackies yelling Louder than the cannonade! For they see our ** colors" rising — And our Navy pennant wave Mighty symbols signalizing Freedom for the helpless slave. But my thoughts are forward flying Now, in peace, I see us sail Where the Cornwell gulls are crying Their shrill challenge to the gale. 67 Thro' those stormy waters sweeping I float onward, 'mid applause, Flags saluting — cannon keeping Up a welcome without pause. To my deck I see them coming Men of rank and highest fame. And their words of praise go humming Thro' my proudly quivering frame. Ladies fair my men are meeting Kings and queens have traveled far Just to see and give me greeting. Just to note each honored scar. Past those dreams — I feel like fading, And the end looms into view. Old and feebly retrograding Without officers or crew! Oh, that fire would set me blazing, — As a beacon in the night, And the landsmen dully gazing Wonder at the glorious sight! Not as merchant vessel ending My long life upon the sea — But from keel to mast ascending As a flame — untamed and free! 68 ETERNAL LOVE Thro' the pure and awful heavens breathes a breath, a murmur vast, Spreading dreamlike in the silence thro* the eons of the past. Reaching forward to the future far beyond the lines of time. Streaming in upon the human as a soft, half- whispered chime. As a breath too close for knowledge — as a voice too great to hear, Falling like the softest zephyr, rising thro' us loud and clear. Sweeping with a master's power all the chords of human life Till the magic of that music maddens us to deadliest strife. Loud we rage, we weep, we suffer, crying, calling to be heard. While above our pain, the music surges softly word on word. When at last we cease our raging, sink into a stillness deep. Then, in peace, we hear the music, watch the others storm and weep. 60 And a hope is born within us — faint as perfume of the spring, That the meaning of that music takes from life its bitter sting. For the music speaks a language listening ears may understand, And in listening to it's beauty, life with love, walks hand in hand. And the knowledge sinks and deepens, and the vision clearer grows That the masterful musician — He it is who loves and knows. He it is whose endless patience sighing thro' humanity Woos us from our petty sadness — leads us out to liberty. 70 THE CHOICE Place: A Studio in New York. Time: The Present. Characters: Hugo Manning, Helen Van Amberg. Hugo: — This studio with all its sweep of light. Its harmonies of color, — its repose And most of all — its tone of self-restraint — All make me feel your values, oh, my friend. That latest canvas, — may I look at it ? And will you tell me in your own swift way Your reasons for this panel of delight. This brimming picture of the wine of life ? Helen: — That panel will be sent a week from now To stand in competition for the place So coveted, — so sought for by us all. I mean by mural workers — East and West, Whose strong designs and ampler modes of art Are drawing up this country's art ideals To take a place of dignity and worth Among the older nations of the world. Forgive me — I will not again digress, Yet you must have some patience as I show By slower method than my usual way A fuller reason why I thus compete For this unique and brilliant place of fame. Have I your interest then my friend of friends In speaking, — or are you in haste today ? 71 Hugo: — Never in haste when that same friendly voice Will deign to hold me captive by its spell: And — truly, this same subject that you treat Has often puzzled those v^ho know you well, You — who are looked upon as fortune's child, — With not a wish ungranted — says the world: This splendid studio a toy would seem, — But for that steadiness of earnest work Accomplished during these eight busy years Which now I feel you mean to top and crown By this design of spacious panelling. Come — tell me — truest artist that you are, Why have you entered at the public mart Of this state building's test for these designs,— The best of which, — the keen Committee says Shall line the walls of their new Capitol ? Need you wait as smaller mortals must The cold, unbending judgment of these men ? Helen: — Ah! once — but once — if only once to stand Quite free and separate from all my past. To be myself, — to rise or fall by that Would compensate for all those unreal hours. Those bitter moments of my happy life When I have known defeat thro* compliment, Diaster to my highest hopes, thro' love And awful ennui, bleak and burdensome, Forever stalking thro' my formal days! 72 Here comes my chancel — the way of my escape, They see my work, — they know not whose it is, They judge it good or bad, — no favors shown. Hugo: — Ah, — now I read you, as it were ,anew! Helen: — Well, — turn then to my picture here at hand; Do you, my keenest friend, — see what it is ? Have I too vaguely or too plainly shown My meaning ? Painted in my atmosphere Too clearly or too subtly do you think ? Hugo: — I see no flaw — the wonder is alive. Sweeps out beyond the canvas to my soul And lifts me in a whirling maze of joy — To life's most perfect bubble of delight. Yet there's a figure which is not complete — And there — that branch needs still a shade or two To make it seem to tremble 'gainst the wall As tho' it felt the wind among its leaves And heard the whisper of its wandering love. The pane, is not pictured panel now But seems a meadow into which I step A living, — glowing land surcharged with light. Am I not right ? You show unshadowed life ? n Helen: — Yes, you are right. Your heart beats with your brain. I felt it good to speak one pictured word Of joy, uncheckered joy, as life should be. And now a respite from our deeper selves. My carriage waits to take me to the Park. Come with me — all the spring attends us there. Hugo: — Your pleasure is my deeper happiness. I gladly follow you — yet may I beg That soon you visit a poor studio In which there works a strong competitor For this same highly valued mural prize Which you yourself will sure win from him. His panel seems the opposite of yours — Will you not care to go with me today ? Helen: — Yes, we can go this idle afternoon. And afterward the winding avenues. The greening vistas of our Central Park Which, in a little space, has lengthened out Its varied landscape as with magic wand And doubles, trebles every foot of ground With sweet variety and wizard charm. 74 Part Second Time: A week later. Place: The Same Studio. Helen Van Amherg alone before her picture: — Yes, I have to face the fact at last. All week my thought has hovered like a bird Above the changing sea of circumstance, Afraid to venture landward till the gale Of my wild wishes had been lulled to rest By something which is stronger than my will Yet seems so effortless, so still — so deep. Well — Come now. I must swiftly search my heart. On Thursday last — a week ago today — I went to see that artist's studio — I mean the panel that he worked upon. He was not there — the picture filled the room Or so it seemed at least. And all was dark Save where the light upon the canvas fell And showed the suffering and the majesty Of every figure — every shadowed face. The landscape —'very somberly exprest — But added to the tragedy and gloom And vital truth of that supreme despair Which radiated from that thing of life. I stood amazed, bewildered, overcome. Then turning, left the room in sudden haste. My friend beside me wondered but obeyed. 75 Nor could I tell him of that strange unrest Which rose within me — a resistless tide Engulfing all my argosies of youth And strewing them in blind impartial waste Upon a treacherously smiling sea Which drew them under with a careless ease And swiftness, as tho' things of little worth, While I standing, watching from the shore Have questioningly wondered — "Is it so?" **Have they no value — no reality ? Or have I lost the best that life can give And now stand bankrupt to my very soul!'* I know not — but at least one point seems clear Amid the tangle of my inmost thought, And steadily progressing towards that light From day to day I have moved on till now I see the road before me opening straight And slowly find myself upon the way — My panel — ah! I see it with new eyes. The other panel is the better one. The world is not yet ready for that joy, Which calls so clearly from my canvas here. Deep pain and grief and bitter sadness haunt The ways of men, and yet there is no strength! To lift the burdens — push them from the world And clothe and comfort and again lift up The naked, beaten souls of every land. 76 Therefore his picture is the truer one — His message rouses even sluggish hearts And makes them start from out their sordid dreams To feel the pulse of a united life When fallen sisters drag the purest down. When evil brothers chain the minds of men, When suffering children reach the happy ones, We are one body — we — the race of men. I therefore draw my knife across my work Obliterating all that sunlit space In favor of the panel which I know Will, after mine, receive the foremost place. 77 BETWEEN SLEEP AND DEATH Within the shadows of a winter night I lay in sleep — in free, unguarded sleep. The portals of my spirit closed from sight Yet open to a region where we keep Our visions — dreams — impressions of delight Or fearsome instincts terrible and deep. And, as I slept, I felt a catch, a breath And then a sudden sinking to the state of death. I lay entranced — afraid to move or think, Until from inner depths the wish arose To feel, to see, to piece things link by link. To watch the earthly drama to its close. To catch one tone of love before I sink And lose myself in death's untried repose. But, as I moved — before me banks of cloud Rolled white and vast and clothed me in a shroud. A blinding impulse stirred me thro' and thro' It was not fear — nor joy akin to awe. But rather that my soul one instant knew The deathless power of almighty law. And then reflection gradually grew Within my thought — until I felt — I saw The reasons for our constant storm and stress, Our blind desires and quick forgetfulness. 78 And thus I stood uncertain of my way, And dreading yet desiring to be gone, I saw the earth beneath me, where it lay A dim and shadowy sphere against the dawn. The pallid dawn whose faint outlines of gray Like veils across the hemisphere were drawn, As if the very heavens were but a dream. With only Spirit conscious and supreme. Within me rose a tide of bitter gloom — For all my life seemed fatuous and vain, And I — an idler at that mighty loom Wherein is spun a fair and mystic skein Which guides us from the cradle to the tomb. And by whose silken strength at last we gain The farther side of death's relentless sea Spent and alone — but passionless and free. Again I looked, and saw down dropping low That shrouding bank of cloud about we sweep. And I in eddying circles drifting slow Regained the meadow-land of mortal sleep. Then came a pause, and then a warmth — a glow. My strength flowed in upon me strong and deep. The walls of earthly life had interposed And all my spirit's portals gently closed. 79 ii w^? ■ffiSii. '•■